Timothy Zahn - Blackcollar - The Blackcollar

Lathe glanced at Mordecai, lounging near the door, got a confirming nod. "What're they talking about?"

"I can't get much of what she's saying, but lip-reading Caine's responses, I gather it's an intelligence report of some kind."

Lathe grunted. "Well, she'll have to leave—we haven't got time for Caine to play general." He raised his hand slightly, trying to catch Caine's eye; but even as he did so the two of them got to their feet and started for the door. Lianna nodded at the comsquare as they passed; Caine's expression was several degrees cooler. Mordecai let her out, and as he closed the door behind her Caine turned toward Lathe.

The comsquare got in the first question. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"I asked her to quietly get some information from Cameron and Salli Quinlan for me."

Lathe nodded. "And?"

"Up until three hours ago Brocken 'port was swarming with Security men who were setting up a defense perimeter outside the main fence. Salli's observers say they then just pulled up and left. Scattered reports from other 'ports show the same pattern. One other curious thing: since about noon spotters have seen an unusually high number of Corsairs lifting off, and no one has reported seeing them land."

"Insurance," Hawking murmured from behind Lathe. "The Ryqril are probably scattering them around the Diamond in hopes that one or two might wind up closer to the Novas than the ones that'll be following us from Argent."

"Seems reasonable," Lathe agreed.

"Yes," Caine nodded. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that Security should suddenly offer us an engraved invitation into Brocken?"

"A fair question. Doesn't it strike you as odd that they feel the need to send Corsairs to wait for us?"

"Like Hawking said, it's insurance."

"Insurance against Jensen's magic touch with Nova weaponry, perhaps?"

Judging from his expression, it took Caine another couple of heartbeats to catch on. "Are you suggesting there's still a spy in that group?" he asked disbelievingly. "Isn't that a little heavy on the overkill, even for someone like Apostoleris?"

Lathe shrugged. "I may be wrong."

"I hope to hell you are—because if you're not, that particular lie just forced Security to weave their noose a little tighter. You were lying about Jensen, weren't you?"

"Calm down. It got Tremayne to go along with us, didn't it?"

"Splendid—we can all walk into Security's arms together." Caine paused, his eyes boring into Lathe's. "Lathe, you're going to need one hell of a good trick handy to pull this off."

"I know. I may have one; we'll just have to wait to see if it works."

"Tell me about it."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"It involves Dodds, doesn't it?" Caine persisted. "Has he armed his Corsair with heavy weapons from a secret cache or something?"

Lathe shook his head. "I'm sorry. You're just going to have to trust me a little longer."

Caine stared at him, lips tightly compressed. "You've been saying that for a long time now," he said at last. "But I have responsibility for this mission, too, and my patience only stretches so far. If you want my trust you have to give me yours."

"I've risked all of our lives in coming here," Lathe said quietly. "We lost a lot of good men on Plinry, we lost Novak here, and depending on how realistic the collies want to make their defense look, we may lose more tonight. How much more do you want?"

"I've told you—I want to know what happens when we find the Novas."

The room was very still. Lathe could feel the close attention Hawking and Mordecai were paying to the conversation, and he knew they too were wondering what he was planning. "I'm sorry," he repeated, putting a note of finality into his voice. "Now come over here," he added, turning toward the table where Hawking still sat. "We haven't got much time, and we've got a lot of planning yet to do."

"Yes. We certainly do," Caine said softly.

For a moment Lathe wondered about the disgruntlement in the younger man's voice, but he quickly dismissed it. They were heading toward the final hurdle, and there wasn't going to be time for anyone to sulk in his tent.

Whatever hurt feelings Caine had, he'd get over them soon enough.

Though his practical experience was negligible, Caine's theoretical knowledge of warfare was fairly extensive; moreover, from his vantage point on top of one of the transport trucks parked several kilometers away from Brocken he had a grandstand view of the proceedings. Everything he saw pointed to an inescapable conclusion.

The assault was going ridiculously well.

Stretched flat on his belly, Caine lowered his binoculars and hiked his goggles up high enough over his battle hood to rub his eyes, itchy from the salt of perspiration. Both prongs of Lathe's attack were sweeping virtually unchallenged across the brightly lit 'port field, encountering only sporadic Ryqril resistance. Clearly, Lathe had been right: the aliens wanted them to get off-planet and had cut back their defense lest they discourage the attackers into retreat.

Caine swallowed, and suddenly became very conscious of the laser pistol strapped to his thigh. There could be no further doubt that there was still a spy among them... and the thought of what he would soon have to do made his throat ache with tension. "Caine!" came a whisper from below. Sliding a meter forward, Caine peered over the edge of the roof. In the dim light a dozen dark figures could just barely be seen moving among the five trucks; directly beneath Caine's position another was looking upward. "Yes?" Caine whispered back. "Time to go," Mordecai's voice answered. Gripping the edge, Caine slid his legs over the side, and half a minute later was jammed between Mordecai and Skyler in a commuter-crush of Star Force vets inside the truck. "How's it look?" Skyler asked softly.

"We're creaming them," Caine said. A moment later the truck's doors were closed, and there was a jerk that sent a ripple of motion through the packed crowd as the truck began to roll.

The ride wasn't a long one, and though Caine strained his ears he heard little of interest. Once, far ahead, he heard a faint explosion that probably signaled the opening of the 'port's main gate; minutes later a flatter, gentler crack came. A sharp turn, a few minutes of highspeed driving, and the truck squealed to a halt. Even before the men inside had recovered their balance the doors were flung open and voices were yelling for them to get moving. Caine was near the back; hopping to the ground, he looked around.

They were at the civilian end of the 'port, nestled protectively between two mammoth freighters. Four of their five trucks had already pulled to a halt, their passengers pouring out of the doors and scrambling to the dimly lit loading hatches in the ships. Laser-armed Radix people stood nearby, acting as both guards and traffic directors. Farther away, at either end of the corridor between the ships, more figures could be seen guarding the approaches. Beyond them the landscape seemed to twist and writhe with a surprisingly strong flickering light from the direction of the 'port's buildings. "What's on fire?" he asked Mordecai as the other gestured him toward the nearer ship.

"Nothing important," Skyler said, coming up stiffly on Caine's other side. "Our first truck was loaded with flammable liquid and rigged to spray the stuff to the front and rear. Spadafora parked it between us and the tower and set it off. It puts up a wall of flame about fifty meters long and maybe ten high at the peak. Discourages enemy movement, besides scrambling infrareds."

"Is Spadafora okay?"

"Oh, sure. Tardy's a born pyromaniac—he's set more firescreens than the rest of us put together. He just hitched a ride with the next truck through. Consider it insurance against the Ryqril changing their minds."