Cobra Guardian: Cobra War: Book Two (10 page)

The loudspeaker fell silent . . . and Lorne felt a shiver run up the back of his neck. A day ago, back in the expansion region, he would have dismissed any such carrot/stick ploy as a pathetic waste of time. He knew the people out there, and there was no way they would turn on him or the rest of the men who risked their lives on a daily basis to protect them.

But he was in the city now, surrounded by people with Brander's same attitude of contempt or indifference toward those guardians. What would
they
do with the handful of Cobras still among them? How big would the promised rewards and threatened punishments have to get before the betrayals started?

Or would the carrots and sticks not even be necessary? Would the people turn in the Cobras simply out of spite for their perceived failure in preventing the invasion in the first place?

He could feel Nissa's eyes on him. Deliberately, he didn't look back at her. "Sounds like that's it for now," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "Come on, we'd better get back downstairs."

"Wait a minute," Nissa said slowly.

Lorne turned, to find that he'd been wrong about her looking at him. In fact, she was frowning out at the cityscape below. "What is it?" he asked.

"This doesn't make any sense," she said, pointing down the side street. "That's Broadway over there, the one they're fencing off. It's mostly shopping, with the Gregorius Omni a block north and the Wickstra Performing Arts Center four blocks south."

"Okay," Lorne said, pulling up his own somewhat hazy memories of the central city's layout. "So?"

"So most of the residences in this area are
between
here and there," Nissa said. "In fact, almost all of them are, since there aren't even many of these store-and-apartment setups on Broadway. Nearly everything there above the shopping levels is office space."

"Again, so?" Lorne said, still not seeing where she was going with all this.

"So all those apartments and homes are outside the fences," Nissa said. "How are the people in there supposed to get to the fenced-in areas the Trofts are setting up?"

"Oh, hell," Lorne said as it finally clicked. "You're right, they
aren't
going to get there. Not without help." He hissed contemptuously. "Brilliant. Carrots, sticks,
and
bludgeons."

"What do you mean?" Brander asked, frowning.

"He means they're expecting the Cobras to go in and get the people out," Nissa murmured.

"Thereby giving the Trofts yet another free shot at them," Lorne said. "If the spinies don't get them first."

He took one final look at the fence construction going on along the street, then took Nissa's arm. "Come on," he said. "We need a consultation."

The restaurant had filled up in the time they'd been upstairs. There were upwards of twenty people in the dining room, a few still in nightdress and robes but the majority properly dressed. They were mostly clumped together in small groups, as had been the case back in the lobby of Treakness's apartment building, whispering nervously among themselves as they gazed out the windows at the construction going on outside.

All eyes turned to Lorne and Nissa as they came though the door, and for a moment the whispering went silent. But Lorne merely nodded a wordless acknowledgment to them and headed across the room toward the rear corner table where Treakness and Poole had taken up residence. A moment later, as it became clear that the newcomers had no fresh information to share, the whispering resumed.

"You enjoy your snack?" Lorne asked as he and Nissa sat down in the table's two empty seats.

"It was adequate," Treakness said coolly. "I presume you heard the announcement. How did things look from up there?"

"About like they do from down here," Lorne said. "The Trofts are busy fencing off this street and Broadway. Probably others, too, but Broadway was as far as we could see."

"Wait a minute," Poole said, frowning. "
Just
this one and Broadway?"

"
And
others they already said they couldn't see," Treakness growled. "Pay attention."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Poole said, fumbling the words. "I meant what about the streets
between
here and Broadway?"

Treakness rolled his eyes. "They already said--"

"What Poole means," Lorne cut him off, "is whether the people living on those other streets are being thrown to the wolves. The answer is, yes, they are."

Treakness's lips compressed into a thin line. "I see," he said grimly. "So in other words, the Trofts are letting us choose between hundreds of civilian casualties and sending our remaining Cobras back out into the open."

"That about sums it up," Lorne agreed. "So what do we do?"

Treakness hissed thoughtfully. "Well, for the next three hours, at least, we do nothing," he said. "We're pretty well stuck here until the Trofts' quarantine period is up. After that . . ." He shrugged. "I suppose that particular decision will be landing in Chintawa's lap. Lucky him."

"Shouldn't we at least alert him as to what's going on out here?" Lorne asked. "And while we're at it, we should also find out what's happening back at the Dome. It might be nice to have some idea about the tactical landscape once we
are
able to move."

"My, aren't we enjoying our military jargon," Treakness said with an edge of sarcasm. "Unfortunately, the Trofts have jammed the comm system. Until they unjam it--if they ever do--the tactical landscape is going to be a discover-as-we-go proposition."

Poole stirred uneasily. "This isn't good," he murmured. "I don't think we can afford to just sit here for three hours."

"Good point," Treakness said. "Maybe we should try jogging in place."

"Please stop that," Nissa said suddenly.

"Stop what?" Treakness asked, frowning at her.

"Stop treating Poole that way," Nissa said. "I know you're frightened. We're all frightened. It doesn't help for you to keep picking on him."

"You think that my ignoring stupidity will be an asset in getting us through this?" Treakness countered.

"Your disagreeing with something doesn't make it stupid," Nissa said stubbornly. "And in fact, I agree with him. I don't think we can afford to just give up the next three hours."

Treakness looked at Lorne. "Well?" he challenged.

"If you're looking for support, look somewhere else," Lorne said. "I agree with them."

Treakness lifted his hands, palms upward. "Strength, resolve, and unanimity. How wonderful for us all. But unless you also have a cloak of invisibility, none of that will get us a single meter outside that door."

"There must be a way," Nissa insisted. "Maybe we can building-hop. You know: go in the front door, through the building, and out the back."

"And how exactly will that get us across Cavendish Boulevard?" Treakness asked, waving at the activity taking place outside the restaurant's windows. "You think that if we walk nonchalantly enough, the Trofts won't notice us?"

"What about the storm drain system?" Lorne asked. "That runs under the streets, right?"

"Yes, it does," Treakness said. "Do you have any idea how the system is laid out?"

Lorne grimaced. "No," he conceded.

"I do," a voice said from behind Lorne.

Lorne turned around, startled. While the four of them had been talking--reasonably quietly, or so he'd thought--all other conversation in the restaurant had once again ceased.

And to his uneasy surprise, he found that the whole crowd was silently watching them.

He focused on the man who'd just spoken. He was middle-aged and bulky, with a lined face and a rigid expression. "I beg your pardon?" Treakness asked.

"I said I know the drainage system," the man told him. "Been working down there for most of the past twenty years."

"You could show us how to get through it?" Treakness asked.

"I
could
, sure," the man said, eyeing Lorne. "The question is,
should
I?"

Lorne frowned. "Meaning . . . ?"

"Meaning he wants payment," Treakness said calmly. "A reasonable enough request. How much?"

"See, it's not so much quick cash as a long-term investment that I really need," the man said, still looking at Lorne. "Boils down to who pays better. You, or the Trofts."

"What, that thing about rewards and punishments?" Treakness scoffed. "You really think you can trust anything they say?"

"Yeah, actually, I can," the man said, finally turning his eyes away from Lorne and looking at Treakness. "See, I've read my history, Governor Treakness. I've read about the Troft occupation of Silvern and Adirondack during the Dominion-Troft war. Seems to me that when they promised something to the people there, they delivered on it."

"I wouldn't put a lot of weight on that if I were you," Lorne warned. "There are hundreds of Troft demesnes in the Assemblage, each with its own way of doing things. Just because the group that attacked the Dominion played by those rules doesn't mean this bunch will."

"I think it's worth the risk," he said. "Especially since they can get me something that maybe you can't."

"And what would that be?" Treakness asked.

The man looked behind him. "You folks mind?" he asked, raising his voice. "This here's a private conversation."

For a moment, no one moved. Then, a white-haired, leathery-skinned man in the middle of the group snorted and turned away, heading toward one of the tables by the windows. As if on signal, the others followed suit, moving back and re-forming themselves into their conversational clusters closer to the windows.

The man watched until they had all moved out of earshot. Then, grabbing a chair from one of the nearby tables, he pulled it over, nudging it in between Poole and Nissa. "Let's start with what exactly
you
want," he said as he sat down. "Then I'll tell you what
I
want."

"Actually, let's start with your name," Treakness said, pulling a small comboard from his jacket pocket. "No offense, but I want to make sure you can do what you claim you can."

The man gave him a twisted smile. "Aaron Koshevski," he said. "Address, apartment two-oh-one right above you. Occupation, mechanical and structural maintenance engineer."

Treakness nodded and started punching in the data. As he did so, Lorne looked back at the other people in the dining room, wondering what they were making of all this. But they seemed to have already lost interest, their attention back on the Troft soldiers working on their fencing project.

"All right, Mr. Koshevski," Treakness said, setting his comboard down on the table. "You do indeed appear to be who you say you are. What we want is to head west, obviously without interference from the Trofts. How can you help us do that?"

"How
far
west?" Koshevski countered. "Creeksedge Spaceport? Crystal Lake? The corner of Twenty-Eight and Panora? I need some idea of where exactly we're going."

"To the lake," Treakness said without hesitation. "Though I'm obviously not expecting the drainage system to get us that whole distance."

"You got that one right, anyway," Koshevski said with a grunt, his eyes narrowing with concentration.

Lorne looked at Nissa, noted her compete lack of expression, and adjusted his own face accordingly. Of course they weren't going to Crystal Lake--that area with its expensive houses and rolling parklands was a good thirty kilometers past the spaceport. But Treakness obviously had no intention of giving a total stranger their actual destination. Especially a total stranger who'd already hinted that he might prefer making a deal with the Trofts.

"Okay, here's what I can do," Koshevski said. "I can get you about nine kilometers west through the system, to somewhere around Ridgeline Street. Past that point, with the lower water table and better drainage, they put in smaller conduits that you won't be able to get through."

"Nine kilometers will be a good start," Treakness said, nodding. "What do you want in return?"

Koshevski pursed his lips. "My brother's family lives in an apartment building on West Twenty-Third, between Toyo and Mitterly," he said. "It's a residential area, not very fancy, about four kilometers southwest of here. From the way you were talking earlier, I'm guessing their block's going to end up in one of the unfenced zones."

He folded his arms across his chest. "Here's the deal. You get them to one of the safe areas, and I get you to Ridgeline Street."

"Can we get close to their building through the drainage system?" Treakness asked.

"I can get you practically to the front door," Koshevski said. "But Danny's wife has Jarvvi's Disease and won't be able to get through the conduits. You'll have to get them to the safe zones at street level."

"Fair enough," Treakness said. "Very well, you have a deal."

"Uh . . . sir?" Poole spoke up hesitantly. "Are you sure--?"

He broke off at an almost casual glare from his boss. "We'll want to leave as soon as possible," Treakness said. "How do we get in?"

"There's an access point right out there," Koshevski said, jabbing a thumb toward the rear of the restaurant. "Mid-block, about fifty meters north."

"Any special tools necessary for opening it?"

Koshevski shook his head. "All it takes is muscle." He looked Lorne up and down. "You got muscle?"

"We have muscle," Treakness confirmed, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Let's go."

The others followed suit, and as Lorne stood up he glanced one last time around the dining room.

And felt a shiver run up his spine. He'd been wrong earlier about everyone's attention being on the Trofts outside. One of them, the white-haired man who'd led the group retreat earlier at Koshevski's insistence, was sitting alone at one of the tables.

Watching them.

The man's gaze flicked to Lorne, and for a moment they locked eyes. Then, casually, the other turned away, as if there was nothing of interest there, that he'd just happened to be looking in that direction.

"Coming?" Treakness asked.

Lorne gazed at the white-haired man for another moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned away. "Yes," he told Treakness. Whether the other man had recognized Treakness, or whatever else his interest in the group might be, there was nothing Lorne could do about it now. At least the other had been too far away to eavesdrop on the critical parts of their conversation.