by Timothy Zahn
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” O’Hara said. “Mrs. Pittman, Davette—did the Ryqril communicate with Security at all during the time you were in the blockhouse?”
“I’m afraid we don’t understand Ryqrili,” the older woman murmured, her eyes locked on the deserted street ahead.
“But they would’ve talked to Security in Anglic, Mother,” the girl pointed out. Her attitude, Haven noticed, was almost serenely calm in the face of their danger—a toughness he’d often seen in her brother, as well. “None of them said anything in Anglic while we were in there, Commando Haven.”
O’Hara cocked an eyebrow at Haven. “Maybe they really didn’t alert Hammerschmidt. Could be they were so embarrassed at their fortress being breached that they wanted to handle things themselves
“Or else they weren’t sure they trusted Security not to take advantage of the opening themselves,” Haven mused.
“Everyone in Security is loyalty-conditioned—”
“Yes, well, if blackcollars came charging into my fortress, I think I might suspect Security anyway,” Haven said. “Or maybe they’ve just decided on a simple old-style ambush. Just keep your eyes open.”
Haven didn’t believe it himself, any more than O’Hara seemed to, and he was as surprised as any of them when the two cars arrived within sight of the south gate with still no signs of reaction. “At least,” O’Hara commented as they glided to a halt by the curb a block from the metal mesh, “we’ve found where all the guards went. I was starting to wonder if they’d dropped off the planet.”
“Um,” Haven grunted. They’d found Security, all right: four carloads of them, anyway, grouped in defensive position around the gate as if still expecting an attack from outside the Hub. “At a guess I’d say Greene and his merry men have been keeping up the diversion pressure out here.”
“Another good reason to have left us alone,” O’Hara suggested. “Conventional wisdom would say the Ryqril could handle us themselves.”
“Which begs the question of where the hell the Ryqril reaction is,” Haven growled. Outside, the blackcollars from the second car were flitting shadowlike along the street toward the Security positions. If they really didn’t know the blackcollars were behind them, they wouldn’t have anyone watching their backs.…
The results were inconclusive, but if there were sentries posted, they clearly weren’t up to the job. Minutes later, the entire Security force adequately neutralized, the cars sped through the gate and out into the relative safety of the city beyond. O’Hara turned at the first corner and pulled into a garage that opened before them, and as the car rolled inside, Haven caught a glimpse out the window of a dark craft riding high in the sky above them.
He smiled tightly. So the Ryqril had sent a Corsair or two after them. But if they’d held off attacking to avoid damaging their puppets in the Hub, they’d gambled away their last chance. Out here, among the common people and the labyrinth escape route he and Greene had set up, the aliens hadn’t a hope in hell of catching them without burning down all of Capstone.
Which, it occurred to him, they might be willing to do. But that was out of his hands. His part of Project Christmas had been a success; the future repercussions were up to the universe at large.
Chapter 37
“BACKLASH.” COLVIN SAID THE word slowly, as if tasting it. “Backlash. So that’s what this whole thing was about. Damn. No wonder you kept it secret, Caine—the Ryqril would probably have preferred blowing up Denver to our getting hold of it.”
“We haven’t got it yet,” Skyler warned. “Speaking for myself, Lathe, I don’t believe it. If Torch reconstructed the formula for Backlash, why did they give it a different name?”
“Why not?” Lathe countered. “After all, there’s no guarantee they ever knew the correct code name to begin with.”
“In which case,” Hawking put in dryly, “they hit mighty close to it accidentally. I agree with Skyler, Lathe—I think we should avoid getting our hopes up at this stage.”
“Agreed,” Lathe said. “But whether Torch’s drug is Backlash or not, we still need some way to test it out. Suggestions?”
There was a minute of silence. Caine sent his gaze around the room, to Colvin and Braune as they stared off into space…to Alamzad as he whispered quietly to Hawking…to Pittman, who finally knew why the tightrope he’d been walking all these months had been so important.
And as his eyes drifted to Skyler and Jensen he could see that they, too, were watching his teammates—were judging, perhaps, their reactions and potentials. We’re still in school as far as they’re concerned, he thought with a touch of bitterness. Cadets—trainees—junior members of the team. Well, that’s going to change soon. Just as soon as we’re true blackcollars ourselves.
“What sort of documentation was there for this Whiplash stuff?” Hawking spoke up. “Anything either on the computer or hard-copied?”
“The book had a lot of stuff in it besides production listings,” Lathe told him, “but I couldn’t make much sense out of it. You and Alamzad can take a run through it, but I suspect we’ll need a biochem expert to really figure it out.”
“In other words,” Pittman said quietly, “the only way to really test it will be to try it out on someone. All right; whenever you’re ready, I volunteer.”
“Thanks,” Lathe said, “but we’re a long way from that point yet. We first have to look through the book and the medical computer, and then see if we can get into the main computer upstairs. And even then we aren’t just going to inject anyone with an unknown drug.”
“Eventually, you’ll have to,” Pittman said. “And you know it. I’m just getting my bid in early.”
“Pittman…” Skyler hesitated. “Look, they’re going to be all right. Project Christmas—”
“Was impossible from the start,” the younger man said with a touch of bitterness. “Don’t kid yourselves—I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the effort.”
“Pittman—”
“No, it’s all right, Lathe.” Pittman got to his feet, headed for the door. “I’ll be ready whenever you want me.”
He left. “Damn,” Braune murmured under his breath.
“He’ll be all right,” Lathe said. “If he wasn’t as tough as he is, I wouldn’t have let him play this double-agent game in the first place. The best thing we can do for him now is to finish up here as quickly as possible and get back to Plinry.”
“Where I trust the news about this Project Christmas will be good,” Caine said.
“We all hope that,” the comsquare agreed grimly.
“Well, then, let’s get to it.” Hawking sighed, standing up. “We’re talking at least a couple of days of steady work here. Incidentally, anyone know where Kanai and Bernhard are?”
“They’re over in the isolation ward, looking through the records there,” Jensen said. “I can see the only door into the place through my window here, and they haven’t left.”
Lathe cocked an eyebrow. “You making a second career out of keeping track of them?” he asked mildly.
“Someone has to,” Jensen replied.
“Point,” Lathe admitted. “Okay—the job’s yours. The rest of you, let’s get to work.”
“Try it now,” Hawking grunted, wriggling his way back along the ceiling cable tray and dropping to the medical-lab floor.
Caine tapped in the password; a moment later a new directory appeared on his display. “I’m in,” he announced. “I don’t believe it, but I’m in.”
Hawking shook his head as he stepped to Caine’s side. “I don’t believe it either, but I’m not too proud to accept gifts from the universe. Maybe Torch was smarter than we thought.”
“Oh, I agree. Why take the risk of breaking into the command level when you can tap into the computer files through the medical system down here? What I’d like to know is how they physically got the storage disks upstairs into the readers.”
“Maybe they found a back-door
crawl way someone could use,” the blackcollar said. “Maybe they got one of the remotes in there started. Or maybe the last Aegis survivors even left it set up this way. Whichever, I’ll be happy to take it.”
“Yeah.” Caine found a likely-looking file and accessed it. “Did we ever establish whether or not we’d recognize the Backlash formula if we do run across it?”
“I’ll take any formula at all at this stage,” Hawking replied candidly. “Four days in this hole has me just about at my limit. How the hell did they expect people to hold out here for years on end?”
“Having lights and companionship around would probably help,” Caine said. “Look at this, will you?”
Hawking pulled over a chair and peered at the display. Caine expelled a tired breath and let his gaze drift to the lab’s window. He hated to admit it, but four days in Aegis had about done him in, too. The emptiness and silence were just too unnatural; the lack of light everywhere but the stairway and medical level was downright spooky. Only out in the open area between buildings—
His thoughts froze in mid-grumble. Braune was coming across the open area toward the lab complex at a dead run, and he looked worried. “Back in a minute,” Caine told Hawking, getting out of his seat and heading out the door.
He met Braune at the building’s entrance. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Trouble,” the other puffed. “Bernhard’s attacked Jensen and gone into the stairwell.”
“He what? Jensen all right?”
“I think so—Colvin’s over with him now, by the stairway door. Jensen had me tapped as backup man, but I was too far away to help.”
“Show me,” Caine ordered. “Have you alerted Lathe?”
“I didn’t know where he was,” Braune said as they headed off, “and I thought that Bernhard might have left Kanai down here as backup, so I didn’t want to use the tingler.”
“But if Bernhard’s lost us—”
“He hasn’t. I grabbed Pittman and sent him out on Bernhard’s tail before I came for you.”
Pittman. Great. The man with the martyr leanings. “We’ve got to find them right away,” he growled.
“I know. Over here,”
They skidded to a halt at the stairway door. A few meters beyond it, Colvin was kneeling over a prone Jensen. “How is he?” Caine asked, dropping to one knee and checking the other’s pulse.
“Out cold, but I don’t think he’s badly injured,” the other replied. “I waved Alamzad over a minute ago and I sent him after Pittman, okay?”
“Yeah.” Caine glanced around, but none of Lathe’s team was in sight anywhere. “Braune, get back to the lab where you found me and tell Hawking. Colvin and I will go after Bernhard.”
“Watch yourselves,” Braune warned as he headed off again.
Inside the stairwell, all was quiet. “Which way?” Colvin whispered.
In answer, Caine pointed to the shuriken lying on the second step up. “My guess is the command level. Let’s go.”
They started to climb, as quietly as possible. Once again, Caine found himself thinking of how well designed for ambushes, the staircase was, but again his fears proved unfounded. At each landing they found another throwing star pointing the way farther upward, but that was the only visible indication that anyone had even come this way since their arrival. No sounds other than their own footsteps; no glimpses of either their quarry or their fellow teammates. As they passed the command-center level and still the shuriken led upward, Caine began to wonder if perhaps Bernhard had caught and eliminated his new shadows and left the stars himself as decoys.
But they kept on, and just inside the level-one stairwell door Alamzad was waiting, his nunchaku gripped in his hand. “Where are Lathe and the others?” he hissed as Caine and Colvin stepped to his side.
“Braune’s getting them,” Caine said. “Where are Pittman and Bernhard?”
“Inside the hangar—straight down the hall and out the double doors,” the other said. “Bernhard went right over to the main control station, we think. Pittman’s watching from a distance, but he’ll probably take some action on his own if you don’t get in there quick.”
“Hell,” Colvin whispered. “Caine, the hangar is where the main tunnel exit starts. Do you think…?”
“That Bernhard’s going to let the Ryqril in?” Caine’s stomach knotted. “I sure as hell hope not. But whatever he’s up to, we’ve got to get in there and stop him.” He pulled the door open.
“Hold it,” Alamzad said suddenly. “I thought I heard something on the stairs.”
Colvin stepped to the railing, took a quick look down. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Could be Lathe and reinforcements. Should we wait?”
“No.” Caine shook his head. “Besides, this is our job—we’re the ones Jensen picked for his backup, remember? Come on.”
They slipped through into the darkened hallway, and from there past the large double doors into the hangar proper…and as they took their first tentative steps in the pitch-darkness, Caine realized they were in trouble.
The hangar was huge. The supply storage room they’d entered Aegis through had been comparable in size, but with boxes and crated machinery all around it had seemed more likely a cozy maze than anything else. In contrast, the hangar had an overwhelming sense of emptiness about it, an emptiness that, combined with the darkness, gave Bernhard a hell of a combat advantage.
“Where’s this control station, Zad?” Colvin hissed at Caine’s side.
“Straight across the hangar,” Alamzad whispered back.
Caine took a deep breath. It was the blindfold test all over again, this time for real. “All right,” he said, forcing calmness into his voice. “We’ll use the Plinry recognition code system—try not to take each other out in the fight. Do you know where Pittman is, Alamzad?”
“Afraid not.”
“Okay. Colvin, you hang back near the door until we’ve got Bernhard localized. Give us a hundred-count, then signal Pittman with the recognition info.”
“Via tingler? That’ll alert Bernhard.”
“Can’t avoid it. Besides, by then we ought to be in position to jump him.”
“Right. Good luck.”
Alamzad to his right, Caine set off. Open your senses, Lathe’s old instructions came back to him. Relax, and allow your subconscious to process the information your ears, nose, and skin are sending it. He concentrated…and as he slipped into the necessary mental state the small bubble of perception around him began to expand. There, off to his right—something large, with a stubby appendage stretched out toward them. One of the fighter craft, somehow still safely inside when the rest were locked out by the base’s fall? Probably. Ahead, the sounds of a low voice were becoming audible—Bernhard talking to himself? Odd; but it was the best directional marker the hunters could have asked for. He stepped up his pace; with luck they’d be on top of the blackcollar before Colvin’s tingler signal alerted him that he had company.
Caine: Bernhard on phone at far end of hangar.
“Dammit!” Caine snarled to himself, slapping at his tingler. But it was too late; Pittman’s ill-timed message had sent the balloon up for good. “Attack,” he snapped, charging forward.
Beside him, he sensed Alamzad vectoring off from his direction, swinging wide to flank Bernhard and present a more diffuse target. Caine snatched out his nunchaku, sent the flail swinging in a wide defensive arc ahead of him. Somewhere very near here—
With a crack of hardwood on hardwood the nunchaku leaped in his hand, almost tearing itself from his grip. He had barely time to realize he’d just hit Bernhard’s own nunchaku before a foot snapped out toward his chest.
Snapped out much too fast to counter; but if Caine’s reflexes weren’t those of a blackcollar they were still adequately fast. Twisting at the waist, he managed to turn far enough for the kick to hit him obliquely, the toe of the boot scraping across his chest as it went by. Off-balance, his own counterkick was weak and of dubious aim, but it s
till connected solidly enough to elicit a grunt of pain from his opponent. Caine let the momentum of Bernhard’s kick throw him backward, flipping himself over into a crouch. “Bernhard?” he called into the darkness. “Give it up, Bernhard—you can’t get out of here.”
The other didn’t answer…but abruptly there was a crash of bodies off to his side. “Got him!” Alamzad gasped, the last word cut off into a whuff of expelled air. Caine took a long step toward the sound, dimly sensing someone else moving in from behind. “Bernhard!” he snapped, and as the faint swish of cloth on cloth telegraphed the blackcollar’s coming attack, Caine ducked his head, rolled into a flat somersault, and kicked both feet straight out toward his unseen opponent.
He caught Bernhard square in the chest, from the feel of the impact, throwing the other backward to the floor. Caine’s nunchaku was still in his hand; rolling into his knees, he swung it whistling over his head.
The hardwood slammed into bare hangar floor, the crack echoing in the vast room. Caine flipped the flail horizontally, trying to find where Bernhard had rolled to. “Over here!” Colvin called from ahead of him, and Caine was scrambling to his feet when his tingler suddenly went on: Stand by for nova.
Nova; Plinry code for a flare. Caine halted in midstride, squeezing his eyes down to slits…and suddenly the room blazed with light.
Bernhard was caught flat-footed. Even as he twisted his head away from the glare and tried to leap back, Colvin’s nunchaku lashed out to catch him hard across his abdomen.
Bernhard folded over with a choked gasp, falling heavily to the floor. Colvin raised the nunchaku for a final blow to the head—
“Hold it!” Caine snapped. “Don’t kill him. We need to know who he was talking to on the phone.”
Colvin caught the flailing half of the nunchaku, brought both sticks down to a guard position. Caine glanced around, spotted Alamzad dragging himself slowly from a prone to a sitting position. “You all right?” Caine asked, stepping toward him.
