Blackcollar: The Blackcollar

"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.

"What do we do now?" Waldermar asked tensely, coming up behind him.

"We get the hell out of here," Jensen told him. "Have you been here often enough to know how to get out?"

"I know the standard boltholes," the other said, "But this stairway was one of them."

"Then we can forget the others. How tall is this building?"

"Five floors; nothing above us but the roof. I think this stairway goes all the way up."

"It does. First, though...." Jensen glanced around, located an electrical outlet, then turned back to the fallen Security men. In addition to dart guns and assorted grenades, they were carrying the familiar snub-nosed laser rifles. Scooping one up, the blackcollar flicked it to medium power and fired a shot into the outlet. There was a blue-white flash, and the hallway abruptly went dark.

"That may slow them down," Jensen explained, cracking the stairway door. Nothing was audible; grabbing Waldemar's arm, he guided the Argentian onto the stairs. "They'll have to use infrareds or light-amps this way—and they'll wonder what we're up to. Get moving; I'll stay behind you in case someone below us starts shooting."

They reached the top of the stairs without incident. There, Jensen squeezed past the Argentian and stepped cautiously out. The stairwall exit was as carefully disguised as the rest of it, opening through the back of the shed housing the building's regular stairwell door. For a wonder Security had missed a bet; the roof was deserted.

"Now what?" Waldemar asked, fingering his pistol nervously.

"Watch the stairs while I check out the streets."

The survey was a quick one; Millaire's excellent streetlight system showed all too clearly the forces skulking in the alleys and doorways around the Radix building. Jensen checked all four sides and then trotted back to the center of the roof, where Waldemar was gesturing frantically to him.

"People moving on the stairs," he hissed as the blackcollar slid his pack off and rummaged around inside it. "They'll be here any minute!"

"Here." Jensen handed him the pack, the coil of rope he'd withdrawn from it, and the laser rifle he was still carrying. "Get over to the edge—that side—but stay low. The ground is swarming with collies, and I don't want you spotted."

Waldemar nodded and headed away in a crouching run. Unlimbering his nunchaku and checking his shuriken pouch, Jensen stepped to the main stairwell door and put his ear to the panel. There were footsteps coming, all right; five to ten pairs of them, probably. Stepping to one side, Jensen waited for them to emerge.

They had, at any rate, learned caution. There was no mad charge onto the roof; instead, the door was kicked open and a grenade tossed out.

Jensen reacted instantly, throwing himself into a flat dive that took him to the side of the shed, rolling as noiselessly as possible. The blast was a small one, and he was back up on one knee by the time the Security men charged out onto the roof. There were seven of them in all, from the sound; four breaking to Jensen's side of the shed, the others going the opposite direction.

It was shooting the proverbial swamp lizard in an ice pit. At such close range Jensen's shuriken hit all four with pinpoint accuracy, sliding between helmet and torso armor plates. Jensen didn't wait to see the invaders collapse, but jumped to his feet and slipped around the back of the shed. The Security men on that side of the roof had heard the sounds of Jensen's attack and were heading back to investigate. All three spotted Jensen; one even got a wild shot off before they died. From the sprawled bodies Jensen snatched eight grenades and threw two down each of the two stairways. Slamming the doors on the explosions, he hurried back to the edge of the roof.

Waldemar was crouched by the low parapet, his laser held ready, a stu

The words were barely out of his mouth when a sudden hail of darts clattered into the parapet from below. The sound broke Waldemar's awe-struck trance; crouching lower, he shoved the rifle into Jensen's hands and got busy with the rope.

Smiling to himself at the other's reaction, Jensen rolled along the roof to a new spot and hooked an eye over the parapet. More darts hissed through the air and ricocheted from his battle-hood; ignoring them, he flipped the laser to full antiarmor and fired a long burst into the base of the nearest streetlight. Through the whine of darts he could hear the crackle of unevenly heated metal.

And suddenly, the lights all went out.

Lowering the laser, Jensen looked around him. A solid twenty- or thirty-block region had been blacked out, and the nearest light was a good two blocks away. Not perfect, but there were ways of setting up power substations that wouldn't have let him get even this much.

"Did you do that?" Waldemar whispered as Jensen rejoined him.

"Yes. Is the rope ready?"

The Argentian pressed it into his hands, and Jensen confirmed by touch that the knot was properly done. "Good. When I give the word toss one of those grenades off the roof."

Rising to a crouch, Jensen took the loop in one hand, making sure the rope's other end was securely held under one foot. His eyes were adjusting to the faint wash of light from elsewhere in the city, and he'd mentally fixed his target's location before shooting out the lights, anyway.

Twirling the loop, he aimed.... "Now!" he stage-whispered to Waldemar, and threw the rope.

Jensen had hated lasso practice back in his trainee days. It had been taught by plainsriders from Hedgehog, and being inferior in anything to a Hoggy had been particularly galling. But despite that—or perhaps because of it—he'd become the best roper in his unit; and as Waldemar's grenade flashed, momentarily knocking out all nearby light-amps, he saw his loop land neatly over the sturdy-looking chimney vent sticking up from the building across the street.

"Okay," he whispered, pulling in the slack, "we've got a bridge down to that four-floor place. I'll tie this end down and we'll get going." From his pack he produced a wristband attached to a small pulley. "Put this on your left wrist, pulley side up," he ordered, and headed back to the stairway shed with the coil of rope.