"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 on 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."