The Backlash Mission

Epilogue

It was Colonel Poirot, not General Quinn, who eventually came to release him from detention—or rather, General Poirot, Galway noted, eying the other's new insignia with some surprise. "Promoted just in time for the trial?" he said sourly as Poirot led the way down the hall.

Poirot grunted. "Not funny. The whole damn unit is in turmoil since Trendor got burned. You heard about that, I suppose?"

Galway nodded. "One of my guards filled me in."

"Yeah, well, I don't suppose he mentioned the Ryqril reaction to it all. There's a Ryq in charge in the main Security office right now—a khassq-class warrior, no less. Quinn's been taken away, God only knows where, and everyone in the entire upper command's either been promoted or removed."

Galway felt his jaw clench momentarily. So he'd been right, all the way down the line... and yet, even now he still had trouble believing it. Somehow, assassination just didn't fit Lathe's character.

"So where are you taking me?" he asked Poirot. "They sending me home or down the hatch with Quinn?"

"I don't know," the other said heavily. "All I know is that there's a Ryq fresh in from Plinry who wants to see you."

"Oh, hell." That scout ship that had left orbit right after the blackcollars' big escape, destination almost certainly Plinry. Galway had almost forgotten about that, but whatever its mission had been, he had a strong suspicion he wasn't going to like hearing about it.

There were two Ryqril standing stiffly by the rear corners of Quinn's desk when they arrived, indistinguishable to human eyes except for the differing patterns in the ornate baldrics crossing their massive chests. " 'Re'ect Galray?" the one on the left said as Galway and Poirot paused just inside the office door.

"I am Galway," the prefect identified himself, speaking with some difficulty around the sudden lump in his throat. On both alien baldrics were the distinctive patterns of the khassq-class warriors, the highest stratum of Ryqril society.

"I an Taakh—rarriaer khassq," the same Ryq identified himself with a brief touch of his paw to his baldric. The laser and short sword on his belt jiggled with the motion, and Galway swallowed again.

"Other nan—lea' us," the second Ryq said. Poirot bowed briefly and backed hastily out.

For a moment the aliens eyed Galway in silence. Then Taakh stirred, gesturing to a cassette lying on the desk. "The re'el shuttle has lekht Earth," he said, giving the words their usual Ryqril mangling.

"Did the 'lackcollars go rith it?"

Galway licked his lips, resisting the impulse to say that he had no idea. Obviously, they knew that.

What they wanted was for him to look over the available data and give them his opinion on the matter. A test of some sort.... Stepping forward, he picked up the cassette and slid it into the reader.

It was a complete record of the shuttle pickup from Denver that morning, including both tapes from the 'port and Athena's radar records of its departure path. Galway studied it closely for several minutes, acutely conscious of the silent aliens towering over him a bare meter away. But this wasn't something he could afford to rush.

Finally, he looked up. "I can't prove it," he said carefully, "but the blackcollars could have left with the shuttle."

"Ex'lain," Taakh ordered.

Galway took a deep breath. "Here—at the 'port—they took on several large crates, one of which contained a fully assembled high-powered winch. While they were flying over the mountains here"—he located the spot on the record—"they claimed to have temporarily lost power and dipped below the intervening mountain peaks almost to ground level. They were out of your view long enough to have grabbed a snag-equipped pod and to winch it aboard. Again, I don't know if they actually did so or not."

"They did," Taakh said. "Satellite 'hoto shor it 'eyond do'rt. Too late to sto' they. Yae are the nan re can use."

"The man—use for what?" Galway asked cautiously.

The second Ryq stirred. "On 'Linry the 'lackcollars 'enetrated the encla'e and took the hostages."

A shiver went up Galway's spine. The enclave. Once again Lathe had pulled off the impossible, right under the Ryqril's collective snout... and in the process had hung Plinry from a thread. "I didn't know what they'd done," he said quietly. "I thought they might try to free Pittman's family, but..." I thought they were well enough guarded, he finished the thought to himself.

"Yae think like they." The Ryq nodded, the very human gesture looking totally out of place on his alien physique. "Yae rill hel' us ca'ture they."

It took several heartbeats for the significance of that to sink in—and as it did Galway felt a surge of relief flood through him. Capture, not destroy... and capture implied no mass destruction on Plinry.

"I—yes, sir, of course I'll help in any way I can," he managed. "But capturing them will be extremely hard, if not impossible. Wouldn't it be easier to just try and eliminate them?"

The two Ryqril exchanged glances. "They dae the in'ossi'le," Taakh said, as if that was explanation enough.

Galway opened his mouth... then closed it again as it suddenly made sense. Lathe's men invading the allegedly impregnable Ryqril Enclave; Lathe himself getting to Trendor despite all the guards. There was no way to pretend anymore that Argent had been a fluke. The blackcollars were, pure and simple, breakers of impossible odds... and in the war against the Chryselli perhaps such odds were beginning to stack up. The Ryqril had tried twice now to trail the blackcollars in hopes of snatching whatever they might be after, with disastrous results both times. But the Ryqril were clearly not ready to give up... and somewhere in the upper echelons of their military, the blackcollars' status had apparently been changed again.

From seekers of usable goods to combat resource. And as the main source of that resource, Plinry had been given a new foothold on its tenuous existence.

Provided, of course, that Galway did his job properly. "I will be honored to assist you," he told the Ryqril. "And I know just the right man to go after first."

"Lath'?" Taakh asked.

"Yes," Galway said.

"Not exactly the result we'd all hoped for," Lathe said, his eyes drifting to the starscape painting adorning the Novak's lounge wall. "But certainly nothing to be ashamed of, either."

Caine nodded silently. Thus endeth my first command, he thought... and while it too was nothing to be ashamed about, it was hardly bragworthy, either, with all the small failures and half-failures along the way. He winced as the memories went drifting by.

Beside Lathe, General Lepkowski cleared his throat. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Caine," he said.

"You kept your team alive. All in all, that's a pretty good scoresheet for a newcomer to the game."

Caine managed a rueful smile. "Perhaps."

"If that's not good enough," Lathe suggested, "try remembering that if you hadn't come up with this mission in the first place Torch's supply of Whiplash would probably never have left Aegis Mountain."

"Yeah. Well, I suppose being the inspiration to others' greatness is better than nothing." Caine straightened up in his seat, shaking the memories firmly from his mind. "So. Have you two figured out yet how we're going to use this stuff to throw out the Ryqril?"

"Oh, we've got a few ideas," Lathe said offhandedly. "Create havoc in key areas, pick up some new allies—that sort of thing."

"Allies?" Caine snorted gently. "If you're looking for names, I can give you one right now."

"Oh, he's already at the top of our list," the comsquare told him. "After all, we'll want to start out right away with the brightest and best the opposition has to offer."

"Galway?" Caine asked.

"Yes," Lathe said.