The Judas Solution

CHAPTER 19

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.

"Oh, yes," Foxleigh said softly as the familiar weight of his issue sidearm settled into his hand. At least once a day for the first five years of his self-imposed exile, he'd cleaned the gun, loaded it, and held the muzzle to his own head as he decided whether or not to pass judgment upon himself for his failures.

Now, after thirty years, he would finally have the chance to give his life for something more useful and fitting than simple punishment. "I remember very well."

There were more Ryqril waiting at the west door than Judas had expected. But their numbers actually ended up working against them, denying them the maneuverability that might otherwise have made the battle more even.

As it was, the fight was over very quickly. Taking on their enemies' lasers and short swords with nothing but hands, feet, shuriken, and nunchaku, Lathe and the others waded systematically through the crowd until every one of the Ryqril were incapacitated, unconscious, or dead.

"Everyone all right?" Lathe asked as he crouched over one of the bodies. "Caine?"

"I'm fine," Judas assured him, looking around the room with the sense of unreality he always seemed to experience when watching blackcollars in action.

"Nothing here," Spadafora said. He was crouched over another of the bodies, his hands darting deftly through the various pockets and pouches in his baldric and pants.

"Or here," Lathe agreed, standing back up. "That could be good or bad."

"What are you looking for?" Judas asked.

"Immunity transponder," Spadafora explained, crossing to where Mordecai was peering out the halfopen door leading into the inner corridor. "Something to shut down those autotarget lasers Shaw warned they probably have installed around the core." He nodded toward the bodies. "Only none of our friends here seems to be carrying one."

"Which either means they've shut down the interior defenses, or that this particular crowd was considered expendable," Lathe said.

"Or else that none of these particular warriors were authorized to leave this area," Judas pointed out, some of the tension between his shoulders easing. This one, at least, he knew the answer to—Galway had told him they would be leaving the lasers off.

"Maybe," Lathe said, picking up two of the short swords that lay scattered across the floor and sliding them into his belt at the small of his back where they'd be out of the way. "Let's find out. Mordecai, take point."

Mordecai nodded and opened the door the rest of the way.

And dropped into a crouch as a laser bolt sizzled past where his head had just been. Judas caught a glimpse of a Ryq crouched in partial concealment around the corner of the next cross corridor, dropping the muzzle of his laser as he tried to line up his second shot.

The shot never came. Mordecai's shuriken flashed across the distance and the Ryq toppled over, the throwing star buried in his forehead. Another alien started to lean out, ducked quickly back as Spadafora sent a primer cap past the corner to explode against the cross corridor's far wall.

And as he fired off a second cap to the other side of the intersection, Mordecai and Lathe were on the move, running silently toward the concealed defenders. They reached the intersection simultaneously, one turning to each side of the cross corridor and charging in among the hidden aliens. There was a single surprised squawk from someone; and then Lathe flashed a hand signal, and Judas and Spadafora ran up to join them.

By the time they arrived it was over. Five armed Ryqril lay scattered on the floor on Lathe's side, while six bodies decorated Mordecai's. The rest of the cross corridor, on both sides, was deserted. "One down, four to go," Lathe said, peering at the four cross corridors cutting across their path ahead. "Spadafora, watch the backtrail; Caine, stay close to him."

Shifting his nunchaku to his left hand and pulling out a fresh pair of shuriken with his right, he started forward.

There were nine of them in all: six heavily armed Security types followed by three lightly armed men carrying tech-type equipment boxes. All were young, all were clearly nervous, and as they filed one by one through the scorched entrance they formed themselves into a parade-ground-perfect semicircle perimeter until the three techs had negotiated the last part of the passage and joined them.

The whole spectacle was so training-school fresh that it made Foxleigh wince. Clearly, these were brandnew recruits to the Ryqril cause, chosen for their courage and stamina.

And, no doubt, their expendability.

He grimaced, fingering his pistol as the group reformed itself into a standard boxed-centipede formation and started moving toward the door. He couldn't afford to think of them as people, he reminded himself firmly. They were the enemy, their presence an obstacle to his own redemption.

Lifting his gun, bracing his wrist on the edge of the box he was hiding behind, he lined up the muzzle on the lead Security man and squeezed the trigger.

His aim was every bit as good as he'd promised Jensen it would be. The leader toppled over, and the rest of the group behind him erupted in instant chaos. For a few precious seconds they looked around in panicked bewilderment, the echoes from walls and ceiling apparently having confused the direction the shot had come from. Foxleigh lined up his gun on the next man in line; and as he did so one of the armed men in back twitched violently and similarly collapsed to the floor. Foxleigh fired his second shot, and one more of the enemy was eliminated.

But this time one of the others had apparently spotted his muzzle flash. There was a hoarse shout over the echoes, a pointed finger—

And suddenly Foxleigh's hiding place was the center of a hailstorm of return fire.

He ducked back as a horizontal hail of paral-darts thudded into his box or burned past to clatter against the far wall. He stuck his hand around the side, exposing as little flesh as possible, and blindly fired two quick shots before yanking his hand back. As he did so, the soft chuff-chuff of paral-dart fire was joined by the sharper cracks as some of the Security men switched over to flechette guns. Foxleigh could hear tearing sounds as the tough plastic of his refuge began to disintegrate under the assault. He started to stick his hand out for another shot, jerked it back as a stray flechette sliced a thin line of pain across his wrist. The barrage seemed to waver....

And then, abruptly, all was silence.

Foxleigh waited another handful of seconds, then eased a cautious eye around the corner of his box.

They were all down. All of them. Two of the three techs were still twitching, clearly still alive. None of the others was moving at all. Gathering himself back to his feet, Foxleigh limped over for a closer look.

He and Jensen reached them at the same time, the blackcollar pressing a hand to his thincast above his injured ribs. "Thanks for your help," he said, his voice strained a little.

"You're welcome." Foxleigh looked around at the bodies, feeling more than a little sick. "I wish to God we hadn't had to do that."

Jensen sighed. "So do I," he said. "This war was never supposed to be against our own people. Damn the Ryqril to hell for doing this to them."

"And to us." Foxleigh took a deep breath. "Speaking of hell, it's time for us to deliver some." He looked up from the bodies and locked eyes with Jensen. "I presume we're not going to have any more nonsense about who's going to fly my plane?"

"No," Jensen said quietly. "Under the circumstances, I think you deserve a final crack."

"Thank you." Foxleigh hesitated, then turned his gun around and offered it to Jensen. "Here—I won't be needing this anymore. Tie up the survivors and meet me back at the Talus."

He started to turn away, but Jensen caught his arm. "I was willing to fly the fighter into that hell, you know," the blackcollar said quietly.

"I know," Foxleigh assured him. "And I'm sure the ghosts of your past appreciate the thought. But this is my world, and my duty."

"And you have your own ghosts to deal with?"

"Actually, I've been able to mostly put them to rest over the years," Foxleigh said, eyeing him. The man still wasn't completely convinced, he sensed. "You mentioned someone named Novak just before I pulled my gun on you. A friend of yours?"

"The best," Jensen said, a flicker of old pain crossing his face. "Two years ago, on Argent, he died in my place."

"I'm sorry," Foxleigh said. "But look at it this way. If I'd been in Gotterdammerung that day like I should have been, I'd probably have died very quickly, certainly without making any real difference. Was Novak a pilot?"

Jensen shook his head. "He couldn't have found the throttle with a map."

"So if he'd been here instead of you, he probably wouldn't have had any reason to want to get into Aegis," Foxleigh said. "And without someone to help me, I wouldn't have been able to get in. I trust you see where I'm with this."

Jensen rolled his eyes. "By surviving the way we did, we're now going to get a better shot at hurting the Ryqril than we would have had otherwise?"

"Basically," Foxleigh said. "Don't you love it when the universe gives you object lessons?"

"Not really," Jensen said candidly. "But I guess it's better than no lessons at all."

"Agreed," Foxleigh said. "So tie them up and let's get to it. We've got a final checklist to run. And odds are I'm going to need your help getting into the cockpit."

The last cross corridor had been cleared, with another half-dozen Ryqril bodies to add to the afternoon's toll, and Spadafora had spotted and driven back two attempted sorties from behind.

It had been a good assault, Lathe knew, as such things went. All four of them had collected a number of laser burns across their flexarmor, but so far none of the enemy had been lucky enough to get that crucial second shot that would burn all the way through to the fragile skin and bone and blood underneath.

Eventually, they would, he knew. Certainly for many of the blackcollars embroiled in the battle outside their skill and luck had already run out. The tingler messages flashing back and forth between Shaw's men was a bitter reminder of what it was costing to keep the bulk of Taakh's troops pinned down and out of the inside team's way.

It was up to Lathe to make sure those men hadn't given their lives for nothing.

"Is that it?" Spadafora asked, coming up behind him and pointing to the door directly ahead.

"Should be," Lathe agreed, reaching behind him and sliding one of the appropriated Ryqril short swords from his belt. "Let's see what's happening with those lasers." Holding the sword like a spear, he threw it toward the door.

And flinched back as the acrid green flash of a laser slashed out, slicing across the flying blade and sending a spray of liquid metal droplets in all directions. By the time the sword completed its arc, barely half of the hilt was left to bounce off the door.

"That answers that question," Spadafora said conversationally.

Lathe nodded grimly. "I guess it does."

From the other side of the monitor room door came a soft thunk. "What was that?" Haberdae demanded, half turning in his seat to look at the door.

"Something hit the door," Galway told him. "Something thrown, probably, that your defense lasers weren't able to completely disintegrate."

"Maybe it was a spare arm bone," Haberdae said with a sniff.

"I doubt it," Galway said. He drew a deep breath. "They didn't follow you to the strongpoint, you know."

Haberdae frowned. "What?"

"They didn't follow you to the strongpoint the night of the casino attack," Galway repeated. "They already knew that was where Caine was being held."

Haberdae's face was a surging sea of bewilderment. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

Lifting Taakh's laser, Galway shot him in the leg.

The bewilderment vanished into utter disbelief as Haberdae bellowed in pain. Ignoring him, Galway shifted his aim to the row of Ryqril techs, shooting his way systematically down the line of suddenly panicked aliens until all of them were dead. Then, stepping to the control board, he lifted the orange cover and turned off the defense lasers.

He'd just closed the cover again when a much louder thud came from the door. "Galway!" Haberdae hissed between clenched teeth, his hands gripping his injured thigh. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't you really mean how the hell am I doing it?" Galway countered.

Haberdae's eyes widened as the deeper question finally sank in—

And then the door slid open, and Lathe and the others strode into the room. "You made it," Galway greeted them soberly, gesturing toward Haberdae. "I've got mine."

"And we've got ours," Lathe said. Turning to a clearly stunned Judas, he took the spy's wrist and twisted it suddenly behind him.

"Lathe!" Judas yelped. "What are you—?"

"Clear me a chair," Lathe told Galway as he deftly snapped off Judas's belt, letting it and its attached weapons clatter to the floor.

Galway stepped over to the closest chair and pulled the dead Ryq out of it, swiveling it around to face the blackcollars as Lathe walked a still protesting Judas over and sat him down. Spadafora produced a pair of quick-ties, and a moment later the boy's wrists were fastened securely to the armrests. "There we go," Lathe said as he began removing Judas's other weapons from the various pouches on his flexarmor.

"Sorry about this—what's his name, Galway?"

"Karl Judas," Galway said, watching the blood drain from Judas's face.

"Judas?" Lathe echoed, looking at Judas with fresh interest. "You're joking."

"Not at all," Galway assured him. "Caine's Resistance friends have a very warped sense of humor."

"I think it's more irony than humor, actually," Spadafora put in as he similarly secured Haberdae's wrists.

"Whatever," Galway said. "For what it's worth, he didn't really want to do this. His whole town's essentially being held hostage for his good behavior."

"We'll have to bring that up with the command half-circle when we talk to them," Lathe said, stowing Judas's weapons in his own pouches. "They in the central core?"

"Either there or in the lounge just off the core," Galway said. "Watch yourselves—they probably have a full guard in there with them."

"Understood," Lathe said, collecting Judas's weapons belt from the floor and tossing it to Spadafora.

"You want one of us to stay here with you?"

Galway shook his head. "I can handle them."

"We'll be back soon," Lathe said, motioning the others to the door. Mordecai opened it and glanced out, and the three blackcollars disappeared outside.

"This is insane," Haberdae said mechanically, his eyes locked in disbelief on Galway. "Insane."

"Perhaps," Galway said, looking over at Judas. Some of the color had come back into the younger man's face, but he had much the same look as Haberdae. "It's called Whiplash, Judas," he said. "I don't know where it came from, but its sole function in life is to release people from Ryqril loyalty-conditioning."

Haberdae sucked in his breath. "That's impossible," he said.

"Impossible and insane both," Galway agreed. "But it works." He took a deep breath, let it go in a tired sigh. "It works."

Judas's tongue swiped at his lips. "How long?" he asked.

"Since I was turned?" Galway shook his head. "Actually, only since last night. Lathe ambushed me on the road, knocked out my guard and driver ..." He hefted the laser. "And gave me a whole new purpose in life."

"A purpose of—" Judas broke off, an odd look flashing briefly across his face. "A purpose of treason," he continued, a subtle new tone in his voice. "How can you do this to your people?"

"What my people need is freedom," Galway said, frowning. Something was wrong here. But what? He looked down at Judas's wrists, still fastened to the armrests, confirmed that Haberdae was also still restrained.

So where was Judas's sudden new courage coming from?

"And you think this will get it for them?" Judas demanded. "Well, you're wrong. All it'll do is get you killed and bring reprisals down on the whole TDE."

"Lathe has a plan," Galway said firmly, trying to conceal his own misgivings. He wasn't at all sure that this was going to work, that the Ryqril wouldn't react in exactly the way Judas was suggesting. But the plan was already in motion, and he could either help or watch it go down in flames.

If Lathe was wrong, God help them all.

Across the room, the door slid open. "That was fast," Galway commented, turning toward it.

But it wasn't Lathe.

It was Taakh.

For a suspended fraction of a second man and Ryq stared at each other in mutual disbelief. Then, Galway broke free of his paralysis and swung his laser around, trying desperately to get in the first shot.

But if khassq warriors weren't as fast as blackcollars, they were far faster than ordinary humans. Even as Galway tried to bring his weapon to bear Taakh snatched out his short sword, flipped it into a throwing grip, and hurled it across the room. The sword slammed crossways into the laser's trigger guard, slicing two of Galway's fingers and knocking the weapon out of his grip. It caromed off the monitor board and skittered away into the far corner of the room.

"I could ha' killed yae," Taakh said, his voice quietly dark, his eyes flicking once to the dead techs.

Galway clenched his hand over the blood welling from his fingers. "Why didn't you?" he heard himself ask.

"'Ecause I rould rather kill yae rith ny own hands," the Ryq said. Stepping away from the door, he started toward Galway. "'Re'are yaersel' 'or death."

The sky was beginning to darken over the mountains when, in the distance, Skyler heard a faint explosion.

He looked at the two Ryqril, standing over by the air vent with Poirot, Bailey, and the lieutenant. Both aliens had turned toward the southeast, their postures unnaturally stiff as they listened intently. There was a second explosion, and a third—

Abruptly Halaak snatched a small comm from his belt and snarled into it. Even as a fourth explosion echoed through the mountains the Corsair hovering overhead stirred and lifted into the sky, picking up speed as it headed toward the sound. Putting away the comm, Halaak turned and strode across the clearing toward the prisoners, his hand clenching the grip of his holstered laser. "This may be it," Skyler warned the others quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawking and O'Hara exchange glances. "We're ready," Hawking said.

Halaak came to a halt three meters from Skyler, his dark eyes glaring down at the blackcollar. "Who is in the nountain?" he demanded.

Skyler gazed up at him, a sudden whisper of hope floating through him. He'd been improvising on the mission plan ever since they'd arrived on Earth without ever really getting back onto Lathe's original track. Now, with Halaak demanding answers and Battle Architect Daasaa listening from across the clearing, maybe there was one last chance to do so. "There's no one else," he said mildly. "We're all here. You counted us yourself."

"A traitor 'ron Khoenix, then," Halaak persisted. "Who?"

Skyler shook his head. "There's no one in Aegis," he said. "No one but the nine men you just sent in."

"That's impossible," Poirot insisted, taking a step toward them. "They were fresh recruits who'd been in Athena since their loyalty-conditioning. You couldn't possibly have gotten to them with your damned Whiplash."

"No, we couldn't," Skyler agreed. "But then, we didn't have to."

Deliberately, Halaak drew his laser. "Traitor," he said, very softly. He lifted the weapon—

And turning, he pointed the weapon at Poirot and fired.

There was a brilliant green flash, and without even a gasp Poirot fell to the ground. "Traitor!" Halaak shouted again at the limp body. Shifting aim, he fired again, this time at the Security lieutenant standing beside Daasaa. "Traitor!" he said. He swung the weapon toward Colonel Bailey—

And in that instant, with the khassq's back to them and his weapon pointed the wrong way, the blackcollars moved.

Shoving off the ground and the tree trunk behind him, Skyler leaped to his feet. Flynn was right with him, bringing his shackled arms around as Skyler tossed his dragonhead ring into the boy's hand.

Halaak spun back around at the commotion, his weapon swinging around with him. But he was too late.

Dropping into a half crouch, Flynn twisted his torso and legs into the spinning kick that Skyler had seen him and Mordecai practicing for so many long hours back at the Hamner Lodge training center.

And as his leg and arms windmilled around toward the front, Flynn sent the ring spinning straight at Halaak.

The khassq, stepping casually back from a spinning kick he saw would be short, was caught completely off guard. Before he could do more than jerk in surprise, the ring's bat-wing crest buried itself in his throat.

The impact staggered him back, his reflexive shot going wild. He bellowed, a strange gurgling sound, as he tried to bring his laser back onto target.

But even as he lined up the weapon, O'Hara half leaped up into Hawking's cupped hands and was hurled into the tree branches above them, his weight pulling one of the branches straight down to slash down across Halaak's face.

The khassq bellowed again, swinging a hand up to push the branch aside, trying desperately to dodge out of its way to where he would be able to see again.

But once again, and for the last time in his life, he was a fraction of a second too late. Charging toward him at full speed, Skyler threw himself sideways at the Ryq's legs, catching him just below the knees and throwing his head and torso violently forward.

Just in time for Flynn's sideways door-clearer leap to catch him squarely in the face. There was a muffled snap of breaking spinal bone, and Halaak slammed onto the ground and lay still.

"Hold it!" Hawking snapped. "You hear me, Ryq? Stand down."

Skyler rolled out from beneath Halaak's legs and up into a crouch. Hawking had retrieved the khassq's laser, his manacled hands holding it pointed toward Daasaa and Bailey. O'Hara was kneeling in front of him, his shoulder providing a rest for the laser barrel, making it dead certain that the other wouldn't miss his shot.

And Daasaa clearly knew it. His own laser was half drawn, but still pointed at the ground, and he was making no attempt to draw it out any farther. "Rhy?" he shouted back.

"Because we don't particularly want to kill you," Skyler said. "On the contrary, we have a message we want you to deliver to the high command."

Daasaa looked at Bailey, then back at Hawking. Then, slowly, he lowered the laser the rest of the way into its holster and let his hand fall to his side. "I rill listen."

Skyler looked over at Hawking and O'Hara, caught the latter's eye and nodded toward Taakh. O'Hara nodded back in understanding. The khassq was almost certainly dead, but O'Hara would make sure.

"You okay?" Skyler asked, turning to Flynn.

The boy nodded, his eyes on Taakh. "It worked," he murmured. "It actually worked." He looked up at Skyler, the ghost of an uncertain smile touching his lips.

"It sure did," Skyler agreed.

And now this was it. His improvised tactics had gotten him here; but it was Lathe's message that would or would not carry the day. Taking a deep breath, he gestured Flynn toward Daasaa. "Come on," he said.

"Let's go end a war."

"You don't want to kill me," Galway said as Taakh took another step forward, a small part of his mind noting the insane irony of the words. Of course Taakh wanted to kill him.

And he would, too. Without a weapon, Galway had no chance in the universe of surviving a confrontation with a khassq-class warrior.

And then, from nowhere, came a small, desperate flicker of an idea. "Because if you do," he added,

"you'll never know what happened here."

"Yae are a traitor," Taakh said. "There is nothing else tae know."

"Don't you at least want to know Lathe's plan?" Galway persisted.

Almost reluctantly, Taakh slowed to a halt. "What ha' yae tae say?"

"Be careful, Your Eminence," Judas put in urgently. "He's stalling for time. The other blackcollars are here somewhere."

"I dae not 'ear the 'lackcollars," Taakh said contemptuously. "'Ery rell, traitor. S'eak."

Galway took a deep breath. He'd bought himself some time. Now all he had to do was figure out what to do with it. "We never fooled him," he told Taakh. "Not for a minute. He was on to our replacement of Caine from the very beginning."

"I knew it," Haberdae growled, glaring at Judas. "I knew he'd foul up somewhere."

"It wasn't anything Judas did," Galway told him. "Lathe's been expecting someone to try this trick ever since he found out that Caine was himself a clone. He followed the same logic we did—that the Resistance would have created more than just one—and knew we'd eventually track down one of the others and try a substitution."

"So he had some kind of private recognition signal set up," Judas murmured, wincing.

"Exactly," Galway said. "I don't know what it was. Not that it really matters."

"So Lathe knew o' the su'stitaetion," Taakh said.

"Yes," Galway said. "But he also knew we'd have to wait until the team reached Khala to make the switch. That's why he went to so much trouble to decoy us with those fake drop pods and sneak in another way. He needed a few minutes while they weren't under surveillance to call Shaw and arrange for someone to tail Caine once they made the switch."

"That tavern they first stopped at," Haberdae growled.

"Right," Galway said, nodding. "Shaw's people got there first and set up surveillance. When we took off with Caine, they just followed us up to the strongpoint." He looked at Judas. "And from that point on, everything that was said and done in your presence was designed to throw you—and us—off their real plan."

"All the backbiting between Lathe and Shaw," Judas murmured, his face looking suddenly old. "The changed plans, the fake hints—all of it."

"All of it," Galway said mechanically, his thoughts freezing. Judas—the blackcollars—

"Rhat then ras their 'lan?" Taakh demanded.

"Their plan was me," Galway said, turning back to the Ryq. "Everything they did from the moment they landed was aimed toward one of two goals: to get them into Khorstron, and to get me alone for a few minutes."

"Rich they did last night."

"Exactly," Galway said, taking a casual step toward Judas. "Caine was running on his own timetable, with orders to make some kind of escape attempt after a couple of days that would hopefully lure me out of Inkosi City and up into the mountains to check on him. They already had Spadafora in position to fry the entryway sensors so that they could get in and gimmick my car while I was inside."

"Yet yae are loyalty-conditioned," Taakh said.

"I was," Galway corrected. "I just learned last night that they have a drug called Whiplash that breaks loyalty-conditioning."

"That is not 'ossi'le," Taakh said flatly.

Galway spread his hands to the sides. "I'm proof that it works," he pointed out, taking another step to his side. One more step, and he would be beside Judas's chair.

"But why?" Judas asked, clearly still not understanding. "They were already running rings around us.

What did they need you for?"

"Many things," Galway told him. "Because they weren't running rings around us, not really. Not until this afternoon. If you think back, Your Eminence, I was the one who suggested that the bunker fire was probably a diversion. I also pointed out that one of the dummies had been tossed on top of the south tunnel and suggested Shaw's men might be trying for a breach there." He looked at Haberdae. "And of course, I'm the one who turned off the corridor lasers after Haberdae turned them on."

"Fine," Haberdae said. "So they get into Khorstron. So what? There's nothing useful in here for them to steal."

"It was never about stealing anything," Galway said, taking the step that put him at Judas's side.

"Khorstron was just a means to an end. The real point of the plan is much more subtle." He turned back to face Taakh, letting his hand drop casually to Judas's left wrist.

And as he did so, his fingertips pressed against the tingler beneath the other's flexarmor sleeve.

He didn't know blackcollar tingler code. But he didn't have to. Hopefully, a long, sustained signal would be properly interpreted as a cry for help. "You see, Your Eminence, what this little exercise has demonstrated is that your universe has abruptly changed," he told Taakh. "If we can penetrate right to the center of a Ryqril base—"

"Your Eminence!" Judas barked, his eyes suddenly wide. "He's signaling with my tingler!"

"Stand aray," Taakh snarled, taking a long step forward, his hand lifted to strike.

Galway dived to his left, trying to get out of the other's reach. But the khassq was too big and too fast.

His hand slapped across the side of Galway's head hard enough to spin him halfway around.

The prefect tumbled to the floor, a stab of pain knifing through his head and neck as he scrabbled back up into a sitting position. Shoving against the floor with his feet, his bloody hands raised in front of his face, he slithered backward, trying to get away from the killing blow that would certainly be coming next.

But the blow didn't come. His back bumped up against the wall, and still the blow didn't come.

Carefully, hesitantly, he lowered his hands.

Taakh wasn't looking at him. He was turned to face the door, his hands curled into claws at his sides.

And standing facing him just inside the doorway was Mordecai.

For a moment they just stood there, gazing silently across the gap between them, each warrior apparently sizing up the other. Then, abruptly, Taakh leaped sideways, grabbed Judas's chair, and heaved it and Judas straight at Mordecai.

The blackcollar was far too quick to be caught that easily. He sidestepped effortlessly, leaving Judas to continue on to crash with a yelp onto the floor beside the door.

But Taakh hadn't really cared whether Mordecai was caught by the chair or not. Even as the blackcollar dodged, the khassq dived across the room behind the rest of the chairs, his outstretched hands reaching for the laser he'd knocked earlier from Galway's grip.

But if Mordecai was too fast to be caught by a thrown chair, he was also too smart to be taken in by such an obvious diversion. Taakh was still two meters from the laser when a shuriken flashed across the room to bury itself into the weapon's side. There was a flicker of light and a brief cloud of sparks, and the weapon was dead.

Taakh scooped it up anyway, squeezed the trigger once to make sure, then spun and hurled it at Mordecai's head. Again Mordecai managed to evade the missile, but this time it cost him the accuracy of his next shuriken. The throwing star flashed past Taakh's head without connecting as the Ryq dodged out of the way and again threw himself across the room, this time aiming for his short sword. Another shuriken caught him in the upper arm as he hit the floor and rolled back to his feet with the sword ready in his hand. Spinning around to face Mordecai, he pulled the shuriken from his arm and charged.

The blackcollar leaped to the side, whipping out his nunchaku and spinning it in a blinding arc toward Taakh's head. The Ryq swung his sword up to meet the flail, and the weapons met with an earsplitting crash and a brief shower of hardwood splinters. Taakh let the impact bounce the sword back, riding its altered momentum around in a tight circle and stabbing up toward Mordecai's side. The blackcollar danced back out of its way, and as the tip burned bare millimeters past his ribs he snapped his left arm down and around, catching the back of Taakh's sword hand with his own forearm and adding a little extra momentum to his thrust. Taakh seemed to stumble as his center of balance was thrown off; twisting around, Mordecai threw a spinning kick at the Ryq's torso as he simultaneously swung the nunchaku at his head.

The flail missed, but the kick connected. With a grunt, Taakh swung his sword again, a pair of quick, downward blows toward Mordecai's shoulders and head. The blackcollar dodged both attacks and leaped back out of range, his back bouncing against the wall as he suddenly ran out of maneuvering room. With a roar, Taakh leaped forward, this time swinging his sword horizontally at Mordecai's torso. Ducking under the blow, Mordecai braced one hand against the wall and snapped a side kick into the alien's abdomen.

It was a solid, powerful blow, the sheer impact of it sending Taakh staggering back. Shoving off the wall, Mordecai followed it up with another nunchaku attack, but the Ryq managed to get his sword back up in time to block the swinging flail. But the impact threw him a little farther off balance, allowing Mordecai to duck past him away from the wall and back into the center of the room. Taakh spun to face him, and for another moment the two opponents seemed to pause, sword and nunchaku poised and ready.

For Galway, his head and neck and fingers throbbing as he gazed at the tableau, it was a moment of unrelieved blackness. Taakh, khassq-class warrior of the Ryq, stood strong and tall and muscular, hardly affected by the blows his opponent had managed to land. Mordecai, human blackcollar, was unmarked, but in the confined space of the monitor room he could hardly avoid his enemy forever.

And with the Ryq standing nearly twice his height and pulling perhaps three times his weight, it wouldn't take more than a single solid punch or sword slash to bring the fight to an end.

Galway looked desperately around the room, searching for something—anything—he could use as a weapon. Something he could use to tip the odds even a little in Mordecai's direction.

He was still looking when Taakh, his moment of combat meditation apparently over, leaped again to the attack.

Once again, he slashed his sword down toward Mordecai's head. This time, though, Mordecai didn't simply dodge away, but instead lifted his nunchaku upright, one stick gripped in each hand with the connecting plastic chain stretched horizontally above him, ready to receive the blow. The blade slammed into the chain, its momentum pressing it downward toward Mordecai's head. Turning his body out from under the descending weapon, Mordecai swiveled one of the nunchaku sticks around, letting the sword's momentum carry the weapon down past his shoulder. Before Taakh could recover his balance, the blackcollar swung his left arm around the sword point, looping the nunchaku around the weapon. The chain wrapped solidly around the base of the blade, trapping it in place.

Taakh's roar of anger changed to a grunt of pain as Mordecai slammed his right elbow across the other's forearm, clearly trying to shake the sword loose from his grip. He slammed the Ryq's arm again; and then Taakh took a long step backward, gripped the sword with both hands, and pulled up and back.

Mordecai tried to hold on, but the Ryq's size and weight were far more than he could handle. Even as he was lifted bodily off the floor he let go with his left hand and allowed the nunchaku to swing around and away from the blade as Taakh continued to yank the sword upward. Both of them raced to get their weapons back under firm control; Mordecai won by a fraction of a second, swinging a stinging nunchaku blow across Taakh's face before being forced to leap away from the sword's whistling slash.

Lifting the weapon again, the Ryq leaped forward, pressing his attack as he tried to once again to push Mordecai to the wall. But he was finally starting to show some fatigue, and his swinging weapon was moving marginally but noticeably slower. Mordecai dodged with relative ease, and again managed to slip out of the potential trap and back to the center of the room.

But Mordecai was slowing down, too, missing two of his blocks as he fended off the flashing sword, only reflex and luck keeping the blows from taking him out of the fight permanently. He was in trouble; and as Galway watched helplessly, he realized suddenly that Mordecai was trying to work his way back to the door and escape.

Taakh saw it, too. With every step toward the door that Mordecai tried to take, the Ryq countered with one that forced him back toward the center of the room.

And then, as Taakh continued to press him back, Mordecai's foot caught the edge of the laser Taakh had thrown at him earlier, and he jerked slightly as he tried to regain his balance.

It was all the opening Taakh needed. Leaping forward, he slashed his sword downward again toward Mordecai's head. With his feet still tangled beneath him, Mordecai had no option but to once again swing his nunchaku up in a two-handed grip and catch the descending blade on the chain. Twisting to the side, barely making it in time, he again whipped the left-hand stick around the sword, twisting the chain around the hilt.

Only this time, Taakh was ready. Instead of simply pulling back and trying to free his sword, he reached over with his free hand and wrapped his hand around Mordecai's in an unbreakable grip.

And with that, Galway knew, it was all over. In his mind's eye he could see the inevitable outcome: Mordecai hauled off his feet, dangling helplessly in midair from his own nunchaku while the Ryq kicked him into a bloody, broken puppet. With a triumphant bellow, Taakh planted his feet and heaved himself backward, his massive shoulder and arm and back muscles bulging as he pulled the puny human off the floor.

Only to Galway's astonishment, Mordecai didn't resist the maneuver. Instead, he moved with it, leaping upward as he pulled down on his nunchaku for extra power, his efforts combining with Taakh's to send him flying toward the ceiling. Tucking his knees to his chest, rotating around the pivot point like an athlete around a high bar, he swung completely over the startled khassq's shoulder, straightening out his legs again as his body slammed hard against Taakh's back. Arching his own back, he pulled with all his strength on the nunchaku still wrapped around the base of the sword blade.

And with Ryqril muscles still pulling the sword up, and human ones pulling it down and back, the sword tip was driven solidly into Taakh's forehead.

Some trick of balance and locked muscles held the Ryq upright for another half second. Then, without a sound, his legs collapsed beneath him, and he toppled over onto the floor.

Slowly, Galway tore his eyes away from the dead khassq and looked at Mordecai. "You killed him," he heard himself say.

"Yeah," Mordecai said, breathing hard. "It seemed the thing to do."

"What happens now?" Judas asked, his voice shaking.

Galway looked down again at Taakh. "Nothing," he said. "It's all over."

"The bottom line," Skyler said, "is that it's all over."

Daasaa's eyes flicked to Bailey, standing under Flynn's watchful eye, then back to Skyler. "I dae not understand."

"I think you do," Skyler said. "In fact, as a battle architect, you probably understand better than any Ryq on the planet." He nodded back at Halaak's body. "Certainly better than he would have."

Daasaa shook his head. "Yae cannot 'ight us," he insisted. "There are not enou' o' yae tae rin."

"But that's just the problem—you don't know how many of us there are," Skyler said. "Worse than that, you don't know who we are." He pointed at the crumpled bodies of Poirot and the lieutenant. "You see, you don't have just a single Judas in your governmental ranks, or even just two or three. You have a whole army of them. And there's no way to identify them. Not until it's too late."

"Then re rill sin'ly reno'e all o' they," Daasaa countered.

"You can't do that, either," Skyler countered right back. "There aren't nearly enough of you in the TDE

to control us without the collaborationist bureaucracy you've set in place. Your only option would be to bring in a bunch of troops to take their place. Only you can't, because if you do you won't have enough forces to keep back the Chryselli."

"You see, friend, you've suddenly run into military doctrine's number one blunder," Hawking put in.

"You've got yourselves a two-front war."

"Yae cannot 'ight us," Daasaa insisted again. "Re can destroy yaer cities rhene'er re rish."

"Can you?" Skyler asked pointedly. "Can you really? Aside from the defenses around your private enclaves and maybe a few hundred Corsairs, you have practically nothing in the TDE under your direct control. Most of the weaponry is handled by your tame Security forces ... who aren't going to be tame much longer."

For a long minute Daasaa didn't reply. Skyler listened to the distant chirping of the evening insects, mentally crossing his fingers. If Daasaa didn't go for this, the TDE was going to be in for a long, bloody nightmare of attrition that could end up being worse than anything they'd seen during the actual war itself. "Re rill not gi' u' rithout 'attle," the Ryq said at last.

"But it's a battle you can't win," Skyler told him. "Oh, you can certainly kill a lot of humans, if that's what matters to you. But we have the numbers, and with Whiplash we'll have access to the weaponry, and the people, and the inner fortresses. Eventually, inevitably, you'll lose." He paused. "But there is an alternative."

Daasaa's dark eyes were steady on him. "I an listening."

"You leave," Skyler said flatly. "All of you—tonight, tomorrow, next week, but you all leave. You pull out your people and your troops—hell, take all the weapons you can stuff aboard your ships if you want to. But you pull out."

Daasaa barked a short, derisive laugh. "And this gains us rhat?"

"It gains you breathing space," Skyler said. "You see, if you pull out slowly, scorching the ground as you go, you'll give humanity time to organize and build back the political control systems we need to function as a cohesive society. But if you leave now—" he grimaced "—I guarantee months or years of chaos as your government flunkies try to hold onto power and the various Resistance groups try to seize it and everyone else just tries to figure out how the hell this freedom thing works. We've seen it happen time and time again when a nation or region is suddenly freed from tyranny. Trust me, it'll happen this time, too."

Daasaa snorted, his gaze drifting to the bodies of the two Security officers Halaak had killed. "Sone

'eo'les rere not neant to 'e 'ree," he said contemptuously.

"Sometimes I wonder about that myself," Skyler conceded. "And you're welcome to think that we're not fit to be anything but Ryqril slaves if that makes you feel better. Only believe me when I tell you it's the only way."

Daasaa shook his head. "The high connand rill not acce't this," he said. "Re need the 'actories and rea'ons

'roduction lines."

"They're gone, Battle Architect," Skyler said. "Your weapons plants will be the first things we go after.

We'll infiltrate Whiplashed people and either take them over or blow them up."

"Thousands o' yaer 'eo'le rill die."

"So will dozens of yours," Skyler countered. "I've already said that you can hold on for a while if you really want to. But it'll cost you time and energy and people, none of which you can spare. And in the end you'll be forced out anyway."

He gestured up toward the sky. "Maybe you can win against the Chryselli while we're fumbling around trying to figure out who the mayor and governor and dogcatcher should be. Maybe you can't. But it's your only hope of avoiding a two-front war that you absolutely cannot win."

Daasaa snorted again, but this time it was a softer, more contemplative sound. "I rill take yaer 'ro'osal tae the high connand," he said. "They rill decide."

"Just tell them to decide quickly," Skyler warned.

"I rill take that nessage." Daasaa hesitated. "It rill take nearly a nonth tae recei'e a decision," he said.

"Rill yae halt yaer attacks until then?"

Skyler thought it over. Considering how miniscule an army they actually had at the moment, it would be a ridiculously easy promise to make. "Agreed, provided you take no action against us in the meantime," he said. "And provided you release the two Phoenix members you still have in custody."

"They rill 'e 'rought tae the western Athena gate taenorror norning," Daasaa promised without hesitation.

"Run o' they is injured and rill rekire an a'ulance."

"We'll have something ready." Skyler looked over at Flynn. "And tell the high command one other thing," he said. "There aren't too many of us left who lived through the war and remember what Ryqril are truly like. The younger generation doesn't, and their overall attitude toward you is probably pretty casual."

He lifted a warning finger. "But if you try destroying cities and slaughtering our people on your way out, they'll find out about you ... and when we and the Chryselli finally have you broken on the ground—and we will—you'll find out how vengeful we humans can be. Trust me; you do not want to see that."

Daasaa held his gaze without flinching. "I ha' said I rill take yaer 'ro'osal tae the high connand," he said evenly. "I can 'ronise nothing else."

"Then go," Skyler said. "Call a spotter from Athena and go."

For a moment Daasaa didn't move. Then, pulling a comm from his belt, he keyed it on and spoke a few words in Ryqrili. He was answered, said something else, then turned off the device and put it away.

"They rill cone," he said. He drew himself up to his full height, one last show of pride, and stared down into Skyler's eyes. "Re rill not neet again, hunan."

"No," Skyler agreed quietly. "We had better not."

Skyler had half expected a last-minute attempt at an ambush, either while Daasaa was still in their hands or just after he was taken away. But twenty minutes later, with the departing spotter a fading speck in the sky, there had still been no such move.

Perhaps the plumes of glowing smoke drifting across the darkening mass of Aegis Mountain had something to do with it. The Ryqril were rattled, straight down to the soles of their rubbery feet.

And Daasaa, battle architect, held the key to their only way out.

"When did you get to Ramirez?" Bailey asked.

Skyler turned from his contemplation of the distant smoke. "Excuse me?"

"I know when you treated General Poirot," Bailey said. "I want to know when you turned Lieutenant Ramirez."

Skyler shook his head. "We didn't."

Bailey's eyes widened. "But Halaak called him a traitor. He killed him, for God's sake."

"He killed Poirot, too," Skyler said. "But the general wasn't a traitor, either. Despite the Whiplash treatment, he was never actually working with us. On the contrary, he was working just as hard as he could to nail us to the wall."

"That's impossible," Bailey insisted, his disbelief turning to anger. "Your plan was too neat to have happened by accident. The rescue, and then—wait a minute. If Ramirez and the general weren't working for you, how did you get to the team we sent into Aegis Mountain?"

"We didn't," Skyler said, his heart tightening as his eyes drifted back to the smoke. "We had a man already in the mountain. Jensen—you might remember him from the last time. He's the one who wrecked the Ryqril base."

Bailey's face tightened as he looked across the clearing to where Hawking and O'Hara had moved the bodies of his fellow officers. "So it was all smoke and mirrors," he said bitterly. "You don't have any secret army waiting to rise up and take Earth back from the Ryqril."

"No, but we could," Skyler said. "We do have Whiplash, and it does work as advertised. But at the moment, no, we don't have more than a few people, and they're in very lowly places. The best we could get out of any of them was the spotters' radio system for us to use during the rescue."

"So Halaak killed Poirot and Ramirez for nothing."

"For absolutely nothing," Skyler agreed. "Which is really the final irony of this whole thing. Once we've proved we have Whiplash, and proved that it works, we almost don't even need to use it on anyone. The Ryqril will shoot at every shadow, real or not, until they've torn down their command structure and their rule all by themselves."

"Only you haven't proved it," Bailey countered. "Stolen radio frequencies apart, you haven't proved Whiplash's abilities at all."

"We haven't proved it here, no," Skyler said. "But with a little luck, Lathe and his team should have just finished proving it in a much more spectacular fashion on Khala."

Bailey frowned. "On Khala?"

"Don't worry about it," Skyler advised. "The point is that, one way or the other, this is the beginning of the end for Ryqril rule in the TDE." He raised his eyebrows. "The question you have to ask yourself is where you want to be standing when that happens."

Bailey's lip twisted. "What do you expect me to say?" he demanded. "I'm a loyal servant of the Ryqril and the TDE government. I could never even think of betraying them."

"Of course not," Skyler said. "Do you remember, Colonel, back at Reger's house when I said you and General Poirot were about to graduate from the third type of person to the fourth?"

"Yes," Bailey said, nodding. "I wondered what you meant by that."

"It's from something my high school physics teacher wrote in my yearbook," Skyler said, his mind drifting back to a distant, simpler past. A past before war and conquering Ryqril and blackcollars. "It goes this way: 'There are four types of people in the world:

" 'He who knows not, and knows not that he knows not. He is a fool; shun him.

" 'He who knows not, and knows that he knows not. He is simple; teach him.

" 'He who knows, and knows not that he knows. He is asleep; wake him.

" 'And he who knows, and knows that he knows. He is wise; follow him.' "

For a long minute Bailey was silent. "And what is it you think I know?"

"I don't know," Skyler said. "Life, maybe, or loyalty, or service, or sacrifice. The question is, how interested are you in finding out?"

Bailey shook his head. "You know I can't make a decision like that." He took a deep breath. "But then, I'm your prisoner, aren't I? Prisoners never get to make their own decisions."

"I understand," Skyler said quietly. Reaching into his belt, he withdrew a hypospray from his medkit. "

'He is asleep.'"

Bailey's gaze drifted again toward where the bodies of Poirot and Ramirez lay. " 'Wake him,' " he murmured.

Mordecai had a pair of patches from his medkit on Galway's bleeding fingers by the time Lathe and Spadafora returned. "You all right?" Lathe asked, his eyes flicking to Taakh and then back to Galway.

"I can travel," Galway said, wincing as Mordecai helped him to his feet. "I'm just glad you got my message."

"Actually, Mordecai was already on his way back," Lathe told him. "We'd gotten a warning that no one outside could find Taakh anywhere."

So that was what had sparked Judas's sudden burst of courage. "Ah."

"I did make it a point to hurry when you leaned on the tingler, though," Mordecai added. "Speaking of which, are we taking him with us?"

"I don't know," Galway said, looking at Judas. "Karl? You want to be able to go back to what you were a year ago?"

"I don't know," the young man admitted. "It seems so utterly unthinkable." He hesitated. "But I do know I'd like to see my family again."

"Close enough," Lathe said. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in sampling freedom, Prefect Haberdae?"

"Go to hell," Haberdae snarled. "All of you can go straight to hell."

"I'd say that's a no," Spadafora murmured.

"Maybe some day," Lathe said, springing a knife and cutting Judas free from his chair. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Full night had fallen by the time Jensen finally pulled himself up the last few rungs of the rope ladder and reached the tunnel leading out into the forest. For a minute he stood there, gazing out the air vent a dozen meters away, wondering what kind of reception Security might have left for him.

"You're late," a voice said from just inside the grating.

Jensen had a shuriken in his hand before his fatigued mind caught up with the voice. "Flynn?" he asked disbelievingly.

"You were expecting the Ryqril high command?" A long dark bundle lying at the entrance pulled itself out of the shadows and reformed itself into a human being. "Or did you just think we'd all pack up and take off without you?"

"Frankly, I'd have put the high command higher on my probabilities list than you," Jensen said, crossing to him. "You didn't come out here all alone, did you?"

"Oh, no, the whole gang was here for a while," Flynn said. He whipped something up and around, and Jensen found a blanket settling down around his shoulders. "You missed a fun party, too—Security officers, blackcollars, even a couple of Ryqril stopped by."

"Ryqril?"

"Don't worry, we dealt with them," Flynn assured him. "The khassq is dead, and the battle architect went off to deliver Lathe's ultimatum. No casualties on our side, either, now that you're here." His silhouette cocked its head slightly. "It was Toby, wasn't it?"

"You mean who wrecked the Ryqril base?" Jensen nodded. "He insisted on taking that honor for himself."

"Probably the right thing to do," Flynn said. "He was a pilot, then?"

"Lieutenant Sam Foxleigh, TDE Air Defense," Jensen confirmed. "How did you know?"

Flynn shrugged. "There was just something about him that reminded me of you."

Jensen snorted. "Bullheadedness is hardly a quality unique to pilots," he pointed out. "What did you mean, it was the right thing to do?"

"I meant that if he was a pilot, it was right for him to take on the job." Flynn hesitated. "And that it was right for you to let him take it."

Jensen grimaced. "Look, Flynn, I know some of you have been a little worried about me. When Novak died ... well, they teach soldiers to watch out for the trap of survivor's guilt, but I guess I wasn't paying enough attention that day."

He nodded back toward the mountain behind him. "But I think maybe talking with Foxleigh put it into a little better perspective. In warfare you do what you can, and you play out the hand that's been dealt you, and you don't look back. The only purpose for second-guessing is to find the mistakes you made so that you don't make them again."

"Sounds like the wise advice of a grizzled old warrior," Flynn said.

Jensen nodded. "Foxleigh was all that," he agreed.

"I meant you," Flynn said, a touch of humor coloring his voice. "I mean, it took you forever to get up that ladder."

"Watch your mouth, kid," Jensen growled, mock-warningly. "I'm not so tired I can't run you through a couple of sparring sessions."

"I'll pass," Flynn said. "Anyway, the others had to head back to Denver, but someone will be back to get us in the morning."

"Or at least to get you?"

Flynn shrugged. "I'll admit they're still mostly convinced you died in the attack," he said. "And Skyler wasn't particularly enthusiastic about letting me stick around to wait for you. But like you said, bullheadedness isn't just for pilots."

"Neither is stamina," Jensen said. "Which is just as well. Two of the techs Security sent in are still alive, but with my ribs the way they are I knew I'd never get them back here on my own."

"I can go do that now," Flynn offered. "At least get them to the bottom of the shaft so we can take them out in the morning."

"We'll go together," Jensen said, peering out into the darkness. "And before we leave this place entirely I need to stop back at Shelter Valley. I think that Doc Adamson and his son would appreciate knowing how Foxleigh died."

"Sounds good," Flynn said. "Just bear in mind you'll probably end up telling them his whole life story along with it."

The story of the man who'd lived in secret shame for thirty years ... "Not to worry," he murmured. "They already know all the rest of it."

Shaw and Caine were waiting at the rendezvous point when Galway and the others arrived. "Caine,"

Galway said, watching the younger man warily as they walked over. The last time he'd seen Caine the two of them had been enemies, and Galway had treated him accordingly.

But if Caine was holding a grudge, it didn't show in his face. "Galway," he greeted the prefect in turn.

"Welcome back to our side."

"It has been a while," Galway admitted, turning to Shaw. "Tactor," he said, nodding.

"It's good to meet you at last, Prefect," the other said. "And for you to truly meet me, as well."

Galway had to smile. The quiet, confident man standing in front of him was so very different from the picture Judas's reports had painted. "Indeed," he said.

"You have any trouble getting Caine out?" Lathe asked, stepping up beside Galway.

Shaw shook his head. "They were about as unready for trouble as it's possible for military men to be."

He nodded past Lathe's shoulder. "I see you brought his evil twin with you."

"Not evil any more," Lathe assured him. "He's had his Whiplash, and is busy regaling Mordecai and Spadafora with the details of the government center security layout. If you're interested in hitting it sometime, that is."

"I might," Shaw said, a touch of quiet pain coloring his voice. "But I lost a third of my men at Khorstron tonight, killed and wounded. I'll have to wait to see what kind of force I can put together."

"You should have Whiplashed the guards at the strongpoint after you got Caine out," Galway said.

"Oh, I did," Shaw assured him. "That should help." He looked at Lathe. "Did you deliver your message?"

Lathe nodded. "We found the half circle hiding in their lounge, behind about a dozen warriors. Between them and the Denver Security people Skyler should have talked to tonight, I think the high command will take the suggestion seriously."

"If they don't, we're in for a long, hard battle," Shaw warned.

"But at least it's a battle we know we'll ultimately win," Lathe said. "It's amazing what a difference hope can make in a person."

Galway's eyes drifted upward to the stars overhead. Hope. For most of his professional life, he reflected, all he'd ever hoped for for the people of Plinry was a little safety, a little security, and a fighting chance to live out their lives without unnecessary interference from their alien conquerors. He'd schemed and argued and fought to provide them that chance, straining against the small degrees of latitude his loyaltyconditioning provided in order to do so. He would have done anything he could toward that end, up to and including sacrificing Lathe and the other blackcollars if that was what it took.

It was only in the past twenty-four hours, when the loyalty-conditioning had been stripped away from his mind, that he recognized how low his goals had actually been.

He'd had his own small taste of freedom. Now, he had the chance to help bring that same gift to his people.

Someone was calling his name. "Sorry?" he said, lowering his eyes back to the others.

"I asked if you wanted to get some rest," Shaw said. "Maybe have your hand and face looked at. I have someone ready to take you to a safe house."

Galway snorted. "Rest? Now? You've got to be kidding. With all the chaos still going on at Khorstron, we have a golden opportunity to hit the government center before they can get themselves reorganized. I can let you inside—"

"Whoa," Shaw said, frowning as he held up a hand. "How are you going to do that? Haberdae knows you got us into Khorstron, doesn't he?"

"Sure," Galway said. "But he's the only one who does. Why couldn't it have been him who betrayed the base instead of me, with him having been left tied up to confuse everyone? It's exactly the sort of thing Lathe would do." He looked at Lathe. "Comsquare? There must be a way to pull this off."

Lathe was staring into space, a faint smile touching the corners of his lips. "I think there probably is," he agreed. "Okay, Galway. Let's try this ..."