by Timothy Zahn
Reger snorted. "The hell with what chances are—and to hell with Quinn, for that matter, because you've got a damn sight more trouble than just him. I've been hearing foam-mouthing from all over the city today over what you dimbos pulled last night in the Shandygaff. You go back there and Nash'll hang your skins out to dry, while the customers stand up and applaud."
"Including the blackcollars?" Lathe asked mildly.
Reger broke off, and something twitched in his cheek. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked cautiously.
"Oh, I don't know—just sort of a conversation opener. I thought you might want to explain why you've carefully avoided mentioning the existence of other blackcollars in Denver."
Reger was silent for a moment. "I won't insult your intelligence by inventing some excuse," he said at last. "I didn't mention them because I thought you might automatically take their side of things in the power struggle going on in the city."
"Their side, and Sartan's?"
"You've actually met Sartan?" Reger asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What's he like?"
"No, no one's introduced us yet." Lathe shook his head. "Can I assume this confession means that you've laid any fears about us to rest?"
"At the moment, frankly, I don't seem to have any choice," Reger admitted. "If you and Bernhard are setting up an elaborate trap for me, I've yet to see through it. Until and unless I do I have to accept or reject you on faith alone."
"Basically the same position we're in, you'll notice," Lathe said. "As it happens, I have no intention of getting us involved in your private little intrigues, on Bernhard's side or anyone else's. We're here to do a job, and I fully intend to get the hell out of here once we've done it. Until then, we still owe you a fortress for your help in finding Caine, and we're going to keep our part of that bargain."
"And if it helps your nerves any," Hawking said from across the room, "we knew there were other blackcollars in town well before we struck our deal with you. You only thought you were keeping information from us, and we're pretty used to that."
Reger smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you," he said with a trace of sarcasm. "Now if we can get back to the original subject, what the hell do you think you can accomplish by going to the Shandygaff?"
Lathe shrugged. "We meet Kanai, as we promised. We perhaps get a little closer to the key we need to finish our mission, one way or another. And if the cards fall right, we might even pick up another ally."
Reger snorted. "As trustworthy as Kanai and Bernhard?"
"And as trustworthy as you," Lathe said bluntly. "You can take your pick."
The older man eyed him in silence for a long moment. Then, turning, he left the room. "Hell of a way to run a circus," Skyler murmured.
"Agreed, but untrustworthy allies are all we're likely to get in this town," Lathe said. There was another footstep at the door, and he turned to see Caine enter the room. "How's your team doing?" he asked the younger man.
"Resting," Caine said, an odd stiffness in his voice. "I think this is the safest they've felt since we landed, and they're taking advantage of it."
"Just as long as they don't come to feel too safe here," the comsquare said dryly. "We should be all right for a few hours, though, at the very least. Was there something in particular you wanted?"
Caine hesitated. "I'd like to have a private word with you, Comsquare, if I may."
"Sure," Lathe agreed, getting to his feet. They'd been at Reger's now for nearly two hours, and he'd been wondering when Caine would finally get around to this confrontation. "Let's go out back and see how Hawking's tracking placements look."
They walked in silence until they were out of the house and heading across the sculpted lawn.
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" Caine asked at last.
Lathe shrugged. "If you have a complaint against a superior, it's up to you to bring it to his attention."
"Even when he knows perfectly well what it is?" Caine countered.
"Even then. It's standard military etiquette and procedure—besides which, sometimes you're wrong about the officer's knowing about your grievance."
"Not in this case, though."
"No," Lathe admitted.
They walked another few steps before Caine spoke again. "I'd like an explanation, if you've got one."
"In its simplest form, I thought we might be needed."
Caine snorted. "If we're that incompetent, why did you graduate us in the first place?"
Lathe pursed his lips. "This may come as a rude shock, but the blackcollar school on Plinry isn't designed to create indestructible superwarriors. It's designed to turn out reasonably competent guerrilla fighters in reasonably quick time. Period. You've been granted no particular immunity from enemy attacks or unexpected changes in climate or even lapses in tactical logic. The mean survival time in enemy territory of a team like yours is probably measured in weeks or even days."
"So what's our real purpose? To make the government waste time and resources chasing us down?"
Lathe winced at the bitterness in the other's voice. "To be blunt, at some level the answer is yes. Of course we don't want any of you to be captured, but the only way to avoid that entirely is not to send anyone out in the first place."
"And as you've so often reminded us, this is war."
Lathe sighed. "Yes. I remind myself as often as I remind you, if that helps any. I've lost a lot of friends to this war over the years, you know. If I could find a rationale that I could live with for giving it up, I'd probably have done so long ago."
Caine was silent for a long minute. "I'm trying very hard to be mad at you," he said at last, "but you're not making that easy, either. Maybe because I've seen what it's like now to send my own men on missions they might not come back from."
"It'll be worse the first time you actually lose one of them."
"Yeah. I've already come closer than I like." Caine paused. "So... asking the question nicely this time, why are you here? Really?"
Lathe shrugged. "On the most noble level, because your mission sounded like something that would make an incredible contribution to the war effort if it succeeded. On the most petty personal level..."
He hesitated. "It looked like the only chance I'd ever have of retiring from the war someday."
He hadn't expected Caine to understand, at least not immediately; but to his mild surprise, the younger man nodded. "A chance to finally lay the burden onto the next generation's shoulders. Is that it?"
"Basically," Lathe said. "And as I said, the mean life of a guerrilla team in hostile territory is short.
With two teams working together, the odds are considerably better."
"So why didn't you simply come right out and invite yourselves along? Why the backshadow skulking routine?"
"Well... frankly, I hoped to avoid having this conversation. It was supposed to be your mission, and I knew you'd resent anything that looked like interference from me." There was another reason, but for the moment it was best that Caine didn't know that one. He'd be furious when he found out, but there was nothing the comsquare could really do about that.
"So what happens now? Organizationally, I mean?"
Lathe brought his mind back from Project Christmas to the subject at hand. "That's entirely up to you. If you want, we'll fade back into the shadows, play backstop if and when you need it, and otherwise let you run the show. Alternatively, you can add us to your team, and we'll do our best to carry out your orders."
Caine snorted. "Oh, that would be a new classic, wouldn't it? Blackcollars taking orders from recruits. What's the third alternative? There is a third one, isn't there?"
Lathe pursed his lips. "I take over. Pure and simple."
"I thought that would be it." Caine stopped, turning to look behind him at Reger's mansion. "So what would you do if you were me?" he asked the comsquare. "Maintain the role of leader whatever the cost, or lose face before your teammates by meekly turning over command to someone else?"
"If
I were also your age? Probably the former. At my age, and with the experience that goes with it, I'd say to hell with face. The mission is what counts."
"And of course you'd also counsel taking the advice of the experts in any given field, wouldn't you?"
Lathe glanced at Caine, caught the wisp of a smile on the other's face. "Yes, I suppose I would," he admitted.
Slowly, the younger man nodded his head. "I've been afraid ever since we left Plinry of looking weak as a leader," he said softly. "I'd never done anything like this before. But I think I'm even more afraid of looking like a fool... and throwing away the best leadership available for my team would be a foolish thing to do." He hissed a sigh between his teeth. "All right, Comsquare. I hereby officially offer my command to you."
"I accept," Lathe said, but he could see the tight lines gathered around Caine's mouth. It would be a long time before the younger man would be happy with that decision. If he ever truly was. "Let's get back inside and let the others know. We've still got a lot of planning to do before we head out to the Shandygaff tonight."
"You're really going through with that?"
Lathe nodded. "I'm afraid it's a gamble we have to take. Time is running out, and we've got to find a lever to pry out the information we need. One way or another, we start building that lever tonight."
Chapter 19
Honor.
The word echoed over and over again through Kanai's mind as he sat alone at his booth in the Shandygaff. A five-letter curse; a two-syllable question which had no answer. Honor. Honor.
Honorhonorhonor—
Stop it! Shaking his head violently, he snapped the mental loop. The philosophy of his ancestors wouldn't help him now, either as a source of advice or as a refuge from action. What was about to happen was taking place in Denver in the year 2461; and he, Kanai, was the man who would have to live with his decision... or would have to die with it.
Across the room, Briller was talking quietly with one of Nash's other henchmen near the doorway to the bar's anteroom. The tip had come down about two hours ago, as nearly as Kanai's reading of events could place it, and for almost an hour now they'd been poised and ready. An obvious sucker trap... and it wasn't hard to guess who it was for.
Damn you, Lathe, he snarled once to himself. I told you to call me here. Not to come in person.
And come he would—Kanai had no doubt of that. The news of Security's bungled net operation was all over town, and if Quinn didn't know any better than to try a standard net on blackcollars, he did have enough brains to set up those horribly expensive tracers on all of the bar's fiber-op phone lines.
And Lathe, of course, would know enough to anticipate that.
If only Kanai had thought to give the comsquare his home phone number. But Quinn almost certainly had that line monitored by now, as well. So Lathe would come to the Shandygaff in person.
And would walk right into Briller's trap.
So where did Kanai's loyalty lie? With Bernhard and the rest of the team? In that case, honor required him to merely sit here and allow Lathe to fight on his own, to win or lose as his skill and the universe allowed. If Kanai declined to assist him further, perhaps the strains between Bernhard's team and the rest of the city could yet be smoothed over.
But if there was indeed a higher loyalty Kanai was being called to...
Chong slipped inside the main room, conferred briefly with Briller. Once, their eyes flicked to Kanai in his booth; and then Chong headed back through the anteroom to the troops Nash had stationed outside. They were keeping an eye on him, all right, the bar's enforcers and the Security spy both.
Watching to see which path Kanai would take: that of life, or that of suicide.
Or rather, that of life or that of seppuku.
And put that way, there was really no doubt as to which path was the honorable one. Kanai was a blackcollar, first and foremost, and to allow another blackcollar to go unaided to his death would be a betrayal of everything he knew to be right. And if the attempt cost him his life, he would at least be able to face his ancestors without that added shame tarnishing his soul.
But before he died he would claim a single personal satisfaction: he would eliminate the tripledamned Security agent who had placed him in this position. He'd deduced the other's identity long ago, but until now it had been a matter of complete indifference to him how Quinn kept track of Denver's shadow government. But no longer. It would be his final gift to Bernhard's team, and perhaps the most fitting response he could make to Quinn's insulting invasion of his home this morning.
He was easing a shuriken out of his belt pouch, concentrating on keeping his movements invisible to those watching him, when his tingler suddenly came on.
He froze as the message came through: Kanai: Lathe and Skyler approaching Shandygaff. Safety level?
"Damn," he breathed viciously. Tingler frequencies were unusual ones, and the short range of the devices made them hard to tap into, but Nash and his people undoubtedly had something set up for the occasion. Probably they had no real knowledge of blackcollar combat codes, but the very existence of a message told them all they really needed to know.
And indeed Briller had already reacted, drawing his pistol from his pocket and holding the weapon muzzle-up by his cheek. His eyes sought out and met Kanai's in silent warning.
Kanai met his gaze coolly... and deliberately reached to his tingler. Lathe: Trap/encirclement in area. Escape imperative.
Acknowledged. What about you?
There was no time for a reply as Briller belatedly swung his gun down and brought it to bear.
Dropping sideways onto the seat, Kanai rolled to the floor beneath his table as Briller's flechette shattered the privacy plastic behind him. There were yelps of surprise and anger from the nearer patrons as the big enforcer corrected his aim and fired again. Under the table, Kanai curled into a fetal position with his back to his opponent, letting the flexarmor beneath his shirt absorb the blow and deflect the shot. The projectiles couldn't penetrate the tough material, but on the other hand the sheer kick of the shots and the flexarmor's stiffening action as it spread the impact around could throw off his own counterattack, possibly fatally. The timing here had to be precise.
Another flechette ricocheted off his back... and Kanai made his move.
He rolled onto his back, left hand sending a shuriken spinning in Briller's direction. It was a lousy shot from a lousy position and it missed completely, but it served its purpose of forcing Briller to break off his own attack and duck. In the momentary breathing space, Kanai tucked his legs to his chest and kicked up as hard as he could at the table towering over him. With a splintering of torn wood, the fastenings holding the slab of wood to its center post broke, and the tabletop flipped over to rest on its edge against the metal column.
Landing there just in time to catch Briller's next shot squarely on its polished surface.
Briller must have realized at that moment that he was dead, but he made a game try of it anyway. By the time Kanai had his battle-hood and gloves on and had poked his head over his impromptu shield, the big enforcer had sidled around the edge of the room toward the massive bar, trying to get a shot around Kanai's tabletop without simultaneously exposing himself to the blackcollar's shuriken.
But now that his head and hands were protected, Kanai had little to fear from the other's gun—or from anyone else's, as a shot glanced off his shoulder from behind him. Twisting, he spun a shuriken off in that direction, then turned back to send another star toward Briller. The big man spat in pain as the shuriken caught him in the right shoulder; he emptied his gun in blind fury. Kanai ducked out from his shelter and sprinted through the hailstorm toward the anteroom.
He'd expected a larger reception committee to be lying in wait in the anteroom, and was therefore vaguely surprised to find only two people there. "Kanai!" Nash snarled toward him, swinging his flechette pistol around to center on the blackcollar's stomach.
"Give it up, Nash," Kanai
told him, eyes flicking over the little man's shoulder to the coatcheck girl and the tiny pistol in her hand. Paral-dart gun, probably—more useless against him than even the flechette pistols. "Your quarry's been warned," he continued, drawing out a shuriken. "He's probably half a klick away by now."
"And you're the one who warned him, I suppose?" Nash bit out. "Damn you, Kanai—"
"Sorry about this, lady," Kanai said to the coatcheck girl. He raised his shuriken—
And then everything happened at once.
Across the room the door slammed open and a pair of black-clad men leaped in. Simultaneously, a brilliant flash lit up the room from behind Kanai and a chunk of wall by the door exploded into superheated vapor and brick fragments. Kanai spun around, just in time to see Nash's "flechette" gun blaze a second laser blast toward the intruders. "Watch it!" he snapped reflexively. The disguised laser swung in his direction—
And there was the chaft of an airgun, and Nash collapsed to the floor, his last shot burning a black groove in the rug in front of him.
"Nice shooting," Lathe said, breathing a bit heavily. "Does this mean you've officially joined our side?"
Kanai turned as the coatcheck girl lowered her pistol, her expression simultaneously furious and scared. "Damn you, you dimbos," she snapped at Lathe and his companion, a blackcollar Kanai didn't recognize. "What did you think you were doing, coming back here? Nash's lice are all over the mall, just waiting for you."
"Oh, we know," Lathe said, glancing into the bar itself. "We came in to talk to Kanai... and to see whose side you were on."
"I'm on my side—no one else's," she bit out. "Damn you, anyway, for doing this to me."
"If we can talk about this somewhere else," Kanai put in, eying the main room doorway, "they'll be pulling themselves together in there anytime now. You mind getting the hell out of here?"
"You coming with us?" Lathe's companion asked the woman, raising an eyebrow.
"What choice do I have?" she growled, gesturing sharply at the prone figure of Nash. "If I don't, he'll have me strapped over a firepit the minute he wakes up."