- Chapter 16

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# 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.]

"You mean like Raakh-ree," Lepkowski said, nodding. He'd seen reconstructed floor plans of the Raakh-ree tac center, a base the Chryselli had managed to blast to rubble in a sneak raid five years ago, and it would have put the legendary Winchester House to shame. "Fortunately, they didn't have enough time here to go to that much effort. Khorstron is a simple two-story octagon design. Much cleaner."

Viviviv froze, the cards poised over the mouth of his shoulder pouch. [An octagon of two floors?] he echoed. [Have you a floor plan?]

"Nothing official," Lepkowski said, frowning at the other's sudden reaction. Had he said something wrong? "Tactor Shaw sent us some of the work photos, though. They're on the cards I just gave you."

Viviviv held out the cards. [Show me,] he ordered.

Selecting the proper card, Lepkowski inserted it into his desk's reader. "Here it is," he said, pulling up the file and swiveling the display around to where Viviviv could see it. "Here's the control," he added, handing the page scroller across the desk.

For a minute the Chryselli gazed at the first of Shaw's photos. Then, picking up the control, he began paging through the pictures, his pace increasing until the photos seemed little more than a blur. He reached the end and, almost delicately, set the scroller back on the desk. [Have you studied these, General?]

"I looked through them, yes," Lepkowski said cautiously. "Obviously, I missed something important."

[You missed only what you could not be expected to know,] Viviviv said. [This center—this Khorstron—is a precise duplicate of the Daeliak-naa fortress on the third-tier Ryqril colony world of Saalnaka.]

One of the worlds, if Lepkowski was deciphering the alien words correctly, that the Chryselli had fought their way to a foothold on within the past two years. "All right, so they borrowed a familiar design when they built Khorstron," he said. "I'm afraid I'm still missing something."

[What you are missing,] Viviviv said, his voice suddenly taut, [is the knowledge that ten months ago we moved our own regional tactical center into Daeliak-naa.]

Lepkowski stared at the photo still on the display, the pieces abruptly falling into place. "I'll be damned," he breathed. "They're trying to get the blackcollars to show them how to break into your tac center."

For a long minute neither of them spoke. [This is not good,] Viviviv said at last. [This is not the way Ryqril normally think. If they have learned how to create such tactics, all our planning and strategies must now be rethought.]

"No, they haven't learned how to think," Lepkowski said grimly. "They've just learned to hire those who can. Best guess: Plinry Prefect Jamus Galway."

[A military human?]

"Not particularly," Lepkowski said. "But he's watched and studied Lathe ever since Caine came to Plinry and got the blackcollars back on full military standing. And I suspect he had a lot of native ability to being with."

[Then he must be eliminated,] Viviviv said firmly. [Our strategists are not set up to anticipate and counter human tactics and thinking.]

"I understand," Lepkowski said, pulling the card from the reader and handing it back to the Chryselli. "I'll head back immediately and contact Comsquare Lathe."

[And he will eliminate this threat?]

"Absolutely," Lepkowski assured him. "You can count on it."

* * *

They had laid him in the drainage ditch by the side of the road, Galway discovered as his brain finally dragged its way out of the long, turbulent blackness. Laid him, not dropped him, for which he supposed he should be grateful.

But he wasn't. Not particularly. His head ached like hell, his muscles were trembling with the aftermath of their attack, and his neck was threatening to go into a painful cramp from the position his head had ended up in.

But overriding it all was the echo of Lathe's last words to him. With a breathtaking suddenness, the plan had changed.

It would take time to sort through it all. But right now, he had only one urgent job: to sound the alarm before the blackcollars reached the government center.

With a supreme effort, he dragged himself to his feet. To his mild surprise, the movement actually eased the pain and discomfort in both head and his muscles. He tried waving his arms around a little, which helped even more.

The driver and guard were still unconscious, laid out on the ground as neatly as the blackcollars had left Galway himself. Both men's weapons were missing, of course, as was Galway's own paral-dart pistol. More to the immediate point, so were their comms.

Which left Galway with only one option. The strongpoint, he guessed, was no more than a kilometer away. Taking a few deep breaths to clear his lungs, he headed back along the road at the fastest jog he could manage.

* * *

"There it is," Lathe said, pointing ahead. "You see that gold crown sort of thing sticking up above the wall?"

"You mean inside the wall?" Spadafora asked, leaning over the seat between Lathe and Mordecai for a better look.

"It's not actually inside," Lathe told him. "The special-access gates are in deep indentations, set far enough back from the street that a passing government car won't accidentally trigger them when no one actually wants to go in."

"Pretty stupid design, if you ask me," Mordecai commented.

Lathe shrugged. "Shaw tells me there were a lot of riots here in the early years of the occupation. The top officials didn't want to leave their cars open to potshots from the mobs when they had to stop at guard stations for ID checks. By the time things settled down and Security got order restored, they'd gotten used to the convenience."

They drove past the gate. "Okay, yeah, I see how it works," Spadafora said as Lathe continued down the street and turned at the next corner. "Shouldn't be a problem. You want me any place in particular?"

"No, your choice," Lathe told him. "Just be ready to jump in any direction if the reaction is hotter than expected."

"Got it," the other said as Lathe turned again onto the next street, heading them back toward the gate one block away from the wall. "Anywhere here is good."

Lathe rolled the car to a halt by the walkway, and Spadafora hopped out into the deserted street. "I hope you realize how conspicuous we are," Mordecai warned as Lathe pulled away again. "I don't think we've seen ten other cars since we left the mountains."

"You don't always get to control the timing," Lathe reminded him. They continued down the street, catching another glimpse of the gate as they passed the cross street that led directly toward it. "What do you think? One block or two?"

"You think the steering can handle two?"

Lathe wiggled the wheel experimentally. "Seems pretty tight," he said. "Especially since, as you say, there's hardly any other traffic, which means we can run it straight down the middle of the street where it'll have the most wiggle room."

Mordecai nodded. "Let's make it two, then."

A few minutes and three turns later Lathe once again stopped the car, this time in the middle of the cross street with the car pointed toward the special-access gate two blocks away. Mordecai was ready with the tie rope, and together they got the steering wheel anchored securely in place. "How fast do we want?" Mordecai asked as he produced a pair of shuriken from his weapons pouch.

"Not very," Lathe said, pulling on his battle-hood and gloves. "They normally don't head in any faster than about thirty klicks per hour. We should probably run it a little slower than that."

"Okay." Crouching on the pavement beside the open driver's door, Mordecai pressed down experimentally on the accelerator with his hand, bringing the tachometer to the right spot and wedging one of the shuriken into the floor beneath the pedal. "Ready."

Lathe moved to the side and got a hand on the open door. "Go."

In a single smooth motion Mordecai shifted the car into gear, pressed the accelerator down against the shuriken he'd just placed, and then jabbed the other throwing star above it into the side of the center console, wedging the pedal firmly in place between them. The car leaped forward, and he just missed getting his arm slammed in the door as Lathe swung it closed. Rolling along at perhaps ten kilometers per hour, the car trundled its way down the street, heading straight for the gate. "And away we go," Lathe murmured, pulling out a pair of shuriken of his own.

Keeping to the shadows, the two blackcollars set off after the vehicle, setting their pace so that the car pulled slowly but steadily ahead. The car crossed the first street without incident ... crossed the second street, the one paralleling the wall, again without running afoul of other traffic ... headed into the indentation on its final approach to the gate, which according to Shaw's information should even now be opening.

Only it wasn't.

"Uh-oh," Lathe muttered, holding out a warning hand to Mordecai as he slowed to a walk.

The words were barely out of his mouth when, with a muffled crunching of metal and plastic, the car rolled almost leisurely into the closed gate. An instant later all four of the open windows exploded with thick black smoke from the bomb they'd set in the backseat.

"Looks like Galway recovered fast enough to make it back to the strongpoint," Lathe commented.

"Or else they normally shut down the transponder system at night," Mordecai said. "How much effort do you want to put into this?"

"Not that much," Lathe assured him, reaching to his tingler. Spadafora: withdraw to Point Two. "All I care about is that they now have some evidence that we're more interested in the government center than we are in getting into Khorstron. That should help keep Haberdae's own people battening down the hatches here instead of getting in our way."

The wall's outer lights were starting to come on as the two blackcollars ran lightly down the street away from the still-smoking car. Spadafora was waiting at the agreed-upon rendezvous point, with a car already hot-wired and ready. "That has to be the shortest mission on record," he commented as he pulled away from the curb. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, let's," Lathe said, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes. "It's been a very long day."

* * *

To Galway's mild surprise, Haberdae himself showed up at the strongpoint to pick him up. Or at least, he was surprised until he saw who the van's other passenger was.

"Dae the 'lackcollars now know e'erything?" Taakh demanded harshly as he strode through the door, the Security men who had gathered in the entryway room backing up hastily at his approach. He came to a halt a meter away from where Galway was sitting, glaring down at him.

"No, Your Eminence, they don't," Galway assured him. "They never got into the strongpoint, and they never asked either my escort or me what we were doing up here."

A little of the stiffness went out of Taakh's posture. "Yae are certain?"

"Absolutely," Galway said. "My driver can corroborate that."

"We were lucky," Haberdae murmured.

"I suppose you could say that," Galway agreed, a touch of cynicism coloring the pain in his still-throbbing head and stomach. Of course Haberdae had volunteered to accompany Taakh out here—it was another opportunity to subtly remind the Ryq how much more capable and competent he was than the backwoods Plinry prefect who'd been foisted on him and had then been careless enough to let himself get ambushed by their enemies.

Only in this case, though Haberdae didn't know it, his self-preening tactic was about to blow up in his face.

And in fact, Taakh's very next question was the one Galway had known he would eventually ask. "Hor did yae allor they tae 'ollow yae here?" the Ryq asked, his eyes boring into Galway's.

"They didn't follow me, Your Eminence," Galway said calmly. "The guards have examined the sensor posts guarding the driveway, and they've found the same radioactive damage that's been inflicted on the Khorstron fence post. Spadafora has to have been here for at least the last day and a half."

"S'ada'ora?" Taakh repeated. "Yae said S'ada'ora ras at Khorstron."

"Apparently, we were mistaken," Galway said, forcing himself not to flinch beneath the Ryq's glare. "It must be one or more of Shaw's men there instead."

For a few seconds Taakh glared down at Galway in silence, apparently still working it through. "All others," he said at last. "Lea'e us."

The other Security men didn't need to be told twice. They filed out quickly and silently, clearly relieved at the chance to escape the explosive atmosphere. A minute later Taakh, Haberdae, and Galway were alone. "I' S'ada'ora ras here that long, he nust ha' 'ound it sone other ray," the Ryq continued, his gaze still on Galway. "Ex'lain."

"I don't know for certain," Galway said carefully. "But what Lathe told me was that they followed Prefect Haberdae up here two nights ago after our effort to capture Tactor Shaw."

Slowly, deliberately, Taakh turned to Haberdae. "Yae cane here?" he asked softly.

Haberdae's face had gone the color of sealant putty. "Yes, Your Eminence," he managed, his tongue stumbling over the words. "I ... wanted to talk to Caine. I thought he might know some tricks—when a blackcollar goes to ground, I thought he might know—"

"Yae cane here?" Taakh repeated. His hand was resting on his holstered laser, the large fingers curled around the weapon's grip.

"They couldn't have followed me, Your Eminence," Haberdae insisted, his voice shaking, his eyes trying valiantly to tear themselves away from the holstered laser. "It's impossible. I know how to watch for—"

"'Re'ect Galray ordered that no run ras tae cone here," Taakh cut him off. "Did yae not know that?"

Haberdae took a deep breath. "Yes, Your Eminence, I did," he said. His voice had gone calm, the voice of someone whose fate was no longer even marginally in his own hands. "I have no excuse."

For a long moment Taakh stood facing him in silence, his hand still gripping his laser. Galway watched, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe.

And then, slowly and deliberately, Taakh took his hand off his weapon. "Yaer heart is in ny hand, 'Re'ect Ha'erdae," he said, stretching out his hand with the open palm upward. "Yaer li'e 'elongs tae ne."

Haberdae shivered. "I understand, Your Eminence," he managed.

A sympathetic shiver ran up Galway's back. Taakh had just passed a summary judgment of death for Haberdae's actions.

And though the judgment had been temporarily suspended, the prefect was living on borrowed time. From this point on, at any time, at any place, and for any infraction, real or imagined, Taakh could choose to reinstate that death sentence.

When he did, Haberdae would probably never even see it coming.

Taakh looked back at Galway. "Yae are rell?" he asked.

"I'm well enough, Your Eminence," Galway said, bracing himself. With Taakh in this mood, this might be exactly the wrong time to broach this particular subject. But on the other hand, with the Ryq's thoughts focused on Haberdae's failures—and with Galway looking that much better by comparison, especially after managing to get back to the strongpoint in time to warn about Lathe's threatened incursion into the government center—it might be precisely the right time. Either way, it was a risk he had to take. "Certainly well enough to be in Khorstron tomorrow for the blackcollars' attack."

For possibly the first time since they'd met, the khassq seemed genuinely surprised. "Khorstron? There is no reason yae need tae 'e there."

"There is every reason, Your Eminence," Galway said firmly. "Only inside Khorstron will I have all the internal sensors and recording equipment I need to follow the blackcollars' attack from start to finish."

"Re already ha' the s'y's re'orts on the 'lan."

"Which we know are incomplete," Galway reminded him. "This evening's split exercises alone prove there are more aspects to the plan than Judas knows. Besides which, all battle plans invariably undergo changes once they're launched. We need on-spot coverage to see how they deal with the unknown and the unexpected."

Taakh looked at Haberdae, back at Galway. "Hunans are not allored into Ryqril tactical centers."

"If I can't be there, we risk this whole thing being for nothing," Galway warned.

"He's right, Your Eminence," Haberdae said, coming unexpectedly to Galway's support. "If we lose even the smallest details of their attack, the Ryqril warriors who ultimately try to use their plan to storm the Daeliak-naa fortress may very well fail." He sent a hooded look at Galway. "After all the effort and lives this operation has cost, I know we would all hate to see it fail."

"Surely a khassq warrior has the authority to change or modify general orders such as this when circumstances require," Galway added, gesturing at Taakh's baldric.

"O' course I dae," Taakh said, as if that were a given. "I rill consider yaer rekest. 'Ut now it is late. Re rill return tae the city."

Galway dozed off in the van as they drove, not waking until they'd reached his building. He said his good nights to the others and trudged wearily to the elevator and from there to his apartment. His whole body felt like he'd been dropped into a fodder-baling machine, and all he wanted to do was fall onto his bed and go to sleep.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

Stepping into the apartment's compact office, he lowered himself into the desk chair and turned on the computer, digging the magnecoded card from his jacket pocket and sliding it into the reader. If all went according to plan, tomorrow would be the final climactic culmination of everything he'd prepared for and worked for and hoped for for so long.

When it came, he intended to be ready.

Propping his chin on his hands on the edge of the desk, fighting against the fatigue tugging at him, he began to read.

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