The Blackcollar (16 page)

"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."

"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.

Quickly, he searched the dead man, coming up with a field medkit and ration package which he added to his own supplies. The laser rifle was tempting, but its power pack could be sensed at an uncomfortably great distance, especially here on the back side of nowhere. The helmet, unfortunately, was almost as bad, even with the transmitter off, its electronics and battery would show up like a large Scotch tartan. Picking up both the helmet and rifle, he tossed them a few meters into the forest. They would be found, of course, but he might as well cause the enemy as much trouble as was practical.

And then it was down into the gap. Jensen moved as quickly as he could without making too much noise, driven by a sense of urgency he hadn't felt earlier. Being chased by Security forces was nothing particularly unexpected—but when they knew both that he was alone
and
that he was a blackcollar, something was very wrong. Wherever Lathe and his team were, the enemy was on to them.

He was a good fifteen minutes past the bottom of the gap and into heavy brush again when the dull crack of a blast grenade drifted down from upslope. Apparently the Security team had found the booby-trap he'd left for them. Very soon now the whole face of the mountain would be crawling with enemies.

From here on, things would start getting sticky.

Caine wakened at the soft mention of his name. Eyes closed, he remained motionless for another few seconds. All seemed peaceful; across the room, near the door, Lathe was speaking softly: "...still asleep, and there's no point in waking him."

"Sorry," a new voice said, "but Ral said specifically to bring Caine along."

Caine opened his eyes. "I'm awake, Lathe," he said softly, trying not to wake anyone else. "What is it?"

Both Lathe and the other speaker—it was Jeremiah Dan—looked over at him; Lathe, he noted, with mild annoyance. "Ral Tremayne wants you and Lathe to meet with our tactical group," Dan explained.

"It's not necessary that you go," Lathe interjected. "I can handle any tactical discussions."

The first step toward freezing him out? Getting to his feet, Caine threaded his way through the rows of cots the Radix people had set up for them. "No problem. Sounds interesting, actually."

"All right." Lathe shifted his gaze from Caine and nodded an invitation across the room. Haven and Novak, seated on opposite sides of a chessboard, stood up and came forward. "I'd like you there, too," Lathe told them. "If we wind up assaulting this Henslowe Prison you'll each be leading a squad."

Dan's eyes widened. "Comsquare, uh... we really don't have the manpower for anything that big."

"Why not? Tremayne said you had half a million people. You could storm the place with rocks with numbers like that."

"But then we wouldn't have half a million people anymore, would we?" Dan said icily. Turning on his heel, he strode out into the hall.

Caine felt an acute sense of embarrassment as he and the three blackcollars followed. Hoping to smooth relations, he caught up with Dan and gestured at the long, high-ceilinged hallway. "Just what
is
this place, Mr. Dan?" he asked. "It doesn't look like any building I've ever seen."

Some of the stiffness went out of Dan's back. "It was once a government building, back about sixty years ago, housing the Mining Department. When a new place was built for them this one was sold and made into private offices. Since then the takeover parts have been further converted into apartments. We own the whole building through various business and private fronts."

Dan took them to the same small boardroom they'd been in earlier. This time, though, the central table was considerably more crowded: along with Tremayne and Bakshi were six other men and two women. For Caine, the most unexpected—and welcome—sight were the four men seated next to Bakshi. They looked young, tough, and alert... and they wore black turtlenecks and dragonhead rings.

Tremayne was sitting at the head of the table this time, with Bakshi at his right. Lathe took the chair at the other end of the table; Caine took the empty seat next to him.

"I'm sorry," Tremayne said, glancing at Novak and Haven as Dan slid into the last chair, "I wasn't expecting anyone else. I'll send for two more chairs."

"No need," Lathe told him. "They can stand."

"It's not necessary—"

"I said they can stand."

A faint shuffle of people shifting in their seats went around the table, and Caine saw one or two brief frowns. Tremayne's lip twitched, but he nodded. "As you wish. Let me introduce our tactical group." He gestured to the left side of the table. "Next to Jer is Salli Quinlan, in charge of military intelligence; Miles Cameron, intelligence chief; and Stuart York, supply chief. On my right, Comsquare Bakshi is overall tactician and field operations chief; Commandos McKitterick, Valentine, Fuess, and Couturie lead our raiding parties; Faye Picciano is another tactician."