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.
Finally, after ten interminable minutes, Belain ran out of superlatives and wind. "All right, Cobras, listen up," Ishikuma said. "As you know, the usual procedure is to start these things in the practice cage. However, Dr. Belain has requested something a little more realistic, so we're going to head to Sutter's Creek and the glade where Dushan Matavuli reported signs of a way station. Questions? Then get to the transports—we're taking One and Three. Broom, stand clear a moment."
Silently, the Cobras got out of their chairs and headed for the door. Belain and his civilians joined the stream, their new superweapons resting in the crooks of their elbows and pointing proudly at the ceiling. Lorne stayed out of the crowd, and as the last of the group vanished out the door, Ishikuma left the table and came over to him. "I hear there was some problem at the Sun Center this afternoon," the commandant said.
"Yes, sir," Lorne confirmed. "But my mother says she and Dad are all right."
"The aftermath film looked pretty nasty," Ishikuma said, watching Lorne's face closely. "I also hear that you've arranged with Sumara to take the first half of your weekend shift."
"Yes, sir, I have," Lorne said, wondering how the hell Ishikuma always knew so much about everything. He must have the whole station wired. "He said he'd log it for me."
"I'm sure he will once we're back from this exercise," Ishikuma said. "Meanwhile, you're dismissed. Check out an aircar and get your tail to Capitalia."
"Thank you, sir," Lorne said, briefly fighting the temptation to salute, turn around, and obey the orders he'd just been given. "But we're going on a hunt. I need to be there."
Ishikuma snorted. "This may come as a shock, Cobra Broom, but we were doing just fine out here before you came along, and we'll do equally well after you leave. We'll handle the hunt. You get to Capitalia and check on your parents."
"I appreciate the offer, sir," Lorne said. "I'll head out as soon as the hunt is over."
For a moment Ishikuma eyed him. "As you wish, Cobra Broom," he said. "Get to your transport."
It was a ten-minute trip to the Matavuli spread and the section of Sutter's Creek where the rancher had spotted the spine leopard way station. Sumara and Werle put the transports down on the nearest halfway-reasonable landing area, and the group headed in.
"Did the local who reported this way station mention its size?" Belain asked quietly as the group walked through the tall grass and thickening woods toward the sound of running water. He was holding his gun in a more or less horizontal position, swinging it gently back and forth in a thirty-degree arc. All four of the civilians were doing that, and the Cobras had responded by fanning out mostly behind and beside them in hopes of staying out of their lines of fire.
It wasn't simply paranoia. Two Cobras over in Donyang Province had been seriously hurt three months ago by a different group of bulgebrains and their weapons.
"He didn't get close enough for a good look," Ishikuma said from Belain's side. "But this close to water, it's probably a good-sized one."
They had gone another ten meters, and Lorne had just caught sight of the matted reeds and splintered bones that marked a spine leopard way station, when they were attacked.
The spine leopards came in two groups, the first consisting of four males leaping from the tall grass beside a big obsidian rock, the second group of three males half a second later coming from beneath the edge of the drop-off beside the creek bed.
Lorne snapped his hands up, his eyes tracking through the sudden deluge of laser fire coming from both the civilians and his fellow Cobras. The first group of spine leopards collapsed to the ground, the black stitching of laser burns along their sides and bellies. Apparently, Belain's weapons were holding their own. Lorne shifted his attention to the second group, targeting one of the as-yet-untouched predators.
He had just fired a volley from his fingertip lasers into the creature's head when his enhanced hearing caught a soft rustling from the reeds behind him.
Instantly, his nanocomputer took control of his body's network of implanted servo motors, breaking off his attack and throwing him into a long slide-leap to his right. He rolled half over onto his back as he hit the ground, twisting his head around just in time to see another pair of spine leopards slice through the space he'd just vacated. He twitched his eye to put a targeting lock on the nearer of the two and fired his antiarmor laser, his body twisting awkwardly around as his servos brought the weapon to bear.
The laser flashed, cutting into the leopard's flank. Without waiting to see if that single shot had done the job, Lorne shifted his eyes to the second predator, who had hit the ground and bounded out into a second leap toward the party. Before he could fire, another antiarmor laser blazed across the leafy background, taking the spine leopard's head off at the neck.
Lorne rolled up onto his feet, his fingertip lasers again held at the ready as he rapidly scanned the impromptu battlefield. But the only ones still on their feet were the humans.
Minus one.
He hurried over to the group crouching or standing guard around the fallen civilian. "What happened?" he asked as he took a spot in the defensive circle, sparing a single glance at the writhing body Ishikuma and de Portola were hunched over.
"Same as always," Randall said bitterly. "The guns all targeted just fine, only they all targeted the first wave, three of them alone on the first spine leopard who poked his nose into sight. By the time the computers disengaged and retargeted, it was too late to shift to the second wave."
Lorne nodded grimly. And without a Cobra's servos and programmed reflexes to protect them, the civilians had been sitting ducks. If they'd been out here alone, all four would probably be dead now.
He looked at Dr. Belain. The other was staring down at the injured man, his face pale, his jaws tight, his hands gripping his rifle as if it was a magic totem.
Lorne turned his attention back to the woods around them. When would they learn, he wondered. When would they ever learn?
"That's all we can do here," Ishikuma said briskly, getting back to his feet. "Broom, Sumara—get him to one of the transports and take him to Archway. Be sure to call ahead and make sure they've got a trauma room prepped."
"Yes, sir," Sumara acknowledged for both of them.
"And when you've done that," Ishikuma added, his eyes boring into Lorne's face, "you, Broom, are to get yourself out of my jurisdiction as per my previous order. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Lorne said.
"Then move it," Ishikuma said, his voice marginally less severe. "And give them both my best wishes."
"I'll be there," Jody Moreau Broom promised into her comm. "Bye."
She closed the device and put it away. "Well?" Geoff Boulton asked anxiously, his eyes flicking back and forth across the display screen in front of him.
"Merrick says they're both fine," Jody assured him. "Mom picked up a few small cuts from flying glass, but that's about it."
"I don't know," Geoff said doubtfully, fiddling with the view on the display. "Near as I can tell from this, whatever happened left a real mess."
"Merrick wouldn't lie to me," Jody said firmly. "Besides, he's already talked to Lorne, who talked to Mom. You can't hide anything from Lorne."
"If you say so," Geoff said, still not sounding entirely convinced. "So. Where were we?"
"She was showing us her new trap design," Freylan Sonderby spoke up from beside the workbench. He frowned slightly, as if something had just occurred to him. "Unless you were wanting to go to the hospital, I mean," he added awkwardly to Jody. "I mean, you did just say you'd be there, right? There being—wherever there is. Or is going to be?"
Jody suppressed a smile. That was Freylan, all right. He was the tech end of the team, with the analytical and biochemical skills necessary for taking Geoff's visionary ideas and translating them into reality.
He was also the stereotypical socially inept bulgebrain, with a sometimes astonishing lack of ability to put coherent sentences together. Another good reason why they let him do the lab work while Geoff handled the grant-application pitches that had kept the team going for the past year and a half.
Jody herself possessed neither set of skills. Fortunately, she had other things to bring to the table. "That was just a dinner invitation," she assured Freylan, stepping around the desk to join him at the table. "Whenever you're ready, Geoff?"
"Ready now." Geoff took one last lingering look at the pictures of the Sun Center damage, then shut off the feed and got up from his chair. "Ready," he said again, stepping to Jody's side. "Nice little rabbit trap, anyway," he commented.
"It is just a model," Jody reminded him, running her eyes over the device. It didn't actually look like much, she had to admit: a flat, rectangular tangle of mesh, thirty centimeters by fifteen, sitting in midair and supported by a pair of meter-long bars extending outward along each of the rectangle's long sides. One set of bars was currently resting on the end of the table, the other on Geoff's desk. Between each set of bars were a set of five slender crossbars with what looked like thin medicine bottles extending a few centimeters upward from their centers. To the side of the central rectangle was another rectangle, similarly sized, though the mesh in this one was neatly arranged instead of apparently tangled. "We'll have plenty of time to construct a proper one on the way to Caelian," she added.
"Assuming we ever get there," Freylan muttered.
"We will," Geoff promised. "So how's it work?"
"The whole thing gets buried under a couple of centimeters of dirt or leaves," Jody explained. "With a much deeper hole under the central section, of course. Little Rabbit Foo-Foo comes hopping along the trail—" she pulled out her comm and bounced it, rabbit-like, along the desk toward the arms and crossbars "—and comes upon a nice little morsel of food." She stopped at the first medicine bottle and nuzzled the comm against it. "Being a smart, hungry little bunny, she of course scarfs it right down."
"Question," Freylan said, half raising his hand. "How do we make sure that only Little Rabbit—what was it again?"
"Foo-Foo," Jody supplied.
Freylan frowned slightly, but apparently decided to take it in stride. "That only Little Rabbit Foo-Foo takes the bait?"
"Good question," Jody said. "We'll need to figure out how to tailor the bait to whatever animal we're after at the time. Hopefully, the settlers will be able to help us with that once we're there. Anyway, once Foo-Foo has taken the first bite, we keep her going the right direction by having the rest of the bait cups open up in sequence, once at a time, drawing her onto the main part of the trap." She bounced her comm along the bars, stopping briefly at each bait cup , and onto the main part of the trap.
And as she dropped the comm with a little extra force in the center of the rectangle, the entire structure collapsed, the tangle of mesh dropping down and resolving itself into the sides and bottom of a deep box. Simultaneously, the screen that had been sitting next to the box flipped over onto the top, forming a lid and sealing the comm inside. "And presto—one trapped test animal," Jody said, gesturing at the enclosed comm like a magician concluding her act.
"Very neat," Geoff said approvingly. "You come up with this yourself?"
"Hardly," Jody said. "The basic design's been around for centuries. My main contribution is here."
She pointed to the mesh on the sides and bottom of the cage. "Note the little cylindrical free-spinning tubes around each of the main mesh wires. That means that, instead of the animal just lying there, highly annoyed and using every claw and tooth it's got to try to tear through the mesh—"
"I get it," Freylan spoke up suddenly. "If you make the mesh wide enough and the hole deep enough, when it lands its legs will slide on the rollers and go straight through so that it ends up lying on the mesh on its belly."
"Exactly," Jody said. "For most of the animals we'll be looking at, that'll immediately put their claws out of action."
"And even if it manages to chew through the lid, it still won't be able to climb out," Geoff said. "Very neat."
"Thank you," Jody said. "And of course, the lifting bars let us pick the whole thing up like a sedan chair and trot it back to the lab without having to open the cage out in the open, risking those same aforementioned claws and teeth."
"Amen to that." Geoff grinned at Freylan. "See, buddy? Let that be a lesson to you. When you hire the best, you get the best."
"Thank you kindly," Jody said, inclining her head. And pretending to believe him.
But she knew better. Her ability with animal traps wasn't the reason Geoff had insisted on hiring her. Neither were her newly minted college degrees in animal physiology and management. No, Geoff had something else entirely in mind.
But it wouldn't do to bring it up. Not here. Not in front of courteous, earnest, naive Freylan. If this worked out, the three of them would be spending a good deal of time together on the hell world that was Caelian, and there was no point in revealing to him the full depths of his buddy's deviousness.
"So how long will it take you to build a full-sized one?" Geoff asked. "Wait a second—hold that thought," he interrupted himself, pulling out his comm. "This could be it." He clicked it open. "Hello?"
Listening to his end of the conversation with half an ear, Jody unfastened the lid on her trap and retrieved her comm. She put it away, then pushed the bottom and sides up again, fastening the bottom with the quick-release hooks that had held it in place until it was sprung.
"You really want to do this?" Freylan asked quietly at her side.
She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"Caelian," he said, his dark, earnest eyes boring into her face. "I know everyone calls it a hell world. But most of them just say that just because everyone else says it. They don't really know what they're talking about. But I do. My uncle spent eight months there a few years ago, and it nearly killed him."
"You and Geoff are going," Jody reminded him. "Assuming you get permission, that is." She nodded toward Geoff and his quiet conversation.
"Yeah, but Geoff and I are crazy," Freylan said, an uncertain smile briefly touching his lips. "You aren't. So why do you want to go with us?"
Jody looked over at Geoff, who was now pacing the room the way he always did in the midst of deep comm conversations. "There are just over three thousand Cobras on Aventine," she said. "Roughly one for every four hundred people. You know how many Cobras there are on Caelian?"
Freylan huffed. "Some ungodly number, probably."
"Seven hundred," Jody told him. "That's one for every six settlers. When people say the Cobra project is too expensive and that they want to shut it down, what they really mean is that Caelian is too expensive."
"I know," Freylan said heavily. "I also know you and your family have a long history with the Cobras."
"Never mind the history," Jody said shortly. "We need the Cobras, Freylan. The Trofts aren't our friends. We trade with them, and we have good diplomatic relationships with maybe three or four of the demesnes. But even those three or four aren't really our friends. And there are hundreds of demesnes out there."
"And there's Qasama," Freylan murmured.
Jody felt her throat tighten. Qasama. There was a lot of family history tied up in that world, too. Way too much history. "And there's Qasama," she agreed. "The point is that we can't afford to stop the Cobra project. Ever." She ran her fingertips gently over the stainless steel of her trap. "That's why we need to solve the problem of Caelian. If we can find a way to finally tame that world, it'll knock a lot of the props out from under the anti-Cobra argument. Some of the Caelian Cobras could be retasked, the world could be opened up for new colonization, and we could start pushing out the boundaries on Viminal and even here on Aventine. It's not the Cobras themselves the public doesn't like, it's the feeling that the whole program's become nothing but a sinkhole for everyone's hard-earned money—"
"Hey, hey—steady," Freylan said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We're on your side, remember?"
Jody made a face. "Right. Sorry."
"That's okay," Freylan said, a little awkwardly. "Passion is good. That's what Geoff always says, anyway. Passion is why people do stuff like this."
Jody cocked an eyebrow at him. "You mean aside from the fame and fortune parts?"
His smile this time was a lot more relaxed and genuine. "Aside from that, sure," he agreed.
Across the room Geoff gave a sudden war whoop. "We're in!" he shouted, lifting his comm in triumph. "That was Governor Uy's office. The project's been approved. We're going to Caelian!"
"That's great," Freylan said, his eyes lighting up. "Jody—we're in."
"Yes, we are," Jody agreed. "Congratulations."
And hoped that her own smile looked as genuine as theirs.