Timothy Zahn - Cobra 01 - Cobra

by Cobra(lit)

  Stillman's flash of anger evaporated. "No," he said quietly. "It would just make things worse." He stood up and walked over to the window. "Sorry I blew up, Sut.

  I know it's not your fault. It's just..." He sighed. "We've lost it, Sut. That's all there is to it. We're never going to get Jonny reintegrated into this town now. If becoming a bona fide hero didn't do it, then I have no idea what else to try."

  "It's not your fault either, Teague. You can't take it personally." Fraser's voice was quiet. "The Army had no business doing what it did to Jonny, and then dropping him on us without any preparation. But they're not going to be able to ignore the problem. You remember what D'arl said-the Cobras are having trouble all over the Dominion. Sooner or later the government's going to have to do something about it. We've done our best; it's up to them now."

  Stillman's intercom buzzed. Walking back to his desk, the mayor tapped the key.

  "Yes?"

  "Sir, Mr. Do-sin just called from the press office. He says there's something on the DOM-Press line that you should see."

  "Thank you." Sitting down, Stillman turned on his plate and punched up the proper channel. The last three news items were still visible, the top one marked with a star indicating its importance. Both men hunched forward to read it.

  Dominion Joint Military Command HQ, Asgard:

  A military spokesman has announced that all reserve Cobras will be recalled into active service by the end of next month. This move is designed to counter a

  Minthisti build-up along the Dominion's Andromeda border. As yet no regular Army or Star Force reserves are being recalled, but all options are being kept open.

  "I don't believe it," Fraser shook his head. "Are those stupid Minthisti going to try it again? I thought they learned their lesson the last time we stomped them."

  Stillman didn't reply.

  Vanis D'arl swept into Mayor Stillman's office with the air of a man preoccupied by more important business. He nodded shortly to the two men who were waiting there for him and sat down without invitation. "I trust this is as vital as your message implied," he said to Stillman. "I postponed an important meeting to detour to Horizon. Let's get on with it."

  Stillman nodded, determined not to be intimidated, and gestured to the youth sitting quietly by his desk. "May I present Jame Moreau, brother of Cobra-three

  Jonny Moreau. He and I have been discussing the Reserve call-up set for later this month in response to the alleged Minthisti threat."

  "Alleged?" D'arl's voice was soft, but there was a warning under it.

  Stillman hesitated, suddenly aware of the risk they were taking with this confrontation. But Jame stepped into the gap. "Yes, alleged. We know this whole thing is a trumped-up excuse to pull all the Cobras back into the Army and ship them off to the border where they'll be out of the way."

  D'arl looked keenly at Jame, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're concerned about your brother, of course; that's only natural," he said at last.

  "But your allegations are unprovable and come perilously close to sedition. The

  Dominion makes war only in self-defense. Even if your claim was true, what would such an action gain us?"

  "That's precisely our point," Jame said calmly, showing a self-control and courage far beyond his nineteen years. "The government is trying to solve the

  Cobra problem, clearly. But this isn't a solution; it's merely a postponement."

  "And yet, the Cobras were generally unhappy in their new civilian roles," D'arl pointed out. "Perhaps this will actually be better for them."

  Jame shook his head, his eyes still holding D'arl's. "No. Because you can't keep them there forever, you see. You either have to release them again someday-in which case you're right back where you started-or else you have to hope that the problem will... work itself out."

  D'arl's face was an expressionless mask. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I think you know." For just a second Jame's control cracked, and some of the internal fire leaked out. "But don't you see? It won't work. You can't kill off all the Cobras, no matter how many wars you put them through, because the Army will be making new ones as fast as the old ones die. They're just too blasted useful for the brass to simply drop the project."

  D'arl looked back at Stillman. "If this is all you wanted, to throw out ridiculous accusations, then you've wasted my time. Good day to you." He stood up and headed toward the door.

  "It isn't," Stillman said. "We think we've come up with an alternative."

  D'arl stopped and turned back to face them. For a moment he measured them with his eyes, then slowly came and sat down again. "I'm listening."

  Stillman leaned forward in his chair, willing calmness into his mind. Jonny's life was riding on this. "The Cobra gear was designed to give extra speed, weaponry, and reflexes to its owners; and according to Jame, Jonny told him the original equipment included vision and auditory enhancers as well." D'arl nodded once, and Stillman continued, "But warfare isn't the only area where these things would be useful. Specifically, how about new planet colonization?"

  D'arl frowned, but Stillman hurried on before he could speak. "I've done some reading on this in the last few weeks, and the usual procedure seems to involve four steps. First, an initial exploration team goes in to confirm the planet is habitable. Then a more extensive scientific party is landed for more tests; after that you usually need a pre-colony group to go in with heavy machinery for clearing land and starting settlements. Only then does the first main wave of colonists arrive. The whole process can take several years and is very expensive, mainly because you need a small military base there the whole time to protect the explorers from unknown dangers. That means feeding a few hundred men, transporting weapons and lots of support gear-"

  "I know what it involves," D'arl interrupted. "Get to your point."

  "Sending in Cobras instead of regular soldiers would be easier and cheaper,"

  Stillman said. "Their equipment is self-contained and virtually maintenance-free, and they can both act as guards and help with the other work.

  True, a Cobra probably costs more to equip than the soldiers and workers he'll replace-but you've already got the Cobras."

  D'arl shook his head impatiently. "I listened this long because I hoped you might have come up with something new. Committ‚ H'orme considered this same idea months ago. Certainly, it would save money-but only if you've got some place to use it. There are no more than a half-dozen habitable worlds left within our borders and all have had a preliminary exploration. We're hemmed in on all sides by alien empires; to gain more worlds we would have to go to war for them."

  "Not necessarily," Jame said. "We could go past the aliens."

  "What?"

  "Here's what we have in mind," Stillman said. "The Trofts just lost a war to us, and they know that we're still strong enough to really tear into their empire if we decided to invade. So it shouldn't be too hard to talk them into ceding us a corridor of space through their territory, for non-military transport only. All the charts show there's at least some unclaimed space on the far side of their territory; that's where we set up the colony."

  D'arl was gazing into space, a thoughtful look on his face. "What if there aren't any habitable planets out there?"

  "Then we're out of luck," Stillman admitted. "But if there are, look at what you've gained. New worlds, new resources, maybe even new alien contacts and trade-it would be a far better return on the Cobra investment than you'd get by killing them off in a useless war."

  "Yes. Of course, we'd have to put the colony far enough past the border that the

  Trofts wouldn't be tempted to sneak out and destroy it. With that kind of long-distance transport, using Cobras instead of an armor battalion makes even more sense." He pursed his lips. "And as the colony gets stronger, it should help keep the Trofts peaceful-they must surely know better than to start a two-front war. The Army might be interested in that aspect."

  Jame leaned forward. "Then
you agree with us? You'll suggest this to Committ‚

  H'orme?"

  Slowly, D'arl nodded. "I will. It makes sense and is potentially profitable for the Dominion-a good combination. I'm sure the... trouble... with the Minthisti can be handled without the Cobras." Abruptly, he stood up. "I expect both of you to keep silent about this," he cautioned. "Premature publicity would be harmful.

  I can't make any promises; but whatever decision the Committee makes will be quick."

  He was right. Less than two weeks later the announcement was made.

  The big military shuttle was surrounded by a surprisingly large crowd, considering that only twenty-odd people would be accompanying Jonny from Horizon to the new colonist training center on Asgard. At least ten times that many people were at the Port, what with family, friends, and general well-wishers seeing the emigrants off. Even so, the five Moreaus and Stillman had little trouble working their way through the mass. For some it seemed to be fear that moved them out of the way of the red and black diamond-patterned Cobra dress uniform; but for others-the important ones-it was genuine respect. Pioneers,

  Jonny reflected, probably had a different attitude toward powerful men than the general populace. Not surprising; it was on just those men that their lives would soon be depending.

  "Well, Jonny, good luck," Stillman said as they stopped near the inner edge of the crowd. "I hope things work well for you."

  "Thanks, Mr. Stillman," Jonny replied, gripping the mayor's outstretched hand firmly. "And thanks for-well, for your support."

  "You'll tape us before you leave Asgard, won't you?" Irena asked, her eyes moist.

  "Sure, Momer." Jonny hugged her. "Maybe in a couple of years you'll all be able to come out and visit me."

  "Yeah!" Gwen agreed enthusiastically.

  "Perhaps," Pearce said. "Take care, son."

  "Watch yourself, Jonny," Jame seconded.

  And with another round of hugs it was time to go. Picking up his satchel, Jonny stepped aboard the shuttle, pausing once on the steps to wave before entering.

  The shuttle was empty, but even as he chose a seat the other colonists began coming in. Almost, Jonny thought, as if his boarding had been the signal they'd been waiting for.

  The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. On Adirondack, too, the

  Cobras had always taken the lead... but they'd never really been accepted by the general populace. Would things be different on this new world the survey expeditions had found for them, or would the pattern of Adirondack and Horizon simply be repeated wherever he went?

  But in a way, it almost didn't matter anymore. He was tired of being a social pariah, and at least on an untamed planet that kind of failure was unlikely. Out there, the alternative to success was death... and death was something Jonny had long ago learned how to face.

  Still smiling, he leaned back in his seat and waited calmly for takeoff.

  Interlude

  The haiku garden in H'orme's dome apartment was a minor miracle of horticultural design, a true example of the melding of nature with technology. Somehow, D'arl had never before noticed the harmony of the place-the ease, for example, with which the holographic walls and ceiling complemented the pattern of the walkways to give the illusion of a much larger garden than was actually here. The gently shifting winds, the whispered hints of distant waterfalls and birds, the genuine sunshine brought in via mirrors from outside-D'arl was impressed by the richness of it all. Had H'orme, he wondered, always kept these sensory distractions at a minimum whenever the two men had walked here together in the past? Probably. But today there were no reports for H'orme to concentrate on. Only small talk... and good-byes.

  "You'll need particularly to watch out for Committ‚ Pendrikan," H'orme commented as he stooped briefly to examine a particularly well-textured saqqara shrub.

  "He's never liked me and will probably transfer that animosity to you.

  Illogical, really, but you know the multi-generational grudges they like to hold on Zimbwe."

  D'arl nodded; he was well aware of Pendrikan's attitude. "I've watched you handle him often enough, sir. I think I know the levers to use on him."

  "Good. But don't go out of your way to pick any fights for a while. The

  Committee's a surprisingly conservative body, and it'll be a bit before they feel at ease with you sitting at the table instead of behind it."

  "And vice versa," D'arl murmured.

  H'orme smiled, the expression becoming wistful as he looked around the garden.

  "I have no fears for you, D'arl. You have a natural talent for the job of

  Committ‚, the ability to see what needs to be done and how to do it. This whole resolution of the immediate Cobra problem showed that: your campaign was masterfully executed, from original concept to final Committee approval."

  "Thank you, sir. Though as I've said before the basic idea came from elsewhere."

  H'orme waved aside the distinction. "You're not supposed to reinvent the fusion plant every time you need something. It's your staff's job to come up with ideas; it's your job to evaluate them. Don't ever fall into the trap of trying to do it all yourself."

  D'arl suppressed a smile. "Yes, sir."

  H'orme gave him a sideways glance. "And before you savor the irony of that too much, remember now much work I've dumped on you alone. Pick your aides well,

  D'arl-in all too many cases, they're what make or break a Committ‚."

  D'arl nodded silently and the two men continued their walk. Looking around,

  D'arl found his mind drifting back and forth across his thirteen years as

  H'orme's aide. It didn't seem nearly long enough to prepare him for the task ahead.

  "So... what's the latest word from Aventine?"

  Startled, D'arl tried to put his brain back online. Aventine...? Oh, right-the new colony world. "The first wave of colonists seems to be settling in well enough. No major problems or overly dangerous fauna."

  "At least as of three months ago," H'orme nodded.

  "True," The communications time lag, D'arl had already realized, was going to be a problem in governing the new colony. Choosing a competent and reliable governor-general was going to be a major Committee task soon.

  "And how do the Trofts seem to be taking it?" H'orme asked.

  "No trouble at all, so far. Not even any boarding of ships going down the

  Corridor to check for military hardware."

  "Um. Not what I expected. Still, all the ships up to now have been carrying

  Cobras as well as colonists. They may not have wanted to tangle with them again.

  But that can't last." H'orme walked for a moment in silence. "Somewhere along the line the Trofts are bound to realize Aventine is a potential threat to them.

  When that happens... the colony has to be strong enough to defend itself."

  "Or spread out enough that it can't be taken in a single blow," D'arl suggested.

  H'orme sighed. "A less acceptable position, but probably a more realistic one.

  Certainly in the short run."

  They'd come full circle around the garden now, and H'orme paused at the office door for one last look. "If you'll sit still for one final word of advice,

  D'arl," he said slowly, "I'd recommend you find someone for your staff who really understands the Cobras. Not their weaponry, specifically, but the Cobras themselves."

  D'arl smiled. "I believe I can do even better than that, sir. I've already been in touch with the young man who suggested the Aventine colony in the first place. His brother, as it happens, is one of the Cobras out there."

  H'orme returned the smile. "I see I've trained you better even than I thought.

  I'm proud to have you as my successor... Committ‚ D'arl."

  "Thank you, sir," the younger man managed to say. "May you always be so proud of me."

  Together they left the garden, to which H'orme would never return.

  Loyalist: 2414

  The boundary
between field and forest was as sharp as a laser beam, the giant blue-green cyprenes running right up to the half-meter of orange vegebarrier insulating the tender wheat shoots from native plant encroachment. In his more philosophical moments, Jonny saw a multi-leveled yin/yang in the arrangement: tall versus short, old versus young, native versus man-made. At the moment, though, his mood was anything but philosophical.

  Looking up from the note, he found the youth who had delivered it standing in a rigid imitation of military attention. "And what exactly is this supposed to mean?" he asked, waving the note paper gently.