by Timothy Zahn
"As you command, Your Eminence," Bailey said. "I'll speak with the interrogators as soon as we're finished here."
"Re are 'inished," Daasaa said. "Go."
Poirot braced himself. "Your Eminence?" he said carefully. "May I ask what you plan to do with the prisoners? If we don't transfer them to Colorado Springs, or at least make some preparations that direction, Skyler will suspect I'm still loyal."
"And?" Daasaa asked.
"And if he suspects that, I won't be able to get any further information from him."
"Re rill not gi' u' our 'risoners," Halaak insisted.
"I wasn't suggesting we let the blackcollars actually take them," Poirot assured him. "I'm sure we can keep any rescue attempt from succeeding."
"The general does have a point," Bailey said. "It might prove useful to keep him in their good graces as long as possible. Besides, if we can delay the transfer another day or so, we'll have learned pretty much everything they can tell us anyway. It might be worth the risk to use them bait."
Again, the two Ryqril huddled into a private conversation. "'Ery rell," Daasaa said. "Yae rill nake 'lans tae trans'er the re'els. They rill lea' Athena the night akhter taenorror."
"As you command, Your Eminence," Poirot said. Finally; they were listening to reason. "I'll have the orders cut—"
"Not yae," Halaak said. "Colonel 'Ailey rill connand."
Even though he'd been half expecting it, it was still a shock. "As you command, Your Eminence," Poirot said again, his throat tight.
Daasaa inclined his head fractionally. "Go."
Neither Poirot nor Bailey spoke until they were back in the situation room, with the door to the conference room firmly shut behind them. "I'm sorry about this, General," Bailey apologized.
"No, you're not," Poirot said sourly. "But I can't really blame you. Or them. I just wish there was some way I could prove to you that I'm still loyal."
"I wish there were, too," Bailey said. "But until we come up with something... Look, why don't you head down to the infirmary and have yourself checked out? You were right; I really should have done that before bringing you up here."
"I'd rather get started on the plans for the prisoner transfer." He eyed Bailey. "You will accept my assistance on that, won't you?"
"Of course, sir," Bailey said. "But there'll be time for that after the doctors have checked you over."
Poirot grimaced. But it was clear that the other wasn't going to budge on this one. "As you command," he said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. "I'll be back soon."
He was halfway across the situation room when a pair of Security men detached themselves from the wall and fell quietly into step behind him.
But again, there was nothing he could do about it. With loyalty-conditioning, he reflected grimly, a man always knew who he could trust. Without it, how could anyone know anything?
But there was one thing he did know. Skyler would pay for this. He would pay dearly.
* * *
Ramirez was waiting by the spotter command console. "Well?" Bailey asked as he walked up.
"They're on their way back," Ramirez confirmed. "We've been in contact with each of the pilots, and they all appear to be our people. Interesting footnote: one of the search teams reports they found a section of drop pod that hadn't deployed."
Bailey frowned. "Someone was killed?"
"No, it hadn't deployed because there was apparently no one using that section," Ramirez explained. "With one slot empty, one man doubling as two, and three of them now in Denver—"
"We have a match on our numbers," Bailey said. "So there is just one blackcollar loose in the mountains."
"Which fits with what General Poirot said," Ramirez reminded him. "You think he could be telling the truth about still being loyal?"
"I don't know," Bailey said with a helpless shrug. "Maybe he just gave us the number knowing it's something we'd have been able to chase down on our own anyway."
"Though they certainly went to some trouble making the one man look like two," Ramirez said.
"Unless that was just a giveaway," Bailey said, scowling at the back of the spotter controller's head. This was getting way too complicated for his liking.
"The searchers will keep at it," Ramirez promised. "Speaking of which, I was thinking it might be a good idea to rotate everyone through the Boulder office, even people from Athena. Make sure there aren't any imposters mixed in before we send them trooping back through your gate."
"Good idea," Bailey agreed. "Go ahead and give the orders."
"I already have, sir."
"I see," Bailey said, an odd sensation creeping up his back. "Well. Good."
"We should know about everyone by midnight at the latest," Ramirez went on. "Was anything else decided in there after I left?"
"We're going to pretend General Poirot's genuinely a traitor," Bailey said, studying the other's face. "He and I are going to work out a plan to transfer the Phoenix prisoners to Colorado Springs forty-eight hours from now and see if we can lure the blackcollars out from under their rock."
"All right," Ramirez said slowly. "If you do capture them, you'll be bringing them back here?"
"Yes, we will," Bailey growled, wincing at the memories. "And you can rest assured it will not end up like the last time."
"I hope not, sir," Ramirez said evenly. "What would you like me to do next?"
"What do you want to do next?" Bailey countered.
A hint of a frown crossed Ramirez's forehead. "Whatever you need, Colonel," he said, sounding a little puzzled. "I'm just here to help out."
"Of course," Bailey murmured. "In that case, why don't you head up to Interrogation and see if they've been able to dig out anything new."
"Yes, sir." Turning, Ramirez headed across the room at a brisk walk.
Bailey watched until he'd disappeared out the door, then crossed over to the tech at the comm station. "I want you to contact the Boulder Security office," he told the other quietly. "Get me the names and files of everyone on duty there tonight."
"Yes, sir," the tech said, frowning briefly up at him. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"
"Not really," Bailey said, trying to sound casual. "I just want to know who's up there. In case something goes wrong."
The tech's lip twitched as he turned back to his board. "Yes, sir."
"And after you do that," Bailey went on, "have someone pull Lieutenant Ramirez's file and send it down to Analysis. I want to know if there've been any reports of peculiar behavior over the past year."
He looked over at the door. "In particular, whether or not he's had any long, unexplained absences."
* * *
The woods were dark by the time the lights of Shelter Valley began to wink at them through the trees. "Where exactly is this sensor pylon?" Flynn whispered.
"About ten meters that way," Adamson murmured back, pointing ahead and to the left. "Don't worry—there's no audio pickup."
"What about the rest of the townspeople?" Jensen asked, his voice sounding strained. "Will they all be indoors?"
"I'll keep an eye out," Adamson said. "I'm thinking that maybe you should go straight to Toby's place instead of stopping at the house—it's a lot more private. I can collect my gear and treat you up there."
Flynn looked down at Jensen. He hadn't complained during the trip, but Flynn could tell that the swaying and bouncing were taking their toll. Now Adamson wanted them to extend the trip another half hour or more? "What do you think?" he asked.
"Sounds good to me," Jensen said, clearly working hard to filter the pain out of his voice. "Assuming your arms can hold out that long."
"Our arms are fine," Flynn assured him. "Lead on, Trapper."
Even by Plinry standards the twenty or so haphazardly scattered houses that made up Shelter Valley hardly qualified as a town. Fortunately, as Adamson had predicted, everyone was already indoors. They passed between the houses like shadows, and twenty meters past the last house they reached anot
her path. There Adamson doubled back, and Trapper and Flynn headed up.
It was the steepest patch of ground they'd hit yet, and by the time the slope began to level out Flynn's legs were trembling with fatigue. Fortunately, that was the worst of it, and he made it the rest of the way without the embarrassment of having to call for a break.
The occupant must have been watching for them, because they were still a few steps from the cabin when the door swung open. A short, slender man stood there, framed against the glow of a wood stove behind him. "So I was right," he muttered, stepping back out of their way. "Or maybe not," he corrected himself, turning his head around to peer down at Jensen. "What happened, Trapper? You shoot him?"
"They ran into Bessie," Trapper said, glancing around the cabin and turning toward a section of open floor near the stove.
"No, no—on the bed," the other man said, pointing toward the narrow cot pushed against the rear wall. In contrast to the ramshackle appearance of the rest of the cabin, the bed was neatly made. "Bessie, huh? You have to kill her?"
"Never even saw her," Trapper told him as he and Flynn set Jensen and his makeshift stretcher onto the bed. "They chased her away themselves. Toby, this is Blackcollar Commando Jensen and Trainee Flynn. Gentlemen, meet Toby, Shelter Valley's very own professional hermit."
"So I was right," Toby murmured, a strange expression on his face. "Blackcollars."
"Just the one," Flynn said, studying what he could see of Toby's face through the full beard. The man was roughly Jensen's age, with a hint of bitterness at the corners of his mouth. "As Trapper said, I'm just a trainee."
"You dress like one, though," Toby said. "So what'd Bessie do to you?"
"Little love tap on the ribs," Jensen told him.
"Lucky you didn't really rile her," Toby said grimly. "You want something to eat or drink?"
"Some water would be nice," Jensen said. "Flynn can get it, if you want to point him to the well or stream or whatever."
"No need," Toby said. Picking up a glass from a small table set by the window, he crossed to the opposite corner and a hand-carved wooden sink set into the wall with a faucet above it. He turned the spigot; and to Flynn's mild surprise water gushed out. "You have a cistern on the roof?" he asked as Toby filled the glass.
"Just a little one," Toby said, shutting off the flow and taking the glass to Jensen. "Actually, the water's piped in from a stream that runs down the side of the hill back there. A man can live without a lot of things, but running water isn't something I'd ever want to be without."
"Especially when you've got a bad leg?" Jensen said as he eased himself up on one elbow and accepted the glass.
"You got sharp eyes," Toby commented. "I'm not even limping that much today."
"The benefits of training," Jensen said. "Speaking of sharp eyes, I understand you're the one who sent Adamson and Trapper out looking for us."
Toby shrugged. "Saw all the Security spotters buzzing around. Figured there was some trouble that oughta be looked into."
"Trouble like this happen very often?" Jensen asked.
"Happened last year," Toby said significantly. "About the same time Athena Security went a little berserk, in fact."
"You heard about that?" Flynn asked.
"We're not that close to the edge of the universe," Trapper said. "We get a couple of the local radio news stations just fine. We've also got two cars and some old logging roads that'll get us to one-nineteen and from there into Denver."
Flynn nodded understanding. "I was wondering how you all survived out here."
"Mostly, we live off the land," Trapper said. "We hunt and fish and trap, and there's a couple of decent-sized crop areas over the ridge behind town where we grow wheat and vegetables. But there's also a market for our furs in Denver, and some of us also do carvings and pottery that seems to appeal to big-city people. We get by."
"They probably think of you as adorably quaint," Jensen said dryly.
"Let them," Trapper said, a hint of contempt in his voice. "We prefer to think of ourselves as having given up a little civilization for a hell of a lot more freedom."
"As much as you can get on a Ryqril-run world, anyway," Toby growled as he took Jensen's empty glass from his hand. "More?"
"Not right now, thanks," Jensen said, easing himself back flat again.
"Well, there's plenty when you want it," Toby said. He stood gazing down at Jensen for a moment, then turned away and took the glass back to the table. "The other plumbing's even simpler," he said, pointing to a toilet seat fastened to the top of a meter-cube box in the corner by the sink. "That commode over there just opens up over a ravine. Sort of a natural latrine."
Flynn had wondered about the lack of any obvious plumbing on the fixture. "Beats the hell out of digging one yourself every few years," he commented.
"Sure does," Toby agreed. "Smells a lot better, too."
Behind Flynn, the door opened. Instinctively, he snatched out a shuriken and snapped his arm into throwing position.
But it was only Adamson. "Friend," he said hastily, lifting his free hand palm outward as he swung a large case in through the door with the other.
"You didn't bring enough stuff, did you?" Toby asked, eyeing the case as Adamson closed the door behind him.
"Cracked ribs require a little more than just seal-strips and painkillers," Adamson told him. "Okay, Jensen, let's get that flexarmor off and see what we're dealing with."
Properly fitted flexarmor never came off easily even at the best of times, but with persistence and a fair amount of wincing on Jensen's part they were able to remove his shirt. Adamson's equipment was hardly top-line, Flynn noted, but it was adequate for the job and had obviously been well cared for. Adamson, too, seemed to know what he was doing.
"We've got the traditional good news and bad news," Adamson said when he'd finished. "Good news is that you have two cracked ribs, but they're only slightly cracked. Even better news is that I still have some Calcron that will help stimulate the healing process. A thincast, a few days of complete rest plus a few more of limited activity, and you should heal just fine."
"Sounds great," Jensen said. "What's the bad news?"
Adamson sighed. "That I doubt you're going to follow a single instruction I give you," he said soberly. "Whatever you came to Denver for, I don't think it was to take time off to stare at the clouds."
"Maybe we can compromise," Jensen suggested. "Trapper implied the townspeople make occasional runs to Denver. Are there any Security checkpoints along the way?"
"Not normally," Adamson said. "Though with you here, they might have set some up. You're looking for a ride to town, then?"
"Flynn is," Jensen said, looking over at Flynn. "I need him to find the rest of the team and let them know where we are."
"Wait a minute," Flynn said, trying to keep his tone under control. The last thing he was going to do was leave Jensen here alone. Not after that veiled comment about making sure the Ryqril didn't get into Aegis. "You're going to need me here."
"I'm fine," Jensen said, warning him with his eyes. "I need you to go contact Skyler."
"But—"
"I have a message only you can deliver," Jensen said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Flynn sighed silently. Whatever Jensen was planning, it was clear he intended to do it alone. "Understood," he murmured.
"I hope the message isn't too urgent," Trapper warned. "Denver's a big place. It may take a while to find them."
"Don't worry, we know some shortcuts," Jensen said. "He'll find them."
"Still cost at least a day." Trapper looked at his father. "And you'd be missed faster than I would."
"Probably," Adamson agreed reluctantly. "I take it you're volunteering?"
"Yes," Trapper said. "Though we can't leave until day after tomorrow."
"Why not?" Adamson frowned. "Oh, that's right. Martin won't be coming back with the sedan until tomorrow night."
"And Alex and Jane are taking in a
load of spices with the pickup tomorrow," Trapper said, nodding.
"Couldn't we hitch a ride with them?" Flynn asked.
"No," Adamson said firmly. "They're probably trustworthy, but I don't want any more people than necessary in on this. If Security comes calling, I want their interrogations to show that no one but us had any idea what was going on."
Flynn grimaced. Lathe had warned them during their training that their very presence would put innocent people at risk, but this was the first time that fact had taken on any flesh-and-blood meaning. It was a sobering thought. "Maybe we could leave as soon as Martin gets back tomorrow," he suggested. "The sooner we're out of your way, the better."
