Robot Blues

by Margaret Weis; Don Perrin

  “No, it— Oh, here’s the messenger. Now you’ll have ail the answers,” Tess said.

  Xris wished he could be that confident. A corporal rounded the corner. Tess waved, shouted. The corporal hurried over, saluted. The man was slightly out of breath.

  “Captain! I’ve been looking all over for you, sir. I have a message from Colonel Jatanski.”

  The corporal delivered the message: Colonel Jatanski had been escorted off base by a Major VanDerGard, taken to General Hanson’s flagship, King James II, to serve as officer in the court-martial of one Lieutenant Colonel Katchan. Xris only half listened, spent the time attempting to regain his composure, while trying to figure out what the hell was going on. His first thought was that Jamil was trying to put one over on him. If so, by God ...

  Xris abandoned that line of thinking quickly. He and Jamil might goof off on occasion, but Jamil was far too professional—and too mercenary—to do anything to imperil their high-paying job.

  “... carry on in the colonel’s absence,” the corporal was saying.

  Xris started listening again.

  “That’s what the captain was telling me,” he said, interrupting. “What are my exact orders, Corporal?”

  “You are to carry on in the colonel’s absence.”

  “Who issued those orders? Colonel Jatanski? Sorry for making such a fuss,” Xris added, “but the colonel’s a real stickler for detail. And this speech is his pet project. I wouldn’t want to screw up.”

  “He’s really keen on the subject, isn’t he?” Tess commented. “I could see Jatanski wasn’t pleased about leaving. But it was General Hanson who issued your orders. Hanson said that you were quite familiar with the subject material and were capable of handling the assignment on your own. Jatanski argued some, but he didn’t get very far.”

  “The general ... issued my orders ...” Xris was balfled. This was getting stranger by the minute. “That I was to handle the assignment on my own?”

  “That’s true, sir,” the corporal added. He held out an envelope. “Here it is in writing.”

  Xris took the disk, stared at it as if he could somehow suck whatever message it contained right off the plastic.

  “Is there anything else for the captain, Corporal?” Tess asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Captain Kergonan, you are to go to Colonel Jatanski’s quarters and pack up his things. The colonel didn’t have time.”

  “Very well. Corporal, I’ll do that,” Xris said, and remembered to add, “Dismissed.”

  He stood holding the computer disk. “Maybe I better take a look at these orders now.”

  “Sure thing. They have ‘Sarge’ machines over in the rec hall. We’re not too far from there. I’ll be glad to drive you. You have your ID card with you, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Jamil had impressed on Xris that he carry his military ID card wherever he went. They each had one—part of the Mag Force 7 supply of phony IDs, fake passports, falsified visas, and a wide variety of forged citizenship papers, letters of transit, and birth certificates. Darlene had entered all the necessary information into the computer, provided them each with an alias and an ID card to match.

  ID cards were the lifeblood of every soldier. Put your card into a slot in a machine and you could issue orders, bank your paycheck, make a phone call home, request a transfer, award someone a medal, send a column of tanks halfway across a continent. Due to restricted access, certain computers on the base only handled certain ID cards, with the exception of “Sarge.”

  Sarge machines could deal with almost every aspect of military life. So dubbed because they were big and ugly, irascible and ill-tempered, Sarge machines ruled a soldier’s life. Frustratingly unpredictable, Sarge had been known to spit the card in the owner’s face, to return the wrong card to the card owner (all the while maintaining that Sarge was right and it was the owner who didn’t know himself), or simply swallow the card and refuse to disgorge it. Sarge had been physically assaulted on more than one occasion by frustrated victims.

  “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” Xris asked Tess, on their walk to the recreation center.

  She glanced at him sidelong, smiled. “It can wait,” she said.

  The two entered the rec hall, which was busy this time of night.

  Tess indicated the Sarge machines. Xris pulled out his phony ID, hesitated. These orders from the unknown General Hanson might be some sort of trap. Put this card in the machine and the MPs come running. But then, why go to all that trouble? Hanson could already have had both him and Jamil sitting behind a force field, decked out in wrist and ankle disrupters.

  All live of the Sarge machines were in use. Xris had to stand in line while a private on a vidphone call was assuring his mother that he was eating right and getting enough sleep, and yes, they’d had to shave his head, but his hair would grow back, and no, they hadn’t let him keep a lock of it to send home. When the private finished, Xris excused himself to Tess, who walked away a discreet distance.

  Xris swiped the card, punched in his password, and waited, tense, nervous.

  The message came up on the screen.

  Captain Kergonan,

  You are hereby ordered to carry out your assignment as given.

  Irma Hanson, General, Commander Zetan Military Sector, Authentication Lima-Two-Five-Niner-Tango.

  Xris typed in the authentication code. It came back, a curt Verified. The order was straight from General Hanson, all right.

  Xris waited hopefully a moment, but nothing more appeared, no clue of any sort as to what was going on, with the single exception that the words “as given” were emphasized, were illuminated in red on the screen. He stood staring at Sarge, wondering what the devil to do now.

  A Major VanDerGard—unknown—an aide for General Hanson—also unknown—had nabbed Jamil and, instead of nabbing Xris, too, the unknown general had given written orders for Xris to carry out the job! Carry on with the assignment as given. And that in itself was odd. The general did not say, “Carry on with the speech.”

  Carry on with the assignment.

  That could mean nothing more than make the speech, but Xris had the distinct impression that whoever had gone to this much trouble hadn’t done it for the sheer pleasure of hearing him drone on about “Foreign Object Damage to Spaceplane Engines.” The assignment they wanted him to carry out was the job he’d accepted: to steal an antique robot.

  Why?

  The why didn’t matter. Because now it was a hostage situation. They’d taken Jamil hostage in order to force Xris to bring them some old moth-eaten ‘bot in exchange. Who were they? People with money, power, connections. Some rival archaeologist? Xris pictured academic types dressing up in uniform, impersonating Army majors, complete with military pilot and a stolen military spaceplane.

  That would be a job worthy of Mag Force 7. Not the local Space and Aeronautics Society.

  What about the Hung? That was much more likely and the thought gave Xris a few very bad moments. Maybe they’d taken Jamil to use as a hostage to get to Darlene. The Hung had the money and the influence to be able to pull something like this off, though it wasn’t like them to risk incurring the wrath of an organization as big and powerful as the Royal Military.

  Still that theory made more sense. And if so ...

  No, by God, there was the damn robot again. What would the Hung want with the robot? And this General Hanson had said explicitly that Xris was to carry on with the assignment as given, which meant steal the robot.

  He’d come back around full circle and he had to admit he was rotating completely in the dark.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that someone had Jamil. Xris had to assume that Jamil’s life was therefore in danger, and if they wanted the robot in exchange, Xris wasn’t about to argue. It meant letting down a customer, but the team came first. Especially—

  “Xris! Xris?” Tess’s voice and the touch her hand on his good arm jolted him out of his troubled reverie.
“If you’re finished, there’s someone waiting.”

  Xris hadn’t realized he’d been standing, doing nothing, in front of the machine. He apologized to the lieutenant who was next in line, turned and headed toward the entrance.

  Steal the robot. Right. But—now that Jamil was gone—how was Xris going to get off base without orders? He supposed he’d have to risk cutting the fence.

  “You seem really upset.” Tess interrupted his thoughts. “What’s the matter? It’s only a speech, isn’t it?”

  Xris was making too much out of what must seem to her a trivial incident. He shrugged, managed a weak smile. “Stage fright. I’ve had it ever since I was a kid. I passed out during show-and-tell in kindergarten.”

  “I’ve heard that it helps if you imagine your audience is sitting there in the nude,” Tess suggested.

  “Only if you were in the front row,” he said.

  “Ah.” She grinned, linking her arm with his. “But then I’d be sitting next to Colonel Strebbins.”

  Xris shook his head. “That’s one fantasy I’ll pass on.”

  They walked out of the rec hall. Xris was silent, preoccupied, considering his options. The fence. He’d have to use the sensor bypass relay to isolate a section of the fence. Such a bypass would route the electronic signals around the fence area. The fence could be cut, and the sensors would not register it. Quong had developed the device, though the doctor had warned Xris it wouldn’t work on certain types of sensing equipment. Still, the bypass was the only way.

  Tess gave a polite cough. “Pardon me, but have we been introduced?” She extended her hand. “My name’s Tess.”

  Xris looked up, smiled. “Sorry. I guess I’m not very good company tonight.”

  “You’re really shaken up over this, aren’t you?” Tess lowered her voice. “Are you still interested in going into town?”

  “Sure,” Xris answered promptly. “But I’m not allowed off base without orders and my colonel’s not here to give me any. What do I do? Tunnel my way under the fence with a teaspoon?”

  She shook her head. “Solid bedrock. It would take you a good three years.”

  “I’m too thirsty to wait three years. I’d like to buy you a beer tonight. And not in the officers’ mess.”

  “You’re on. It’s twenty-two hundred now. I’ll meet you back here”—she looked at her watch—”in fifteen minutes.”

  Xris did some fast thinking. “Make it thirty, could you? I noticed one of the warning lights on the exhibit crate is flashing. It’s probably nothing. Just a malfunction, but I’d like your maintenance people to check it out first thing tomorrow. Especially since I’m the one slated to give that damn speech. I don’t want to accidentally gas everyone. I’ll haul the crate over to maintenance, then meet you back here.”

  “Do you need help?”

  Xris shook his head. “No, thanks.” He paused, then added casually, “You know of some way to get us off the base?”

  “Yes,” she said, with an impish grin.

  “Am I going to enjoy it?”

  “Not particularly. But the beer’ll be worth it, I promise.”

  Xris grunted, waved his hand, and was off.

  Five minutes later, Xris left his quarters. He steered the robot’s crate on its air cushion in front of him. Clouds had rolled in, covering the stars. On the horizon, lightning flared; thunder rumbled. He guided the ‘bot over to the maintenance building. It was locked up tight, his friend the sergeant off having dinner and probably a well-deserved cigar. Xris eyeballed the distance between the shed and fence; less than twenty-five meters.

  He positioned the crate right outside the main door, shut it down. It settled on the ground with a thump. No need to worry about anyone walking off with it. Not with those biohazard warnings and the fact that the thing weighed in at about a metric ton. He tested the remote, just to make certain, touched a button. The crate’s lights flared. He touched another button. The crate’s jets kicked in. The crate started to rise into the air.

  Satisfied, Xris touched the first button again. The jets shut down, the lights winked out. He looked at his watch. 2230. He’d be a few minutes late. He started back at a run.

  As it was, he was ahead of Tess. Xris loitered near the rec hall, wondering if he’d been stood up, when a staff car drove in front of him. The air from the car’s jets washed gently over his feet and legs, stirred up small clouds of the fine Pandoran sand which covered the streets.

  The window slid down. Tess leaned out.

  “Hi, Captain. Need a lift?”

  She parked the staff car out of the bright lights of the rec hall, in dark shadows between two buildings. Xris walked over to meet her.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  In answer, she hit a button. The trunk lid flew open.

  Tess climbed out the car, walked back, pointed. “Climb in.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Climb in, Captain. That’s an order. And hurry up. Someone’ll see us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Xris squeezed his bulk into the trunk— a tight fit. He had to lie sideways, draw his legs up almost beneath his chin. “I feel like I’m back in college. How far do I have to ride like this?”

  “Six or seven hundred kilometers,” Tess said, her hand on the trunk lid. “Don’t worry. I’ll hire a crane to lift you out. Not claustrophobic, are you?” She prepared to shut the trunk.

  “You are kidding ...” Xris eyed her.

  “Sure.” She grinned. “It’s not far, really. Just keep thinking about that beer. We’ll drink to absent friends.”

  “Make that absent colonels,” Xris said.

  Tess slammed the trunk shut.

  Xris squirmed around to try to get into a more comfortable position, realized eventually that there was no such thing, and gave up. He heard and felt the vibrations of the engines, the gentle jolt as Tess drove forward. The car stopped, presumably at the base entrance. No use even trying to hear what was being said, what with the noise of the engine and the whoosh of air from the car’s jets.

  Lying cramped and contorted in the dark, sweating in the heat, with what felt like a jack or a crowbar poking him painfully in the back of his ribs, Xris made a decision.

  “I’ll carry out this assignment as given,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if anyone gets anything—including the robot—until Jamil’s back safe and sound.”

  Chapter 12

  Except Thyself may be

  Thine Enemy—

  Captivity is Consciousness—

  So’s Liberty.

  Emily Dickinson, “Life,” No. 384, stanza 4

  Xris’s ride in the trunk of the staff car was mercifully brief, although it seemed to him that he must have spent hours cooped up in the darkness with a wrench poking him in the back. Tess assured him—as she helped him out—that he’d only been in there ten minutes. He surveyed the area. Red sand, scrub pines, some sort of scraggy flora—he wasn’t up on Pandoran horticulture. He could see the lights of the Army base in the distance, guessed they must be about five kilometers away.

  He drew in a deep breath, grateful to be out in the open. The air was spiced with the fragrance of desert plants, tinged with the smell of coming rain. The storm clouds were closer; lightning flickered on the fringes.

  “Did you have any trouble getting through the gate?” Xris asked, trying to rub the feeling back into his numb right arm.

  Tess shrugged. “Why should I? I leave base all the time. Most of the officers do. I stopped at the gatehouse, of course, but the guards never looked at my orders, just waved me on through. You see—”

  “Hush!” Xris cautioned. “I hear an engine. Some one’s coming.”

  “Are you sure?” Tess regarded him quizzically. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I’m sure.” He tapped his left ear. “Augmented hearing. The sound’s coming from behind us, the direction of the base.”

  Tess wasted no time. “Get into the car!” She hopped into the driver’s seat.

/>   Xris dashed around to the passenger side, jumped in. Anticipating a wild ride, he started to strap on his seat belt. To his astonishment, Tess shoved the seat belt to one side. Sliding next to him on the bench seat, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Uh, Captain,” he murmured, not quite knowing what to do with his hands. “This is all very enjoyable, but that car’s getting closer and—”

  “Shut up, Captain,” she returned in a throaty whisper, “and kiss me back. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Xris said meekly, and obeyed her order to the letter.

  Headlights flared. A vehic pulled up alongside. Xris couldn’t see it, due to Tess’s hair being in his eyes, but by the sound of the engine, it was a hoverjeep. Nuke lamps beamed in through the car window. Tess pulled back from Xris, turned her head slightly. Xris kept carefully hidden in the shadows.

  Tess blinked at the bright light. “Jeez, guys, shove off, will you? Give a girl some privacy!”

  “Sure thing, Tess. Sorry,” came a female voice. “Just wanted to make certain you weren’t having car trouble.”

  Another woman in the car laughed. “She probably fed him the old line about being out of gas. You heading out to Jake’s later?”

  “Maybe,” Tess answered. “Maybe not. I’ve got plenty of gas! So just clear out, will you?”

  The women laughed again. The jeep whizzed off, its jets sending up clouds of sand. “My roommates,” Tess explained, turning to Xris.

  “They didn’t seemed surprised to see you here.”

  “No,” she admitted, snuggling back into his arms. “The area around here is known unofficially as Lover’s Lane. My,” she added, putting her hand on his chest, “your heart’s pounding. Real or artificial?”

  “Artificial,” Xris said, “but the hormones are real.”

  Tess slid her hands up around his neck. “Is that it?” she said, teasing, “And I thought you were just nervous about getting caught.”

  He was going to make a suitable rejoinder, but found something better to do with his lips.

  After a few highly enjoyable moments, Tess drew back away from him, regarded him speculatively.