Cobra Gamble by Timothy Zahn
The missiles from the Qasamans' captured warship couldn't target the three incoming ships. But they could target the Qasamans' attack helicopters.
And if those SkyJos happened to be directly between the missiles and the Troft warships when the missiles locked on...
He was gazing at the displays, wondering at the fortunes of war, when the SkyJo pilots ejected. Half a second later, the helicopters' self-destructs went off, shattering them along preset stress lines as the blasts disintegrated them into clouds of dust.
Half a second after that, the incoming missiles, already armed and with no time for a course readjustment, swept through the debris and detonated against the bows and wings of the oncoming warships.
* * *
And as the entire bank of displays flared and then blanked, the conference room erupted in pandemonium.
Merrick listened to the shouts of rage and disbelief, the demand for information and the demands that someone do something. And as he listened, he felt a warm glow of triumph and relief flow through him.
The Qasamans had pulled it off. Against all odds, they'd pulled it off.
And Inxeba knew it. The fury in his voice was tinged with fear, his shouted demands edged with near panic. In a single day, he'd lost at least three and maybe as many as six of his warships.
And with them, he'd also lost the war.
[Captain Geceg, he reports,] Cebed called out, his voice managing to penetrate Inxeba's ranting and the other officers' scrambling orders. [One warship, it is crippled and has fallen. Two warships, they are still functional.]
[Captain Geceg, he is to retreat immediately to Sollas,] Inxeba ordered, clearly fighting hard to try to calm himself.
[Captain Geceg, he will not arrive,] Ukuthi said, gesturing toward the blank displays. [Blind, his two remaining warships have become.]
[Sensors, Captain Geceg does not require them to locate Sollas,] Inxeba retorted acidly.
[Sollas, Captain Geceg will not reach it,] Ukuthi repeated. He shifted his finger to point at the drone images still coming from Purma. [SkyJos from Purma, they are being launched as we speak. Captain Geceg, they will easily destroy his remaining ships.]
Inxeba stared at the displays, his radiator membranes shaking. [More ships, I will send them from Sollas,] he said. [Commander Ukuthi, the Balin'ekha'spmi ships, you will send them as well.]
[The Balin'ekha'spmi ships, I will not send them,] Ukuthi said quietly. [The war, it can no longer be won.]
Inxeba turned toward him, his hand fumbling for his pistol. [Treason, you speak it,] he snarled. [Warships, the Drim'hco'plai have more than enough to destroy this world.]
[The Drim'hco'plai warships, they will not be permitted to destroy this world,] Ukuthi said flatly. [Warships of the Tlos'khin'fahi and Chrii'pra'pfwoi demesnes, they wait in the outer system. Your defeat today, they will soon have reports of it.]
Inxeba's hand tightened on his weapon's grip. [Reports, they will not receive them,] he warned coldly.
[Reports, they will not be sent by the Balin'ekha'spmi,] Ukuthi said, his voice chilling to match Inxeba's. [Reports, from the Qasaman Shahni they will obtain them.]
Inxeba spat. [The Qasaman Shahni, there are no more of them. Their deaths, they have been achieved.]
[The Qasaman Shahni, there remains one,] Ukuthi corrected. [His departure from Sollas, fifteen days ago, I permitted it.]
Inxeba stared at him. [My direct order, you have violated it. The reason, you will explain it at once.]
[An official leader, one must always be left,] Ukuthi said, facing Inxeba's glare without flinching. [The leader, a conquered people may be more easily be controlled through him.]
He gestured again to the images of Purma and the SkyJos rising into the sky like a cloud of angry wasplings. [The leader, a truce may also be requested through him.]
[A truce, I will not request it,] Inxeba snarled.
[The Drim'hco'plai warships, more of them will then be lost.] Deliberately, Ukuthi stood up. [But the Drim'hco'plai warships, they will be lost alone. The Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I am removing them from Qasama.]
[Treason, you speak it,] Inxeba said again.
But even Merrick could see that the words had no power behind them. Ukuthi had been given tactical command of the Qasaman forces by the overall commander of the invasion forces. If he chose to withdraw, there was nothing Inxeba could do to stop him. Not without declaring war on the whole Balin'ekha'spmi demesne.
Everyone else in the room knew it, too. [Your warship, I now leave it,] Ukuthi said into the silence. Turning, he gestured to the two guards at the door. Without a word, they stepped aside.
[Your departure, I cannot stop it,] Inxeba said bitterly. [Your slaves, you will leave them here.]
Ukuthi turned back to him, and for the first time since Merrick had met him the commander seemed genuinely to have been caught off-balance. [My slaves, they will leave with me,] he said cautiously.
[Your slaves, they are the property of the Drim'hco'plai demesne-lord,] Inxeba countered. [All slaves, my demesne-lord has ordered their return. That request, have you not heard it?]
[The request, I have heard it,] Ukuthi said. [These slaves, my demesne-lord will return them with the others.]
[These slaves, they will stay,] Inxeba insisted.
And they would, too, Merrick realized as a hollow feeling settled into his stomach. Inxeba had lost the war and been humiliated in front of his officers. This small and meaningless act of revenge was all he had left to slap Ukuthi with.
For a long moment the two commanders stood facing each other. Merrick once again found his hands curling into firing positions, a hundred plans racing through his mind, each one more impossible and insane than the last.
And in the end, as that long, tense moment drew to a close, he knew he really had only one option. [Anya and I, to her world we will go,] he murmured, low enough for only Ukuthi to hear. So much for leading a team of Cobras equipped with Qasaman weapons to help free Anya's people. So much even for saying good-bye to his family.
Unless, perhaps, Ukuthi was as observant as he was clever. [The drogfowl cacciatore of home, I will look forward to tasting it again soon,] he added. [My family, they will welcome my return.]
For a brief moment Ukuthi continued to stare at Inxeba. Then, he gave a little snort and waved in a gesture of dismissal. [The slaves, you may keep them,] he said contemptuously as he headed for the door. [The slaves, they are of no concern.] Passing between the guards, he disappeared through the door.
For another moment the room was silent. [Commander Inxeba, what are his orders?] Cebed asked carefully.
Inxeba turned and looked back at the displays.
[Commander Inxeba, what are his orders?] Cebed repeated.
Inxeba's membranes flared out with a final surge of emotion. Then, almost delicately, they settled back against his arms. [A signal, send it to Captain Geceg,] he said quietly. [Sollas, he will not return to it. High orbit, he will instead rise to it.] He lowered his head. [A signal, you will then send it to all Drim'hco'plai,] he said. [Their immediate departure from this world, I order it.]
The officers looked at each other. [The order, I obey it,] Cebed said.
Inxeba rose from his couch, and as he did so his eyes flicked to Merrick and Anya. [The slaves, you will then put them with the others,] he said.
Turning his back on the other officers, he started for the door. [Clarification, I seek it,] Cebed called hesitantly after him. [The Drim'hco'plai departure, to high orbit is it?]
[Our departure, to the Drim'hco'plai demesne it is,] Inxeba said without turning around. [The war, the Tua'lanek'zia demesne may continue it alone if they choose.]
[Our departure, the Tua'lanek'zia demesne-lord will be angry with it,] Cebed warned.
[The Tua'lanek'zia's demesne-lord, his anger is meaningless,] Inxeba countered. [The anger of his master, it only is to be feared.]
He sent a measuring look at Merrick and Anya. [But his anger, it will so
* * *
It had been a long and bitter struggle, full of half-felt pain and strange disorientation, surrounded by hunger and thirst and freakish dreams. But finally, finally, it had come to an end.
The first thing Fadil saw when he opened his eyes was the ceiling of his room, the gem-glittered replica of the night sky that he'd stared at for so many hours from his medical bed, soaked in meaningless perspiration and the helplessness and despair of his broken body. Now he was back, and the thought fleetingly touched his mind that it was as if the past few days had been merely a long nightmare.
But they had indeed been real... because the second thing he saw, looming over him from beside his bed, was his father's face.
For a moment Fadil just stared into those dark eyes, his mind flashing back to all the nightmares, wondering if this was just one last bit of mockery from the depths of a feverish mind.
But then his father smiled; and with that, the fears and misgivings vanished like morning mist. "Hello, Father," Fadil said. His voice sounded strange, cracking with thirst or disuse or perhaps simple emotion. "You're looking well."
"Hello, my son," Daulo said; and his voice, too, had the same strange tone as Fadil's own. "How do you feel?"
Fadil took a deep breath. "I feel well," he said. "I feel... alive. As I thought I'd never feel again." He felt his throat tighten with shame. "As I never should have been allowed to feel."
"It's all right," Daulo soothed as he reached across the bed and took Fadil's hands. "Truly it is. You have no cause for regret or shame."
"Don't I?" Fadil asked, lowering his eyes from his father's gaze. "I've taken resources that Qasama desperately needs for my own selfish ends."
"The decision wasn't yours," Daulo reminded him. "It was Moffren Omnathi's, and was made in honor and thanks for your service to Qasama."
"How can I accept such thanks in the midst of war?" Fadil bit out, more angrily than he'd intended. "How can I let them do this to me when others even now die for our world?"
Daulo shook his head. "You misunderstand, Fadil. No one is dying for Qasama. Not anymore. The war is over."
Fadil stared at him, disbelief and hope churning together in his heart. "Impossible," he said. "It's been only—" He broke off, trying to count. Had it really been only five days?
"Only five days," Daulo confirmed. "But it's the truth. The invaders and their warships are gone. Warships of the Tlos'khin'fahi demesne, allies of the Cobra Worlds, now patrol the skies above Qasama. Even as we speak, their cargo ships bring in food and pre-built structures for those city dwellers who still huddle in tents. Shahni Haafiz and Senior Advisor Moffren Omnathi have had personal discussions with the demesne-heir known as Warrior, with the promise of more assistance to come."
Fadil grimaced. "So despite it all, we still have no choice but to deal with the Trofts?"
Daulo shrugged. "Perhaps that's the way of our future. Perhaps not. Only time will tell." He let go of Fadil's hands and stood up. "I was told you would be extremely hungry when you awoke. Dinner awaits downstairs in the dining hall. Will you come share it with me?"
Fadil took a deep breath. He lowered his eyes to his left hand, and as he had every day since his return from Sollas he silently ordered it to rise.
Only this time, it obeyed him.
He let his breath out in a sound that was half gasp and half laugh. The fingers worked too, he saw as he moved the hand to the bed rail and closed the fingers around it. Still holding onto the rail, he willed his right arm to also move, to the bed beside his torso so that he could lever himself upright.
And his right arm, too, obeyed him.
Carefully, he sat up. Just as carefully, he shifted his legs sideways across the bed, then over the edge, and finally planted his feet on the floor.
And for the first time in nearly a month, he stood upright.
His father stepped forward and gripped his arm, and Fadil could see tears glistening in his eyes. "Welcome back, my son," he said quietly. "Welcome back. Cobra Fadil Sammon."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It had been a quiet dinner, uncharacteristically quiet for a Moreau family gathering.
Not that any of the six gathered around the table had expected anything like the loud and boisterous celebrations taking place elsewhere across Aventine and the other Cobra Worlds. Not considering the multiple dark clouds hanging over all of them.
Especially not since the six should have been seven.
The meal was over and Jody and Paul had cleared the table—at Paul's insistence and over Jody's and Jin's objections—when the unexpected guest Jin had been expecting all evening finally arrived.
"I'm sorry to crash your family time this way," Governor-General Chintawa apologized as Thena Moreau escorted him into the conversation room. "But I thought someone should unofficially welcome you all back to Aventine." He grimaced. "Especially considering how the official welcome went."
"That's all right," Corwin Moreau said, ever the gracious host, as he waved Chintawa to an empty seat. "So she's actually going through with it?"
Chintawa sighed as he lowered himself into the chair. "I'm sorry, Corwin. All of you. I tried to talk her out of it—I really did. But as you may have discovered, Nissa Gendreves is an extremely stubborn person."
"With, I dare say, more than her share of political ambition?" Paul suggested.
"You don't hang around the Dome putting in long hours for low pay without some of that," Chintawa conceded. "But I don't think she's out to get you simply to make a name for herself. She genuinely believes that all of you—well, you four Brooms, anyway—committed high treason by giving Isis to the Qasamans." He hesitated. "And unfortunately, according to the law, she's right."
"So has she also brought charges against Governor Uy?" Lorne asked. "She was just as mad at him as she was at us."
"I'm sure she'd like to," Chintawa said. "No, that's not fair. She was very clear about his part of the decision in her closed Council testimony, and I know she intends to make those additional charges official as soon as she's been given clearance to do so."
"Only she hasn't," Lorne suggested acidly, "because Uy's one of the Council's own, and you don't throw the big fish to the sharks?"
Jody stirred. "Governor Uy did a lot to help win the war, Governor Chintawa. Everyone on Caelian did."
"As did everyone in this room," Lorne said. "I don't see the Council throwing us parades or hushing up our collection of ridiculous charges."
"Easy, Lorne," Corwin murmured. "Governor-General Chintawa's not the enemy here."
"He's right, Cobra Broom," Chintawa agreed. "Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to give you full pardons right now and sweep this whole thing out the door. But the fact is that Governor Treakness did give Ms. Gendreves full diplomatic authority, and she did order you not to give Isis to the Qasamans. Even you admit that, and we have Dr. Croi's testimony as well."
"And we're sure Governor Treakness never said anything to clarify his authorization?" Thena asked.
Chintawa shook his head. "I doubt the Trofts ever bothered to ask him. I'm not even sure how much of those last few hours he was conscious. The point is that charges have been made and corroborated. Unless the Council reaches deep within itself for understanding and charity—and you know the chances of that happening—you're going to have to be arrested and stand trial."
"So much for the Cobra-haters suddenly seeing the light," Paul murmured.
"Not likely," Chintawa said with a sigh. "You can force-read them the reports from Caelian and Qasama all day long, but what they saw was our Aventinian Cobras sitting around not doing a damn thing."
"At their specific orders," Corwin reminded him.
"Of course," Chintawa said. "You want logic and consistency, get out of politics." His lip twitched in a smile. "As, of course, you did. Sometimes I have to admit I envy you that decision."
Jin lo
"And now with Isis in Qasaman hands they've got an even bigger Cobra bugaboo to worry about," Lorne pointed out.
"With more than a little justification," Chintawa said, an edge of annoyance in his tone. "I know how warm and trusting you all are when it comes to the Qasamans, but there's no guarantee that your decision won't someday turn sour on us. And if the Qasamans ever decide they want vengeance for whatever real or imagined wrongs the Worlds have inflicted on them, what we've just gone through with the Trofts will seem like a stroll down the river."
"It won't happen," Lorne said firmly.
"I hope to God it doesn't." Chintawa hesitated, then looked at Jin. "I understand there was a letter," he said, the annoyance gone. "May I see it?"
Jin hesitated. But he probably had a right to see the actual note. Reaching into her tunic, she slipped the envelope out of the inner pocket, the one closest to her heart. She pulled out the single slip of paper, unfolded it, and for the hundred thousandth time in the past three days her eyes traced across the confusing, bleak, hopeful words.
The drogfowl cacciatore of home, I will look forward to tasting it again soon. My family, they will welcome my return. Courage.
Jody was standing quietly beside her when Jin looked up. Blinking back sudden tears, she handed her daughter the note. Holding it like she would a piece of fine crystal, Jody crossed the room and offered it to Chintawa.
For a long moment he gazed down at it. Then, he looked up again. "What do you make of it?"
"We're not sure," Paul admitted. "The words are Anglic, but the grammar form is Troft. The handwriting isn't Merrick's, and I doubt very much it's even human. It was delivered to Jin by the Tlossies, but they claim it didn't originate with them. We've made at least a hundred inquiries, but every one of them has either been ignored or run straight into a steel-core wall."
"Someone knows what happened to Merrick," Lorne put in. "But whoever that is, he isn't talking."
"Hmm," Chintawa said, looking at the letter again. "And you're sure the message is from him?"