"Not 'supposedly,' " Lathe corrected mildly. "And you haven't heard about it because the subject hasn't come up until now."
"Who?"
"Jensen, of course. He's our spacecraft expert."
Tremayne frowned sternly at Lathe, and for a long moment Caine thought he was going to demand proof. But Lathe returned the gaze without flinching; and it was the Radix leader who blinked first. "Just remember that if it doesn't work it's your neck, too," he growled. He gestured toward the map of Brocken Base. "And you'd better hope the quizlers see things the same way you do. Otherwise a lot of good men are going to die for nothing—and you and your rads won't escape."
"On the contrary—we'll be at the top of the list," Lathe said calmly. "Or had you forgotten we'll be leading both prongs of the attack?"
Tremayne measured him with his eyes. "All right," he said at last. "When do we attack?"
Lathe's answer was immediate. "Tonight."
The painkiller they'd given Galway was an unfamiliar one, selectively numbing his broken arm and the strained muscles in his neck without fogging up his mental processes. In a way he was sorry; a part of him would have liked to escape from the memories of the past few hours. Waking up to find himself buried under tons of collapsed building... he suppressed a shudder at the memory. And yet, it was almost more painful to realize that the blackcollars had once again pulled off the supposedly impossible.
And to know that he himself was responsible for part of the current crisis.
"I'm sure he picked it up," he said again to Colonel Eakins. "He was lucid enough, and blackcollars don't miss clues like that."
"Especially when handed over on a silver platter," Eakins said acidly, leaning back in his chair. He'd looked singularly ill at ease when he'd first sat down there an hour previously, Galway had thought—he'd probably never before been on that side of the Security prefect's desk. Now, after making a couple of dozen phone calls and giving perhaps twice that many orders, he merely looked tired.
"I know." Galway's guilt feelings weren't helped by the knowledge that being in Jensen's interrogation room when the balloon went up had probably saved his life; of those in the control area only Prefect Apostoleris had survived, and he was holding on by a molecular filament back in a Millaire hospital.
Eakins snorted, but then shook his head. "Oh, forget it. If you hadn't said anything they probably would've nailed the other three through association with Valentine anyway. I just hope we can be ready before Lathe makes his next move."
Galway gestured toward the phone with his good arm. "Do you really think you've got enough men to blockade every spaceport on the planet?"
Eakins sighed. "I don't have any choice. Without any ears left in the Radix council we aren't likely to get the Novas' coordinates in time for the Ryqril to get there first."
"Why not just let them go and simply track them?" Galway suggested. "You can make sure that any ship they can grab has long-range transponders aboard. They'd reach the ships first, but once they're there it would only be a matter of hours before the Ryqril could have a wing of Corsairs out to them."
"I thought of that." Eakins was studying the wood-grain pattern of Apostoleris's desk top. "All our experts claim it's feasible, that it'd take nearly two days for them to get the Novas up to fighting strength." He looked up at Galway, his expression tight. "But there's a flaw somewhere we're not seeing. It's too simple an idea for Lathe to have missed it, and yet his operation's going ahead at full speed. Either we've miscalculated or Lathe knows something I don't." He shook his head. "I can't afford to underestimate them again."
The phone rang, and Eakins picked it up. "Security prefect's office; Eakins," he said. A second later his eyes widened. "Yes. Thank you," he said hastily and dropped the handset into its cradle.
"What is it?" Galway asked tensely.
"Ryq on his way," Eakins hissed. The words were still echoing in Galway's ears when the door slammed open and one of the aliens strode in.
Galway had seen Ryqril close up perhaps a dozen times in his life, but there was something about this one that made the experience seem excruciatingly fresh. The Ryq was big; his slightly hunched form barely cleared the doorway, and the thump of his footsteps could be felt even through the thick carpet. But even that didn't explain the sheer presence the alien radiated, a sense of power and authority Galway had never encountered in a Ryq. Even as he and Eakins scrambled to their feet his eyes flicked over the ornate belt-and-baldric supporting the laser and short sword, searching for a rank or familial pattern he could recognize. But none of the designs were like any he knew.
The Ryq reached the desk and stopped, his black eyes on Eakins. "'Re'ect A'staeleris?" he said, his gravelly voice distorting the words and adding a deep-pitched tonal fluttering.
Eakins swallowed visibly. "I am Colonel Eakins, Acting Prefect," he said, enunciating carefully. "Prefect Apostoleris has been severely injured."
The Ryq made a gesture with its arm, and Galway winced involuntarily before he realized the alien wasn't going for his sword. Small as it was, his motion drew the Ryq's eyes for a split second. "I an Hrarkh—rarriaer khassq," he ground out, his paw completing its gesture to touch a section of his baldric.
Galway felt cold. Khassq-class warriors were the highest stratum of Ryqril society—orders of magnitude above the rear-echelon troops serving on Plinry. How high up this particular Ryq was in the government of Argent or in the war machine arrayed against the Chryselli Galway didn't know, but it didn't really matter. A khassq warrior's authority superseded any chain of command.
Obviously, Eakins knew all this even better than Galway did. "What are your commands?" the colonel asked.
"Rithdraw Secaerity rarriaers arornd all landing 'ields," the alien said promptly. "Eneny attack is allared to 'raceed."
Eakins blinked once. "Ah—yes, of course. But—are you aware the enemy has eliminated our top spies?"
"Dae yae qrestion?" Hrarkh's voice had dropped an octave, and Galway felt his mouth go dry. He'd heard that tone only once before from a Ryq; three men had died immediately afterwards.
"I don't question either your order or your authority," Eakins replied hastily. "I question only our ability to protect Ryqril interests without information from our spies if we withdraw our defenses."
Hrarkh seemed to relax, achieving the effect without moving any muscle that Galway could detect, and his voice returned to its earlier pitch. "Yaer 'raetection is not needed. Ryqril ha'e contral o' sitaetion."
"Of course," Eakins nodded vigorously. "Our forces will be withdrawn at once."
The Ryq's eyes flicked over Galway once more; then, without another word, he turned and left.
Eakins seated himself carefully in his chair as if trying to hold onto at least a shred of dignity. Galway gave his own pride a vacation and collapsed unashamedly into his own seat. "There are rumors on Plinry that the reason Ryqril always come to humans' offices is that if the Ryq gets mad it's the human's place that he tears apart instead of his own."
"It's no rumor—I've seen it happen." Eakins's face was shiny.
Galway looked at the open doorway. "What the hell was that all about?"
Eakins ran a hand across his forehead. "It sounds like they're putting Apostoleris's original plan back into effect."
"That's risky. If Lathe's got something up his sleeve they could lose everything—you just finished convincing me of that."