Cobra Slave-eARC by Timothy Zahn Page A

engine hum and the rest of the breathing around him, he couldn’t even pick out a general direction.
    But if he sat up and used his infrareds, he should be able to identify the other by his stronger facial blood flow.
    Except that if he did that, the other might spot him, too.
    Or had he already seen Merrick’s stealthy return? If he had, and if he’d already identified him, Merrick would have nothing to lose.
    But there was no way to know if that was the case. In fact, the odds were probably stacked in the opposite direction. Chances were high that the insomniac had simply come briefly awake during the natural rhythm of his sleep cycle and was already starting to go back under again. He might not even have opened his eyes.
    And even if he had, he surely couldn’t have seen Merrick very clearly in the dim light. He might also have lost track of Merrick’s movements as he crossed the room, adding to the likelihood that he didn’t have a clear idea who the midnight traveler had been. Even if he’d seen everything perfectly, his logical assumption would be that Merrick was simply returning from a trip to the lavatory.
    Which meant that Merrick’s best course of action was to stay low and not draw extra attention to himself by sitting up and looking around.
    In other words, to do nothing.
    Reluctantly, he rolled onto his side, tucking one arm beneath his head. The logic was sound enough. But if worse came to worst—if all those long odds had indeed stacked up against him—it was an even surer bet that the watcher out there would be telling the Trofts about it as soon as they showed up with the slaves’ breakfast. In that case, this might be the last full night’s sleep Merrick got.
    It would probably be best not to waste it.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The Dome’s hallways were deserted, the windows and skylights showing nothing but an empty, street-lit city. Jin’s footsteps echoed unnaturally loudly in her ears as she and the two Dominion Marines walked along, the sounds forming an eerie counterpoint to the thudding of her heart.
    The Marines were just as silent as the hallways, having not spoken since opening the door of her holding cell and ordering her to come with them. The other pair of Marines standing guard at the conference room door were even less talkative, merely nodding acknowledgment to her escort and opening the door at their approach.
    Taking a deep breath, Jin stepped through the doorway.
    Commodore Santores was seated alone at the head of the table, staring down at the tabletop, his eyelids occasionally twitching. Reading something, apparently, from their fancy data system. The Marines ushered Jin to a seat a few chairs down from him and motioned for her to sit. She did so, noting that Santores hadn’t yet looked up or given any other sign that he was aware of her arrival.
    She smiled cynically. If the early-morning wake-up call followed by the seemingly oblivious and uncaring interrogator act was supposed to impress her, they were going to be disappointed. She’d been through a war and back, and the intimidation value of stern, authoritative disapproval didn’t even begin to register. Settling back in her chair, wishing her generation of Cobra infrareds was sophisticated enough to allow her to track Santores’s emotional state, she waited for him to make his move.
    “You’re smiling, Cobra Broom,” Santores said, his eyes still on the table. “You find something about this amusing?”
    “Just admiring the theatrics, Commodore,” Jin said. It was risky, she knew—for some people, even a suggestion that they were being laughed at could turn pompous arrogance into cold fury. But a senior military officer should have better self-control than that.
    To her mild surprise, Santores actually chuckled. “Touché,” he said, finally looking up at her. “Do you still use that term? Touché?”
    “We do,” Jin said, relaxing slightly.
    And immediately chided herself for it. If intimidation didn’t work,