Robot Blues

by Margaret Weis; Don Perrin

  “Except in an emergency,” Raoul interrupted.

  Darlene thought it over, shook her head. “What would I say? Be careful because the Little One is experiencing strange feelings he can’t explain?”

  Raoul considered. “You might tell Xris to examine carefully the stitching on any shirts he purchases.”

  At this, the Little One let out a screech—a startling and unnerving sound, which caused the swan to flutter in the water and head for the opposite shore. Shaking his fists in disgust—perhaps at Raoul, perhaps at Darlene, perhaps at the swan, or perhaps at nothing—the Little One slid off the chair and stomped moodily into the house, angrily kicking the raincoat’s hem with each step.

  “Oh, God! My party,” Raoul moaned, and collapsed onto the table, his head pillowed on his arms.

  “Oh, God ... Xris,” Darlene murmured.

  Chapter 11

  “Absent friends.”

  Toast for the day, Sunday, Royal Navy

  On leaving the officers’ mess, Xris took a quick stroll to the part of the base located near the construction site. He was pleased to note that, while it was a part of the base in use during the day, it was likely to be deserted at night. This was the base maintenance area; vehics of all sorts, in various states of disrepair, were parked here.

  Up against the fence sat three PV-L Devastator light tanks, two with their power packs removed, one with the turret half disassembled. Utility trucks in winter camouflage stood in a line, probably recently arrived from off-world and waiting for a desert paint job. A seventy-two-ton hoverwrecker gleamed at the end of the row. The wrecker was the pride of the workshop and proudly displayed the maintenance symbol on the front bumper. A sergeant was still about. The man glanced at Xris curiously as he sauntered past; the sight of a stranger in this area was enough to arouse his interest.

  Xris walked over. “Evening, Sergeant.” Xris gazed around the garage with the fond expression of someone who was returned home after a prolonged absence.

  “Captain,” said the sergeant, glowering and wiping his greasy hands on a rag. This was the sergeant’s domain and he was clearly suspicious of high-ranking intrusion. “Can I do something for you, sir?”

  “Not at the moment. Sergeant. I’ve got a warning light on a remote-controlled, temperature-regulated storage crate. I’d like you to take a look at it.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but ... warning against what?”

  “Biohazard. There’s nothing to worry about, though. The warning light isn’t flashing like it’s warning against anything. It’s flashing like it’s malfunctioning. I can tell the difference.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant was not convinced.

  “And there’s nothing to worry about unless the crate is opened in an improper manner. Certain systems have to be shut down first, in the correct order. Any mistake there and ...” Xris shrugged, left the details to the sergeant’s imagination, which must have been fairly active.

  The sergeant backed up a step, glanced nervously around. “Did you bring the crate with you, sir?”

  “No. I didn’t want to lug the damn thing around with me while I searched for maintenance. I’ll drop it off tonight. You can check it out tomorrow. Where should I stash it?”

  “How about over there, sir? Next to that hoverjeep with the banged-up fender. No one will bother it, sir. You can bet on that.”

  “Fine. I’ll come around sometime tomorrow, be on hand in case you need to open it.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The sergeant appeared vastly relieved. Perhaps he had tomorrow off.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your work.” Xris reached his hand to his pocket, automatically, to pull out a twist. He caught himself halfway. “My first assignment was a maintenance troop with the Thirtieth Field Artillery Regiment. Repair and overhaul. We worked on those old modified Devastators. God!” Xris shook his head. “What a bucket of bolts!”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant agreed, more at ease now that he knew the malfunctioning biohazard crate wasn’t going to be making an appearance anytime soon. “They were that. But once you got ‘em movin’, there wasn’t much around that could stop them. Why, I remember once ...”

  The sergeant related a tale. Xris listened, laughed, and twice had to stop his hand from reaching for his pocket. The sergeant finished his story, offered to show Xris around the yard.

  “Thanks, Sergeant, but it looks like you’re closing up shop. Must be past your dinnertime. Or are you in charge of the night shift?”

  “Night shift!” The sergeant snorted. “Begging your pardon, sir, what would we run a night shift around here for? It’s not like we ever see any action. Busted axles, flat tires, the occasional blown engine, clogged air jets— that’s the extent of the work around here. I was staying late to do a little project of my own. If you’d care to see, sir?”

  Xris had found out all he needed to know, but he stayed a few moments longer to admire an ancient internal combustion engine which the sergeant had discovered in a corner of one of the storage sheds, resurrected it, and was now in the act of restoring. Xris was properly enthusiastic. He stayed to watch the sergeant lovingly cover the engine in a drop cloth.

  “You heading back to the barracks, sir?” the sergeant asked.

  “No, not right away,” Xris answered. “I thought I’d take a stroll around the base.”

  The sergeant was regarding him with wry sympathy. He leaned close, said in a low voice, “If you want a smoke, sir, head over by the storage sheds near the fence. It’ll be deserted this time of night.”

  Xris stared at the man.

  The sergeant chuckled. “I saw your hand go to your pocket, sir. I’m a smoker myself. Can’t beat a good cigar, eh, sir? If there’s nothing else—”

  “No, Sergeant.” Xris smiled. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help. Uh, which way—”

  “That way, sir. Out this door and turn to your right.”

  Xris nodded. The sergeant pulled shut the door to the maintenance shed, locked it, then saluted and headed back toward the barracks.

  “By God,” Xris said to himself, walking in the direction indicated, the direction that led him toward the fence, “that was a stroke of luck. Here I was trying to think of some way to get rid of the guy and he sends me right where I want to go. Easiest job ever, so far.”

  The maintenance shed was a large, hutlike building made of corrugated steel, located only a few meters from the fence, directly opposite the construction site. Walking over by the fence, Xris could see the glow of the security lights illuminating the site of the downed spaceplane. He was almost directly across from it. Little more than a kilometer away.

  He couldn’t have ordered anything more perfect. Pulling the gold case from the compartment in his leg, Xris took out a twist, lit it, and inhaled deeply, thankfully. After a few puffs, he tossed the butt end of the twist at the fence. The twist struck the metal. Blue light flashed; there was a sizzling sound. Xris grunted. He’d expected as much. Turning, certain now that the sergeant must be long gone, Xris headed back for the shed.

  Both maintenance shed and yard were lit by overhead nuke lamps, the only lights around, with the exception of a few security lights above the fence. Xris was satisfied. The yard was the perfect place to stash the storage crate.

  Getting off the base was the next problem. Xris strolled back over to the fence, indulged in another smoke. He wasn’t planning on going through the fence. It would sizzle his butt as fast as it had sizzled the twist’s. In addition, the fence was undoubtedly loaded with sensor devices, including backup sensors if something happened to the first. But Xris didn’t need to get over the fence. He could enter the construction site by an easier route. The robot crate needed to get over the fence. It had jets, operated by remote control, and wasn’t going to be bothered by a few strands of barbed wire.

  The only problem might be some type of magnetic force field radiating up from the top of the fence. Jamil hadn’t considered that likely, and Xris, making his inspection,
didn’t see any indication. He waited a moment and was rewarded by the sight of a low-flying bird skimming over the fence without incident.

  It was a sign from the gods. If it had been a dove, Xris might have found religion. As it was, he figured all he had to do was stash the crate in the maintenance shed, come back at o-dark-thirty, when everyone but the guards would be in bed, haul out the crate, place it next to the fence. Once he reached the construction site, Xris would use the remote to hoist the crate up and over the fence. He’d leave the crate by the fence, retrieve the ‘bot from the crashed plane, haul the ‘bot to the fence, stuff the ‘bot in the crate, send the crate with the ‘bot back over the fence. He’d return to base, stash the crate in the maintenance yard again, collect it when he and Jamil were ready to leave.

  If anyone wondered what he was doing with the crate over near maintenance, instead of at the lecture hall, Xris had already established that the case was malfunctioning; he had brought it over to maintenance to repair.

  He took a look at the auditorium in which the phony Colonel Jatanski would be making his speech. Having located the large, empty lecture room, Xris spent several minutes checking out the lighting, testing the sound, putting the podium into place, doing all those chores a captain should be seen to be doing when preparing for a speech to be given by his colonel. When Xris was finished, he walked back outside.

  He stood in the darkness, enjoying the warm night air. His next task: to find out how easy it would be to get off base.

  Xris sauntered over to the front gate. The lights of the nearby town gleamed in the distance. Must be only a couple of kilometers, a pleasant walk beneath starlit night skies. The gate was wide open; two MPs—a private and a corporal—lounged in the guardhouse, talking companionably. The private’s beam rifle was slung across one shoulder. The corporal had leaned his rifle upright against the wall of the guardhouse while he poured himself a cup of coffee. These two were not expecting trouble.

  Xris called a greeting as he strolled nonchalantly through the gate.

  The private dashed out after him.

  “Captain. Excuse me, sir”—the private caught up with Xris, saluted—”but could I see your orders?”

  “No orders, Private,” Xris answered in a friendly tone. “I’m off duty, thought I’d walk into town, check out the local nightlife.”

  “Sorry, sir, but the town’s off-limits. No one’s allowed to leave base without written orders.”

  “Damn,” Xris said. “Town that rough, huh?”

  “No, sir. Actually, the town’s very nice. We’ve never had any problem with the locals. It’s an agreement between the base and the central Pandoran government. They don’t like off-worlders.”

  Xris considered. He could get nasty, point to his captain’s bars, shove his jaw in the private’s face, but that would only create animosity, might start raising questions.

  “I see.” Xris shrugged. “Guess there’s nothing much left for me to do but go back to bed.”

  “Sorry, sir. There’s the officers’ mess, sir,” the private added.

  Xris grimaced. “My colonel’s in there, if you take my meaning.”

  The private gave Xris a knowing grin. “Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Private.” Xris turned, shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled back in the direction of his quarters.

  On to Plan B. He needed orders to leave the base. That should be easy enough to obtain. Pandor was known galaxy-wide for its stout, which was dark, bitter, with a head on it that, according to legend, you could land a spaceplane on. Colonel Jatanski was particularly fond of Pandoran stout, wanted to replenish his supply. Xris headed back toward the mess. He’d have Jatanski give him orders to go into town.

  “Pardon me—Captain Kergonan?”

  Xris looked up. It was the blond captain, the one he’d spoken to earlier at the bar. She was standing on the sidewalk, had probably just left the officers’ mess.

  “Captain Strauss,” he said, walking over.

  “Frances,” she said, smiling. “But everyone calls me Tess.”

  “And I’m Xris.” He smiled back. “Everyone calls me Xris.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing you talking to the guards,” she said, with a glance in the direction of the gatehouse. “Passing the time of day with the MPs, or did you need something?”

  “What I needed was a beer. They said I can’t go off base without written orders.”

  “There’s the officers’ mess,” Tess suggested.

  “Too many colonels,” Xris replied.

  “One less colonel now,” she said, smiling in understanding. “What with Jatanski leaving the base.”

  Xris thought his augmented hearing was acting up on him again.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I didn’t quite catch that. Did you say something about Jatanski leaving?”‘

  “Why, yes? Didn’t you know? I’m sorry. Colonel Strebbins sent a messenger to your quarters to inform you. I guess he didn’t.”

  “I didn’t go back to my quarters. I took a walk to wake up after that speech, then I checked out the lecture hall.” Xris was carefully casual. “Jatanski’s left the base, you say? Where’s he gone? Into town to fight off six thousand wild-eyed bartenders with a toothpick?”

  “No.” Tess laughed. “The colonel was called away to attend a court martial. General Hanson sent his aide, a major named VanDerGard. He arrived in a special spaceplane.”

  An alarm went off on Xris’s cybernetic arm, LED lights flashed, a beep sounded, informing him that his nervous system was about to go berserk. He wasn’t surprised. The shock had literally rocked him backward on his feet.

  “Colonel Jatanski? My Colonel Jatanski?” Xris was convinced she must be mistaken. “Tall, good-looking black human ...”

  “I know Colonel Jatanski,” Tess assured him. “He is very good-looking, isn’t he? But a bit arrogant for my tastes.” She was regarding Xris with concern. “Shouldn’t you do something about that?” She pointed at his arm. The alarm was still beeping.

  Xris muttered a curse, rolled up his sleeve. Distracted as he was over the news about Jamil, part of him was thinking it was a damn shame that this attractive woman would now find out he was a cyborg. He braced himself for the look of revulsion, the struggle to remain polite, the sudden recollection that she had to wash her hair tonight.

  He was wearing his flesh foam and pastiskin hand. Made from molds of his own good right hand, the fake hand looked, reacted, even felt just like a real hand. It was warm to the touch; had hair, veins, cuticles, and fingernails. For a bit extra, you could add on warts. A fleshfoam, plastiskin, and duramuscle arm went along with the hand. Most cyborgs always wore such “pretty” limbs.

  Not Xris. He usually made no secret of his cybernetics, flaunted the steel and wire arm and compartmented metal leg for all the galaxy to see, dared anyone to pity him. Dr. Quong had informed Xris that he did this in order to cover his own insecurity and deep-seated anger at the fate which had turned him in to half man, half machine. He used the blatant display of his cybernetic limbs to repel people at the outset, rather than have to deal with them and their reactions.

  Sure. Fine. Xris admitted this to himself, but the knowledge didn’t make it easier to see pity in a woman’s eyes.

  He opened the compartment, made the adjustment that would inject the needed chemical into his bloodstream to correct the imbalance, which was affecting his electronics system. This done, he started to pull his sleeve down. Tess’s hand on his mechanical arm halted him. Her touch startled him, almost into forgetting about Jamil.

  No revulsion or pity in her eyes. They were bright with interest.

  “How fascinating! What did you do there? Correct a chemical imbalance? I’ve read about limbs with the ability to do this, but I’ve never seen one this sophisticated.”

  “Of course not,” he retorted. “Who goes around feeling a guy’s phony arm?”

  Tess flushed, snatched back her hand. “I’m
sorry, Xris. I wasn’t thinking. Not very tactful of me, was it?” She sighed, smile ruefully. “ ‘Aim and Fire.’ That’s my nickname on base and it’s not for my weapons proficiency. I’m always shooting off my mouth before I think. It’s just that the study of cybernetics was my minor in college. I’m interested in the latest developments in the field. I’m sorry if I offended you—”

  “No, no, not at all,” Xris assured her. Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. “It’s my fault. I’m oversensitive. I have to admit that, well, it’s refreshing to find someone who takes such a practical view of my . . . uh . . . alteration.”

  He finished rolling down his sleeve. “This would be the ideal time for me to say ‘I’d love to show you the rest of my body parts’ but I really should find out what happened to Jatanski. He left the base, you say? To attend a court-martial proceeding?”

  “Yes, I was standing at the bar when the major came for him. Everyone heard. Some lieutenant colonel under Jatanski’s command got caught stealing government property. You probably know him. Sorry, but I can’t remember the name. He and the colonel must have been pretty close, because the news really caught Jatanski off guard. He looked about as shaken as you did there, for a moment.”

  “I’ll bet he did,” Xris muttered to himself. Then he said, “He left the base?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. You’re on your own tonight, Captain.”

  “On my own,” Xris repeated. He was trying to shift his brain out of neutral, where it appeared to have gotten stuck. Jamil ... Jatanski ... court-martial ... General Hanson ... Jamil gone. A major ... escorted him off the base ... special plane ...

  None of this made a damn bit of sense!

  “Odd that Jatanski didn’t tell me he was leaving,” Xris said. “Or take me with him, for that matter.”

  “He wanted to talk to you, but the major said there wasn’t time. And Jatanski couldn’t very well take you along, because you’re giving the speech tomorrow.”

  Xris stared. “I am? Did Jatanski say that?”