Novak grunted and fell silent. Skyler took a moment to look back along the road, and to study the territory on either side. Only occasional lights could be seen, most of them far back from the road. Not surprising, considering it was way past midnight and all good Argentians were asleep in their beds. Still, the darkness and lack of other traffic made the blackcollar uncomfortable. He'd learned long ago to dislike being conspicuous.
The car topped the ridge—and suddenly Millaire was in front of them, spreading across the valley like a two-dimensional star cluster. "Quite a town," Novak commented. "How's it compare to Calarand?"
"Larger in area; smaller in population," Valentine said. Half of Millaire's lights disappeared as they curved behind a hill, reappearing a moment later.
"Find a place where you can pull over," Skyler spoke up suddenly. "I want a clear view of the city."
"Why?" Valentine asked. "We're getting in late enough as it is."
"Just do it." Skyler's danger sense was tingling, and he was in no mood to argue.
"Yes, sir." Valentine ran the car onto the shoulder, raising clouds of dust as they bounced to a halt.
"Novak, give me that map," Skyler said, frowning out at Millaire. Novak handed over both the map and his penlight, and Skyler took a moment to refold the paper to the large-scale map of the city. "Valentine, show me again exactly where Radix HQ is," he ordered, cupping the penlight to block all but a faint glow.
The Argentian reached back over the seat. "It's right here," he said, tapping a spot a kilometer from the center of town. "Why?"
Skyler studied the map another moment, then flipped off the light. "You see it, Novak?"
"Yeah," the other said slowly. "I do now."
"What?" Valentine asked suspiciously, peering out the window.
"You see that patch of darkness, next to the big white building?" Skyler pointed it out. "Radix HQ is inside it."
Valentine shrugged. "So? Probably just a power substation crash."
"Maybe. But doesn't it strike you as odd that there should just happen to be an outage now, and at the same place Jensen happens to be?"
"Coincidence," Valentine growled. But he didn't sound entirely convinced.
"Possibly. I doubt it." Skyler handed the map and light back to Novak. "Let's go. We're under battle conditions now—you understand, Valentine?"
"Perfectly, sir," the Argentian said grimly. The car was already back on the road and picking up speed.
Opening the front of his coat, Skyler pulled his flexarmor gloves and battle-hood from beneath his belt and began checking his weapons. In the front seat, he could see movements that indicated Novak was doing likewise.
Outside, it was beginning to rain.
"Your rads won't be here for at least another hour," Uri Greenstein said, handing Jensen one of the two steaming mugs he'd just poured and sitting down behind his plain metal desk. "You're welcome to a bed until then if you'd like to rest."
"Thanks, but no," Jensen said, sipping cautiously. It was some sort of herbal coffee, delicately seasoned. "I napped some in the car. All I really needed was a shower and a hot meal, and your people have been most generous in providing those."
Greenstein shrugged, and Jensen let his eyes drift around the room. The coffee and automatic blend-maker seemed to be Greenstein's only luxuries; the rest of the fifth-floor office was Spartan in the extreme, from the simple furniture to the plain Venetian blind covering the window. He looked back at Greenstein, to find the other's gaze on him. "I take it, Mr. Greenstein," he said, "that you had some reason for asking me up here? Besides the coffee, of course, which is excellent."
The Radix leader smiled thinly. "Not really, Commando. Frankly, I just wanted to see what you were like."
Jensen shrugged. "I hope you're not disappointed."
"Not at all. Intrigued is more like it." Greenstein waved toward the west. "You escaped a crashing spaceship, evaded a massive manhunt for eight days, apparently killed quite a few heavily armed Security men—and yet you don't have a trace of the usual blackcollar bluster."
"Well, you know how jungle animals calm down after they're fed."
"You're joking. I'm not."
"I know." Jensen sobered, sipped again from his mug. "We all started with a little of that, I suppose—being a freshly graduated blackcollar is heady stuff. I think most of us lost our conceit after our first few weeks of actual warfare. When enough of your comrades have been killed beside you the word 'elite' pretty well loses all meaning."
Greenstein nodded heavily. "Yes," he agreed. "I've seen a fair number of friends die like that." He fixed Jensen with a hard eye. "And I don't want to add to that list because of you and your rads."
Jensen understood. "I expect most of Security's fire will be directed at us alone."
"All right." Greenstein stood up. "Understand, please, that I have nothing against all of you personally. It's just that I've seen too many battles where the blackcollars have survived and a lot of other people haven't."
"It's not always like that," Jensen said, also rising, "but we'll do our best to get out of your way quickly."
The words were barely out of his mouth when a box on Greenstein's desk suddenly buzzed and a red light flicked on. "What's that?" Jensen asked.
Greenstein frowned slightly. "Someone coming in through the west—"
Abruptly, five more lights came on; simultaneously, the whole building shook with a muffled roar beneath them. "Sonic grenade!" Jensen snapped, already halfway into his flexarmor gloves.
Greenstein didn't hesitate. Yanking open a drawer, he scooped out a bulky gas mask and a dart pistol and ran to the door. He opened it, looked out quickly, and disappeared. Jensen, in full battle gear now with his pack back on his shoulders, was right behind him.
The hall was only dimly lit. Ahead of Greenstein Jensen could see two figures disappearing through what appeared to be a hidden door; behind the blackcollar three or four others were stumbling out of other rooms. "Where are we going?" Jensen asked Greenstein.
"We're being raided," the other answered tightly, already beginning to breathe heavily through his mask. "We'll help with the fighting and then make for the tunnels."
"Hold it. How secure is this exit?"
He was too late; Greenstein was already through the door and clattering down a spiral stairway. Gritting his teeth, the blackcollar followed.
They didn't get far, Greenstein was barely half a flight down when he suddenly jerked back, his gun arm waving wildly as he spun and collapsed against the railing. Below him on the stairs three or four body-armored figures could be seen coming up.
Jensen reacted instantly, reversing direction and heading back to the floor they'd just left. Two bursts of darts slapped at his legs before he made it through the door—and as he emerged into the hall another burst caught him full in the chest. He leaped to one side, nunchaku swinging, and just barely managed to deflect the flail in time to keep from breaking Cutter Waldemar's skull.
"Jensen!" the plump man exclaimed, hastily lowering his pistol. "I'm sorry; I thought you were a quizler."
"You're not far wrong—they're right behind me. Get back."
Waldemar nodded and moved off down the hall. Jensen stepped to one side of the hidden door and had just raised his nunchaku when the first of the invaders came charging through.
Jensen didn't even bother with the nunchaku, but simply swept the Security man's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. The second man, too close on his partner's heels, fought to keep his feet under him; Jensen's nunchaku smashing into his neck ended the battle. The third man never made it into the hall as Jensen stepped into the doorway and threw a kick to his torso that sent him reeling back into at least one more invader. The sounds of bodies crashing down the stairs were cut off as Jensen slammed the door shut.