The Cobra Trilogy

by Timothy Zahn

  "'Night."

  Pyre left, and Justin flexed his arms experimentally. Thirteen hours in the couch had indeed left the muscles stiff, but he hardly noticed the twinges as his thoughts latched onto Pyre's last comment. Without a good reason . . . but what would constitute such a reason in the Qasamans' minds? An aggressive act or comment on Cerenkov's part? Discovery that the ostensibly voice-only radio link to the ship also had a split-freq channel that was carrying the visual images they'd obviously tried to suppress? Violent use of York's illegal gun?

  Or perhaps even the outside reconnaissance Pyre had clearly already decided on?

  Eyes on the darkened display, Justin settled into his exercises, pushing his body harder than he'd originally intended to.

  Chapter 9

  With less need for immediate debarkation—and more comfort and room aboard ship in which to wait—the Menssana's passengers didn't bother with filter helmets, but simply stayed inside until the atmospheric analyzers confirmed the air of Planet Chata was indeed safe for human use.

  Long tradition gave Jonny, as senior official aboard, the honor of being the first human being to step out on the new world's surface; but Jonny had long since learned to put discretion before pomp, and the honor was claimed by one of the six Cobras who went out to set up a sensor/defense perimeter about the ship. Once again the passengers waited; but when an hour of Cobra work failed to entice any predators out of the nearby woods—or to flush out anything obviously dangerous within the perimeter itself—Team Leader Rey Banyon declared the Menssana's immediate area to be safe enough for the civilians.

  Jonny and Chrys were near the end of the general exodus of scientists through the Menssana's main hatch. For Jonny it was a step into his own distant past. Chata looked nothing at all like Aventine, really; certainly not after even a cursory examination of plant life and landscape. Yet the simple fact of Chata's strangeness relative to Aventine's by-now familiarity gave the two experiences an identity. A new world, untouched by man—

  "Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Chrys murmured at his side.

  Jonny took a deep breath, savoring the almost spicy aromas wafting in along the light breeze. "Like Aventine when I first arrived," he said, shaking his head slowly. "A kid of twenty-five, just about overwhelmed by the sheer scope of what we were trying to do there. I'd forgotten how it all felt . . . forgotten what all of us have really accomplished in the past forty years."

  "It'll be harder to do it again," Chrys said. Dropping to one knee, she gently fingered the mat of interlaced vine-like plants that seemed to be the local version of grass. "Chata may only be thirty light-years from Aventine, but we don't have anything like the Dominion's transport capability. It hardly makes sense to spend our resources in this direction with so much of Aventine and Palatine still uninhabited. Especially—" She broke off abruptly.

  "Especially when this whole group is only ten to fifteen light-years from Qasama?" Jonny finished for her.

  She got to her feet with a sigh, brushing bits of greenery off her fingers as she did so. "I've heard all the arguments about buffer zones and two-front wars," she said, "but I don't have to like it. And I keep coming back to the fact that the only reason we consider Qasama a threat is because the Trofts say we should."

  The beep of his phone preempted Jonny's reply. "Moreau," he said, lifting the device to his lips.

  "Banyon, Governor," the Cobra team leader's voice came. "Got something off our satellite I think you should look at."

  Chrys's presence beside him was a silent reminder of his promise to play passenger on this trip. "Can't you and Captain Shepherd handle it?" he said.

  "Well . . . I suppose so, yes. I just thought that your advice would be helpful on this."

  "Unless you're talking emergency—" Jonny broke off as a fluttering hand waved between him and the phone.

  "What are you doing?" Chrys stage-whispered fiercely. "Let's go see what they've got."

  If I live to be a thousand, the old line flashed through Jonny's head. "Never mind," he told Banyon. "I'll be right there."

  They found Banyon and Shepherd on the Menssana's bridge, their attention on a set of three displays. "It wasn't something that registered right off the blocks," Banyon began without preamble, indicating a dark mass now centered in the largest display. "Then we found out it was moving."

  Jonny leaned close to the screen. The mass seemed to consist of hundreds or thousands of individual dots. "Enhancement all the way up on this?"

  Shepherd nodded. "There's a lot of upper atmosphere turbulence over us at the moment, and that's limiting drastically what the computer has to work with."

  "I'd say it's a herd or flock of some sort," Jonny said. "I gather it's headed this way?"

  "Hard to tell—they're still a hundred kilometers away—but it looks right now like the flank will sweep across us," Shepherd said. He touched a switch and the infrared picture on one of the other screens was replaced by a schematic. The various extrapolation regions were done in different colors; and, sure enough, the edge of the red "90% probable" wedge just touched the Menssana's indicated position. The mass's average distance and speed were also given: 106 km, 8.1 km/hr.

  "So we've got thirteen hours till they get here," Jonny murmured. "Well . . . we can break camp in one if necessary, but the scientists won't like all their in situ stuff being moved. I suppose the logical thing would be to send a squad of Cobras to check out this herd and see if they can be stopped or deflected."

  "Yes, sir, that's what we thought." Banyon hesitated, and Jonny saw on his face the same expression that, on his sons, had usually signaled a favor request was coming. "Uh, Governor . . . would you be willing to fly out with the team? We'd all feel better with someone of your experience along."

  Jonny looked back at Chrys, raised his eyebrows. She was still studying the displays, though, and when she finally met his gaze she seemed surprised he was even asking. "Of course," she said. "Just be careful."

  If I live to be ten thousand. . . . Turning back to Banyon, he nodded. "All right, then. Let's get cracking."

  * * *

  It was indeed a herd—a big herd—and to Jonny, who'd seen such things only on tape, the sight of so many wild animals together at once was both awesome and a little bit frightening. Even just jogging along, the mass of brown-furred quadrupeds made a thunder audible inside a sealed aircar two hundred meters overhead, and their wide hooves raised a dust cloud despite the damping effect of the webgrass underfoot.

  "I think," Banyon commented as they all took in the sight, "we're going to have to rethink our basic plan."

  One of the other Cobras snorted, and someone else let loose with a rather strained chuckle. Jonny let the tension-easing noises ripple around the crowded aircar and then gestured out the window. "Let's get a few kilometers ahead of them and see if we can come up with a way to shift them off their course."

  Banyon nodded and turned the vehicle around, but as the roar faded behind them Jonny studied the landscape below with decreasing hope. The Cobras had already established that there weren't any natural obstacles between the herd and the Menssana, and now that he knew what they were up against it seemed very unlikely they could do anything to the terrain that would make any difference whatsoever. Something more drastic was likely to be necessary. Drastic and dangerous.

  Banyon had apparently reached the same conclusion. "We're going to have to scare them, I'm afraid," he murmured, just loudly enough for Jonny to hear.

  "There used to be herds this size all over parts of Earth and Blue Haven," Jonny said. "I wish I knew how they'd been hunted. Well. We don't have anything like real explosives aboard, and we don't yet know what this species' predators even look like. I suppose that leaves close-in work with lasers and sonics."

  "Laser range isn't that short—oh. Right. If they don't see us, there's no guarantee they'll figure out which way to run."

  "Or even notice they're being killed off." Jonny thought for a minute, but nothing else o
bvious came to mind. "Well . . . let's try buzzing them with the car first. Maybe that'll do the trick."

  But the animals apparently had no enemies that were airborne. Completely oblivious to the darting craft above them, they continued stolidly on their way. "We do it the hard way now?" one of the others asked.

  Banyon nodded. "Afraid so. But hopefully not too hard. Saving the biologists some work isn't worth anyone getting killed over."

  "Or even hurt," Jonny put in. "We'll just—"

  A ping from the car's phone interrupted him. "Governor, we've got something here that may or may not mean anything," Captain Shepherd said, his attention somewhere off-camera. "The satellite's been completing its large-scale geosurvey . . . and it looks very much like that herd is running along one of the planet's magnetic field lines."

  Banyon looked at Jonny, eyebrows raised. "I thought the only things that used geomagnetic navigation were birds, insects, and tweenies."

  "So did all the Menssana's biologists," Shepherd returned dryly. "But they admit there's no reason something larger couldn't make use of the mechanism."

  "If we assume they're indeed paralleling the field lines, is the camp still in danger?" Jonny asked.

  "Yes. The probability actually goes up a couple of points."

  Jonny looked questioningly at Banyon. "Worth a try," the other grunted. "Captain, is there anything aboard the ship that can generate a strong magnetic field?"

  "Sure—the drive modulators. All we'll need to do is pull off some of the shielding and we'll get enough field leakage to overwhelm their direction finders. If that's what's really happening."

  "It's worth trying," Banyon repeated. "How fast can you get that shielding off?"

  "It's already being done. Say another hour at the most."

  * * *

  The gently rolling terrain could not by any stretch of the imagination be called hilly; but even so the flatfoot herd was audible long before it could be seen. Standing a few meters back from the main line of Cobras, Jonny wiped the perspiration off his palms as the thunder steadily grew, hoping this was going to work. In theory, the Cobra's antiarmor lasers should be able to make fungus feed out of the herd if something went wrong . . . but Jonny couldn't help remembering how hard the equally herbivorous gantuas of Aventine were to kill.

  "Get ready," his phone said. He glanced up to see the car as it hovered above and ahead of the Cobras. "You'll see them any minute now. Wait for the captain's signal. . . ."

  And the leading edge of the herd came over a low rise, like a dark tsunami clearing a breakwater.

  They weren't heading directly toward the Cobras, and in actual size were quite a bit smaller than gantuas, but the sheer numbers and ground-level view more than made up for it. Jonny clenched his jaw firmly, fighting hard against the urge to turn and run for cover . . . and as the wave poured over the rise a new voice on the phone barked, "Now!"

  The answer was a volley of Cobra antiarmor lasers—directed not at the flatfoots, but at the clusters of boulders the Cobras had wrestled into position fifty meters closer to the herd. Very special boulders . . . and if the Menssana's geologists had been right about that particular formation—

  They had. The mix of high- and low-expansion minerals in each boulder could survive for only a second or less under a laser's glare before disintegrating with a crack that was audible even over the herd's rumble. Like a string of firecrackers the boulders blew up as the Cobras continued their sweep . . . and like firecrackers, they actually produced little more than noise. But it was enough; and as the herd's headlong rush faltered in sudden confusion, Jonny could almost see them lose their internal sense of direction. An instant later the hesitation was gone and the herd had doubled its speed to a flat-out run . . . but in the slightly altered direction the Menssana's additional magnetic field was defining for them from the ship's new position some ten kilometers away. The flank of the herd would now miss the line of Cobras; and when the Menssana lifted in an hour or so and the flatfoots resumed their original direction their path would be shifted at least a kilometer out of the way of the human encampment.

  Theoretically. But there would be time to make sure.

  The aircar was dropping toward the ground and the Cobras were beginning to converge on it. "Good job," Banyon's voice came from Jonny's phone. "Let's head back."

  * * *

  The last few clouds had cleared shortly before sunset, and the night sky was alive with stars. Walking hand in hand just inside the perimeter, Jonny and Chrys took turns naming the recognizable constellations and trying to match the more distorted ones with their Aventinian counterparts. Eventually, they ran out, and for a time they just walked in silence, enjoying the night air. Jonny, his audio enhancers activated, heard the faint roar before Chrys did; and by the time she took notice the steady volume level showed their plan had succeeded.

  "The flatfoot herd?" she asked, peering off into the darkness.

  "Right," he nodded. "And they're not getting any closer. At least a kilometer away—maybe two."

  She shook her head. "Strange. I remember some biology class in school where the instructor took it upon himself to 'prove' that no land animal larger than a condorine could ever evolve with a magnetic sense unless there was some ridiculously high local field present. I wish he was here to see this."

  Jonny chuckled. "I remember reading about the old theory that all the native plants and animals on the various Dominion worlds were mutated descendants of spores or bacteria that had ultimately been blown there by solar winds from Earth. The argument was still going strong when the Trofts and Minthisti were found, I understand, and I have no idea what its proponents made of Aventine. If there are still any of them around. I guess the possibility of making a public fool of yourself is just one of those risks scientists have to face."

  "You know, that universal genetic code thing has always bothered me, too," Chrys mused. "Why should all the life we find show the same DNA and protein forms? It doesn't seem reasonable."

  "Even if that turns out to be the only workable structure?"

  "I've never liked that theory. It seems arrogant, somehow."

  Jonny shrugged. "I don't especially care for it either. I've heard the Troft theory is that some major disaster three or four billion years ago nearly sterilized this whole region of space, taking with it an early starfaring people. The algae and bacteria that survived on each world were therefore all from one common stock, though they've since evolved independently."

  "That must've been one gantua of a disaster."

  "I think it was supposed to be either a chain of supernovas or the final collapse of the galaxy's central black hole."

  "Uh-huh. Almost simpler to believe God set it up this way deliberately."

  "Certainly makes a colonist's life easier to be able to digest the local flora and fauna," Jonny agreed.

  "Though the vice versa is occasionally a problem."

  Jonny tensed; but Chrys's tone hadn't been one of accusation. "I appreciate your letting me go with the others today," he said, as long as they were now on the topic. "I know I promised to stay out of things on this trip—"

  "You could hardly hold out when you were needed," she put in. "And it wasn't like you were in serious danger out there. Were you?"

  "No, not with the aircar and Menssana as backup. Still, I'll try to behave myself the rest of the trip."

  She chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. "It's all right, Jonny. Really. I wouldn't want you to just sit on your hands when you're needed. Just be careful."

  "Always," he assured her, wondering at her abrupt attitude change. This was the old Chrys back again, the one who'd been so supportive of his service when they were first married. What had happened to change her? Was she simply reacting to the new environment, slipping into old thought patterns with the reminder of their past struggles on Aventine?

  He didn't know. But he liked the change . . . and he had the rest of the trip to figure out how to keep her this way when they re
turned home.

  Chapter 10

  The clearance to remove their filter helmets had come from the Dewdrop just before the evening's medical exam, and in the hours between then and bedtime Joshua thought his nose had become thoroughly accustomed to the exotic scents of Qasama's air. But the group hadn't taken more than three steps outside their guest house in the morning before Joshua realized that belief had been a little premature.

  The new odor seemed to be a mixture of baking aromas with some not-quite-aromatic smoke with something he couldn't begin to identify.

  He apparently wasn't the only one. "What is that I smell?" Cerenkov asked Moff, sniffing the breeze.

  Moff inhaled thoughtfully. "I smell the bakery one street down, the boron refinery, and the exhaust of vehicles. Nothing more."

  "A boron refinery?" Rynstadt spoke up. "In the middle of the city?"

  "Yes. Why not?" Moff asked.

  "Well . . ." Rynstadt floundered a bit. "I would assume it would be safer to put industries like that away from populated centers. In case of an accident or something."

  Moff shook his head. "We have no accidents of any consequence. And the equipment itself is safest right where it is."

  "Interesting," Cerenkov murmured. "Could we see this refinery?"

  Moff hesitated a second, then nodded. "I suppose that would be permissible. This way."

  Bypassing the car waiting for them at the curb, he set off, the four Aventinians and five other Qasamans following. The refinery turned out to be less than a block away, located in an unremarkable building midway between two of Sollas's extra-wide avenues.

  Joshua had never seen this kind of light industrial plant before, and the masses of tanks, pipes, and bustling Qasamans gave him more of a feeling of confusion than of productivity. But Rynstadt—and to a lesser extent York—seemed fascinated by the place. "Very nice setup," Rynstadt commented, gazing around the main room. "I've never heard of a boron extraction method using cold bubbled gas. What gas is that, if I may ask?"