by Timothy Zahn
The other nodded weakly, clutching his stomach…and only then did it penetrate Caine’s conscious mind that the light bathing the tableau was far too clean and steady to be coming from a flare.
He turned, squinting against the glare. A pair of spotlights of some sort. He stepped out of their direct line, in time to see a shadowy form climb out and away from a larger shadowy bulk.
The bulk he’d tentatively identified earlier as a leftover fighter craft. “Pittman?” he called.
“Here,” Pittman replied, coming around into the light. “What do you know? The damn trick actually worked. I was afraid nothing would happen when I flipped the switch.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get the laser cannon controls by mistake,” Caine countered. “Good move, though. All right, Bernhard—you’ve had enough time to get your wind back. Who’d you call and what did you tell him?”
Bernhard’s face was still pained, but he managed a tight smile anyway. “I called for revenge,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You’re finished, Caine—you and your whole crowd of troublemakers. I’ve just burned your last bridge out of here.”
Chapter 38
“WHAT THE HELL IS that supposed to mean?” Caine growled, his throat suddenly tight.
“It means I’ve taken out your base of operations,” Bernhard said. Still holding his stomach, he eased himself into a sitting position. “You probably didn’t know it, but while we were at his house Reger was stupid enough to tell me that he’d had Jensen redo his sensor net. Thought it would be a deterrent, I suppose. The fool. So. In an hour it’ll be dark outside; half an hour after that he’ll be dead meat.”
Alamzad snorted weakly. “You’re the fool,” he said. “I worked with Jensen on that net, Bernhard—Security won’t get within half a klick of Reger’s house.”
“Security?” Bernhard’s lip twisted in contempt. “Quinn’s trained idiots couldn’t find their way through a garden patch. No, Security won’t be called into the act until Reger is dead and his house a smoking ruin—though after that I imagine they’ll find enough evidence linking him to you to take his organization apart down to the bedrock.”
“So it was your blackcollar team you called,” Caine said quietly, an odd feeling of sadness flowing in to replace some of the tension. He’d hoped Bernhard wouldn’t do this. “All right, Bernhard—on your face on the floor. Lathe’ll want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Abruptly, the pain left Bernhard’s face, and in a single fluid move he was on his feet again. “And I suppose you beginners are going to take me down to him? Forget it, Caine. I go where I choose and you haven’t got a snowflake’s chance of stopping me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” a new voice came from the shadows behind the fighter craft. “But I do.”
Caine turned, combat reflexes tensing. And Kanai walked forward into the light.
“You spoke of bridges,” Kanai said, taking a few more steps forward to stand facing Bernhard. Peripherally, he knew that Caine and Pittman had shifted position to bring nunchaku to bear against him; that Alamzad, still on the floor, had quietly drawn a shuriken. But at the moment none of that mattered. All that mattered was Bernhard and the shame he was bringing upon them all. “Another bridge is at risk here,” he told his leader. The bridge of friendship between us. If you value my loyalty—my presence in your team—you’ll call Pendleton back and withdraw the order.”
“So you’re joining this band of suicidal fools?” Bernhard sneered. “I thought you had more sense, Kanai.”
Kanai felt his lip twitch. “I have no intention of joining them, Bernhard—I don’t especially like them, and some of Lathe’s methods make me ill. But that’s not the point. Like them or not, they are blackcollars…and I cannot simply stand by and allow you to betray them.”
Bernhard returned his gaze steadily, and in the other’s expression Kanai could see that there would be no turning back. Not for him, not for anything else. Bernhard had chosen his path, and nothing but death could turn him from it.
And Kanai felt infinitely old.
“You’re getting worked up for nothing.” Bernhard said softly. “I haven’t betrayed any blackcollars—not really. But without Reger as a base, Lathe’ll have no choice but to pull out as soon as they’re done here.” His eyes flicked back to Caine. “I warned him to get out of Denver, Caine. This is the price of ignoring me.”
“So you pay Reger back for your anger at Lathe?” Alamzad growled. “How noble. True blackcollar spirit.”
Bernhard’s expression hardened. “And what would you know about blackcollar spirit?” he countered. “Or about warfare, for that matter? Reger’s going to be an object lesson; when he breaks, the rest of the criminal underworld will fall into line that much faster.”
“So that you can get your slice of the gravy pie?” Pittman said contemptuously.
“So that we can have the resources to continue the war,” Bernhard told him.
Kanai shook his head. “No, Bernhard. Jensen was right—you haven’t any real intention of taking us back into the battle. You’re just playing games, pretending you’re more than just the dead husk of what you once were.”
Bernhard’s eyes flashed anger. “And you, of course, are too noble to admit defeat when a cause is lost? Face reality, Kanai—we have each other and that’s it. Either we stick together or Security takes us apart one at a time. If we can’t win the war, we can at least survive.”
“To what end? Survival for its own sake? That’s no better than death.” With an effort Kanai stifled the tirade building up inside him. Now was not the time for a philosophical discussion. “Call Pendleton back. This is your last chance.”
“No,” Bernhard shook his head.
Kanai let his hand rest on the ends of his sheathed nunchaku. “Then I will.”
“You can try. You’ll have to get by me first.”
Kanai took a deep breath. “I know,” he said softly, and started forward. One step…two.…Bernhard brought his own nunchaku into fighting position.…
“Stop,” Caine said suddenly. “Kauai, back off. It’s not worth risking your life for. Reger’s not in any danger—all Bernhard’s done is to send his own men to their deaths.”
Bernhard snorted. “Because of Jensen’s big bad sensor system? I see you’re not familiar with the term ‘keyhole.’ ”
“You mean the setting up of a section of sensor net that can be deactivated from the outside?” Caine said calmly. “Oh, there’s a keyhole there, all right. I presume that’s why Reger and Jensen let you know that he’d done the work, so you’d know to look for a keyhole if you decided to betray us.”
Bernhard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re slidetalking,” he said flatly. “Reger shot off his lungs, and you’re just trying to talk your way out of the hole.”
Kanai turned to see Caine shake his head…and something in the other’s face sent a shiver up his own back. “You’re wrong,” Caine said. “Jensen did more than just revamp Reger’s sensor net, Bernhard. He also built a death-house gauntlet into the mansion.”
“What?” Bernhard’s hands visibly squeezed down on his nunchaku.
“You heard me. A death house, one capable of taking out even blackcollars. So leave him be, Kanai. If they obey him, what happens is on their own heads.”
For a long moment Bernhard stared hard at Caine, indecision rippling across his face. “And you think it’s too late to warn them, do you?” he at last. “Well—”
Without warning, he turned and sprinted back to the hangar wall and snatched up the phone headset. Caine snarled something, but it was clear he’d been caught off-guard and his reaction would be too slow. Across the way Pittman hurled his nunchaku at Bernhard, which missed, and Colvin charged forward, scrabbling for a shuriken—
And something inside Kanai broke.
A shuriken seemed to leap of its own accord into his hand; all the frustration and shame of the past years welled up in his arm to send the black throwing star burning across the gap like an aven
ging angel—
And Bernhard jerked backward with a yelp as the shuriken sliced cleanly through the phone cord and ricocheted from the metal wall into the darkness.’
“No,” Kanai said into the sudden silence. The word was heavy on his tongue—heavy, but strangely clean. “With your actions you’ve forfeited the right of command. Caine is right; the others must now make their own choice as to whether or not to accept your betrayal.”
Slowly, Bernhard laid down the handset and started to walk toward Kanai, his eyes alive with madness-tinged hatred. Kanai licked his lips, but stood his ground without fear. He had no doubt he would die in the coming fight, but death wasn’t really that hard to face. Not for a man who’d been allowed one last chance to regain the manhood he’d thought gone forever.
“Don’t try it, Bernhard.”
The voice came from the shadows behind Kanai; and as Bernhard jerked and a low guttural growl escaped his lips, Kanai thought he would attack, right then and there. Slowly the madness left the other’s eyes, and with a deep, pain-filled breath he straightened from his fighting stance and lowered his arms to his sides.
And stood there, his face a mask, as Skyler and Hawking stepped forward into the light to take him under control. Behind them, Lathe paused beside Kanai. “Welcome back,” the comsquare said, searching the other’s face.
Kanai locked eyes with him. “You were waiting to see what I’d do, weren’t you?” he said, anger at Lathe stirring in him again. “To see whether I’d side with him.”
“As you said, each of you has the right to make his own choice,” the comsquare said quietly.
Kanai took a deep breath, eyes flicking to where Bernhard’s hands were being secured behind him. Why doesn’t he try to escape? he wondered…but the question wasn’t hard to answer.
Even half insane with anger, Bernhard was still first and foremost a survivor.
Kanai closed his eyes briefly and turned away…and wondered why that thought should so fill him with pity.
Chapter 39
“WHERE WILL YOU GO?” Caine asked as Skyler removed the makeshift shackles from Bernhard’s wrists and stepped back to stand by the entrance to Torch’s bypass tunnel.
Bernhard rubbed his wrists for a moment in silence before fixing Caine with a cold glare. “Do any of you really care?” he asked. His eyes flicked from Caine to Lathe, lingered on Kanai. The latter seemed to Caine to stiffen slightly, but he didn’t shrink from Bernhard’s gaze.
“We all care,” Lathe said. “It’s not too late even now to get back into the fight.”
“Alone?” Bernhard snorted. “Dead or deserted, I’ve lost what’s left of my team.”
“You were trained to be able to fight alone,” Lathe reminded him. “And there are organizations like Torch all over the world you could link up with. You’re a valuable quantity, Bernhard—I’d hate to see you throw yourself away.”
The other held Lathe’s eyes for a long moment. “It’s you, Comsquare, who’s throwing himself away. You’ll never get off this planet, you know, and if Quinn doesn’t get you the Security chief in the next city will. You’re dead, Lathe—all of you are. Remember that, Kanai. Remember it when the Security troops are moving in on you…and remember that I kept you alive and healthy in enemy territory for thirty years.”
Kanai didn’t reply, and after a moment Bernhard turned to the tunnel entrance. “Before you go,” Skyler said, holding a folded piece of paper out toward him, “you’ll need this.”
Bernhard frowned down at the paper. “What is it?”
“Your departure pass,” the big blackcollar told him. “Mordecai’s guarding the entrance, remember? He won’t let you leave alone without this.”
Bernhard spat a curse in reply. “I suggest you take it,” Lathe said mildly. “Mordecai’s a better fighter than any of us, including you…and he takes his orders very seriously.”
Bernhard snatched the paper out of Skyler’s grip and, without another word, disappeared down the tunnel.
Caine took a deep breath. “I hope there’s no way he can set up any booby traps on his way out.”
“There won’t be,” Lathe assured him. He nodded, and with an answering nod Skyler slipped into the tunnel behind the departing blackcollar.
“Bernhard will spot him,” Kanai murmured.
“Perhaps,” Lathe said. “But he won’t do anything about it. Come on, gentlemen—let’s finish this project and get the hell out of here.”
“No other conclusion?” Lathe asked, his eyes flicking between Hawking and Caine.
Caine shook his head wearily. “It’s not listed on any file we can access. The code-check program Hawking wrote can’t find any overlaid codes of the sort we found in the Plinry archives. There’s no hard-copy data anywhere we can get to.
“The Backlash formula simply isn’t here.”
Lathe sighed, and for a long moment the room was silent. “Well,” he said at last, “that’s the way things go sometimes. The universe doesn’t give any guarantees that there are even answers to the questions we ask, let alone that we can find them.”
Hawking stirred. “I take it, then, that the Torch drug is not, in fact, Backlash?”
“I wish we knew,” the comsquare said. “We’ve gone through every scrap of documentation we could find—we’ve got the calculated dosage amount, the formula, the manufacturing sequence, and even the estimated lifespan of the drug. But as to its purpose, not a whisper. Apparently they didn’t think it necessary to mention that, as if anyone likely to find it would already know what Whiplash referred to.”
“Then maybe Anne Silcox will be able to tell us some thing,” Hawking suggested.
“Maybe,” Lathe said. “Assuming she and Reger did indeed survive the attack Bernhard called down on them, which is by no means certain. I’ve been thinking we might do a quick test before heading back there, just to see if the stuff does anything obvious.”
“No,” Caine said firmly. “Absolutely not. Pittman’s already suffered more than his fair share for this mission, I’m not having you risk his life with some witch’s brew a group of fanatics came up with.”
“Agreed,” Lathe said. “But who said anything about testing the stuff on Pittman?”
Caine stared. “You mean…you?”
“Do I look crazy?” the other countered. “I’d prefer to use someone a little more expendable. Come on, let’s get the gear packed up. If we hurry, we should be able to make it back to Reger’s tonight.”
The first thing Miro Marcovich noticed as he drifted toward consciousness was that somewhere his body was hurting like hell.
It took a while longer for the pain to localize into his neck, and as it did so the rest of the sensations began falling into place. He was lying on his back on a prickly surface…his left arm inexplicably bare…and there were footsteps and murmurs of conversation around him. Did I faint? he wondered, searching his mind for a clue as to what had happened. But the last thing he could remember was standing outer sentry duty in the woods surrounding was Trendor’s mountain home. Carefully, wary, of hurting something else, he opened his eyes—
And nearly had a heart attack. Standing and milling around within his view were a half-dozen men, but not in the Security uniforms he’d expected to see. Dressed in civilian clothing, with black shirts peeking through at the open necks. And their faces—
Instinctively, his right hand twitched toward his paral-dart pistol, even though he knew the holster would be empty. Perhaps the emergency alarm on his belt—
“How do you feel?” one of his captors asked, kneeling down beside him.
Marcovich sighed with defeat and let his hand drop back to his side. “My neck hurts where you hit me,” he said. “I’m…surprised I’m still alive. If you’re hoping to get some inside information about Trendor’s place, you can forget it—I’m not talking.”
“What’s a Trendor’s place? Never mind—we’re not here for information. And we’re not going to kill you, either. At least I
don’t think we are.”
Marcovich grimaced. “Oh, that’s comforting. Really.” His eyes flicked away from the face he’d seen so often these past days on Trendor’s guardroom wall, over to where his laser rifle was resting against a tree. His communicator and emergency alarm were piled around it, along with the rest of his weapons and other gear. So near. “When does the final decision get made?”
“Right now,” a new voice broke in.
Marcovich looked back just as a hypospray tingled against his arm. He frowned—and then gasped as a red-hot flame seemed to course up the limb. “Damn,” he breathed. “What’re you doing to me? What is that?”
“To be perfectly honest, we don’t know,” the second man—Hawking, the name drifted up from his memory—said, frowning at a medical reader already strapped around Marcovich’s upper arm. “We needed someone to test it out on, and as long as you Security people were hanging around the mountains doing nothing anyway, we thought we’d borrow one of you for a while.”
The fire was pouring like slow lava into Marcovich’s chest now, and a mottled haze was beginning to creep across his vision. His muscles trembled uncontrollably; with an effort he licked dry lips and wound up nearly biting his tongue. “How do you feel?” Hawking’s voice came dimly to his ears.
“Like I’m dying,” Marcovich managed to snap. Maybe there wasn’t any way to stop them, but he was damned if he was going to cooperate with them. “Go away and let me die in peace.”
“Well?” the other blackcollar asked.
Hawking shook his head slowly. “Sorry, Lathe. I remember well enough what kind of reaction the…proper stuff caused. This isn’t it.”
“Damn.” Lathe gazed down at Marcovich, and even through his own haze of agony Marcovich was struck by the depth of raw disappointment on the other’s face. “You’re sure?”
Hawking didn’t even bother to answer, and after a minute Lathe seemed to pull himself together. “Well, then, what is it doing to him?”
“Damned if I know.” The other shook his head. “I don’t think he’s dying—his vital signs are holding steady—but beyond that I haven’t even got a clue.”
