The Blackcollar (17 page)

There were nods all around. "I'm looking forward to hearing about conditions on Plinry from you," Faye said, shifting her gaze between Lathe and Caine. Looking across the table at her, Caine decided she was much closer to his mental image of the female Resistance fighter than Lianna Rhodes had been—more attractive, but still with the necessary toughness hovering behind her eyes. And unlike the matronly Salli Quinlan, she wasn't wearing a wedding band.

"Certainly," Lathe said. "But later. Right now conditions on Argent are more important." He looked down the table at the other woman. "Mrs. Quinlan, is there any way to estimate how long the current Ryqril campaign will last?"

"Just a minute, Comsquare," Tremayne cut in before Salli could speak. "Before we go any further we'd like to know exactly what your mission here is."

"As I explained before, that's confidential," Lathe said. "You'll be told what you need when you need it; not before. It's safer for everyone that way."

"And what gives you the right to make that decision?" Valentine, one of the blackcollars, objected. "This is
our
world, not yours."

"Really?" Lathe said dryly. "I thought the Ryqril held title to Argent at the moment."

Valentine scowled. "Look, Lathe, the occupation stopped being funny about thirty years ago."

"Sorry. But
you,
of all people, shouldn't be questioning me. As long as you call yourself a blackcollar,
this
—" he held up his red-eyed dragonhead ring—"gives me all the authority I need."

"Unless we're under command already," Fuess, a big blond man with sunken cheeks, put in. "And we are."

Lathe stared coolly at him for a second, then turned to Bakshi. "Comsquare, do
you
accept my authority?"

"To give non-contradicting orders, yes," Bakshi replied. "But the line of command here is anything but clear. For instance, you claimed to have authority from General Kratochvil of Earth. Did you swing by there on your way from Plinry, or what?"

Lathe shook his head. "Kratochvil's message was brought by one of his agents—Caine here. As there was no one left on Plinry of comparable rank to either endorse or reject the orders, we accepted them on Caine's word."

Tremayne nodded slowly. "We wondered about Caine.... But what about General Lepkowski? He was supposed to be on Plinry."

"Lepkowski stopped endorsing orders thirty-five years ago," Lathe said grimly. "He died in the Ryqril Groundfire attack."

"I see." For a long moment Tremayne sat silently, frowning as his eyes searched Lathe's face. "Very well," he said at last. "We'll trust you—for now. But you're to confer with Comsquare Bakshi or myself before doing anything that may put my people in danger." He nodded to Salli Quinlan. "All right, Salli; go ahead."

Glancing once at Lathe, she dropped her eyes to the papers in front of her. "As near as we can tell, the Ryqril are committing a
lot
of forces to this assault. We've tracked four Elephant-class troop carriers and three Corsair wings through the fueling bases in the past week, and we're pretty sure two wings normally based here have also gone. I'd guess at least fifty days before the Star Force vets are let out."

Lathe shook his head. "That's too long. Bakshi, what size force can you field?"

"Not enough to take Henslowe by storm, if that's what you're getting at. About forty men, plus your own blackcollars."

"Forty
men? What happened to your half-million rabid patriots?"

Tremayne kept his temper. "We've isolated the Calarand group from the rest of Radix, in case something goes wrong."

"Great. What do we do if we need more—take out ads?"

"We're keeping the Janus group here for the duration. That's another ten people available in emergencies."

"Somehow, I get the impression you don't really trust us," Haven spoke up from somewhere behind Caine. "We really
aren't
here to betray you, you know."

"But you might do just that—accidentally, of course," Miles Cameron said. "Argent Security is very sharp, and some of their techniques are probably different from what you're used to. We can't risk everything for some scheme we know nothing about."

"That happens all the time in a war," Lathe pointed out. "That's why you have a general staff and chain of command instead of deciding things at a mass meeting of the troops."

"You can't expect military precision from us, Comsquare," Faye spoke up as Cameron's face darkened. "The war was a long time ago, and most of us weren't very deep in the military system."

Lathe gave her an appraising look. "Were you?"

She shrugged modestly. "A bit. I was on the tactical staff of General Cordwainer's Sector Command."

"I'm impressed. Also surprised the Ryqril let you run around loose."

"Actually, they don't know about me," she admitted. "The records got destroyed—these things happen."

Lathe smiled and looked back at Bakshi. "Miss Picciano's point is well taken. I withdraw any and all unkind remarks. Perhaps an assault won't be necessary. Do you have any data on the prison itself?"

"Quite a lot," Tremayne said, sounding relieved. "Miles?"

Cameron reached down to a case by his chair and extracted a thick file. Opening it, he chose several papers and photos and slid them across the table to Lathe. "Henslowe Prison," he announced.

Caine craned his neck to see. The prison was an unimaginative fifteen-story rectangle made of a stony-looking material and sitting squarely in the center of an otherwise empty block. Narrow windows lined the walls from the third floor to the thirteenth, with larger windows on the top two floors. Armed guards patrolled the four-meter-high perimeter mesh fence, and the massive gate was flanked by guardhouses. A street map showed the prison to be about a hundred meters inside the wall marking the edge of the Strip. "Where are the veterans being held?" Caine asked.

"Eighth floor, south side, if the quizlers are playing things as usual," Cameron said. "They can see over the wall from there; I expect that's done on purpose to make them homesick."

"Security here does things like that?" Lathe asked.

Fuess growled deep in his throat, grinding his dragonhead ring almost savagely into his palm. "Security Prefect Apostoleris was hatched from a Ryq and a tarlegan lizard," he said with disgust. "If he wasn't so canny with his own skin we would have killed him long ago. But we'll get him yet."

Caine looked at the glowering blackcollar, something stirring within him.
This,
finally, was the fire he'd expected of the legendary blackcollar warriors, the anger and drive whose absence on Plinry had been such a disappointment. Looking at the relatively youthful faces across the table, he wondered suddenly if the difference could lie in the extra Idunine the Argentians had clearly received over the years. Could the quiet calmness he'd seen in Lathe's men actually be more a sign of weakness than of strength? That wasn't a very pleasant thought.

Tremayne was speaking again. "Fortunately, most Security operations in Calarand are headed by the Assistant Prefect, Colonel Eakins. He's dangerous enough but generally pretty restrained—he doesn't overreact and execute innocent people after one of our raids, for instance, like Apostoleris occasionally does. But the prison system is directly under the prefect's command."

"Hmm." Lathe studied the diagrams, rubbing his dragonhead gently. "What sort of weapons do the guards carry?"

"The outside men and those in the administrative areas have laser rifles and paral-dart pistols," Cameron said. "Cell-block guards just carry the dart guns."

Caine felt his cheek twitch. Several different paral drugs were in use back on Earth, none of which was much fun. "Which drug do they use?" he asked.

"It's called Paralyte-IX, if that helps," Cameron told him. "It causes instantaneous muscle relaxation at the point of entry and spreads to the rest of the system in under a minute. The guns use scatter-shell loadings, so you usually catch a dozen or more of the darts when you're shot."

"Dissolving darts, I presume?" Lathe asked.

Cameron nodded. "It takes a few minutes for them to disappear completely into the bloodstream, though, and since the sensory nerves are only partially paralyzed you can usually feel them that whole time."

Lathe nodded. "Is there an antidote, or does it just have to wear off?"

"Oh, there's an antidote, all right, and we've got a fair supply of it. Unfortunately, it happens to be a poison unless Paralyte-IX is already in your system."

"No big surprise," Novak put in from across the room, where he seemed to be examining the woodwork. "Obviously, any drug you could immunize yourself against would be pretty useless."

Cameron bristled. "Forgive me if I'm boring you, Commando—"

"Not boring at all, Mr. Cameron," Lathe soothed. "We haven't had much experience with paral-guns since the war ended."

"Plinry Security doesn't use them?" Faye asked.

"Not very often," Lathe said. "Tremayne, I'd like to spend a couple of days getting acquainted with the city. Can we get some maps and vehicles?"

Stuart York made a note on a pad in front of him. "I'll have some cars assigned to you," he said.

Tremayne gestured at the Henslowe file. "Any ideas yet?"

Lathe shook his head. "For now I'd like to borrow the packet and look it over some more."

Silently, Cameron replaced the papers in the file and handed it over. Lathe nodded his thanks and looked back at Tremayne. "Any late word on Jensen?"

"Or any other ships that may have landed?" Caine added.

"Other ships?" Tremayne frowned, glancing at Bakshi and Cameron. "Are you expecting someone else?"

"Someone will eventually come from Plinry with the news of our rather abrupt leave-taking," Lathe spoke up quickly. "We'll need to be well-hidden by then, since they'll be bringing ID data on us."

Caine turned to the old blackcollar, but before he could explain that that wasn't what he meant a foot came down on top of his—not hard, exactly, but with clear warning. Swallowing, he kept his mouth shut.

The frown was still on Tremayne's face. "I see. Well, you can either stay here or move to one of our other safe houses. As to Commando Jensen, there's still no word on him." He shifted his glance to the right. "Fuess, you'll act as guide to Lathe's team while they learn their way around."

Fuess gave the closed-fist salute Caine had seen Bakshi use earlier. "Yes, sir."

"All right, then. Unless there's anything else...?"

"I've got one question," Caine said.

All eyes turned to him. "Yes?" Tremayne asked.

"Coming in to Argent we heard a Ryqril military governor mentioned. How actively are the Ryqril involved in things here?"

Salli shifted her matronly bulk uncomfortably. "More than we'd like," she admitted. "Besides their six bases, they also maintain private areas in many of the main cities, Calarand included. Chances are you won't run into them, though."

"Of course, whatever you do at Henslowe could change things," Faye pointed out. "Perhaps we should talk about Ryqril tactics sometime; this close to a war zone their methods might be different than what you're used to."

"Good idea," Lathe agreed. "I'll let you know when a good time would be."

She smiled. "I'll look forward to it."

"Other questions?" Tremayne asked. "All right, then, that's all for now."

Chairs squeaked as people began to get up. York, sitting next to Caine, tapped the younger man's arm. "About those vehicles: you have a preference for either open—that's with full wraparound windows—or enclosed style?"

"Enclosed," Lathe said before Caine could answer. "Haven here can go down with you if you'd like and show you what we'll need."

York nodded. "Fine. Commando?"

"Let's get back," Lathe said to Caine as Haven and York headed for the door.

Caine glared at the comsquare. "What are you, my private wet nurse? I can answer my own questions."

Lathe had Caine's arm and was steering him gently but inexorably toward the door. "I know you can," he said. "We'll talk about that when we're back in our rooms."

"Lathe—"

Novak materialized on Caine's other side. "Never argue with your comsquare in public, Caine," he advised quietly. "Especially an unknown public."

Fuess was waiting at the door. "Anything I can do for you, Comsquare?" he asked.

"Why don't you get some maps of Calarand and meet us back at our quarters," Lathe suggested. "I'd like to go over them with you if you have time."

"Certainly."

Fuess headed off in another direction as Caine and the two blackcollars made their way to their rooms. Inside, Caine turned to Lathe; but the old blackcollar got in the first word.

"From now on, Caine, the less you talk to the Argentians the better," he said. "Pretend you're the strong, silent type who thinks deep thoughts, okay?"

"Not
okay," Caine said. "Why am I suddenly incapable of speaking for myself?"

"The speaking isn't the problem; it's the knowing when to stop. Specifically, you were all set to tell them Dodds was out there with a stolen Corsair."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Number one: I'm telling you not to. And number two: never,
never
tell people more than you need to. At best, it's stupid; at worst, it's suicidal."

Caine snorted. "A fine ally you are. Those people are on
our
side."

"Most of them are, sure. They're not the ones I'm worried about."

"What, you think there might be a spy in that group? That's crazy—the government would have crushed them long ago."

"Not necessarily. It's often more profitable to leave the structure in place and simply neutralize it. Don't forget Tremayne himself admitted their raids weren't very successful."

Caine pursed his lips. He still felt resentful, but Lathe was making uncomfortable sense. "Going to be hard for them to help, though, when they don't know what we're doing."

"They'll know what they have to, when they have to—and
I'll
make those decisions."

"Yeah." Taking a half step closer to Lathe, Caine lowered his voice to a whisper. "Lathe, what exactly is Dodds up to?"