Cobra Traitor, page 29
part #3 of Cobra Rebellion Series
Lorne stiffened. Of all the people he hadn’t expected to see—
“Hello, Lorne,” Thena Moreau said quietly. “It’s good to see you.”
For a frozen moment Lorne was at a loss for words. Aunt Thena. Uncle Corwin’s wife.
Or rather, his estranged wife. The woman who, with crisis looming with the Dominion, had simply walked out on him.
“Hello, Aunt Thena,” he managed. Allies, like it or not. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Oh?” She glanced over his shoulder. “Emile didn’t tell you where you were going, I take it?”
“No,” Lorne said. “He said he was taking me to Chintawa.”
“Did he, now.” She looked at Emile again, a mildly annoyed look on her face. “Really, Emile.”
“He would have worried the whole way,” Emile said calmly. “Besides, a surprise is good every once in a while. Keeps the heart pumping. You going to keep trying to stare a hole through her, Broom, or are you going to ask what they’re doing in here?”
With an effort, Lorne turned his eyes to the tables. The workers were measuring out a powdery material from their bowls into the larger boxes, adding some liquid from their bottles, then closing and pressure-sealing the boxes. They would then open the second box, pull out a slab of brown material, and put it into one of the snack boxes. More powder and liquid into the now empty box, and the operation would repeat.
“Actually, Emile, I think Lorne and I need to clear the air before we do anything else,” Thena said. “The break room’s over there, Lorne, and I think it’s empty at the moment.”
“That’s okay,” Lorne said, folding his arms across his chest. “Whatever talking you want to do, you can do it right here.”
“All right,” Thena said. “Sounds like I’m starting. Fine. You’re angry at me for walking out on your uncle. You’re especially angry about the restraining order I asked for. You want to know what on earth he might have done to make me take such a drastic and humiliating step.”
“Yeah, that about covers it,” Lorne growled. “Plus the fact that he was already under heavy stress from the whole Dominion invasion thing. He didn’t need this.”
“I know,” Thena murmured.
And to Lorne’s surprise a flicker of pain crossed her face. He keyed his infrareds, wondering if the ache was just an act. But her facial warmth indicated the emotion was real.
Not that it mattered now, really. “Well, if you were trying to stay out of it, you succeeded brilliantly,” he said. “In case you hadn’t heard, he’s a Dominion prisoner.”
“Yes, I’d heard.” She studied his face. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That keeping me out of the Dominion’s line of sight was exactly what we were trying to do.” She gestured at the tables behind her. “So that we could do this.”
Lorne looked back at the tables, a sudden uncertainly washing over his anger and resentment. What the hell…? “And what is this, exactly?”
“This is the collar insert manufacturing facility,” Thena said. “The real one, not those little kiln things Corwin set up around Capitalia. Those were the diversion. This is where we either make or break freedom for the Cobra Worlds.”
Lorne focused on her. On her stiffness, and determination, and pain…“It was his idea, wasn’t it?” he said. “Uncle Corwin’s. Make himself the bait so that they could snatch him up and you could keep working here.”
Her lips compressed. “Actually, it was my idea,” she confessed. “But my plan would have had us both disappearing to different places in the city. He said the Dominion expected us to be naïve primitives—his term—and that they’d be content if they thought they’d ruined our pathetic little operation. He also insisted they needed a prize, and that he was the biggest one we could afford to lose.” She sighed. “Also his term. And he thought they’d be suspicious if I just disappeared. So we concocted this big fuss, I made it, and I moved out.” She waved at the room. “I’ve been here ever since.”
Lorne looked at Emile, fully expecting to see another of his famous smirks. The country bumpkin Cobra, so thoroughly taken in this way.
But for once, the other Cobra wasn’t looking amused or superior. In fact, he looked almost sympathetic. “Okay,” Lorne said, turning back. “So how does this work? I thought you needed a kiln to bake the inserts.”
“That’s true,” Thena said. “Unless you have one of two catalysts that harden the ceramic at room temperature. That was what Corwin really wanted when he set off on this hobby: a ceramic that could be applied to a potential Cobra’s bones in paste form and then solidified in situ. He was hoping that would be less traumatic in application, and less likely to create anemia and arthritis down the road.”
“I gather you were able to dig up a supply of those catalysts?”
“Everything inside the city limits,” Thena said, nodding. “Possibly everything outside the limits, too. I haven’t asked where our suppliers have been scrounging.”
“Yeah,” Lorne said, sighing. They seemed so satisfied with their work. Bursting their bubble was going to be painful. “There’s just one problem. Reivaro’s added more explosive to the collars.”
To his surprise, Thena simply nodded. “Yes, we know,” she said calmly. “In fact, we were expecting it. That’s why the ones we’re making here are thicker and stronger than Corwin’s original set. Another reason to use the kilns, by the way. They could only handle the old size, and we hoped that would convince Lij Tulu that we couldn’t make anything stronger.”
“And of course the old inserts will work just fine with the old collars,” Emile added. “Unless Reivaro wants to make enough new collars to upgrade everybody, we can still use the old inserts on those.”
“He won’t upgrade,” Thena said, her voice going grim. “He’s already given notice that he’ll be putting collars on Chintawa and the other leaders once he’s finished with the Cobras.”
“Yeah, we heard that, too,” Lorne said. “We need to stop this nonsense before it goes any further.”
“Which is the main reason I asked Emile to bring you here today.” Thena smiled faintly. “Aside from hoping to repair my reputation, of course. As you can see by that stack by the wall, we have almost enough inserts for all the Cobras. Certainly everyone in Capitalia. Which means…?” She held out a hand to Emile.
“Which means we don’t have to guard our ghost Cobras anymore,” he said. The smirk was back, Lorne noticed. Only this time it wasn’t directed at him. “Which means we can let Nissa throw them at whatever goat-brained scheme she wants. As long as we make sure they get captured and not killed, we’re good.”
“Because when the time comes all the Cobras will be given inserts that’ll protect them from the collars anyway,” Lorne said, nodding. “And the more Cobras Reivaro has wearing his collars, the calmer he’ll be.”
“And the more careless, we hope,” Emile said. “When he starts relaxing is when we hit him.” He eyed Lorne. “Still be handy if you could finally get those epaulets figured out.”
“Working on it,” Lorne said. “As long as we’re on the subject, of mysteries, Aunt Thena, I need to ask you about a question Mom supposedly sent me via Uncle Corwin after she got captured. The message told me to exercise restraint and professionalism, and to remember that I was trying for freedom, not mass slaughter.”
“That sounds like your mother,” Thena said, nodding.
“Agreed,” Lorne said. “But then there was this part: I was to stand tall and watch my own back, because no one else would do it for me.”
“Really,” Thena said thoughtfully. “Your mother said that?”
“So I’m told,” Lorne said. “Which we all know isn’t true. Cobras always have each other’s backs.”
“So you think there’s a hidden message?”
“Exactly,” Lorne said. “I was hoping there might be something that struck a chord with you. An incident from her childhood, maybe, where someone blindsided her or betrayed her trust or something?”
“Nothing comes to mind,” Thena said, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. “But it won’t be anything like that anyway. She knew Corwin was a prisoner, and she couldn’t assume I’d be available for you to talk to. It has to be something that you yourself would pick up on.”
Lorne grimaced. “I was afraid of that.”
“Could it be something from Qasama?” Emile suggested. “There’s got to be a lot of stuff that happened there that you never put into any of the reports Reivaro can tap into.”
“Oh, there was plenty,” Lorne said, scowling. “And yes, I’ve been wracking my brain to come up with something. But everyone on Qasama had everyone else’s back, too.”
“No operational or jurisdictional disputes?”
“Nothing that rose to that level,” Lorne said. “There were occasional disagreements on tactics, but those were always resolved higher up the ladder than I was. Mostly the fighters at my level got orders and followed them.”
“I meant if there was something your level,” Emile persisted. “Like here, when you had orders to get Treakness off Aventine and I had orders to stop you.”
“I hadn’t heard about this,” Thena said, frowning. “When was this?”
“Right after the Troft invasion,” Lorne told her. “Turned out there was more to it than that, which neither of us knew at the time.”
“How did you resolve it?”
“He blasted me on my butt with his stunner.” Emile cocked his head. “For the record, if I’d been really hell-bent on following Chintawa’s order I could’ve taken you.”
“That’s what my dad said,” Lorne said calmly. “Mom disagreed. But no, the Qasaman leadership never had that kind of a schizophrenic split. Like I said, we had each other’s…”
He trailed off as a sudden thought thunderbolted into his mind. On one level, it made no sense. But on another, it made perfect sense.
Was that what his mother had been trying to say?
“Lorne?” Thena prompted carefully.
Lorne found his voice. “Emile, did you talk to any of the prisoners who got out of the garrison before Mom was captured?”
“We talked to all of them,” Emile said, eyeing Lorne as closely as Thena was. “All we could find, anyway. You got something?”
“Maybe,” Lorne said. “Did any of them say whether or not Mom got shot during the rescue?”
“You mean by the Marines?” Emile shook his head. “I don’t remember anyone mentioning injuries. My spotter didn’t mention seeing any burn marks, either.”
“What does that get us?” Thena asked.
“Maybe the edge we’ve been looking for,” Lorne said, heading for the door. “Come on, Emile. See you later, Aunt Thena. Emile, can you track down one of those prisoners and talk to him or her again? I want someone who was paying good attention during the battle.”
“Yeah, I can find someone,” Emile said. “What do you want me to ask them?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” Lorne said, ducking back into the corridor and heading for the shaft. “Come on, move it. Like Nissa said, this may be our chance.”
* * *
Taking the Marine epaulet apart had been tricky. Putting it back together, especially when Lorne told them he wanted it connected to the tunic’s power supply but not remounted in its seating receptacle, was even trickier.
But the techs were good at their job, and Werle and de Portola had been taking extensive notes. By the time Emile returned, everything was ready.
“Okay, I talked to the guy who was first in line out the door,” Emile said, peering past de Portola at the tunic and the epaulet sitting half a meter away on the table, connected to the tunic by jury-rigged power cord extensions. “He said she stepped up to the two Marines, lasered both epaulets on one of them, ducked to the side and lasered the other’s, then blasted them both with arcthrowers.”
“Did the Marines fire back?”
“At least one of them did,” Emile said. “Maybe both. It happened fast, and he wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t sure if she was hit, but he doesn’t remember seeing any burn marks, even up close.” He snorted. “He also said he hadn’t expected there to be a quiz.”
“That’s okay,” Lorne said. Nothing in the testimony contradicted his theory. That was a good first step.
Now it was time to find out for sure.
“So what’s all this?” Emile asked, pointing to the tunic and detached epaulet.
“An experiment,” Lorne said. “Everyone ready?”
“As ready as we’re going to be,” Werle said. “Hang on while we get our shields.”
“Shields?” Emile asked, frowning.
“We’re going to fire the epaulet lasers,” Lorne told him as Werle and de Portola slipped through the mesh overlap in the double Faraday cage and headed for the two slabs of ceramic Lorne had scrounged for them. “I don’t want to risk making holes in the cage, so Werle and de Portola have volunteered to play target.”
“Volunteered,” de Portola said with a sniff as he handed one slab to Werle and picked up the other one. “Right. You, and you.”
“Hey, Emile, you want a job?” Werle asked hopefully.
“Thanks,” Emile said. “I’ll just watch.”
A minute later everyone was in position.
And this was it.
“Okay,” Lorne said, carefully picking up the epaulet and a small push-button dangling from it on a couple more small wires. “Is this the firing button?” he asked, looking through the mesh at Will and Christy standing along the side of the room with their recording gear.
“Yes, sir,” Christy confirmed. “Really, we can do this if you want.”
“Thanks, but we’ll handle it,” Lorne said. There was still a risk here; and while Aventine was low on Cobras, it was even lower on techs who could figure out Dominion equipment. He would have sent them both out of the room if they hadn’t flatly refused to go.
Holding the epaulet in front of him, pointing it at the center of the slab in Werle’s hands, he gently squeezed the trigger.
The familiar blue needle flashed out, hitting the slab near the edge. Apparently, the particular cell the techs had connected to had been slightly misaligned on its gimbals. Shifting his angle, he tried again, and this time the beam hit dead center. “Okay, it works,” he called back to the techs. He switched aim to de Portola’s slab and again fired, for a second bull’s-eye hit.
“Still waiting to be impressed,” Emile prompted.
“We’re getting there,” Lorne assured him. “Okay, pick up the tunic.”
“Who, me?” Emile asked.
“Yes,” Lorne said. “And be careful not to pop off the power cord.”
“Sure.” Gingerly, Emile got a grip under the tunic’s arms and lifted it off the table. It sagged a little in his hands, but was rigid enough for the top section to stand mostly upright.
“Now hold it in front of de Portola,” Lorne instructed. He waited until Emile was in position, then turned his epaulet until it was pointed at the tunic. “Hold still—”
“Hold it,” Emile said hastily, shifting to the side and holding the tunic as far away from him as he could. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“We’re about to find out,” Lorne said. Mentally crossing his fingers, he pressed the button.
And twitched as a blue beam shot out of his epaulet and into the tunic.
“Damn,” Emile snarled. “You idiot—you almost hit me.”
“Don’t worry, it’s on low power,” Lorne said mechanically, staring at the spot where the shot had hit. No—that shouldn’t have happened. He looked up at de Portola, then at Werle, seeing his own surprise and disappointment reflected in their faces.
He’d been so sure.
“So what exactly was that supposed to prove,” Emile asked, dropping the tunic back on the table.
“Hey—be careful with that,” Will admonished.
Emile ignored him. “Well?” he demanded.
Lorne took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like a fool. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. “Mom said I needed to watch my back,” he said. “Your witnesses to her attack said the second Marine hadn’t shot back. And I was thinking about the time I hit you with a stunner.” He hissed out a breath. “I thought maybe that Marine lasers were programmed to not fire at other Marines.”
“We’ve seen them blasting away all the time in firefights,” Emile said. “Having other Marines around never bothered them before.”
“Are you sure?” Lorne countered. “Because if your witnesses were right, Mom’s encounter was the first time we really had a situation where the lineup was a more or less controlled situation. I think she recognized that, figured out what the second Marine’s lack of counterattack meant, and tried to send us that message.”
“Good for her,” Emile said. “Except she was wrong.”
“I guess so,” Lorne conceded. “Or else we just read it wrong.”
Emile raised his eyebrows. “We?”
“Fine—I read it wrong,” Lorne bit out. “Happy?”
“I’d be happier if we actually had something,” Emile countered. “Call me back when you do. I’m going to check in with Chintawa.” Turning, he pushed his way out the metal mesh—
“Wait a second,” Werle said.
Lorne turned. Werle was staring at the tunic, an intense look on his face. “Maybe none of us is wrong,” he said slowly. “Maybe we’re all just stupid.”
“Meaning?” de Portola asked.
“That isn’t a Dominion Marine,” Werle said, nodding toward the table. “It’s a Dominion Marine tunic. Maybe there’s a difference.”
