Cobra Gamble Read online

  "The aircars stay put," he said tartly. "They're the only things we've got that can pull any altitude, and you never know when you might need that." He gestured to an older man, one of the non-Cobras, busily digging vegetables from one of the gardens by the broken wall. "Yamara, Kemp should be somewhere around the circle over there. Go get him, will you?"

  "Sure," Yamara said. Laying down his shovel, he hurried away.

  "He should be here in a minute," Harli said, taking Jody's arm and casually walking her a few steps farther away from Rashida. "You sure this trip is necessary?" he asked quietly. "It's not exactly safe out there."

  "I'm sure," Jody told him. "I hadn't thought about taking two of your Cobras away, though. Maybe they could just drop us off, make sure we get inside the freighter, and then come back here. We could set a time for them to come get us tomorrow or the next day."

  Harli shook his head. "That ship went through the wringer, and from what Kemp said the hull has a whole bunch of cracks and broken seams. Any number of nasties could already be inside, and if they aren't now they will be once they smell fresh meat." He cocked his head. "But come to think of it, there's no reason why you have to go. Kemp and Smitty could take Rashida, and you could stay here and help with this fancy curtain you and Geoff sold me on this morning."

  "Thanks, but I'd better go with her," Jody said. "As far as I know, I'm the only other person left on Qasama who reads cattertalk script. She might need me."

  Harli grunted. "Fine," he said. "But you've got one day to find whatever you think you need. After that, you're back here, even if Kemp has to nail you to the back of his spooker for the ride. Got it?"

  "Yes," Jody said. After all, it shouldn't take long for Rashida to run through her flight simulations and for Jody to record it all. After that, whatever analysis they needed to do could be handled here in Stronghold.

  "Okay," Harli said. "And the two of you should probably wear the combat suits, too, assuming your friends are through testing them by then. In fact, once they're done you might as well just hang on to them. They'll give you an edge if you need to get near the prisoners, and they fit you better than anyone else around anyway."

  "All right," Jody said. The suits were a little uncomfortable, but the built-in strength enhancements would certainly be nice to have. Not having to scrape spores and other organics off them every morning would be a nice bonus, too. "I'll check with Geoff and Freylan and find out when they'll be finished."

  "There's no hurry—it's too late for you to head out today anyway," Harli said. "We'll set it up for first light tomorrow morning. You think that'll give Rashida enough time?"

  Jody grimaced. "I hope so. Yes, I'll make sure it is."

  "Good," Harli said. "And watch her. That whatever-it-is is still bothering her—I can see it in her face." He looked over Jody's shoulder at Rashida. "And don't forget that whatever crazy relationship your family has with the Qasamans, it may not be nearly as solid and secure as you think. Be sure you watch your back."

  "Don't worry," Jody said, a shiver running through her. "I will."

  CHAPTER TEN

  "All right," Lorne called, looking over the twenty men standing at quiet attention in front of him, the sleek gray wraparound computers snugged around their necks making an odd contrast to their simple villager clothing. "This is where it begins. This is where we decide whether you have what it takes to be called Cobras."

  The word seemed to echo through the forest. Or maybe it was just echoing through Lorne's own mind.

  Because there was certainly good reason for him to pause and consider both the word and the men. This was the most unprecedented group of human beings Lorne had never in his wildest dreams expected to see. Men who only a week ago had been standing restlessly in line waiting for their psychological interviews were now Cobra trainees.

  They weren't just any men, either. They were Qasaman men.

  He looked across the group again, a shiver running through him. Their backs were straight and firm, with no hint of pain or even discomfort despite having had forty hours of surgery over the past five days. Their eyes were shiny with the effects of the learning-enhancement drugs they'd been dosed with this morning, drugs that Fadil Sammon had assured Lorne would cut the usual training period from weeks down to mere days.

  And behind the studied calmness of their expressions, Lorne could see the burning fire of men with a mission. Men who'd had their home invaded, and were ready and eager to shove the war back down the invaders' throats.

  Back in Stronghold, in the heat and excitement of their victory over the Caelian invaders, Lorne had brushed aside Nissa Gendreves's objections to bringing Isis to Qasama. He'd seen her concerns as merely more of the same unimaginative and inflexible bureaucratic thinking that he and the other Cobras on Aventine had been putting up with for too many years.

  Now, as he gazed into the Qasamans' faces, he wondered uneasily if maybe she'd had a legitimate point.

  "Cobra Broom?"

  Lorne shook away his thoughts. There was work to be done, and it was way too late to indulge in second-guessing. "Yes, Trainee Yithtra?"

  "I once again question these," Yithtra said, reaching up to tap the computer around his neck. "It may be both necessary and prudent for those of your worlds to learn their new abilities in slow and controlled stages. But we're Qasamans. We're faster than that."

  "That's good to hear," Lorne said. "Because you're absolutely not going to get the slow, controlled course. You're going to get the full-bore, hammer-head, bone-bending version. We're in a war, remember?"

  "Exactly my point," Yithtra said. "We were told we would only be given our full capabilities once the training was over. I respectfully request that you give them to us now, so that we may learn all the more quickly how to use them."

  Lorne suppressed a grimace. Fadil had warned them during the screening process that the Yithtra family had far more arrogance and self-confidence than was probably good for them, and that first-son Gama was definitely a product of that attitude.

  But the Yithtras were also one of the strongest families in the village, and moreover had a long history of rivalry with the Sammon family as the two of them jockeyed for power and influence. Fadil had warned that cutting them out of the Cobra project would probably lead to dangerous accusations and turmoil that no one on Qasama could afford right now, least of all a small village like Milika.

  In Lorne's opinion, that wasn't much of a reason to accept someone into a program that was already charged with psychological and physical land mines. But Jin had insisted that Fadil have final say on which of his fellow villagers were fit to become Cobras, and Fadil had recommended Yithtra, and so here he was.

  But Fadil only had final say on entry to the program. It would be up to Lorne and his fellow Cobras as to which of the candidates ultimately passed the course.

  Which was, after all, the true reason why wraparound computer collars were used to control their equipment during training. The Qasamans' nanocomputers were already in place beneath their brains, but for now they were dormant, awaiting the final induction-field signal that would activate them. Whether that activation gave the trainees full access to their implanted weapons and strength-enhancing servos, or whether they got the only the stripped-down version of the programming that would turn them into merely extra-strong civilians, was a decision that still lay down the road.

  A road that started right now. "The collars stay," Lorne told him shortly. "Let me introduce you to your trainers." He gestured to his left. "This is Cobra Everette Beach; beside him is Cobra Wendell McCollom. Both have experience in training Cobras, and both have survived many years on the intensely dangerous world of Caelian. If anyone can teach you to handle the pressures of war, they're the ones who can do it."

  He paused and tried to watch all twenty faces at once. "Next to Cobra McCollom is Jennifer McCollom," he continued. "As Cobras Beach and McCollom are only marginally familiar with the Qasaman language, she'll be translating all of t
heir instructions and orders to you."

  The facial twitches were small, and for the most part were hastily covered up. But they were there, once again exactly as Fadil had predicted.

  Fully half of the Cobra trainees were not at all happy at the prospect of taking orders from a woman.

  Fadil had warned about this. So had Jin. But there was nothing either of them could do about it. The unforgiving realities of life on Caelian left little time for leisure, and few on that world chose to squander that precious time on something as theoretical as foreign language studies. Particularly foreign languages no one ever expected to need.

  Jennifer McCollom was a rare exception, a woman who loved the challenge of new languages and had mastered at least four of them over the years, including Qasaman and Troft cattertalk. She'd been a great help to Lorne's parents over the past two weeks as they tried to give Wendell and Beach at least a working knowledge of the language.

  But while the two men could now probably navigate their way through the Milika marketplace, neither had the fluency and vocabulary necessary for a military training regimen.

  Hence, the need for a translator. And with everyone else who spoke both Anglic and Qasaman already tied up with other duties, Jennifer was going to be it.

  Still, as Jin had pointed out, the slightly awkward situation might have a silver lining. Watching how the recruits accepted being ordered around by a woman might give an indication as to how they would accept being ordered around in combat situations by the Qasaman military hierarchy, most of whom were city dwellers.

  It might also give Lorne some idea of how determined they really were to become Cobras. "Anyone have a problem with that?" he invited.

  "Our only problem is the invaders occupying our world," Yithtra said shortly. "We waste time, Cobra Broom. Train us, and let us fight."

  Lorne looked at McCollom and Beach, caught their microscopic nods. "Very well," he said. "Cobra Beach?"

  "We're going to begin by teaching you how to run," Beach announced. He waited for Jennifer to translate, then continued, "Not normal running, of course, but the techniques of letting your new servos take all the strain and do most of the work. Once you've mastered the method, you'll be able to run for fifty kilometers without even working up a sweat. The first thing to remember—"

  "Hold it," McCollom cut him off, holding up his hand as he frowned somewhere past Lorne's shoulder. "Someone's coming."

  Frowning, Lorne keyed up his own audios.

  And stiffened. It wasn't just someone jogging through the forest toward them. It was an entire group of someones, ten or fifteen at least, all of them marking the same brisk, almost mechanical pace.

  He hadn't heard any reports of Trofts traveling through the forest on foot. But there was a first time for everything. "Cobras, spread out," he murmured to McCollom and Beach. "The rest of you, stay put." He took a few quiet steps to his right, peripherally aware that McCollom and Beach were drifting the other direction toward possible cover. The jogging footsteps were getting closer, and Lorne estimated the unknowns would pass a little to the east. He took another step, wincing as a particularly brittle dead branch snapped beneath his foot.

  And within the space of two seconds, the footsteps suddenly came to a halt.

  Lorne held his breath, notching up his audios again. There were new sounds coming from that direction now, murmured voices speaking words his enhancements couldn't quite make out. The voices appeared human, but he remembered that the Caelian invaders' translators had also sounded reasonably human.

  The voices stopped. A moment later, he heard the faint sound of stealthy footsteps coming toward him.

  Despite the tension, he had to smile at that one. Sneaking up on a Cobra was generally a pretty futile endeavor. Lorne glanced back, caught Beach's eye and gestured him to move further out of range of a quick one-two shot. The newcomers were splitting up, Lorne could hear now, moving to try to flank him.

  It was actually a decent tracking challenge, it occurred to him, and if the recruits had been farther along in their training he might have been tempted to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity. As it was, though, they really didn't have time for this. "Come on out," he called. "Don't worry—we won't hurt you."

  The whole group of footsteps again stopped, and there was a moment of silence. Then, the first set Lorne had heard resumed, this time with no attempt at stealth. Lorne adjusted his position slightly, making sure he was facing the figure that emerged from the forest cover.

  It was, indeed, a Qasaman. A male, about Lorne's age, wrapped in badly rumpled clothing. "I greet you," Lorne said, making the sign of respect. "What brings you and your companions out into the middle of nowhere?"

  "I could ask the same question of you," the other said, flashing a suspicious look at the silent crowd of trainees.

  "We're hunters from Milika," Lorne told him. "We came out to practice our strategy for attacking the invaders' hunting parties."

  "I see," the man said. "Your name?"

  "This is our home territory," Lorne pointed out. "I believe it's customary for the stranger to first introduce himself."

  The other smiled thinly. "It is indeed," he said. "And were you a genuine Qasaman, you would have had no hesitation about stating the custom as such." He drew himself up. "But no matter. I am Kami Ghushtre, Ifrit of Qasama. And you, from your family likeness, I guess are the brother of Cobra Merrick Moreau."

  "Correct," Lorne said, quickly covering his surprise. This man knew Merrick? "Cobra Lorne Moreau Broom. Are those with you more Djinn?"

  "They are." Ghushtre gave a set of trilling whistles, and with a rustling of grass and branches a wide spread of silent men emerged into view on either side of him.

  "We're pleased to see you," Lorne said, doing a quick count. Twenty in all, unless Ghushtre had decided to keep a few back in reserve. "Your help will be greatly appreciated."

  "Yes," Ghushtre said, his voice studiously noncommittal. "We first have an errand in Milika. Can you direct us to the village?"

  "I would be honored to escort you there personally," Lorne offered. "May I ask the nature of this errand?"

  "No." Ghushtre took a second look at him, and something in his face subtly changed. "But I can tell you that it concerns Fadil Sammon, son of Daulo Sammon."

  Lorne felt his stomach tighten. "I'm afraid Fadil Sammon is unwell."

  "His condition is known to us," Ghushtre said. "Please take us to him."

  "If you know his condition, you also know that he can be of only limited assistance to you," Lorne persisted. "Perhaps I can serve in his place."

  "We will speak to Fadil Sammon, and no other," Ghushtre said, his voice darkening. "If you no longer feel able to take us to him, then give us a direction and we'll find the village ourselves."

  "No, of course I can take you," Lorne said. And he'd thought villagers could be pushy and condescending. "Beach, McCollom—continue with the exercise. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  He gestured. "If you'll follow me, Ifrit Ghushtre?"

  * * *

  "Rook to knight's seventh," Paul announced, moving one of his pieces on the chessboard set out in front of him. "Check."

  "Interesting," Fadil murmured, gazing up at the implanted star-like gemstones in the ceiling above his medical bed. "I was certain you would move your bishop. I'll have to think a moment."

  "Take your time," Paul said. "Would you like me to move the board to where you can see it?"

  "No, thank you," Fadil said, a bit of sadness edging into his tone. "I have little else to occupy my mind these days. I appreciate the challenge of having to keep track of the board."

  "As you wish." Paul looked across the room at Jin and smiled. "You're beating me soundly enough as it is."

  Jin smiled back, trying to keep her face as unconcerned as possible as she lounged casually on the comfortable cushions in Fadil's meditation nook, watching her crippled husband and the paralyzed Qasaman as they tried to fill the long, increasingly tir
esome hours.

  And as she herself waited for her head, and the room around her, to stop spinning.

  It was getting worse. All of it—the dizzy spells, the lapses of logic and reasoning, the disconcerting derailing of her train of thought. The tumor in her brain, which the Qasaman doctors had temporarily shrunk before she and Siraj Akim's team had headed out for Aventine, was starting to come back. And it was coming back with a vengeance.

  How long did she have? She had no idea. At her last treatment the doctors had guessed that without surgery she still had three months to live. But that had been only three weeks ago, and it was clear that things were progressing far quicker than anyone had thought. Even if she made it the full three months, she suspected she would be incapacitated long before her actual death. If she was going to survive this, she needed to get to a properly equipped Qasaman hospital, with properly trained Qasaman surgeons, and soon.

  The problem was that every such hospital was either occupied or besieged by the Troft invaders.

  She clenched her teeth, fighting against a sudden wave of nausea as she continued smiling at her husband. They didn't need the hospital just for her, either. The skin and muscle that had been burned away from Paul's leg could also be fixed, but Dr. Krites had warned her that the window of opportunity on that was rapidly closing as well. If he didn't start the treatments within another week or two the nerves would never properly reconnect. Even if they were later successful in regrowing the leg, he would end up with no feeling in the new sections of the limb.

  "Are you expecting company?" Paul asked. "I hear someone coming."

  Shaking away her morose thoughts, Jin keyed her audio enhancements. He was right. There were footsteps in the corridor, lots of them, all coming this way.

  "I have nothing scheduled," Fadil said. "Perhaps Lorne Moreau is bringing the new Cobra trainees to visit."

  Jin frowned. There was something about the footsteps that brought up the image of determined, resolute men. "They don't sound like villagers," she said, climbing awkwardly out of the pile of cushions and taking up position between the door and Fadil. The footsteps reached the door—