The Blackcollar Series

by Timothy Zahn

  “That’s my guess,” Lathe said, glancing behind them. No tails tonight, apparently. Hardly surprising. “Could be one of the reasons Bernhard resents having been sent out with the cattle drive, too. Probably feels it was a slight on his integrity. That, or else his current life-style has rubbed blisters on his conscience.”

  “Kanai certainly has blisters on his,” Skyler agreed. “Given that, you think Bernhard will come through with a useful list?”

  “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve already found our native guide.”

  There was a pause. “You’re not serious,” Skyler said at last.

  “Why not? A blackcollar would certainly have made sure he knew all the ways in and out of a base he was assigned to.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I doubt Bernhard’s enthusiasm for such a project.”

  Lathe sighed. “He’ll help us. Willingly or otherwise, he’ll get us in. It’s all a matter of finding the lever that’ll move him.”

  “And of surviving his reaction to its use.”

  “There’s that, of course,” Lathe said. “There’s always that.”

  The chaos lasted at a low level for quite a while after the brief battle, and the lights remained off even longer. Eventually the Shandygaff’s employees finished getting their portable lanterns set up and a seething Mr. Nash got them working on the damaged wiring. The exodus of the angrier customers slowed to a trickle and stopped, leaving a remnant of the hardier and less impatient behind.

  Seated alone at his small table, Galway sipped his drink and contemplated the tightening of his stomach muscles. Lathe and Skyler. On Earth, in Denver…and with the local blackcollars already signed on as allies. The files had said Bernhard’s team always left government targets strictly alone—but Galway had seen for himself just how fast “harmless” blackcollars could turn.

  Plinry’s history was about to repeat itself in Denver. Galway could only hope Quinn still had time to start taking all of this seriously.

  Chapter 15

  FROM THE GOVERNMENT SECTION of New Geneva to the Hub in Plinry’s Capstone, Caine had seen a fair number of fortress cities, but even so Athena was unique. Nestled against the ridges of the Hogback to the west, with Green Mountain rising above it to the north, it didn’t look like a fortress city, for one thing. Its simple mesh fence and spotlighted outer perimeter were almost throwbacks to an earlier age before sophisticated sensors and automated defenses. True, the fence was topped by a sensor ring, but the weaponry to back the sensors up was conspicuous by its absence. So much so, Caine thought at one point, that a sufficiently naive attacker might actually think the place an easy target.

  Until and unless he noticed the dark buildings squatting on top of Green Mountain.…

  “Ready,” Alamzad murmured, breaking into his train of thought.

  Caine brought his attention back. The three makeshift catapults were indeed ready, their elastic stretched taut against the braces dug into the building roof on which the four men were standing. “Looks good,” he said. “You think they’ll have time to explode before the lasers up there get them?”

  Alamzad shrugged. “We’ll see soon enough. But I think we wrapped enough ablator around the primers to give them a chance.”

  Caine nodded. It almost didn’t matter—laser fire above Athena would attract almost as much attention as laser fire plus explosions. But the extra sound effects would be a nice added touch. “Okay—load ’em up,” he said, reaching to his tingler. Braune: Any attention from unfriendlies?

  Negative, came the reply, and Caine let a smile twitch across his lips. They’d returned from the water retrieval station to find Pittman and Colvin with a trophy of their own: a set of license plates and registration transponder borrowed for the night from a vehicle parked a few blocks from their hideout. Transplanted onto their own car, the camouflage should throw Security off the scent, at least for the rest of the night.

  “All set,” Alamzad reported, his face briefly illuminated by a flicker of flame. “Delay cords lit—we’ve got five minutes to grab some distance.”

  The cords burned through exactly six and a half minutes later, and from five blocks away they watched as the tiny pay loads arced through the air and were met in flight by bright lines of laser fire from the top of the mountain. Three miniature bombs per sling—nine total in the salvo—and at least four of them managed to make little cracks before dissipating into clouds of component atoms.

  “That’s it,” Caine said as the brief light show ended. “Let’s get home before they send out spotters looking for someone to blame.”

  “You think they’re even going to notice?” Colvin asked.

  “I would if I were in charge,” Caine told him. “And anyway, we don’t really care if Security pays any attention to us at this point.”

  “As long as Torch does,” Pittman murmured.

  “Right. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just have to try something more noticeable.”

  The lasers had lit up the night sky while Galway was returning from the Shandygaff, and he’d half expected to find death, chaos, and a ruined entrance gate on his arrival. But that fear, at least, was quickly laid to rest; except for the beefed-up guard contingent at the gate everything looked the, same as when he’d left that evening. But he’d been a Security prefect too long to expect that surface calm to extend to the situation room, too; and in that he turned out to be right.

  What he wouldn’t have predicted was that Quinn would also be there.

  “We found three of these on the roof, right where the ballistic backtrack put them,” someone was reporting via the communications board as Galway entered. The screen showed a catapultlike contraption being carefully examined by two more Security men.

  “Any evidence of remote control or delay fuses?” Quinn asked.

  “Some ash that may have been from time-delay rope,” the man said. “We won’t know for sure until it’s been analyzed.”

  Quinn glanced up at Galway, returned his attention to the screen. “Make damn sure they aren’t booby-trapped and then bring them in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn turned to a man hovering at his shoulder. “Anything further on the water-station break-in?” he asked.

  “They were definitely Caine and Braune,” the man said, handing the general a piece of paper. “Positive identification from everyone who saw them. They made off with a box of fifty AK-29 primer caps, rated strength point zero two each. Not much more than small firecrackers.”

  “I think we can assume they have more than holiday noisemaking in mind for them,” Quinn said icily. “Feed that report down to analysis and have them find out whether or not that’s the strength of the bombs that were launched over Athena half an hour ago.”

  The man gulped. “Yes, sir,” he said, and hurried away.

  “Idiot,” Quinn muttered, turning to face Galway for the first time. “Noise wake you up?”

  Galway shook his head. “I was still up, out at the Shandygaff Bar.”

  “I told you that place was off-limits.”

  “They’re here, General. Lathe and Skyler at least—and judging by the carnage outside, I’d say at least two more came with them.”

  Quinn hissed between his teeth. “I ought to have your skin on a rack for going there against orders. No chance you’re wrong, I suppose.”

  “Hardly. And there’s more. Two of your local blackcollars helped them punch their way out.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “The blackcollars helped them? Didn’t just fail to stop them, I mean?”

  “Helped and a half. One of them was Kanai—the one your files say is contact man for the group—and he not only provided diversion but also cleaned out the bar’s backup man.”

  “They’ll roast him alive.” Quinn shook his head. “He goes there every week—Nash’ll have his head for something like that.”

  I warned you about underestimating your blackcollars. The words bounced around Galway’s brain, but he le
ft them unsaid. Having to admit his error would be humiliating enough for a man like Quinn without being reminded that Galway had been right all along. “Should I get those pictures of Lathe and the others copied for general distribution now?” he asked instead.

  Quinn focused on him. “What could Lathe have offered them that they’d risk shaking up the Shandygaff for?” he asked.

  Galway frowned. “What do you mean? There’s no need for deals. Lathe has the authority to bring the group back to full combat status—”

  “Nonsense. I know these people, Galway—and they are not going to start fighting a thirty-year-old war again. No, Lathe’s made a deal with them, and the only question is what the payoff is.”

  Galway took a deep breath. “General, I don’t mean to question your knowledge of the city and its people, but isn’t it possible that Kanai and his people have been lying low waiting for just this sort of opportunity?”

  “Opportunity for what? You haven’t yet even come up with a plausible mission for Caine, let alone one he’d need Lathe along for.”

  “I’ve filed reports—”

  “I said plausible missions.” Quinn snorted. “Getting into Aegis Mountain hardly qualifies as such.”

  With an effort Galway held his temper. “All right, then; what do you propose be done at this point?”

  “We’re going to find Caine.” Quinn’s tone was grim. “This Postern scheme of yours has obviously failed—whether because he’s defected or because they’re on to him.”

  “He wouldn’t defect—”

  “Spare me your unfounded opinions. Postern has failed—and as of tonight Caine’s moved up out of the simple nuisance category. Whatever he’s got planned, he’s started work on it in earnest, and I’m tired of sitting around waiting for phone calls. As of right now I’m shifting the hunt for him onto full priority status. We’re going to get that car he took out of the mountains, and we’re going to check out all reports of stolen vehicles in case he’s decided to switch cars. And when we find him, we’re going to bring him in.”

  “You do and Prefect Donner will have your scalp,” Galway snapped, his control breaking at last. “That’s if the Ryqril don’t get to you first.”

  “You let me deal with Donner and the Ryqril,” Quinn returned. “However you sold them this swampland deed, I’m going to get it overturned.”

  Galway bit down on the inside of his cheek, fighting his frustration down to a manageable level. Quinn could afford the luxury of a personality feud; he, Galway, couldn’t. Plinry’s survival was hanging from the wire here. “Would you at least agree to discuss this with Prefect Donner before you take any burned-bridge action against Caine?” he asked. Quinn seemed to measure him with his eyes. “No promises,” he said at last. “We’ll see how much work it is to find him first.”

  “Do you want Lathe’s picture circulated in the meantime?”

  “I’d like to stick with one group at a time, if you don’t mind. Besides, we can find Lathe anytime we need to—he’s teamed up with Kanai, remember?” Quinn glanced at his watch. “Tomorrow’s likely to be a busy day. I suggest you go get some sleep.”

  It was clearly a dismissal. “Yes, sir. I’ll talk with you in the morning, then.”

  Turning, Galway stalked out the door. He’d had as much of Quinn as he could stand for the moment, anyway…and whether the general knew it or not, he was right.

  Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

  Chapter 16

  THE ALARM’S TWITTER SNAPPED Kanai out of a troubled sleep, and almost before he was fully awake he had rolled out of bed, shuriken pouch in hand. The window was intact, the door to the rest of the house still closed. Taking a deep breath, he eased over to the window and cracked the shade away from the wall.

  It was perhaps half an hour before dawn, judging by the faint glow starting to compete with the haze of city lights to the east. Traffic was practically nonexistent at this hour; parked cars lined both sides of the street, none showing any lights. Touching a hidden wall switch, Kanai shifted a section of the glass to infrared sensitivity. Nothing—all the cars within view had apparently been parked there for several hours. But the alarm had been triggered from that side of the house.…He was just about to step to his monitor for a complete area scan when a lone figure came into view, striding purposefully along the walk toward his-front door…Lathe, was his first instinctive guess; but another second’s observation eliminated that possibility. The man’s walk showed none of a blackcollar’s feline grace; his obvious glances to left and right were a far cry from the more subtle awareness of his surroundings that was the blackcollar norm.

  Which meant it wasn’t one of Kanai’s teammates, either. And at this hour of the morning, it sure as hell wasn’t a casual visitor.

  He stepped to his room monitor, keyed for a center-walk view with light amplification. It would be another couple of seconds before the man would be close enough for a good look; reaching to his bedside, Kanai scooped up his robe and the nunchaku hidden under the pillow. Eyes on the monitor, he got the robe on…and swore under his breath.

  The man walking up to his door was General Quinn.

  The doorbell rang twice in close succession; impatience personified mechanically. Jamming his nunchaku into the robe sash, Kanai reset his alarms and headed for the door.

  “General,” he said coolly as he unlocked the reinforced panel and swung it open. “You’re up rather early.”

  Quinn didn’t bother with even the forms of politeness. “Kanai,” he growled, brushing past the blackcollar and into the living room. “You putting them up here?” he added, glancing around him.

  “Putting who up?”

  “Don’t play innocent,” Quinn snarled, turning back to face him. “You know who—Comsquare Damon Lathe and his pack of troublemakers, that’s who.”

  Kanai felt his stomach tighten, consciously relaxed it. “They’re not here. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Quinn grunted. “What do they want here?”

  “What business is it of yours what our clients want?” Kanai countered.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Kanai. These aren’t ordinary money-slicers renting you to cut other money-slicers’ throats—these are guerrilla soldiers who want to rekindle the war. If I were you, I’d be thinking about what something like that would do to my cozy arrangement here in Denver.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that if you and Bernhard rock the boat too hard it’s going to sink with you aboard it.” Quinn smiled sardonically. “Do I detect a grain of surprise at Bernhard’s name? Thought we didn’t know who your leader was, did you? Believe me, Kanai, we know just about everything there is to know about your team—you can’t run around the way you have for so many years without scattering a lot of lint along the way.”

  “Perhaps,” Kanai said as calmly as he could. “You might find it expensive to try and get more than just information, though.”

  “Sure we would—why else do you think we’ve put up with you this long? But we could do it, if we had to.”

  Kanai nodded. “All right, consider the point made. If that’s all you came for, you can go now.”

  Quinn ignored the offer. Pulling a photo from his pocket, he flipped it through the air toward Kanai. “Ever seen this man before?” he asked.

  The blackcollar caught the photo, looked at it. “No. Should I have?”

  “Name’s Allen Caine. Has Lathe mentioned him to you?”

  “Again, no. What’s he done that has you so interested in him?”

  “In other words, how much do we know? Forget it. But as long as we’re on the subject of information, what exactly, are you doing for Lathe and what’s he paying for it?”

  Kanai cocked an eyebrow. “As someone here just said, forget it. You’ve about worn out your welcome, Quinn.”

  Casually, the general looked around the room. “You’ve got a nice place, Kanai,” he said. “A real nice place. A lot nicer than the interrogation cells in Athena;
a damn sight nicer than a box underground.” He brought his gaze back to Kanai. “Take some good advice and stay away from Lathe.”

  “Or else?” Kanai said softly.

  “Or else,” Quinn replied. “Consider it a threat or a warning, I don’t care which. But believe it.” With one last glance around the room, he walked past Kanai to the front door. A moment later he was gone…and the blackcollar spun and threw, his pent-up frustration burying his shuriken center-deep in the far living-room wall. The thud of its impact was a thunderclap in the silent house, its sound almost covering up the ancient Japanese curse he spat in the same direction.

  “The cabin should be just over this next rise,” the pilot told Galway, easing the small spotter craft between a pair of tall pines. “Sorry about the ground-scratching here, but I have to stay low because of the Ryqril base over to the south—their lasers recognize their own aircraft, but I’ve never gotten a really airtight guarantee that we get the same courtesy.”

  “Fine by me,” Galway said, swallowing. “I’d just as soon show up unvaporized myself.”

  The pilot grinned and gave his full attention back to his flying. Galway kept his eyes on the landscape ahead and tried to relax, and a minute later they were there.

  To find that the term “cabin” hardly did the place justice. “Mansion” was a far more appropriate term—a single story, rustic-walled millionaire’s hideaway. The lump in Galway’s throat grew another size, and it was all he could do to keep from ordering the pilot to lift and get him the hell back to Athena where he belonged. But the aircraft was already crunching down onto the forest mat, and at the cabin doorway he could see the owner watching him.

  He stepped out almost before the craft was fully stabilized, walking over to the cabin with artificial confidence. “I’m Jamus Galway,” he identified himself as he approached the man. “I called from Athena this morning. You are Prefect Ivas Trendor…?”

  “Former prefect,” the older man said curtly. “Long since retired. Come in, Galway.”