"Though they did plenty of that last time they were here," Ramirez pointed out.
Bailey grimaced. Yes; Trendor's strange and still unexplained assassination. "That operation was still based out of the city," he said. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to see if there are any other likely targets out there they might be gunning for."
"Shall I get started on a name search?"
"O'Dae can put someone on that," Bailey said. "You concentrate on getting every spotter we've got into the—"
From down the corridor came the sound of a door opening, and Bailey turned to see one of the interrogators step out into the corridor. He spotted Bailey and Ramirez and gestured urgently.
Bailey hurried over, Ramirez right behind him. "What is it?" he asked as he reached the door.
"You'll want to hear this, Colonel," the interrogator said, gesturing them into the room. Inside, Bailey found a dark-haired young woman slumped in her chair in a verifin-induced daze. "Go ahead, Bryna," the interrogator said encouragingly. "Tell me again about Whiplash."
"Wonderful stuff," the woman said, her words slurred and dreamy-sounding. "It makes you ..." Her voice trailed off.
"Bryna?" the interrogator prompted. "Tell me what Whiplash does."
"It makes you ... you don't have to like the hose-snouts anymore."
"Hose-snouts?" Ramirez murmured.
"South Denver street slang for Ryqril," Bailey told him, frowning. Don't have to like the hose-snouts anymore? What the hell did that mean?
And then, steel bands seemed to close around his chest. "My God," he said softly. "Does she mean—?"
"I think so, sir," the interrogator said tightly. "She's said it at least three times now, and in different ways. I don't think it's an artifact of the verifin."
"I don't get it," Ramirez said, sounding confused. "What's she trying to say?"
"She's saying," Bailey said quietly, "that Phoenix has found a way to break Ryqril loyalty-conditioning."
Ramirez stared at Bailey, then back at the girl. "I think I'd better get those spotters in the air."
"Yes," Bailey said mechanically. "Wilsonn, keep at her. See if you can find out how much of this Whiplash stuff they have, where they got it from, and where they keep their supplies."
"Yes, sir," the interrogator said, and turned back to the girl.
Bailey gestured to Ramirez, and together they left the room. "You see to the spotters," he said. "I'm going to give the Ryqril a call. They're sure as hell going to want to know about this."
With a grunt, Foxleigh drove the last nail into the rough board and stepped back to inspect his work. It wasn't pretty, that was for sure. But once the south and west walls had been completely redone the cabin should be a lot cozier when the winter winds started blowing.
Or at least it would until new gaps opened up between the boards. A fact of life here in the mountains.
Rubbing the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, he looked away from the new siding to the sunlight glistening off the mountains to the west. There were still times when he missed the level of human companionship he'd enjoyed before the war, but he had to admit there were compensations to living out here. He let his gaze sweep across the sky, drinking in the magnificent panorama as he shifted his eyes from west to south to east....
He paused, frowning. There were a lot of Security spotters drifting around over there today. A lot of them.
For a minute he watched the spotters, an old sensation tingling the back of his neck. Then, setting down his hammer, he limped around to the front of the cabin and went inside. Crossing to the south-facing window, the one that looked down on the handful of houses below, he selected the red shade and pulled it all the way down. Toby's old signal to let his semiestranged family know that he urgently needed help.
Foxleigh could only hope someone down there would notice it soon. He hoped even more strongly that Adamson or his son would be willing to make the trek up here.
Because something was brewing out there to the east. Something big, judging from Security's reaction to it.
Maybe the blackcollars had returned.
He hoped so. He desperately hoped so. A year ago, when they'd sneaked into Aegis Mountain, he'd hesitated too long and missed his opportunity.
But not this time. This time he would be ready for them.
Throwing another look at the spotters drifting through the sky, he headed back outside and returned to his work.
"General Poirot?"
With an effort, Poirot pried open his eyes. Two men stood over him, their faces silhouetted against soft lights. "How do you feel, General?" one of the men asked.
Poirot frowned. That was a good question, actually. His head hurt fiercely, and his mouth had that peculiar dryness that usually meant a long night's sleep. His body seemed heavy, too, as if he'd slept either too much or too little. Memories were starting to tiptoe back now: the fiasco at Reger's estate, the blackcollar Skyler knocking the world out from under him. Skyler would pay for that, he promised himself distantly.
But there was something else, too, mixed in with the subdued embarrassment and irritation. A brandnew sensation he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"How do you feel about the Ryqril, for instance?" the second man suggested.
The Ryqril? Poirot frowned, the open-snouted faces of humanity's enslavers floating up in front of his mind's eye.
He stiffened. No—it was impossible. He'd been loyalty-conditioned. Loyalty-conditioned. The images and thoughts and feelings trickling through him simply could not exist.
But they did.
"That's right, General," the first man said quietly. "Welcome to your new world."
CHAPTER 7
Lathe had had everyone spend a couple of hours looking over the maps and other data Shaw had given them, and then had ordered them all to get some sleep.
It was late afternoon by the time Judas woke up. "Morning, Caine," Spadafora greeted him as he passed Judas's couch, a heavy-looking box in his hands. "Afternoon, rather. Better get dressed—Shaw's coming by in half an hour for a drive up into the Deerline Mountains."
Judas felt his stomach tighten. The real Caine was hidden away somewhere in those mountains. "What are we going there for?" he asked cautiously.
"He says there are some places where we can get a good look at the Khorstron center," Spadafora called over his shoulder as he disappeared into one of the house's bedrooms. "Move it or get left behind."
The safe house had come equipped with a fully stocked pantry. Judas fixed himself a quick breakfast and then hit the shower. By the time Shaw arrived, he was dressed and ready to go.
"Come on, come on—it's not getting any earlier out there," the tactor said briskly as he looked around.
"Where's Spadafora?"
"He's not going," Lathe said, gesturing to Mordecai and Judas. "It'll just be the three of us."
Shaw made a face. "I wish you'd said something—I could have brought a car instead of a van," he growled. "Cheaper to run. Never mind; let's just do it."
The foothills of the Deerline Mountains ran right up to the southern edge of Inkosi City, with a couple of the pricier suburban areas scattered around its lower slopes. The Ryqril had refused to let Judas inside the tac center even after he'd been loyalty-conditioned, but Galway had brought him up into the mountains once during his training to give him a view of the place. As the rectangular city street grid gave way to winding mountain roads, he wondered if Shaw would end up taking the blackcollars to the same spot Galway had chosen.
Oddly enough, though their route was very different, they ended up not more than a hundred meters from the spot where Judas had been the last time. Perhaps Galway really did understand how these blackcollars thought.