Part 48 (1/2)

The desk in his temporary Cobra Academy room was small and several centimeters shorter than he liked; but it was equipped with a computer terminal, and that was all Justin really cared about. He'd just punched in a new search command and was waiting for the results when there was a tap at the door. ”Come in,” he said absently. Probably someone here to complain about his late hours again-

”No one ever tell you it was impolite to leave without saying good-bye?”

Justin spun his chair around, surprise and chagrin flooding his face with heat.

”Oh... hi, Aunt Gwen,” he managed to say without stuttering. ”Uh-well, you were all busy discussing the mojos, and I had work to do here....”

He trailed off under her steady, no-nonsense gaze, the look that since childhood had been more effective on him than any amount of brimstone or lecture.

”Uh-huh,” she said. ”Well, it's too bad you took off when you did. You missed my report.”

”The one on the Qasaman strategic material situation?”

”That's the one. And the surprise bonus: the Qasamans' long-range communication method.”

Justin blinked, his heartbeat speeding up. ”You've figured it out? Well, come on-how do they do it?”

”I'll trade you,” she said, waving at the desk and its scattering of papers and maps. ”You tell me your secret first.”

He felt his mouth twist into a grimace... but he'd have to tell someone soon, anyway. Aunt Gwen he could at least hope to be sympathetic. ”All right,” he sighed. ”I'm trying to work up a tactical plan for the next intelligence raid on

Qasama.”

Gwen's eyes remained steady on his. ”What makes you think there'll be another mission?”

”There has to be,” he said. ”The first mission ended with too many critical facts still unknown. Those underground manufacturing centers, at the very least, and if Dad's right the mojos as well.”

”Uh-huh. I presume you plan on leading this expedition?”

Justin's lip quirked. ”Of course not... but I will be one of the team.”

”Um.” Gwen glanced around the room, snared a chair from beside the door and pulled it over to face her nephew's. ”You know, Justin,” she said, sitting down,

”if I didn't know better, I'd think you were running away from something.”

He snorted. ”Heading to Qasama hardly qualifies as running away, in my opinion.”

”Depends on what you have here to face. Staying put when you feel real or imagined public animosity isn't easy. But sometimes any other option is the coward's way out.”

Justin took a deep breath. ”Aunt Gwen... you can't possibly know what this situation is like. I failed on Qasama-pure and simple-and it's my job now to make up for it if I can.”

”You're not listening. Failure or not isn't the issue. Rus.h.i.+ng ahead with a premature course of action qualifies as running away, period. And yes, I do know what you're facing. When your father came back from the war he-” She stopped, lips compressed, then quietly continued. ”There was an accident in town one night, and he... killed a couple of teenagers.”

Justin felt his mouth go dry. ”I've never heard this,” he said carefully.

”It's nothing we're anxious to talk about,” she sighed. ”Basically, the kids pretended they were going to run him over with their car and his Cobra reflexes countered in a way that wound up indirectly killing them. But the details don't matter. He wanted to run away afterwards-had a whole bunch of off-world university applications filled out and ready to go. But he stayed. He stayed, and along with helping the rest of us cope with the ostracism, he just happened incidentally to save a few men from a fire.”

”So he stayed... until he left for good and came here to Aventine?”

Gwen blinked. ”Well... yes, but that's not the same. The Dominion government wanted the Cobras to come help open up the colony-”