“No further information beyond that?”
“No, sir. Bosk indicates that he never heard from the Loti again and that attempts to find him proved beyond his means.”
“I believe I know where to look. Return to home base, Knight Officer. Proceed with the construction of the negative wave device and await my commands. When the whereabouts of this Loti are discovered, you will be informed.”
“Yes, Knight Commander.”
“What is the Loti’s name, by the way?”
“Raoul, sir. And the empath is known as the Little One.”
“Raoul and the Little One,” repeated the Knight Commander. “Yes, it is them. They are members of a mercenary team called Mag Force 7. Their leader is a cyborg known as Xris.”
Chapter 8
. . . and, lips, 0 you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Scene 3
The two minor government officials stood in the waiting area of the Modena Spaceport, looking up at a terminal displaying the arrival time for incoming flights. The time had not varied in the last thirty minutes—the transport would be half an hour late—but the officials continued to check it just the same, both of them acutely aware of the man in the dark suit. Leaning comfortably against a nearby pillar, he scanned intently the people gliding past on the moving sidewalk.
“What’s he looking at them for?” the woman irritably asked her companion. “We’re the ones he’s following.”
“Probably viewing them as targets on the shooting range,” returned the man. “Look at the way he’s smiling.”
The woman shivered. “Don’t. This is bad enough. Do you think he suspects us?”
The man considered. “No. We’re only doing our job, after all. Meeting the ambassador from Adonia. I don’t much like this scheme, but the cyborg is said to be one of the best in the business. We have to put our faith in someone.”
“More than our faith. Our very lives!” The woman swallowed, put her hand to her throat. “I ... I think I’ll go to the restroom.”
The man in the dark suit shifted his gaze to the woman, watched her enter, watched her return.
“He kept an eye on you,” her companion muttered beneath his breath. “No, don’t look. He’s still watching.”
“I can’t stand this,” the woman said. “I—”
She was interrupted by the arrival of a flight attendant. “Pardon me, sir, madam, are either of you booked for this flight?”
“We’re meeting someone,” the woman replied.
The attendant nodded, relieved. “I was afraid you were passengers. You’ve no idea what a nightmare we go through now. All the forms that have to be filled out. Checking documents. Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” the attendant added hastily. “I am in complete agreement with the government’s new regulations concerning civilian travel restrictions. It’s just—”
The arrival of the transport saved the attendant from further indiscretions. She hurried off to unlock the door, admit the disembarking passengers, of which there were very few. The drab, unhappy world of Modena was not a pleasant place to visit these days.
“How do you suppose we’ll recognize him?” the woman asked.
“I don’t believe we’ll have much trouble,” the man answered dryly. “He’s an Adonian, after all.”
They had absolutely no trouble recognizing him.
It was rather as if the full color spectrum had just breezed in by transport and, on arrival, blown up. The Adonian was dressed in a tight, form-fitting jumpsuit colored a deep royal blue. Over this he wore a floor-length vest made of garish, rainbow-hued silk that billowed out behind him when he walked, revealing purple socks and emerald shoes. The sight was actually a shock to the central nervous system of the conservative Modenans. The two government officials, stunned by the impact, were momentarily unable to move.
The Adonian, seeing no one else in the vicinity and assuming, therefore, that these people must be waiting for him, flung himself in their direction and exploded in their midst.
“I assume that you must be waiting for me,” he cried, smiling. “I am extraordinarily delighted to make your acquaintances.”
The Adonian, with a graceful gesture of his hands, flipped long black hair over his shoulders and gave everyone in the vicinity his charming smile.
“M-Mr. Ambassador.” The man gave the formal greeting, though he was somewhat hesitant about it. Perhaps he was wondering uneasily if the appellation “Mister” was entirely correct.
“Your Excellency.” The woman avoided the gentler problem neatly by using a tide acceptable to any sex. “Welcome to Modena.”
The two bowed.
The ambassador was an Adonian male—at least that’s the sex his passport claimed. His appearance raised cause for doubt, but the fact that he was an Adonian explained everything. Like most of his people, he was, quite literally, an extraordinarily beautiful human being. He was slender, of shapely build, with delicate bone structure and a lilting, mincing walk. His hair was waist-long and gleaming black. His eyes were large and lustrous—too lustrous. Close examination revealed them to be slightly unfocused, the pupils abnormally dilated. He swayed slightly, as though in a gentle wind, and gazed about him with vague, happy curiosity.
The man and woman exchanged glances. “He’s on drugs,” the man said out of the corner of his mouth, speaking Modenan. “A Loti!”
“What do we do now?” the woman demanded. “I thought you said this mercenary force was reliable!”
“We can’t do anything here the man returned grimly, with a sidelong glance at the man in the dark suit, who was staring with fixed interest at the new arrival.
“Thank you,” said the Adonian suddenly. “I have landed safely and soundly on your fair planet. Your welcome is most gratifying. I consider this a fortuitous omen of future friendship between our peoples.”
He extended a hand. The fingernails were long and polished; the fingers glittered with jeweled rings.
The man took the hand, but was totally at a loss as to what to do with it, since the hand’s owner did nothing with it himself. Perplexed, the man transferred the flaccid hand to the woman, who returned the hand to the ambassador as quickly as possible. The sweet, pungent scent of gardenia enveloped them.
“I am Dolf Baejling, aide to the undersecretary of Foreign Affairs of Modena. This is my associate, Mary Krammes. And now, Mr. Ambassador—” the man began.
“Raoul de Beausoleil,” said the ambassador lightly. “Please call me Raoul, Dolf. Everyone does.”
“I ... I hardly believe that would be respectful, Mr. Ambassador,” said Baejling, frowning.
“Respectful?” Raoul gave the matter brief thought. “I don’t quite understand how you can come to respect me on such short acquaintance, Dolf, and I certainly have no respect for you. So we might as well be on a first-name basis, shouldn’t we?”
Baejling frowned, insulted. Krammes laid her hand on his arm. “I don’t believe he meant that quite the way it came out. We’re being watched.”
After an inner struggle and a surreptitious glance at the man in the dark suit, Baejling managed a grudging smile. He was about to suggest that they retrieve the ambassador’s luggage when Krammes—nudging him—indicated a small and strange-looking personage who had apparently been standing close to Raoul the entire time but was only at this moment visible, due to the settling folds of silk.
“I beg your pardon, Excellency,” Krammes said faintly, “but what—I mean, who is .. . what is .. .”
Raoul stared at the woman a moment as if endeavoring to remember where he’d seen her before, then—looking in the direction she was looking—he smiled.
“Ah, I beg your pardon.” He waved his hand. “The Little One. My constant companion. He is with me. Always.”
It was impossible to determine the Little One’s species, race, or anything about the creature, much beyond the fact that it was
, apparently, alive. The Little One said nothing. He kept his hands—if he had hands—in the cadaverous pockets of an oversized raincoat. The turned-up collar hid the lower part of the creature’s face, the fedora hat hid the upper. All anyone could see of the Little One were two bright and penetrating eyes, gazing solemnly out from the shadow cast by the hat.
“How . .. how do you do?” Krammes said, not quite knowing how to address the apparition.
The Little One gazed unblinking at the two.
Krammes gulped. Baejling made a snorting sound and the two exchanged alarmed glances. The ambassador, meanwhile, was studying the spaceport with languid curiosity. But when Raoul turned to Baejling, the aide was disconcerted to note that the Loti’s eyes were not quite as lustrous and unfocused as Baejling had first supposed.
“Remarkably empty for such a large planet, isn’t it, Dolf?” Raoul observed. “Your people don’t indulge in spaceflight, I take it.”
Baejling glanced at the rows of empty plastic chairs, the nearly deserted hallways, the closed restaurants and shut-down vendors’ stalls. The few people who were in the spaceport walked swiftly and kept their eyes on the ground, as if by refusing to acknowledge anyone else’s presence they could successfully hide their own.
“Off-world travel’s restricted, Excellency.” Baejling spoke carefully, mindful of the man in the dark suit. “Our government believes that the people of Modena have no need to leave their home world.”
“Isn’t that marvelous,” said Raoul, struck by the notion. “How very . . . domestic.”
Baejling’s frown deepened. He cleared his throat, looked hopefully at the open door leading to the spaceplane.
“The other members of your party—” Dolf began.
“We’re it,” Raoul said cheerfully Baejling protested. “We were expecting a colleague of yours. A cyborg . . .”
“I beg your pardon, Dolf? You spoke so softly, I failed to catch most of what you said.” Raoul leaned near. Gardenia fragrance rolled off him.
Baejling coughed. “A man named Xris.”
“Ah!” Light dawned. “You are referring, no doubt, to Xris Cyborg. He was not able to come. He is otherwise engaged. He sent us instead.” Raoul gave his diminutive friend a tap on the fedora. “We are sufficient for the task.”
Dolf Baejling did not exude confidence at this statement. Mary Krammes sighed, glanced sideways at the man in the dark suit, twisted her hands together. Raoul bent down gracefully to confer with his companion, though not a word was spoken. Raoul straightened, with a jangle of bracelets.
“Pardon me for mentioning this, Dolf. As I am unfamiliar with the local customs, what I am about to question may be nothing more than Modenan curiosity, but the Little One informs me that the gentleman standing over by that pillar is taking a great deal of interest in us.”
Baejling did not even bother to look. “He is one of our respected secret police,” he said in a careful monotone. “The government of Modena takes very good care of its citizens. He is here to ensure our safety as well as yours, Mr. Ambassador.”
“My safety? Are you certain?” Raoul asked, touched. “I must say, that is very kind of him. And he is rather attractive, in a thuggish sort of way.”
“The secret police are extremely interested in everything that the people do,” Dolf said meaningfully, hoping Raoul would take the hint. “They accompany us .. . everywhere. Now if you would—”
But Raoul was not to be deterred. He gazed steadfastly at the man in the dark suit. “He’s not all that ‘secret,’ is he? For secret police, I mean. I thought those fellows usually hid in luggage bins, popped out at you from dark alleyways.”
“Be careful what you say!” Mary Krammes whispered, clutching Raoul’s arm. “He and his kind rim the country now. They can do what they want. They have only to answer to her.”
“Her?” Raoul was intrigued. “Who is her?”
The Little One shuffled his feet, tugged on the silken folds of the vest. Raoul glanced down, listened, then nodded. “Ah, yes. Madame President.”
“Damn it, keep your voice down!” Dolf cautioned angrily. He paused a moment to regain control, then said stiffly, “If you would excuse us, Excellency, I need to confer a moment with my colleague. I fear that a problem has arisen in regard to your hotel suite.”
Raoul gave gracious assent. Baejling drew Krammes to one side. The two began to talk in an undertone in their own language.
Casting an interested glance at the man in the dark suit, Raoul smoothed his hair, fluttered his eyelids. Then he redistributed the bracelets on his arm, sliding three up above the elbow, four below. Not liking the effect, he moved the third back down below the elbow again. This accomplished, he opened a velvet drawstring bag he carried on his wrist, drew out a mirror, studied his own reflection.
Running the tip of his little finger around his lips in order to repair minute smudging of his lipstick, he said to the Little One, “What are they discussing?”
No one was quite certain how Raoul and the Little One communicated. So far as anyone knew, Adonians did not possess telepathic abilities. Telepaths tended to emerge from races noted for their well-developed sensitivity to the feelings of others. No one had ever accused the Adonians of such a characteristic, the Adonians being notable galaxy-wide for their almost complete and total self-absorption. How these two talked was, therefore, a mystery.
While Raoul sometimes spoke to the Little One aloud, the Little One was never heard to speak to Raoul, or to anyone else, for that matter. Only Raoul could understand and interpret what the Little One said, and how Raoul managed to do that was beyond the ability of everyone—including the leader of Mag Force 7, Xris—to figure out.
The two had been part of Xris’s elite commando team for almost four years now. Xris theorized that the mind-altering drugs taken by the Loti had somehow made Raoul susceptible to the Little One’s thoughts. This was the only explanation for the phenomenon—that and the fact that the two had formed an unusual and exceedingly strong bond.
“Isn’t that interesting?” Raoul murmured in response to his partner’s silent flow of information. “Dolf wants to send us packing. He doesn’t trust us, doesn’t believe we’re capable of carrying out the contract If we bungle the job, he fears that he and the woman will be arrested, probably killed. The Krammes woman reminds him that to get rid of us now would look extremely suspicious. How would they explain the fact that the Adonian ambassador suddenly changed his mind about establishing diplomatic ties with the Modenan government and went home? Xris Cyborg will not be pleased if they break the contract. Yes, I suppose we would get to keep the deposit. . . .”
Raoul brushed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen over his face.
“Here they come,” he said quietly. “Have they reached a decision?”
The Little One gave a violent nod which caused the fedora to slip down over his eyes.
The two returned. Baejling was breathing heavily, gave the appearance of a man who has been in an argument and lost. Mary Krammes was pale and tight-lipped. She had triumphed, but was obviously having second thoughts.
“Thank you for your patience, Mr. Ambassador. We will escort you to your hotel. Your luggage will be sent over. If you and your .. . uh . . . companion would accompany us to the car . ..”
“Is the hotel far from here, Dolf?” Raoul continued admiring his own reflection in the mirror. “Within walking distance?”
“Yes, Excellency,” Baejling answered cautiously, wondering what new weirdness was about to be perpetrated. “But the car is quite comfortable—”
Snapping shut his mirror, Raoul returned it to the velvet bag. “My companion and I would prefer to walk, Dolf, dear, if that does not discommode you. We would love seeing the sights of your fair city. I had so little exercise on the flight over. I must have gained a kilo at least. Walking keeps the calves shapely, did you know that?”
Raoul took Baejling’s arm—though it had not been offered— and drew the man close.
Baejling flinched, choked in the gardenia fumes, but he couldn’t very well insult the Adonian ambassador.
“Besides,” Raoul continued languidly, “this cozy walk will give us a chance to get to know each other better. I have heard rumors to the effect that the hotels on Modena are crawling with bugs.”
Baejling stiffened. “I assure you, Excellency, that you are being accorded the finest accommodations—” He stopped suddenly, gave the Loti a penetrating look. “Ah, I... um ... believe it would be a fine day for a walk. I must warn you, though, that the traffic noise is terrible. It’s sometimes difficult to hear yourself think. You see, Excellency,” he added, “everyone walks this time of day. Everyone.” He cast a significant glance at the man in the dark suit.
Raoul lifted a plucked eyebrow, smiled. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
Baejling looked alarmed. “I don’t think that would be wise—”
Raoul ignored him. Releasing Baejling’s arm, the Adonian walked rapidly on ahead, his high heels tapping the floor, the silken vest flowing behind him like gaudy butterfly wings. The Little One ambled along after, occasionally tripping over the long hem of his raincoat. Baejling and Krammes, slow off the mark, hastened to catch up.
The man in the dark suit saw the group leaving. He prepared to follow, was suddenly intercepted by Raoul. The Adonian veered, turned, and walked right up to the policeman, who was staring at him in astonishment.
Krammes went white. Baejling swore under his breath.
“What the devil is that whacked-out Loti doing?”
One hand on his hip, Raoul let his painted eyes rove over the policeman’s body, starting with the head, moving lingeringly down, gliding back up. The policeman flushed an ugly and embarrassed red.
“Here, now—” he began roughly.
“Don’t be coy. I saw you watching me.” Raoul gave the man a simpering wink. Reaching into the velvet bag, he drew out a gold case, flipped it open. “My card.”
The Knights of the Black Earth Page 9
