Cobra Traitor, page 28
part #3 of Cobra Rebellion Series
Fortunately, he had the whole night to do it.
* * *
And finally, the data stream included the report that Barrington had been awaiting for days.
The Dorian was back to full battle capability.
He scowled as he skimmed the report. Or at least it was back to the fullest capability possible while missing its chief engineer and ten other officers and men.
There was a movement beside him, and he disengaged from the data stream to see Commander Garrett walking across CoNCH toward him. “Captain,” Garrett greeted him.
“Commander,” Barrington said, checking the time. Garrett wasn’t due on watch for another hour. “I see you have the ship fully up to speed a full day ahead of schedule. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Garrett said. “I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”
“Of course,” Barrington said, feeling his eyes narrow. Once again, there was something way too casual about his first officer’s manner and tone.
“It concerns the missile tracking system,” Garrett continued, nodding across CoNCH toward the weapons monitor station. “It would be easier to show you.”
“Of course,” Barrington said, rising from his chair. The cluster of weapons, engineering, life-support, and damage-control monitor stations was typically unoccupied when the ship was at low-alert status. A good place for a private conversation. “Lead the way.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later they were at the weapons monitor. Garrett sat down and punched in a code, and a diagnostic tree began writing itself across the main display. “I thought I should warn you, sir,” Garrett said quietly. “Commander Castenello has been sounding out the officers about seating another Enquiry Board.”
“Has he, now,” Barrington said, a knot forming in his stomach. Castenello’s move was hardly unexpected, but he’d assumed the tactical officer would launch his latest attack within a day or two after leaving Qasama, when it would still be convenient to turn around and go back. Now, with the Dorian nearly at the halfway point, seemed the worst possible time to try a political coup. “And what reception is he getting?”
“I don’t know for sure, sir,” Garrett said. “But without Commander Kusari, I’m afraid the majority may side with him.”
“If the majority think I’m unfit for command, then that’s the way the vote should go,” Barrington said.
But the stomach knot tightened another turn. Was he really about to lose command of his ship?
“Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” Garrett said. “Whether they truly think you’re unfit, or whether they’re playing their own political games.”
“And how would you suggest we disentangle those motivations?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Garrett conceded. “Frankly, I’ve never known how all that worked.”
“That’s because you made it to the top without a patron,” Barrington said. “I admire you for that, Commander. And I’m not the only one who does.”
“Thank you, sir.” Garrett smiled wryly. “But there’s no need for excessive praise. I’m already on your side.”
“It was genuine, Commander,” Barrington assured him. “And hardly excessive. The big question now is whether you’re ready to take command.”
A muscle in Garrett’s cheek twitched. “So that’s it?” he demanded softly. “You’re just going to give up?”
“Oh, I’ll fight as best I can,” Barrington said. “But you said it yourself. Without Kusari, I’m balanced on a knife’s edge. I’m just surprised it took Castenello this long to take action. Now it’s going to cost him that much extra time to get back to Qasama.”
“Except that he’s not planning to take us back to Qasama,” Garrett said. “Not until we’ve checked out Broom’s system.”
“He wants to keep going?”
“Yes, sir,” Garrett said. “He’s pitching it as a broad reading of Commodore Santores’s mission statement, just as you did, with a hinted undertone that following your lead would give a formal Board on Asgard one less charge to hit you with. I think that’s his way of soothing any wavering consciences.”
“But it still leaves you in command,” Barrington pointed out. “Given that you’re likely to follow my plan completely—” He broke off. “Or will he be leaving you in command?”
“Well, that’s the other question,” Garrett said. “Kusari isn’t here, which leaves Filho next in line. We both know that he’s very much in Castenello’s camp on most things. If he were in command I don’t doubt Castenello would effectively be running the ship.”
“But again, that assumes he’s got a card that can take you out.” Barrington raised his eyebrows. “Does he?”
Garrett gave a little shrug. “Everybody has things in their past,” he said. “But I doubt there’s anything sufficiently damning in mine.”
“Which isn’t say he couldn’t twist a minor key into a major one,” Barrington said. “Nothing we can do until he shows his hand, I suppose.” He nodded toward the display. “Is there really a problem with the missile tracking system?”
“Of course, sir,” Garrett said. “I assumed someone would check.” He touched a handful of keys, and one of the boxes on the display tree flickered amber and then went green. “There. It’s fixed.”
And if Castenello checked, there would be a reasonable data trail for him to follow. He might suspect a clandestine meeting, but he wouldn’t be able to prove it. “Excellent.”
“Thank you, sir,” Garrett said. “With your permission, there are some other matters I need to attend to. I’ll return in an hour to stand my watch.”
“Very good,” Barrington said. “Carry on.”
He returned to the command station, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Garrett left CoNCH. But I doubt there’s anything sufficiently damning in mine, Garrett had said. He’d said it calmly, too, as a man would speak truth.
Or a very well-rehearsed lie.
Barrington didn’t know which it was. But he would find out.
Probably very soon.
* * *
Merrick had budgeted himself the entire night to make his way through the forest to Alexis’s house. It was just as well that he had.
The river running south of Svipall was the first obstacle. The initial crossing, far out in the forest, was trickier than he’d expected, ultimately requiring him to drag a couple of half-rotten trees to the bank and build a jump-off spot for himself. But at least he didn’t have any roving Trofts to deal with. The next place where the river was narrow enough for him to recross it without that kind of potentially conspicuous activity was too close to the village and would have brought him into range of patrols and aircars. He was forced to travel further south and west than he’d intended to find a decent crossing spot, with the result that he ended up approaching the house from due west instead of from the southeast as he’d planned.
And of course, the whole way he had to deal with Muninn’s nocturnal predators, and to do so without using his lasers.
It was an hour before dawn when he finally reached the ring of bersark that surrounded Alexis’s ranch. The house itself was dark, but his infrareds indicated that there was someone home.
Unfortunately, at this distance he couldn’t tell whether that resident was human or Troft. The only way to be sure would be to get closer.
For a moment he was sorely tempted to find the nearest sizeable bamboo patch and lock himself inside for a few hours’ of sleep. He was exhausted, hungry, and grimy, and it would be safer to put off whatever confrontation he was facing until he’d taken care of at least one of those three.
But time wasn’t his friend here. If the Drims hadn’t already discovered the theft, they would soon. And the minute they did, they would undoubtedly launch a manhunt that would make the one they’d sent after him and Anya after their wing escape look like an afternoon stroll. If he and Kjoic didn’t make themselves scarce before then, they were going to have serious trouble finding and stealing transport.
Unlike the bersark barriers at Svipall and Anya’s own village of Gangari, Alexis’s was intended only to keep out large ground animals. She therefore hadn’t bothered removing the trees where the fafirs and other arboreal creatures lived and traveled. Once again, for the umpteenth time that night, Merrick jumped up into one of the trees and made his way through the network of branches to the other side of the barrier. He dropped back to the ground and moved carefully toward the house.
He was within fifty meters by the time he was able to confirm that the heat signature from inside was human. It was ten meters more before he realized that it wasn’t one signature, but two.
As near as he’d been able to tell the last time he was here, Alexis lived alone. Did she have company?
Or was this someone else? Anya and Hanna, maybe, fresh from their search for weapons on the downed spacecraft?
Only one way to find out. Watching the corners of the house for unexpected surprises, he walked up to the front porch and climbed the steps toward the front door—
“I knew you would come here,” a whisper came from behind him.
Merrick spun around, jumping off the side of the porch and landing on the ground in a crouch, his hands snapping up into firing position.
Anya stood a few meters behind him, her arms at her sides, an expression of utter weariness on her face. Where in the Worlds had she been hiding?
He never had a chance to ask. Without warning the edges of the eaves over the porch exploded in white powder, spraying it across the whole area around the door.
Again, Merrick leaped away. But it was too late. Even as he hit the ground he could feel the bersark starting to take effect, to cloud his vision and confuse his mind. He tried to run—tripped and fell on his side as gravity abruptly seemed to change direction—shoved himself off the ground only to see the forest and Anya herself wavering as if they were underwater—fell onto his other side as his legs collapsed beneath him—
And then, all was blackness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We’ll never have a better shot,” Nissa insisted. “This is our chance to go on the offensive.”
“Or our chance to get ourselves killed,” Emile countered.
“Or at least get Lorne killed,” de Portola added.
“Or anyone else,” Emile said, glaring at de Portola. “Some of my Cobras, for instance.”
“Not arguing,” de Portola said. “It’s just that Lorne is the likely spearhead on anything we do. So, yeah, I’m thinking he’s at the top of the worry list.”
“I’m not trying to get anyone killed,” Nissa insisted. “I’m just pointing out that having Governor Moreau joined to Reivaro at the hip could be a one-time opportunity.”
“Only if Reivaro actually lets someone in to see him,” de Portola warned. “If he doesn’t—and I think he’d have to be an idiot to do that—then any plan either dies on its feet or walks some of our last ghosts into a trap.”
Lorne winced. The ghosts were the Cobras like him, who’d so far avoided getting slapped with the Dominion’s loyalty collars. There had never been very many of them, and their numbers had already shrunk more than anyone liked. No matter how well they hid, or however much makeup they wore out on the streets of Capitalia or Archway, the Marines were slowly but steadily picking them up and forcing collars on them.
And once that happened, that particular Cobra was lost to them. Especially since these were the Dominion’s new collars, the ones with enough explosive packed inside to break through Uncle Corwin’s ceramic inserts.
“So we just don’t let that happen,” Emile said.
“Preaching to the choir, friend,” Werle said. “So we either need a plan that’s a guaranteed success or we scrub the whole idea.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” Nissa said, glaring at him. “You know there are no guarantees in warfare. All I’m asking is that we take this chance while we have it.”
“I’m willing to drop it to eighty percent,” Emile said equably. “It’d be nice if we had that tunic completely scoped out first, though.”
“We’re working on it,” Werle said. “But the IFF system is key, and we still haven’t nailed that down.”
“Plus they’ve probably changed it by now,” de Portola pointed out. “So even if we find the system, we probably won’t be able to duplicate it.”
“Keep working on it,” Nissa said. “Do you need any more help?”
“Thanks, but we’ve already got the best people for the job,” Werle assured her.
“Fine,” she said. “Just remind them that our clock is counting down. There’s no way to know how long before Reivaro gets tired of having Moreau underfoot and sends him back up to the Algonquin.”
“We’re working as fast as we can,” Werle said, a little stiffly.
“And we’ll try to come up with that attack you want,” de Portola added.
“Thank you,” Nissa said. “But it’s not just for me. It’s for all of Aventine.”
“Right,” de Portola said. “We’ll try to remember that.”
Nissa’s eyes narrowed. “So I guess we’re done here,” Lorne spoke up before she could reply. No one in the room liked her, but there was nothing to gain by pushing her into a glaring contest.
“I guess we are,” Emile said. “By the way, Broom, did you get the message that Chintawa wants to see you?”
“No,” Lorne said, frowning. “Is it about Uncle Corwin?”
“How should I know?” Emile countered. “You’re supposed to meet him at—oh, hell, never mind; I’ll walk you over there. Got a couple of questions for him anyway. Assuming you can fit it into your schedule.”
“I’m all yours,” Lorne said, suppressing the impulse to roll his eyes. Between Nissa and Emile, he was being seriously rubbed the wrong way today.
Of course, the two of them probably saw it the other way around. Emile he’d flattened with his stunner while trying to get Governor Treakness away from the Troft invasion; Nissa he’d committed high treason in front of. They probably considered his presence as much of an irritation as he considered theirs.
But they were all in this together. Like it or not, they were allies, and Lorne intended to act like it.
A minute later he and Emile were once again walking their bent-back way down the tunnels. “How far is this place?” Lorne asked.
“Not very,” Emile said. “You trust her?”
“Who?”
“Nissa Gendreves. Do you trust her?”
“I don’t know,” Lorne admitted. “Probably depends on what I’m trusting her to do.”
“You’re a better man than I am, then,” Emile said. “I don’t trust her as far as I could spit her.” He looked half over his shoulder at Lorne. “I especially wouldn’t trust her if I was a Moreau or a Broom.”
“Maybe,” Lorne said. That thought had occurred to him. Many times. “You think she’s angling to take out Uncle Corwin and me together?”
“If she could also gain some kind of victory or advantage for the Cobra Worlds while you went down?” Emile snorted. “In a heartbeat.”
“It would have to be a seriously major victory for her to trade away my potential use in future operations,” Lorne pointed out. “I’m counting on the hope that she loves Aventine more than she hates us.”
Emile grunted. “Or at least that she loves her own future career and glory. Just watch her, that’s all I’m saying. Okay, we’re here. How are your rock-climbing skills?”
“Decent enough, I guess,” Lorne said, frowning. “We going up or down?”
“We start by going down,” Emile said. “We’ll end by going up.”
Lorne rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll manage.”
“Good.” Emile stopped beside an alcove that contained a shaft leading down from the floor. “It’s about twenty meters,” he added as he positioned himself over the shaft with his feet and hands pressed against opposite sides of the ceramic like a four-pointed starfish. “Give me a three-meter head start and then follow. Don’t fall on me.”
The technique was a little tricky, but Lorne picked it up quickly enough. “Cute setup. I’ll bet the Trofts can’t do this.”
“Not without redoing their knee joints,” Emile agreed. “In fact, I’m guessing the only ones who can do this are Cobras. Everyone else has to be lowered on ropes. Okay, we’re coming to the end—wait until I tell you I’m clear, then target-lock the floor and drop. Your servos should land you on your feet.”
Putting a target lock on the floor while he was facing upward wasn’t easy, but Lorne managed to roll over far enough while suspended to get a clear view. The distance was only about four meters, and he wasn’t entirely certain his servos could react in time. Still, Emile had done it, and they both had the same programmed reflexes. He did as instructed, and to his mild surprise landed upright exactly as Emile had promised.
They had arrived in yet another of the low-ceilinged conduits. Unlike the ones a level up, though, this one was laid out almost like an office hallway, with four doors leading off the sides at fifty-meter intervals. “You look at the history books, you’ll see that the whole city building project back then is described as Aventine’s most massive and shameful boondoggle,” Emile said as he led the way down the conduit. “Cost overruns, time overruns—the works.” He tapped the conduit roof. “Now you know why.”
“So why is Chintawa down here?” Lorne asked as they approached the first doorway.
“Chintawa?” Emile walked past the doorway and turned around to face Lorne. “Oh, right. Sorry—I lied.” He nodded his head toward the room. “In here.”
Lorne’s first impulse was to fire his stunner and get the hell out of there. But it would be a useless gesture, and they both knew it. If it was a trap, Emile already had people stationed to intercept him. Silently, he continued forward, his eyes on Emile’s self-satisfied smirk the whole way, and stepped through the doorway.
The room he found himself in was larger than he’d expected, nearly thirty meters long and twenty wide, with a ceiling thankfully high enough to permit him to stand upright with half a meter to spare. Eight long tables filled the room’s center, each with three men and women seated on each side. Lorne couldn’t tell what they were doing, but each person was surrounded by large bowls, measuring bottles, a pair of heavy-looking bread-loaf-sized containers, and a stack of smaller boxes with colorful and familiar snack-bar logos on them. More of the latter boxes were stacked along both of the room’s side walls. A woman standing behind one of the workers on Lorne’s side of the room turned around to face him.
