The Blackcollar

CHAPTER 2

First contact had occurred in early 2370 when a TDE exploration ship stumbled on a Ryqril outpost some two parsecs from the Terran colony world Llano. Within ten years there was regular communication between humans and the tall, leathery-skinned bipeds, and various trade agreements were being planned. The Ryqril seemed strangely reticent in matters concerning themselves or details of their empire, but this was generally chalked up to normal shyness; and the rumors that the aliens were fighting a war of conquest on their far frontier were never checked out.

Forty years later, the situation abruptly changed. Efforts at "normalization of relations" between the two races—efforts the Ryqril had been dragging their paws on—were suddenly abandoned, and new intelligence probes finally uncovered the truth. The Ryqril had indeed been fighting a war, and had won it nearly twenty years previously. All indications were that their post-war rearmament was nearly complete, and that their next target was to be the Terran Democratic Empire.

Preparations were started immediately, but it was largely an exercise in futility. The TDE controlled twenty-eight planets; the Ryqril one hundred forty. Nevertheless, there was no question but that the TDE would go down fighting.

And fight it did. Eight years passed from the revelation of its sitting-duck status to the outbreak of all-out war, and in that period mankind designed, built, and tested an impressive array of new weaponry; everything from handguns to huge Supernova-class warships. Though it had never fought with an alien race, the TDE had had enough internal squabbles in its history to have learned something of space warfare, and countless pre-war skirmishes with the Ryqril gave human forces the chance to hone their skills. But the situation was still hopeless, and in its desperation mankind was forced to rethink accepted military theory, including such basic concepts as what exactly defined a weapon.

The blackcollars were the result.

Caine had always been interested in the blackcollars, but there had been little information available to nongovernment citizens on Earth. Now, locked for ten days into a spaceship with a good collection of history tapes, he had the time to satisfy his curiosity.

The tapes were a disappointment, however, telling him little he didn't already know. The blackcollar program, he was informed, had begun in 2416, two years before the war, and had continued up until Earth's surrender. Besides the heavy combat training, which was strongly rooted in the ancient Oriental martial arts, blackcollars received a version of the same psychor mental conditioning Caine himself had had. Strangely enough—or so he thought at first—the tapes made no mention of the various drugs used in the training, which he understood had been the crux of the project. At least three had been used: ordinary Idunine, which in small quantities kept muscles, bones, and joints youthful while allowing the warrior's appearance to age normally; an RNA derivative to aid memory development, enabling training time to be cut drastically, and a special drug code-named "Backlash" which was reputed to double a blackcollar's speed and reflexes. The result was a soldier who could fit into any crowd, who could not be identified except by a complete physical and biochemical exam, and who could theoretically even hold his own in an unarmed fight with a Ryq. Dangerous opponents... and perhaps, Caine decided, that was why the tapes were incomplete. The information was clearly aimed at the lower-ranking government members, and the upper echelons had apparently decided to play down any danger the surviving blackcollars might pose. The conclusion was not a heartening one: if the blackcollars were still considered a threat, it was likely that any still left on Plinry would be so well hidden he might never find them.

Caine was the only passenger getting off at Plinry, which turned out to be the third stop of a seven-planet loop. But Plinry was a fueling 'port, and so Caine was spared the experience of a shuttle landing. Instead, he remained strapped down in his cabin while ship gravity was slowly withdrawn and replaced by the genuine thing. Finally, with little more than a gentle bump, the liner was down.

It took only a few minutes for Caine to make his way to the exit ramp, where the captain and cabin attendant were waiting to see him off. Perfunctory good-byes were said; and then Caine was walking down the ramp, eyes darting in an effort to see everything at once.

He was at one end of a large glazed-surface field, clearly designed for a great deal of traffic. Off to his right were a half dozen spaceships, most of them medium-sized freighter types, and a few official-looking VTOL aircraft. To his left, farther away and separated from the rest of the 'port by a wire-mesh fence, was a sight that made his stomach turn. Squatting in neat rows were at least thirty Corsairs, the long-range scout/fighters that formed the shock front of the Ryqril war machine. At one to three crew and four support personnel per craft, that meant the aliens had a garrison of two hundred in this one part of Plinry alone. A hundred meters past the Corsairs was another fence, a sturdier-looking one, which encircled the entire 'port, forming a barrier between the glaze-surface and the sparsely wooded grassland beyond. Directly ahead of him was a complex of several buildings, clearly the 'port's administrative and maintenance center. One of the buildings appeared to be a hangar; another—near the Corsairs—looked like a barracks.

And waiting at the foot of the ramp were two men in gray-green uniforms.

Caine's heart skipped a beat, but he continued down without pausing. A Corsair could have made the trip from Earth in a little over four days, he knew, and if the government had succeeded in breaking the Resistance leaders quickly enough all of Plinry could know about him by now. But once again there was nothing to do but keep walking.

The taller of the two men took a step forward as Caine approached. "Mr. Rienzi?" he asked. When Caine nodded, he went on, "I'm Prefect Jamus Galway, head of Planetary Security; this is Officer Ragusin, my aide. Welcome to Plinry, sir."

"Thank you. Do you always come out to the 'port to greet tourists?"

Galway gave a smile that was well on its way to becoming a simper, and that smile told Caine more than anything the prefect could have said. It was not the kind of smile given by a Security head to a suspected rebel, but rather the kind given by a rank-conscious politician to an official whose influence was likely greater than his own. Caine's cover was still intact.

"Actually, Mr. Rienzi," Galway said, "I do make a practice of welcoming first-time visitors and explaining some of the services we have here. It saves time for everyone involved." He gestured toward the buildings. "If you're ready, I'll escort you through customs. After that, perhaps you'll ride into Capstone with us for a routine identity check."

Caine nodded easily. He'd passed Earth's scrutiny without trouble; Plinry's wasn't likely to be more thorough. "Certainly, Prefect. Lead on."

The customs check was little more than a formality. Besides his clothing, Caine had brought only a pocket videocorder, a few spare cassettes, and the pills he'd been given at the New Geneva 'port. Everything was quickly cleared, and minutes later Caine and Galway were riding in the back seat of a Security patrol car toward the city of Capstone. Ragusin, who seemed to be the strong silent type, was driving.

Preoccupied with other matters, Caine hadn't yet paid any attention to the planet itself, and as he gazed out the window he was surprised by both the differences from and the similarities to his own world. As on Earth, the predominant color of vegetation was green; but Plinry's green was shaded more toward blue, and there were also an unusual number of plants that favored yellow, purple, and even orange. The smaller, ground-hugging flora was impossible to see clearly from a moving car, but looked too broad-leaved to be grass; the trees and shrubbery, in contrast, tended to look like tan stag horns liberally draped with Spanish moss. Winging their way among the trees were several small creatures which looked too streamlined to be birds. "Nice planet you have here," Caine commented. "Very colorful."

Galway nodded. "It wasn't always that way. When I was a boy most of the plants were shades of green and blue. The more wildly colored ones didn't show up until after the war—mutations from something in the Ryqril Groundfire attack, I'm told. Most of them will probably die out eventually."

Caine turned back to his window, a shiver running up his back. There had been no regret or hostility in Galway's voice as he spoke of the Ryqril's devastation of his world. As if he were on their side... which he was, of course. No one worked in the TDE government without first undergoing loyalty-conditioning. Whether the conditioning actually changed the subject's attitudes or merely rendered them powerless was an open question among the uninitiated, but the basic fact remained: in neither word nor action could a conditioned person go against the authority of the Ryqril. They couldn't be blackmailed or bribed—only outsmarted or outgunned. And Caine didn't have any guns.

They were into the outer parts of the city now, a region which seemed to be middle class or a bit higher. Residential and business districts were mixed together indiscriminately, unlike the pattern Caine had often seen on Earth, and he asked about it.

"Vehicles are fairly rare on Plinry," Galway explained. "Even the more well-off among the common people need to live within walking distance of their work and shops. Actually, out here in the newer areas home and work are relatively well separated. Farther in, in the poorer parts of the city, people often live and work in the same building. Of course, things are different in the Hub. We have a fair number of autocabs, so you should have no problem getting around."

"The Hub, I take it, is the government center?"

"Yes, and most government families live there, as well." He pointed out the front of the car. "You can see some of the main buildings from here."

The structures were no more than a few kilometers away, Caine estimated, which made the tallest only a dozen or so stories high. Not exactly skyscraper class, but they still towered over the two- and three-floor buildings Caine could see around him. Capstone, it appeared, was a very flat town.

As Galway had indicated, the city was becoming progressively more lower class as they traveled inward. Houses became scarcer as nearly all business buildings included a floor or two of apartments. There were more people on the walkways than had been visible farther out, too, and they looked shabbier. It was hard to read expressions at the speed they were making, but Caine thought he saw unfriendliness and even hostility in the occasional glances sent at the Security car. That was a good sign—if the people had come to respect the government his chances of finding a useful underground would have been negligible.

The car turned a corner, and a block ahead Caine saw a gray wall cutting across their path. A metal-mesh gate sat across the road, flanked by two guards in the same gray-green uniforms Galway and the driver were wearing. One of them approached the car as it rolled to a stop. "IDs, gentlemen?" he said briskly.

All three, including Galway, handed over their cards. After a quick perusal he returned them and gestured to a third guard behind the mesh, who promptly disappeared behind the wall to his left. The gate slid open, closing again once the car had passed through. "New recruit?" Caine asked, nodding back toward the gate.

"Not at all," Galway answered. "Our security checks are done by the book here." There was a touch of pride in his voice.

It was only a short drive to the five-story building labeled Plinry Department of Planetary Security. Galway and Caine got out at the main entrance and went inside, leaving Caine's luggage in the car with Ragusin. Two floors up they entered a small room equipped with two chairs, a table and phone, and a device Caine remembered from the New Geneva 'port. "If I may have your ID, Mr. Rienzi... thank you. Would you please sit here and put your thumbs on the plate?"

Again the brief flicker of light touched Caine's eyes. Galway tapped a switch and nodded at Caine. "You can relax now, sir. I'm afraid it'll be another few minutes—one of the city's computers broke down yesterday and the other two are under a heavy load." He remained standing by the machine, as if his presence might encourage the computer to work faster.

"No problem," Caine said easily. "No reason why routine security checks should have a high priority."

Galway seemed to relax a bit. "I'm glad you understand. Tell me, are you staying on Plinry long?"

"Just ten days, until the next flight heading back to Earth. I have to get back to work then."

"Ah, yes—the captain radioed that you were from the Senate. Aide to Senator Auriand, or something equally important."

"Auriol," Caine corrected automatically. "Yes, I'm one of his aides. It's really a minor post, but Dad thought this would be a good way to get some experience in politics."

"Your father's in government work too?"

"Yes. In fact, he's been in politics since the end of the war. Started out as Councilor in Milan and is now Third Minister for Education."

"So you were prepared at an early age, I gather?"

Prepared—a euphemism for loyalty-conditioned. The conversation was taking an uncomfortable direction. "When I was five," he replied curtly, dropping the temperature in his tone a few degrees. A senatorial aide shouldn't have to put up with questions like that.

Galway got the message and back-pedaled rapidly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rienzi—I didn't mean to get personal. I was just curious." He stopped abruptly, and Caine could almost hear him casting around for a safer topic of conversation. "Are you here on business or just for a vacation?"

This was safer territory for Caine, too. "Both, actually. I'm here on my own time and charge plate, but I'm going to be working, too." He paused, radiating a combination of shyness and pride. "I'm going to write a book."

Galway's eyebrows arched in polite surprise. "Really! About Plinry?"

"About the war, actually. I know a lot of books have been written, but most of them focus on Earth or the Centauri worlds. I want to write one from the point of view of people in the more distant parts of the TDE. Since Plinry was a sector capital and major military base, I figure it should have all the background records I'll need."

"Our archives are quite extensive," Galway nodded. "I trust you have the proper authorization papers?"

Here was where the bite of the government's eleventh-hour raid was going to catch up with him, Caine knew. "What, you need permission to write books here?" he said, smiling.

"Oh, no—I meant your permit to look in the records. You've got that, don't you?"

Caine let his grin vanish. "What permit is this?"

Galway frowned in turn. "The standard TDE Record Search form. You need one any time you want to look at official documents."

"Damn! Nobody told me I'd need anything like that here." Caine let indignation slip into the embarrassed anger in his voice. "Hell. Look, I'm a member of the TDE government, and nothing I want to see is classified. Can I maybe look at them with a guard watching over my shoulder?"

Galway shrugged. "You can ask at the Records Building, but I don't think they'll let you. Sorry."

"Damn." Caine glowered at the floor for a moment, then looked up at the verification machine. "Isn't that damn computer done yet?" he muttered irritably.

"I'll see if I can hurry it up." Galway touched a switch; seconds later a green light came on and Rienzi's ID appeared. "Ah. All set," he said, handing back the card.

Such convenient timing, Caine thought. He doubted it was coincidence, but had no intention of challenging Galway on it. Belatedly, he was beginning to wonder if the prefect really was the eager-to-please lightweight he seemed. Fortunately, grinning idiocy was a game for any number of players. If Galway had, in fact, deliberately kept the verification machine from finishing its job Caine had every right to be angry; but it would be more to his advantage to let the prefect think he was stupid. So he took the card without comment and stood up. "Is that all?"

"Yes. I'll get you an information packet on the way out. It lists restaurants and entertainment, gives autocab and air travel information, maps of the city and surrounding area—that sort of thing." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to offer you a full-time guide. I'm afraid we're a little short-handed."

"That's okay," Caine said magnanimously. The last thing he wanted was an official baby-sitter. "Doesn't look like I'll have much use for one, anyway."

"What are you going to do?" Galway asked as they left the room and walked down the hallway toward the elevators.

Caine spoke slowly, as if he hadn't already thought it all out. "I hate for the trip to be a complete waste—you wouldn't believe what the ticket cost. Maybe I can talk to some of the people in Capstone who lived through the war. I wasn't going to do that until I had the background researched, but...." He shrugged, then frowned. "I seem to remember that there was some hotshot general or admiral on Plinry when the war ended, but I don't recall his name. You know who I mean?"

Galway frowned back. "Umm. Maybe you mean General Lepkowski? He was in command of this sector when it fell."

"Could be. I remember thinking the name was Vladimirian sounding."

"Seems to me Lepkowski was from Vladimir, come to think of it. But I'm afraid you're out of luck again—he died during the war."

Caine's stomach knotted. "You sure?" he asked as casually as possible.

"Yes. He was caught in his command center when the Groundfire attack demolished it, or so the story goes." Galway paused, as if thinking. "I don't know anyone else off hand who might have the kind of information you're looking for. A lot of people here lived through the war—I did, myself—but none of them knew much about the big picture."

"Well, maybe I'll look some of them up anyway." For the first time Caine noticed a slight tightness in his chest and a faint rasping in his voice. "I should be able to get something out of it—the little guy's point of view, maybe."

"What's wrong with your voice?" Galway asked abruptly. His hand, which had been reaching for the elevator call button, moved instead to a supportive grip on Caine's arm, and he frowned into the other's face.

"I don't know." The rasp was getting louder, and the first stabs of pain were beginning to intrude on Caine's breathing.

"I do." Still holding Caine's arm, the prefect half led, half dragged him to a refreshment station at the end of the corridor. With one hand he dialed for a cup of water; with the other he deftly reached into Caine's jacket pocket and pulled out the vial of pills. Handing Caine the water, he glanced at the vial's label and tapped two of the capsules into his hand. "Take these," he ordered.

Caine did so. He very much wanted to sit down, but there were no chairs or benches in the hallway and Galway didn't seem inclined to help him into one of the nearby offices. Fortunately, though, the medicine worked fast, and within a few minutes he was able to let go of Galway's arm. "I'm okay now," he nodded, taking an experimental breath. The pain was gone, the rasping nearly so. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." He handed Caine the vial. "I'd assumed you'd taken your medicine before landing, or I would've had you do it when you went through customs. I presume you'll be less forgetful in the future."

"You bet," Caine assured him. "What the hell was that, anyway?"

"Tormatyse asthma. Affects about three percent of the offworlders that come here. It's caused by something in the air—I'm not sure what—but it's pretty harmless as long as you take a daily dose of histrophyne. You feel ready to travel yet?"

"Sure."

Galway led the way back to the elevators, and minutes later Caine was standing by the building's main entrance, a thick packet in his hand. "Your luggage should already be in your hotel room," Galway told him. "We only have one guest hotel in the Hub—the Coronet—so I took the liberty of sending your things there."

"Fine." They'd no doubt searched his things en route, but there wasn't anything incriminating for them to find. As far as Caine was concerned, the sooner Security came to the conclusion that Alain Rienzi was an honest—if not overly bright—member of the government, the better. "Thanks for all your help, Prefect. I expect I'll be seeing you again."

Galway smiled. "Very likely. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Rienzi."

The Coronet, while probably run-of-the-mill as government hotels went, was the most luxurious Caine had ever seen. His room boasted a full-sized bed with sleepset and fantistim attachments, a private bathroom, room service conveyor, and an entertainment center that even included a computer terminal.

He unpacked carefully, storing his clothing in the walk-in closet and the drawers built into the bed frame. As he worked he kept an eye out for hidden cameras or bugs, but didn't spot any. Not that it mattered—he knew the bugs were there somewhere, but he wouldn't be doing any important work in the room, anyway.

His unpacking finished, he looked over the menu list by the phone and called down an order. Then, kicking off his half-boots, he sprawled face-down across the bed, a wave of fatigue rolling over him. Outside, Plinry's sun was only halfway from zenith to horizon; mid-afternoon of a thirty-hour day. But Caine's biological clock was still set on ship's time, and for him it was already approaching midnight. He could run another hour or two on nervous energy, if necessary, but there seemed no point to that. Morning would be early enough to get to work.

Rolling over, he propped up his head with the pillow and reviewed his situation. His identity as Alain Rienzi, at least, should be rock-solid now, especially after that asthma attack. The pills had been clearly issued on Rienzi's medical profile, something Prefect Galway was bound to have noticed. How Marinos back on Earth had managed to switch those records—or how he'd had the foresight to do so in the first place—Caine couldn't imagine. But it had worked out well, and it should have allayed any suspicions Galway might have had.

Galway. Caine shifted uncomfortably as he tried to form a coherent picture of the man. The slightly pompous, slightly fawning, slightly bumbling image that had been Caine's first impression was sharply inconsistent with the prefect's actions during the asthma attack. He'd made a fast, correct diagnosis and had followed up on it without a single wasted motion—even to remembering exactly where Caine had put his pills. A competent, confident man... who had tried very hard to give the wrong impression of himself. Why? Did he normally play this game with visitors, or was Caine a special case? At this point there was no telling, but it made Caine uneasy. Perhaps, he thought, it was supposed to.

A soft chime made him start, and it took a second for him to realize the sound was just the herald of his dinner tray. Getting up, he retrieved it from the conveyor and took it across the room to where a table and chair were automatically folding down from the wall, presumably keyed by the chime.

The food was foreign to him but good nonetheless, and as he ate his spirits revived somewhat. The mission had hardly started, true; but then, he'd already come farther than he'd expected to. He'd reached Plinry, had safely penetrated enemy territory, and had established an excuse to go wandering around asking questions of Capstone's citizens. From his fourth-floor window, he could just see the top of the gray wall that separated the Hub from the rest of the city, and raising his glass to his lips he silently gave a toast to those on the far side. Even if General Lepkowski were truly dead, the common people had surely organized an underground against the Ryqril and the Hub.

Tomorrow he would go out and find it.