Blackcollar: The Judas Solution

by Timothy Zahn

  "It does," Daasaa said. "Yae nay 'egin 'ulling the 'iles on these new hunan recruits. Re rill rant six guards and three techs."

  "Six guards and three techs, yes, Your Eminence," Bailey confirmed.

  "General 'Oirot rill assist yae," Daasaa added.

  Bailey grimaced before he could catch himself. "As you command, Your Eminence." He gestured to Poirot. "General?"

  "Thank you, Colonel," Poirot said softly.

  "Re rill stay here and ratch," Daasaa told them, his eyes drifting back to the spotter display. "Yae rill 'e ready ren the 'lackcollars reach the nountain."

  * * *

  "I hear," Judas said carefully, "you had a little excitement last night after the drills."

  "A little," Lathe confirmed, his eyes on the kitchen table where he'd spread out his weapons in neat rows. "Not as much as we'd hoped for, unfortunately."

  "I'd have thought you already had enough excitement scheduled for one week," Judas said. "Comsquare Bhat said you tried to penetrate the city government center?"

  "Tried being the operative word," Mordecai put in as he came into the room with a flat box under his arm. "Shaw said you wanted more primer caps, Lathe?"

  "Yes, thanks," Lathe said, accepting the box and setting it down in one of the few empty spots on the table. "It wasn't a big deal, as it turned out," he continued to Judas. "We borrowed a Security car up in the mountains and tried to use it to get in through one of the special-access gates. But they'd apparently figured it out and locked down the transponder system before we got there. So we ran."

  "We didn't run," Mordecai corrected. "We vanished like ghosts into the night."

  "Correction noted," Lathe said dryly. "End of story."

  "Ah," Judas said, sitting down at the table and trying to study Lathe's face without looking obvious about it. Galway and Haberdae were convinced that Lathe and the others had no idea that Caine was imprisoned inside the strongpoint where they'd carried out their carjacking. But it was Judas's life on the line here, not theirs. "So you just grabbed a car off the street?"

  With a sigh, Lathe laid down the knife he'd been sharpening and turned his full attention to Judas. "I had Spadafora watch Haberdae the night they tried to grab us. Just on spec—I thought he might go into Khorstron and that we'd get to see the entry procedure. Instead, he went up to a base in the Deerline Mountains. It seemed an intriguingly out-of-the-way place, so I told him to stay put and clear the entry for us."

  "You mean knock out the sensors?"

  "Right," Lathe said. "There wasn't any more traffic up there until this evening, when who should show up but our old friend Galway. Mordecai and I got there before he left, gimmicked his fuel line to kill the car about a klick away, where we jumped him and his escort. Would you also like to know what all of them were wearing?"

  "Security gray-green, I'd guess," Judas said, a little annoyance pushing through his relief that his cover was still secure. There was no need for Lathe to be patronizing about this. "I'm sorry if my need to know is getting in your way."

  Lathe grimaced. "No, I'm sorry," he apologized. "With Shaw and a whole group of blackcollars to work with, I guess I've fallen back into the old routine of communication and command structure. It doesn't leave much space for outsiders, I'm afraid."

  "I understand," Judas said. "I just don't like being left out of things, that's all."

  "Don't worry," Lathe assured him. "From now on, you'll be completely in the loop."

  "Or the noose," Mordecai murmured.

  Lathe nodded heavily. "Sometimes, there's not a lot of difference."

  * * *

  "Right here," Bailey said, pointing to the replay of the spotter track. "You see it?"

  "I don't see anything," Ramirez said, leaning a little closer. "Okay, so the van slows down a little. That's a very twisty road."

  "It doesn't just slow down a little," Bailey countered, looking at the two Ryqril still standing their silent vigil at the status boards. "It slows down a lot. And the road isn't that twisty right there. More importantly, it slows down just as it passes under this nice, convenient cluster of trees."

  "But why get off there?" Ramirez objected. "There's still a long way to go before the van reaches Shelter Valley."

  "Only Shelter Valley isn't the target, is it?" Bailey reminded him tartly. "I'm telling you, they're gone. If we wait until the van pulls into town, we're going to come up dry."

  "And if we start sending spotters swooping around with sensor disks, we're going to spook them for sure," Ramirez countered.

  "Colonel 'Ailey is correct," Daasaa spoke up, his tone leaving no room for argument or appeal. "The

  'lackcollars ha' le't the 'ehicle."

  "But there's no IR track that shows anyone leaving that area, Your Eminences," Ramirez argued, gesturing at the sensor map.

  "Because they stayed under the trees until the van had drawn the spotters' attention away from the area,"

  Bailey said.

  "Yae are tracking now?" Halaak demanded.

  "We have a half-dozen spotters waiting your orders," Bailey said. "If the blackcollars are out there, we'll find them."

  Daasaa and Halaak looked at each other, and it wasn't difficult for Bailey to read their thoughts. If this was just another subtly drawn blackcollar diversion, moving that many spotters into the mountains would leave Athena that much more open to attack.

  But it was a risk Bailey was willing to take. The blackcollars were out there. He was sure of it.

  "What i' they ha' already gone underground?" Halaak asked. "Re should nove in and take the 'an now."

  "But if we do that and the driver's in contact with Skyler's team, we'll spook them," Bailey pointed out.

  "Again, yae are correct," Daasaa said, looking at Halaak. "Re rill not yet take the 'an." He turned back to Bailey. "Yae nay launch yaer s'otters."

  "As you command, Your Eminence." Bailey gestured to the spotter officer. "Spotters away," he ordered.

  "Yes, sir." The other touched a key. "Spotters away."

  The minutes ticked slowly by. Bailey listened to the low murmur of conversation in the situation room, one hand tapping restlessly against the side of his leg. He was right about this. He knew he was right.

  But if he wasn't ...

  "There," one of the techs said suddenly, pointing at the display. "Four human IR signatures moving south-southwest."

  "Only four?" Ramirez asked.

  "The fifth must be driving the van," Bailey said.

  "Then it is tine," Daasaa declared. "Assen'le yaer tean, Colonel 'Ailey. Re nust 'e ready ren they reach their goal."

  "The team is ready now, Your Eminence," Bailey said. "And I have a Groundhopper transport standing ready."

  Daasaa tilted his head slightly to the side. "A Groundho'er carries only trel'e 'assengers."

  "Your pardon, Your Eminence, but there are only twelve of us," Bailey said, quickly running the numbers through his head again. "There are the three techs, the six Security men, you and Khassq Warrior Halaak, and me."

  "And General 'Oirot," Daasaa said. He shifted his gaze— "And Lieutenant Ranirez."

  Bailey looked at Ramirez, seeing his own surprise mirrored in the other's face. Poirot, for his part, merely looked thoughtful. "I was planning to leave Lieutenant Ramirez here to coordinate the operation," he said carefully. "And I thought General Poirot was still under suspicion."

  "Yae are all under sus'icion," Halaak said, his eyes glittering. "That is 'recisely rhy yae are all coning."

  "It is tine to 'ind out who the true traitor is," Daasaa said, his voice ominous. "Gather yaer tean, Colonel

  'Ailey. It is tine tae go."

  * * *

  "You sure you know where we're going?" Hawking puffed as Skyler led them to the crest of yet another wooded hill.

  "Absolutely," Skyler assured him, glancing up at the drifting clouds visible between the leafy branches overhead. "Another half klick, tops."

  "That's what you said half a klick ago," O'
Hara murmured, just loudly enough for Skyler to hear.

  "Half a klick ago I said it was a whole klick," Skyler corrected. "Try to pay attention, will you?"

  O'Hara muttered something not quite seditious about the decline in the standards of blackcollar leadership. Skyler responded in equally facetious kind, and the two of them fell silent.

  Flynn didn't join in the banter. He'd hardly slept last night, despite the heavy activity of the previous day, thoughts of Jensen's plans and fate swirling unpleasantly through his mind.

  Which, on one level, was rather surprising to him. He'd had his share of training exercises with Jensen back on Plinry, of course, and had found the man to be a competent if somewhat distant instructor. He'd also sat in on many a late-night bull session where Jensen's state of mind had been dissected in minute and low-fact detail.

  But until this mission he hadn't actually known very much about the man. Even now, after a couple of days of tromping the Rocky Mountain wilderness together, he knew he hadn't even scratched the other's paint. But at the same time, those days had created some kind of bond of understanding and respect between them, something completely intangible but just as definitely real.

  Flynn didn't want to see Jensen sacrifice himself. Not even if such a sacrifice made a point to the Ryqril.

  Not even if it proved the key to ultimate victory.

  Back on Plinry, he'd often wondered how Jensen could have been so affected by Novak's death, especially after so many other blackcollars had died. Now, in contrast, it was perfectly understandable.

  A man didn't always get to choose who his friends and kindred spirits would be. Sometimes, the universe made those decisions for him.

  "Aha," Skyler said, stopping suddenly at the top of yet another short ridge. "O ye of little faith. There it is."

  Flynn hurried up the ridge, trying not to jostle O'Hara and Hawking on the way. He reached Skyler's side and scanned the greenery in front of them.

  Which seemed to be nothing but greenery. "Where?" he asked.

  "There," Hawking said, pointing at the end of a hill that opened up into a small clearing. "See the grating there, just beneath the overhang?"

  "I see it," O'Hara said. "Nicely done."

  "Flynn?" Skyler asked.

  And finally, Flynn spotted it: an irregularly patterned grille, two meters across, set back almost invisibly in the shadow beneath the overhanging rock and grass. "Got it," he said. "Man. I wouldn't have believed you could hide something that big right out in the open."

  "We'd better get inside," Hawking warned. "We don't want Security swooping down on Kanai and finding the rest of the birds have flown."

  "Right," Skyler said, heading down the ridge toward the clearing. "The grating's been cut free—"

  "Cover!" O'Hara snapped.

  For an instant Flynn continued down the ridge, muscles frozen by surprise even as the blackcollars'

  superior reflexes sent them diving to all sides.

  But it was too late for any of them. Even as Flynn finally braked to a halt the small canisters falling from the sky slammed into the ground all around them, exploding into white clouds of cloying-sweet gas.

  He was asleep before he hit the ground.

  * * *

  It had taken some ingenuity and several trips with the drag carts, but Foxleigh and Jensen had finally managed to fuel and prep the Talus. "Next step is to figure out how to get it into one of the aircraft lifts,"

  Foxleigh said as they coiled the last cables and hoses clear. "There are a pair of upper-level launch bays to the east and west. Which ones were you planning to use?"

  "We won't need the launch bays," Jensen told him. "Or the elevator, either."

  Foxleigh stared. "You mean ... straight out the main entrance? But isn't there a Ryqril base set up there?

  Adamson told me there was."

  "Oh, there's a base, all right," Jensen said. "A big one, too. That's the whole point."

  "What whole point?" Foxleigh retorted. "In case you haven't noticed, Ryqril bases always include large, nasty antiaircraft lasers. You won't get fifty meters before you get vaporized."

  "Ah, but this base runs right up against the side of the mountain," Jensen said. "Going out through the front door will actually put me inside the defenses."

  "Really," Foxleigh murmured. "Adamson never mentioned that part."

  "He probably never got close enough to see that part," Jensen said. "The Ryqril are touchy about visitors."

  "I see," Foxleigh said. Yes; it would do nicely. "Of course, they've got other weapons in there besides the antiaircraft lasers. Once you're in, you very likely won't be coming out again."

  "I wasn't intending to," Jensen said quietly. "This one's for Novak and all the rest who've died at Ryqril hands."

  He turned back to face the Talus ... and as he did so, Foxleigh slipped his hand inside his jacket and drew his gun. "Actually, there's going to be a small change—"

  He'd never seen a blackcollar move before. Had never dreamed that a human being could move that fast.

  An instant later he found his gun hand pointed toward the ceiling, his arm locked above his head between Jensen's two hands, the blackcollar facing him with their noses no more than ten centimeters apart.

  And he had no idea how he'd even gotten into that position.

  "I'm disappointed, Toby," Jensen said, his voice dark and cold as he gazed into Foxleigh's face. "Not surprised, really. But disappointed."

  "I wasn't going to hurt you," Foxleigh insisted.

  "No, of course not." Sliding his left hand along Foxleigh's right wrist, the blackcollar deftly plucked the gun from his hand and stepped back. "We wondered about this gun, Flynn and I," he said, turning the weapon over in his hand as he inspected it. "I was hoping you were just some war veteran who'd been hiding out all this time."

  "I am," Foxleigh said, rubbing his elbow where Jensen had overextended it. "My name's Lieutenant Samuel Foxleigh, TDE Air Defense."

  "Of course," Jensen said. "Let me guess: you flew Talus interceptors."

  "As a matter of fact, I did," Foxleigh said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  "And you ended up out here how?"

  "I was shot down in the final battle," Foxleigh said, his gaze drifting to the fighter looming over them. "I hurt my leg when I bailed out, but I was able to make it to Shelter Valley. Doc Adamson patched me up; but as soon as it was clear that we'd lost and the Ryqril were landing in force to set up shop, he knew I couldn't stay there."

  "Why not?"

  "The town was too small," Foxleigh said. "Everyone knew everyone else, and there were two or three Adamson didn't trust to keep their mouths shut under pressure. So he took me up to the cabin and asked Toby to put me up for a while."

  "So there was an actual Toby?"

  "Adamson's uncle," Foxleigh said. "He'd moved up to the cabin about ten years earlier to get away from what he called the irritations of civilization."

  "Not much of an escape," Jensen pointed out. "He was, what, a whole two hundred meters out of town?"

  "But everyone knew to leave him alone," Foxleigh said. "Actually, the cabin's location was a compromise with the rest of his family, who were adamant about him not disappearing off somewhere into the wild and maybe dying in an accident without them even knowing about it."

  "And then you showed up," Jensen said. "He must have been thrilled."

  "Thrilled isn't the word for it," Foxleigh said ruefully, remembering the long and heated discussions.

  "But Adamson promised it wouldn't be for long, just until the Ryqril and their collaborators finished the census we knew they'd be taking of the mountain areas. Once that was over, I could move back down to Shelter Valley, and eventually to Denver."

  "So what went wrong?"

  "What do you think?" Foxleigh retorted. "The Ryqril decided to stick that damned sensor pylon at the edge of town. That meant Security could be popping in at any time to check on the thing. Worse, it meant everyone would be on f
ile somewhere, which killed any chance for me to slip into town and pretend I'd always been there."

  "So you and Toby became permanent roommates?" Jensen suggested.

  Foxleigh swallowed. "Only for a while," he said quietly. "Three months later he caught pneumonia and died."

  "Leaving you his cabin and his name."

  "Everyone in town already knew about old Toby the hermit," Foxleigh said. "But no one outside the Adamson family had seen him recently enough to remember what he looked like. It seemed the perfect place to hide."

  "Temporarily, anyway," Jensen said. "Only you seem to have made it permanent."

  Foxleigh felt his stomach tighten. "I guess I just got used to it."

  Jensen shook his head. "Lie number two," he said.

  Foxleigh frowned. "What?"

  "That was lie number two," Jensen said. "Lie number one was in your story somewhere, though I'm not sure exactly where. But this was definitely number two. You want to try again?"

  Foxleigh sighed. "All right," he said. "The fact is that I wanted to stay near the mountain. I knew it was locked down, but I thought someday I might be able to find a way back in."

  "To do what?"

  "Basically, to do exactly what you're planning," Foxleigh said. "I wanted to take a fighter and do as much damage as I could to the Ryqril before they caught up with me." He squared his shoulders. "And I'll guarantee I'm a better pilot than you are."

  "No doubt," Jensen agreed. "So what exactly do you want?"

  "What I just said," Foxleigh told him. "Let me take the Talus out into the Ryqril base."

  "Sounds reasonable," Jensen said. "The answer's no."

  He said it so calmly that for a second the word didn't register. When it finally did, it hit Foxleigh like a slap in the face. "What do you mean, no?" he demanded.

  "I mean that before you pulled this I might have been interested," Jensen said, hefting the gun. "Now, your currency's all been burned."

  "I wasn't going to shoot you," Foxleigh insisted again, his stomach churning. This was his last, his very last chance. "I just wanted to make sure you'd listen."

  "And if I didn't, you had the final argument?" Jensen shook his head. "Sorry, Toby. Or Foxleigh, or whatever your real name is."