Cobra Guardian: Cobra War: Book Two (29 page)

"Fine," Croi said, doing likewise. He started to stumble, nodded his thanks as Lorne reached out a hand and steadied him.

They had all turned toward the aft door when Lorne heard the forward door open behind them. He looked over his shoulder to see the Troft who'd brought Warrior his mysterious message reenter the vestibule, his radiator membranes quivering with tension. [Your presence, Cobra Broom, the heir requests it,] he said.

A shiver ran up Lorne's back. Had the invaders spotted the surreptitious passenger pickup at Creeksedge and sent word ahead to stop the Tlossies? "Go ahead," he told Croi and Nissa. "I'll be there in a minute."

The Troft led him through a prep room, a narrow monitor and engineering station, and through a final door onto the bridge. Warrior was standing in the center of the room, gazing at a wraparound display showing the full three-hundred-sixty-degree view around them.

Lorne looked over his shoulder as he crossed the room to Warrior's side, grimacing as he spotted the ring of ships running a slow orbit above Aventine's equator. Not only did the invaders already have massive firepower on the ground, but they had extra backup waiting in the sky. Even if Croi was able to find enough recruits on Esquiline or Viminal, he would have the devil's own time getting them back onto Aventinian soil again.

[The approaching ship, do you see it?] Warrior asked.

Lorne shifted his attention forward. There was a flashing red ring superimposed on the image of a transport approaching from deep space. [The ship, I do,] Lorne confirmed. [The invaders, it is one of theirs?]

[The invaders, it is one of theirs,] Warrior confirmed. [Yet its occupants, Trofts they are not. Its occupants, humans they are.]

Lorne felt a sudden leap of hope. Had someone on Palatine or one of the smaller worlds managed to defeat the invaders, or at least push them back long enough to steal one of their transports?

And then, like a splash of cold water, the more likely explanation hit him. [Qasamans, they are?] he asked.

[Qasamans, they would appear to be,] Warrior confirmed.

Lorne took a deep breath. Croi had called it, all right, back when the two of them were dumping the dead spine leopard at Koshevski's brother's building. The invading Trofts and Qasamans had struck a deal, and the Qasamans were here to gloat. Or possibly to survey their new real estate. [Avoid them, we must,] he told Warrior urgently. [Your passengers, they must not identify us.]

[My passengers, they will not,] Warrior assured him. [Our sensors, far more advanced they are.]

Which made sense, Lorne realized. An heir's ship would have upgrades on pretty much everything, including the sensor array. [Avoid them, we must still do it,] he said.

[Speak with them, I must.] Warrior threw Lorne a stern look. [Silence, you will maintain it.]

[Silence, I will maintain it,] Lorne promised.

Warrior gestured to one of the Trofts, and a green circle appeared around the red-circled transport. Apparently, Warrior had decided to use a tight beam for his hail.

The seconds ticked by. Lorne looked around the other sections of the wraparound, noting the dozen or more transports moving inward toward Aventine. The second wave of Troft soldiers?

[The signal, it is acknowledged,] a voice came from the speaker. A woman's voice, Lorne decided, assuming Warrior had been right about the occupants being humans. Her cattertalk was far crisper and better enunciated than his, too, he noted with grudging admiration. [Assistance, how may we render it?]

[Your cargo bay, analysis shows it to be empty,] Warrior replied. [The predators, why have you none?]

Lorne grimaced. So it wasn't soldiers the transports were bringing in, but more spine leopards. Terrific.

[The predators, all died en route,] the woman in the transport said. [A disease, it was apparently brought aboard.]

[The message, it is understood.] Warrior hesitated, flashing an unreadable look at Lorne. [Jasmine Jin Moreau, is there word from her?]

Lorne felt his breath catch in his throat.
How in space had Warrior known that his mother had gone to Qasama
? He started to ask that question, stopped as Warrior lifted a warning hand. [Jasmine Jin Moreau, is there word from her?] he repeated.

And then, to Lorne's utter astonishment, a familiar, achingly missed voice came on. [Jasmine Jin Moreau, it is I.]

Again, Warrior lifted a warning hand. But this time, Lorne didn't have to be reminded to keep quiet. Whatever was going on over there, he had no intention of letting the occupants know that Jin Broom's son was listening in on the conversation. [The news from Qasama, what is it?] Warrior asked.

[The battle, it has been won,] Jin said, her voice cautious.

[Yet the war, it has been lost?] Warrior asked.

[The war, it is not yet over,] Jin corrected.

For a moment Warrior didn't speak. Lorne studied his face, sifting through his limited knowledge of Troft facial expressions and trying to figure out what the other was thinking and feeling. He was disturbed, certainly. That much was clear. But disturbed about what?

Warrior's radiator membranes fluttered. [Then our mission, it has failed,] he said, his voice tight and sad.

[Your pardon, I crave it,] Jin said. [Your mission, what is its purpose and meaning?]

Warrior looked at Lorne. [The mission, it is of no matter,] he said. [Its failure, that is all I need know.]

[The message, from
you
it came,] Jin said, her tone changing as if with a sudden revelation. [To Qasama, you wished me to go.]

Lorne felt a jolt run through him as the whole thing suddenly fell into place. The mysterious and unsigned note that had sent Jin and Merrick to Qasama in the first place--the collaboration with Treakness--Warrior taking the risk of staying put on Aventine through the initial stage of the invasion in hopes of getting Croi and Isis off the planet. "You knew this was coming," he murmured, just loud enough for Warrior to hear. "You knew we were about to be invaded."

The other didn't reply. But the fluttering of his radiator membranes was all the answer Lorne needed.

[Your mission, I understand it now,] Jin's voice came again. [War with Aventine, your demesne-lord does not wish. Yet a stand against the attacking demesnes, he dare not take alone. A victory against them, one must first exist.]

[The truth, you speak it,] Warrior said. [A stand, other demesne-lords wish to make. But a stand against a victorious army, one cannot be made.]

[The reality, I understand it,] Jin said, her voice grim. [But hope, do not abandon it.]

Warrior looked at Lorne. [Understand, do you now?] he murmured.

Lorne inclined his head, hoping that would be taken as an assent. Certainly he understood what Warrior was attempting to imply about the situation and the Tlossies' involvement in it.

But there was another, darker possibility that made just as snug a fit around Lorne's limited collection of facts: the possibility that the Tlossies were in fact in league with the invaders. That they'd waited for Croi and Lorne, not to heroically smuggle them off Aventine, but so that they could deliver both Isis and its co-creator in a single, neatly-wrapped package. That they'd deliberately sent Jin and Merrick into a trap on Qasama, and that Lorne's mother was even now a prisoner on that transport.

But Lorne wasn't going to bring up any of those possibilities. Not until he had a better idea what part the Tlossies were playing in this drama. Certainly not here on the freighter's bridge, on ground of Warrior's choosing.

[Refueling, our transport needs,] Jin said into Lorne's musings. [Extra fuel, can you supply it?]

Warrior's membranes fluttered again. [To return to Qasama, enough exists,] he pointed out warily.

[The truth, you speak it,] Jin agreed. [But Qasama, we do not yet return there. Extra fuel, can you supply it?]

[This fuel, to what use?] Warrior asked.

[Victory against the attacking demesne-lords, its use will be,] Jin said, and in his mind's eye Lorne could see a dark, tight smile on her face.

Warrior gestured, and the green circle around the distant transport began fluttering as the Troft at the communications board muted the transmitter. [Her purpose, what is it?] he asked Lorne.

[Her purpose, you heard it,] Lorne said, gesturing toward the comm board. [Victory against the invaders, she intends.]

[Such a purpose, she cannot possibly carry it out,] Warrior protested.

[Such a purpose, perhaps she cannot,] Lorne agreed. [But such a purpose, perhaps she can. My mother, others also have underestimated.]

Warrior looked back at the display . . . and as he gazed at the Troft's profile, Lorne suddenly realized how ridiculous his earlier suspicions had been. Of course the Tlossies weren't in league with the invaders. If they were, why go to all the trouble of running from Creeksedge instead of simply letting Lorne and Croi come aboard, gassing them in the airlock vestibule, and handing them over to their allies right there and then?

And why send Jin and Merrick to Qasama at all, where something unknown but obviously extremely interesting had apparently taken place?

Because his mother wasn't a prisoner aboard that transport, Lorne knew now. Even if the Qasamans had somehow been able to capture and restrain her, there was no way they could restrain her voice. Lorne had been analyzing his family's speech patterns all his life, and the tension level he'd heard in her voice had dropped when she figured out that Warrior was on the Cobra Worlds' side. That wouldn't have happened if she was a prisoner.

Warrior himself, though, was still staring at the transport's image, his expression still uncertain. Perhaps he was thinking through the stories of the young Jin Moreau's exploits on Qasama thirty years ago. Perhaps he was contemplating the ramifications of the older Jin Moreau Broom's presence aboard an enemy transport with a group of Qasamans.

Perhaps he simply knew he had no other choice but to hold onto hope.

He gestured again, and the green circle steadied. [Your course, you will hold it,] he told the transport. [To your side, we will come.]

[Our gratitude, you have it,] Jin said. [Your arrival, we will await it.]

Warrior gestured one final time, and the green transmission circle vanished. [The transport, journey to it,] he ordered. [A fuel download, prepare it.]

There were a pair of acknowledgments from two of the Trofts on the bridge. For a moment Warrior continued to gaze at the display, then turned again to Lorne. [Jasmine Jin Moreau Broom, to where does she intend to go?] he asked.

[The question, shall I ask it?] Lorne offered.

Warrior looked again at the display. [The question, you shall not ask it,] he said firmly. [Your presence here, she would question. The Isis, it must remain secret.]

[Wisdom, you speak it,] Lorne conceded. Sitting here while his mother's ship refueled alongside, knowing he was bare meters away from her without being able to find out what was going on, was going to kill him.

But while she was probably not the Qasamans' prisoner, he still had no idea of her actual status with them. Letting them know who and what was aboard the Tlossie freighter could be a very bad idea. Certainly not one they could afford to risk. [The question, if I may not ask, then the question, I cannot answer.]

[A new question, I then ask,] Warrior said. [Isis, what shall be done with it?]

Lorne grimaced. Terrific. The two people who actually knew the full capabilities of the damn thing had deadlocked, so they were bringing in an amateur to flip the coin for them.

And then, even as he wondered which one of them he least wanted mad at him, a sudden thought flashed through the fatigue coating his brain like the sludge in Capitalia's drainage tunnels. [To hide Isis, you wish it,] he told Warrior. [To employ Isis, Dr. Croi wishes it. Both ways, perhaps we can have them.]

For a moment Warrior eyed him. Then, with one final flutter, his radiator membranes settled back onto his upper arms. [Your statement, it intrigues me,] he said. [More, I would hear.]

* * *

"The tanks are nearly full," Ghofl Khatir reported from the transport's helm, craning his neck to look at his readouts one final time before swiveling around to face Jin. "A few more minutes, and we can be on our way."

"To Caelian," Carsh Zoshak muttered under his breath.

"Yes, to Caelian," Jin confirmed, eyeing him. "Have you a different option to suggest?"

The young Qasaman's lip twitched. "Nothing that would be better," he conceded. "It's just that I've been thinking about what you said about there being seven hundred Cobras on Caelian out of a total population of a little more than four thousand. One in six is an incredibly high number."

"I already explained that," Jin reminded him. "The planet is immensely and actively hostile toward the humans who live there. They need all those Cobras in order to survive."

"Yes, I remember," Zoshak said. "It also occurs to me that if the Cobras are that vital to the inhabitants' day-to-day lives, how do you intend to persuade any of them to come to Qasama with us?"

Jin grimaced. That was the crucial question, all right. Unfortunately, she still didn't have an answer to it. "We'll find a way," she said. "Certainly not all of them will come. Probably not even most of them. But enough will."

"Enough for what?" Siraj Akim put in. "Enough to actually throw back the next wave of Trofts who land on our world? Or merely enough to die alongside us in a blaze of glory?"

"I'm not particularly interested in death with glory, Siraj Akim," Jin said firmly. "For any of us: Cobra, Djinni, or civilian. My goals are life, victory, and freedom."

Beside Khatir, seated at the helm's second position, Rashida Vil stirred. "Tell us more about this Caelian," she said. "You speak of active attacks. How active are they?"

"The environmental pressure is pretty much constant," Jin told her, wincing. Up to now, with the Troft attack on Qasama, the discovery of her brain tumor, her son Merrick's wounding, and then this risky voyage to Aventine, she'd mostly succeeded in pushing Caelian to the back of her mind.