Cobra Outlaw - eARC (7 page)

CHAPTER SIX

After a boyhood filled with the excitement and drama of adventure tales, Paul found the MindsEye room to be something of a disappointment.

He’d expected it to be dark and gloomy, with subdued lights blinking ominously from black consoles; or else pure white, gleaming with chrome and clean ceramic, the lair of a pathologically germophobic mad scientist. But it was neither. It was simply a normal-looking compartment off the
Algonquin
’s sickbay recovery room, its walls and ceiling the same soothing blue as the room where the ship’s chief medical officer had given him a quick exam and certified him fit for the procedure.

“Let me explain how this is going to work,” Captain Lij Tulu said, standing between and half a step behind a pair of combat-suited Marines as the med techs strapped Paul into a heavily-padded chair at the center point of three wall-to-ceiling pillars. “We’ll start by mapping your entire brain on a cellular and electro-biological level. Once we have our baseline, we’ll ask you some questions to identify and mark the sections of memory we’re most interested in. After that, we’ll start sifting through those regions and look for the specific memories we need.”

He smiled, a snake’s smile. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find the visual image of that navigational display and get Qasama’s coordinates on the first pass. If not, we’ll keep at it until we’ve looked at everything.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Paul said, trying to filter the dread out of his voice. Commodore Santores had assured him that the MindsEye was perfectly safe as long as it was handled properly. He’d also added his personal guarantee that Lij Tulu would take every precaution to protect him.

All of which made perfect sense, of course. Santores desperately wanted Qasama’s location, and the commodore would hardly risk damaging one of the only two people on Aventine who might hold that information.

There was just one small flaw in everybody’s logic. As far as Paul could tell, no one had ever tried the MindsEye on a Cobra before.

The device had never been used on someone with a layer of tough ceramic laminae on the skull bones. It had never been tried on someone with a network of optronic equipment jacked into the brain from the ears and eye sockets.

It
especially
hadn’t been tried on someone with a nanocomputer implanted under his brain. A nanocomputer whose designers had very much
not
wanted their toy attacked, neutralized, reprogrammed, removed, or in any other way messed with.

They’d not wanted it so much, in fact, that they’d put in some nasty safeguards to make sure none of that happened.

“Last chance to be reasonable,” Lij Tulu said as the techs finished and stepped away from the chair. “Tell me where Qasama is and you’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”

“I don’t know where it is,” Paul said, looking him straight in the eye.

“Maybe,” Lij Tulu said with a shrug. “Maybe not.” He gestured to the man seated at the main control board. “Let’s find out together.”

Paul closed his eyes, feeling a wan smile tweaking at the corners of his lips. Some
very
nasty safeguards…and Paul himself had no idea what those safeguards were. Or what it took to trigger them.

That, too, was something they would all find out together.

#

The Deuel Center had started life as a Cobra way station some twenty years earlier, a place for storing supplies and equipment where local scavengers couldn’t get at them. But as the DeVegas province population grew and other stations were established, the center had been abandoned. It had been subsequently bought by a local naturalist, renamed for her late husband, and set up as a nature observation post for local biology and ecology students.

It was rarely used outside of daylight hours, which made it ideal for a late-night rendezvous. More importantly, from Lorne’s point of view, the fact that it had been closed and unoccupied for the past few hours meant that the day’s residual heat had long since dissipated, which meant that anyone skulking inside would stand out like a torch on Lorne’s infrareds.

But the place was as dark on IR as it was in the enhanced starlight of his light-amplifiers. If Colonel Reivaro had learned about Lorne’s clandestine meeting, he was at least smart enough to pass over the obvious ambush locale.

Lying among the reeds near the river’s edge, Lorne took a moment to check his nanocomputer’s clock circuit. It was three minutes to one.

He eased a little closer to the rippling water, keeping one eye on the sky and the other on the riverbank. Spine leopards also liked to establish way stations along rivers, and while most of them preferred to hunt in the daytime it wasn’t at all unheard of for one of them to awaken with an appetite and go on the prowl for a snack. It would be highly embarrassing if one of the predators nailed him before Reivaro even had a chance at his shot.

One o’clock came and went. Kicker was now officially late, assuming Lorne had interpreted the message correctly. Still, there were plenty of innocuous reasons why the other Cobra might have been delayed. Lorne would give him another half hour before moving on to other options.

It was seventeen minutes after one when the diffuse glow of distant headlights appeared among the trees to the north. Lorne notched up his audios, and a moment later picked up the faint sound of an approaching car. He did a quick estimate of the vehicle’s intercept time, then sent a slow careful look around. An approaching vehicle was the classic diversion, and he had no intention of getting caught that easily.

No trap had been sprung by the time the vehicle emerged from the scattered thickets about two hundred fifty meters away. It was hard to identify through the glare of the headlights, but it looked and sounded like a pretty standard Cobra patrol car. It continued on for another fifty meters or so, then rolled to a stop. A figure climbed out, even harder to make out in the headlight shadows than the vehicle itself. The figure took a few steps toward the river.

And there was a flash of light behind the headlights as a flicker of laser fire shot toward the riverbank.

Lorne tensed, pressing himself closer to the ground. The laser fired again, paused, then fired a third time. Probably a Cobra, but Dominion Marines used lasers, too. Easing his head up a few centimeters, Lorne searched the target area, trying to figure out what the shooter was firing at.

Nothing. Notching up his opticals’ light-amp level, he let his eyes continue on, sweeping the entire riverbank. His gaze reached the section directly across the river—

He froze. Crouched beside a gnarled tree on the far bank was a second figure, whose approach Lorne had missed entirely. Feeling his heartbeat suddenly speed up, he keyed in his telescopics.

It wasn’t Kicker. But it
was
another familiar face: Dushan Matavuli, one of the biggest ranchers in this part of the province. More importantly, a man who’d actively helped Lorne’s fellow Cobras, especially his friends Dillon de Portola and Badger Werle, during their guerrilla war against the occupying Trofts.

And then, as Lorne tried to pierce the gloom around the other man, Matavuli lifted a hand and beckoned.

Lorne wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the river.
Nice night for a swim
, he thought sourly. On the surface, it was hardly an outlandish request—after all, he’d sneaked into Archway last night via the Caluma River, and then sneaked his mother out the same way. And just this morning he’d gone for a similar dip in order to retrieve Kicker’s message.

But that had all taken place in the Caluma River, which was well-traveled, well-monitored, and relatively free of predators. This was the Pashington, which meandered through the sparsely-populated ranching areas of DeVegas province and was none of the three.

Still, if it was the only way, it was the only way. Getting up into a crouch, Lorne started to slip off his jacket—

And dropped instantly back to the ground, one leg collapsing beneath him to angle him into a sideways dive as his nanocomputer took over his servo network, triggering a pre-programmed evasive maneuver. Something big was coming over the river in a fast, shallow arc, heading straight toward him.

He was two meters from where he’d started, rolling up into a defensive crouch with fingertip lasers ready, when the object hit the riverbank halfway up the slope with a muffled thud. Lorne peered at it, automatically holding his breath in case it was some sort of gas bomb.

It wasn’t a bomb, or any other kind of weapon. It was, instead, the grabber hook off a vehicle-mounted winch. Even as his brain caught up with that identification there was a stuttering
whoosh
as the attached cable splashed into the river water.

He was still trying to figure out what was going on when the cable rose a few centimeters from the water, clearly being pulled from the other end, and dragged the grabber across the ground until it hooked on the curve of a thick tree root poking up among the reeds. A final tug locked the grabber firmly into the root, and the cable stiffened as it was pulled taut.

And as Lorne peered across the river again he saw Matavuli gesture him to cross.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lorne muttered, looking at the cable. He looked back at Matavuli, who was now pointing to the taut cable with one hand and tapping the back of his own head with the other.

Was he suggesting…?

Ridiculous. The Cobra gear had been designed for combat, with the pre-programmed reflexes necessary for combat survival. The techs who’d put it all together surely hadn’t bothered with crazy daredevil’s tightrope-walking capability.

But Matavuli was still jabbing his finger at the cable and pointing to the general area on his head where Cobra nanocomputers were located. And the option, apparently, was a midnight swim.

The laser fire to the north was still going on, but it had slowed markedly from its earlier volume. If that was Kicker’s diversion, it seemed to be coming to a halt. If Lorne was going to do this, he needed to do it now.

Clenching his teeth, wondering distantly just what kind of nasties might be lurking under the rippling river surface, he rose to his feet, stepped onto the cable, and started walking.

And to his astonishment, kept right on going.

Lorne had long since become used to having his nanocomputer take command of his body at moments of danger, and he also knew a whole list of techniques for setting it up to execute specific maneuvers. Even so, everything he’d ever done had been a variant of some technique or group of techniques he’d been taught back at the academy. To discover that his equipment still had secrets he’d never suspected was more than a little disconcerting.

But this was definitely real. Lorne and his brother Merrick had tried the tightrope thing a few times when they were children, and Lorne had never made it more than two steps before flailing his way to a helpless tumble from the line, which had fortunately been set only thirty centimeters above the ground. Now, though, he was striding almost casually across the river, his outstretched arms waggling up and down of their own accord as his nanocomputer guided his steps and his balance.

Thirty seconds later, he was across.

Somewhere during Lorne’s journey Matavuli had disappeared, backing away into the brush. But Lorne didn’t need him to show the way. Dropping back into a crouch on the soft ground of the bank, he followed the cable through the reeds and bushes.

At the end of the line, as expected, he found Brandeis “Kicker” Pierce with the cable now lying loose on the ground in front of him. Also in front of him were a pair of deep indentations where he’d dug his heels into the ground while he belayed the line.

Wrapped around his throat was the red neckband that Colonel Reivaro had ordered placed on all the DeVegas Cobras.

“Broom,” Pierce murmured, throwing a quick look at the sky. “I see you got our message. Any problems getting here?”

“None that I noticed,” Lorne said, frowning. There was a slight tingling at his ears, the sound created by the Cobra microphone-blocking sonic. “And if Reivaro tracked me he really should have sprung his trap by now.” He nodded toward the neckband. “Do those things transmit, too?”

“We don’t know,” Pierce said. “But better safe than sorry. Especially given what happens when we displease our new masters.”

Lorne winced. From the quick run-down he’d received from Yates during the rescue of his mother he knew there was a small explosive charge in each of the neckbands. Nothing too big; but then, it didn’t take much force to shatter someone’s windpipe or shred a nearby artery or vein. “Yes, I heard,” he said. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Pierce countered. “What
can
you do? Not about this,” he added, wagging a finger at the neckband. “Digger’s already looked at it, and he can’t figure out how to get the damn things off. Not without blowing the occupant’s head off, anyway.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Lorne said, moving closer and keying a bit more power to his light-amps. The neckbands definitely
seemed
foolproof: no obvious latches or fasteners, no surface features that might give a clue as to the mechanism beneath the outer layer, no mottling or other hints showing up on infrared.

Still, there might be a side-door trick Reivaro hadn’t thought of. “How much room is there between your neck and the collar?” he asked.

Experimentally, Pierce slipped a finger behind the neckband. “A centimeter,” he said. “Maybe one and a half. But there’s nothing back there that’ll help—Digger’s already looked.”

“That’s okay,” Lorne assured him, looking around. “Is Matavuli still here?”

“He’s gone back to the car,” Pierce said, nodding up the slope of the bank. “Filling out a report on the river water quality, in case someone in a uniform wanders by and asks. You need him back here?”

“No, you can deliver the message for me,” Lorne said. “Here’s what I need for him to do.”

Pierce listened in silence as Lorne laid out the plan. “Going to be tricky,” he warned when Lorne had finished. “Matavuli’s got no real reason to go to Capitalia, and if Reivaro’s got any brains he’ll be watching for odd travel moves.”