Blackcollar: The Blackcollar

by Timothy Zahn

  Squinting in the glare, Caine looked around. The room was windowless and respectively sized, sort of a cross between a large private office and a small company boardroom. A dozen young, hard-looking men stood against the walls; from an open door across the room the remaining blackcollars and Argentian escort were filing in. And in the center, seated on one side of a large bug stomper-equipped table, were four men.

  They were the leaders of Radix; Caine knew it instantly. The cool, speculative looks they wore as they studied their visitors, the age and experience that even periodic Idunine use couldn't erase from their eyes—all of it merely reinforced that undefinable air of authority and responsibility that he'd seen in the Resistance leaders on Earth. Casually, Caine studied each of the four in turn, trying to gauge their reaction to the newcomers. It was a futile exercise—necessity had long ago made masks of their faces.

  The door closed, and one of the seated men stood up. "Janus team, please step off to the side there."

  Lianna's group complied, leaving Caine and the ten blackcollars standing in front of the table. The man raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Lathe took a half step forward. "I'm Comsquare Damon Lathe, in command of this squad, acting under the authority of General Kratochvil of Earth," he said in a clipped, military tone. "And you?"

  "Ral Tremayne," the other said. "In charge of the organization Radix. Can you prove your identity or authorization?"

  "If you mean with signature tapes or papers, no. However, given that we're blackcollars, our loyalties should be obvious."

  "A lot of you blackcollars just gave up after the war," the olive-skinned man at Tremayne's left said coolly.

  "A lot of us died in it, too," Lathe said.

  "All too many," agreed the slender man sitting on Tremayne's right. His eyes were on Lathe's face as he rose to his feet. "Serle Bakshi; Comsquare," he introduced himself, his hand forming a fistlike salute. The red eyes in his dragonhead ring flickered briefly in the light.

  Lathe smiled with clear surprise and repeated the gesture. "Greatly pleased, Comsquare. I'd hoped to find other blackcollars on Argent, but I hadn't really expected—"

  The faint sound behind them had barely registered on Caine's consciousness when the room abruptly exploded with activity. Twisting around, he was just in time to see Haven's thrown nunchaku wrap itself around the outstretched gun arm of one of the Radix guards standing there. The arm swiveled against the wall with the impact, the clatter of the nunchaku sticks drowning out the youth's exclamation. The pistol he'd been holding skittered across the floor and into the wall; another guard, reaching to retrieve it, jerked back as a black star buried three centimeters of itself in the wall directly above the weapon.

  And then there was silence... the silence of a tautly coiled spring. From the karate stance he'd automatically dropped into, Caine saw that the blackcollars were similarly poised for combat. Crouched low, they faced outward from their central position, waiting with throwing stars at the ready.

  All except Lathe. As far as Caine could tell the old comsquare hadn't moved a single muscle during the incident. Now, in the brittle stillness, he stepped to the edge of the table, his eyes blazing with anger. Shifting his gaze between Tremayne and Bakshi, he jabbed a finger at the phone sitting by the bug stomper. "Call them up here," he said, biting out each word. "Everyone; all your guards and soldiers. We'll take them hand to hand, maybe kill a dozen or so. Will that convince you we're really blackcollars?"

  "My sincerest apologies," Tremayne said in a low voice. Strangely enough, he didn't seem particularly frightened. "I know it wasn't fair, but we had to make sure."

  "Fair? We might have killed him. We might have killed all of you."

  A faint smile brushed Tremayne's lips. "I have perhaps more faith in your self-control than you do, Comsquare."

  "And I have better knowledge of blackcollar reflexes than you do," Lathe countered, cooling down some. "Okay, you've had your fun. Next time, we assume it's a real attack and aim to kill. Make sure your people know it." He gave the all-clear and stepped back as the blackcollars straightened up, shuriken and nunchakus vanishing once more.

  Tremayne glanced around at the guards. "All right, you can go now. Make sure everything's secure." He gestured at Lianna's group. "And see that Janus team gets breakfast and a place to sleep."

  When the door was again closed, Tremayne gestured to the other chairs around the table. "Comsquare; gentlemen...?" he said as he and Bakshi seated themselves.

  Lathe, Skyler, and Hawking took him up on the offer and sat down facing the Radix leaders. Caine and the others remained on their feet, either standing nearby or drifting around the room.

  "Now, what exactly is it you want here?" Tremayne asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands atop the table like a horizontal victory salute.

  "First of all, answers to a few questions. Number one: have you had any word about Jensen yet?"

  Tremayne gestured to the scholarly looking man at Bakshi's right. "My aide, Jeremiah Dan, is handling that. Jer?"

  Dan steepled his fingers. "Your ship—I assume it was yours—crashed on the eastern slope of the Rumelian Mountains some thirty hours ago. We know approximately where; the problem at the moment is that Security has closed off the whole area. We have a small cell already in the region and they've been alerted, but that's the best we can do right now."

  Lathe's jaw tightened momentarily. "Well, keep us informed. If you hear he's been found—by either side—let me know immediately." He looked back at Tremayne. "That leads into my second question. I'd like to know something about your organization; specifically, its size and distribution and how well you've done against the Ryqril."

  "Seems to me it would be simpler for you to tell us first exactly what you want," Bakshi suggested mildly. "Then we can tell you if we can supply it."

  "Simpler, maybe, but not as interesting," Skyler spoke up. "Besides, knowing what size team you've got often determines which game you're going to play."

  Bakshi started to reply, but Tremayne laid a restraining hand on the blackcollar's arm. "No, he's right, Serle. Well, let's see. Radix currently has something like half a million members and active support personnel, out of a planetary population of one and a quarter billion. We're distributed pretty well around the world, though we tend to be concentrated in large cities like Calarand."

  "What about your security?" Lathe asked. "I'd think with cells as big as this one you'd have a large infiltration problem."

  Tremayne shrugged. "Actually, I think we have less of one this way, since everyone in a cell has to agree on accepting a new member. The quizlers occasionally try and slip in ringers, but we catch them quickly enough."

  Lathe nodded. "All right. Now tell us about your notch record."

  "Well, we're still here, despite quizler efforts to the contrary," Tremayne said with a humorless smile. "Other than that, it's not as good as we'd like. We harass them here and there—hijacking goods shipments, for example—but the really big targets are essentially invulnerable."

  "You know this from experience?" Skyler asked politely.

  "Very painful experience. Usually we recognize the inevitable early enough to pull back and cut our losses."

  "You have some specific target in mind?" Jeremiah Dan asked.

  "Eventually, yes," Lathe said. "First of all, though, we'll need you to locate all the old Star Force veterans you can find. I presume there were a number trapped on the ground when the defense folded?"

  "Yes," Tremayne said, forehead corrugating. "But the war was a long time ago."

  "That won't be a problem if they've been getting Idunine regularly," Vale put in quietly from somewhere behind Caine.

  "They have been getting Idunine, haven't they?" Skyler asked, eyeing the Argentians' youthful faces.

  "Now look—" the olive-skinned man began.

  "At ease, Uri," Tremayne said. "As it happens, Commando, we've been very successful at intercepting Idunine shipments. And war veterans are high o
n our priority list."

  "Good." Lathe nodded. "Then I'd like your people to start rounding them up as soon as possible."

  "I'm afraid the rounding up's already been done," Dan spoke up. "Word came last night, Ral; I didn't get a chance to tell you."

  "Oh, hell," Bakshi growled. "Again?"

  Dan nodded.

  Tremayne looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "I guess you're out of luck, Comsquare. All three hundred fifty of the old starmen have been locked away, probably for a couple of months."

  "What?" For the first time since Caine had known him Lathe looked completely taken by surprise. "Why?"

  "Happens every time the Ryqril launch a major thrust against the Chryselli in this theater," Bakshi explained. "The front's only a parsec or so away at this point. I guess they're afraid that someone will grab a ship while their forces are busy and can't give chase."

  "That's ridiculous," Lathe snorted. "Where could he go?"

  "Practically anywhere," Bakshi shrugged. "A single ship could penetrate almost any picket screen, even near a battle front."

  "I know that" Lathe snapped. "What I meant was where would he land? Everything within thirty parsecs is owned, occupied, or under attack by the Ryqril."

  "Look, we don't make up these rules," Bakshi pointed out with some heat. "The quizlers don't ask our permission before putting people in jail."

  "You're right." Lathe rubbed a hand across his face. "Sorry. Any idea where they're being held?"

  "Same place as always: Henslowe Prison, on the southern edge of the Strip," Dan said. "It's about twelve kilometers from here."

  "Well guarded, I suppose."

  "Very much so." Tremayne was looking more and more curious. "What exactly do you need these vets for?"

  "For the moment that's still confidential," Lathe told him.

  "Look, Comsquare—"

  "You've had a long night," Bakshi interrupted his chief. "Why don't we let you rest for a while, and continue our talk later?"

  "That would probably be a good idea," Lathe agreed.

  Tremayne looked less than happy, but he nodded. "All right. Jer, did you arrange space for them?"

  Dan nodded. "The man just outside will show you to your rooms."

  "Thank you for your hospitality," Lathe said, getting to his feet.

  "It's no problem. Rest well."

  The door closed behind the blackcollars and Tremayne pushed his chair back. "Thanks for short-circuiting the argument, Serle," he said to Bakshi. "Comments?" he added, glancing to both sides.

  "I still think it was a bad idea to bring them here," Uri Greenstein, the olive-skinned man to his left, said. "We still don't know quizler spit about either them or this wild-duck run of theirs, and meanwhile they're stirring up Security like crazy. Even if they're on our side—"

  "If?" Bakshi cut in mildly.

  "Yes, if. Blackcollars are human, too, Comsquare, and I don't believe all of you can be as noble as you'd like us to think. As I was saying, even if they're really on our side the extra Security activity they've precipitated could be a real problem."

  "That's a good point," Jer Dan agreed. "If reports from the Rumelian district are indicative, the quizlers are preparing to turn the whole planet over."

  "What do you suggest?" Tremayne asked.

  "Isolate them," was the prompt reply. "Break off contact with all other cells so that only the Calarand group is at risk."

  "Will that leave us enough manpower?" Bakshi wondered.

  "What, with a dozen new blackcollars at your disposal?" Greenstein snorted.

  "We can keep the Janus people here," Tremayne told Bakshi. "That's no extra risk, since Lathe's men already know them. Other comments? All right, then. Jer, I want you to start alerting the other cells to stay clear of us. Uri, you'd better get back to Millaire and pass the word to the southern division."

  "Right," Greenstein nodded. "Also, since Calarand is going silent, you won't be able to monitor the search for the missing blackcollar, Jensen. I'll handle that."

  "Thanks." Tremayne paused. "Speaking of blackcollars, did anyone else notice something unusual during the mock attack earlier?"

  There was a moment of silence. "I did," Bakshi said. "One of them fell into a slightly different combat stance than the others."

  Tremayne nodded slowly. "That's what I thought, too, The Janus report said they were from Plinry but were operating under Earth auspices. I wonder...."

  "You think the odd man's an Earther?" Dan asked.

  "Could be," Tremayne said. "Which raises the question of how he got out past Earth Security."

  "Maybe there isn't any," Bakshi suggested. "Depending on how hard Earth was hit, there may not be much there to guard."

  "Well, there's no profit in speculation." Tremayne shrugged. "We'll give them four or five hours to sleep, but after that I'll want to nail Comsquare Lathe down as to exactly what his credentials are."

  "And exactly what his business here is," Bakshi added.

  Tremayne nodded grimly. "Especially that."

  CHAPTER 12

  "I know I saw something," one of the five Security men puffed as the group came through the narrow gap and onto the bluff. "Like a reflection from metal or glass." He gestured about midway up the rugged, tree-covered slope ahead.

  "Keep watching," another advised him, shifting his snub-nosed laser rifle uncomfortably as he looked around. "And don't forget he's had half an hour to move since you first saw it."

  Hidden behind a tree a bare ten meters behind them, Jensen raised his assessment of the group a notch or two. Inexpert though they seemed to be at this sort of outdoor work, they were observant; and their leader, at least, was no fool. He had no way of knowing, after all, that Jensen had hung that spare binocular lens on the tree branch over an hour ago, when he'd first spotted the group moving up the mountain toward him. The intent had been to lure them into dashing gleefully upslope toward his supposed position, hopefully without leaving a guard by this key route off of the bluff. He was beginning to have his doubts whether this was the right kind of group to fall for that trick, though.

  "There!" the first man exclaimed, pointing.

  "I saw it, too," one of the others seconded. "About ten degrees to the left of that dead redthorn."

  "Okay, let's go," the leader said. "Remember that this guy is dangerous, so if things get hot go ahead and shoot to kill. Dennie, get some other teams moving across into our sector and alert air support. Warn 'em to hang back, though—we don't want to spook him. Cham, you'll stay here in case he gets past us. Okay, move out."

  Secure behind his tree, Jensen watched as four of the five disappeared into the brush. The trick had still been worth a try, he decided. Possibly he'd even gained on the exchange: though Security now had a fair idea of his location, Jensen had learned in turn that they were so eager to get him that they were including inexperienced city men in their patrols. Interesting, too, was the fact that they knew he was alone.

  The guard, Cham, found some mossy-looking stuff next to a large boulder and sat down stiffly, giving Jensen a good profile view as he rested his snub-nosed rifle butt-down on the ground between his knees. Moving aside the thin wire-mike that extended from his helmet, he turned a knob near its connection point all the way over. Leaning his head against the boulder, he closed his eyes.

  Jensen eyed him thoughtfully, wondering what he had just done. Had he turned his intrasquad radio down, so he could sleep without the others hearing any snoring, or had he turned the radio up so that they would hear the sound of a weapon if he was ambushed? Probably the latter, Jensen decided—which implied, in turn, a very cautious soldier, since Jensen was supposedly a good distance away. Grimacing, Jensen settled down to watch for an opening.

  The minutes ticked by slowly. The guard's eyes remained closed, but his breathing indicated he wasn't asleep. Around them the mountainside was silent except for various insectean sounds; nothing but occasional birds crossed the sky above them. But Jensen knew the
isolation was largely illusory, and that if the alarm went off the sky and landscape would fill up with remarkable speed. Patience is a virtue, he told himself, and continued watching.

  But finally he could wait no longer. The rest of the patrol should be halfway to the hanging lens, and he would need at least a few minutes to get through the gap before they discovered the trick and whistled for reinforcements. To make his own opening was dangerous, but he had no other choice. Picking up a stone, he fitted it into his slingshot and lobbed it into a patch of reedy-looking grass fifteen meters upslope. It landed with a completely satisfactory chunksh.

  The guard came alert instantly, swinging his rifle to the direction of the sound with one hand while adjusting the position and volume of his mike with the other. "Cham here," he said softly. "I heard something in the hill-rushes near me. I'm going to investigate."

  Warily, he stood up, rifle held waist-high and swinging in a gentle arc. Jensen watched as he approached the knee-high grass cautiously, head moving slightly as he scanned the area. At the edge he stood for a moment, then suddenly fired three shots into different parts of the patch. Nothing happened, and after a moment he turned back. "Must've been an animal," Jensen heard him say as he headed back to his boulder. The response wasn't audible, but Cham smiled tightly. "Sure, but who knows how fast these blackcollars can travel?... You too."

  With one last look around, Cham sat back down on his moss. Pushing his mike to the side again, he reached for the volume control—

  And the stone from Jensen's slingshot caught him full force in the side of his throat.

  He slumped, his hand falling limply to his side, and in seconds Jensen was beside him. Carefully removing the helmet, he held it like a sea shell to his ear. Faintly, he could hear grunts and occasional comments from the others as they worked their way up the mountain. There was no indication they'd heard anything unusual; or if they had, that they'd attached any significance to it. Jensen's gamble had paid off.