Timothy Zahn - Blackcollar - The Judas Solution

Abruptly, his face hardened. "Did you really think this was your ticket to fame and fortune?" he bit out.

"Hitching your future to a group of blackcollars?"

Galway's throat felt suddenly tight. "Prefect, what did you do?" he asked carefully.

"You're a very little man, Galway, from a very little world," Haberdae went on, ignoring the question.

"How you sold the Ryqril on this piece of froth I'll never know. But the only thing it's going to get you is a one-way ticket back to your private dirtball."

"What did you do?" Galway demanded.

"I activated the autotarget defense lasers in the corridor out there," Haberdae said, waving behind him.

"Your buddy Lathe gets five meters from that door and he's a cinder. Oh, put that down—we both know you can't use it on me."

Galway hadn't even realized he'd lifted Taakh's laser into firing position. "Taakh agreed to let them get to the core," he said, lowering the laser.

"And now he's changed his mind," Haberdae said. "He's a khassq, remember? He has the authority to change or modify general orders when circumstances require."

Galway felt his stomach tighten. "So that's why you supported me last night when I asked Taakh to let me be here today."

Haberdae shrugged. "I thought that in the heat of combat it might be easier to get him to see things my way."

"Your way being a little private vengeance?"

"Private?" Haberdae shook his head. "Hardly. These blackcollars aren't some advanced weapons system for us to use, something you can simply point and shoot. They're unpredictable, they're damned dangerous, and the sooner they're eliminated the better it'll be for the Ryqril and everyone else in the universe."

"They're a valuable resource," Galway insisted. "Haven't you been paying attention? I've proved I can maneuver Lathe into doing a job without him ever knowing he's actually working for the Ryqril. If you and Taakh get him killed, any chance of doing that again will be gone."

"There are other blackcollars around the TDE," Haberdae said. "I'm sure the high command can find someone else for you to play your mind games with if they really want to continue this insanity."

"But Lathe's the best."

Haberdae's face settled into a mask. "He made me look bad, Galway," he ground out. "In front of my men, and in front of the Ryqril. No one does that and gets away with it. No one."

"Prefect—"

"And don't even think about going near that control," Haberdae added. "I have direct orders from the ranking Ryq warrior on the scene. I can flatten you if you try to go against me."

Stepping to the monitor board, he snagged a spare chair and pulled it to a spot behind the row of techs.

"Relax, Galway—your blackcollars are coming." He smiled tightly. "Let's enjoy the show."

The passage through the tunnel had been tricky enough when Foxleigh's hands had been available to help protect him from the multitude of protrusions that reached out toward head and feet and hips. This time, with his hands tied together, was far worse. He'd made it only halfway through, and had already given up trying to count the bruises he'd collected, when he heard the sounds of footsteps ahead.

He froze, holding his breath as he listened. It was footsteps, all right. At least a half-dozen sets of them, possibly more.

His first, hopeful thought was that Flynn had returned with the rest of the blackcollars. Surely between Flynn and Skyler he would find someone who would be willing to help plead his case to Jensen.

But the whisper of hope was barely formed before it evaporated in the cold light of reality. He'd traveled this tunnel with Jensen, and he knew how the other moved. There was no way a group of blackcollars would make the kind of noise he was hearing.

And if it wasn't the blackcollars, there was only one other possibility.

He collected another set of bruises as he retraced his steps back toward the base. But this time he hardly noticed, his full attention focused on making the trip with as much speed and stealth as he could manage.

Finally, after a short eternity, he arrived and set off across the storage room as fast as his leg would let him. Hopefully, Jensen had gone back to the Talus. If he hadn't, if he was somewhere else in the base, Foxleigh could search for hours without finding him.

And neither he nor Jensen had nearly that much time to work with. Clenching his teeth, pushing his leg as hard as he could, he reached the corridor and turned toward the elevator.

And gasped as something whipped across his vision to settle firmly against his throat. "It's me—it's me," he gasped.

"Yes, I see it's you," Jensen growled into his ear, the pressure of the nunchaku sticks against his throat not letting up even a little. "You have got to be the noisiest infiltrator—"

"They're coming," Foxleigh cut him off. "Footsteps in the tunnel. Lots of them."

The nunchaku sticks stayed against his throat, but the pressure eased slightly. "It's probably Flynn and Skyler," Jensen said.

"No." Foxleigh tried to shake his head, discovered he couldn't. "They're way too loud to be blackcollars."

Jensen hissed, an coldly ominous sound. "So Security's found the back door. Too bad."

"It sounded like a lot of them," Foxleigh said. "Let me help you."

"Thanks, but I can handle it myself."

"Your ribs are going to limit what you can do," Foxleigh persisted. "Besides, I learned enough tactics to know that a situation like this requires a double-flank trap. I can be the other flank."

"No."

"I have to help you," Foxleigh begged. "Please."

For a long moment Jensen remained silent. "You lied to me earlier," he said at last. "Tell me what you lied about."

Foxleigh closed his eyes, tears of ancient shame welling up behind his eyelids. So here it was at last. "I told you I was shot down in the final battle," he said, the words feeling like hot embers in his mouth. "I wasn't. I was driving back to the base when the Ryqril attacked."

"You were AWOL?"

"Not on purpose," Foxleigh said, wincing at the pleading defensiveness in his voice. "There was a girl I knew in Central City, and—I didn't expect the Ryqril to attack so soon. I swear."

Jensen sighed. "Yeah, that happened a lot in that war," he conceded. "What happened then?"

"What happened is that I never made it," Foxleigh said bitterly. "I saw them coming in and pushed my speed and took a curve too fast. I tried to keep going on foot, but I'd wrecked my leg the same time I wrecked the car. After that ... well, the rest of it goes pretty much the way I told you."

"Except for why you stayed in Shelter Valley," Jensen said. "You didn't just get used to it, did you? You were hoping for another crack at the Ryqril."

Foxleigh snorted. "Fine—so it's been an obsession. Haven't you ever obsessed over something?"

"No," Jensen said flatly. He hesitated. "Nothing that interfered with my duty, anyway."

"Your duty?" Foxleigh countered. "This is my duty, Commando. This is—" He broke off, blinking back another pair of tears. "That Talus we prepped, the one named Gotterdammerung?" he said quietly.

"That's my fighter, Jensen. The one I should have been flying in that battle. The one I should have died in."

For a minute Jensen didn't reply. Foxleigh waited, his mind wrapped in a strange sense of peace, as if thirty years of accumulated dread and anticipation and forlorn hope had been flushed away in the catharsis of his long overdue confession. Whatever happened now, it would simply happen.

And then, as the internal pressure of his emotional turmoil faded, so did the external pressure against his throat. "We'll take them in the storage room," Jensen said, stepping out from behind him. A knife flashed, and with a quick slash Foxleigh's hands were free. "I trust you remember how to use this?" he added as he handed Foxleigh the pistol he'd taken from him.