Cobra Guardian: Cobra War: Book Two (6 page)

"No, sir, of course not," Poole said hastily as he ducked his head in deference. "I brought them up as soon as they arrived."

"So the delay is
your
fault?" Treakness demanded, shifting his eyes to Lorne. "Or hers?"

"We got here as fast as anyone could have," Lorne said, returning the governor's glare. "But of course, at the time we were under the impression that we were urgently needed for serious duty."

Treakness's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we've just been invaded, and this is hardly the time for anyone to run whimpering away with his tail between his legs," Lorne said. "Particularly senior governmental officials."

"I agree," Treakness said icily. "If you see anyone doing that, you're authorized to shoot him down."

"Really," Lorne said. "Do you want a running start? Or do you want it right here?"

Treakness threw a look at Poole. "I
did
tell them," the other said. "Just like you told me. I told them we were leaving the city."

Treakness hissed between his teeth. "You are useless, Poole. You know that?" He turned back to Lorne. "Yes, we're leaving the city. No, we aren't running."

"Well, that's clear," Lorne said sarcastically.

"You don't need an explanation, Cobra Broom," Treakness ground out. "All you need to do is follow orders."

"Great--except I don't really have any, do I?" Lorne countered. "I haven't heard word one about any of this from Chintawa."

"And you're not going to any time soon, either," Treakness said heavily. "The whole comm system's down, either destroyed or jammed."

"Cobra Broom!" Nissa snapped.

Lorne turned. She was standing by one of the windows, gazing down at the street below, a look of horror on her face. "The other Cobras. They're here."

Lorne felt his throat tighten. "Hell," he muttered, hurrying to her side.

There were Cobras down there, all right. Five of them, all wearing the semidress uniforms of the Dome security force, working together in deadly efficiency as they lasered, stunned, and otherwise methodically worked their way through the spine leopards the Trofts had turned loose on the streets. Already five of the spinies were down, and Lorne's memory flickered with the all-too-familiar acrid odor of burned flesh and muscle and bone.

"We have to warn them," Nissa breathed.

"About what?" Treakness asked as he and Poole took up positions at the other side of the window. "They seem to be doing all right."

"You don't get it," Lorne said darkly, his mind swirling with useless plans. The comms were being jammed, which probably meant the field radios were also useless, even if Lorne had had one with him. A warning flash through the window from his own laser? That would do nothing but distract and confuse them.

And going down there would only get him killed along with them.

"Don't get what?" Treakness demanded.

"There!" Poole said, jabbing a rigid finger. "Look!"

Lorne lifted his eyes from the carnage going on below them. All across the city, a dozen or more of the tall Troft warships could be seen across the skyline, the whole scene faintly lit by the reddish light from the east. Poole was pointing at one of the ships that had taken up position due west of the governmental center.

And as Lorne watched, the reddish sheen on its hull was suddenly joined by a flicker of sharper blue light from somewhere beneath it.

"They're using the spinies to draw out the Cobras," Lorne said, his voice distant in his ears. "And then they're killing them."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the ground below them and the buildings to either side lit up with another, eye-searing blue flash.

And when he looked down again, he saw the smoldering bodies of his fellow Cobras sprawled on the pavement.

For a long minute no one spoke. Then, Poole took a shuddering breath. "Oh, God," he said, very quietly.

With an effort, Lorne turned away from the grisly sight. Across the city to the northeast, another of the Troft ships was flickering with blue light. "Governor, how many Cobras are in the city?" he asked. "Any idea?"

"There are a little over three thousand on Aventine," Treakness said. For once, Lorne noted almost absently, there wasn't a single trace of arrogance or self-importance in the man's voice. "But of course most of them are in the outer provinces. There can't be more than--I don't know. Maybe two or three hundred in Capitalia proper." He hunched his shoulders.

"They didn't let them kill all the spine leopards first," Nissa said quietly, still gazing down through the window.

"What?" Poole asked.

"They didn't let the Cobras kill all of them," she told him, pointing. "There are still five of them alive out there."

"Of course not," Treakness said bitterly. "After all, once they've suckered the Cobras into the open there'll still be the patroller corps to deal with. Broom, we've got to get out of here."

Lorne felt a sudden flash of anger, as bitter and lethal-edged as the Troft lasers. How
dare
this stupid, pompous fool just casually brush aside the deaths of his comrades down there--men Treakness himself had probably passed at doorways in the Dome's halls a hundred times--as if nothing had happened? "Is that all you can say, Governor?" he snarled, curling his hands into fists and taking a step toward the other.

Treakness held his ground, meeting Lorne's eyes without flinching. "Yes, I know what just happened," he said quietly. "But we can't help them now. Under the circumstances, I don't think we ever could have. What we
can
do is try to make their sacrifice mean something."

"Like what?" Lorne demanded.

"We have a mission," Treakness said. "An urgent errand that Governor-General Chintawa has ordered us to do." He nodded microscopically toward the window. "There were fifteen spine leopards out there, ready to kill anyone who stepped outside. Now, there are only five. If we're going to go, this is the time to do it."

Lorne took a deep breath, forcing back the anger and the heartache. Treakness was still a fool. But he was also right. "You say we're leaving the city," he said. "Where are we going?"

"There's a Troft freighter waiting at Creeksedge Spaceport," he said. "A Tlossie freighter, to be exact."

"And?"

"And the Tlossies are on our side," Treakness said. "Or at least, they're not against us. The point is, the ship's master has agreed to take me to his demesne-lord to plead our case for assistance."

Lorne felt the first stirrings of hope. The Tlos'khin'fahi Demesne had been one of the Cobra Worlds' best trading partners over the past several decades. If they could be persuaded to come into this--whatever the hell
this
was--it could make all the difference between defeat and victory.

Unfortunately, the invading Trofts undoubtedly knew that, too. "What if the invaders don't let him leave with you aboard?"

"I think they will," Treakness said. "This particular shipmaster happens to be the demesne-lord's second heir. There's a fairly rigid protocol between demesnes on such matters." His lip twitched. "Especially since if we do it right they won't know we're aboard."

Lorne grimaced. "Which I presume means they don't want to fly over here and pick us up."

"Even if they were willing, we can't risk it," Treakness said. "We'll just have to go to him."

"What's our timing?"

Treakness seemed to brace himself. "Ingidi-inhiliziyo--that's the heir--has given us until tomorrow daybreak," he said. "Otherwise, he says he'll have to lift without us."

"Terrific," Lorne muttered under his breath. Creeksedge was only about twenty kilometers away as the leatherwing flew. Under normal conditions, a reasonably healthy person could probably walk it in four hours.

But conditions here were far from normal. And they weren't likely to get any better anytime soon, either.

He turned and looked out the window, his eyes drifting across the city skyline, his stomach tightening into a hard knot. Forest territory, plains, streams or small lakes--those he understood. He'd lived with that kind of terrain for the past three years, and he could travel those places with the confidence of knowing where the dangers lurked and the knowledge of how to evade or neutralize them.

But this was a city occupied by enemy soldiers and warships. He didn't have the faintest idea how to function here.

"Governor, we're wasting time," Poole murmured urgently.

Treakness ignored him. "Broom?" he asked.

Lorne looked at Nissa and Poole. Both of them were watching him, their faces rigid with fear and helplessness.

And slowly, it occurred to him that whatever uncertainties he was feeling, the other three people in the room had it far worse. They were political creatures, adept at conference room maneuvering and backstage deals, but at their core they were just civilians.

Lorne might not know the techniques of urban evasion and combat, but at least he knew how to fight.

"Like Mr. Poole said, we're wasting time," he said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could.

"That we are," Treakness said, managing to sound relieved and annoyed at the same time. "Took you long enough. Poole, go get my bags from the bedroom."

"Whoa, whoa," Lorne said as Poole started to leave the room. "What kind of bags? What's in them?"

"The things I need for a trip to the Tlossie demesne world, of course," Treakness said. "Clothing, credentials, papers--"

"Forget 'em," Lorne interrupted. "Everything except the credentials--you can take those."

"What do you mean, forget them?" Treakness said, sounding annoyed again. "You want me to have to explain to a demesne-lord in his own audience hall that I've been wearing the same clothes for the past week?"

"I'd worry more about how you're going to explain to the Trofts right here in Capitalia why you're packed for a long trip," Lorne countered. "You can take your credentials and any food bars or bottled water you have. That's it."

"Fine," Treakness bit out. "Poole, go to the kitchen--there's an emergency bag in the cabinet above the cooker and some bottles of water in the cooler."

"Better split everything into four packs," Lorne added as Poole made for the kitchen. "Nissa, go help him."

"Yes, sir," Nissa said, and followed Poole out of the room.

Leaving Lorne and Treakness alone. "We're bringing her, too?" Treakness asked quietly.

"You were thinking of leaving her here alone?"

"Frankly, yes," Treakness said evenly. "Troft history indicates they don't mistreat their conquered peoples, at least as long as the conquered peoples behave themselves. She could stay here in my apartment--there's plenty of food--and try to ride it out. And you know as well as I do that a party of three will be easier to sneak past Troft sentries than a party of four."

"Why not just make it a party of two, then?" Lorne challenged. "Leave Nissa someone to talk to while she's hunkered down here."

"Poole comes with me," Treakness said firmly. "Bad enough that you won't let me take proper ceremonial clothing. I am
not
traveling without an assistant. Period."

"Fine," Lorne said with a shrug. "In that case, neither am I."

"Nissa Gendreves isn't your assistant."

"She is now," Lorne said. "If you don't like it, try to remember that this mess is at least partially your fault. If you'd headed directly to Creeksedge the minute North Bank picked up the incoming ships, you could have had your feet up in the Tlossie freighter before the first invaders even landed."

"Believe me, I'd rather have done it that way," Treakness said. "But there was a small fly in the batter." His glare sharpened a few degrees. "You."

Lorne frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the son of Jasmine Moreau," Treakness told him. "For whatever ridiculous reason, the Tlossies seem to have been impressed with the Moreau name over the years."

"Have they, now," Lorne said, permitting himself a small smile. "You'll have to send them a copy of the official report on my mother's mission. I'm sure that'll cool any ardor they feel for us."

"I'm not going to argue politics with you, Broom," Treakness growled. "This isn't the time for it. The bottom line is that, for whatever reason, you're high up in the Tlossies' estimation, and Chintawa insisted that you accompany me to their demesne-lord. So we waited for you." He jerked a hand toward the window. "You see the result."

Lorne grimaced. If Chintawa had just said something to Nissa when he'd called her . . . but that was water over the rim now. "Well, we'll just have to do the best we can," he said.

"I suppose we will," Treakness said with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You have a plan?"

"I have the start of one," Lorne said. "This building have an east entrance?"

Treakness nodded. "It opens into the service street."

"That's where we go out, then," Lorne said. "It's out of sight of the warship, and with luck the spinies won't have gotten back there yet. We'll head south for a couple of blocks, by which time we should have some idea of how well they've got the city covered. Hopefully, at that point or shortly thereafter we'll be able to turn west and head toward Creeksedge."

"And the spine leopards?" Treakness asked. "I presume this ship isn't the only one that's released them out into the streets."

"We'll deal with them as necessary," Lorne said. "If the Trofts didn't grab family groups, they should split up as soon as they realize the city's open and start marking off individual territories for themselves. If there
are
any family groups, unfortunately, they'll probably stick together, at least for now." He gestured toward the east. "And of course, once we're at full daylight, I'll be able to use my lasers out in the open without it being as obvious as it would be right now. Something the Trofts might not have thought about when they planned their attack for dawn."

There was the sound of footsteps, and he turned as Nissa and Poole returned from the kitchen, four belt bags in hand. "We divided up the food and water," Poole said, offering one of his bags to Treakness. "Oh, and we also divided the medical kit from the emergency bag, too. I hope that's all right."