Cobra Slave Page 7

  Thirty seconds later, he was through the door and inside the Troft section of the ship.

  For a moment he stood still, listening with full audios to the hum of the engines, fighting against the sudden urge to do something more meaningful than simply steal a little food. If he could slip through the darkness to the heart of the ship and take control—

  Then all of them would be dead, because he hadn’t the foggiest idea of how to fly a Troft spaceship. Or even a human one, for that matter. For better or worse, he had no choice but to see this through the way Ukuthi had laid it out for him. He would find some extra food, and he would get back to the slave quarters, and that would be it for tonight.

  He took another deep breath, focusing this time on the smell. The kitchen would be the best place to look, but he had no idea where it was, and he could detect no likely aromas that might lead him there.

  But there were other possibilities. Taking a final sniff, wondering briefly if anyone had ever proposed adding olfactory enhancements to the Cobras’ repertoire, he started down the darkened corridor.

  One turn later, he found what he was looking for: an open door with soft light spilling out. Notching up his hearing, he glided toward it.

  It was, as he’d surmised, some kind of engineering monitor station. A lone Troft was sitting in front of a bank of monitors, his back to the door, his posture that of someone in a state of either complete relaxation or utter boredom.

  Throwing a quick glance both ways down the corridor, Merrick stepped inside the room. He’d been in Tlossie merchant ships a couple of times, and had noticed that monitor stations usually included a small selection of snacks and drinks for the crewers on duty. If Drim protocol worked the same way…

  It did. Just as he’d hoped, there was a small flat case fastened to the wall.

  Only instead of being beside the door near Merrick, which was where it was on Tlossie ships, this one was fastened to the left-hand wall, well within the duty crewer’s peripheral vision.

  Merrick scowled. This was going to be risky. But the option was to go back empty-handed and spend the rest of the trip watching Gina and the other children stay hungry. Bracing himself, moving as quietly as he could, he eased forward.

  He closed to within a meter of the Troft. Then, lifting his right arm, he pointed his little finger at the back of the alien’s head and triggered his stunner. The low-power current arced across the empty space, and with gratifying swiftness the Troft slumped in his seat.

  Merrick moved to the alien’s side, feeling his stomach tighten as he activated his opticals’ infrared. But the stunner had worked exactly as it was supposed to: the heat pattern in the Troft’s face showed that he was indeed unconscious. Leaning the chair back, Merrick adjusted the alien into a more comfortable position, the kind a tired and bored crewer might have settled into just before nodding off. With luck, that would be the conclusion the Troft would come to upon awakening, and would decide the better part of valor would be to keep his guilty conscience to himself.

  With even more luck, he’d do all that waking and thinking before someone else wandered in and found him. Merrick had no idea how hard it was to wake a Troft from a stunner blast, and he wasn’t anxious to find out.

  The snack case was half full of meal bars and bottled drinks. Merrick wasn’t familiar with this particular type of bar, but he knew from years of Cobra Worlds experience that human and Troft metabolisms were close enough that each group could eat any but the most exotic of the others’ food. He selected three of the bars and slipped them inside his jumpsuit, closed the case, and started to leave.

  And paused. The Trofts mostly ignored the slaves except when it was time to feed them. But the overhead catwalks saw plenty of traffic. If one of the aliens spotted the children with the bars, there would be serious trouble.

  Unless he could turn potential inquiries in the wrong direction.

  It took a minute to find a small scratch pad and stylus tucked away in a drawer of the center monitor array. Quickly, he scribbled out a note in the best cattertalk script that he could manage.

  The extra food, it is for the children. Hunger, it is not proper for the young to feel it. Secrecy, I beg you to keep it.

  He folded the note and stuffed it into his jumpsuit beside the meal bars. It wasn’t a particularly brilliant diversion, he knew. But with all the slaves theoretically locked away it would give any investigation someplace else to start.

  Assuming that at least some of the slaves in there could read cattertalk. If not, Anya would have to translate for them. Hopefully before someone started excitedly waving the bars around and drawing unwelcome attention.

  He’d had some concerns that the doors into the slave areas would have a different access code than the one at the end of the catwalk, which would have forced him to get back into his sleeping room the same way he’d left it. But just as the Trofts had seen no need to rotate their codes, they also apparently didn’t want their engineering staff having to remember different numbers for the various doors in their sector. The code he’d used upstairs unlocked the door, and a moment later he was inside the women’s sleeping area.

  As Merrick had instructed, Anya had taken the position nearest the door tonight. She was sound asleep as he tiptoed over to her, and stayed that way as he tucked the meal bars and the note under the edge of her pallet. He slipped out again, closing the door behind him, and walked around the bulk of the engine core to the men’s side.

  A moment later, less than five minutes after he’d left, he was back inside.

  It took another minute of careful maneuvering to make his way between the closely-spaced pallets. But finally he reached his spot and unrolled his own pallet. Lying down, relieved that it was all over, he closed his eyes, keyed off his opticals, and settled down to sleep. Almost as an afterthought, he boosted his hearing for a moment, listening to the soft sounds of breathing around him.

  And froze. Amid the murmured sea of slow breathing was a single, distinctly faster rhythm.

  Someone else in here was also awake.

  He held his breath, trying to pinpoint the other’s location. But between the background engine hum and the rest of the breathing around him, he couldn’t even pick out a general direction.

  But if he sat up and used his infrareds, he should be able to identify the other by his stronger facial blood flow.

  Except that if he did that, the other might spot him, too.

  Or had he already seen Merrick’s stealthy return? If he had, and if he’d already identified him, Merrick would have nothing to lose.

  But there was no way to know if that was the case. In fact, the odds were probably stacked in the opposite direction. Chances were high that the insomniac had simply come briefly awake during the natural rhythm of his sleep cycle and was already starting to go back under again. He might not even have opened his eyes.

  And even if he had, he surely couldn’t have seen Merrick very clearly in the dim light. He might also have lost track of Merrick’s movements as he crossed the room, adding to the likelihood that he didn’t have a clear idea who the midnight traveler had been. Even if he’d seen everything perfectly, his logical assumption would be that Merrick was simply returning from a trip to the lavatory.

  Which meant that Merrick’s best course of action was to stay low and not draw extra attention to himself by sitting up and looking around.

  In other words, to do nothing.

  Reluctantly, he rolled onto his side, tucking one arm beneath his head. The logic was sound enough. But if worse came to worst—if all those long odds had indeed stacked up against him—it was an even surer bet that the watcher out there would be telling the Trofts about it as soon as they showed up with the slaves’ breakfast. In that case, this might be the last full night’s sleep Merrick got.

  It would probably be best not to waste it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Dome’s hallways were deserted, the windows and skylights showing nothing but an empty, st
reet-lit city. Jin’s footsteps echoed unnaturally loudly in her ears as she and the two Dominion Marines walked along, the sounds forming an eerie counterpoint to the thudding of her heart.

  The Marines were just as silent as the hallways, having not spoken since opening the door of her holding cell and ordering her to come with them. The other pair of Marines standing guard at the conference room door were even less talkative, merely nodding acknowledgment to her escort and opening the door at their approach.

  Taking a deep breath, Jin stepped through the doorway.

  Commodore Santores was seated alone at the head of the table, staring down at the tabletop, his eyelids occasionally twitching. Reading something, apparently, from their fancy data system. The Marines ushered Jin to a seat a few chairs down from him and motioned for her to sit. She did so, noting that Santores hadn’t yet looked up or given any other sign that he was aware of her arrival.

  She smiled cynically. If the early-morning wake-up call followed by the seemingly oblivious and uncaring interrogator act was supposed to impress her, they were going to be disappointed. She’d been through a war and back, and the intimidation value of stern, authoritative disapproval didn’t even begin to register. Settling back in her chair, wishing her generation of Cobra infrareds was sophisticated enough to allow her to track Santores’s emotional state, she waited for him to make his move.

  “You’re smiling, Cobra Broom,” Santores said, his eyes still on the table. “You find something about this amusing?”

  “Just admiring the theatrics, Commodore,” Jin said. It was risky, she knew—for some people, even a suggestion that they were being laughed at could turn pompous arrogance into cold fury. But a senior military officer should have better self-control than that.

  To her mild surprise, Santores actually chuckled. “Touché,” he said, finally looking up at her. “Do you still use that term? Touché?”

  “We do,” Jin said, relaxing slightly.

  And immediately chided herself for it. If intimidation didn’t work, she knew, false friendship was the next most promising tactic.

  “Sorry to drag you out of bed so early,” Santores continued, giving his eyelid one final twitch. “I trust your quarters weren’t too uncomfortable?”

  “They couldn’t have been nicer,” she assured him. “Paul and I had no idea how pleasant the Dome’s holding cells were. We’re already talking about changing next year’s vacation plans.”

  “I understand your frustration,” Santores said. “Actually, the Megalith’s brig is more comfortable, and I suspect the food is considerably better. But Governor-General Chintawa insisted you remain on the ground.”

  “I’ll be sure to take that up with him later,” Jin promised. “Was putting Paul and me together his idea, too? Or were you the one who hoped we’d spill some deep, dark secrets in a bugged cell?”

  Santores shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people equate solitude with privacy,” he said without embarrassment. “Not on a conscious level, of course—people aren’t that gullible. But on an emotional level many still can’t resist the chance to compare notes or seek solace.”

  “Well, you obviously didn’t bring me here for solace,” Jin said. “Does that mean you want to compare notes?”

  “I have no interest in your notes, Cobra Broom,” he assured her. “But as a courtesy, and in recognition of your service during the recent Troft incursion, I thought I’d offer you a brief look at mine.”

  Jin felt her eyes narrow. “I’m listening,” she said cautiously.

  “Here’s what’s about to happen,” Santores said. “Later today, your son Lorne is going to do something foolish. He’ll either attack a member of my crew, allow a member of my crew to be harmed, or defy a direct order by that same crewman. When that happens—”

  “My son would never disobey a legal order.”

  “When that happens,” Santores continued emotionlessly, “he’ll have broken Dominion law, and we’ll be able to bring him up on Dominion charges. Chintawa will resist, but he’ll have no choice but to release him into our custody.”

  “And what do you expect that to gain you?”

  Santores pursed his lips. “There’s a device aboard the Algonquin called the MindsEye,” he said. “For various legal and political reasons it’s under the control of Captain Lij Tulu.” A grim smile touched his lips. “And the captain is very eager to use it.”

  Jin forced herself to relax. Even the name of the device was sending chills up her back. “You going to tell me what it does? Or do I have to guess?”

  “No guessing required,” Santores assured her. “The MindsEye sifts through the neural patterns and connections within the subject’s brain in an effort to reconstruct his or her visual and auditory memories.”

  Jin stared at him, her stomach tightening. “What sort of memories?”

  “All of them,” Santores said calmly. “Personal memories. Private memories. Embarrassing memories. Sometimes even legally actionable memories.”

  “And you can do this to anyone?”

  “Anyone whom the law permits us to examine. There are legal safeguards, of course.”

  “I’m sure there are,” Jin said, fighting to keep the sudden fear and anger out of her voice. And Lij Tulu wanted to use this hellish machine on her son? “What kind of state is the victim in after you’re finished with him?”

  “The subject, not the victim,” Santores corrected. “If it’s done properly and there are no complications, he walks out of the chamber in perfect health and with all his memories intact.” He shrugged. “Though depending on what the survey reveals he may face other legal problems.”

  “And if it isn’t done properly?”

  “It will be,” Santores promised. “Once he’s under official charges, we can take him to the Algonquin and take the time necessary to do the job right.”

  “Instead of rushing through it like a wrecking hammer?”

  “You’re joking, but that’s basically what Captain Lij Tulu originally proposed,” Santores said. “He wanted your son brought back here this evening on the pretext that we needed another day’s worth of testimony from him. Unfortunately, that would have given us only a few hours to run the procedure before someone noticed his absence and started asking questions.” He shrugged. “As you may have noticed, Governor-General Chintawa is very protective of you.”

  “That’s because we’re up on treason charges and he doesn’t want to anger the Syndics who are on Nissa Gendreves’s side of this,” Jin said mechanically, her attention still back on the MindsEye. “Rushing the procedure is bad, I assume?”

  “We would get what we wanted,” Santores said obliquely. “The point is that, hopefully, we won’t have to go that route.”

  “And what exactly is it you want?”

  “Nothing terrible,” Santores said, eyeing her closely. “I certainly wouldn’t use anything illegal we discovered to bring charges against your son. All we want is his image of the navigational display of the Troft ship that took you to Qasama.”

  Jin curled her hands into fists. So Uncle Corwin had been right. The Dominion wanted Qasama, and they were willing to turn her son’s brain inside out to get it. “I doubt he even looked at the display,” she said as calmly as she could. “I know I didn’t. There were more pressing matters on all of our minds.”

  “He doesn’t have to have looked directly at it,” Santores said. “A peripheral image might be enough. The only way to know is to try.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jin said. “I hope you’re not too disappointed when it doesn’t happen.”

  Santores shrugged. “As I said, we can but try.”

  “I meant when Lorne doesn’t fall into your trap,” Jin said, getting to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, the Cobra guards at our holding cell are probably wondering where I went, and we wouldn’t want them getting concerned. As you said, the governor-general is rather protective.”

  “Sit down, Cobra Broom,” Santores s
aid, his voice suddenly dark and ominous. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  “Yes, you are,” Jin said. “I’m under Cobra Worlds authority, remember?”

  “And if I order my men to detain you?”

  Jin looked measuringly at the two Marines standing behind her, their faces expressionless. Unlike the ceremonially-garbed group that had played escort to Santores and the other Dominion officers at the hearings, these men were dressed in high-collared burgundy-black outfits made of a heavy-looking material that shimmered strangely in the room’s indirect light. The men had small sidearms belted at their waists, but Jin guessed those were mostly for show, and that the suspiciously thick epaulets on their shoulders were where they carried their main firepower. “I doubt Captain Moreau would be pleased with such an action,” she warned.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Santores agreed. “Unfortunately for you, Captain Moreau isn’t here. He and the Dorian left Aventinian space thirty minutes ago.”

  Jin stared at him. “He’s gone? Where?”

  “To the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world to collect your wayward daughter,” Santores said. “A six-day round trip, according to Chintawa, plus whatever time he requires to serve Chintawa’s extradition request. Plenty of time for us to arrest your son in Archway and start the MindsEye procedure.”

  “Jody’s never been to Qasama,” Jin protested. “Leave her alone—she’s of no use to you.”

  “Most likely not,” Santores agreed. “On the other hand, she has a recorder she and your son worked very hard to keep out of our hands. I’m rather curious to see what she has on it.”

  “If it’s of any use to you, she’ll already have erased it.”

  Santores raised his eyebrows. “But she will have looked at it.”

  Jin felt her blood go cold. “Are you suggesting—?”

  “Why not?” Santores gave an odd sort of finger twitch. “You see, Cobra Broom, there’s no way for you to win. Even if you’re right about your son avoiding Colonel Reivaro’s provocations, it won’t matter. In a few days we’ll have your daughter.”