Cobra Gamble (29 page)

Narayan shrugged. "I assumed you were speaking of attempted murder," he said.

And suddenly his hands came up, the lasers in his gloves pointing at Haafiz's chest. "The attempted murders," he continued quietly, "of Senior Advisor Moffren Omnathi and Marid Siraj Akim."

Daulo felt his jaw drop. Haafiz had been planning to
murder
Omnathi and Akim? He opened his mouth to demand an explanation.

And closed it again. This was nothing he wanted to get in the middle of.

But if Haafiz was thrown by the accusation, he didn't show it. "Moffren Omnathi is a traitor," the Shahni spat. "With utter contempt for the rule of the Shahni he sent an emissary to make a devil's bargain with our enemies."

"He
had
approval from the Shahni," Narayan said.

"Not
all
the Shahni," Haafiz retorted.

"All the Shahni who were present."

"Yes, and how very convenient that was for him," Haafiz bit out. "I was available. I should have been called. And his treason was then compounded by Siraj Akim, who went so far as to send his own son on the mission. All of them are traitors. All of them deserve to die."

"If you believed that you should have brought formal charges against them," Narayan countered. "Instead, like a coward, you ordered them on a mission which would leave them dead." He took a step closer to the Shahni. "And then ordered six good and loyal men to die alongside them."

Daulo caught his breath, that confrontation in the Sollas sub-city suddenly coming clear. Haafiz hadn't cared about slowing the invaders' penetration into the city's last remaining stronghold. The sole purpose of his proposed ambush had been to put Omnathi and Akim in front of enemy lasers where they would die.

"And how useful do you think it would have been to bring charges?" Haafiz asked scornfully. "You know what happened—those good and loyal men, as you call them, defied my direct orders. What use is it to follow the rule of law when the Djinn have chosen to put themselves above both the law and the Shahni?"

"We're at war," Narayan said. "Sometimes rules must be broken if we're to throw the invaders off our soil."

"The rule of law and the Shahni cannot and will not be broken," Haafiz insisted. "We are the leaders of the Qasaman people, Ifrit Narayan. We are the ones who make the decisions for our world."

He lifted his gun higher, ignoring the lasers pointed at him and leveling the weapon at Narayan's chest. "And if I make the decision to dispense justice here and now," he said, "you
will
stand aside and permit it."

Narayan drew himself up. "No, I will not," he said flatly. "You have no evidence, and without evidence there cannot be justice."

"The evidence is that I'm still here, which proves a conspiracy to keep me here," Haafiz said. "For the good of Qasama, I must return at once to the business of saving my world."

Narayan spat a curse under his breath. "Do you think you're the only one who hates this place?" he bit out. "You think that none of the rest of us teeter at the edge of insanity at being forced to remain idle while—?" He broke off abruptly.

But too late. "While what?" Haafiz demanded. "What's going on out there that I should know about?"

"The war is going on," Narayan said. "You already know that."

But the words were an evasion. Daulo knew it, and so did Haafiz. "I'm leaving now, Ifrit Narayan," the Shahni said, his voice quiet but as unyielding as granite. "Assign your Djinn to escort me, or let me go alone. But I will not spend another day here. I
will
know what is going on across my world."

Narayan's eyes flicked down to the gun pointed at his chest. "I have my orders, Shahni Haafiz," he said. "I can't allow you to leave. Not yet."

"Move aside," Haafiz ordered in the same stony voice. "Or I kill you where you stand."

Slowly, Narayan shook his head. "I can't."

Daulo curled his hands into helpless fists. And with that, he knew, Narayan was dead. Haafiz wouldn't back away from his order and his threat. Not Haafiz. Narayan would stand there until the Shahni pulled the trigger. Then Haafiz would walk over the body, leave the outpost and head out into the forest, and start the long journey toward Purma.

And alone in a swirl of dangerous predators and even more dangerous Troft invaders, he too would almost certainly die.

Daulo had to stop this. Somehow, he had to break the impasse.

And there was only one way to do that. "Then let the trial begin," he said. "Right now."

"Be quiet, Daulo Sammon," Narayan said, his eyes still on Haafiz's face. "This isn't your fight."

"It's every bit my fight," Daulo retorted. "Shahni Haafiz is right—I'm the reason he's been stuck here all this time. Very well, then. Try me, acquit or convict me, and allow Shahni Haafiz to travel to Purma."

For the first time Narayan's eyes shifted to Daulo's face. "You have no idea what you're saying," he said. "You have no evidence of your innocence, only your word against Marid Akim's. We need to wait until your son arrives to speak on your behalf."

"My son has apparently been delayed," Daulo said, his heart tearing yet again at the thought of what might have happened to Fadil. "Enough time has been wasted. One way or the other, it ends now."

"Not now," a new voice said quietly from across the galley. "But it ends tomorrow."

Daulo leaned to the side to see around Haafiz and Narayan. Miron Akim was standing calmly in the doorway. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I said you will have your wish, Daulo Sammon," Akim said. "And you will have yours, Shahni Haafiz. Daulo Sammon's trial for treason will begin tomorrow."

His eyes seemed to glitter. "And it will end tomorrow."

"And I'll finally be permitted to leave this place?" Haafiz demanded suspiciously.

Akim nodded. "With a full Djinn escort, if you wish."

Haafiz hesitated, then lowered his gun. "Very well," he said. "But I warn you: I'll stand for no further delays."

"There will be none," Akim promised. "Have you finished your meal, Daulo Sammon?"

Daulo nodded. "I have."

"Then return to your quarters," Akim ordered. "The computer will have the necessary legal guides for preparing your defense. I suggest you study them."

Daulo swallowed. "I will, Miron Akim."

"Good," Akim said. "Then go."

Gingerly, Daulo eased past Haafiz and Narayan and headed across the galley. Narayan, he noted in passing, had also lowered his arms and lasers.

The confrontation had been defused. For the moment, at least, both men were safe.

Leaving Daulo alone facing the risk of death.

He started to walk past Akim, stopped as the other caught his arm. "And don't give up hope," Akim murmured. "It may still be that your son will come to your rescue."

Daulo took a deep breath. "I fear that my son can no longer come to anyone's rescue," he said.

"Perhaps," Akim said. "We shall see."

* * *

Three days earlier, at the close of the cat-and-rat survival contest that Anya and Commander Ukuthi had euphemistically called the Games, Ukuthi had said that he and Merrick would be having a conversation soon. Now, three days later, the Troft had yet to summon Merrick to that promised conference. Perhaps, Merrick thought sourly, he was spending his time trying to dig up a few more jormungands to amuse his guests with.

Personally, Merrick was in no hurry for either talk or combat. The physical exertion in the arena hadn't reopened any of his old injuries, but he'd collected a fresh assortment of scrapes, bruises, and small cuts along the way. Nothing that the Troft doctor seemed concerned about, at least not according to Anya's translation of his still indecipherable dialect. But then, the doctor could afford to be unconcerned. It wasn't his skin that had taken all the abuse.

It was an hour after lunch on that third day when the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged Troft wearing a non-armored leotard, a senior officer's insignia, and—most surprising of all—a red heir sash. [Merrick Moreau, I greet him,] he said.

[Merrick Moreau, he greets you in return,] Merrick said, slipping off the bed and standing up. He'd been given only a glimpse of his audience back in the arena, but he was pretty sure this was the same Troft he'd seen in the center of the group of observers. [A demesne-heir, to which am I honored to speak?]

[Commander Ukuthi, I am he,] the Troft said. His radiator membranes fluttered and his beak cracked slightly open. [Surprise, you have it.]

[Surprise, I have it,] Merrick conceded with a flush of embarrassment. It was double surprise, actually: first that a demesne-heir would risk facing a dangerous prisoner with his guards standing uselessly outside the door behind him, and second that the heir in question could actually read human expressions well enough to have picked up on Merrick's emotion. [Your forgiveness, I ask it.]

[My forgiveness, it is unnecessary,] Ukuthi assured him. He lifted a hand and made a gesture.

And to Merrick's even greater surprise, the cell door closed behind him, leaving the guards outside. [Privacy, we now have it,] Ukuthi said calmly.

[Surprises, you are filled with them,] Merrick said, glancing at Anya. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her face expressionless. Either she wasn't surprised by Ukuthi's actions or she hid it very well. [Serious risks, you take them.]

[Surprises, I have even more of them,] Ukuthi said, his beak cracking open again. Was that supposed to be an attempt at a human-type smile? He ruffled his shoulders and seemed to clear his throat—"As for risks," he said, in an accent that closely mimicked Anya's own inflections, "I do not believe I am taking one."

It took Merrick three tries to get his own voice working again. In all his years of dealing with Troft merchants and diplomats, he'd never, ever had one speak to him in Anglic. He wasn't even sure anyone in the Cobra Worlds knew they
could
speak Anglic. "You're—yes, very surprising," he managed. "I've never heard a Troft speak our language before."

"It is not easy for us to do," Ukuthi conceded. "Much easier for your vocal apparatus to speak cattertalk."

"We can return to that if you'd like," Merrick offered.

"This is better." Ukuthi's beak cracked open again. "The practice, it is useful. Tell me, what are your feelings toward Anya Winghunter?"

The intellectual curiosity Merrick had been feeling at this new revelation vanished. "I have no feelings toward her," he said, letting his voice go dark and rigid.

"Yet she is human like yourself," Ukuthi pointed out. "Have you no consideration at all for her?"

Merrick looked over at Anya. She was looking back at him, her face still expressionless.

Expressionless, but perhaps not emotionless? On sudden impulse, Merrick activated his infrareds.

To discover that the woman was anything but emotionless. Her face was a swirl of heat, a pattern that seemed to indicate both fear and hope. "We call this beating around the bush," Merrick said, keying off the infrareds and turning back to Ukuthi. "Get to the point, and tell me what you want."

"I am unfamiliar with that turn of phrase," Ukuthi said. "You must tell me its origin someday. What do you know about this war?"

"I know we didn't start it," Merrick said. "I also think we're going to win it. Aside from that, not much."

"You may be correct on the second point," Ukuthi said. "But you are not correct on the first. The war
was
begun by humans. Specifically, the humans of the Dominion of Man."

Merrick felt his stomach tighten. He and his mother had speculated that the invasion of their worlds might have been a response to something happening on the far side of the Troft Assemblage. "The Dominion of Man is a hundred thirty light-years away, and we haven't had contact with them in seven decades," he said. "Why are we being punished for their actions?"

"That I cannot say," Ukuthi admitted. "All I know is that the demesnes fighting that war have contracted with the Tua'lanek'zia demesne to conquer and subdue the human worlds at this side of the Trof'te Assemblage. The Tua'lanek'zia contracted further with the Drim'hco'plai, the Gla'lupt'flae, and my own Balin'ekha'spmi for our assistance."

"I see," Merrick said sourly. Four entire Troft demesnes, plus the implied threat of whoever had organized this military dogpile in the first place. No wonder the Tlossies and the Cobra Worlds' other trading parties hadn't lifted a finger to stop them. "I hope you're at least making a decent profit."

"Our profit is not to be made in currency," Ukuthi assured him. "My demesne-lord has other objectives in sight." He gestured to Anya. "Anya Winghunter, tell Merrick Moreau of your people."

Anya hesitated. Then, she got to her feet, bowed once to Ukuthi, and turned to Merrick. "We are slaves," she said. "We create sculptures, which our masters take for their enjoyment. We hunt rare animals and find rare plants, which our masters take for their tables." She lowered her gaze to the floor, then looked back up at Merrick. "But mostly we fight in the Games."

"What do you fight?" Merrick asked. "Animals like that jormungand?"

"Sometimes," Anya said. "Most times, we fight each other." Merrick looked at Ukuthi, his hands dropping into laser-firing position. "For you?"

Ukuthi's radiator membranes fluttered. "Not us," he said. "The Drim'hco'plai are their masters."

Merrick pointed to Anya. "Yet she's here. With you."

"She is," Ukuthi acknowledged. "Some years ago the Drim'hco'plai began selling human slaves to other demesne-lords for their amusement. My demesne-lord was intrigued, so he bought several to study." He cocked his head. "Yet now, within the past two months, the Drim'hco'plai demesne-lord has suddenly and urgently requested that all slaves be returned to him."

Merrick frowned. "Why?"

"We do not know," Ukuthi said. "I also note two other curious happenstances. First, the invasion of the Cobra Worlds is well advanced, yet the Drim'hco'plai continue to take razorarms from Qasama. Where do they take them? Second, their demesne-lord insisted that the Drim'hco'plai be solely responsible for the subjugation of the Cobra World of Caelian."