Cobra Alliance-Cobra War Book 1 (33 page)

And it was so terribly obvious. How in the
Worlds
had she missed it? "That's it," she said, her throat tightening against the words. "You're right, Miron Akim. That's exactly what they're doing.

"Only the enemy you mention isn't Qasama. The enemy is us."

Akim nodded, his expression going even darker. "So indeed I have suspected from the first," he said, an edge of accusation in his tone. "All the more so since you never suggested the possibility."

"Because I didn't think of it," Jin said, embarrassment and chagrin flowing in around the sudden heartache. Her worlds—her people—her family, under Troft attack. "I don't know why not. It's so obvious."

"Perhaps," Akim said, his voice a shade less angry. "But even if true, it cannot be the entire truth. If your world is their target, why invade Qasama at all? There are many unoccupied territories where they could hunt razorarms with little effort and less resistance."

Jin sighed. "They invaded you because you're here," she said quietly. "And because you're humans."

Akim's eyes bored into hers. "Explain."

Jin took a deep breath. "A century ago there was a war between the Dominion of Man and an alliance of demesnes at that end of the Troft Assemblage. The reasons for it are muddled, but they don't really matter. What matters is that the first the Dominion knew about Troft animosity was when the alliance's troops landed and occupied two of our worlds." She lifted her arms slightly. "We were the Dominion's response."

"Forces who could move easily among the occupied peoples," Akim said, nodding. "And could fight back from that concealment."

"Keeping them distracted and softening them up until they could be ultimately driven off," Jin said. "The problem was that once the war was over, there was nowhere for the surviving Cobras to go. They didn't really fit in with their old homes anymore, a good percentage of the general populace was terrified of them, and the political leaders simply wanted them to go away." She smiled tightly. "It was my grandfather's brother, actually, who came up with the answer: send the remaining Cobras past the Assemblage as guardians and police for a new group of human colonies."

Akim frowned. "And the Trofts actually agreed to this?"

Jin shrugged. "The demesnes who'd lost the war didn't have a lot of say in the matter," she reminded him. "The rest of them didn't seem to particularly care one way or the other whether humans went zooming back and forth through their space." She grimaced. "Or maybe they all just recognized the opportunity buried inside the apparent humiliation."

Akim straightened suddenly, as if a missing piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. "Because you were now hostages to the Dominion's good behavior."

"Exactly," Jin said. "The Dominion's idea, I think, was that having a group of Cobras out here would be a nice two-front threat against the Trofts to keep them from further mischief. But if it was, it backfired. Badly. Barely twenty years after we got here the corridor we'd been using was closed, cutting us off from the Dominion."

"You must have been perturbed, to say the least," Akim murmured.

"Actually, it was our idea," Jin told him. "My grandfather's, to be specific, worked out along with his brother. They forced the closure of the corridor, ending the Dominion's threat of a two-front war."

"So the Dominion lost the lever it had hoped for," Akim murmured. "But the Trofts didn't."

"The Trofts didn't," Jin agreed, her stomach tightening. "And apparently someone's decided it's time to cash in."

"Apparently," Akim said grimly. "I wonder what the Trofts have done to your Dominion this time."

"Or what the Dominion has done to them," Jin said. "But from this end of the universe, it doesn't much matter who started it or why. What matters is that someone has decided we're a potential threat that needs to be neutralized."

"And they believe Qasama to be your allies?"

"They probably don't care whether you are or not," Jin said. "Remember, these are most likely Trofts from the Dominion side of the Assemblage who don't care a damn about our political relationships. They've come here to punish the Dominion by suppressing human colonization, period."

"I see," Akim said. "It would have been nice to have known this sooner."

Jin winced. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry, Miron Akim. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I just can't seem to think like I used to. Old age catching up with me, I guess."

"No apologies needed," Akim said, an odd tone in his voice. "And I wish it was merely old age." Reaching to his lap, he picked up the green folder. "I have the results of your last group of tests."

"And?" Jin asked carefully.

Akim visibly braced himself. "You have a brain tumor, Jasmine Moreau," he said quietly. "A highly virulent one.

"In two months, perhaps three, you will die."

Jin stared at him, feeling the blood draining from her face. Her strange inability to think straight, her unexplained blackouts ... "Are you sure?" she heard herself ask.

"Very sure," Akim said. "I'm sorry. I wish it were otherwise."

"Is there anything that can be done?"

Akim pursed his lips. "The doctors will study the data and see if there are any options." He hesitated. "But you have to understand that they have other matters occupying their attention at the moment."

"Of course." Jin took a deep breath. Two months. "All right," she said. "What can I do until then?"

"There are dietary techniques that may slow the process," Akim said. "Bed rest may also be of some use."

Jin shook her head. "You misunderstand. What I meant was, until the doctors have time to study my case—and probably haul me in for more tests—what can I do to help in the war?"

A muscle in Akim's cheek twitched. "I appreciate your offer," he said. "But I'm afraid your service to Qasama is at an end. Aside from anything else, we can hardly risk you having a blackout during a combat operation."

"I suppose," Jin conceded, marveling at how calm she was. Or perhaps how numb she was would be a more accurate description. Even on Aventine, doctors had little chance against a brain tumor. On Qasama, in the middle of a war, the odds were undoubtedly

far worse. "I'll need to tell Merrick. Can I see him? Or hasn't he recovered yet from his injuries?"

"No, he should be recovered by now," Akim said, the odd note back in his voice. "I'll see if I can locate him. Wait here, please, and continue reading through the file."

Like she would really be able to concentrate on Troft troop movements now.
Two months to live . . .
"All right," she said.

She'd been trying to focus on the papers for nearly an hour when a knock finally came on the door and a tall young man in a gray Djinni combat suit and shocking—for a Qasaman—red hair stepped into the doorway. "You are Jasmine Moreau?" he asked formally.

"Yes," Jin said.

"Marid Miron Akim sent me to bring you to him," the Djinni said shortly. "Follow me."

"May I know your name?" Jin asked, making no move to stand up.

The other glared. Perhaps he didn't like being in the presence of an enemy of Qasama. "I am Ghofl Khatir, Djinn Ifrit of Qasama," he said shortly.

"Honored to meet you, Ifrit Khatir," Jin said, nodding to him as she got to her feet. "Please; lead the way."

She crossed the room, but to her mild surprise, Khatir remained in the doorway blocking her exit. "We will be meeting with your son on a matter of intense importance," he said. "Miron Akim requests that you do not speak of personal matters at this time."

"Will there be a time provided for such a conversation?" Jin asked, resisting the impulse to simply pick him up by the arms and move him out of her way.

"You must ask Miron Akim about that," Khatir said, finally stepping back out into the corridor. "Follow me."

The room he took her to was larger than the one she'd just left but only slightly better furnished. Three men were waiting: Miron Akim, Carsh Zoshak, and Merrick.

Merrick was on his feet even before she was all the way into the room. "Mom!" he said, hurrying toward her and gripping her arm. "Are you all right?"

Jin glanced at Akim, noting the stiffness in his face. "I'm fine," she said, giving her son a quick once-over. "
You're
the one who got all shot up."

"I'm fine," Merrick assured her, dismissing his condition with a quick wave of his hand. "They did a good job of patching me up."

"Save your personal conversation for another time," Khatir said brusquely as he stalked past them. "We have work to do."

"Courtesy, Ifrit Khatir," Akim admonished him mildly. "But he's correct. The hour is late, and we have much to discuss. Please; be seated."

Gripping Merrick's hand, Jin stepped to the row of chairs in front of Akim and sat down in one of them. Merrick sat beside her; to her mild surprise, Zoshak took the seat on Merrick's other side. Khatir, in contrast, pointedly moved one over from Jin's other side, leaving an empty chair between them.

"We suffered a serious setback today," Akim began, his eyes touching each of their faces in turn. "More importantly, many Qasaman lives were lost." He gestured toward Zoshak. "Djinni Zoshak was the only survivor not currently undergoing medical treatment. He'll describe what he saw and experienced from the ground."

Jin listened silently as Zoshak related the attack on the Troft sentry ship and its aftermath. "Have any of you any questions?" Akim asked when he had finished.

Jin looked at Merrick. He looked back and gave her a small shake of his head. "I have one, then," Akim continued. "The acid Djinni Zoshak and the others used should have quickly destroyed or at least seriously damaged any alloy of the sort the invaders are known to use in their ships. Do you, Jasmine Moreau or Merrick Moreau, have any idea why it didn't do so?"

With an effort, Jin dragged her mind back from images of carnage. "Your statement implies you've examined Troft ship construction," she said. "May I ask when and where you did this?"

"That information is classified," Khatir put in.

"Over the years we've had the opportunity to take spectroscopic samplings from four Troft trading ships," Akim said, ignoring Khatir's comment. "The alloys were all very much of a kind, with only slight variations in the percentages of the admixed metals."

Jin looked at Merrick. "Any ideas?" she invited.

He shrugged. "Those were probably local Troft traders," he pointed out. "This bunch seem to be from some other demesnes. I suppose they could use entirely different hull materials."

"Maybe," Jin said doubtfully. "But unless my high-school physics has been completely outdated, hullmetal is pretty much basically hullmetal. You need certain characteristics for the hyperdrive to haul the whole ship along with it instead of just blasting its way through the bulkheads and taking off on its own."

"Unless the Trofts have come up with a new alloy that also works," Merrick said. "Neither of us is exactly an authority on these things." He turned to Zoshak. "Did the acid do
anything
to the weapons? Slow them down, set the barrels drooping—anything?"

"Not that I could see from the ground," Zoshak said grimly. "They were certainly functional enough to kill our soldiers and Djinn."

"With lasers," Akim said suddenly.

Jin looked at him. "What?"

"The invaders fired at our soldiers with lasers," Akim said slowly, his eyes on Zoshak but his gaze focused somewhere more distant. "But I don't believe they ever fired their missiles. The small antipersonnel missiles, yes, but not the larger ones from the clusters.
Any
of the clusters."

"Perhaps they saw no need to spend them," Khatir suggested.

"No," Zoshak said, a sudden new edge to his voice. "I remember a specific instance, when a machine gunner was firing at the weapons cluster. A missile would have made quick work of the gunner, possibly bringing down the entire building and reducing all resistance from that direction. But instead the invaders fired a barrage of laser shots until he was silenced."

He looked at Merrick. "And yet the launchers
were
tracking. I remember seeing them swinging back and forth as if looking for targets."

"Maybe they wanted to limit the amount of destruction they were causing," Jin suggested, a bit hesitantly.

"That's not one of their concerns," Akim said firmly.

"He's right," Merrick seconded. "I saw some of what they did during Plan Saikah. They might not be ready to nuke Qasama back to the stone age, but you attack them and they'll fight just back as hard as anyone else." He frowned. "Though come to think of it, they didn't use missiles against Narayan and me, either, when we were rescuing Shahni Haafiz's family."

"Because the missile launchers on that sentry ship were occupied elsewhere," Akim said. "You were perhaps unaware that other forces were attempting to distract the invaders so that your rescue could succeed."

Merrick winced. "Oh," he said. "You're right. I didn't see that."

"The question remains as to why the missiles weren't used this evening," Zoshak said. "Could the acid have done some damage, but not enough for us to notice?"

"But if the lasers worked—" Merrick broke off. "Do those weapons clusters retract?"

"You mean into the ship?" Akim shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. There's no place for them to retract into, and the pylons seem permanently attached."

Merrick grunted thoughtfully. "Did you pick up the Troft ships on radar as they were coming in toward Sollas?"

"We don't normally use active sensor equipment," Akim said, studying Merrick closely. "Such techniques run the risk of betraying the observer's location."

"That they do," Merrick agreed. He turned a tight smile on his mother. "But the Trofts wouldn't have known that. Especially not Trofts from this far out of town."

And suddenly Jin saw where he was going. "The ships are sensor-coated," she breathed.

"Bingo." Merrick turned back to Akim. "She means there must be some kind of coating on the hullmetal that deflects or absorbs radar signals," he explained. "Something thin that wouldn't interfere with hyperspace travel, but would help protect them from unfriendly eyes while they were here."