by Timothy Zahn
Galway shook his head. "Lathe won't hear about it, Caine, because the lights never came on," he said. "We'd already cut the wires."
Caine stared at him. "But I saw ..." He trailed off.
"We'd wired matching loads into a couple of them," Galway explained, confirming Caine's unspoken conclusion. "No one saw anything. No one will be coming for you."
He gestured down the corridor. "Let's get you back to your quarters," he said. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to call it a day."
* * *
Spadafora was crouched out of sight at the center of a clump of bushes as Lathe and Mordecai slipped in to join him. "Got your signal," Lathe murmured. "We're on?"
"You ask for it, you get it," Spadafora said, pointing through the leaves at the unmarked Security car parked beside the strongpoint's door.
The unlit door. For that matter, Lathe noted with interest, there weren't any lights showing anywhere on or around the base. "And they were even thoughtful enough to turn off all the lights for us," he commented.
"They may be off now," Spadafora said. "But an hour ago there was a whole crowd out here with flashlights blazing, scurrying around like poked bugs."
"Looking for you?"
"That's what I thought at first," Spadafora said. "But they were mostly hunting around the bushes and tree stumps east of the building, doing a lot of wire cutting. Looked like some of them might have been doing some rewiring, too."
"Interesting," Lathe murmured. "And you're sure it was Galway?"
"Positive," Spadafora said. "There were a driver and guard, too, big ones, taking up most of the front seat. But it was definitely Galway riding in back."
"Then we'd better get started." Lathe gestured toward the chest-high posts flanking the narrow weed-grown gravel drive, posts that bore a striking resemblance to the ones supporting the Khorstron fence. "They've been adequately taken care of?"
"As adequately as plutonium blobs can make them," Spadafora assured him, hefting his slingshot. "By the way, just for the record, I'm getting tired of always pulling the more mind-numbing assignments."
"Complaint noted," Lathe said, pulling out the compact tool kit he'd borrowed from one of Shaw's men. "But don't worry. Starting tonight, things are going to get much more interesting. Mordecai?"
"Ready," the other said.
Taking a deep breath, Lathe got his feet under him and sprinted down the drive, his senses alert for trouble. He passed between the posts and kept going, and a few seconds later was crouched down beside the still-warm side of Galway's government car.
A car which, according to Shaw, contained a handy transponder which would pass both car and passengers straight through a special set of gates in the government center's protective outer wall.
Of course, what was waiting in those garage areas would be somewhat more problematic. But they'd face that challenge if and when they got there. "Anything?" he whispered as Mordecai crouched down beside him.
The other shook his head, then nodded toward the strongpoint door. Lathe nodded back; and as Mordecai slipped around the other side of the car to stand guard, Lathe dropped onto his back and wriggled his way underneath the engine.
His worst fear about this part of the plan was that Khala Security might have fiddled with their vehicle fleet over the years, altering them to the point where none of the blackcollars' bag of tricks would work. But he'd had the opportunity to check that out while he and Mordecai had been waiting to hit the subway ambush, and had found that there were no such changes, or at least nothing that would interfere with the plan. Fixing the clamp to the fuel line took ninety seconds; and then he was out and heading again for Spadafora's cozy sniper's nest. From the lack of sound behind him, he guessed that Mordecai was right on his heels.
They reached Spadafora's bushes and again ducked out of sight. "Anything?" Lathe asked.
"Nothing I could see," Spadafora reported.
"Nothing at the door, either," Mordecai added.
"Shameful security they have around here," Lathe commented, peering one last time through the bushes. "I wonder what Galway's doing in there."
"Whatever it is, I hope it was worth the trip," Spadafora said. "Are we ready to go?"
"We're ready," Lathe confirmed. "Let's see if we can find you some of that excitement you've been looking for."
* * *
The door closed with a solid snick of the lock, cutting off Galway's last view of Caine stretched out on his bunk. "I gather we won't be giving him any more books to read?" the duty sergeant suggested from the prefect's side as they headed back toward the elevator.
"You gather correctly," Galway agreed, noting the other's less-than-subtle effort to push the blame for the incident onto Galway instead of himself. "I gather in turn your men won't be trying any more midnight raids?"
"We were ordered to keep him under surveillance," the sergeant said stiffly. "He kept blocking the cameras."
"All of them?"
The sergeant's face reddened. "Well, no, there was still the fish-eye in the corner," he conceded. "But Prefect Haberdae said it didn't give enough detail. And he was right—we never even saw him stuffing all that paper down his jumpsuit."
"Didn't you?" Galway said, frowning. Haberdae had never said anything about the cameras. At least, not when he was around.
So when had he complained about them?
They reached the elevator, the doors opening as they approached. "No—you two stay here," Galway said as the two Security men walking in front of them started to step inside. "The sergeant and I are taking this one."
The two guards glanced at each other, then stepped to either side of the corridor. "Sergeant?" Galway invited.
The other's face had gone rigid. "Yes, sir," he managed, and stepped into the car.
Galway joined him and punched for the top floor. "So when exactly did Prefect Haberdae tell you the fish-eye wasn't adequate?" he asked as the doors slid shut.
The sergeant was staring at the car doors, his eyes avoiding Galway's. "I don't, uh, exactly remember—"
"I left strict orders that there was to be no communication with anyone outside this facility except in an emergency," Galway reminded him. "Did you somehow miss that?"
The other's throat tightened. "Sir, I was told not to say anything about the, uh, the visit," he said, clearly flustered. "To anyone."
"And I'm telling you to speak up," Galway countered. "And unlike Prefect Haberdae, I have the full authority of the Ryqril behind me."
The sergeant let out a sigh. "It was two nights ago," he muttered. "Late in the evening. He—well, he had words with the prisoner."
Galway felt a wisp of anger stirring inside him. So that was the "business" Haberdae had gone off to attend to right after their failed attempt to capture Shaw. Galway remembered the look of death on Haberdae's face, and his dark promise that someone would pay for the deaths of his men. Caine was probably lucky to still be alive. "I see," he said. "Thank you for your honesty, Sergeant. If Prefect Haberdae comes here again—or anyone else, for that matter—I want to know about it immediately. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," the sergeant said uncertainly. "I—yes, sir."
The elevator doors slid open. Nodding to the sergeant, Galway headed for the exit.
The driver and bodyguard Haberdae had assigned to him were waiting at the entrance guard station, sipping coffee and talking in low tones with the duty officer. "Yes, sir?" the driver said briskly as Galway approached, setting his cup on the desk.
"I'm finished here," Galway said. "Let's head back."
A minute later they were in the car, moving slowly down the entrance drive as the driver maneuvered around the worst of the ruts. They reached the main road and turned onto it, the car picking up speed as the ride settled into something more comfortable.
Galway leaned back against the seat cushions, wondering if he should head back to the Security building and finish going over the reports on the blackcollars' evening exercises. But there was s
till another hour of travel time to go, and the fatigue of the day was pulling hard at him. The exercises had run pretty late, which implied that Lathe and Shaw would probably be waiting until late afternoon at the earliest to begin their attack on Khorstron.
And then, without warning, the car made a sort of strangled gasp and died.
"What is it?" Galway asked.
"I don't know, sir," the driver said, frowning at his gauges as he coasted to a stop at the side of the road. "Sounds like we've lost the fuel feed."
"Wonderful," Galway muttered. Car trouble in the middle of nowhere would be the perfect cap to an already delightful evening. "Can you do anything?"
"Let me see," the driver said, popping the hood and opening his door. "If we're lucky, it'll be something simple."
"If not, we can always radio for someone to come get us," the guard added.
"Let me take a look first," the driver said, getting out and circling his open door to the front of the car. He pulled the hood all the way open and leaned down, poking and prodding with his fingers into the engine compartment.
"He is actually pretty good at this, sir," the guard assured Galway. Beside him, his door opened.
And a black-clad hand jabbed abruptly into view, slamming into the guard's neck behind his right ear.
It was so unexpected that for that first frozen second Galway just stared in disbelief as the guard slumped unconscious in his seat. Then with a rush of adrenaline, his brain caught up with him and he grabbed for his seat belt with one hand as he scrambled for his paral-dart gun with the other.
But he was too late. Before his hand could close on the gun's grip his own door was wrenched open. Another gloved hand popped his belt and grabbed the front of his jacket, and a second later he found himself being hauled bodily from the car.
And as his feet found balance on the rough pavement he found himself standing face to face with Lathe.
"Hello, Comsquare," he managed, fighting to maintain some semblance of dignity amid the disaster crumbling down on top of him. "Very good indeed."
"Like there was any trick to it," another blackcollar sniffed as he came up beside Lathe, the driver's arm held casually in a lock grip. Spadafora, Galway tentatively identified him in the starlight. "Your friend Haberdae wasn't paying enough attention to his backtrail when he came barreling up here two days ago."
Galway grimaced. He should have guessed that the blackcollars hadn't simply fled from that failed trap. And if they also knew why Haberdae had come, then the game was over, pure and simple.
So this was what it was like, a detached part of his mind whispered, to stare death in the face. "So what now?" he asked.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to walk the rest of the way," Lathe said. "Well, you'll eventually have to walk, anyway." He gestured behind Galway. "We need the loan of your car."
Galway blinked. Caine was locked in a poorly defended strongpoint a kilometer behind them, and all they wanted was— "My car?"
"Don't bother," Lathe advised. "We know all about those handy little transponders that open special gates in the wall."
Galway felt his mouth drop open a few millimeters. Was that what all this was about? "You came all the way up here for that?"
"Had to," Spadafora said. "Haberdae's people usually don't let these things out at night except in convoys of three or more. That would have been a little too obvious even for him."
"Unfortunately, we weren't in position to take advantage of Haberdae's visit," Lathe added. "But we thought there was a fair chance he'd be back up here someday." He smiled. "It was just luck that we got you instead."
Galway took a deep breath, the smell of death fading away. So all they wanted was the car. They had no idea that Caine was locked up in the strongpoint, or that they had a traitor in their midst. All they wanted was the car.
"Sir, we can't let them do this," the driver murmured urgently.
"Frankly, I don't see any way to stop them," Galway said, not really interested in arguing the point. The sooner Lathe took off with his prize, the less time he'd have to wonder what was in that blacked-out strongpoint and maybe decide to go check it out. "But it won't do you any good," he added to Lathe, knowing he ought to make at least a token protest. "The garages those gates will let you into are just as secure as the wall itself."
"Oh, I doubt that," Lathe said. "With all the security focus on that new tac center, I'm guessing there are some nice juicy secrets hidden in the government offices that are just ripe for the taking."
Galway felt his stomach tighten. If Lathe was abandoning the whole Khorstron operation, then he was suddenly back to staring death in the face. "What sort of secrets?" he asked carefully.
"We'll find that out soon enough," Lathe said. "I'd love to stay and chat, but the night's getting old and we have things to do." He lifted his eyebrows at Spadafora.
Galway barely saw the other blackcollar move, but suddenly the driver was sagging unconscious in his arms. "I suppose you're going to do that to me, too?" he said, trying not to think about it.
"Sorry," Lathe said as Spadafora dragged the driver off into the trees lining the road. "For whatever it's worth, it'll only hurt a minute."
Galway braced himself. All that mattered, he reminded himself firmly, was the plan. "Fine," he said. "I'm ready."
CHAPTER 16
The Chryselli warship waiting at the rendezvous was a small one, as such things went, and considerably smaller than the Novak itself. But Lepkowski knew better than to judge by outward appearances, and indeed the Novak's sensors told the tale far better than mere human eyes. The Rizhknoph was packed to the gills with the most sophisticated combat systems the Chryselli had at their disposal. Small but deadly, the perfect choice for a quiet excursion into Ryqril-held space.
The alien seated in Lepkowski's bridge office was equally deceptive looking. The first humans to encounter the Chryselli had described them as giant hairballs on legs, and Commander Viviviv certainly lived up to that characterization. The flowing, dirty-white hair that covered most of his body blurred the curves and angles of the flesh and bone beneath, with the thin cranelike legs sticking out from the bottom of the mass making for a rather startling contrast.
But soft and cuddly though he might look, Viviviv was no one to be fooled with. He was a ten-year veteran of the Ryqril war, with a string of small victories as impressive as anyone in the Chryselli war fleet could boast.
Now, with those small victories beginning to grow into larger ones, the Chryselli were beginning to detect the faint smell of ultimate victory; and it was time for the humans whose resistance efforts they'd supported to start pulling their share of the load.
[You truly believe Lathe and his blackcollars can capture this Ryqril base?] Viviviv asked doubtfully in the fluttering Chryselli language, one hand emerging from its furry concealment to accept a cup of licorice tea from Lepkowski's yeoman.
"I'm sure of it," Lepkowski said. "You may remember Lathe as the master tactician behind the recovery of these Nova-class warships a couple of years ago."
[With Chryselli assistance,] Viviviv reminded him. [A profitable adventure for us both.]
"Indeed," Lepkowski agreed, wincing as Viviviv drank deeply from the steaming mug. A hair below boiling point was exactly the way the Chryselli liked their drinks, but watching it always sent a surge of sympathetic pain through Lepkowski's own mouth and throat. "I'm hoping this one will be even more so."
Viviviv lowered his cup, a couple of stray drops rolling off the corners of his mouth to disappear into the mass of hair on his chest. [Still, it all appears too easy,] he warned. [Perhaps the tactical center is not genuine.]
"That's certainly a possibility," Lepkowski admitted. "Still, the local blackcollars have been monitoring and recording its transmissions since it came online, and there's been enough encrypted data coming in and going out for it to be the real thing. Though when Lathe and the others penetrate it, I think we'll find that much of the information they'll obtain
will prove to have been deliberately falsified."
Viviviv eyed him. [In which case, it is an exercise in futility.]
"Not necessarily," Lepkowski said, permitting himself a small smile. "You'd be surprised how adept Comsquare Lathe is at turning enemy plans to his own advantage."
[Perhaps,] Viviviv said. [We shall see.]
"Yes." Lepkowski picked up a pair of magnecoded cards from his desk and handed them to his visitor. "In the meantime, here are copies of the transmissions we've picked up from the center. Heavily encrypted, of course, and our techs haven't been able to make much headway with them. Perhaps yours can do better."
[We shall see,] Viviviv said again as he took the cards. [If this center is like some the Ryqril create, you should warn your blackcollars to leave markers to guide their way out once they are inside.]
