The Backlash Mission

Chapter 24

The sun was low in the western sky as the two vans headed out from Reger's fortress home, driving north along the deceptively peaceful road to the eastward highway before turning south toward the heart of Denver proper. Seated on the floor in the back of the lead vehicle, Caine found himself fingering his nunchaku and slingshot restlessly, trying without any real success to project a confidence he didn't feel. It was a wasted effort: Colvin and Alamzad, seated across from him, were far too nervous themselves to pay any attention, while Mordecai, presumably privy to more of the details of Lathe's plan than Caine had been, didn't seem to need any reassurance. Though maybe that was just Mordecai.

Licking his lips for the half-millionth time, Caine slid off his flexarmor gloves and rubbed at his eyes. "Goggles down," Mordecai said quietly over his shoulder from the front seat. "And gloves back on. This is a combat zone."

"Right." Caine obeyed, wondering how the hell blackcollars developed such good back-of-the-head eyesight.

Behind the wheel, Pittman shifted in his seat. "This should be New Hampden coming up now," he told the blackcollar sitting beside him. "Do I turn onto it, or pull over and wait for the others?"

"Turn," Mordecai said. "There's at least a klick to go before we reach the fence—plenty of time for Lathe to close the gap."

"Okay." The van curved smoothly around the corner, and Caine craned his neck to get a look ahead through the windshield. There were few things more unnerving, he'd long ago decided, than heading into danger without even being able to see what was coming.

Across the van, Alamzad cleared his throat. "Assuming we get through the fence without bringing the lasers down on us, do we have any actual idea where Security will have Silcox hidden?"

"Security building, of course," Mordecai said briefly. "Don't worry—it should be easy to find."

"Right—it's the one that'll have all the troops around it shooting at us," Colvin put in.

"And a rooftop landing pad," Mordecai told him. "There'll only be a couple of buildings like that, even in Athena—"

He broke off as their tinglers came on: Security spotters to either side; break off operation.

Mordecai swore gently under his breath. "Take the next right, Pittman," he ordered. "We'll circle around north and regroup with the other—"

And abruptly, the van's windows blazed with light.

The vehicle slammed to a halt, tumbling Caine and the other two up against the seats. For a single, horrible heartbeat Caine thought they'd taken a direct antiaircraft laser bolt, but even as he scrambled into a crouch his senses caught up enough to realize that the metal walls weren't melting around them and that the air inside the van was hot but not scalding. "What—?"

"Laser shots at the engine and tires," Mordecai snapped back. The blackcollar was already out of his restraints and grappling with an apparently heat-warped door. "Everyone out—we'll have a better chance outside."

Caine launched himself toward the van's rear doors, hitting the release lever and shoving them open in the same motion. He leaped out, hands coming up with a ready pair of shuriken... and froze in disbelief.

Facing the van from both sides of the street, half hidden behind a quick-foam barricade, were at least fifty Security men, lasers pointed and ready. Lathe's van had skidded to a crabbing halt a few meters behind theirs; beyond it Caine could see another barrier blocking movement in that direction.

Reflexively, he hurled his shuriken anyway, but the taste of defeat was already welling up like vomit in his mouth. The game was over, and from the size and preparation of the force arrayed against them, it was obvious they'd been primed and ready.

Reger had betrayed them.

"You can't escape," an amplified voice boomed from somewhere, its point of origin lost among the echoes from the surrounding buildings. "This is General Quinn, Lathe. Raise your hands and surrender—all of you—or we'll burn you where you stand. Look up if you don't believe we can do it."

Caine risked a glance upward. Hovering perhaps a hundred meters above them was a long, sharkshaped aircraft, reflected grav light showing the weapons pods on either side of its fuselage. The firepower that had taken out their vans... and could just as thoroughly take them out as well.

Tactics, strategies, contingencies—all his training seemed to swirl together into a useless, half-gelled mess. Behind him, he could sense Colvin and Alamzad crouching just inside the van's doors, waiting for a lead they could follow. Waiting for him to take action.

And he couldn't. There was nothing he could think of to do that wouldn't mean their instant death.

His first command... and he'd failed.

From around the van a quiet voice broke into his anguish. "Do as the man says, Caine," Mordecai said. "But don't give up hope."

Swallowing hard, Caine slowly lifted his hands over his head.

—

The man in charge of the operation was, at least, no fool. Neither the men at the barricades nor the fighter overhead made the slightest move until all ten of their prisoners were out in the open. Only then did a new group of Security men step forward, several of them lugging pairs of heavy-duty maglock forearm shackles. A lump rose in Caine's throat at the sight of the shackles... a lump of deja vu and the painful realization that this time, at least, history would not be repeating itself.

And then the group came close enough for faces to be distinguished... and the mag-lock shackles were suddenly forgotten. "Galway!" Caine gasped.

"Caine." The perfect nodded gravely. His eyes swept the group, found Lathe; but it was another man who brushed by him and faced the comsquare.

"Comsquare Lathe, I'm General Quinn," the other said in a grimly satisfied voice. "You're hereby informed that the agreement between General Lepkowski and the Ryqril is no longer in force, at least insofar as you and your men here are concerned. You are in open rebellion against the Ryqril Empire and its authorized government, and are therefore subject to imprisonment and appropriate punishment for your actions—"

"Spare us the official speech, General," Lathe cut him off. His voice was calm enough, but Caine sensed a hint of steel beneath it.

Apparently the general did, too, and for a moment his triumphant expression slipped a bit. But he recovered quickly. "I see that bravado remains part of a blackcollar's arsenal." He sneered. "I suggest you don't bother frying to impress me with your stoicism. From now on, I'm the one who decides your fate, and I've always found a particular satisfaction in breaking people who pretend they can't be broken."

"No," Mordecai said quietly. "You're wrong."

All eyes turned to the small blackcollar. "Wrong about what?" Quinn demanded.

"That you decide our fate," Mordecai told him calmly... but there was something about his face that sent a shiver down Caine's back. "You have only the power we grant you. I choose not to give you any at all."

Quinn inhaled sharply, perhaps suddenly understanding what was coming. "Guards!" he snapped.

But too late. Mordecai's right hand was a blur as it swung upward at his face beneath the goggles.

Caine caught a faint flicker of light on metal... and even as the Security men belatedly surged forward Mordecai collapsed in a heap on the ground.

"Medic team!" Quinn shouted back toward the barricades. "The rest of you—get those shackles on them. This might be a trick."

Caine tensed, watching Lathe out of the corner of his eye for the signal that would mean taking action. But no signal had come by the time the massive shackles had been fastened around his forearms. Lathe, in fact, seemed almost in shock by what Mordecai had done... and slowly Caine came to the dark realization that this wasn't a ruse after all.

"Well?" Quinn snorted impatiently as the medic crouched by Mordecai's still form, instruments humming softly.

"Paralyte shock," the other said, drawing out a hypo and tugging at the mag-lock shackles enclosing Mordecai's arms. "Get these off him, someone—I have to give him a shot."

"No chance he's faking?" Galway put in as one of the Security men moved to obey.

"None at all. Yes, all the way off. Thanks." Pulling off the blackcollar's right glove, the medic jabbed his wrist with the hypo. "We've got to get him to the hospital immediately, General—I've got him stabilized, but that won't last long. He's taken an overdose of a paralyte drug, like getting shot repeatedly by a paral-dart pistol."

"So counteract it," Quinn growled. "We've got antidote—"

"But there's no way to tell out here which specific drug he's taken," the medic interrupted him. "All the antidotes are poison unless the corresponding paralyte is already in the system. Injecting the wrong antidote would kill him almost instantly."

Quinn grimaced, but nodded curtly. "All right, get the ambulance here, then. I'm damned if I'm going to let him get away from me." He turned to the others. "The rest of you move over toward that barrier while we wait for the transport."

"Just a minute," Pittman said hesitantly, stepping over toward the group around Mordecai. The Security men let him pass—

And it was only then that Caine realized with a shock that the other's arms hadn't been shackled.

"Pittman?" he asked. "What—?"

"I'm sorry, Caine," Pittman said, his voice low, his eyes avoiding contact. "Galway, Mordecai's carrying a cassette you'll want to have."

"Pittman!" Colvin gasped. "You lousy, stinking traitor. Why in the name of hell—?"

"Because I had no choice!" Pittman snapped tautly over his shoulder as he knelt down beside Mordecai's still form. "None at all. If you damn me, damn the Ryqril, too—they're the ones who did this to me." His hand reached under the civilian shirt hiding Mordecai's flexarmor, emerged with a small cassette.

"Yeah, I'll damn the Ryqril, all right," Colvin snarled, taking a step forward before the Security men at his side stopped him. "But whatever money they offered you that you couldn't resist—"

"Shut up!" Pittman yelled, jumping to his feet and spinning around. The hand gripping the cassette arched over his shoulder to throw—

Galway stepped in front of him, deftly plucking the cassette away. "Settle down, Pittman," he said, and even through his own haze of agonized disbelief Caine could hear something like regret in the prefect's voice. "It's over now. It's all over."

"Only for now," Lathe said softly. His voice was almost calm... but there was death in his eyes.

"Only for now. But there'll be another reckoning, Pittman. I swear it."

Overhead, a shadow caught Caine's eye: the flying ambulance had arrived. It settled to the pavement next to Mordecai as the paramed inside flung open the rear doors and rolled a stretcher out to the waiting Security men. "You three—get in there with him," Quinn instructed a knot of guards as Mordecai was lifted inside.

"But then there won't be room for me," the medic protested.

"You've already said there's nothing you can do for him out here, haven't you?" the general retorted.

"So ride in front. You'll be there in five minutes anyway."

The medic grimaced, but apparently knew better than to argue. He got in beside the pilot as the Security men and paramed squeezed in with Mordecai and closed the rear doors. The ambulance lifted into the night sky, and Quinn turned his attention back to the rest of them. "I trust none of you will be foolish enough to try anything so unnecessarily melodramatic," he said, almost conversationally.

"Don't worry," Lathe told him, still in that same soft voice. "None of us is going to die until we've taken care of you."

"I'm sure," Quinn said. "Lieutenant, call in the transports. And instruct the interrogation department to prepare for fresh subjects."

Numbly, Caine let himself be led over to the barricade. Pittman a traitor, Mordecai near death... and Lathe captured. What would come next he didn't know, but it almost didn't even matter.

For Caine, the universe had already been shattered beyond repair.