Cobra Alliance

Aventine shot down one of its members?'

'Jonny!' Jame jumped to his feet.

'Stay back, Jame.' Jonny kept his eyes on D'arl. 'Well, Committe? It would mean economic sanctions against the colonies, wouldn't it, which for all practical purposes means closing the Corridor.'

'It would.' D'arl was glacially calm. 'But you wouldn't shoot me down in cold blood just for that.'

'Wouldn't I? The greatest good for the greatest number, remember? What does it matter that you and I would be sacrificed? And I've got more than just that, anyway. For what you've done to thousands of Aventine boys alone I could hate you enough to kill. Jame, get back.'

The younger Moreau ignored the order. Quietly, he walked over to stand squarely between the other two men. For a long moment the brothers locked gazes. Then Jonny reached forward and effortlessly lifted Jame into the air by his upper arms, setting him to the side. The brief burst of anger was gone, leaving only determination and the cold knowledge that he'd come too far to back out now. 'Committe, I want you to get on the phone and start calling in all the favors you've undoubtedly been accumulating through the years,' he told D'arl grimly. 'Now. You are going to get the Corridor closing accepted.'

D'arl didn't move. 'Under threat to my life? No. And certainly not because of your unreasonable feelings about the Aventine Cobra project.'

He said the last so casually that Jonny was taken aback. Fury threatened to drown him... but abruptly he understood. 'You don't know, do you?' he said, more in bitterness than in anger. 'I suppose it hasn't happened yet to your own Cobras.'

'Know what?'

Jonny dug into his pocket for his medicine, tossed the two vials into D'arl's lap. The Committe frowned at the labels and keyed the names into his comboard. A moment later he looked up to meet Jonny's eyes. 'Anemia and arthritis,' he almost whispered.

'Yes,' Jonny nodded, wondering at the oddly intense reaction. 'Every one of the First Cobras in the colonies is coming down with those diseases, as a direct result of our implanted servos and laminae, and there are indications our immune systems are starting to be affected, as well. Best estimates give me barely twenty years left to live, if that long. That's the ultimate legacy your Cobra project has left on Aventine.'

D'arl stared down at the vials in his hand. 'It's starting here, too, Governor. Reports of chronic Cobra illnesses have dribbled in for the past year or so. Statistically inconclusive as yet... I'd hoped my suspicions were wrong.' He looked up at Jame's stunned expression. 'I ran the reports through Alveres, Moreau—I didn't see any point in worrying you about your brother's health.'

Jame took a deep breath. 'Committe... if what Jonny said about secret trade helping to keep the Corridor open is true, then it follows that the whole Aventine Cobra project was indeed unnecessary, or at least premature.'

'The Cobras will be needed now.'

'No,' Jonny shook his head. 'We'll be maintaining the trade relationship with the Trofts, and with the Corridor closed we're no longer a military threat. They won't attack us—and we won't provoke them, either. There's another point for you, Committe: if war starts, you won't be able to count on those hundred thousand Troft troops being tied up on Aventine.'

'My point, sir—' Jame cut off as D'arl raised a hand.

'Peace, Moreau,' the Committe said quietly. 'I never said I didn't want to help, just that I needed a stronger case. And now I've got it. Excuse me.'

Standing, he brushed by Jonny and stepped to a small desk off to one side. 'Starport,' he said to the phone screen. '...This is Committe D'arl. Number one star ship is to be prepared for travel, under the direction of Jame Moreau. Passenger and cargo lists to be supplied by him; ultimate destination Adirondack.... Thank you.'

He keyed the phone off and turned to face the two Moreaus. 'I'm heading back to Dome to get things started. Governor, you and your brother need to make a list of whatever you'd like as your last shipment of goods to the Outer Colonies. You can go whenever you're ready; I'll contact you on Adirondack before you leave there with any final messages.' He turned to go.

'Committe,' Jonny called after him. 'Thank you.'

The other turned back, and Jonny was surprised to see an ironic smile tugging at his lips. 'I'll stop the war, Governor. But save your thanks until you see how I do it.' He left the room, closing the door gently behind him. Jonny never saw him again.

It was the end of the road for them, and both men knew it. So for a long moment they stood beside the Menssana's entry ramp and just looked at each other. Jonny broke the silence first. 'I saw on the newscast this morning that Aventine's apparently starting to complain about the way Dome's been running the Outer Colonies. The announcer seemed a bit on the indignant side.'

Jame nodded. 'It's going to get worse, too, I'm afraid. By the time we're finished with you, banning all trade or other contact with the colonies is going to seem like a remarkably restrained response by the Committee.'

'In other words, history's going to put the blame squarely on Aventine.'

Jame sighed. 'It was the only way—the only political way—to let the Committee back away from such a long-established stance. I'm sorry.'

Jonny looked back across the city, his memory superimposing Adirondack's battered wartime appearance against what was there now. 'It's not important,' he told his brother. 'If vilifying us is what it takes to save face, we can live with it.'

'I hope so. You haven't heard yet one of the more secret reasons the Committee accepted Committe D'arl's proposal.'

Jonny cocked an eyebrow. 'Which is...?'

'A slightly edited version of your confrontation at the estate. He convinced them the Aventine Cobras might get angry enough to seek revenge against them in the near future if contact with the Outer Colonies was maintained.' Jame snorted gently. 'It's strange, you know. Almost from the end of the last war the Committee's been trying to figure out a safe way to get rid of the Cobras; and now that they've got one, it had to practically be drop-kicked