“Yes, ma’am!” Jeffrey Grant clapped his pudgy hands together. “Absolutely correct! And may I say, ma’am, that you’re the first person I’ve ever encountered who has studied the work of Professor Lasairion. How did you—”
“I’m asking the questions,” Tess snapped, and then she didn’t ask anything. She stood in silence, frowning deeply at the humming machine.
Xris took advantage of the lull in the conversation to have a private talk with Raoul.
“What’s going on with this guy?” Xris asked quietly, keeping his back to Grant. “What’s the Little One picking up?”
Raoul shook his head—carefully, so as not to muss his hair. “You know how the Little One feels about technology, my friend. He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t like it. He finds that it frightens him. This man’s mind is a technological jungle. The Little One says that looking inside the Grant person is akin to looking beneath the hood of a hoverjeep. It is filled with objects that make no sense to him.”
“No sign that this is all a put-on? An act?”
The Little One, crowding beside Xris to hear, shook his own head emphatically.
Tess had apparently thought out what she wanted to say. “Where are you from, Mr. Grant? How did you come into possession of the Collimated Command Receiver Unit? When did the unit start to ... uh ... hum? How did you know to come to Pandor to find the robot?”
Grant looked somewhat confused, decided to take the questions in order. “I’m from the planet XIO, Captain. I run a museum there—”
Xris snorted.
Grant paused, regarded him anxiously. “Did I say something—”.
“I’ve had it up to here with museum curators, that’s all. Never mind. Go on.”
“I have been a collector of space memorabilia for over fifty years, sir,” Grant said with quiet pride. He seemed to feel better, talking about himself. “Ever since I was a child. This”—he laid a hand lovingly on the Collimated Command Receiver Unit—”is my most valued possession, though not, I must say, my most valuable. The unit was offered for sale over one of the computer bulletin boards. Its owner obviously had no idea what he had. I recognized it immediately from his description. He wanted a lot for it, mainly because it was old, not because he knew its true worth. After a month of delicate negotiations, during which I had to appear interested, but not too interested, I drove down his price and finally acquired the Collimated Command Receiver Unit. It has resided in an honored place in my museum for the last twenty years. Beneath it is a plaque that reads: ONLY KNOWN RELIC OF THE LASAIRION PERIOD.” He was wistful. “I only need the robot to complete my collection. I have a special place all ready to house it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant,” Tess said, firmly but kindly destroying all hope. “That robot is government property.”
“Yes, I know,” he said softly. “But I would take good care ...” His voice trailed off.
Xris took a twist out of the gold case, studied it longingly, glanced out the window at the MPs on guard outside the spaceplane. He put the cigarette back in its case, the case in his pocket. He looked at his watch.
“Captain Strauss,” he said. “Could I have a word with you?”
Tess glanced uncertainly at the machine, then at Grant. Keeping them both in sight, she walked over to where Xris was standing. “What is it?”
“I know that this is all very fascinating from a scientific point of view, but we’re running out of time,” Xris said in a low voice. “I arranged to meet Sakuta at Hell’s Outpost tomorrow. How long will it take you to debrief the robot?”
“You mean download the information? Several hours, maybe all day,” Tess said. “I’m going to have to experiment; finding the correct interface could prove difficult.
And now there’s this unit. This makes everything a lot more complicated.”
“Yeah. Just answer me one question: Do I or do I not take the robot to Sakuta?”
“Harsch.”
“Whoever!” Xris was losing patience. “Look, you’ve got the robot. Let’s take it and the unit back to the command cruiser and let the admiral deal with it.”
“What about Grant?” Tess asked. “He may be as innocent and naive as he looks, but he may also be one hell of a good actor. Suppose he is an agent for Harsch? He comes to get the ‘bot, discovers that we already have it. So he plays stupid.”
“And brings along an antique machine as a prop? Well, I suppose anything’s possible.” Xris was edgy. He wanted to get this job over with, fast. He didn’t like the idea of Darlene out there somewhere on her own. “Look, you can shoot him, for all I care—”
“I can’t do that!” Tess was shocked. “He’s a civilian!”
Xris grinned. “So am I. And you were ready to shoot me.”
Tess ignored him. “I’ll go back to HQ, relay all this to the Admiralty. You stay here with Grant.”
“What about the unit?”
“The unit comes with me for safekeeping.”
“Still don’t trust me, huh?”
“Sure I do,” Tess said, patting him on the shoulder. She returned to Jeffrey Grant. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate your Collimated Command Receiver Unit, Mr. Grant. Don’t worry. The government will compensate you.”
Grant looked stricken, moved to stand protectively in front of the unit. “But I don’t want to be compensat—”
Xris heaved a sigh, glanced again at his watch. He should have heard from Tycho and Quong by now, wondered what they were doing.
Tess attempted to soothe the distraught museum curator. “Please, Mr. Grant, I don’t want any trouble. The government has the right to confiscate any equipment that might affect national security.”
“Don’t worry, Grant. We’ll give it back,” Xris said.
“Thank you, Captain Kergonan.” Tess shot him a warning glance. “But I’m perfectly capable of handling this.”
“By this time next year,” Xris muttered.
Jeffrey Grant was looking from Xris to Tess to the unit and back to Xris again.
“The Navy just wants to study the unit,” Xris explained. “We’ll make a few vids of it. Then we’ll give it back. If that’s what you want.”
“Personally,” Raoul offered his opinion, “I’d take the money. Buy a new wardrobe,” he hinted.
“I don’t want the money, sir. Or a wardrobe. I want my Collimated Command Receiver Unit.” Jeffrey Grant was firm.
“Fine. No problem.” Xris was eager to please.
“Captain ...” Tess was beginning to get irritated.
Grabbing hold of her hand, Xris gave it a squeeze.
“This is for your king, Mr. Grant,” Xris said solemnly. “For your king and your galaxy.”
“For the king,” Grant murmured.
Xris could have sworn he saw the man’s hand start to lift in a salute. “Very well, sir.” Jeffrey Grant altered his move, put his hand lovingly on top of his humming Collimated Command Receiver Unit. “You can take it, ma’am. But I insist on coming with it.”
“We’ll see,” said Tess, in a tone which meant Not on your life. “I’ll have to clear that with the Admiralty.”
Grant slowly nodded. His eyes blinked rapidly. “The unit has a traveling case. I’ll get it.” He went to the back of the plane, began to rummage around loudly in a storage bin.
Tess sidled over near Xris. “You know he’ll never see that machine again.”
“I know that. You know that. He doesn’t,” Xris said.
Tess sighed. “Sometimes I really hate this job.”
Grant returned with the case. Fussily, refusing all offers of assistance, he packed the unit securely inside the case, closed it.
Xris stepped politely around Grant, bent down, lifted the case. It wasn’t particularly heavy, though somewhat awkward. He handed it to Tess.
“Good-bye, Mr. Grant,” she said. “Thank you.”
Carrying the case, she left the spaceplane. Xris watched her walk across the tarmac. Grant was watching, t
oo, his face and hands pressed up against the steelglass, his expression that of a parent who’s lost a custody battle.
“She’ll take good care of it,” Xris said. “I promise you.”
“I wish I could see it. The robot, I mean,” Grant said softly.
“So do I. Before they blow it up,” Raoul added offhandedly.
“What?” Jeffrey Grant turned. He had gone a sort of sickly wax color. “What did you say, sir? Blow it up!”
“Yes, we have a bomb. It’s in Jamil’s briefcase. We’re going to plant it in the robot and detonate it.”
Grant’s mouth opened and shut several times before he could make anything coherent come out. “Why ... why ... why would they do such a terrible thing?”
Xris was grim. This was just all he needed. “Raoul, you and the Little One go see if you can find out what’s keeping Quong.”
Raoul cast a horrified glance out the window onto the baking tarmac. He looked back at Xris, reproachful. “You know how bad the sun is for my complexion. Do you want to see me covered with freckles?”
At the moment, Xris would have liked to have seen Raoul covered with blood-sucking leeches. Grant was breathing funny, quivering all over, and making odd gasping sounds.
“I’ll risk it,” Xris snarled. “Go. Go on. Both of you. Beat it.”
Hurt, Raoul rose majestically to his feet and swept out of the spaceplane, the Little One trudging behind. Outside, Raoul put his hand over his forehead in a vain attempt to shield himself from the ravages of UV rays. Taking the Little One by the hand, he ran as fast as the Little One’s short legs would carry him, heading for the nearest shade.
Xris assisted the stricken Grant to a chair. “I’ll get you some water. Are you on any type of medication?”
“No, no, sir. I’m fine.” Grant was bewildered. He clutched at Xris. “Why are you going to blow it up?”
“We’re not. Raoul misunderstood. We’ll keep the robot safe. I promise you.” Xris was making a lot of promises. Maybe someday he could actually keep one. “Just relax, Mr. Grant. Don’t worry. Perhaps if you told me a little more about this professor—”
Xris’s built-in commlink, located in his left ear, buzzed—a bad sign. It meant that one of the team had something to communicate which was strictly private.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Grant? I ... uh ... gotta go ...” He motioned in the direction of the head.
Grant nodded vaguely back and whispered, “Blow it up!...”
Xris left the bridge.
The head in these rent-a-spaceplanes was small for a normal-sized person. Xris, with his large shoulders and broad chest, was a tight fit. He had to work to shut the door, and then was forced to straddle the toilet. One elbow was in the sink.
“Xris here. What is it?” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Quong here. Bad news, boss. The robot’s gone.”
“Gone?” Xris protested. “What do you mean, gone? Someone stole it? That’s impossible! The case itself weighed in at about a metric ton, not to mention the robot! It’d take a crane to lift it—”
“Hold on, boss,” Quong cut in. “The case is still here. From a preliminary investigation, I’d say the ‘bot freed itself. The case has been popped open from the inside.”
“I’ll be damned....” Xris was awed, stunned, amazed, and in a hell of a lot of trouble. “Find it!” he ordered, squeezing the words out of his constricting chest. “Don’t say a word to anyone, just find it!”
“Sure, boss.” Quong was confident. “What does it look like? There’s a lot of robots working around here.”
“Not like this one. Picture a metal jellyfish with sad eyes. Once you’ve got it, sit tight and get back in touch.”
“Yes, boss. Quong out.”
Xris took a twist, chomped down on it savagely, chewed it, and swore, briefly and bitterly. He indulged in one of his favorite pastimes—beating himself up. He should have anticipated this. He should have taken precautions. He should have this. He should have that.
But the damn ‘bot had seemed so meek and compliant....
“Fuck it!” Xris said loudly.
He slammed open the door to the head, walked to the bridge and right on past. “Please stay here, Mr. Grant,” Xris said. “I’ve got to leave for a few minutes. I’ll send someone for you shortly.”
On his way out of the spaceplane, Xris picked up the two MPs.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
“Yes, Captain.” The MPs obeyed with alacrity.
Xris was, after all, still in uniform.
Chapter 26
Opportunity makes a thief.
Francis Bacon, “A Letter of Advice to the Earl of Essex”
Jeffrey Grant, left alone in his rent-a-plane, was barely cognizant of the captain’s departure. The shock had left Grant dazed.
Blow up the robot!
Why? It wasn’t harming anyone. Didn’t they realize how ... how wonderful this was? To be able to touch, to speak, to listen to an entity that had been touched, spoken to, and listened to by Lasairion—the great Lasairion—himself!
And then came a cheering thought.
“Perhaps,” Jeffrey Grant said to the console, “if they don’t want the robot, they would give it to me.”
The female captain had said the robot was government property. But surely, if he talked to the right person ... perhaps his planet’s representative in Parliament. Or the prime minister. Or—Grant seemed dimly to have heard of an important talk show host ... Jeffrey Grant couldn’t say. He had never been much involved or even interested in politics. His union had told him how and where and when and for whom to vote and he had gone and voted that way for as long as he had been eligible to do so. The universe had seemed to run along very satisfactorily in this manner. If only he could remember a name....
Grant closed his eyes and tried to think back. He recalled a billboard for a political candidate. Grant could see the face; he could, after a short struggle, remember the woman’s name. But had she won? Had that even been the current election, or was he thinking of a billboard from ten years ago? He had no idea and eventually he gave up worrying about it. He formed a vague plan of writing a letter to the king. Perhaps His Majesty could persuade them not to blow up the robot, but to let Grant have custody of it.
“I suppose they’re worried about maintenance costs,” Grant said to himself. “The upkeep might be a bit expensive, but I’d handle all that myself. I wouldn’t ask the government for. a single credit.”
With that thought, Jeffrey drifted into a happy daydream.
“I would put it... where? Over by the bookcase. Yes, that’s the place. It has the best light. I’ll move the display case that’s there now into the back of the room. The robot will be the first thing people see when they walk into the door. And they’ll be amazed. They’ll be overwhelmed. I’ll be the only museum to own one. Scholars will travel from all over the galaxy to study it. They’ll ask questions.”
Jeffrey Grant’s blissful contemplation of the future was suddenly interrupted. He was seated in the pilot’s chair, looking out the viewscreen. He leaned forward, stared, openmouthed.
They were hauling a Claymore bomber onto the tarmac.
One of Jeffrey Grant’s favorite space simulator games was Wing Commander MCIII, in which he flew a Claymore bomber on various glorious missions to keep the galaxy safe for commercial traffic. Grant had played this game a few hundred times and had won every time except the first, which he counted as just learning. And here was the Claymore—a real Claymore—not fifty meters away.
A hauler dragged the Claymore to a cleared area on the tarmac. Once in place, the crew detached the hauler and drove it off.
“I’m certain they won’t mind if I just take a closer look,” Grant said to himself.
He walked to the hatch of the rent-a-plane, opened it, and climbed down the ladder onto the hot tarmac. He looked about for the MPs, planning to shyly ask for permission to walk over and inspect the Claymore. He
couldn’t find the MPs.
Grant searched vaguely around, even glanced under the rent-a-plane’s belly. No, the MPs were gone.
They must have left with Captain Kergonan, Grant reasoned.
He was a little uncertain about leaving his plane. If he had been the cause of an interplanetary incident, he certainly didn’t want to escalate it. He wished the MPs were still here. They would have been able to advise him. He looked across the tarmac to a large building, the control tower. He glanced back toward the Claymore.
Grant could either walk over to the control tower—a long walk in the hot sun—and ask permission to go look at their Claymore or he could walk over to the Claymore. He didn’t intend to stay long. He just wanted to see it close up.
“What harm can there be?” Grant asked himself. “I’ll take a quick peep. That’s all.”
He started off across the tarmac.
Something wasn’t quite right.
Grant halted, pondered, then knew what he should be doing. Returning to his own plane, he picked up his helmet. As the pilots did in his simulator game, he tucked the helmet under his arm and, attired in his union flight suit, he ran across the tarmac toward the Claymore.
He wasn’t running to evade pursuit. In his mind, Grant could hear the sirens blowing, the order shouted, “Man your planes!” He was one of an elite group of brave men and women ready to risk their lives for whatever cause was on today’s plate. His white silk scarf trailed behind him as he ran. He reached the bomber. His crew chief was there, waiting for him.
“Minx noggle,” said the crew chief.
Grant blinked away the daydream. He stood beneath the belly of the Claymore, sweating in his hot flight suit, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath.
Confronting Jeffrey Grant was a robot.
It took Grant only a few seconds to realize that this was the robot.
He had, of course, seen old vids. One in particular came to mind. Professor Lasairion in his laboratory, exhibiting one of the Lane-laying robots. This robot would, the professor said, “take humankind into the stars, where, I trust, humans will have learned from their past mistakes and will use this opportunity to carry civilization forward into the twenty-second century.”
Robot Blues Page 24
