Cobra Traitor Read online

  “Thoughts?” Kemp asked quietly when he and Smitty were standing behind the women. Both Cobras’ eyes, Jody noted, were still on Plaine.

  “I don’t trust him,” Smitty said flatly.

  “I think that’s pretty evident,” Kemp said, a little dryly. “Jody? Rashida?”

  “He may be playing a game,” Rashida said. “However, I should point out that he didn’t need to reveal himself to us. He could have slipped out at night for food and water when we were all asleep or in CoNCH.”

  “I suppose,” Kemp conceded. “No, actually, that’s a good point. I sure the hell didn’t know he was still in there. He could pretty much have had the run of the ship at night.”

  “Wait a second,” Jody said, frowning as an odd thought struck her. “Why didn’t we know he was there?”

  “Because we didn’t think to ask and no one thought to tell us,” Kemp said.

  “Yes, but why?” Jody persisted. “Omnathi is usually right on top of things like this. It’s not like he didn’t know we were going to take the ship.”

  “I suppose even Omnathi slips up sometimes,” Kemp said. “I’m guessing that between his negotiations with Captain Moreau and keeping an eye on the Dorian’s injured he probably told someone to get Plaine out of his hullmetal cocoon and assumed it had been done.”

  “How it happened is not of immediate importance,” Rashida said. “We have the situation. We need to decide how to address it.”

  “You’re right,” Smitty growled. “But I guarantee you that Omnathi’s going to hear about this when we get back.” He waved a hand. “I already hate the guy, so I’m not the one to make any decisions. What do the rest of you want to do?”

  “Well, obviously, he doesn’t run around loose while we’re asleep,” Kemp said. “That means locking him up in the guest suite at night.”

  Jody wrinkled her nose. She’d been a similarly unwilling guest aboard the Squire for the better part of two days back on Caelian, quartered in a cabin whose lock had been reversed to convert it into a prison cell. Kemp had nicknamed it the guest suite after they’d used it to isolate the other gunbay Marine during the trip to Qasama. “We’ll want to make sure the last occupant didn’t do anything to the stuff in there that Plaine might use against us,” she warned.

  “Trust me,” Kemp said. “I plan to go over it again very thoroughly.”

  “And when he’s not locked in his room?” Smitty asked. “What do we do with him then?”

  “I think I’ve got an idea,” Kemp said. Even without looking Jody could sense in his voice that there was a wry smile on his face. “Come on. Let’s go welcome our newest club member.”

  Jody and Rashida stood up, and together the four of them walked to the other end of the table. Plaine, already halfway through his second meal, looked up as they approached. “That was quick,” he said. “I hope that means it’s not the airlock.”

  “No, it’s not the airlock,” Kemp assured him, once again stopping directly across the table from him. “It’s far worse. We’re going to make you work.”

  Plaine’s eyebrows went up. “Let me guess. I’m on KP?”

  “What’s KP?” Jody asked.

  “Kitchen Patrol,” Plaine said. “It’s not exactly a new term.”

  “Well, it’s one we haven’t needed to bother with,” Kemp said. “And no, you’re not going to do the cooking. You’re going to teach us how to run those gunbays.”

  The politely raised eyebrows went down again. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Kemp said. “I’m also sure that you will.”

  “Oh?” The eyebrows went up again.

  “Because you want to live through this just as much as we do,” Kemp told him. “That means using this ship to the best of its abilities. Among other things that means having people who know what they’re doing in both gunbays.”

  Plaine’s lips compressed. But he gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose that makes sense,” he conceded. “All right.”

  “And,” Kemp continued, “you get locked into your cabin at night. Nothing personal.”

  Plaine smiled faintly. “Understood. If the situation was reversed, I’d do the same.”

  And as Jody looked at that faint, slightly condescending, vaguely knowing smile, she felt like an idiot.

  Because her new Cobra opticals included infrared sensors that were sensitive enough to detect the small variances in heat from someone’s facial blood flow. Variances that would indicate changing levels of nervousness or fear. Variances that might indicate whether the person was telling the truth, or lying through his teeth.

  And she’d completely forgotten about them.

  Silently cursing herself, she activated them. But as she’d already suspected, it was too late.

  “Glad you understand,” Kemp said. “Go ahead and finish eating, and then we can start the tour.”

  “We’ll be in CoNCH if you need us,” Smitty added.

  Kemp gestured, and the four of them once again headed across the room. This time, they continued through the doorway and out into the corridor.

  “Did you get anything?” Smitty asked quietly as they headed aft.

  “Nothing definitive,” Kemp said. “Plenty of emotional twitches, but that could just be a member of the high and mighty Dominion of Man having to submit to a bunch of unwashed wilderness types. Nothing I could positively state was a lie.”

  Jody caught Rashida’s eye. “Our Cobra opticals can detect the changing heat from a person’s blood flow,” she explained. “Sometimes that lets us figure out if a person is lying.”

  Rashida nodded. “Yes, I had heard that. Perhaps we need to know him better.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Kemp agreed. “But we’ve got twelve more days before we reach wherever. Whatever Plaine’s cultural differences, we should have time to sort them out between now and then.”

  “And once we’ve got a baseline,” Smitty said darkly, “maybe we can figure out what he’s hiding behind that arrogant little smile.” He gestured to Kemp. “You weren’t really planning on all of us waiting for him in CoNCH, were you?”

  “Of course not,” Kemp assured him. “Off you go.”

  “Off I go,” Smitty confirmed, coming to a halt. “I’ll see you there in a bit.”

  “And if he wanders off somewhere else?” Jody asked.

  “You might hear his last scream.” Smitty shrugged. “Or,” he added offhandedly, “you might not.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Captain Barrington Moreau was in a shallow, restless sleep aboard the Dominion of Man War Cruiser Dorian when his aide, Lieutenant Cottros Meekan, awakened him with the bad news.

  Meekan was waiting outside the shuttle bay when Barrington arrived. “They’re saying it was some kind of undetected infection,” the lieutenant said as he punched the hatch release. “They’re still hoping they can still save the leg, but they’re warning that it’s going to be touch and go.”

  “Understood,” Barrington said, his heart pounding as the two men hurried across the bay toward the shuttle Meekan had prepped for him. Seven days ago, Lieutenant Commander Eliser Kusari, Dorian’s engineering officer, had been badly wounded in the Dorian’s brief battle with the unidentified Troft warships at the flicker-net trap. Even as they escaped from the battle, Dr. Lancaster, the ship’s chief medical officer, had warned Barrington that Kusari’s leg would have to be amputated.

  But Barrington had refused to allow the operation. The Cobra Worlds’ records indicated that Qasama had incredibly advanced medical capabilities, and he’d gambled that he could get Kusari there in time to save his leg.

  The gamble had worked. Against all odds—and the private expectations of most of Barrington’s officers—Shahni Omnathi had agreed to take in their wounded. Not only had the Qasamans’ medical magic saved Kusari’s leg, but it had likewise brought all the rest of the Dorian’s severely wounded men back from the brink of death.

  Only now, it appeared, some
of Barrington’s relief had been premature.

  And it couldn’t have happened in a worse way, and to a worse person. Though Kusari was quiet and generally nonconfrontative, he was nevertheless one of Barrington’s strongest supporters among his officers. More than that, his patron in the Dome was an equally strong ally of Barrington’s patron. Kusari’s death would be a serious blow to Barrington’s standing, especially in his ongoing clash with Tactical Officer Castenello. “Did they say what he wanted to talk to me about?” he asked Meekan.

  “No,” the aide said. “Just that he was calling for you.”

  Barrington hissed between his teeth. Normally, there wouldn’t be a need for the captain to fly to the surface to talk to his engineering officer. Radios were everywhere, and with Dominion scrambling technology there was no chance the Qasamans could listen in on any ship-to-shore communications.

  But in this case, Barrington wasn’t worried about the Qasaman eavesdropping nearly as much as he was worried about his own officers getting an earful. Kusari had been quietly looking into ways to identify the Troft ships they’d fought at the flicker net, and he might have thought of something new that he hadn’t yet had a chance to relay to his captain.

  If so, it could be vital that Barrington get that information before anyone else. Especially Castenello.

  The shuttle’s pilot, copilot, and Barrington’s five-man Marine guard were already strapped into their seats as Barrington climbed through the hatch. “Do you want me to go with you, sir?” Meekan asked.

  “No, that’s all right,” Barrington said as he dropped into his seat and started strapping in. He was already making a suspiciously big deal about this by going down to Qasama personally. He had no intention of turning it into a parade that Castenello would be bound to notice. “I left a message with Commander Garret that he’s to take my watch. Go to CoNCH and make sure he has everything he needs.”

  “Yes, sir.” Meekan hesitated. “Good luck, sir.”

  It wasn’t exactly the correct farewell for the situation, Barrington mused as the shuttle dropped away from the Dorian and headed groundward. But he understood what the younger man had been trying to say. Good luck dealing with the Qasamans. Good luck to Kusari.

  And good luck to Barrington himself if Kusari didn’t make it.

  The Qasamans had a van waiting for them at the landing area that had been set up earlier to handle the Dominion medical shuttles. Three minutes after climbing out of the shuttle into the heavy and oddly aromatic Qasaman air, Barrington and the Marines were striding through the front door of the hospital.

  A middle-aged woman in hospital garb was waiting for them. Her smock was rumpled, Barrington noticed, and there were deep stress lines in her face. “Follow me, please,” she said, turning and striding quickly down the right-hand corridor.

  “Has there been any change?” Barrington asked as he and the Marines followed.

  “Commander Kusari is still alive,” the woman said over her shoulder. “That’s all I know. In here.”

  She led them through a door into a wide corridor with doors opening off both sides and a circular nurses’ station in the middle of the corridor. There was a ring of monitors on each of the two central desks, and as the group passed the stations Barrington noted that one of the monitors showed an overhead view of an operating room. Grouped around the table were half a dozen white-robed people, working feverishly on their patient’s leg.

  Even with the patient’s face half covered by the anesthetic mask it was clear that it was Kusari.

  And he looked terrible.

  Barrington felt his stomach tighten as they hurried past the station and the monitors. Even that quick glimpse had been enough to show the gauntness of Kusari’s face and the tenseness in the shoulders of the surgeons working on him. Kusari was in serious trouble, and Barrington could only hope he would be in time to hear whatever the commander had to say.

  “In here,” their guide said, stopping beside a closed door with what seemed to be warning signs in Qasaman script. “Through the airlock is a changing room where you’ll need to strip down and don sterilized clothing.” Her eyes flicked to the Marines. “I’m afraid there’s only room for one in there, but there are two other rooms. Shall I take your escort to them?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Barrington said. He turned and pointed to two of the Marines. “You, and you—go with her. The rest of you stay here.”

  He turned back to find the woman had the door open, revealing a short passageway that ended in another door. “In there,” she said, pointing. “Don’t open that door until I close this one.”

  “Understood,” Barrington said, stepping into the corridor. He reached the second door and glanced over his shoulder to confirm the woman had closed the first behind him. Then, bracing himself for the worst, he pushed open the second door and stepped through.

  He got two steps before he stopped short, blinking in confusion.

  It wasn’t a changing room, at least not like any such facility he’d ever seen. This room was narrow and curved, with a single row of a dozen seats at the far end that faced a glass wall. Beyond the glass, sunk three meters below him, was an operating room, dark except for a few muted lights.

  As near as he could tell, it was the same operating room he’d just seen on the monitor outside. Only now, it was deserted.

  His first horrified thought was that he was too late. That Kusari had died on the table and been removed while Barrington was covering those last few meters to the changing room door.

  And then, his brain caught up with him. Tearing his eyes away from the empty operating room, he focused on the space he was standing in.

  Aside from Barrington himself, there was only a single occupant. He was seated in one of the center chairs, his back to Barrington, making no move or sound. Perhaps, Barrington thought through his frozen brain, he was waiting for his visitor to take the lead.

  And now that Barrington finally had it figured out, he decided he might as well. Whatever was about to go down, he’d already lost the opening gambit. He might as well face the rest with some dignity. “Good morning, Your Excellency,” he said. “Nicely played.”

  “Thank you,” Shahni Omnathi said without turning around. “My sincere apologies for the deception. I needed to talk to you in private, and this seemed the only way to do so.”

  “And Commander Kusari?”

  “Alive, perfectly well, and recovering nicely.”

  “You took a risk, you know,” Barrington pointed out. “What if we’d tried to contact him before I came down? Or his Marine guards?”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure you did call him, Captain,” Omnathi said. “You or your people. We’d taken the precaution of shielding his room from all transmissions. As to his guards, they’d already been informed he was being moved here to the hospital for further tests, which was I’m sure what they told your men.”

  “Clever,” Barrington said. “What if I called my ship or my Marines right now?”

  “This room is also shielded,” Omnathi said calmly. “At any rate, there’s no need for dramatics or concern. I merely wish that I be allowed to ask you a question, and that you give me an honest answer. After that, you and your Marines will be free to leave.”

  “What if you don’t like the answer?”

  “You’ll still be free to leave.” Omnathi half turned, presenting his profile to Barrington. “Come now, Captain. It’s not like we haven’t already made private agreements together. Surely a private conversation isn’t so far out of line.”

  Barrington grimaced. Yes; the Squire, with Jody Moreau Broom and her friends aboard. Most likely headed to their deaths. “You could have just invited me,” he pointed out, circling around the end of the row of seats and coming over to Omnathi.

  “Would you have consented to come without your guards?”

  Barrington sighed as he sat down beside the Qasaman. The Cobra Worlds records had indicated that Omnathi was extremely good at reading and manipulating people.
He should have remembered that before he went charging off to the shuttle. “I’m here,” he said. “Ask your question.”

  “Thank you.” Omnathi gestured toward the empty operating room below them. “First, I want you to understand why I chose this place for our conversation.”

  “I assume because this is the room where you saved Commander Kusari’s leg,” Barrington said. “That was the record of that operation you had playing in the nurses’ station, wasn’t it?”

  “It was,” Omnathi confirmed. “And you’re correct: I wanted to remind you of what we did here. Not just for Lieutenant Commander Kusari, but also many others of your crew.”

  “I’m not likely to forget,” Barrington said, some of his anger fading away. He did indeed owe Omnathi and the rest of the Qasamans. And the Shahni was right; he wouldn’t have come here without his guards.

  That might not prove a good thing. For either of them. “What do you want to know?”

  “You’ve been searching for us for a long time,” Omnathi said. “That effort has cost a great deal of effort, as well as the lives of many people on Caelian, Dominion, and Cobra Worlds citizens alike.” He paused. “Very simply: why?”

  There were lies Barrington could tell, he knew. Easy lies. Believable lies.

  The Dominion was looking for lost colonies. The Dominion was concerned about all human lives. The Dominion wanted to look at the damage the recent Troft attack had inflicted so that they could help.

  They were lies Commodore Santores would have ordered him to tell, lies that would help defuse Castenello’s inevitable list of charges at the next Enquiry Board that the tactical officer chose to call.

  Lies that Barrington was weary of telling. To others, and especially to himself.

  “The Dominion of Man is at war,” he said. “We’re fighting a consortium of Troft demesnes—we’re still not sure how many are in the group.”

  “How are you doing in that effort?”

  “When we left Dominion space about nine months ago, not too well,” Barrington admitted. “Right now—” He shook his head. “No idea. At any rate, our mission was to get around the Troft Assemblage, contact the Cobra Worlds, if they still existed, and—” he braced himself. “Try to draw off some of the enemy.”