Cobra Slave-eARC (22 page)

“Trust me—there’s more than you can see on the surface,” he assured her. “More than Reivaro and his goons can see, either. That’s why Badj sent me to intercept you.”

Jin felt her stomach tighten. “You’re a—?”

“A failed Cobra,” Kalhandra said. “Go ahead—you can say it. Medical discharge, if it matters. You game to try, or not?”

“I’m game,” Jin said. A lot of failed Cobras nurtured deep resentments toward the whole Cobra system, especially those who had already received their enhancements and were bounced at the last minute for psychological reasons. But not everyone found their earlier love turned to hatred. Besides, if Kalhandra wanted to trap them in a compromising position, there were lots of easier ways for him to do that. “You have a spot in mind?”

“Just a second,” Paul put in, taking her arm. “Before we go any further, let’s make sure we fully understand the possible consequences. Santores is already looking for an excuse to lock us up. If one of us goes in there and gets caught, we’re finished.”

“And if I don’t, the plant’s ruined and people are out of jobs,” Jin said. “I think it’s worth the risk, especially since I’ve been doing some hard thinking and I’m ninety-nine-percent sure I don’t have anything Santores can use.”

“Likewise,” Paul said. “Which is why we draw straws to see who does this.”

Jin shook her head. “I do this because your leg’s still healing.”

“You’re still recovering from brain surgery.”

“Which means they’ll be more careful with me if I’m the one who gets caught,” Jin said. “So that’s settled.” She turned back to Kalhandra. “How do we do this?”

“You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it some more?” Kalhandra asked snidely. “Fine. It’ll be faster if we drive—my car’s over here.”

A minute later, Kalhandra was maneuvering them between the lines of vehicles toward a narrow circular drive that ran around the building, its edges lined with decorative clumps of trees. “This is mostly a service drive,” he said as they reached the end of the parking lot and turned onto it. “Mostly used by the groundskeepers and some of the delivery people. And of course, the Dominion people don’t know who those are. What’s your husband up to?”

Frowning, Jin looked out the window. Paul was striding purposefully through the lines of parked cars toward the mob. “I don’t know,” she said. “Hopefully, not something stupid.”

“Yeah, well, from what I’ve heard, doing stupid things runs in your family,” Kalhandra said with a grunt. “But it usually works out.”

“Usually,” Jin murmured. “Whatever he’s up to, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s concentrate on our part, and let him do his.” She grimaced. “Whatever that is.”

#

The crowd wasn’t very densely packed, and Paul was able to work his way through with a minimum of jostling and only an occasional request to let him pass.

Some of the men and women glanced at him as he went by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of those glances turn into double-takes.

He was halfway through the crowd when he noticed a sudden change in the texture of the murmured conversation around him. Frowning, he keyed in his audios.

And felt a frown crease his forehead. The tone, the texture, the content—all three were totally unexpected, and on one level completely bizarre. In fact, he had to eavesdrop on four separate whispered exchanges as he made his way forward before he finally and reluctantly concluded that the reason for the sudden excitement was genuinely what he was hearing.

Paul Broom was here.

It made no sense, not even when he overheard one of the men explaining in whispers to some friends who exactly the famous visitor was. Especially since the man’s assessment was just flat-out wrong. While Paul had played a role in both the Caelian and Qasaman victories, he’d hardly been a key figure in either battle.

But this wasn’t the time to argue fine points of history. He’d started toward the front of the crowd hoping to persuade them to stay calm long enough to give Jin enough time for her part of the plan. Whatever prestige the people were ready to give him toward that effort was more than welcome.

By the time he reached the front the crowd had gone completely silent. Giving the line of Cobras a quick look, noting with some uneasiness how the range of their expressions ran from tense to hostile, he turned back to face the assembly.

From this side, they did indeed look like a mob.

“Good morning,” he called out. “My name is Paul Broom. Some of you may have heard of my modest contributions to the successful campaigns against the Trofts on Caelian and Qasama.” He gestured toward the building behind him. “We’ve got another invasion of sorts going on here today. An invasion, not by enemies, but by allies.”

“Since when are they our allies?” someone in the crowd challenged.

“Since we’re all part of humankind, and since we’ve recently learned the hard way that it’s a hostile universe out there,” Paul said calmly. “The Troft invasion showed that the only way we’re going to survive is for all of us to stick together.” He lifted a hand. “That being said, there are smart allies and there are idiot allies. At this point, I’d have to say that Colonel Reivaro and his men fall into the latter category.”

A small chuckle ran through the crowd, and Paul felt some of the tension ease. “Let me tell you some of the things I learned fighting the Trofts,” he continued. “Some of those lessons might not be applicable here. But some of them might.”

Once again, he gestured behind him. “Let’s start with the Cobras.”

#

The run, catch, and toss/jump maneuver had gone as smoothly and successfully as if Jin and Kalhandra did it every day. The vent he’d directed her to was as passable as he’d promised, and not nearly as filthy as she’d expected.

Beneath the opening was a meter-wide, square-sided conduit. Her experience traversing a similar pathway in the Sollas hospital just after the Troft invasion stood her in good stead, and she worked her way down the shaft with a maximum of speed and a minimum of noise.

The latter part being especially important, she discovered as she worked her way through the hoppers and cranes high above the factory’s main work floor. Aside from the hum of the ventilation system, the low rumble of a few machines on standby, and a few scattered pockets of muttered conversation, the place was as silent as a graveyard at midnight. She had no idea if the Dominion troops had audio enhancements built into their combat suits, but prudence dictated that she assume they did.

Fortunately, the lack of other noise made the main group easy to locate. She found them gathered around a computer console set in the middle of one of the rooms and surrounded by a ring of large machines. There were seven in the party: Yates, Reivaro, two Marines, and three other uniformed men. Two of the latter were seated at the console, with the third man and Reivaro watching over their shoulders. Yates was a couple of meters away, with the two Marines standing close watch on either side of him.

Nobody looked very happy. Reivaro, especially, seemed particularly irritated.

“I tell you, that is the proper passcode,” Yates was saying with some serious annoyance of his own as Jin eased herself to a shadowed viewing position between a girder and one of the crane rails. “Like I told you before, some of the foremen add in their own codes for convenience. The only way you’re going to get through is for me to look up the list of everyone who oversees this division, get them all in here—”

“We’re through, Colonel,” one of the men at the console announced.

“You were saying?” Reivaro said.

Yates swore feelingly, his eyes darting around the room with the restlessness of a trapped animal. He looked up, his eyes touching each machine and piece of equipment in turn, almost as if he was taking inventory of a treasured family business he might never see whole again.

And as he did so, his gaze locked onto Jin.

She winced, trying to get a finger up and to her lips before he could blurt out anything. But eyes had already moved on, continuing around the room as if he hadn’t even noticed there was someone perched up there above their heads. He eyed the two Marines, glared at the back of Reivaro’s head.

And abruptly stepped to the console and picked up a notepad and stylus. Sending another glare at Reivaro, he started scribbling on the pad.

“I trust you’re writing out the passcode for the next station?” Reivaro asked.

“Hardly,” Yates growled. “It occurred to me that I might as well put this time to some constructive use.”

“Poetry?” Reivaro hazarded. “Your memoirs?”

“Your indictment,” Yates retorted. “You’re going to be on trial someday for this, Reivaro. Count on it. It would be good to have a contemporaneous document to add to the case against you.”

“Very courageous of you,” Reivaro said calmly. “But a waste of effort. History is written by the winners, Mr. Yates, and whatever happens over the next few weeks or months, the Dominion of Man will be the winners.” He gave Yates a casual flick of his fingers. “But feel free to write whatever you want. I’m told that purging your anger with words is a good way to cleanse the soul.”

“You’re the one whose soul needs cleansing,” Yates said, his stylus digging into the pad as if he was trying to poke the tip straight through the paper. “I’m going to take great pleasure in reading this personally at your trial—”

“Quiet,” Reivaro said suddenly.

Jin froze. Had someone spotted her? She keyed her audios, hoping she might catch a clue—

“Broom?” Reivaro demanded softly, taking a few quick steps away from the console. “Where in hell did he come from?”

There was a moment of silence, and Jin felt her muscles relax a bit. Clearly, Reivaro’s sudden reaction had been to a call from one of his people.

Who apparently was outside in view of Jin’s husband. She notched up her audios a little more, wondering uneasily what Paul was up to out there.

Whatever it was, Reivaro wasn’t happy about it. “No,” he bit out. “Damn him. Are they listening?…Damn it, Jerrant, I want rioters, not peaceful happyface protesters.”

Jin smiled tightly. Apparently, Paul had taken it upon himself to try to spread some of his own natural calm over the frustration and anger of the workers outside. And if Reivaro’s reaction was any indication, he was succeeding.

“No, no, that’s a terrific idea,” Reivaro said sarcastically. “Can you make it look like the shot look came from Broom or one of the other Cobras? No? Then don’t bother. Matter of fact, don’t bother with anything. Just stand down and watch. I’ll handle it.”

He spun back around. “You finished with that yet?” he demanded.

“I’ve got a start,” Yates said. He tore off the top sheet of paper, pressed it up against the screen of his comboard, and punched the copy key. “This will do for the moment. “Now we just…” He broke off, frowning at the comboard.

“Did you really think I was stupid enough to allow comm functions in here?” Reivaro asked. Stepping forward, he plucked both the paper and the comboard out of Yates’s hands. “Very eloquent,” he commented as he looked at the comboard. “But you should have stuck with poetry.” Pressing the erase key, he handed the comboard to one of the Marines. “Keep it away from him,” he ordered as he crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. “We don’t want him hurting his fingers against all those buttons. You finished here, Synchs?”

“Yes, sir, just about,” one of the men said.

“As soon as you are, get to the next node,” Reivaro ordered. “I need to deal with something out front. And make damn sure he doesn’t get near anything breakable.”

He strode off across the room and out the doorway into the next room. The others remained at the console another few seconds, then at a murmured comment from Synchs the whole group trooped off in the opposite direction. A moment later, Jin was once again all alone.

Staring at the pad of paper still lying on the console.

Yates had seen her—she was sure of that. The big written indictment of Reivaro had to be his response to that. Some kind of message that he’d hoped to slip to her.

But Reivaro had stood right there and read it. If it had been a message for Jin, surely he would have realized that.

The key had to be the paper, and why Yates hadn’t just written it directly on the comboard instead of going through that extra step. Somehow, the message on paper had lost its hidden meaning once it was on the comboard.

Jin was never going to see the note, she knew. Reivaro would hold onto it until he destroyed it. But she didn’t have to see that particular sheet of paper. The way Yates had been pressing down on his stylus, there should be a clear impression of the message on the next sheet down.

Keeping her audios at full power, she made her way down to the factory floor. She picked up the pad, realized just in time that the whole pad disappearing might be a dangerous tipoff if someone came back here, and instead pulled off the top two sheets. Retreating into a narrow gap behind one of the machines, she studied her prize.

She’d been right about one thing, anyway: the message pressed into the paper was as clear as the stylus’s ink would have made it.

The actual meaning, though, was anything but.

To Cobra Worlds legal authorities of the first circuit court: Dominion efforts to utterly break citizen rights in the west and southwest sections of DeVegas and to corner the workers, citizens, and industrialists by using the power of their office will quickly, permanently, and utterly wreck our infrastructure. This will destroy all aspects of our economy, primary plus secondaries, and leave a dismal future for first and last citizens alike.

She read the note three times, becoming more confused with each pass. The phrasing was certainly eloquent, even poetic, but it told her nothing.

Was there something in the way the words were written, some flourish or additional markings that the comboard would have eliminated or ignored when it scanned and reformatted the note? But she couldn’t see anything in the script that looked like it might be a code or clue. Could it be something involving the order of the words themselves, or maybe the placement? That also would have been changed by the comboard’s reformatting.