Galway leaned back against the seat cushions, wondering if he should head back to the Security building and finish going over the reports on the blackcollars' evening exercises. But there was still another hour of travel time to go, and the fatigue of the day was pulling hard at him. The exercises had run pretty late, which implied that Lathe and Shaw would probably be waiting until late afternoon at the earliest to begin their attack on Khorstron.
And then, without warning, the car made a sort of strangled gasp and died.
"What is it?" Galway asked.
"I don't know, sir," the driver said, frowning at his gauges as he coasted to a stop at the side of the road.
"Sounds like we've lost the fuel feed."
"Wonderful," Galway muttered. Car trouble in the middle of nowhere would be the perfect cap to an already delightful evening. "Can you do anything?"
"Let me see," the driver said, popping the hood and opening his door. "If we're lucky, it'll be something simple."
"If not, we can always radio for someone to come get us," the guard added.
"Let me take a look first," the driver said, getting out and circling his open door to the front of the car.
He pulled the hood all the way open and leaned down, poking and prodding with his fingers into the engine compartment.
"He is actually pretty good at this, sir," the guard assured Galway. Beside him, his door opened.
And a black-clad hand jabbed abruptly into view, slamming into the guard's neck behind his right ear.
It was so unexpected that for that first frozen second Galway just stared in disbelief as the guard slumped unconscious in his seat. Then with a rush of adrenaline, his brain caught up with him and he grabbed for his seat belt with one hand as he scrambled for his paral-dart gun with the other.
But he was too late. Before his hand could close on the gun's grip his own door was wrenched open.
Another gloved hand popped his belt and grabbed the front of his jacket, and a second later he found himself being hauled bodily from the car.
And as his feet found balance on the rough pavement he found himself standing face to face with Lathe.
"Hello, Comsquare," he managed, fighting to maintain some semblance of dignity amid the disaster crumbling down on top of him. "Very good indeed."
"Like there was any trick to it," another blackcollar sniffed as he came up beside Lathe, the driver's arm held casually in a lock grip. Spadafora, Galway tentatively identified him in the starlight. "Your friend Haberdae wasn't paying enough attention to his backtrail when he came barreling up here two days ago."
Galway grimaced. He should have guessed that the blackcollars hadn't simply fled from that failed trap.
And if they also knew why Haberdae had come, then the game was over, pure and simple.
So this was what it was like, a detached part of his mind whispered, to stare death in the face. "So what now?" he asked.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to walk the rest of the way," Lathe said. "Well, you'll eventually have to walk, anyway." He gestured behind Galway. "We need the loan of your car."
Galway blinked. Caine was locked in a poorly defended strongpoint a kilometer behind them, and all they wanted was— "My car?"
"Don't bother," Lathe advised. "We know all about those handy little transponders that open special gates in the wall."
Galway felt his mouth drop open a few millimeters. Was that what all this was about? "You came all the way up here for that?"
"Had to," Spadafora said. "Haberdae's people usually don't let these things out at night except in convoys of three or more. That would have been a little too obvious even for him."
"Unfortunately, we weren't in position to take advantage of Haberdae's visit," Lathe added. "But we thought there was a fair chance he'd be back up here someday." He smiled. "It was just luck that we got you instead."
Galway took a deep breath, the smell of death fading away. So all they wanted was the car. They had no idea that Caine was locked up in the strongpoint, or that they had a traitor in their midst. All they wanted was the car.
"Sir, we can't let them do this," the driver murmured urgently.
"Frankly, I don't see any way to stop them," Galway said, not really interested in arguing the point. The sooner Lathe took off with his prize, the less time he'd have to wonder what was in that blacked-out strongpoint and maybe decide to go check it out. "But it won't do you any good," he added to Lathe, knowing he ought to make at least a token protest. "The garages those gates will let you into are just as secure as the wall itself."
"Oh, I doubt that," Lathe said. "With all the security focus on that new tac center, I'm guessing there are some nice juicy secrets hidden in the government offices that are just ripe for the taking."
Galway felt his stomach tighten. If Lathe was abandoning the whole Khorstron operation, then he was suddenly back to staring death in the face. "What sort of secrets?" he asked carefully.
"We'll find that out soon enough," Lathe said. "I'd love to stay and chat, but the night's getting old and we have things to do." He lifted his eyebrows at Spadafora.
Galway barely saw the other blackcollar move, but suddenly the driver was sagging unconscious in his arms. "I suppose you're going to do that to me, too?" he said, trying not to think about it.
"Sorry," Lathe said as Spadafora dragged the driver off into the trees lining the road. "For whatever it's worth, it'll only hurt a minute."
Galway braced himself. All that mattered, he reminded himself firmly, was the plan. "Fine," he said.
"I'm ready."
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."