Cobra Gamble (24 page)

Merrick suppressed a cynical smile. If they thought that was all they needed to immobilize a Cobra, they were in for a rude awakening. [The Games, of what do they consist?] he asked in cattertalk.

[The truth about them, you will learn it soon,] the guard said. [The shackles, you will submit to them.]

Merrick flicked a glance over their shoulders at the corridor beyond. Once again, whoever was in charge had set up the pop-in/pop-out arrangement of gunners in the various doorways near Merrick's cell. Even if he barreled through the two guards standing in front of him, he wouldn't get very far.

But if he went along with the shackles another opportunity might present itself along the way. Even alert people sometimes got sloppy when they thought they were holding all the cards. [The shackles, I will submit to them,] he agreed, hopping off the bed and offering his wrists. [The shackles, you may attach them.]

The two Trofts stepped warily forward, one of them fastening the wrist cuffs around Merrick's arms, the other squatting down and doing the same with the ankle cuffs. All four of the cuffs, Merrick noticed as they were locked in place, had thick round rings welded to their sides, too sturdy to be simple hanging rings. Perhaps they were planning to transport him by vehicle and the rings would be attached to more chains to anchor him to the floor or walls.

The guards finished and stepped back. [To the arena, you will follow us,] the first guard said. He turned and gestured to Anya. [Merrick Moreau, you will also accompany him.]

[Obedience, I give it,] Anya said, standing up and coming to Merrick's side.

[Behind him, you will walk there,] the guard said, gesturing again.

Silently, Anya took two steps back, stopping a meter behind Merrick. The guard took up position behind her, the other guard settled in two meters in front of Merrick, and at a curt order the whole procession trooped off together out of the cell and down the corridor in parade-style single file.

With the prisoner now theoretically helpless, Merrick had assumed the randomized guard rotation would end after they passed the first group of doorways. But the Troft commander was smarter or warier than that. As they continued on, more doorways ahead began sprouting soldiers, running the same target-lock-defeating pattern as the first group.

Still, sooner or later the Trofts were bound to make a mistake.

And then, twenty meters dead ahead, there it was. In the center of a cross-corridor a large, heavy-looking metal ring had been set up in front of their procession. The structure was about a meter and a half in diameter, standing vertically on a wide, flat stand, with the look of a security metal detector about it. Power cables snaked away to the left, while a small control board on the right glowed with blue and green status lights.

Mentally, Merrick shook his head. What in the Worlds they thought a metal detector would teach them at this stage he couldn't imagine.

What it
was
going to teach them, though, was that powered electrical equipment and Cobras were a very bad mix.

It would have to be quick, he knew. But he could do it. He would wait until the first three of their group had passed through the detector, and as the Troft bringing up the rear stepped into the ring Merrick would turn and trigger his arcthrower, flash-vaporizing the electronics and electrical components inside the ring and blowing the whole device, hopefully with enough force to take out the guard. At the same instant, he would stun the Troft in front of him with a blast from his sonic. A fingertip laser burst at his ankle chain to free his legs, a pretzel-twisted leg and antiarmor blast into his wrist chain, and he and Anya would be clear to make a run for it.

If
Anya was interested in escape, that is. If she wasn't...

Merrick set his jaw. If she wasn't, he told himself firmly, he wouldn't waste precious seconds trying to argue or reason with her. She came with him the instant he was free, or he would have no choice but to leave her to her own devices.

The lead Troft reached the ring and passed through it. Merrick frowned, flicking a glance at the status board. As far as he could tell, none of the lights had changed. Yet the Troft was obviously loaded with metal, electronics, power supplies, and everything else that a security detector might be programmed to search for. Could the ring be something else instead? He stepped into it, momentarily dismissing the question as he readied his arcthrower.

And in a violent fraction of a second he was yanked to a halt, his arms snapping to either side to slam into the ring, the chain between his wrists breaking with barely even a sound or a tug. Simultaneously, his legs were pulled forcibly together, that chain not breaking but simply bunching together between his ankles with links digging painfully into his skin.

The ring wasn't a security detector at all. It was a giant, electromagnetic trap.

And Merrick had literally walked right into it.

He flexed his chest and arm muscles with all his strength, adding full servo power to the effort. But with his arms spread-eagled to the sides his leverage was effectively zero. He looked up at his right hand, peripherally noticing the breakaway link that had been coyly nestled in amidst the real ones in his wrist chain, wondering if he could still fire his arcthrower. But with the cuff pinned to the ring, his little finger was now pointed along the side of the metal arc instead of directly at it. Triggering the arcthrower would just send the bulk of the current away from the mechanism instead of directly into it.

And even if enough of the charge got into the ring to do some damage, with his cuff pinned to the metal there was a good chance that much of the jolt would flow into his own arm. There were, he reflected bitterly, few more humiliating ways to die than by the careless use of his own weapons.

From behind him came the sound of hurrying feet. He tried twisting his torso against his wrists, hoping he could at least turn the edge of his sonic toward whatever was about to happen back there. But again, his lack of leverage defeated the attempt.

A pair of Troft hands appeared at his right and deftly slid a sturdy-looking rod into the small ring he'd noticed earlier welded onto his right wrist cuff. A quick turn of his head to the left showed the other end of the rod now being attached to that cuff. A second rod was fastened to the horizontal bar near his left wrist, and he glanced down to see the other end sliding into the ring on his left ankle cuff. A third rod mirrored the second's by linking his right wrist and ankle.

And with that the activity ceased. A hum Merrick hadn't noticed faded, and the pull on his wrists and ankles vanished as the electromagnets were powered down.

For all the good it did him. With a yoke-style bar across his shoulders keeping his arms rigidly apart, and with his legs able to move only forward and backward, and then only a few centimeters at time, he was as thoroughly trapped as if he was still pinned to the ring.

But if his lasers and arcthrower were now useless, he still had his sonics. He focused on the Troft guard in front of him, who had stopped and turned to face the operation. It would be a useless and fairly juvenile gesture to flatten the soldier, Merrick knew. But at the moment he was in the insanely frustrated mood to do it anyway.

And then, even that small token act of defiance was taken away from him. With a Troft hand gripping her wrist, Anya stumbled under Merrick's pinioned right arm and was hauled to a stop directly in front of him, right exactly where she would take the brunt of his sonic.

Merrick took a deep breath. [My cooperation, you could have simply asked for it,] he called.

[Your forgiveness, I ask it,] the same disembodied Troft voice he'd heard that first day replied. [Your pledge of cooperation, you only gave it until the Games. The risk, I could not take it.]

[A drug, you could have used it instead,] Merrick pointed out. [Unless such elaborate schemes as this, you enjoy them.]

[A drug, it might dangerously slow your reactions in the Games,] the Troft said. [A point, it was also necessary to make. This demonstration, it is intended to teach you truth.]

Merrick grimaced. [The truth, that my mind and intentions can be read in advance?]

[The truth, you recognize it,] the Troft confirmed. [A transport dolly, it will now be brought to take you to the Games.]

Merrick squared his shoulders as best as he could with a pole digging into his back. [Your offer, I acknowledge it,] he said. [The Games, I will travel there under my own strength.]

There was a pause, and then something that sounded like a rasping chuckle. [Your spirit of rebellion, I approve of it,] the disembodied voice said. [Your destination, the soldiers will lead you to it.]

Traveling in his current situation, Merrick quickly discovered, was easier said than done. The rods allowed him less than half his usual stride, and even those small steps transmitted an awkward and unpleasant torsion to the shoulder rod with each movement.

But there was no way he was going to change his mind and ask the Trofts for a ride. Not now. Especially not when he had a sneaking suspicion that the alien commander was hoping that he would do so.

Besides, the leisurely pace forced by his restraints gave him a better opportunity to study the layout of the maze of corridors as they passed through it.

And for the first time since his capture, he finally knew beyond the shadow of a doubt where he was.

The Trofts had indeed locked him in the Sollas subcity. And not only in the subcity, but in the southwest area, the part of the labyrinth he was most familiar with.

Like Merrick himself, though, the place was no longer in pristine shape. The walls and ceilings showed signs of stress or battering, as if the Trofts had been at them with giant sledgehammers. Or, more likely, that someone had been busy at ground level with explosives and bulldozers, pummeling the subcity with random shock waves and toppling buildings across areas that hadn't been properly prepared to take that kind of weight.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of plodding through increasingly familiar territory, they arrived at their destination: the very arena where Merrick and the Djinn had planned and trained for that final attack on the invaders' warships.

The battle in which Merrick had nearly been killed.

He looked around the room, the memories of those long hours of practice mixing with the remembered stress and agony of the battle itself. The arena was good-sized, fifty meters by thirty, with an eight-meter-high ceiling. The walls were lined with doors of various sizes, six of them exits, the others leading to storage for the equipment, ramps, and prefab structures that could be used to turn the empty room into a duplicate of whatever the Djinn would be facing on their next mission. Near the ceiling were a set of catwalks and projectors that could handle lighting and other optical and audio effects. Lower down were display screens that could add further visual details and cues that the team might need to know.

The arena hadn't escaped the general subcity damage. One of the catwalks had lost its supports at one end and was hanging at an angle, its lower end suspended in midair about three meters above the floor. Two of the exit doors had been shattered, with the pieces still lying nearby, and the walls near all the other exits were pitted with laser marks. Behind the broken doors he could see stacks of rubble that blocked any chance of movement in those directions. In the center of the room the entire ceiling had been bowed downward, with several square meters of the concrete broken away and the exposed rebar hanging open like a strange abstract sculpture.

More ominous were the dark stains of dried blood scattered across the floor. Whatever had happened here, the Qasamans hadn't given up without a fight.

[Ten more steps, you will take them,] the unseen Troft ordered, his voice coming now from one of the speakers in the arena's upper walls.

Merrick grimaced. Another ten steps with this stupid rig he was wearing? [The Games, what do they consist of?] he called as he obediently set off toward the center of the arena.

[The Games, they are from Anya Winghunter's culture,] the Troft said. [Their purpose, she will explain it.]

Merrick focused on the woman still walking in front of him. The Games were
her
idea? "Anya?" he prompted.

"Commander Ukuthi speaks truth," Anya said over her shoulder, "The Games are the way my people test our young ones."

"I thought you said you were slaves," Merrick said. At least now he had a name for the Troft who'd been running him in rings ever since he was brought here. The question was, how did Anya know him? "What do you test them for?"

Anya stopped and turned around, her eyes cool and measuring as she looked at him. "For skills of combat," she said, as if it was obvious. "Our masters enjoy watching us fight."

Merrick was still trying to find a response to that when there was a multiple
snick
from his wrists and ankles. The cuffs popped free and dropped clattering to the floor, the three connecting rods dropping with them.

He turned around, flexing his arms and fingers, just in time to see the last of their two Troft escorts hurriedly disappear through the doorway they'd entered by. The door swung shut with a thud, and he heard a double click as it was locked.

Locked; but not for long. Merrick's cell door had been specifically designed to keep people from getting through it. The arena's doors hadn't. Flicking a target lock onto the bolted side, he shifted his weight onto his right leg—

[The exits from the room, explosives have been attached to them,] Commander Ukuthi's voice drifted down from the ceiling. [A devastating blast, it will occur if you attempt to escape.]

Merrick hesitated, still balanced on one foot. The Troft might be bluffing, though from what Merrick had seen of him so far that didn't seem likely. But even if he wasn't, Merrick and Anya were a good five meters back from the door. There would have to be a hell of a lot of explosives back there to reach them at this distance. The gamble was probably worth taking.