The Blackcollar Series

by Timothy Zahn

  “Now listen carefully,” O’Hara said as the car started up. “Those troop carriers from Calarand should be down by now; my friend will have ordered the pilots and guards to come to the gate for consultation with you. We’re going to lock them—and you—into the gate guard station. That’s if you cooperate. If you don’t, they’ll have to be killed.”

  “With the turret weapons, of course,” Ehrhardt said bitterly.

  “Or the ones in the entrance hall. I’d rather do it without bloodshed, but it’s basically up to you.”

  Ehrhardt swallowed heavily. The elevator doors opened and the three of them stepped out into the hall. Ahead was the main gate; through the hullmetal bars he could see men moving in the courtyard. The four gate guards were watching the arrival, too, and a half dozen wild plans tripped through the commandant’s mind: plans for warning them, or of allowing their lives to be sacrificed to warn those outside. But it was all just a mental game, and he knew it. He couldn’t stop the blackcollars now, and throwing good lives away would be stupidity, not loyalty. Better now to observe passively and to be alert for clues regarding their next move.

  Fifteen minutes later the troop carriers lifted smoothly from the prison courtyard, their passengers still aboard, the two blackcollars at the controls. Jammed against one wall of the guard station by the crowd of swearing Security men, Ehrhardt watched them disappear over the hills to the west. The emotional reaction was starting to hit him now, the realization that he’d been defeated and would soon be facing the consequences of his failure. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration for the skill and courage with which the operation had been carried out.

  Though somehow he doubted Prefect Apostoleris would see that side of it.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE FIRST THING JENSEN noticed on his long climb back to consciousness was the pain.

  Not the aches in his arms or chest, the results of the crash and the battle preceding it; those were fairly easy to control. The real pain came from the front of his skull, as if a giant had been resting his thumbs on the blackcollar’s eyes. It wasn’t an unknown feeling, and even before he was fully awake he knew what they’d tried to do.

  The room was likewise no surprise. Small, drab, and solid-looking, it would have been recognizable as an interrogation cell anywhere in the TDE. His naked body was strapped into an unpadded chair, his arms held out, crucifix-fashion, for easy access to veins. Wires and tubes dangled from various parts of his body, and two men in Security uniforms stood facing him. “He’s awake,” murmured an unexpected voice. With an effort, Jensen focused on their faces.

  “Why, Prefect Galway,” he croaked hoarsely. Forcing moisture into his mouth, he tried again, with better results. “What brings you to Argent?”

  Galway gazed at him coolly, “Hello, Jensen. How much would you like to live?”

  Jensen grinned, even though that made the throbbing pain worse. “Not that much, thanks. The verifin didn’t work, I take it?”

  Galway’s expression didn’t change, but that of the man beside him darkened considerably. Jensen nodded to him. “I didn’t catch the name.”

  “Security Prefect Apostoleris,” the other bit out. “And I’d watch my mouth if I were you. I am this close to wiping the whole bunch of you off the planet and to hell with my losses.”

  A rather strong reaction, Jensen thought. Looking back at Galway, he asked, “What’s Lathe done now?”

  Galway glanced at Apostoleris, who waved his hand impatiently. “He dosed two of his men with Idunine—O’Hara and Haven, we think—and sent them to Cerbe Prison with a Radix team leader. They took over weapons control and flew two transports of Star Force vets out before anyone knew what was happening.”

  “Interesting,” Jensen murmured.

  “Yes, interesting,” Apostoleris mimicked. “And not the sort of thing you pull off just for fun. What do those men know that’s that important to you?”

  Jensen shrugged, not an easy task with the restraints on him.

  “Look, Jensen,” Galway put in, “I don’t think you appreciate the lengths the prefect’s prepared to go to. There are drugs available that would wear you down physically, there are things like extended isolation-tank treatment, and there’s always straight physical torture. Psychor pain-block techniques may be good, but I doubt they’d hold up under a slow dismembering of your body.”

  “Perhaps.” The calmness Jensen forced into his voice was a waste of effort—they undoubtedly knew how blackcollars viewed death under a torturer’s knife. “Of course, torture takes a great deal of time.”

  “Are you implying your mission’s almost completed?” Apostoleris countered smoothly.

  “Not necessarily. I might simply be rescued before you’re finished.” It was a safe suggestion to make—Lathe wouldn’t risk anyone at this stage on something that quixotic. But Apostoleris wouldn’t know that, and any extra men Jensen could tie up on guard duty would be that many fewer for the others to contend with.

  “Of course,” Apostoleris said, “though I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. So. Contacting the starmen is likely one of the final steps. Interesting. You’re not planning to steal some ships and head off to join the Chryselli, are you? That would be extremely difficult—the Ryqril here won’t be taken by surprise like the ones on Plinry were, and you don’t have that mob of half-trained children to hide behind. And even if you made it, what then? It’s not like the Chryselli are trustworthy allies. They turned their hairy backs on us once before, you know, back when General Lepkowski went to Meelach to ask for help.”

  Jensen said nothing. Apostoleris’s shots were hitting uncomfortably close to the mark.

  The prefect interpreted his silence correctly. “So,” he almost purred. “We’re not so cocky now, are we. You don’t like the direction this conversation is taking?”

  “Talk all you like. And don’t expect to get anything of value from me.”

  “We’ll see.” Apostoleris glanced upwards. Prepare number one,” he called to some unseen ear.

  “Not wasting any time, are you?” Jensen said as calmly as possible. “Not even going to give me the traditional hour to consider how much this is going to hurt?”

  “As you said, we’re short on time,” the prefect said icily. “We’ll start with the non-destructive forms at first, in case you decide to be reasonable. After that…well, there are some very painful things that can be done directly to the nervous system. Those have permanent effects, of course.” He paused. “Anything you’d like to say before we begin?”

  “How about ‘go to hell’?”

  Apostoleris shrugged. “When you change your mind, just shout. If you still can.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode out of the door behind them. Galway lingered just long enough to lock eyes with the blackcollar; then he, too, was gone and the door was slammed shut. Its reverberations were still audible when the lights went out, plunging Jensen into total darkness.

  Blindness—standard psychological gambit, he thought grimly, even as his deeper mental processes began to trace the familiar pain-block pattern. Like nakedness. Depressants to civilized man. But he could handle anything they could throw at him, at least long enough for Lathe to finish the mission. After that—

  But it was no use thinking that far ahead. Right now the only goal in the universe was to survive the first battle.

  Without warning, a heavy electric shock ran up his left side. Gritting his teeth firmly to avoid biting his tongue, Jensen settled himself for the long fight ahead.

  “A frontal assault is out of the question,” Dael Valentine said as he eased the car up to a stoplight. “The building’s got doubled guard stations inside the main door, antipersonnel defenses in the courtyard, and detection gear in the outer wall. We’d be cut to ribbons before we even got in. Surely your little reconnoiter showed you that much.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” Novak said quietly, and Skyler shifted uneasily in the back seat as he thought
of the simmering volcano beneath that veneer of self-control.

  “A soft penetration,” Valentine said. “Lathe and O’Hara have already shown what an ID or ID code can do. Loyalty-conditioned minds just aren’t flexible; you give them what they expect to see and they’ll probably let you in.”

  “Fine,” Skyler said, a bit tartly. “And how do we go about getting IDs? Caine’s trick isn’t likely to be practical here.”

  “True—but they can’t be doing a complete computer check on everyone who enters. If we have IDs that accurately show our thumbprints and retinal patterns it’ll probably do the trick.”

  Skyler frowned, considering. It was an interesting point. Unlike the setup in Calarand, all of Millaire’s governmental functions were located in the same ten-story building. In their two-hour walking survey of the area, he and Novak had seen an astonishing variety of people passing in and out of the main gate, from obvious collie types to ordinary citizens—the latter, they’d noted, getting an armed escort across the courtyard. It might be barely possible. “If we had IDs, maybe.”

  “Good—because we can get them.” Valentine made a left turn, sending them back toward Millaire’s business district. “I wasn’t just collecting gossip while you were out walking around. I also made contact with what’s left of organized Radix here.”

  “And?” Novak prompted.

  “And, there’s an ID forger still loose.”

  Skyler hunched forward to get a better view of Valentine’s face. “How good are these forgeries?” he asked.

  “Just this side of perfect.”

  “But if there’s nothing in the computer, why—?” Novak broke off his question as Skyler gently tapped tingler code onto the back of his neck.

  “Why did I suggest it?” Valentine asked irritably. “I told you that—they won’t be checking everyone that closely.”

  “It might work,” Skyler said, thinking fast. “Any chance of getting some explosives, too?”

  Valentine glanced back at him. “What do you want explosives for?”

  “Diversion. We could set off some explosions in the area, draw as many Security men as possible outside the wall to investigate. If we then blasted a hole in the wall, they’d presumably assume the place was being attacked and rush back in, with or without quick ID checks—and we’d go in with them.”

  “Yeah…that might work,” Valentine said after a short pause. “When do we hit—nightfall?”

  “Or a few hours later,” Skyler said. “Let’s find this forger and the explosives before we decide that. The explosives first,” he added. “If the forger’s place is being watched we’ll want something to fight our way out with.”

  “You’re the boss,” Valentine agreed, turning right at the next corner. “I know who to talk to; we can be there in five minutes.”

  Skyler settled back in the seat and threw a look upwards. The rain of the night before had ended, but dark clouds still blanketed the sky. Skyler hoped they would stay put; a heavy cloud cover would hasten the darkness and let them make their attempt a little earlier. Even so, it would be at least six hours before they could go in. He hoped Jensen could hold on that long.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE BIG CONFERENCE ROOM table looked empty with just Tremayne and Bakshi sitting at it. Following Lathe’s lead, Caine pulled out a chair across from them and sat down, almost wishing that he’d waited outside the room with Mordecai and Kwon. After what had just happened at Cerbe, this was probably going to be a memorable tongue-lashing.

  But he was in for a surprise. “For someone who talks so much about obedience, Lathe, you’re pretty lax about it yourself,” Tremayne said, his tone almost mild. “What do we have to do to be accepted into your confidence?”

  “I gather the vets arrived safely?” Lathe asked.

  Tremayne nodded. “Janus Leader Rhodes brought the last of them in about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Good. I suppose I should mention that we used Lianna Rhodes because she said she was going to resign from Radix.”

  “Yes, I’d already figured that one out. Cute, even for you—you only promised to consult with me if the operation involved Radix personnel.” For a moment Tremayne’s eyes flashed sparks. “That’s marginal at best, you know—whatever her future plans, Rhodes is in Radix right now.”

  “Marginal, hell.” Bakshi’s voice was cold; for a change he seemed madder than Tremayne. “You violated our agreement, pure and simple. Can you give me one good reason why we shouldn’t dump you out on the streets right now—you and that mob of security risks you’ve brought in?”

  “Wait a second; we can’t do that,” Tremayne cut in. “The vets have technically broken prison—Apostoleris will slap heavy sentences on them if he catches them again. And as to the blackcollars, they did achieve their goal.”

  Bakshi snorted. “So you’re not going to argue with success? Well, I am. It was a half-assed stunt, and it was sheer luck it worked at all.”

  “There was nothing half-assed about it,” Lathe disagreed quietly. “Everything we did was carefully planned, from my trip into Henslowe on. Surely you recognize the impossibility of getting that many men out of a prison without tremendous casualties. We had to persuade Security to move them for us, and we did.”

  “Hindsight is marvelous,” Bakshi growled.

  “And as to a reason—yes, I can give you a damn good one.” Lathe looked at Tremayne. “Have you got a room big enough for me to talk to all the vets at once?”

  “I think the garage will do,” the Radix leader said, frowning. “A lot of the vehicles are out at the moment.”

  “Good. Assemble both them and your tactical group there, please. We’ll be down in a minute.”

  Slowly, Tremayne nodded. “All right. And this better be good.” He gestured to Bakshi, and together they left the room.

  “What’re you going to tell them?” Caine asked.

  “The truth,” Lathe said. “Everything except that you’re the only one who can locate the ships; though they’ll probably figure that out on their own, anyway.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? If you’re right about a spy being in Tremayne’s team you might as well call Security up and give it to them directly.”

  “Which is fine with me. I want Security in on it now.”

  Caine felt his eyes narrowing. “I don’t understand.”

  Lathe sighed. “Look. Whatever we’re planning, Security must have suspected by now that we intend to go off-planet. Now that we’ve gotten the vets away from them, the simplest way to stop us is to lock away all the spacecraft.”

  “Okay,” Caine agreed. “But you broke into the ’port on Plinry easily enough.”

  “It only looked easy because we’d been planning it for thirty years and because we caught Galway off guard,” the blackcollar countered. “Here we have neither advantage.”

  “So how do we gain by confirming what they already suspect?”

  “We gain,” Lathe said quietly, “by offering them something besides a draw. Five Novas would be a tremendous prize, and their best chance to get them is to let us lead the way.”

  Cain stared at him, noticing for the first time lines around his eyes that the Idunine treatments hadn’t touched. “You understand what you’re saying, don’t you?” he said at last. “You’re deliberately taking us into a trap.”

  “I know.” Lathe’s voice was soft, with none of the overflowing confidence that he seemed to have in front of the Argentians. “It’s a borderline crazy thing to do, but the fact that we know there’ll be a trap may give us the necessary edge. Anyway, I don’t see what else we can do.”

  “Why not just make something up? Tell them we’re going back to liberate Earth, for instance.”

  “Wouldn’t work. The collies have to know there’s a prize worth grabbing or they won’t let us off-planet. Besides, it’s only fair to let the vets know what they’re getting into.” The comsquare pushed back his chair and stood up.

  “I suppose you’re right.
” Caine stood, too, but put a restraining hand on Lathe’s arm. “But there will be a way out of this trap, won’t there?”

  Lathe shrugged. “There’s a way out of any trap. The real questions are whether we can find it in time and how much it’ll cost to use it.” A shadow passed across his face. “And whatever that cost is, you can bet it’ll be paid in human life.” He nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  Even with many of the cars and vans missing—out on reconnaissance patrols in the wake of the Cerbe operation, Caine learned—the garage was crowded. The Star Force vets generally looked to be in their thirties, evidence of consistent Idunine use through the years. Game’s opinion of Radix went up a grudging notch—it was unlikely that the government was voluntarily supplying them with the drug.

  Tremayne had taken up a position on top of one of the remaining cars, and as Caine and the blackcollars started toward him held up a hand for silence. “I know you’re all wondering what the hell’s going on here,” he said as the buzz of conversation faded. “I’m going to let the man who sprung you from Cerbe explain it: Blackcollar Comsquare Lathe, late of Plinry.” He looked in Lathe’s direction and gestured.

  A lane began to open through the crowd, but Lathe followed it only to the nearest car, which he then mounted. Caine glanced at Tremayne, wondering if the other would be annoyed at Lathe’s failure to join him. But all he saw was intense interest in the Radix leader’s face as Lathe began to speak.

  Lathe was clearly no orator; his straightforward rendition of the facts was without eloquence or grandeur…and yet Caine had rarely seen a crowd that size pay such close attention to a speaker. Even more than with the blackcollar group on Plinry, Caine could sense here a deep appreciation for what five Novas signified in actual strategic terms. Surreptitiously looking around the room, he caught several thoughtful nods and meaningful glances being exchanged between starmen. Not surprisingly, those tactical group members he could see seemed equally intrigued. Miles Cameron and Salli Quinlan, heads almost touching, were engaged in what was probably a discussion of the current Ryqril military strength; a few meters away, Fuess and fellow blackcollar Couturie were staring at Lathe with frowns so intense they were almost scowls. Bakshi’s face, in contrast, was a thoughtful mask.