Xris smiled at her reassuringly. “It won’t. The best defense is a good night’s sleep, as our friend Tycho and his maladjusted translator would say. Or then there’s my personal favorite of his, the one about carrying the whores into the enemy camp.”
Darlene stared at him, wide-eyed, astonished. “You’re not thinking of taking on the Hung yourself?”
“About time someone did. It’s not a job we’re going to do tomorrow or the next day. It’ll take time, planning, money. But I’ve got it in the back of my mind.”
Darlene gave him a playful slap on his metal arm, shoved him toward the door. “I think you’ve got a gear loose. Go have Doc check you out.”
Xris listened at the door before opening it. His augmented hearing would pick up the sound of anyone lurking about outside. He couldn’t hear anything, but he popped the door open swiftly, peered out into the hall.
Empty.
Xris thrust a twist in his mouth. “Have a good time on Adonia. I hear the orgies are first-rate. Be sure and take vids.”
“It’s a religious holiday,” she said solemnly. “Raoul told me so.”
Xris removed the twist. “Take care of yourself,” he said gruffly.
Darlene managed a smile, but she was a bit impatient. “I will, Xris. I’m good at it, remember?”
She shut the door behind him.
He walked away, down the empty, silent hall, and suddenly had the feeling that he would never see her again.
The feeling was strong and almost impelled him to turn around and go back, just to prove himself wrong. But that would be stupid, illogical. Darlene would be insulted and she would have every right to be insulted.
Xris didn’t believe in premonitions, gut feelings, or anything of the sort. No kindly premonition had come along to warn him to stay out of that munitions factory where Ito had died and part of Xris had died, too. Dr. Quong would say that this feeling of impending doom was Xris’s response to his lack of control over the situation. Amadi had taken Xris by surprise, caught him off guard, blindsided him. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help Darlene, other than make a few plans that were, in his mind, highly inadequate. He was frustrated, and this was the result.
Xris lectured himself all the way downstairs to the meeting room, and by the time he arrived, he felt somewhat better. Darlene would be fine. Just fine.
As he walked through the lobby, he noticed a man with a pocket viewer, earphones on his head, seated in a chair, staring intently at the screen. Xris noticed five other men and one woman, all with pocket viewers, earphones on their heads, all of them staring with various degrees of attention at the various screens. None of them glanced at him. None of them paid him any attention whatsoever.
“Paranoid,” Xris muttered, and continued on his way.
He didn’t hear the first man speak two words into a cell phone.
“It’s her.”
Chapter 6
One who is in difficulty and doesn’t make plans is impoverished; one who is impoverished and doesn’t fight is lost.
Sun-tzu, The Art of War
“That covers my meeting with Sakuta.” Xris was I speaking to the assembled Mag Force 7 team—the assembled team minus one. “I’ve accepted the job. Now, here’s the setup.”
“Where’s Darlene?” Harry asked.
“We’ll cover that later,” Xris said. “Now back to this job—”
“I don’t think we should start the meeting without Darlene here,” Harry protested.
Xris counseled patience. “She’s not coming, Harry. There’s a reason. I’ll go into it later. Can we get back to the job?”
“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Harry said. “That’s why that thing’s here for a nothing job like this.” He pointed.
“That’s a water pitcher, Harry,” Xris said. “I mean that thing next to it.”
The “thing” was a bug-scrambling device brought along by Quong. The device warbled electromagnetic frequencies, disrupted sensitive micro devices. Nothing with a microchip inside it would work while the scrambler was operational. Fortunately for Xris, his inner workings were specially shielded. Otherwise he’d be flopping around the room about now.
“Yes, Harry, and what’s wrong is that you’re annoying the hell out of me. Can we get on with this?”
“Sure, Xris,” Harry said. Leaning over, he muttered, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” under his breath to Dr. Quong. “Do you know? No one ever tells me.”
Xris ignored him, continued on.
“Here’s the plan. On most other worlds, it would be easy for us to walk off with this antique ‘bot. Just show up, hijack it, leave. Pandor presents a problem—several problems. The first: The Pandorans are extremely intolerant and prejudiced against off-worlders. A spate of serial killings—really nasty stuff—took place in one of their major cities years ago. An off-worlder was responsible. The Pandoran people were outraged. In addition, the native Pandorans blamed off-worlders for stealing jobs and controlling the wealth. Result: They forced all off-worlders to leave the planet and won’t let any off-worlders back on. With one exception.”
Xris looked to the former military man Jamil, who nodded and took over.
“As you can see by the astral map, Pandor is located on one of the major Lanes leading to the Void. If the Corasians ever decided to attack the galaxy from this direction, they’d cruise down this hyperspace Lane. Because of Pandor’s vulnerable location, the Royal Military has maintained an Army base on Pandor for as long as the Corasian threat has been known. The Pandorans don’t like it, but they don’t like being attacked by the Corasians a whole lot more. Army personnel are the only off-worlders permitted to enter Pandor and they are shuttled directly from the spaceport to the base to avoid contact with the local population.”
Xris picked it up from there. “According to Sakuta, a construction site is located near this military base—”
“Is it on base property?” Tycho asked, through his computer-programmed translation device.
“Unfortunately not.” Xris shook his head. “That would make this easy. The property is owned by a group of Pandor developers. They’re building a shopping mall and adding a high concrete wall to keep the sight of the Army base from offending the shoppers. The site is near the base, though, which gives us an edge. Jamil and I will dress up in our best Army officer suits and—”
Quong interrupted. “Imitating an officer of the Armed Services is illegal. If you are caught, you could be accused of spying and sentenced to death.”
Xris shrugged. “They have to catch us first. And we’ll be on and off that base so fast they won’t hardly know we were there. Where was I?” He consulted his electronic notepad. “Oh, yeah. Jamil and I get onto the base. We do a little song and dance to pay for our supper. While he’s entertaining the troops, I inspect the security, make any adjustments necessary. That night, we slip off base, find the robot, grab it, bring it back, stash in with out luggage, and depart.”
Quong was sceptical. “How big is this robot?”
Xris smiled, pulled out a twist, put it in his mouth. “Oh, about two and a half meters tall, half a meter in diameter, and probably weighs around two thousand kilos.”
Quong sniffed. “And you are going to put that in your suitcase? You had better take Raoul’s luggage instead.”
“It wouldn’t fit,” Raoul said complacently. After a thoughtful pause, he amended. “Well, yes, it would, but I’d have to leave half my wardrobe behind.” He was excited. “Xris Cyborg, it sounds as if you do not need me on this mission. If so, don’t forget the religious holiday—”
“I haven’t,” Xris said grimly. He raised his hand, forestalled the Adonian’s arguments. “We’ll discuss this later. To answer your concerns, Doc, Sakuta provided us with a crate for the robot—specially built with moisture control systems and pillows to keep it comfy and God knows what else. Jamil and I just have to figure how to bring the crate onto the base without arousing suspicion.�
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“I’ve got an idea on that,” Jamil said. “And an idea for why we’re on the base in the first place.”
“Good. Well, gentlemen, that’s it for that job. Jamil and I can handle it. There’s another matter that I have to cover.” Xris was silent a moment, chewing on a twist.
Finally he said quietly, “I had a visit today. From the bureau. One of their agents—my old boss—bumped into me.”
“They know about Darlene!” Harry was out of his chair, ready to run to her rescue.
“Yes and no.” Xris motioned for the big man to sit down. “The bureau is aware that the person they know as Dalin Rowan is alive and well. They found his footprints in their computer files. But they don’t know anything more than that. And we have to keep them from knowing. Because if they find out, odds are that the Hung will find out, too.”
“Damn! What are we going to do? We have to do something Xris,” Harry said, his face creased with worry.
“I am,” Xris said, rubbing his temples. His head ached. “I’m sending Darlene to Adonia with Raoul—”
“In time for the festival?” Raoul was breathless from the suspense.
“Yes, in time for the festival. You see—” He would have explained further, but Raoul had leaped from his chair, hurled himself at Xris, and flung his arms around Xris’s neck.
“Thank you! Thank you, my friend!” Raoul cried fervently. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I unfortunately have been forced to miss the last three festivals and my friends on Adonia are most annoyed with me since I owe them all parties and now I will have a chance to fulfill my social obligations—”
Choking in a cloud of lilac perfume, Xris endeavored to disentangle himself from the Adonian’s fond embrace. “Your main obligation is to take care of Darlene. And don’t forget it.” He rubbed his cheek where Raoul had planted a kiss, looked suspiciously at the smear of red lipstick on his hand. “What is this? Do I need an antidote or something?”
“No, no,” Raoul said reassuringly, patting his hair— which had become mussed in the flurry of the moment— and picking up the hat that had been knocked to the floor. “It is ordinary lipstick. Berry Berry Delicious, if you want the name. It’s really quite a becoming shade on you.”
“I don’t like this, Xris,” said Harry Luck grimly. “I don’t like it one damn bit.”
“I don’t much like it myself, Harry, but this is Darlene’s plan and it’s her decision and, all things considered, I think it’s the best we can do—aside from you sitting outside her door day and night with a beam rifle across your knees, of course.”
“And maybe that’s what we should do,” Harry argued stubbornly. “Not let her go traipsing around the universe with Mr. Berry Berry Delicious here—”
Raoul was affronted. He smoothed his hair and regarded Harry with an icy, if somewhat unfocused, stare.
“The Little One and I pledge ourselves by all that Adonians hold sacred—”
“Condoms, lip gloss, and styling mousse,” Quong whispered in a loud aside to Jamil.
Raoul’s lashes fluttered, but he carried on. “—to keep Darlene Rowan safe and sound, and I will hold myself bound by that pledge and the Little One will hold himself bound—”
“All that binding, sounds like an Adonian party to me,” Jamil said, nudging Quong.
“This is not funny!” Harry shouted angrily. “Harry, listen—” Xris began.
“Indeed it is not,” Raoul said, his lip quivering, his cheeks flushed crimson. “If you are impugning our abilities, Harry Luck—”
“I’m not . . . whatever that word is . . . anything.” Harry slammed his hand on the table, rattling the water pitchers. “I’m just saying that I don’t think it’s a good idea to send Darlene off with a poisoner and a telepath when the odds are that some top-notch death squad is after her.”
“You are impugning our abilities!” Raoul returned, highly indignant. “I promise that we will look after Darlene most assiduously!” He caught hold of the Little One, who, at the torrent of conflicting emotions surging about the room, was endeavoring to hide from them by crawling under the table. “And,” Raoul added magnanimously, “I will do something about her hair at the same time.”
This pronouncement broke up the meeting. Harry clenched his fists and kicked over his chair. Jamil lay sprawled on the table, helpless with laughter. Tycho fumbled with his translator, trying to find out what Darlene was doing with rabbits. Quong offered to check Harry’s testosterone level. Raoul sniffed and held himself aloof while the Little One tangled himself up in the tablecloth.
“Shut up,” Xris said. “All of you.”
The words snapped. Xris had the feeling he might snap next.
“Harry, sit down. Raoul, get the Little One out from under there. Tycho, recalibrate that damn translator. No one said anything about rabbits.”
Jamil raised an eyebrow, exchanged glances with Quong. Harry, his choleric face splotched with patches of white, mumbled something, returned to his seat. Raoul dragged the Little One out from under the table, adding the loudly whispered admonishment that he had better behave because Xris Cyborg was in a bad mood.
“Damn right I’m in a bad mood,” Xris said. Taking out the golden case which held the twists, he tapped the case on the table. “This is all my fault. I screwed up. I was stupid. Careless. I had no idea the bureau was tailing me. They’ve probably been at it for weeks now. Amadi showed himself because he needed to talk to me. If Amadi had been the Hung, I’d have led them right to Darlene. Maybe I already have. I don’t know.”
He tapped the case on the table, frowned down at it.
Jamil shifted uneasily in his chair, an expression of disapproval on his face. He was ex-military, an officer. Superiors weren’t supposed to admit to making mistakes, weren’t supposed to show weakness.
Harry Luck, big, brawny, with as much muscles in his head as his arms, kept quiet. Xris would have to explain this plan several times to Harry and even then the big man might not catch on. Thoughts dropped down into his mind like the little steel balls in a pachinko game, bounced around, sometimes hit, most of the time missed. But he was a damn good pilot, one of the very best.
Bill Quong. Doctor of medicine, degree in engineering. He kept them all in good working order, Xris especially. Terse, pedantic, Quong reduced all of life to its chemical and mechanical components. He preferred machines to people and his bedside manner tended to reflect this. He was regarding Xris with professional concern, probably wondering if his electrolyte count was out of whack.
Tycho. Tall, humanoid in appearance, thin to the point of emaciation, he belonged to a race known in slang terms as “chameleons” for their ability to alter skin color to blend in with their surroundings—a handy skill for a sniper and a trained assassin. His people had no facility for any human language, neither comprehending it nor speaking it. He wore a translator for that purpose. Unfortunately, the translator tended to miss a lot. The “chameleon” language was immensely logical, highly structured and consequently had difficulty handling the idiosyncrasies of human speech. Tycho’s use of cliches and idiomatic expressions tended to be extremely colorful and possess meanings never intended. He was clearly perplexed by what was going on. Between “impugned” and “assiduously” his translator had probably overloaded.
The Little One, empath, telepath, was staring at Xris from beneath the brim of the fedora. His was a mysterious race, unknown to the rest of the universe, given the fact that they were extraordinarily hideous-looking people (one reason he was muffled to the eyes in raincoat and to the nose in fedora). To leave their planet was punishable by death.
Somehow, somewhere, the Little One had hooked up with Raoul, Adonian, Loti—slang for habitual drug user—and one of the most expert chemists and poisoners in the field. The two were an interesting pair, completely devoted to each other. The empath was comfortable around the Loti, who functioned—generally—in a drug-induced haze of pleasant thoughts and emotions. The Little One, a
s far as Xris could determine, acted as Raoul’s guide dog, leading the Loti around the obstacles and pitfalls of life.
The Little One was now quivering beneath the rain coat, shivering in the emotional windstorm of Xris’s anger, guilt, anxiety, and frustration.
Xris looked up. “There’s not a damn thing I can do to help Darlene except keep away from her; draw them off her, maybe draw them out. So that’s the plan. Harry, I gave Darlene all the options. She chose to go with Raoul. If you want to argue with her, go ahead. I don’t advise it. She was barely speaking to me when I left.”
Harry muttered something unintelligible, shook his head. The others kept silent, so silent that they could all hear the faint whir and hum of Xris’s machinery.
“Right,” Xris said. “I think that’s it. Jamil, how long will it take you to gather everything we need?”
Jamil cleared his throat, sat up straight. “A couple of Army uniforms, standard-issue side arms, insignia, medals, patches—I’ve got most of those at my place on Esquimalt. Leaving tonight, I can be there by twelve hundred tomorrow.”
“Good. Meet me at seventeen hundred hours the day after. I assume we can take a standard spaceplane flight to Pandor?”
“Right. No need to steal a fighter or anything.” Jamil was on his feet. “I’m a colonel and you’re my aide, rank of captain, arriving to give the Army personnel on Pandor an edifying and informative lecture which they’ve had scheduled for months, only they just haven’t noticed it yet. I’ll need Darlene’s help to slip it into their computer files. Is that all right?”
“She’ll be glad to have something to do. Go on up to her room, tell her what you need. Take Raoul and the Little One with you. The sooner you three leave”—Xris gave the nod to Raoul—”the better.”
Robot Blues Page 5
