Blackcollar: The Blackcollar

No sounds were audible from either stairway as Jensen swiftly lashed the rope to a vertical support at one of the main stairwell's i

Waldemar was kneeling tensely by the low wall when Jensen returned. "Any reaction from below?" the blackcollar asked as he checked the wristband and locked the pulley over the line.

Waldemar's silhouette shook its head. "But they've got to have seen the rope," he hissed.

"Not necessarily." Jensen relieved him of the laser and picked up a grenade, arming the latter. "It's thin and dark against a black sky, and the grenade you threw at the same time should have temporarily blinded them." Rising halfway to his feet, he hurled his grenade back over the opposite side of the roof. "To keep them guessing," he explained as the blast echoed dully. "Slide up here onto the parapet and get ready."

Waldemar obeyed. Slinging his pack back on, Jensen picked up the last two grenades and lofted them into the street below. The laser went back into his right hand as he gripped the strap joining the wristband to the pulley with his left... and as the grenades flashed he leaped, pulling both men off the roof. Swaying like a twin-bob pendulum gone berserk, they slid down the rope.

Four seconds, Jensen estimated the trip would take; four dangerous, make-or-break seconds. Fighting the swinging motion by pure reflex, he held the laser ready, waiting tautly for the blast of darts that would show they'd been spotted. But no such attack came... and then they were over the roof, dragging their feet to kill their speed. Waldemar was new to the technique and promptly flipped over so that he was traveling backwards, bending double as the rope dipped toward the roof. Jensen let go while he still had his balance, braking to a halt in a half dozen quick steps. The gamble had paid off; and if he could now retrieve enough of his rope to try it again on the next building over, they might get out of this yet. Digging out a shuriken, he turned back toward the Radix building and took aim.

And from behind him came a flash of laser light, stabbing past his arm to slice the rope a bare meter away. Simultaneously, there were a handful of flat cracks, and the roof erupted in thick white smoke.

There was no time to curse, much as Jensen felt like doing so. Twisting to his right, he dropped the laser and snatched out his gas filter, jamming it tightly over his nose and mouth. They'd been waiting for him, obviously, probably out of sight behind the building's stairway shed. A trap only a blackcollar was likely to wander into—and like a professionally trained idiot, he'd done just that.

Ahead of him another laser flashed, lighting up the smoke like the inside of a light tube. Jensen hurled the shuriken he was holding, heard a metallic clank as it ricocheted. Dropping into a crouch, he made himself as inconspicuous as possible and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Obviously, they still had some hope of taking him alive—otherwise they would have shot him down as he dangled helplessly from the rope. And that might prove to be a bigger mistake than they knew, because by laying down a sleep-fog they had effectively blinded everyone on the roof. Even infrareds and light-amps would be of limited use, especially if they kept overloading their sca

The soft hum of a flyer interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, he could make out just a hint of blue-violet grav light approaching from the west. Coming in very low.... There were times when stupid chances were the only ones available. Standing upright again, Jensen ran for the stairway shed.

His movement didn't go u

It was a short reprieve. Within a second or two the smoke again exploded with light as laser fire crisscrossed his chest. Gritting his teeth, Jensen twisted aside, hoping he was still going the right direction. Above, the flyer's hum was getting louder.

He almost missed the shed completely, his outstretched hand brushing it as he ran past. Skidding to a halt, he felt around, located the door. It was locked.

Behind him came the faint sound of something moving swiftly toward his head. Spi

The battle was short but furious. Jensen caught at least two of the attackers with what were probably disabling blows, despite their armor, and took nothing worse than a few bruises in return. Swinging his nunchaku in a wide arc to keep any others at bay, he stepped back to the stairwell door and snapped a kick at the lock.

The panel shattered, and behind Jensen pandemonium suddenly erupted. At least five laser beams caught him squarely in the back, feeling like a giant welding torch beneath the flexarmor. Jensen gasped... but his body was already moving, his legs bending and straightening convulsively, his hands finding purchase on the edge of the shed roof, his arms pulling him up and over to sprawl atop the structure as the lasers continued to blast at the doorway below.

For a moment he lay on his side on the shed roof, breathing as hard as he could through the gas filter and waiting for the pain in his back to ease. He had only seconds before his dazzled opponents discovered he had not, in fact, gone into the stairway and reached the obvious conclusion. Pushing himself up into a crouch, he looked upward. The flyer's gravs were more visible now, and Jensen was able to make out the craft's landing skids and lower fuselage. It was drifting slowly toward him, and for the first time he noticed a quiet spraying sound. His nunchaku was still in his right hand, shifting his grip, he took one of the sticks in each hand, the chain stretched taut between them. Distances were impossible to judge accurately in the fog, and the extra twenty centimeters of reach the nunchaku provided might be crucial. Bracing himself, Jensen watched the light move closer. A few more seconds—

Abruptly, the flyer twitched. Simultaneously, two laser beams shot at Jensen from below. He'd been spotted.

The blackcollar didn't hesitate, but jumped upward with all his strength, hoping fervently the flyer was still where it had been when the scattered laser light cut it off from his view. For a long moment he floated in glowing mist then, abruptly, he was above the fog, and hovering squarely above him was the flyer. Almost out of reach and at the top of his arc Jensen's arms whipped up, catching the flyer's left landing skid with the nunchaku chain.

For a second he dangled there, taking stock of the situation. The flyer was like the ones used as spotters by the collies on Plinry, the underside loading hatch and one of the side doors would be accessible from his skid. Behind the hatch a wide nozzle was directing a rain of heavy-looking droplets to the roof below. An adhesive spray, probably, designed to immobilize all combatants. Twisting up, the blackcollar hooked his legs around the skid, and a moment later was crouching under the boat's left-side door. The crew was undoubtedly aware of his presence, and Jensen had to move fast before they figured out what to do about it. Reaching up, he got a firm grip on the recessed door handle, and with all the speed and strength he could muster began smashing his nunchaku into the window at the door's right.