Blackcollar: The Backlash Mission

by Timothy Zahn

  "Yes, sir," one of them said. "He probably won't be there much longer, though—the interrogators don't like outside people present while they're working. Distracts the prisoner sometimes."

  Galway tried to imagine Quinn being thrown out of his own interrogation room by underlings, but the picture was as unlikely as it was satisfying. "Tell him I want to see him immediately when he's finished," he instructed them. "I'll be at the guard lounge down the hall."

  "Yes, sir."

  From the sounds filtering down the hallway, Quinn emerged from the interrogation room about three minutes later, but it was nearly ten before he condescended to wander down to where Galway was waiting. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, not bothering to sit down.

  Galway nodded. "First of all, how's the interrogation going?" he asked.

  Quinn's face darkened a bit. "Slowly. She's got a high degree of tolerance—some sort of mental conditioning, they think. But it's only a matter of time. I trust you aren't bothering me just to ask that."

  "Not at all," Galway said. Pulling the phone across the table, he drew a cassette from his tunic and slid it into the reader. "I came to warn you that your time with her is in danger of being cut short."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Quinn growled.

  "This is a phone conversation I had fifteen minutes ago." Galway tapped the switch, and his own voice abruptly came over the speaker.

  Galway: "Galway here. What is it, Postern?"

  Postern: "Look, I've only got a few minutes—this is the first chance I've had to get to a phone without any of the others around. Lathe and the other blackcollars are planning to—"

  Galway: "Speaking of Lathe, why didn't you tell me before you left Plinry that he was coming along?"

  Postern: "Because I didn't know about it, that's why. Will you shut up and listen?

  Lathe's planning to break that Torch woman, Anne Silcox, out of there tonight."

  Groping blindly with one hand, Quinn pulled a chair over and sat down next to Galway, face contorted with an expression that might have been either anger or intense concentration. Probably a combination of both.

  Galway: "That's ridiculous. Athena's far too well guarded for them to even get into the city, let alone into the Security building."

  Postern: "Maybe. But Lathe's going to try it—and if I were you, I wouldn't be too sure he can't pull it off. I only know a little of his plan, but I can tell you he sure as hell is confident he can do it."

  Galway: "All right, settle down. What exactly do you know?"

  Postern: "Only that he's preparing a couple of vans with laser protection and armor reinforcing and he's been talking to me about how to do high-speed sideways crabbing moves without turning them over. I think he's planning to just ram the fence at a guard station and hope that the lasers are programmed not to fire when they're in danger of wiping out a Security post as well as an intruder."

  "He's wrong on that one," Quinn muttered, half to himself. "Any vehicle trying to ram the gate..."

  Galway: "Even if that gets him into Athena—"

  Postern: "Look, Galway, don't argue with me—it's not my plan. If you want to assume he can't do it, fine—sit back and watch."

  Galway: "All right, just relax. Can you tell me where you're staying?"

  Postern: "Ah—not really. I rode there in a closed van, and I'm not really sure of the location or address. Besides, you raid the place and I'm likely to get killed, too."

  Galway: "Take it easy—we're not that stupid, you know. Can you tell me anything about the route Lathe plans to take to Athena?"

  Postern: "Not really, but I know the final approach to the fence will be along New Hampden Avenue. Look, I've got to go."

  Galway: "First tell me what numbers we're talking about. How many blackcollars does Lathe have with him?"

  Postern: "I've only seen four: Skyler, Mordecai, Hawking, and Jensen. But hell, he could have a whole combat force lurking around somewhere for all I know."

  Galway: "Yeah, well, I doubt that—he only had a pair of drop pods to work with. You said two vans?"

  Postern: "Right—one's red and brown, the other's dark yellow. And for God's sake take it easy if you try anything—I'll be driving one of the damn things."

  Galway: "Don't worry, we'll be trying to take all of you alive. One last thing—any idea yet of what your actual mission is?"

  Postern: "Caine's been hinting that it involves getting into Aegis Mountain, but I don't know whether to believe him. Jensen's just come out of the store—I gotta go."

  The tape ended. Quinn drew a long breath, all his earlier annoyance gone. "Damn," he said, very softly. "Damn. Well... did you do an analysis on it?"

  Galway nodded. "A quick one—the lab's running it more thoroughly now. He was calling from a booth in northwestern Denver. I opted not to send men there, and it's probably a good thing I didn't.

  Jensen would've spotted them for sure, and I don't think taking him alone would've been worth losing Postern's ear into the rest of the group."

  Quinn shrugged in agreement or acceptance; Galway wasn't sure which. "Stress analysis?"

  "He's worried and nervous—that much is obvious even without the analysis. He also lied about not knowing where they were holed up. Aside from that, everything else seems to be true."

  "Or at least he thinks it is." Quinn frowned at the phone. "Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Lathe can't possibly get in here."

  "He got out of the Rialto Street trap," Galway reminded him softly, aware of the thin line he was treading. If he pushed Quinn too hard, the general might very well get his back up and refuse to take action just to spite him, and they'd be forced to find out the hard way just what Lathe had in mind. "I presume you've read my reports of the Plinry and Argent actions, too—"

  "All right, you don't need to hammer it to death," Quinn snapped. "Besides, if we let them crash the fence and get vaporized we'll never find out what the hell they think they're going to find in Aegis Mountain—if Postern wasn't lying about that too. Unless you think the Ryqril would rather just let them commit suicide?"

  "As a matter of fact," Galway said, ignoring the other's sarcastic tone, "the Ryqril have already sent authorization for us to try and capture them. I think they must have a tap into your communications systems."

  Quinn glowered; and despite his dislike for the man Galway felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

  Security work was difficult enough without the alien overlords continually watching over your shoulder. "Well, good," the general growled. "At last they're giving up on this stupid Postern game.

  I'll get some units in position along New Hampden right away, set up a pincer and see if the idiots can hang on to them this time. Come on—you might as well be there, too. Just in case we need a quick identification."

  And in case you need someone else there to share the blame? Galway wondered as they headed back down the hallway toward the elevators. But it didn't really matter. This time the element of surprise would be on Security's side... and this time Lathe was going to lose.

  Guaranteed.

  —

  "Well?" Lathe asked Skyler as the latter entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

  "He's got one, all right," the other said. "A beautiful high-power laser that we can tie a modulator into and that'll punch a bell-clear signal all the way out to the scout ship. Assuming it's still at one of its specified positions, of course."

  "It will be," Lathe assured him. "Great—that means we won't have to find the one that Security'll have tied into their Athena headquarters. One less item to worry about. I presume we won't have any trouble getting to the laser?"

  "Depends entirely on how big a mess you're willing to leave of Reger's men," Skyler told him.

  "Considering that the man's still our ally, I'm not sure we really want to antagonize him at this point."

  "In other words, you think I should ask permission to use his laser," Lathe said dryly. "I suppose you're right. But
it'll probably cost us."

  "Why? Reger's not using the laser himself—oh. Right. If Security manages to track the pulses he risks losing it entirely to them."

  "Not certain, but possible enough to make him queasy. Well, I'll go talk to him. I think I know how to swing the deal."

  "And you don't want to talk about it, of course."

  "Not right now. Bug stompers all over this house, but you know how I am."

  "Don't I ever." Skyler hesitated. "Lathe... if we can use his laser, one of the major reasons for this Athena thing is suddenly gone. You sure you really want to go through with it? There are a hell of a lot of ways it can go wrong, you know, and I'm not sure the potential gain is worth it anymore."

  "If you mean Anne Silcox, you're right," the comsquare agreed. "But there's no way we're going to convince Bernhard to help us find a way into Aegis without a lever of some kind, and this is our best chance to get that lever."

  "And if he really can't get us in?"

  Lathe shrugged. "Then we've lost it. Pure and simple. But I've got a very strong hunch that he can."

  "I hope you're right. About that and everything else." Skyler scowled, an unusual expression for him.

  "What with us skating along here and Haven and Greene running that damn fool Project Christmas back on Plinry, I've got just about my fill of marginal operations at the moment."

  Lathe smiled. "Come on, Skyler. Have I ever let you down?"

  "No—and that's what's worrying me. So far you've won everything but the damn war itself.

  Eventually, you're going to have to lose one."

  "Who says? Come on—I'll buy you a drink from Reger's private cellar. That'll cheer you up. And then you can go talk to Caine's team chock full of confidence while I brace Reger about his laser."

  Chapter 24

  The sun was low in the western sky as the two vans headed out from Reger's fortress home, driving north along the deceptively peaceful road to the eastward highway before turning south toward the heart of Denver proper. Seated on the floor in the back of the lead vehicle, Caine found himself fingering his nunchaku and slingshot restlessly, trying without any real success to project a confidence he didn't feel. It was a wasted effort: Colvin and Alamzad, seated across from him, were far too nervous themselves to pay any attention, while Mordecai, presumably privy to more of the details of Lathe's plan than Caine had been, didn't seem to need any reassurance. Though maybe that was just Mordecai.

  Licking his lips for the half-millionth time, Caine slid off his flexarmor gloves and rubbed at his eyes. "Goggles down," Mordecai said quietly over his shoulder from the front seat. "And gloves back on. This is a combat zone."

  "Right." Caine obeyed, wondering how the hell blackcollars developed such good back-of-the-head eyesight.

  Behind the wheel, Pittman shifted in his seat. "This should be New Hampden coming up now," he told the blackcollar sitting beside him. "Do I turn onto it, or pull over and wait for the others?"

  "Turn," Mordecai said. "There's at least a klick to go before we reach the fence—plenty of time for Lathe to close the gap."

  "Okay." The van curved smoothly around the corner, and Caine craned his neck to get a look ahead through the windshield. There were few things more unnerving, he'd long ago decided, than heading into danger without even being able to see what was coming.

  Across the van, Alamzad cleared his throat. "Assuming we get through the fence without bringing the lasers down on us, do we have any actual idea where Security will have Silcox hidden?"

  "Security building, of course," Mordecai said briefly. "Don't worry—it should be easy to find."

  "Right—it's the one that'll have all the troops around it shooting at us," Colvin put in.

  "And a rooftop landing pad," Mordecai told him. "There'll only be a couple of buildings like that, even in Athena—"

  He broke off as their tinglers came on: Security spotters to either side; break off operation.

  Mordecai swore gently under his breath. "Take the next right, Pittman," he ordered. "We'll circle around north and regroup with the other—"

  And abruptly, the van's windows blazed with light.

  The vehicle slammed to a halt, tumbling Caine and the other two up against the seats. For a single, horrible heartbeat Caine thought they'd taken a direct antiaircraft laser bolt, but even as he scrambled into a crouch his senses caught up enough to realize that the metal walls weren't melting around them and that the air inside the van was hot but not scalding. "What—?"

  "Laser shots at the engine and tires," Mordecai snapped back. The blackcollar was already out of his restraints and grappling with an apparently heat-warped door. "Everyone out—we'll have a better chance outside."

  Caine launched himself toward the van's rear doors, hitting the release lever and shoving them open in the same motion. He leaped out, hands coming up with a ready pair of shuriken... and froze in disbelief.

  Facing the van from both sides of the street, half hidden behind a quick-foam barricade, were at least fifty Security men, lasers pointed and ready. Lathe's van had skidded to a crabbing halt a few meters behind theirs; beyond it Caine could see another barrier blocking movement in that direction.

  Reflexively, he hurled his shuriken anyway, but the taste of defeat was already welling up like vomit in his mouth. The game was over, and from the size and preparation of the force arrayed against them, it was obvious they'd been primed and ready.

  Reger had betrayed them.

  "You can't escape," an amplified voice boomed from somewhere, its point of origin lost among the echoes from the surrounding buildings. "This is General Quinn, Lathe. Raise your hands and surrender—all of you—or we'll burn you where you stand. Look up if you don't believe we can do it."

  Caine risked a glance upward. Hovering perhaps a hundred meters above them was a long, sharkshaped aircraft, reflected grav light showing the weapons pods on either side of its fuselage. The firepower that had taken out their vans... and could just as thoroughly take them out as well.

  Tactics, strategies, contingencies—all his training seemed to swirl together into a useless, half-gelled mess. Behind him, he could sense Colvin and Alamzad crouching just inside the van's doors, waiting for a lead they could follow. Waiting for him to take action.

  And he couldn't. There was nothing he could think of to do that wouldn't mean their instant death.

  His first command... and he'd failed.

  From around the van a quiet voice broke into his anguish. "Do as the man says, Caine," Mordecai said. "But don't give up hope."

  Swallowing hard, Caine slowly lifted his hands over his head.

  —

  The man in charge of the operation was, at least, no fool. Neither the men at the barricades nor the fighter overhead made the slightest move until all ten of their prisoners were out in the open. Only then did a new group of Security men step forward, several of them lugging pairs of heavy-duty maglock forearm shackles. A lump rose in Caine's throat at the sight of the shackles... a lump of deja vu and the painful realization that this time, at least, history would not be repeating itself.

  And then the group came close enough for faces to be distinguished... and the mag-lock shackles were suddenly forgotten. "Galway!" Caine gasped.

  "Caine." The perfect nodded gravely. His eyes swept the group, found Lathe; but it was another man who brushed by him and faced the comsquare.

  "Comsquare Lathe, I'm General Quinn," the other said in a grimly satisfied voice. "You're hereby informed that the agreement between General Lepkowski and the Ryqril is no longer in force, at least insofar as you and your men here are concerned. You are in open rebellion against the Ryqril Empire and its authorized government, and are therefore subject to imprisonment and appropriate punishment for your actions—"

  "Spare us the official speech, General," Lathe cut him off. His voice was calm enough, but Caine sensed a hint of steel beneath it.

  Apparently the general did, too, and for a moment his
triumphant expression slipped a bit. But he recovered quickly. "I see that bravado remains part of a blackcollar's arsenal." He sneered. "I suggest you don't bother frying to impress me with your stoicism. From now on, I'm the one who decides your fate, and I've always found a particular satisfaction in breaking people who pretend they can't be broken."

  "No," Mordecai said quietly. "You're wrong."

  All eyes turned to the small blackcollar. "Wrong about what?" Quinn demanded.

  "That you decide our fate," Mordecai told him calmly... but there was something about his face that sent a shiver down Caine's back. "You have only the power we grant you. I choose not to give you any at all."

  Quinn inhaled sharply, perhaps suddenly understanding what was coming. "Guards!" he snapped.

  But too late. Mordecai's right hand was a blur as it swung upward at his face beneath the goggles.

  Caine caught a faint flicker of light on metal... and even as the Security men belatedly surged forward Mordecai collapsed in a heap on the ground.

  "Medic team!" Quinn shouted back toward the barricades. "The rest of you—get those shackles on them. This might be a trick."

  Caine tensed, watching Lathe out of the corner of his eye for the signal that would mean taking action. But no signal had come by the time the massive shackles had been fastened around his forearms. Lathe, in fact, seemed almost in shock by what Mordecai had done... and slowly Caine came to the dark realization that this wasn't a ruse after all.

  "Well?" Quinn snorted impatiently as the medic crouched by Mordecai's still form, instruments humming softly.

  "Paralyte shock," the other said, drawing out a hypo and tugging at the mag-lock shackles enclosing Mordecai's arms. "Get these off him, someone—I have to give him a shot."

  "No chance he's faking?" Galway put in as one of the Security men moved to obey.

  "None at all. Yes, all the way off. Thanks." Pulling off the blackcollar's right glove, the medic jabbed his wrist with the hypo. "We've got to get him to the hospital immediately, General—I've got him stabilized, but that won't last long. He's taken an overdose of a paralyte drug, like getting shot repeatedly by a paral-dart pistol."