Stiggur tried to glare at her, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. None of them had come to Aventine all those years ago with any political aspirations, and while they'd stepped into these positions with reasonable success, they were all still non-politicians beneath the trappings.
"All right-point taken," Stiggur sighed. "Fine. So who's got anything to report?"
"I'd like to know first of all where Governor Emeritus Moreau is," Caelian's
Governor Howie Vartanson spoke up. "It seems to me this issue should take priority over therapy sessions or whatever."
"My father's in the hospital at the moment," Corwin said, resisting the urge to say something nasty about the other's unthinking callousness. He knew Jonny was a first-generation Cobra, after all. "Immune system trouble, the doctors think."
"How serious is it?" Stiggur asked, frowning.
"Apparently not very. It came on rather suddenly last night, though."
"You should have let someone know," Jor Hemner said, one frail hand playing restlessly with his wispy beard. "We could have postponed this meeting."
"Not if we want to have a recommendation for the full Council meeting this afternoon," Corwin said, glancing at Hemner before returning his gaze to
Stiggur. "I know my father's thoughts on this matter, sir, and have his authority to act for him. I presume you'll accept my council proxy in this session?"
"Well, the strict legality-"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Brom, let him sit in and be done with it," Telek put in.
"We've got a lot of ground to cover this morning, and I want to get to it."
"Fine." Stiggur raised his eyebrows at the others. "Any objections? All right.
Anyone managed to find out anything from the Trofts about this Qasama?"
Olor Roi of Palatine cleared his throat. "I tried playing the old independent-planets routine on Speaker One, but I think it's starting to wear thin. They're finally tumbling to the fact that we're a political unit even though we can all make our own trade agreements. Still, I think he was being honest when he said he'd already given us all he had."
"Maybe he was just holding out in hopes we'd outbid you," suggested Dylan
Fairleigh, the third Aventine governor. It was a rather naive comment, Corwin thought, betraying the lack of experience with Troft trade that almost automatically came with the other's Far West Region jurisdiction.
Vartanson, predictably, didn't bother to take that into account. "Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "Trofts don't hold out without making it known that they have something for sale. Where've you been the past 14 years, anyway?"
Fairleigh's forehead darkened, but before he could speak Telek cut in. "Okay-so it's established the Tlossies haven't got anything. Next step is obviously to get to someone who does. I see two choices: the Baliu demesne or Qasama itself."
"Just a second," Corwin spoke up. "Isn't the next step to see whether we're going to need this information?"
Telek frowned at him. "Of course we need it. How else can we make a rational decision?"
"The most rational decision would be to give the Tlossies a simple no sale right now," Corwin answered. "If we do-"
"Since when is hiding from reality a rational decision?" Telek interrupted tartly.
"Saying no now is a statement of principle," Corwin told her, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. Jonny had warned him this view was unlikely to be well received, but Corwin hadn't been prepared for so strong a negative reaction. "It says we're not interested in becoming mercenaries for-"
"What about our own interests?" Vartanson put in. "If Qasama is a threat to the
Trofts it's probably a threat to us, too."
"Yes, but..." Corwin stopped as words and logic suddenly tangled into a knotted mess. Relax, he ordered himself. No one here's anyone to be afraid of.
But even as he fought his sudden shyness Stiggur came to his rescue. "I think the point Corwin's trying to make is that we can still send expeditions to
Qasama or wherever once we've turned down the Baliu demesne's deal," he said.
"At that point we're not constrained by what the Trofts want done, but are free to take action as we see fit."
"Sounds very noble," Telek nodded. "Unfortunately, it runs very quickly into one important practical detail. Namely, who pays for this if the Trofts don't?"
Fairleigh shifted in his seat. "I was under the impression the Trofts were offering only those five planets, not payment of costs too."
"No deal's been officially struck-we could demand costs as part of the package,"
Roi pointed out thoughtfully. "But it would still take a lot of Cobras out of circulation for up to several years. How fast can the academy replace them?"
"Surgery and training together take three months," Corwin spoke up, feeling better on balance. "Candidate screening adds another two weeks."
"But the whole process can be shrunk to less than seven weeks," Telek said, brandishing a magcard for a moment before dropping it into her reader. "In the past few days I've spoken with two authorities on Cobra matters: Cally Halloran, who was Jonny's old teammate in the Troft War; and Almo Pyre, currently head of
Cobra operations in Syzra District. Together they've provided the data necessary for a cost analysis of both the initial scouting expedition and the three most likely types of military operation."
Corwin stared at the figures that appeared on his display, the two names she'd dropped so casually into the discussion bouncing like unexploded grenades around his numbed brain. Cally Halloran-one of his father's oldest and most trusted friends; and Almo Pyre-a Moreau family friend for as long as Corwin could remember. Sneaking a glance over his screen, he found Telek's calm eyes on him... and suddenly he realized what she was trying to do.
By choosing Jonny's friends as her experts, she hoped to stifle any disagreement the only Cobra in this inner circle might have had with her numbers... and as he began studying those numbers he saw the conclusion they inevitably led to.
For even the smallest of the projected military actions the costs were simply staggering. Halloran and Pyre had estimated a minimum of nine hundred Cobras-a full third of the three Worlds' current contingent-on or near Qasama for six to twelve months. Equipment, transport, supply, replacement of casualties-it was far more than the Worlds could hope to scrape together from their modest economies. The abrupt loss of that many Cobras alone would bring to a dead halt all territorial expansion on Aventine and Palatine; on Caelian it could easily precipitate the final destruction or abandonment of that beleaguered colony.
Fairleigh broke the silence first. "We'd better hope the Qasamans aren't too immediate a threat," he muttered. "Nine hundred to three thousand Cobras. How long would it take to replace-? Oh, there it is." Corwin found the line on his own display. "That assumes an unlimited supply of qualified candidates," he said.
"Well, if that pool doesn't exist-or can't be generated-we're in serious trouble already," Roi growled. "Our safety from the Trofts themselves depends on a healthy respect for Cobra fighting skills. If they thought our paltry twenty-eight hundred were all they'd ever have to deal with..." He shook his head.
"All the more reason to show them how easily expandable the Cobra program is,"
Telek argued. "We can do it-especially with the Trofts paying for the demonstration."
The discussion raged on for a half hour more, but Corwin could see the battle was lost. Of the six others in the room, only Hemner and Roi seemed at all willing to consider Jonny's position. If neither of them switched sides,
Corwin's double vote would deadlock the issue at four to four, which would mean throwing it to the full Council without any official recommendation. The
Council's handling of matters even with a recommendation was chancy enough; without one, the results were impossible for anyone to predict.
And as the probability of victory slipped ever closer to zero, Corwin realized that, for the first time since obtaining his father's proxy, he was going to have to make a deal on his own initiative. A deal he wasn't at all certain Jonny would approve of....