Cobra Gamble (28 page)

The Troft lifted his laser warningly. "You will go into the city now," he said, the flat translator voice somehow managing to carry an edge of menace. "If you leave the supplies, they will be confiscated along with the vehicles."

Yithtra glared at him. But there was no power behind the defiance, only frustration and anger. He looked through the window at Jin, looked back along the cars again, and muttered a long, feeling curse. "Everybody out!" he shouted, waving his arm over his head. "And—" He grimaced. "Take off your tunics."

Five minutes later, with their tunics now tied around their waists and stacks of food and medical supplies in their arms, they all marched silently between the sentries and through the open city gate. There was another sentry line of Trofts inside, apparently positioned to keep the city dwellers back.

After all, Jin thought cynically, the invaders wouldn't want anyone shouting a warning to all those well-meaning visitors about the trap they were walking into.

Given what newcomers meant to the supply situation within the city, Jin had wondered if the citizens would greet the newcomers with disdain or even hostility. But as they passed the inner sentry line and approached the line of onlookers who'd gathered to watch this latest version of the oft-repeated drama, she saw nothing but resolve and solidarity in their faces. In fact, as she and the others approached, many of the citizens broke ranks and stepped forward, probably risking Troft laser fire, quietly greeting the villagers and gently but firmly relieving them of their burdens. Two of them, spotting Paul lurching along on his crutches, found a wheelchair somewhere and had it ready by the time he reached the edge of the crowd. Another of the citizens, this one a well-dressed man in his sixties, gestured toward a store a block away, which from the stacks of boxes around it had apparently been set up as a distribution center, and led the way toward it.

They had covered half the distance, and the Trofts at the gate were no longer visible through the crowd, when a slightly scruffy-looking man sidled up beside Jin and took her last remaining package. "Welcome to Azras, Jin Moreau," he murmured. "We're pleased you arrived safely."

Jin smiled. "Thank you, Siraj Akim," she greeted him in turn. "I'm pleased to find you also safe and well. I was told you and Ghofl Khatir had come here, but I never heard what happened after that."

"Like everyone else on Qasama, we've been busy," he said with a touch of dry humor. "As you clearly have also been." He threw a glance behind them at the rest of the group. "The recruits seem eager for combat."

"They are," Jin agreed heavily. "And their instructors also seem to think they're ready. But whether they actually are..." She shook her head. "I'm hoping we'll have a few days before we leave here so that Beach and McCollom can run them through a few more drills."

"You weren't told?" Siraj asked, an odd tone to his voice.

"Told what?"

Siraj moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "We won't be going to Purma or elsewhere," he said. "The attack will be here. And it'll be launched tomorrow."

Jin felt her eyes widen.
"Tomorrow.
But—" she broke off. "I thought we'd want to run at least a few more groups through Isis first."

"Such was indeed the original plan," Siraj said grimly. "But it's not to be. Five days ago a Drim courier ship arrived at the invaders' Sollas encampment, carrying what our spotters described as a highly agitated commander and crew. They were taken into one of their demesne's warships, where they stayed for two hours. Four hours after that, two other Drim warships lifted from the encampment and left Qasama."

Jin's stomach tightened. "They found out about Caelian."

"So we believe," Siraj agreed. "We feared our new ally was about to come under renewed attack."

Jin nodded, feeling suddenly ill. And when that happened, the Caelians wouldn't have a chance. Not a second time. Not with the Trofts knowing what they were flying into.

And Jody was there with them.

"There was nothing we could do directly to help them," Siraj continued. "But what we
could
attempt to do was create the conditions that would hopefully end the entire war, our part as well as Caelian's."

Jin nodded again as she understood. "By handing the invaders a massive defeat," she said. "Thereby giving the Tlossies and the other local demesnes the leverage they need to step in and force the Drims and their allies to back off."

"Exactly," Siraj agreed. "Even at that we may have waited too long—our estimate is that the Drim ships are now only a day removed from Caelian. But we needed all the new warriors we could get, and it was decided to wait until Ifrit Ghushtre and his Djinn had completed the Isis transformation."

"So that's why they were so adamant about leaving Milika with us," Jin said, the past few days' worth of puzzling conversations suddenly coming clear. "And why they insisted they didn't need any further training."

"Which may in fact be the truth," Siraj said. "Their combat suit capabilities in many ways parallel their new internal ones. That expertise combined with the learning drugs makes it quite possible that a few hours of practice with the attack plan will be all the further training they need. We'll find out shortly."

"I hope we're not all going to the subcity together," Jin warned. "I'm told the Trofts are watching for that kind of parade."

Siraj chuckled. "Never fear, Jin Moreau. After we deliver the supplies to the distribution center, your group will be broken up into three-man teams and escorted by different routes to the subcity and the designated practice arena."

"Good," Jin said, forcing her mind away from Jody and Caelian. "I trust that Paul will instead be taken directly to the hospital?"

"He and you both," Siraj said, nodding. "The doctors have been briefed about his leg and your tumor, and are already prepared to begin their work."

"Thank you." Jin glanced behind her. Paul was far enough back to be safely out of earshot. "But they'll only be working on Paul. I'll be coming with you to the briefing."

"We appreciate your courage and your commitment to Qasama," Siraj said gravely. "More than you can imagine. But your part of the war is over."

"No," Jin said firmly. "My husband's may be, but mine isn't. Not as long as Lorne is still fighting. Certainly not as long as Merrick is a prisoner of the invaders and Jody is in their crosshairs."

"Jin Moreau—"

"And whether you like it or not, you need me," Jin said. "You said it yourself: you need all of us that you can get."

"We'll have enough," Siraj assured her.

"Will you?" Jin countered. "By my count, you have exactly four—Lorne, Beach, McCollom, and me—who've fought as Cobras, plus ten who've only fought as Djinn, plus ten who've never fought at all. So tell me again how you've got all the warriors you need."

Siraj was silent a few more steps. "If I were braver, I'd stand up to you and simply tell you no," he said. "If I were more like my father, I'd find a clever way to make you think you were getting what you want while also achieving my own goals. But I'm neither. Besides, I suspect far too many of those marching with you would come to your support, and I have no interest in fighting all of them."

"Thank you," Jin said quietly.

"Just promise you'll come to
my
defense when your husband learns of your decision." Siraj gave a gentle snort. "Do you recall, back when you and your son were first brought into the Sollas subcity, Kami Ghushtre questioned my father on the place of honor and pride in warfare?"

"Very well," Jin assured him, wincing at the memory. She and Merrick had come very close to dying that day. "Your father told him that victory was more important even than honor."

"Yes," Siraj said. "I find it supremely ironic that the choice he presented Djinn Ghushtre has not, in fact, been made. Nor has it been required to be made. Whatever happens tomorrow, whether we succeed or fall, honor nevertheless remains ours."

He half turned; and to Jin's surprise he made the sign of respect to her. "Ours," he added, "and yours."

Jin swallowed hard as she returned the sign. "Thank you, Siraj Akim. Whatever happens tomorrow, it's been a privilege to serve with you. And with all of Qasama."

"As it has been for us to serve with you." Siraj smiled tightly. "But I also have no doubt that honor in victory is better than honor in defeat. Let us go and prepare ourselves as best we can for the challenges we will soon face."

"Absolutely," Jin agreed. "Lead the way." 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

From the very beginning of his incarceration in the Djinn command post, Daulo had tried to keep to himself as much as possible.

It had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Much easier than he'd expected given the post's compact size. But with Miron Akim having sent twenty of the Djinn to Milika, and with at least six of the remaining fourteen on patrol in the forest at any given time, the post sometimes felt almost like the Sammon family mine on a workers' holiday.

Most days the only person he saw was the doctor, and he usually only stayed long enough to check the progress of Daulo's recovery and occasionally adjust the level of his medications. As long as Daulo took his meals from the self-service galley at non-standard hours, his chances of avoiding everyone else were really quite high.

Fortunately, the one person he most urgently wanted to avoid seemed to also be trying to keep to himself. Daulo only saw Shahni Haafiz twice during those first few days, both of them chance encounters as Daulo was entering the galley and Haafiz was leaving.

The first of those times, Haafiz had demanded to know why Daulo wasn't under direct guard, and had warned he would be asking Ifrit Narayan the same question. The second time, he simply glared at Daulo and passed by without a word. Apparently, whatever answer he'd gotten from Narayan hadn't been the one he wanted.

As to Omnathi and Akim, Daulo didn't see either of them at all. He asked the doctor about it once, concerned that they might have taken ill, and was assured that both men were simply busy elsewhere on the post. That was all the doctor would say, and Daulo hadn't asked since.

The disadvantage of Daulo's self-imposed isolation was that the silence gave him that much more time to brood about the false charges against him and his son, and to worry about Fadil's safety as the Djinn transported him through the forest.

But he knew down deep that surrounding himself with company wouldn't have distracted his mind from those issues, either. Better not to have to gaze into other people's faces and wonder if they believed Akim's charges against him.

It was on the tenth day after his arrival when it all suddenly came apart.

He was alone in the galley, finishing up the late breakfast/early lunch meal he'd become accustomed to, when Haafiz entered. "There you are," the Shahni said, his voice cold and stiff. "I've been looking all over for you."

Which was probably a lie, Daulo knew, or at least an overly dramatic overstatement. There were only three places he ever went: his quarters, the galley, and the shower room. If Haafiz hadn't figured that out by now, he had no business being a Shahni.

But it wasn't Daulo's place to make such points, at least not out loud. "Can I help you, Shahni Haafiz?" he asked instead, making the sign of respect.

And caught his breath. Nestled in the Shahni's hand was a small but nasty-looking handgun.

"I don't know, Daulo Sammon," Haafiz said darkly as he strode across the galley. "Can you tell me why you, accused of treason, still walk free and unhindered around a secret base of the Djinn? Can you tell me why there's been no movement on any trial or interrogation, which is supposedly why I'm still here instead of at Purma?"

He stopped two meters from Daulo and lifted the gun to point squarely at Daulo's face. "And why," he added, his voice suddenly deadly, "your son is still not here?"

Daulo's whole body suddenly felt cold. "It's only been ten days," he managed, trying not to stare at the gun. "Ifrit Akim said it would take a week in both directions."

"Miron Akim lied," Haafiz said flatly. "I've calculated the numbers. A Djinni with combat suit assistance should be able to cover the distance to Milika in no more than five days. Four, if they chose to push themselves." He lifted the gun slightly. "So I ask you again, Daulo Sammon: where is your son?"

"You don't really expect him to know that, do you?" a voice called from the doorway.

Daulo tore his gaze from the gun and looked over Haafiz's shoulder. It was Narayan, walking casually across the galley toward them.

But there was nothing casual about the tight expression on his face. Nor was there anything casual about the way his gloved hands, still swinging at his sides, were already curled into laser-firing positions.

Only Haafiz, with his glare on Daulo, couldn't see that. "Why not?" Haafiz bit out over his shoulder. "Everyone else claims to know nothing. Perhaps only Daulo Sammon knows the truth. Shall we not ask him?"

"How could he possibly know things that are happening hundreds of kilometers away?" Narayan asked reasonably. "He's been locked up in here ever since he arrived."

"One radio has already been found in his possession," Haafiz reminded him. "Perhaps he had two."

Abruptly, the Shahni spun around, his gun now leveled at Narayan's chest. "Or perhaps," Haafiz said softly, "he's not the only traitor here."

Narayan stopped. "Perhaps he's not," he said, his voice as soft as Haafiz's.

Haafiz seemed taken aback by the other's response. "Then you agree," he said, lowering his gun barrel a few degrees. "Using the excuse of Daulo Sammon to keep me trapped here can only be attributed to cowardice, incompetence, or treason. And I know neither Moffren Omnathi nor Miron Akim is incompetent or a coward."

"Is
that
what you referred to?" Narayan said, his forehead wrinkling as if in confusion. "Your pardon, Shahni Haafiz. I misunderstood what you meant by treason."

"What did you
think
I meant?" Haafiz countered.