Cobra Outlaw - eARC (32 page)

“It’s a possibility, anyway.” Meekan turned to Kusari. “Sir?”

Kusari huffed out a breath. “I can’t condone this,” he said, his voice dark. “It’s a violation of standing orders, not to mention borderline treason.”

“Yes, sir.” Meekan seemed to brace himself and twitched his eyelid. “Lieutenant Meekan to Tactical. A spaceship will be leaving Qasama within the next hour. By my authorization, under Captain Moreau’s name, the ship will be allowed to depart unhindered.”

There was a moment of silence, presumably as he received an acknowledgment, and he again twitched his eyelid. “Ms. Broom, you have one hour to get the
Squire
ready to fly. I hope that will be sufficient.”

“It will,” Jody assured him, standing up. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“One more thing,” Meekan said. “Obviously, the
Dorian
’s not going anywhere until our injured crewmen are recovered enough to return to the ship. But before you leave Qasama, I want a copy of the course history you mentioned.”

“Of course,” Jody said. “I don’t have it on me, but if you’ll give me a data connection I can send you a copy.”

“Just make a copy and leave it under my name at the hospital admission desk,” Meekan said. “We don’t want a data trail that someone might follow later.”

Jody winced. “Understood,” she said. “Again, thank you.”

“Thank us by finding your brother,” Kusari said heavily. “And if you have a spare minute or two, see if you can also find out who the Kriel’laa’misar are, where they are, and what the hell they want with our people.”

“I will, sir,” Jody promised grimly. “All of it.”

#

The aircar the four Trofts had arrived in was tucked away in a small clearing just beyond Alexis’s bersarkis border. Kjoic stopped at the vehicle long enough to grab a laser rifle and a pair of survival packs, then led the way back into the forest. The limp the Troft had presented during the last two days of their journey, Merrick noted distantly, was gone without a trace. Apparently, the injury had healed during Merrick’s own convalescence.

If, in fact, it had ever been more than a ruse to begin with.

Finally, two kilometers from the ranch, Kjoic called a halt. “I presume you have many questions,” he said as he seated himself on a partially decomposed stump. “Those questions, you may ask them.”

“Okay,” Merrick said, keying his infrareds as he sat down on a log facing the other. Troft facial blood flow didn’t reflect emotional changes nearly as much as it did in humans, but the aliens’ radiator membranes should more than make up for it. “Let’s start with what happened on the crashed ship. You said there was a fight, and that you hid from it. I didn’t think about it at the time, but the fact that the locals weren’t still hunting for you implied that they thought they’d gotten everyone, which implies in turn that they didn’t know you were even there. You were a stowaway, weren’t you?”

Kjoic’s membranes fluttered, and Merrick’s opticals spotted the brief surge of heat flow there. “Very good,” the Troft said. “Unfortunately, I was discovered as we approached Muninn.”

“And so you killed all of them?”

“Yes,” Kjoic said simply. “It was necessary.”

Merrick shivered. The very casualness of that admission, combined with the businesslike way he’d dealt with the four back at Alexis’s house clearly showed that he was no stranger to violence. “So who are you? What’s on Muninn that’s worth killing for?”

Kjoic waved a hand back toward Svipall. “You’ve already seen it,” he said. “The testing and the chemical studies taking place in Svipall could be vital to the fortunes of the war.”

“You’re a bit behind the times,” Merrick said. “The war’s over.”

“Not the war against the unimportant human worlds at this side of the Assemblage,” Kjoic said, a hint of contempt in his voice. “That action was ill-advised and pointless. I speak of the war currently being waged against the Dominion of Man.”

Merrick felt his throat tighten. So there
was
a new war on the far side of the Troft Assemblage. He and his mother had speculated about that at the very beginning of the Qasaman invasion, but at the time it had been pure guesswork. Now, it was confirmed. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Kjoic said, eyeing him closely, his membranes fluttering a bit more. “Perhaps not. But I will not pry into your origin or the world you call home. What is important is that we both seek information on the chemical that the Drim’hco’plai are creating.”

“I don’t know anything about that, either,” Merrick said.

“You know more than you say,” Kjoic countered. “Perhaps more than you realize. Allow me to tell what
I
know. The Drim’hco’plai were one of the demesnes who sought to subdue and conquer the nearby human worlds. They now claim to have created a weapon that will permit final Troft victory in the war against the Dominion. This—” he gestured again toward Svipall “—is where I believe they have created it.”

“Did they say how it’s supposed to work?”

“They claim it will turn humans against each other,” Kjoic said. “Creating treason and betrayal in the very midst of the human forces.”

“Very poetic,” Merrick said. “Also a little far-fetched.”

“I agree,” Kjoic agreed. “But the question is not whether the concept seems likely. The question is whether it is, in fact, true.”

“Yes,” Merrick murmured. On the face of it, the whole thing was ridiculous.

And yet…

He’d seen the power of the bersark plant. He’d seen the strength and near-invulnerability of the jormungand snakes. He’d seen at least one example—bersarkis—of the Muninn natives taking the exotic natural chemicals they were living among and turning them into equally exotic drugs.

And he’d seen Dyre, who’d been fully aware that protecting Merrick was also protecting his betrothed Anya, calmly and loudly betray him to the Trofts.

Was that what Red Patch was? Some sort of loyalty-conditioning drug?

“The razorarms,” he murmured.

“Pardon?” Kjoic asked.

“I was just thinking about the razorarms of Qasama,” Merrick said slowly, trying to sort out the odd thought that had suddenly jumped across his mind. “Big predators with symbiotic links to birds called mojos. The mojos are mildly telepathic and act as controllers for the razorarms’ behavior, guiding them toward prey and away from danger. All through the invasion the Drims were snatching razorarms from the human areas, despite the fact that the Qasamans routinely shot down their collector aircraft. We could never figure out why the Trofts were risking that kind of trouble, especially when the whole planet was full of the things for the taking.”

“And you now know the reason?”

“Maybe,” Merrick said. “The mojos adjust the razorarms’ thinking—what there is of it—as they modify their behavior. Maybe the Drim were taking razorarms from both settled and unsettled regions in hopes of finding differences in their brain chemistry.”

“Searching for how and where the conditioning has taken place,” Kjoic said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Such large and dangerous predators, are they also on the human world of Caelian?”

“No razorarms, but lots of other nasties,” Merrick said. “Were the Drims taking animals from there, too?”

“That world was certainly invaded,” Kjoic said. “Whether they had specific target creatures in mind, or were simply seeking possibilities, I have no knowledge. But this is indeed a promising beginning to our enquiries.” He stood up. “Let us add more distance from our common enemy while we decide our next course of action.”

“I have a question,” Merrick said, not moving from his own seat. “I’m a human. My reason for wanting to stop the Drims are obvious. What about you?”

Kjoic’s membranes stretched out for a moment, then sagged again. “I am an agent of the Kriel’laa’misar demesne,” he said. “It is my demesne-lord to whom the Drim’hco’plai are endeavoring to sell this weapon.”

Merrick blinked. “Wait a minute. They’re giving it to
you
? Then why in the Worlds are you even here?”

“Is it not obvious?” Kjoic asked. “The Drim’hco’plai are asking a large sum of money for their weapon. Is it not well worth our time and effort to steal it instead?”

Merrick stared at him. The rivalry between Troft demesnes was legendary; but for one ally in the midst of a war to straight-up steal valuable technology from another was insane.

But at the same time it had the ring of truth to it. “So when you suggest we work together, you mean only until we have the weapon.”

The membranes flared. “The truth, you speak it,” Kjoic conceded. “But consider that neither of us is likely to achieve the goal alone.”

“So we hold off trying to kill each other until we have the drug?”

“It may not come to killing,” Kjoic said. “But it will certainly come to victory for one and defeat for the other.” He cocked his head in a very human gesture. “Have we an alliance?”

It was crazy, Merrick knew. Crazy, and with a very good chance of getting him killed.

But Kjoic was right. Merrick couldn’t do this on his own. He needed allies and assistance, and with Anya and Ludolf vanished into the night, Kjoic was the only ally he had. “Common goal,” he said.

“Common goal,” Kjoic agreed. “Now, let us be off.”

“You have a destination in mind?” Merrick said, standing up.

“I do.” The Troft slung the laser rifle over his shoulder, maneuvering it carefully around the radiator membrane there. Then, with only a slight hesitation, he drew his smaller laser from its holster and tossed it, grip-first, to Merrick. “You may need this. Follow, and be silent.”

He turned and set off again, heading away from Svipall. Shoving the laser into his belt, Merrick followed.

Victory for one
, Kjoic had said.
Defeat for another
.

Kjoic was a special agent, probably trained in espionage, certainly trained in violence. Merrick wasn’t trained in either.

But he was a Cobra.

Only Kjoic didn’t know that.

Victory for one. Defeat for another.

This was, Merrick had already realized, going to be dangerous.

It was also going to be very interesting.