Cobra Alliance-Cobra War Book 1 (21 page)

For a long moment the two men locked eyes. The other four Djinn were listening silently, their hands not quite curved into laser firing positions. "The only remaining way into the Palace is through the outer doors," Najit said at last. "Attempting to enter that way will prematurely alert the invaders to our intentions."

"It might also draw more of them inside the Palace," one of the other Djinni murmured.

Najit's expression changed subtly. "True," he said thoughtfully. "That might be useful."

"I wasn't really thinking about running the gauntlet they've got set up outside the Palace," Merrick said. "I was hoping for something a little more subtle and less exposed."

Najit shook his head impatiently. "I've already told you. There is no other way in."

"There has to be," Merrick insisted. "Come on, think. The building has plumbing outlets, air system intakes—there must be
something
that a human body can squeeze through."

"What about the communications conduit?" Zoshak suggested, pointing toward a large metal cylinder about two-thirds of a meter in diameter running vertically from floor to ceiling beside the monitor console.

"Too small," Najit said. "And the plumbing and air systems were specifically designed to keep intruders out."

"Wait a second, not so fast," Merrick said, eyeing the cylinder. "Is this the same sort of conduit that runs down from the Palace?"

"Yes, but it is filled with bundles of shielded communications cables," Najit said.

"Cables can be dealt with," Merrick said, crossing to the cylinder and running a fingertip thoughtfully along the metal. If the cylinder's wall wasn't too thick, there ought to be plenty of room for him to climb up the inside. He'd have to come up with something to use for hand—and footholds, but it could be done. "I assume these are the cables that carry signals down to that basalt waveguide you use for intercity communications?"

Abruptly, the room behind him went deathly quiet. Carefully, he turned his head around.

None of the Djinn had moved. But all five of them were now wearing Najit's same stiff expression. "What?" Merrick asked.

"How do you know about the waveguide?" Najit demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, come on—we've known about it since our first visit," Merrick said, keeping his own voice calm. Busy facing down Qasaman stubbornness, he'd almost forgotten about Qasaman paranoia. "I'm sure my mother mentioned that to Miron Akim when she was here last."

"We cannot let the invaders learn about that," Najit said.

"Are you suggesting I might run off and tell them?" Merrick asked.

"Perhaps," Najit said. "Or you might be captured, and offer a trade for your life."

Merrick's thoughts flashed to Daulo and Fadil Sammon, locked up somewhere by the Shahni as hostages to the Cobras' good behavior. "I'm not offering them any deals," he told Najit icily. "I'm not taking any, either. Get this through your skull, Jol Najit: I'm on your side. As far as I'm concerned, until the Trofts are off this world, I
am
a Qasaman."

There was another short silence. Then, beside Najit, Zoshak stirred. "He won't find his way through the subcity to the Palace without assistance," he murmured. "I request permission to accompany him."

Najit's lip twisted, but there was no surprise in his face that Merrick could see. Clearly, he wasn't happy with any of this. Just as clearly, he'd already figured out which way it was going and had bowed to the inevitable. "Plan Saikah will take one hour to prepare," he said. "It will
not
wait upon you."

"Understood." Zoshak turned to Merrick. "You still wish to take this risk upon yourself, Merrick Moreau?"

The doubts and fears from the elevator flickered like dry lightning through Merrick's mind. No, he
wasn't
sure. But someone had to do it, and it might as well be him. "We're wasting time," he said.

Zoshak nodded. "Follow me."

He slipped past Merrick, breaking into a jog as he passed the door leading into the elevator shaft, and headed down an increasingly darkened corridor. With a controlled burst of speed, Merrick caught up and fell into step behind him, keying in his light-amps to make as much use as he could of the monitor glow receding in the distance behind them.

A few meters later they rounded a corner into almost complete darkness. Merrick thought about pointing that out, decided that if Zoshak could stay on his feet and not run into a wall, so could he.

Fortunately, Zoshak wasn't interested in playing that kind of game. "Are you all right?" he called softly as he flicked on a small light attached to his collar. "Is this light bright enough?"

"It's fine," Merrick assured him, keying back his enhancers a couple of notches. "How far is the Palace? I got a little turned around on the drive."

"At this pace, perhaps fifteen minutes," Zoshak said. "But we should try to go faster if possible."

"I can if you can," Merrick said. "Are we in that much of a rush? I assumed that if the Shahni had stayed hidden this long, they would probably be good for another hour or two. And I'm thinking that Plan Saikah might kick up a nice diversion for us."

Zoshak threw an odd look over his shoulder. "Didn't Miron Akim tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Merrick asked.

"About Plan Saikah," Zoshak said. "The first step is the detonation of the explosives built into the Palace walls."

Merrick felt his mouth drop open. "No, he damn well did
not
tell me that," he ground out. "Are you saying you're going to blow the Palace with two of the Shahni still inside?"

"The Shahni, and many of the invaders," Zoshak reminded him. "Perhaps some of their highest leaders. It's a fair gamble."

"Only if you're the one standing outside pushing the button," Merrick said. "Who came up with this crazy plan, anyway?"

Zoshak looked him straight in the eye. "The Shahni."

Briefly, Merrick tried to envision a situation where Aventinian governors like Tomo Treakness would deliberately sacrifice their lives in order to inflict unknown levels of damage against an invader. But his imagination wasn't up to it. "In that case, you're right, we might want to step it up a little."

"Agreed," Zoshak said, picking up his pace. "Let me know if I go too fast for you."

"Don't worry about me," Merrick said, matching the Qasaman's speed as he turned the bulk of the work over to his leg servos. "I'm right behind you."

The door closed behind the Trofts, and Jin heard the click of a lock.

And she and Akim were alone.

"Well,
damn,
" she muttered, looking around. The room had seemed empty enough a minute ago when the Trofts had led them in here. Now, on closer examination, it looked even emptier. There were nail holes in the walls where paintings had once hung, decorative hooks in the ceiling that had once supported planters or hanging artworks, and deep indentations in the carpet marking the former positions of desk, chairs, and other furniture. It looked rather like a student apartment, hastily and carelessly abandoned at the end of the term.

She frowned as the oddness of that belatedly struck her. Why would the Trofts have bothered to take down the paintings and planters? Had they been afraid their soon-to-be prisoners would somehow break free and find something in the room to use as a weapon? In that case, they'd missed the most obvious bet of all: the metal chairs she and Akim were shackled to, which weren't even bolted to the floor.

Or had the Trofts removed everything so that the prisoners wouldn't suspect hidden cameras or microphones lurking among the palm fronds? Smiling to herself, Jin keyed in her telescopic enhancements and took another, closer look at the nail holes.

There they were: a pair of tiny cameras nestled into two of the holes on opposite sides of the room. It was a little hard to tell, but one of them seemed to be angled slightly toward the door, while the other was angled toward the two prisoners. The Trofts hadn't skipped the audio, either: hanging in the near corner of the room, masquerading as a plant hook, was the telltale perforated plastic of a small microphone.

"All you all right, Niora Kutal?" Akim asked from behind her.

Using her assumed Qasaman name, which meant that he also knew or suspected they were being monitored. "I'm unharmed, Miron Akim, but highly offended," she replied stiffly. "We're ambassadors, and not to be treated in this way."

"Agreed," Akim said, and beneath his own tone of controlled outrage Jin could detect a hint of approval for her quick pickup of the situation. "The invaders will have a great deal to answer for when this is over."

"If they think this will frighten us or the Qasaman people, they're gravely mistaken," Jin agreed. Bracing herself, she activated her omnidirectional sonic.

A tingle ran through her, an unpleasant vibration as the speakers buried inside her body slipped through harmonics of natural body resonances. The pitch altered as the sound dug into the walls, seeking out similar resonances with the cameras and microphone ...

"Are we under attack?" Akim asked quietly.

Jin didn't answer, focusing instead on counting down the seconds. It was supposed to take about a minute for the sonic to find all the possible resonances and vibrate the bugs into paralyzed uselessness. She let the minute tick by, then gave it another fifteen seconds just be on the safe side. "No, that was me," she said, answering Akim's question. "The hidden cameras and microphone shouldn't be picking up anything now."

"Excellent," Akim said. "But speak toward the window, please."

Jin obeyed, noting out of her peripheral vision that he'd also turned his face in that direction. "Nice view," she commented, gazing out at the city stretched out in front of them.

"I was thinking about the cameras," Akim said. "In case your attack wasn't entirely successful."

"Ah," Jin said. "Okay. We also should keep our mouth movements as small as possible. They may also someone out there on a rooftop with a telescope and a computer that can read human lips."

"Ah," Akim said. "Yes—good point."

"As to the cameras, they're not actually destroyed, just gone way too fuzzy to see anything useful," Jin continued. "And the mike should be delivering nothing but a low-pitched hum right now. So how do we play this?"

For a moment Akim was silent. "How much do you know about Troft military doctrine?"

"The Dominion of Man had more experience with it than anyone wanted," Jin said. "But that was over a century ago. I assume their tactics and strategy have undergone a lot of change since then."

"Yet their basic psychology has likely remained essentially unaltered," Akim pointed out. "From our admittedly limited understanding of them, I wouldn't have expected them to so eagerly take hostages."

Jin gazed out the window at the Troft ships and the brilliant morning sky beyond. Now that she thought about it, she realized Akim was right. The records from the Dominion's war against the Trofts had indicated that
hostage
wasn't a term the aliens generally applied to living beings.

Still, the Troft Assemblage was made up of hundreds of demesnes. Maybe different rules applied to the particular group that had invaded Qasama. "Maybe they've learned to adapt to their particular target," she suggested.

"No," Akim said flatly. "Basic psychology is by definition basic. It doesn't change that drastically."

"You know the Trofts well, then?" Jin asked, a flash of annoyance running through her. The Cobra Worlds had been trading with Trofts for multiple decades, dealing with the aliens on a regular basis. Yet Akim presumed to tell
her
what the Trofts could or couldn't do?

"We've studied them as best we could," he said. "Trading vessels have occasionally come and gone over the past fifty years, though we've given them no encouragement to return." He snorted gently. "And of course, there was the group you and I dealt with."

Jin frowned. "I thought all of them made it off-planet before your people arrived."

"They did," Akim confirmed. "But their interactions with the Qasamans they had dealt with left detectable changes. Studying those changes gleaned for us a fair amount of useful information."

A shiver ran up Jin's back. "I don't even want to know what you had to do to get that."

"The subjects of the study were in no danger."

"I wasn't thinking about them," Jin said. Over the years the Qasamans had built up a large pharmacopoeia of mind-enhancing drugs, each one individually tailored to temporarily improve memory, perception, observation, or reason. The Qasamans had also developed a tradition—a borderline insane one, in Jin's opinion—of using those drugs.

Insane, because however effective the drugs might be they also demanded a terrible price. Habitual users could suffer anything from premature aging to brain damage to a quick and probably painful death.

In fact...

Jin felt her throat tighten. Miron Akim had been a young man when Jin had first visited Qasama, no more than ten years older than she was. Yet when they'd met again a few hours ago in the subcity, she'd guessed his age to top hers by at least thirty years.

She turned her neck a little farther around, taking a good, long look at his profile. His face was calm enough, but now that she was looking for it she could see a brightness and intensity in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before.

He hadn't come along on this trip just to play native guide to her and Merrick while they freed the trapped Shahni, she realized with a sinking feeling. He was here for some other purpose entirely.

"So if we're not hostages, despite their words, we must assume we're here for some other purpose," Akim went on. "We must discover or deduce that purpose."

I thought you already knew everything about Troft psychology.
With an effort, Jin held back the words. "Let's start at the beginning," she suggested instead. "We were allowed in on the pretext of meeting their leaders, but were instead chained up without any of those leaders making an appearance."

"Chained
after
our party had been split up," Akim said slowly. "And then locked in an empty room without guards but with hidden monitors."