"To do what?"

"Basically, to do exactly what you're planning," Foxleigh said. "I wanted to take a fighter and do as much damage as I could to the Ryqril before they caught up with me." He squared his shoulders. "And I'll guarantee I'm a better pilot than you are."

"No doubt," Jensen agreed. "So what exactly do you want?"

"What I just said," Foxleigh told him. "Let me take the Talus out into the Ryqril base."

"Sounds reasonable," Jensen said. "The answer's no."

He said it so calmly that for a second the word didn't register. When it finally did, it hit Foxleigh like a slap in the face. "What do you mean, no?" he demanded.

"I mean that before you pulled this I might have been interested," Jensen said, hefting the gun. "Now, your currency's all been burned."

"I wasn't going to shoot you," Foxleigh insisted again, his stomach churning. This was his last, his very last chance. "I just wanted to make sure you'd listen."

"And if I didn't, you had the final argument?" Jensen shook his head. "Sorry, Toby. Or Foxleigh, or whatever your real name is."

"It's Foxleigh."

"Whatever." Jensen gestured back toward the elevator. "Come on. You're going home."

Silently, they made their way back down to the Level Nine storage room where they'd first entered Aegis Mountain. Sitting Foxleigh down on one of the crates, Jensen poked around for a few minutes and came up with a short length of thin cord. "I'm going to tie your hands together," he told Foxleigh as he set to work. "It'll make some parts of the trip a little tricky, I'm afraid, but a former fighter pilot should be able to make do."

"What about the rope ladder?" Foxleigh asked. "I can't climb it this way."

"The housing on the sonic Torch set up at the base of the shaft has a couple of sharp edges on it," Jensen told him. "I damn near sliced my hand open on one of them on our way out last time. A little work and you should be able to cut yourself free."

"And meanwhile you'll be committing suicide?"

"I'll be avenging fallen comrades," Jensen corrected. "And, with luck, I'll be helping bring all this to an end. Okay; on your feet."

"Wait a second," Foxleigh said as Jensen took his arm helped him up. "What do you mean, bring it to an end? Bring what to an end?"

"The Ryqril domination, of course," Jensen said. "What else is there?"

"No—hold it," Foxleigh protested as Jensen started pulling him toward the tunnel. "How is shooting up one Ryqril base going to do that?"

"Just part of the larger whole," Jensen said. "I'd love to chat about it, but I've got work to do." Gently but firmly he pushed Foxleigh through the opening. "Get going."

"Jensen, I want to be a part of what you're doing," Foxleigh said, trying one final time. "I need to be a part of it."

"And don't try to come back," Jensen added, shoving Foxleigh's gun into his own belt. "If you do, I'll kill you." Turning, he strode back across the room.

Foxleigh watched him go, his heart feeling like a chunk of lead. It had been his absolute last chance.

And he'd blown it.

Jensen disappeared out the door. Foxleigh stood there a little longer, wondering if he should follow the other and try again. All the blackcollar could do would be to follow through on his warning and kill him.

And one way or another, Foxleigh was already dead.

With a sigh, he turned his back on the base. Yes, he was dead, but even a dead man had obligations. At the very least, Adamson deserved to hear the whole story, and to finally know what kind of person he'd spent all these years protecting.

When he did, maybe the old medic would kill him himself.

Lowering his head, balancing himself with his tied hands, he headed for home.

Skyler drifted back to consciousness with a sense that he was sitting up, his chin lolling against his chest, his arms pinioned together in front of him. Carefully, expecting to find himself in a Security interrogation cell, he opened his eyes.

He wasn't inside a cell, or even indoors. He was seated on the ground not five meters from where they'd been attacked, his back braced against the trunk of a tree at the edge of the small clearing. His feet were free, but his forearms were pinned securely together by a pair of heavy-duty mag-lock shackles, the sort that couldn't be removed without special equipment. His nunchaku had been taken, as had his slingshot and the knives and shuriken from his various pouches and sheaths.

He turned his head a couple of degrees to his left. Flynn was sitting against the next tree over, his head still bowed against his chest but his eyes half open as he worked his way awake. Beyond him at successive trees were O'Hara and Hawking, similarly trussed up, similarly coming awake.

"Yae are arake," a Ryqril voice said.

There didn't seem much point in pretending he wasn't. Opening his eyes all the way, Skyler lifted his head.

A half dozen Security men were standing across the small clearing, some of them watching the four prisoners, the others peering into the now open air vent grating. Standing a few feet to the side were General Poirot, Colonel Bailey, and an unfamiliar man wearing lieutenant's insignia. Thirty meters above the clearing a Corsair hovered like a vulture waiting for its prey to die.

And standing directly in front of Skyler, three meters away, were a pair of armed Ryqril.

"Good day to you, khassq warrior," Skyler greeted the nearer of the two aliens, forcing his voice to remain calm as he eyed the other's distinctive baldric. He'd faced a few khassq during the war, and even with all his weapons and faculties to call on those contests had been tricky. Here, weaponless and with his hands pinioned, he wouldn't have wanted to face even a regular Ryqril warrior. "I'm Commando Rafe Skyler."

"Khassq rarrior Halaak," the other rumbled, and Skyler found himself breathing a little easier. A khassq wouldn't bother giving his name if was planning a quick and simple kill. Exchanging names implied he intended to at least wait a while before dealing with the prisoners, and any extra time was to the blackcollars' advantage.

He shifted his attention to the second Ryq. This one wore the less elaborate but equally distinctive baldric of a battle architect, the Ryqril equivalent of a senior tactical officer. "And good day to you as well, Battle Architect," he added.

"And tae yae, Connando Skyler," the other said, his grating voice almost courteous. "I an 'Attle Architect Daasaa. Yae ha' 'ought rell and rith courage."

"Thank you," Skyler said, not about to be out-courteoused by a mere Ryq. "General Poirot told me the Ryqril military had taken an interest in this operation. I had no idea just how serious that interest was, though." He looked past the Ryqril at Poirot. "You might have warned me, General."

"And I might have betrayed my people and position," Poirot countered, his voice stiff. "Unfortunately for you, I did neither."

"So I see," Skyler agreed, taking a moment to study Colonel Bailey and the unidentified lieutenant. Both of them were showing the same tension he could see in Poirot's face. "Your force seems rather heavy with senior officers, General. Is this some sort of refresher field trip?"

"We just wanted to be in on the victory," Bailey said before Poirot could answer.

"Or more likely, this just happens to be where your Ryqril masters told you to stand," O'Hara put in.

Poirot's face went rigid. "Listen, blackcollar—"

"Enou'," Daasaa cut him off tartly. "Yae rill now tell us, Connando, what tra's there are inside Aegis Nountain."

"I don't know anything about any traps," Skyler said. "But if you're worried, I'd be more than happy to go in and check."

"Yae rill not no'e 'ron that s'ot," Halaak growled.

Daasaa murmured something to him in Ryqrili. Probably explaining the concept of sarcasm, Skyler guessed. "There is no need 'or that," the battle architect said. "Yaer 'ellow hunans rill disco'er any such dangers."