Blackcollar: The Blackcollar

Reaching the floor's central corridor, he paused to glance around the corner—and barely got his head back before concentrated laser fire struck the wall, the thermal shock blasting chips from the masonry. Snatching a shuriken, he flipped it blindly around the corner. But the action was more reflex than anything else; his single glance had been enough to show him his mission had just ended. A minimum of ten guards had been visible, arrayed in standing and kneeling semicircles around a glass door that was almost undoubtedly the computer room. Either they'd guessed his target or the man he'd asked directions from upstairs had finally found his voice. The guards, though heavily armed, had been unarmored, and Lathe knew he could eventually beat them down... but he also knew he couldn't single-handedly take on a whole prison. Turning, he sprinted back for the stairway, hoping he wouldn't find the stairs to the roof in enemy hands.

By some miracle the landing was still empty as he charged through the stairway door—but it was instantly clear that that was about to change. The whole stairwell echoed with the sound of ru

The stairwell loudspeaker had resumed calling out his movements, but with all the noise perhaps the six Security men charging downstairs never heard that he was coming toward them—either that or they didn't really understand how dangerous a blackcollar could be in close quarters. Whichever, they came clattering down with no attempt at caution or tactical spacing. The front rank began firing as soon as he appeared, their aim understandably erratic. Ignoring the deadly lances of light sweeping through the air around him, Lathe snatched a throwing star and, with all the accuracy he could muster, sent it threading through the mob to strike the last man in line... and as those just ahead of the dead guard learned first-hand about the domino effect, the blackcollar hurled his nunchaku spi

They'd left two men in the fifteenth floor hallway as backup, but they weren't really ready for him and a pair of throwing stars cleared the path. Hurrying down the corridor, Lathe retraced his earlier route, hoping the man who'd been guarding the entrance to the roof stairway had left.

He hadn't. The muzzle of a laser rifle was still poking around the far corner as the blackcollar turned into the central hallway. Hurling a shuriken at the single visible eye, Lathe increased his speed, trying to reach the stairway door before the guard could line up a clean shot.

The attempt was only partially successful. The shuriken missed completely, apparently whipping by so quickly the guard didn't even have time to duck back. His first shot grazed Lathe's left thigh; his second went over the blackcollar's head as Lathe launched himself into a flat dive and somersault that took him to within a few meters of the stairway door. Still in a crouch, he threw four more shuriken in rapid succession, finally managing to force the gu

For the past few minutes he'd been ignoring the continuous stream of orders and comments Skyler had been feeding into the air waves; orders, he knew, that should be giving Security's listeners reasons why the blackcollars' ground attack had not yet begun. Now, Lathe boosted power on his own microphone and cut in. "Ready-one, this is leader one," he called. "Abort mission, ready-one; repeat, abort."

"Ready-one received," Skyler's voice crackled, sounding tight. "Exit visa away. Did you get it?"

"Negative. Pull back and disperse."

"Acknowledged. Better hurry; vultures on the rise."

Which meant Skyler had spotted patrol boats approaching. He had to get off the roof quickly or risk having his escape route blocked.

He emerged on the rooftop to find a new blue-and-white-striped missile resting in a bubbling pool, its trailing line disappearing off the roof in the direction of Skyler's building. Low in the sky beyond, he could see four sleek patrol boats rapidly closing on the city.

The adhesive took thirty seconds to solidify, and in that time four Security men charged out the door directly into Lathe's nunchaku. For once, the roles were reversed, with Lathe in the relatively safe defensive position. He only hoped that the rest of the guards that were undoubtedly gathering would hold off long enough for him to get safely to Skyler's building before they attacked.

"Ready," Skyler said, and Lathe left the door at a dead run, adjusting the pulley on his left wrist as he traveled. Barely slowing down as he reached the low parapet, he snapped the pulley onto the line and launched himself into space.

The wind of his passage buffeted him as he slid down the taut line. Beneath him the prison yard and Strip wail swept past, and he caught a glimpse of eight Security cars pulled up by the prison fence, their occupants firing wildly at him. But most of the half-minute trip remained afterwards a blur of agony as the tension on his left arm pulled his flexarmor tightly against his burned shoulder.... It was almost a shock when Skyler suddenly loomed ahead of him, arms outstretched to break his momentum.

"You okay?" the big blackcollar asked anxiously as Lathe unfastened his pulley.

"I'll live," Lathe assured him, removing his gas filter. "Nice job, Skyler; my skin is indebted to you. Don't bother with anything except the eavesdropper—the rest can be replaced, and there'll be collies crawling all over this building any minute now."

"Okay by me. Hang on a second, though...." Reaching down, Skyler picked up his launcher's trigger grip and squeezed it, sending one last missile flashing into the sky. Lathe turned, watching as it dropped into the gap where the Avis Street gate had stood earlier that day. Three Security patrol car's, racing from the Strip toward that exit, swerved violently to avoid the explosion. One of them didn't make it.

"That should hold up the pursuit a bit," Skyler said blandly, tossing the trigger grip aside. "Did you get everything done in there that you wanted to?"

Pulling off his goggles and battle-hood, Lathe took a deep breath of fresh air. The gentle breeze felt cold on his sweaty skin. "I think so," he said. "Let's go home; it's been a busy morning."

CHAPTER 18

The radio code used by Argent Security was just different enough from Plinry's system to be incomprehensible to Prefect Jamus Galway as the patrol car maneuvered through the crowded Calarand streets. But that crisp tone of voice and his driver's impotent swearing were all too familiar.

Somewhere, Lathe's blackcollars had struck.

Calarand was larger in both directions than any city Galway had ever seen, and he looked around with interest and some envy as they drove toward its center. Despite occasional war scars the buildings were generally in better shape than those of Capstone; the pedestrians walking along the street were better dressed and fed; and there were a lot more vehicles. Apparently Argent had accepted the inevitable early on, surrendering before something like the Groundfire attack became necessary. The moral was obvious. Perhaps Lathe was just a slow learner.

A thin trail of smoke was rising into the air ahead and slightly to their left. "Are we going past that smoke up there?" Galway asked the driver.