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"Me?" She looked startled.
"Who else? Someone's got to rebuild the organization, and you're the most reasonable candidate.
Though if it helps any, you probably won't have to start exactly from level zero. Isn't that right, Reger?"
Reger scratched at his ear. "I don't know, Lathe. You're talking a hell of a lot of risk for not much gain. I'm in this business for the money and power, not to play Quixote for the nobility of it all."
"What about the power that'll be available when the Ryqril are thrown off Earth?" Lathe said.
"You'll be in a clear position to grab some of that when it happens."
"If it happens," the other countered. "You don't have to go through all the arguments again—I remember them well enough. It's just that I don't see a hell of a lot of indication the roaches are busy packing their bags."
"Wait a second," Silcox said. "If you're talking about me linking up with Reger's streetlice operation, you can forget it. I've got higher standards than that."
"You can't afford to be choosy," Lathe told her bluntly.
"What, you think you and Kanai can start things up all by yourselves?"
"Kanai? Who said I was going to take him on, either?"
"Listen to her." Reger snorted. "This is the patriot who's going to lead all of us to freedom? You have to submit a full pedigree to even get in on the revolution."
Silcox glared at him. "I can find more trustworthy teammates than you under the rocks in your yard," she growled. "I may be young and inexperienced, but I'm capable of managing without you, thanks."
Lathe sighed. "A
"In other words," Reger said heavily, "you're saying that together we're a reasonable team, but singly we're just spi
"Who's talking assassinations?" Lathe frowned. "I'm talking operations against Security forces and government installations."
"Yes, and you've proved your point," Reger said. "But remember that you had a whole flock of blackcollars on hand to help you infiltrate Trendor's house—"
"To infiltrate what? Trendor who?"
"He's the former Security prefect you assassinated this evening," Silcox said. "Didn't you even know his name?"
Lathe stared at her, shifted his gaze to Reger. "What are you two talking about? We didn't kill anyone this—"
And suddenly it all clicked. "My God," he whispered. "My God.—Reger give me the details. What exactly happened to this Trendor?"
"He was shot down in his home in the mountains." Reger's face had an odd expression on it, as if he were wondering about Lathe's sanity. "There was a massive laser fire fight in his defense—three of his Security guards were killed in that—but the intruders apparently escaped without anyone else seeing them. Are you saying it wasn't you out there?"
Lathe took a deep breath. "Have your people find out which Security men died in the battle," he told the other. "I'll guarantee you Miro Marcovich will be one of the names."
"You know him?" Silcox asked.
Lathe turned to her. Her face, like Reger's, was wary... but behind the confusion the first hint of understanding was begi
"That's impossible," Reger said. "Security men are loyalty-conditioned to be incapable..."
He trailed off. "My God," he said, very softly.
Lathe let the silence hang in the room for a half-dozen heartbeats. Then, picking up his backpack, he got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I need to go and discuss this development with my men. You two might want to do the same, perhaps concentrating on the best ways to get Torch revitalized."
Silcox took a deep breath and looked across at Reger. "Not Torch," she said quietly. "Phoenix. A
living torch, revived from its own ashes."
Reger nodded thoughtfully. "Silly, really. But I suppose that kind of symbolism is important to such a group's morale." He hesitated, looked up at Lathe. "On your way out, Comsquare, would you mind asking Commando Kanai to join us?"
Lathe smiled faintly. "I'd be glad to."
Epilogue
It was Colonel Poirot, not General Qui
Poirot grunted. "Not fu
Galway nodded. "One of my guards filled me in."
"Yeah, well, I don't suppose he mentioned the Ryqril reaction to it all. There's a Ryq in charge in the main Security office right now—a khassq-class warrior, no less. Qui
Galway felt his jaw clench momentarily. So he'd been right, all the way down the line... and yet, even now he still had trouble believing it. Somehow, assassination just didn't fit Lathe's character.
"So where are you taking me?" he asked Poirot. "They sending me home or down the hatch with Qui
"I don't know," the other said heavily. "All I know is that there's a Ryq fresh in from Plinry who wants to see you."
"Oh, hell." That scout ship that had left orbit right after the blackcollars' big escape, destination almost certainly Plinry. Galway had almost forgotten about that, but whatever its mission had been, he had a strong suspicion he wasn't going to like hearing about it.
There were two Ryqril standing stiffly by the rear corners of Qui
"I am Galway," the prefect identified himself, speaking with some difficulty around the sudden lump in his throat. On both alien baldrics were the distinctive patterns of the khassq-class warriors, the highest stratum of Ryqril society.
"I an Taakh—rarriaer khassq," the same Ryq identified himself with a brief touch of his paw to his baldric. The laser and short sword on his belt jiggled with the motion, and Galway swallowed again.
"Other nan—lea' us," the second Ryq said. Poirot bowed briefly and backed hastily out.
For a moment the aliens eyed Galway in silence. Then Taakh stirred, gesturing to a cassette lying on the desk. "The re'el shuttle has lekht Earth," he said, giving the words their usual Ryqril mangling.
"Did the 'lackcollars go rith it?"
Galway licked his lips, resisting the impulse to say that he had no idea. Obviously, they knew that.
What they wanted was for him to look over the available data and give them his opinion on the matter. A test of some sort.... Stepping forward, he picked up the cassette and slid it into the reader.