Novak swallowed involuntarily. He was between two rows of Corsairs now, exposed to the faint backwash of light from the distant buildings. It was a lousy position to be in—not only was he wide open to attack, but the Ryq could easily be forcing him toward a second alien's hiding place. Desperately, he tried to take the offensive but the alien was a trained warrior, too. Slowly but steadily, Novak lost ground.
And then, like a gift from heaven, a terse signal tingled into his wrist: stand clear, two seconds.
Novak's heart leaped. Wielding his knife with new vigor, he got ready and with a roar, a flash of flame erupted simultaneously from the tail of every Corsair around them.
For a brief instant the Ryq froze, startled by the unexpected explosions. But Novak was ready, and in that instant he hurled his knife at the alien's face. Breaking his paralysis, the Ryq ducked, raising his swordarm reflexively—and Novak swung his nunchaku with all his strength into the other's side.
There was the dull crack of bone breaking and the alien stumbled, off-balance. Novak pressed his attack, flailing the Ryq's head and torso with all the power he could muster. Again and again he struck, and even when the Ryq lay unmoving on the ground he kept up the assault for several seconds before it occurred to him to stop.
Kneeling beside the body, he drew a shuddering breath. That had been close—far too close. And yet, strangely, he felt a sudden new confidence in himself It had been a long time since he'd fought for real, but he'd done all right—and against a Ryq, too.
A flash of laser light erupted off to his side, and even as he snatched out a throwing star he knew what was happening. The Ryqril, startled back into the open by the blasts, had reverted to the use of their superior firepower in an effort to regain the upper hand.
The laser flashed again. Someone screamed, but even as the Ryq swung his weapon at a new target, he fell, Novak's star buried in his neck. Farther ahead, Novak could see reflected light from other lasers. Sheathing his nunchaku, he drew two throwing stars and, keeping to the shadows, moved silently forward. Firepower, the Ryqril would learn, was of only limited use against blackcollars.
Twenty minutes later, it was all over.
The 'port had been quiet for half an hour before Lathe let Hawking guide the autocab through its main gate. Gazing out the window, Caine spotted two or three blackcollars loitering in various shadows; none of the usual Security uniforms were visible anywhere. "You took the whole 'port?" he asked unbelievingly.
"That's what we're going to find out," Lathe told him. "Over there, Hawking—looks like Kwon."
It was indeed the husky blackcollar, sporting a captured laser. He stepped forward as the autocab rolled up. "Report," Lathe said.
"The tower and most of the 'port are ours. There are still some Ryqril in the barracks, but they're pinned down. If necessary we could fry them with the antiaircraft lasers, or even drop the whole building on top of them—Novak looked it over and says it could be done with five modest-sized bombs thrown in at key sites."
"I'll take his word for it," Lathe said. "We'll hold off on that for now—there might be something in there we'd rather have in an undemolished condition. What about the Corsairs?"
"All but one are effectively disabled, at least for anything involving the rear grav stabilizer. We left one intact, as per your instructions. Dodds is out there looking it over."
"Casualties?"
"Here at the 'port, nineteen: three blackcollars and sixteen trainees. Durbin reported two trainees killed among the rioters in Capstone—that number could go higher. And both Shen and Dhonau were killed."
Lathe nodded heavily. "Victory's expensive these days."
"As always."
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Lathe gazed across the landing field. "Those freighters look pretty small. Any idea what size they are?"
Kwon squinted into the darkness. "Not sure. F-class, I'd guess. Jensen could tell you better—he's around here somewhere, probably within tingler range. Shall I ask him?"
"Please. If he confirms they're big enough, call the trucks in and start loading; I want to get off before daybreak. And let me borrow your long-range—I need to call the tower."
Kwon unclipped a small lens-shaped object from his belt and handed it over. "Tower can probably be reached by tingler, if you'd rather use code."
"I need to call Dodds out on the field, too." Lathe fingered the communicator. "Hawking, go over and help Jensen pick the freighter we're going to take. Mordecai, start rounding up the expedition—you know who's going? Good. And if you find Dayle Greene, ask him to step over. He's going to be in charge here while we're gone."
Kwon drifted back to his shadow as Hawking and Mordecai left the autocab. Alone with Lathe, Caine suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"To get your starships, of course."
"Right now?"
Lathe fixed him with a curious gaze. "Certainly. Surely you didn't expect to climb aboard a passenger ship and fly back to Earth as if nothing had happened." He gestured at the cassette reader in Caine's lap. "How's the decoding coming?"
"Slowly. It's a tricky code."
"You know which system yet?"
There was something in Lathe's eyes that Caine didn't like. "Why?" he asked cautiously.
"Because I need to know where we're going before we lift off."
"But we have to go to Earth first and organize a crew."
"Earth is the first place they'll look for us," Lathe explained patiently. "We'll just have to try and pick up a crew in the other system instead. Now which is it?"
Caine pursed his lips. "System M-4. Orion Sector."
"Hmm. Argent's system." Lathe nodded, frowning slightly.
"Is that good or bad?"
"A little of both. A thriving planet—I assume Argent's still thriving—will make it easier to find a crew. On the other hand, Orion Sector runs up to the TDE-Chryselli border, which probably implies a strong Ryqril presence."
"Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good."
"It could be better," Lathe agreed. Raising the communicator, he flipped it on. "Lathe to Dodds. Lathe to Dodds."
A moment later a response came. "Dodds here."
"How's flight prep coming?"
"I just finished. You have the information?"
"Yes—number thirteen on our list. Got that?"
"One-three, right. If you'll clear me with the tower I'll be off. Safe flight to you."
"You too." Lathe tapped a couple more switches. "Lathe to whoever's in the tower."
"Novak here," the answer came promptly. "We were eavesdropping on your last call. What's Dodds doing?"
"Special assignment," Lathe said curtly. "I want you to shut down the lasers until he's cleared atmosphere."
There was a short silence. "I don't recall Dhonau mentioning this," Novak said.
"He didn't; this is on my authority," Lathe told him.
"I see." A moment passed. "Antiaircraft lasers shut down."
"Good. Call Dodds and tell him we can lift when ready." Shutting off the communicator, Lathe fastened it to his belt and turned to look at the rows of Corsairs.
Caine cleared his throat. "Just what is this mission, Lathe?"
"Later." He nodded at the field. "There he goes."
A diffuse glow was visible now, reflecting faintly from other fighters and the glaze-surface. As Caine watched, a dark bulk rose from the far end of the field, the blue-violet light from its gravs casting strangely colored shadows. Rotating to point eastward, it shot upward with surprising speed until it was almost invisible against the starry background. Then, abruptly, a white star erupted as the main drive kicked in. Arcing across the sky, it was lost to sight within seconds.