His hidden flexarmor was equal to the attack, stopping the pellet and distributing its impact over a large part of his torso. An instant later reflexes had taken over, twisting him around on the balls of his feet into a low crouch and sending the nunchaku whipping through the air toward his assailant.
He caught a glimpse of the woman pointing a pistol marksman-fashion from around the protection of the truck's front bumper before the spinning nunchaku forced her to duck back. The driver hadn't moved; leaping to her side, Colvin grabbed her arm and pulled her in front of him as he snatched a shuriken from his pouch. Karen's head and gun poked out from cover again—
"No, Karen, stop!" the driver almost screamed. "He's a blackcollar."
Karen paused, gun still pointed. "Let her go," she called to Colvin. "You can have the truck, but let her go first."
"I don't want the truck—just a ride to Denver," he called back. His tingler came on: Distract her. "I got caught out here without a car," he continued, raising his volume a bit, "and need to get to town.
You were the first vehicle that came along—"
There was a sudden flurry of motion, and when it was over Braune and Pittman had the gun. And Karen.
—
They had the gear from the pod distributed into packs and stored in the trailer by the time Caine and Alamzad reached them. Colvin was standing guard at the rear doors as they approached. "There's room for all of us in the trailer," he reported. "Cargo's some kind of rock—unprocessed oil shale, they called it."
Caine nodded. "Good. Incidentally, Colvin, that was easily the most insane stunt I've ever heard of.
Next time clear something like that with me before you do it, okay? Fine job, though." He nodded to the women sitting with their backs to the front tire under Braune's watchful gaze. "Now, who do we have here?"
"We haven't had full introductions yet. The dark-haired one's named Karen; she's the one who had the pistol."
"Well, we might as well be civil about this—and then get the hell out of here before Security finds us." Caine headed forward, nodded to Braune, and then gestured to the women. "Stand up, please," he told them. "Sorry to have disrupted your trip like this, but as my companion said we need transport to Denver. Your names are...?"
"Karen Lindsay," the dark-haired woman said as they got to their feet. Unlike her companion, she seemed more watchful and angry than afraid. "This is Raina Dupre. If you want the truck, just take it and go."
Caine shook his head. "Afraid a missing truck would raise a little more official notice than we can afford right at the moment. You live together in Denver?"
"In a twoplex, yes," Lindsay answered. "With Raina's husband."
Caine turned his attention to Raina. "When does he expect you in?"
"He works nights." Her face seemed to sag, as if the possible reason for that question had just occurred to her. "He won't be back till seven. Please—you don't need to hurt us—"
"We're not going to hurt you," Caine interrupted her. "You—Ms. Lindsay—where are you taking the truck?"
"Coast Shipping," she told him. "It's in the northeast part of town, near the Seventy-two/Ninety-three crosspoint."
"All right," Caine said, pretending that that meant something to him. "Ms. Dupre, I'm afraid you'll have to stay in back with my men. I'm going to ride up front with your friend to make sure she doesn't try anything heroic."
Raina's mouth tightened, but it was Lindsay who spoke up. "Why not let her drive? I'm not afraid to be locked back there."
"Because I want to talk to you," Caine told her. "Come on—we need to get moving."
—
For the first kilometer or so they rode in silence, Caine watching out the windows as the truck wove in and out through the curves. At times the mountains would be little more than shadows at the edges of the headlight beams; then suddenly a jagged rock face would be rolling along bare meters from the side window. A small town flashed by, its sprinkling of lights wedged into what seemed to be little more than a wide spot in the road.
As yet no sign of Denver itself. We almost had to walk all this, Caine thought soberly. Almost.
The town disappeared to the rear, and beside him Lindsay cleared her throat. "I've heard a lot of stories about blackcollars," she said, "but never anything about them getting lost out in the mountains."
"Some of the things blackcollars do would amaze you," Caine told her, trying not to let his annoyance at the near disaster spill out onto her.
"I'm sure."
He pursed his lips, studying her face as best he could in the dim backwash of the headlights. A
pleasant enough face; more to the immediate point, a face with spirit behind it. A spirit that reminded him strongly of some of the Radix resistance fighters he'd met on Argent. "Do you also hear stories about a group called Torch?" he asked.
There was no reaction he could detect. "Never heard of it," she said. "What sort of business is it in?
Or shouldn't I ask?"
He shrugged. "It's not a secret. Presumably, they fight Ryqril."
She snorted. "Doesn't sound like a group blackcollars would be interested in."
"Then you don't know much about blackcollars. The schools around here don't go in for recent history?"
"I get all the recent history I need from the local news," she retorted.
Caine sighed quietly and gave up. Clearly, the government was slanting the news something fierce—and in retrospect, he should have expected that. If there were blackcollars operating anywhere within a thousand kilometers of Denver, the local Security office would be doing its damnedest to poison public opinion toward them.
Which meant that, for the near future at least, they were going to be completely on their own. "Let me see your ID," he said.
Lindsay dug out her wallet and tossed it into his lap. A card was set into a plastic window in the front, and with a penlight Caine gave it a quick once-over. Name, photo, address, physical description, company. "Company? They put that on IDs here?"
She threw him an odd look. "Of course—the companies issue the IDs. Where are you from, anyway?"
"Europe," Caine told her, choosing the simplest of the possible responses. "What do you mean, the companies issue them? Doesn't local Security handle that?"
"Not around here. This way, if they catch you without an ID they can toss you into the hamper right away for being a driftist."
"And then they have to try and figure out who you are?"
She shrugged. "They've got everyone's fingerprints and retina patterns on file. Or so they say." She risked another glance away from the road. "If you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem very well informed."
"We're new on the block." Careful to keep the beam out of her eyes, he ran his light over her clothing. Similar fabric to that of the team's Plinry clothing, at least in appearance and texture. But the cut, color pattern, and ornamentation were unacceptably different. "How far do you live from the place you'll be dropping off the truck?" he asked.
"A couple of kilometers."
"Which way?"
Her lip twitched. "We'll pass within a few blocks on our way in."
"Good." Another town, more spread out than the previous one, opened up to their right. "I want you to swing over to your house and let my men out. They'll stay there with your partner while you and I take the truck in."
"And you're going to pass yourself off as Raina? They'll be expecting her to be with me, you know."
"I'm counting on you to cover that one," he said, letting his voice chill a few degrees. "Remember, you'll be right in the middle of things if there's any trouble."
"You don't need to elaborate," she said, matching his tone.
"Good."
The town vanished behind them, and as the sheer cliff faces returned so did the earlier silence.
Settling back in his seat, Caine unfolded one of Lepkowski's maps and set about figuring out where and when they would emerge from the mountains.