The Knights of the Black Earth

by Margaret Weis; Don Perrin

  The distress signal ...

  Only way off ...

  The plan was there, bursting inside his head with dazzling clarity. Elation, excitement tingled through him like a powerful narcotic. He lived for moments like this.

  The problem was how to explain it. It was unlikely that their transmissions were being monitored, but Xris wasn’t putting anything past this bunch.

  He was on the comm to Jamil. “Rescue-two, leave your post. At my signal, we’re getting out of here. But before you go, turn out the lights and lock up the house. Then follow the signs. You got that, Rescue-two?”

  A pause. In the background, the distress signal. Then Jamil said quietly, “I’ve got it, Rescue-one. Waiting your signal.”

  Xris shut down the transmission, glowered at Raoul. “You coming with us or not?”

  Raoul fluttered his eyelids demurely. He always knew when Xris’d had enough. “I’m coming.”

  The Adonian stepped daintily over the bits of burning wreckage, making futile attempts to pull his gown shut in back. At length, shrugging, he gave up. Pausing, he took a look at his reflection in the carbon-streaked metal wall.

  “Oh, well.” Raoul shrugged. “Fortunately, I have a nice tight ass.”

  “You better move your nice tight ass or it’s going to get shot off,” Xris said grimly. Grabbing hold of the Little One, the cyborg lifted the empath over the ruins and the bodies, plunked him down on the floor near Quong. “Keep an eye on these two. And Rowan,” he told the Doc.

  Quong nodded.

  Tycho stood at the end of a corridor littered with bodies. Seven humans. All of them, Xris noted, were wearing black uniforms decorated with silver insignia. He didn’t recognize either the uniforms or the insignia, but that didn’t count for much. Every planet, country, city, city-state, corporation, and radical fringe group had its own paramilitary force. These guys just happened to be better than most. They’d fooled him completely.

  Xris motioned for Tycho to join them.

  “All clear down here,” Tycho reported.

  “Yeah,” said Xris, spitting out the twist. “That’s because there’s a reception committee waiting for us at the spaceplane.”

  “How many?” asked Tycho.

  “Too damn many. We’re clearing out.”

  Tycho’s face darkened. “Jamil’s trapped on the bridge—”

  “He’s abandoning ship. We all are.”

  They stared at him.

  Xris switched on the comm to Jamil. “Rescue-two—now!” Xris hoped Jamil had truly understood his message. Turn out the lights and. lock up the house. Then follow the signs. If not . . .

  A second’s worry-packed delay, and then the lights went out. The air went off. Emergency lights flickered on, casting an eerie bluish glow over everything. A computerized voice echoed through the corridor.

  “Warning! Life support has shut down. Follow the white lights and proceed to the emergency exits. Stay calm. Warning! Life support has shut down. Follow the white lights and proceed to the emergency exits. Stay calm. Warning! . ..”

  Small white lights, embedded in the deck, began to flash in a distinct pattern, leading in one direction.

  Quong nodded his head; he was beginning to understand. Rowan had it; she was smiling in approval. Tycho was already changing skin color to blend into the semidarkness. Raoul looked delighted. He was probably enjoying the light show.

  “Move out,” Xris ordered.

  Following the guide lights, they headed down the corridor at a run. Tycho took the lead; his rifle scope had infrared sights. Quong shepherded Rowan, Raoul, and the Little One. Xris brought up the rear. They met no one. All resistance, apparently, was gathered around their spaceplane.

  “Rescue-five.” Xris alerted Harry. “Take off. We can’t reach you.”

  “Rescue-one, I didn’t catch that. Would you repeat?”

  Xris sighed, shook his head. “Rescue-five, dammit, take off! We’re going out in the escape pods.”

  “But Xris! Spaceplanes can’t recover escape pods! I—”

  “Orders, Rescue-five,” Xris snapped.

  “Sure, Xris. I mean, Rescue-one.”

  It was all very easy after that. So easy, in fact, that once they reached the pods, Raoul announced that he had time to go back after his clothes. Xris, not even bothering to comment, shoved the Adonian into the escape pod.

  The pods aboard a Verdi-class vessel are built to hold eight people—not comfortably, but then escape pods weren’t meant to be used for extended periods of time. Since Verdi-class ships had no hyperspace capabilities and were not armed, they weren’t likely to venture into the wilds of space. Traveling near the busy trade routes, a ship in trouble was likely to have help within hours. And, as Xris knew, help was already on its way.

  When everyone was crammed inside the pod, perched on the hard benches, their heads and backs pressed against the curved walls (the tall Tycho was bent double), Xris sealed the pod, pressed the emergency release. The pod dropped off. Small rocket thrusters fired, taking them a safe distance from the ship before shutting down.

  Bursts of fire indicated the launching of a second pod, not far from theirs—that would be Jamil. In the distance, Xris could see the Schiavona spaceplane hovering near the pods like a distraught mother hen. They had escaped neatly, easily. He wondered how long it would take the soldiers lying in ambush for the team to figure out they weren’t coming. All they had to do now was sit back and wait for that freighter. And think up a plausible story.

  “Harry,” said Rowan into the comm, almost as soon as the pod had ejected, “put me through to the computer.”

  She gave detailed instructions to the computer on how to break into its counterpart aboard the Canis Major, how to sneak around without being noticed, what files to find, and how to begin downloading them. Then she sat and fidgeted.

  “I suppose it has occurred to you, Xris, that we may be rescued, then immediately tossed into the brig.” Tycho was often grumbling and irritable after a raid. “What’s to keep the professors”—he jerked his long thumb toward the vessel—”from claiming that we seized their ship, terrorized them, then fled when things got too hot?”

  “They won’t,” said Xris, chewing lazily on a twist. He began investigating the damage to his arm. “In fact, it’s my guess they won’t even stick around.”

  “But Harry said they couldn’t start their engines for another six . .. I’ll be damned.” Quong was keeping watch out the porthole. “You were right. There they go. Full main thrusters.”

  “Stop them, Xris,” said Rowan suddenly. In her urgency, she reached across, rested her hand on his good one. “Tell Harry to shoot them down. Now!”

  “Are you crazy?” Xris stared at her. “Fire on an unarmed ship—some helpless research vessel? In full view of that freighter? Okay, the bastards weren’t so helpless, but that freighter captain doesn’t know that. We’d not only be tossed in the brig, we’d be thrown into the disrupter!”

  “Not after they saw the evidence I’m downloading. Do it, Xris!” She was in earnest. Her grip on him tightened.

  “Too late,” Quong said coolly. “By the Holy Master, they had hyperspace, as well! They’re gone!”

  Xris pushed his way forward, peered out the porthole. No sign of the Canis Major. The ship had jumped into one of the nearby Lanes. He sat back down. What the devil was going on?

  “Someone went to a lot of expense to modify that ship,” Tycho observed. “Imagine, adding backup linear drive and hyperspace to a Verdi-class!”

  “Of course they would,” Rowan said irritably. “They would have to, with what they’re planning.”

  “What are they planning? What have you got on them?” Xris demanded.

  She looked over at him.

  “Less than sixty hours from now, they’re plotting to assassinate the king.”

  Chapter 28

  Let fortune’s bubbles rise and fall. . . .

  John Greenleaf Whittier, A Song of Harvest

&
nbsp; “And that,” said Raoul, spreading his hands dramatically, “is my story.”

  He was obviously enjoying himself, enjoying his audience, enjoying being the center of attention. So much so that Xris, sucking on a twist, regarded him with suspicion.

  Quong rolled up the Adonian’s sleeves, made a brief examination of his arm. “He’s had blood drawn. You can see the discoloration on the skin.”

  “It’s all in the computer files, Xris,” Rowan added. “Well, not all of it. We were only able to download a small segment before they made the jump. There are a lot of holes. But it adds up.”

  “Maybe. But to what?”

  “To regicide,” Rowan said. “Like I told you.”

  Xris shook his head.

  Within an hour of their escape from Cants Major Research I, the team had been picked up by the freighter. The captain listened to their story—how they’d heard the distress call, stopped to help what they thought was a disabled vessel, boarded the ship, were then set upon by thugs, and barely escaped with their lives.

  The captain had been dubious: not surprising, considering Tycho standing there holding a specialized iridium sniper rifle; Raoul, blushing in shame, in his hospital gown; Xris with half his left arm sizzling and popping; and Rowan bleeding from a scalp wound. To say nothing of the Little One.

  There was the possibility, of course, that the captain watched the nightly news, would recognize them. But Xris wasn’t overly concerned about that. Even if the captain had seen the news, freighter captains were notorious for minding their own business. They had their own problems, including delivery dates to meet.

  The vessel that had sent the distress signal had disappeared; the crew wasn’t around to speak for themselves. The captain asked a few questions—just enough to make his report look good—then was only too happy to transfer Xris and his team back to their spaceplane and be rid of them.

  Once on board the Schiavona, Xris attempted to put together the pieces of what was turning out to be an extremely bizarre puzzle. Just what did the kidnapping of a fashion-conscious Adonian Loti have to do with the assassination of a king?

  “You said Dr. Brisbane asked you questions.” Rowan pursued Raoul’s debriefing. “What about?”

  Raoul shrugged. “My late former employer, Snaga Ohme. The time I spent with my late former employer. I must say that it brought back very painful memories.”

  The Adonian was lucid—or at least as lucid as Raoul could ever be, considering that no one was actually certain where he ended and his drug-induced euphoria began. Quong had given Raoul, now dressed in a flight suit, a mild sedative—to help him get over the shock of the hospital gown, which seemed to bother him more than any of the other torments he had suffered. With the exception of his true concern for the Little One.

  Raoul’s gaze strayed often to his friend, as if reassuring himself the empath was safe, and he occasionally patted the Little One on whatever part of the small being was handy. The Little One huddled possessively near Raoul, the one visible eye gleaming in triumph.

  There was still the matter of Rowan. Here was Xris’s opportunity to ask Raoul and the Little One about Rowan’s veracity. He’d been looking forward to doing just that, but now that the moment had come, he put it off. This other matter was more important, he told himself. Or maybe it was because he already knew the answer.

  “What specific questions did Dr. Brisbane ask you about Snaga Ohme?” Rowan persisted patiently.

  Raoul fluttered his hands. “It was all so . . . dreadful and confused. That hideous gown. I was not my accustomed self, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at them from the corners of his eyes.

  “We get the idea,” Xris said wryly.

  Raoul sighed, attempted to concentrate. “I believe that the dreadful female kept asking me if Snaga Ohme had ever given me any sort of injections. If he had used me for any sort of tests or experiments.”

  “And did he?” Rowan sat forward, interested.

  “No.” Raoul looked bewildered. “Why would he? My late employer, Snaga Ohme, was a purveyor of weaponry. What had I to do with such onerous devices as bombs and tanks?”

  “What indeed. . . .” Rowan murmured. “You told Dr. Brisbane this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And .. .”

  “She did not appear to believe me. It was at that point that she announced that she was going to terminate me.” Raoul shuddered delicately.

  “But she didn’t,” Xris said.

  “I don’t believe so.” Raoul was forced to consider the matter.

  “Did she give you any reason why?”

  “The only thing she gave me was an extremely powerful sedative. At which point,” Raoul added gravely, “I began to feel much better.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” Xris muttered. “You don’t know why she kept you alive?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Raoul returned with dignity. “You asked if she gave me a reason. No. She did not. But I heard her talking to the ugly man. The ugly man said—and I quote—’Some of the micromachines in his body have not yet exploded. He will be an excellent test subject for the device.’ Unquote.”

  Rowan was nodding her head, looking well satisfied. She was the only one who had read the stolen computer files. This must be making some sort of sense to her. It made none to Xris.

  “Come off it, Loti.” Harry chortled. “The only people who have micromachines in their bloodstream are Blood Royal. You don’t expect us to believe you’re Blood Royal, do you?”

  “Do you suppose I could be?” Raoul was blissful. “A cousin to His Majesty!”

  “I think it highly unlikely,” Xris responded.

  Raoul gave the matter thought, shrugged. “You’re probably right. Mummy and Daddy were both courtesans and it is a well known fact that the Blood Royal did not generally go in for that line of work. On the other hand—”

  “Don’t expect an invitation to the Starfire family reunion,” Xris interrupted. “So far as we know, there’s only one person left alive in the galaxy who is Blood Royal, and that’s the king.” He was going to add, Look, Raoul, level with us. Why did they really snatch you? But before he could get the words out, Quong interrupted.

  “This is incredible.” Quong was studying the computer printouts. “They did find micromachines in Raoul’s bloodstream!”

  Jamil snorted in disgust. “You’re not telling us the poisoner over there is in line for the throne?”

  “No. No. The Adonian is not Blood Royal. He could not be; Adonians were not considered a suitable race for genetic altering, which was how the Blood Royal became Blood Royal, how they were able to take the micromachines into their bodies and use them. Which brings up the question: How did the micromachines get into the Adonian’s bloodstream? And what do his captors mean by ‘exploded’?”

  “That’s why they kept asking him about injections,” Rowan said, excited. “Snaga Ohme must have injected the micromachines into Raoul’s blood.”

  “But why? And where would Ohme get them?” Quong wondered.

  The Little One tugged on Raoul’s sleeve, demanding his attention.

  Raoul listened to that silent voice, then translated. “The Little One recalls that there was a bloodsword in the possession of our late former employer. If you remember, Snaga Ohme was not only a purveyor of weapons but a collector as well.”

  “That’s it, then!” Quong announced. “Ohme could have removed some of the fluid containing the micromachines from the sword and injected it into Raoul.”

  Xris was thoughtful. “But why? As far as I know, the only Blood Royal Snaga Ohme ever had long-term dealings with was Warlord Derek Sagan. There was no love lost between those two. In fact, the Warlord once hired me to do a spy job on the weapons dealer. Derek Sagan had given Ohme the plans for the space-rotation bomb and the Warlord wanted to make damn sure Ohme wasn’t trying to double-cross him. Of course, Sagan didn’t tell me all that. No one knew about the bomb then. But Ohme appeared to be dealing fairly with the Warlor
d at that time.”

  “Because Ohme was plotting to murder Derek Sagan!” Rowan said. She pointed to the computer printout. “That’s in this file. Ohme planned to murder Sagan by using some sort of weapon that would only kill Blood Royal. React with the micromachines in their bodies.”

  “Is that possible, Doc?” Xris asked.

  “Certainly,” Quong replied. “What was it Raoul said? ‘Explode.’ There are millions of micromachines in the bloodstream of the Blood Royal. If Ohme had found a way to cause them all to explode . . .”

  He regarded Raoul with interest. “Ohme must have injected you with those micromachines! Otherwise how could these people have found them in your bloodstream? You’re positive Snaga Ohme never gave you any type of injections?”

  “Positive,” said Raoul.

  Quong frowned, perplexed.

  Xris shook his head. “Look, this theory is all very interesting, Doc, but it is just a theory and—”

  “Unless you count the collagen treatments,” Raoul added offhandedly.

  “What collagen treatments?” Quong and Rowan both spoke simultaneously.

  “I took them to erase wrinkles. I was developing a few around my eyes. Very few, and they’re not noticeable now, due to this new cream I’m using. It is an extract of the—”

  Quong was triumphant. “Ohme did give him injections! He claimed they were collagen treatments for wrinkles!”

  “What else did he do?” Rowan demanded.

  “Nothing”—Raoul looked slightly dazed—”that I can remember.”

  “Damn it—” Xris was losing patience.

  Rowan reached out, laid a hand on his arm, his good arm. Her touch was cool, oddly soothing.

  “Perhaps Ohme had you test out a new machine at the same time,” she suggested to Raoul.

  “Why, yes. Now that you mention it, my late employer Snaga Ohme had just recently purchased a new tanning bed. He offered to let me try it out. He said it would assist the collagen treatments to eradicate the wrinkles.”

  Quong and Rowan exchanged knowing glances, nodded.

  “Did the wrinkles go away?” the doctor asked.