Cobra Alliance-Cobra War Book 1 (3 page)

"I hope he's learned to cook," Paul said. "We're going to the Island tonight."

Jin frowned. "That was Uncle Corwin?"

"Merrick, actually," Paul said. "He said Uncle Corwin had called and invited all of us to dinner."

A tingle went up Jin's back. Uncle Corwin never called dinner parties on the spur of the moment this way. And if he had, he would have called Jin, not Merrick, to make the arrangements.

Which meant this family get-together was Merrick's idea, with the Uncle Corwin connection having been thrown in simply for cover.

Jin looked at Chintawa. He was busily leafing through some papers, but she could tell he was listening closely to the conversation. "Sounds good to me," she told Paul. "All I have at the house is leftovers anyway. I'll call Lorne and let him know."

"No need," Paul said. "Merrick was going to call both him and Jody as soon as he got off the comm."

"Okay." Settling back against the cushions, Jin closed her eyes.

And wondered uneasily what was going on.

It couldn't have anything to do with today's trouble at the Sun Center. Merrick had inherited his father's cool unflappability, and he wouldn't have even started worrying until he had something besides an initial report to go on. He'd been planning to stop by the house today and drop off some of Jody's new azaleas—could something have happened to their house?

But then why hadn't he just said so? Surely he wouldn't have worried about either Chintawa or the two governors hearing that the plants were dying or that someone had driven a car into their living room.

"Think of it as an early Thanksgiving," Paul said into her musings. "It'll be a nice treat to have the whole family together again, even if only for one evening."

"Absolutely," Jin murmured. "And you all know how much I love surprises."

Merrick Broom closed the comm and looked across the desk at the silver-haired man sitting there. "They're coming," he confirmed. "Dad said they'd be home in a couple of hours. Add in time to clean up and change, and they should be here by six or so."

"Good," Corwin Moreau said, thoughtfully fingering the paper Merrick had brought to him half an hour ago. Those fingers, Merrick noted, were thin and age-stained, but still strong and flexible.

As was Great-Uncle Corwin himself. Eighty-seven years old, he was still hale and hearty, with every indication that he still had ten to twenty years of good life left in him.

A hundred years, or even beyond, whereas Merrick's own grandfather Justin, five years Corwin's junior, had barely made it to sixty. A sobering reminder of how drastically the implanted Cobra weapons and equipment shortened the lives of all those who committed themselves to that service.

A list which included both of Merrick's parents and Merrick's younger brother Lorne. Not to mention Merrick himself.

"What do you think she's going to do?" Corwin asked, lifting the paper slightly.

Merrick pulled his thoughts back from the dark future to the equally dark present. "You really think there's a question?" he countered. "She's going to go for it, of course."

"I'm afraid you're right," Corwin conceded. "Your mother's always been the damn-the-consequences sort."

Merrick raised his eyebrows slightly. "I understand it runs in the family."

Corwin's wrinkled face cracked in a wry smile. "Don't believe everything your mother tells you," he warned. "Even at the height of my political career I never took a single step without making sure the floor was solid beneath me."

"I'm sure you didn't," Merrick said. But he knew better. The last step of Corwin's political career, thirty-two years ago, had been made knowing full well that the planks beneath that step were riddled with dry rot. Corwin had taken that step knowing it would destroy him, but also knowing that it was the right thing to do. Outsiders who remembered the Moreau family at all tended to forget that part of it.

But Merrick hadn't forgotten. Neither had the rest of the family.

There was a hint of sound somewhere behind him. Merrick notched up his auditory enhancers, and the sound resolved into a set of soft footsteps on the hallway carpet. "So I guess the question is whether or not we're going to let her," he said, lowering the enhancement again.

Corwin snorted. "You really think you'll be able to talk her out of it?"

"
I
won't, no," Merrick said. "But I think Dad can." He raised his voice. "Hello, Aunt Thena."

"Hello, Merrick," Thena's voice came from the vicinity of the footsteps behind him. "Corwin, in case you missed it, the timer just went off on whatever you had running downstairs."

"Oops," Corwin said, looking at his watch. "Thanks, dear—I'd forgotten about that." He stood up and came around the side of his desk. "Come on, Merrick. As long as you're here, I might was well put you to work."

"What have you got cooking this time?" Merrick asked, standing up as well.

"It's a new ceramic the computer simulation says should be as strong as the stuff you're currently wearing," Corwin said, gesturing toward Merrick's body. "It's also supposedly less reactive than standard Cobra bone laminae, which may help delay the onset of anemia and arthritis."

"Sounds good," Merrick said. After his stormy departure from politics, Corwin had gone back to school, earning a degree in materials science and launching into his own private crusade to try to solve the medical problems that had been shortening the lives of Cobras since the very beginning of the program a century ago.

Though even if he succeeded it would do Merrick himself no good. He had the same equipment that had sent his own father to an early grave.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up
too
high, of course," Corwin warned as he walked past Merrick. "But you know what they say: fifty-something's the charm."

Merrick fell into step behind him, noting the hint of stiffness in his great-uncle's gait. His own parents, three decades younger than Corwin, had that same stiffness, especially first thing in the morning. Another sobering reminder, if he'd needed one, of how rapidly the clock was ticking down for them.

"Before you take Merrick away to the dungeon, never to be seen again," Thena said as Corwin reached her, "I wonder if I might borrow him for a quick menu consultation."

"Sure," Corwin said, his hand brushing hers as he passed. "Come on down when you're finished."

"I'll be right there," Merrick promised. "Oh, and I need to call Lorne and Jody, too."

"Take your time." Corwin headed out into the hallway and turned toward the stairway that led down to his private lab.

Merrick stopped beside Thena and raised his eyebrows. "The
menu
?" he murmured.

"It seemed plausible," she said, handing him a pad.

"I don't know why you even bother," Merrick said as he took the pad. "You know he's not fooled in the slightest."

"No, but he enjoys playing the game."

"If you say so," Merrick said, running his eyes down the list she'd made. Drogfowl cacciatore, sautéed greenburrs, garlic long-bread, and citrus icelets for dessert. Nothing he couldn't handle with his eyes closed. "You have everything, or will I need to go shopping?"

"It's all here," she said. "I've got the drogfowl defrosting, and the longbread dough should be finished rising in half an hour." Thena lowered her voice. "Merrick, you can't let her do this."

"Have you ever seen my mother in full gantua mode?" Merrick asked dryly.

"Actually, I have," Thena said grimly. "But I'm not talking about the inherent danger of this whole insane thing. You have to stop her because she'll be doing it for the wrong reason."

Merrick frowned. That was not where he'd expected Thena to be going with this. "You mean she'll be doing it to justify herself?"

"Not at all," Thena said. "I mean she'll be doing it to justify Corwin."

Merrick winced. Thena was right, he realized suddenly. His mother had never truly forgiven herself for her perceived role in wrecking her uncle's political career. The fact that everyone else in the family—Corwin included—agreed that she didn't bear any of the responsibility was completely irrelevant. "Is that what Uncle Corwin thinks, too?"

"I don't know," Thena said. "But if it hasn't occurred to him yet, it will soon enough."

"And of course, he can't mention that to Mom, because she'd just dig in her heels and insist he was imagining things."

"Exactly," Thena said. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's an incredible streak of stubbornness in your family."

"Hey, don't look at me," Merrick protested. "
I
was drafted for this outfit.
You're
the one who volunteered."

Thena smiled, a whisper of fondness penetrating the taut concern in her face. "Willingly, even," she said quietly. "I don't know if you ever knew, but I was in love with your uncle for many years before he finally figured out there was more to life than politics."

"The public spotlight can be pretty dazzling sometimes."

"And the Moreau family has somehow always managed to be in that spotlight," Thena agreed. "Right in the center of Cobra Worlds history." Her smile faded. "But you've paid a huge price for it."

Merrick sighed. "Mainly because so many of us over the years have chosen to be Cobras."

"And because even those like Corwin who haven't have usually ended up directly under the fallout from those decisions," Thena said. "Don't get me wrong—I'm proud of the family I married into. Immensely proud. You've done great things for the Cobra Worlds, whether anyone else remembers or not." She looked away. "I just don't want to see that fallout claim another victim."

"I agree," Merrick said. "Let's see how the evening goes." He pulled out his comm again. "Meanwhile, I need to touch base with Lorne and Jody."

"Go ahead," Thena said. "I'll go pull out the spices and measuring spoons."

"And don't worry," Merrick said, reaching out to touch her shoulder as she started to leave. "You never know. Mom could decide to be reasonable."

The twitch of Thena's cheek told Merrick what she thought of that possibility. But she merely nodded. "Let's hope so," she said.

Lorne Broom put away his comm and turned to the sandy-haired man standing a couple of meters away. "Mom says they're okay," he told the other. "Of course, she'd probably say that if she and Dad each had a limb hanging on by scraps of skin."

"Yeah, my mom hates it when I worry, too," Randall Sumara agreed. "You'd better get going if you're going to beat the Capitalia traffic."

"You sure you don't mind?" Lorne asked. "I know you and Gina were planning to make a long weekend of it."

"So we make a short weekend instead," Randall said with a shrug. "She'll understand. I'll have her drive out early tomorrow and we'll take off as soon as you're back."

"Which will be tomorrow evening at the very latest," Lorne promised. "Sooner if I don't see any actual blood."

"Take your time," Randall said. "Like I said—"

Across the room, the intercom warbled. "All Cobras: assembly room," Commandant Ishikuma's voice came tartly.

"Uh-oh," Randall muttered. "You think they've changed their minds about the hunt?"

"I hope not," Lorne said, wincing. The spine leopard hunts were vitally important to the citizens out here in Aventine's expansion regions, and being a protector of those citizens had been his main reason for joining the Cobras in the first place.

But his parents' health was important, too, and for his own peace of mind he needed to personally make sure they were all right.

The other seven men in their squad were waiting when Lorne and Randall arrived at the assembly room. Ishikuma was standing behind the display table, flanked by four civilians Lorne had never seen before.

And laid out on the table in front of them all were four rifles.

Not just any rifles, either. They were high-tech, super advanced gizmos: top-heavy with lightscopes, darkscopes, and needle-sensors, bottom-heavy with dual power packs and redundant emitters, and topped with an ominous-looking double walnut shape nearly

buried beneath all the hardware.

Lorne sighed.
Not again,
he thought wearily.

"Have a seat, Cobras," Ishikuma said briskly, nodding Lorne and Randall to a pair of vacant chairs. "The gentleman to my left is Dr. Emile Belain, from Jaland City's Applied Tech Institute. We've been asked to assist him and his team in their final field test of a new scheme for hunting spine leopards. Dr. Belain, perhaps you can give us a quick thumbnail of your technique."

"Thank you, Commandant," Belain said, and launched into an enthusiastic description of his new guns and their computerized ability to identify, target, and fire at the number-one scourge of expansion-region citizens.

Lorne and the other Cobras had often speculated as to when the bulgebrains in their nice safe ivory towers would figure out that none of the elaborate weaponry they kept coming up with could replace live soldiers. The recognition software was too iffy, the range of spine leopard physiques and colorations too variable, and the simple inertia of the guns worked against the kind of quickness that was critically important to the gunner's survival. Not to mention the fact that the combat and hunting abilities of the citizens who were supposed to use the guns were literally all over the map.

The bulgebrains knew that, of course. Surely by now they knew it. But they kept hammering at the problem anyway. There were just too many people in the civilized regions of Aventine who disliked or feared the Cobras, and who would grasp at any straw that might lead to their ultimate elimination.

Still, even if the visiting bulgebrains never had the right answers, they could always be counted on for a good dog-and-puppy show. Belain waxed bafflegabbily poetic about the capabilities of his new guns, with plenty of reasons why they were so much better than the efforts of those who had gone before. Lorne listened with half an ear, trying to put the image of maimed parents out of his mind.

At least that latter task was made a little easier when, midway through the briefing, his comm keyed in with a message: Merrick was inviting the whole family to Uncle Corwin's estate for dinner. That was a good sign, Lorne knew—if they were gathering at the Island instead of the hospital, his parents must genuinely be doing all right.