Timothy Zahn - Cobra 01 - Cobra

by Cobra(lit)

  Jonny would now be spending the next three months heading straight for Wrey's political domain, while Wrey himself had those same months to plan whatever revenge he chose.

  So much for victory.

  Grimacing, Jonny punched again for Almo Pyre. His order halting the ship's servicing would have to be rescinded.

  There was a great deal of work involved in turning over his duties on such short notice, and in the end Jonny wound up with far less time than he'd wanted to tell his family good-bye. It added one more shade of pain to the already Pyrrhic victory, especially as he had no intention of letting Wrey know how he felt.

  The worst part, of course, was that there was very little aboard ship to occupy his thoughts. On the original trip to Aventine a quarter century earlier, there'd been fellow colonists to meet as well as magcards of information compiled by the survey teams to be studied. Here, even with the fourteen business passengers Wrey was bringing home, the ship carried only thirty-six people, none of whom Jonny was especially interested in getting to know. And if the ship carried any useful information on the impending war, no one was saying anything about it.

  So for the first couple of weeks Jonny did little except sit alone in his cabin, reread the colonies' data he'd brought to show the Central Committee, and brood... until one morning he awoke with an unexpected, almost preternatural alertness. It took him several minutes to figure out on a conscious level what his subconscious had already realized: during ship's night they had passed from no-man's space into the Troft Corridor. The old pattern of being in hostile territory evoked long-buried Cobra training; and as the politician yielded to the warrior, Jonny unexpectedly found his helpless feelings giving way to new determination. For the time being, at least, the political situation had become a potentially military one... and military situations were almost never completely hopeless.

  He began in the accepted military way: learning the territory. For hours at a time he toured the Menssana, getting to know everything about it and compiling long mental lists of strengths, weaknesses, quirks, and possibilities. He learned the names and faces of each of the fourteen crewers and six Marines, evaluating as best he could how they would react in a crisis. Doing the same with the passengers actually proved a bit easier: with the same excess of free time he himself had, they were eager to spend time with him, playing games or just talking. More than once Jonny wished he'd brought Cally Halloran along, but even without the other's knack at informal psych analysis, he was soon able to divide the passengers into the old "float/freeze" categories: those who could probably deal with and adapt to a crisis, and those who couldn't. Heading the former were two executive field reps Jonny soon learned to consider friends as well as potential allies: Dru Quoraheim, a pharmaceutical company executive whose face and dry humor reminded him vaguely of Ilona Linder; and Rando Harmon, whose interests lay in rare metals and, occasionally, Dru Quoraheim. For a while

  Jonny wondered if Dru had latched onto him to use as a partial shield against

  Harmon's advances, but as it became clear that those advances were entirely non-serious he realized the whole thing was an elaborate game designed to give the participants something to concentrate on besides the mental picture of silent Troft warships.

  And when his survey was complete... it was back to waiting. He played chess with

  Dru and Harmon, kept abreast of the ship's progress, and-alone, late at night-tried to come up with some way to keep the war from happening, or at least to keep it from happening to Aventine. And wondered if and when the Trofts would move against the Menssana.

  Twenty-five light-years from Dominion space, they finally did.

  It was evening, ship's time, and most of the passengers were in the lounge, grouped in twos and threes for conversation, social drinking, or the occasional game. At a table near the back Jonny, Dru, and Harmon had managed a synthesis of all three in the form of a light Aventine sherry and a particularly nasty round of trisec chess.

  A game Jonny's red pieces were steadily losing. "You realize, of course," he commented to his opponents, "that such friendly cooperation between you two is prima facie evidence of collusion between your two companies. If I lose this game, I'm swearing out a complaint when we get to Asgard."

  "Never stand up in court," Harmon rumbled distractedly. His attention had good reason to be elsewhere; Dru was slowly but inexorably building up pressure on his king side and too many of his own pieces were out of position to help.

  "Dru's the one who's apparently moonlighting from the Joint Command's tactical staff."

  "I wish I was," Dru shook her head. "At least I'd have something to do during the war. Market developers don't get much work when the market shrinks."

  For a few minutes the only sound was the click of chess pieces as Dru launched her attack, Harmon defended, and Jonny took advantage of the breather to reposition his own men. Harmon was a move behind in the exchange and wound up losing most of his cozy castle arrangement. "Tell me again about this collusion," he said when the flurry of moves was over.

  "Well, I could be mistaken," Jonny admitted.

  Harmon grunted and took a sip of his drink. "Going to be the last Aventine sherry anyone back home gets for a long time," he commented. "A real pity."

  "War usually is." Jonny hesitated. "Tell me, what does the Dominion's business community think of the upcoming hostilities?"

  Dru snorted. "I presume you're not talking about the shipyards and armaments manufacturers?"

  "No, I mean companies like yours that've been working with Aventine. Maybe even the Trofts, too, for all I know. Like you said, Dru, you're losing a growing market out here."

  She glanced at Harmon. "With Aventine, yes, though I'll point out for the record that neither of our companies deals with the Trofts-Dome is very stingy with licenses for that kind of trade. You're right, though, that the Outer Colonies are going to be missed."

  "Anyone who deals with you feels pretty much the same way," Harmon added. "But there's nothing obvious we can do about it."

  "About all we can do is hope our first attack is so brilliant and decisive that it ends the war before too much damage is done." Dru moved a pawn, simultaneously opening Harmon's king to a new threat and blocking an advance from Jonny's remaining rook.

  Harmon waved at the board. "And if the Star Force has any brains, they'll put

  Dru in charge-what was that?"

  Jonny had felt it too: a dull, almost audible thump, as if someone had dropped an exceptionally heavy wrench in the Menssana's engine room. "We've just dropped out of hyperspace," he said quietly, sliding his chair back and looking around.

  None of the others in the lounge seemed to have noticed the jolt.

  "Out here?" Dru frowned. "Aren't we still two weeks inside Troft territory?"

  "It may not have been voluntary." Jonny stood up. "Stay here; I'm going to the bridge. Don't say anything to the others yet-no sense panicking anyone until we know what's going on."

  He reached the bridge to find Captain Davi Tarvn presiding over a scene of controlled chaos. "What's the situation?" he asked, stepping to the other's command station.

  "Too soon to really tell," Tarvn replied tightly. "Looks like we hit a Troft flicker-mine web, but so far the usual spider ships haven't shown up. Maybe they won't."

  "Wishful thinking."

  "Sure, but that's about all we've got," Tarvn nodded. "If a Troft shows up before the drive's recalibrated, we've had it. You know as well as I do how long our weaponry and plating would hold against attack-you've been studying the ship enough lately."

  Jonny grimaced. "About half a minute if they were determined. What can I do?"

  "You can get the hell off the bridge," a new voice snapped, and Jonny turned to see Wrey crossing the floor toward them. "Status, Captain?"

  "Minimum of an hour before the drive can be fixed," Tarvn told him. "Until then we try to be as inconspicuous as possible-"

  "Hostile at ninety-seven slash sixty," the navigator
interjected suddenly.

  "Closing, Captain."

  "Battle stations," Tarvn gritted. "Well, gentlemen, so much for staying inconspicuous. Mr. Wrey, what do you want me to do?"

  Wrey hesitated. "Any chance of outrunning him?"

  "Second hostile," the navigator said before Tarvn could reply. "Two-ninety slash ten. Also closing."

  "Right on top of us," Tarvn muttered. "I'd say our chances are slim, sir, at least as long as we're stuck in normal."

  "Then we have to surrender," Jonny said.

  Wrey turned a murderous glare onto him. "I told you to get lost," he snarled.

  "You have no business here-this is a military situation."

  "Which is exactly why you need me. I've fought the Trofts; you almost certainly never have."

  "So you're an overage reservist," Wrey grunted. "That still doesn't-"

  "No," Jonny said, lowering his voice so that only Wrey and Tarvn could hear.

  "I'm a Cobra."

  Wrey's voice died in mid-word, his eyes flicking over Jonny's form. Tarvn muttered something under his breath that Jonny didn't bother notching up his enhancers to catch. But the captain recovered fast. "Any of the passengers know?" he murmured.

  Jonny shook his head. "Just you two-and I want it kept that way."

  "You should have told me earlier-" Wrey began.

  "Be quiet, sir," Tarvn said unexpectedly, his eyes still on Jonny. "Will the

  Trofts be able to detect your equipment, Governor?"

  "Depends on how tight a filter they put all of us through," Jonny shrugged. "A full bioscan will show it, but a cursory weapon detector check shouldn't."

  Behind Jonny the helmsman cleared his throat. "Captain?" he said, his voice rigidly controlled. "The Trofts are calling on us to surrender."

  Tarvn glanced at his screens, turned back to Wrey. "We really don't have any choice, sir."

  "Tell them we're an official Dominion courier and that this is a violation of treaty," Wrey said tightly, his own eyes on the displays. "Threaten, argue-do your damnedest to talk our way out. Then-" He exhaled between clenched teeth.

  "If it doesn't work, go ahead and surrender."

  "And try to get terms that'll leave all of us aboard the Menssana," Jonny added.

  "We may need to get out in a hurry if we get an opening."

  "We damn well better get that opening," Wrey murmured softly. "All of this is your idea, remember."

  Jonny almost laughed. Middle-level bureaucrat, indeed-the operation had barely begun and already Wrey was scrambling to place any possible blame elsewhere.

  Predictable and annoying; but occasionally it could be used. "In that case, I presume I'm authorized to handle the whole operation? Including giving Captain

  Tarvn orders?"

  Wrey hesitated, but only briefly. "Whatever you want. It's your game now."

  "Thank you." Jonny turned back to Tarvn. "Let's see what we can do now about stacking the deck and maybe providing a little diversion at the same time."

  He outlined his plan, got Tarvn's approval, and hurried to the Marine guardroom to set things up. Then it was back to the lounge and a quiet consultation with

  Dru and Harmon. They took the news calmly, and as they all collected and put away the chess pieces, he outlined the minor and-theoretically-safe roles he wanted them to play. Both agreed with a grim eagerness that showed he'd chosen his potential allies well.

  He was back in his cabin fifteen minutes later, hiding the most sensitive of his

  Aventine data on random sections of unrelated magcards, when Tarvn officially announced the Menssana's surrender. Obeying the captain's instructions, he went to the lounge with the others and tried to relax. He succeeded about as well as everyone else.

  A half hour later, the Trofts came aboard.

  The lounge was the largest public room on the ship, but fifteen passengers, thirteen crewers, and four Marines made for cozy quarters even without the seven armed Trofts lined up along the wall. Wrey and Tarvn were absent, presumably having been taken elsewhere; Jonny kept his fingers crossed that anyone who noticed would assume the two missing Marines were with them.

  There had been few communications with the Trofts during the war to which Jonny had been privy, but back then he'd gotten the impression the aliens weren't much for social or even political small talk, and the boarding party's spokesman did nothing to shake that image. "This ship and its resources are now possessions of the Drea'shaa'chki Demesne of the Trof'te Assemblage," the alien's translator repeater stated in flat tones. "The crew and passengers will remain aboard as tokens of human consensus-order violations. The so-named Trof'te Corridor has been reclaimed."

  So they were to be held aboard. That was a stroke of luck Jonny had hoped for but not dared to expect. If Wrey had wangled this concession, perhaps he was good for something, after all-

  His thoughts were cut off abruptly as an armored but weaponless Marine was hauled through the door by two Trofts and put into line with the other prisoners. Mentally, Jonny shrugged; he'd expected the better equipped of his two sleepers to be found fairly quickly. The other Marine, in shirtsleeves and armed only with a knife and garotte, should withstand the search somewhat better. Not that his freedom or capture ultimately made much difference. As long as he drew the Trofts' attention away from the civilians, he was serving his purpose. Though Jonny doubted that he realized that.

  The prisoners were kept in the lounge another hour, leading Jonny to wonder whether they would be staying there until the Trofts were satisfied everyone had been found. But as they were led back to the passenger cabin section without the second Marine making his appearance, he decided the reason for the delay was probably more prosaic: that the aliens had been conducting careful sensor searches of their rooms with an eye toward turning them into cells. The guess turned out to be correct, and a few minutes later Jonny found himself back in his cabin.

  Though not quite alone.

  The three sensor disks the Trofts had attached to selected sections of wall and ceiling were rather conspicuous as such things went, nearly two centimeters across each with faintly translucent surfaces. A quick check showed that the bathroom and even the closet were equipped with disks of their own. What they might pick up besides an optical picture Jonny didn't know, but it hardly mattered. As long as they were in place, he was unable to act; ergo, his first task was to get rid of them.

  It was probably the first time in twenty-seven years that his arcthrower might have done him some good; but then, he hardly could have used it without announcing in large red letters that he was a Cobra. Fortunately, there were other ways to accomplish what he had in mind. Returning to the bathroom, he selected a tube of burn salve from the cabinet first-aid kit. He was in the process of coating the second of the main room's disks with a thick layer of cream when the inevitable Troft charged in.

  "You will cease this activity," the alien said, the monotone translator voice editing out whatever emotion lay behind the words.

  "I'll be damned if I will," Jonny snarled back, putting all the righteous indignation he could into both voice and body language on the off-chance this was one of those Trofts who could read such nuances. "You attack us, pirate our ship, paw through our cabins-just look at the mess you left my magcards in-and now you have the damned nerve to spy on us. Well, I'm not going to stand for it-you hear me?"

  The alien's upper-arm membranes rippled uncertainly. "Not all of you seem bothered by our security needs."

  Not all of you... which implied Dru and Harmon had followed his instructions to kick up similar fusses. Three wasn't a very big crowd to hide in, but it was better than being blatantly unique. "Not all of us grew up with private bathrooms, either," he retorted, "but those who did can't do without them. I want my privacy and I'm going to get it."

  "The sensors will remain," the Troft insisted.

  "Then you're going to have to chain me up," Jonny snarled, crossing his arms defiantly.

  The alien paused, and J
onny's enhanced hearing caught a stream of high-speed

  Troft catertalk. It was another minute before the translator came back on-line.

  "You spoke of privacy in the bathroom. If the sensor is removed from in there, will that satisfy your needs?"

  Jonny pursed his lips. It would, actually, but he didn't want to accept the compromise too eagerly. "Well... I could try that, I suppose."

  The Troft stepped past him and disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with the sensor disk in one hand and some tissues from the dispenser in the other. He offered the latter to Jonny. It took the Cobra a second to understand; then, taking them, he proceeded to wipe clean the two disks he'd disabled. When he was finished, the Troft strode to the door and left.