Robot Blues

by Margaret Weis; Don Perrin

  Jamil rubbed his neck. The Pandoran sun was baking the tarmac, and him right along with it. He would have given half of his not inconsiderable wealth (he’d been making sound investments—with Tycho’s help) for a cool shower.

  He reflected, as he stood there, sweaty and bone-tired and miserable, on the fact that he and Xris had spent long hours devising an intricate, complex, involved plan for sneaking onto the base.

  When all they would’ve had to do was say they had to go pee.

  He knew it was more complicated than that, but his weary brain couldn’t handle the details. He was far more content to be bitter over the injustice of it all.

  “Where the hell’s your damn plane?” he grumbled.

  “In here. At least, that’s where they towed it.” Harry led the way to the hangar, where he and Jamil were met by the crew chief.

  “Hey, Captain. That was one long trip to the can.” The crew chief winked.

  “I had a lot on my mind,” Harry replied.

  The crew chief raised his eyebrows, seemed about to laugh, caught sight of Jamil’s thunderous expression, and played it straight.

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything wrong, sir?”

  “No,” said Harry breezily, glancing around the empty hangar. “I was just looking for my Claymore. Is she fixed?”

  “Why, yes, sir. You must have walked right past it. We had it fixed not long after you left. A busted stabilizer controller. And you must’ve sucked a bird into your number two engine on the way down. We hauled the Claymore out to the tarmac.”

  “Which one?”

  “We only have one tarmac, sir.” The crew chief walked to the hangar entrance. “It’s right over . . . mmmmm. Now, that’s odd.”

  “What’s odd. Chief?” Jamil demanded.

  The crew chief was gazing at the tarmac in puzzlement. “The Claymore, Colonel. It should be right over there. Hell, it was right over there. Not an hour ago!”

  Harry squinted, took a good look, shook his head. “It’s not there now.”

  Jamil felt the beginnings of a splitting headache.

  “I was gone for a little while,” the crew chief said. “Turning in my daily report. Just a minute. I’ll ask the guys.” He disappeared back into the hangar. They heard his voice. “Hey, any of you fellows see what they did with that Claymore?”

  “It took off,” was the answer.

  “What’d he say?” Harry asked.

  “He said it took off,” Jamil repeated.

  “But I’m the pilot.” Harry was baffled.

  “Apparently not anymore,” Jamil replied.

  “Son of a bitch.” Harry swore. “Some bastard stole my plane!” He thought a moment, then said, “Xris isn’t going to be happy about this, is he?”

  “Oh, sure,” Jamil snapped. “Xris is going to hop around singing and dancing when he hears this one! There’ll be an investigation. Which is just all we need. Not to mention the fact that it cost us a year’s profits to find and refit that Claymore and ... Oh, skip it!” He massaged his pounding temples.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Harry considered the implications, then, face flushed, he tromped into the hangar to angrily confront the flustered crew chief. “What the hell did you guys do with my plane?”

  Jamil should have gone with him, but he didn’t. He stood in the hot sun, his head pounding, staring at the empty place on the shimmering tarmac.

  And he wondered just exactly when the command cruiser was going to fall out of the skies and smash down on top of them. Everything else had gone wrong. There was nothing left except that.

  Which only went to prove that, by nature, Jamil was an optimist.

  Chapter 28

  This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.

  William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 5

  Xris found a hoverjeep parked on the tarmac near the air traffic control building. He was in the act of climbing into it; the MPs were scrambling in behind, when they were accosted by Tess. She cast an amazed look at the MPs, then confronted Xris.

  “Excuse me, Captain Kergonan,” she said mildly. Lowering her voice, she added in a furious undertone, “But just where the hell do you think you’re going? Where’s Grant? You’re supposed to be watching him!”

  “Grant’s not important. I had word that the ro—”

  “Just a minute,” Tess interrupted him. Turning to the MPs, she said, “Thank you, gentlemen, but we can handle this. Return to your post.”

  The MPs saluted, departed, walked across the tarmac to stand guard at the rent-a-plane.

  “You know that no one is supposed to know about the robot,” Tess said angrily.

  “Yeah, well, I think the whole damn base is about to find out about the robot, Captain Strauss,” Xris returned, settling down into the driver’s seat. He switched on the ignition. “The robot’s missing. It popped out of its case and escaped. My guess is that it’s wandering around the base somewhere.”

  She stared at him, stunned.

  “You want to get in?” Xris shouted over the roar of the engine.

  Wordlessly, Tess circled around the jeep, climbed in next to Xris. The air jets lifted the jeep off the ground.

  The comm tickled the inside of his ear. Xris answered, yelling, “Quong? You find it?”

  “Huh? Found what? This ain’t the Doc, Xris. It’s me. Harry.”

  “Look, Harry, whatever it is, it can wait. I—”

  “No, it can’t! Some bastard stole my bomber, Xris. Our bomber. The Claymore.” Harry was plaintive. “Someone flew off with it and it wasn’t me.”

  Xris knew. He knew exactly what had happened. He didn’t know how or why he knew. It was one of those flashes of intuition that come sometimes, striking suddenly and unexpectedly like lightning from a cloudless sky. He felt the bolt sizzling behind his eyeballs.

  “Did you talk to the air traffic control?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did they say? Who was pilot?” Xris waited tensely.

  “Pilot? What’s going on?” Tess shook him by the arm.

  He waved his hand to quiet her. “What did you say, Harry? I didn’t hear.”

  “The computer on board the Claymore performed the takeoff. And that’s really weird, Xris, because I had shut the computer down during that phony landing. Control refused to give it permission, but the spaceplane flew off anyway. They sent a couple of fighters up to try to force it back down, but whoever is flying that plane has balls.”

  After meeting Grant, Xris would have voted, odds on, against it. Apparently he’d misjudged the little gray man.

  Harry continued, “The computer didn’t pay any attention. The Claymore just kept going.”

  “Did they shoot the plane down?”

  “Shoot what plane down?” Tess demanded, exasperated.

  “No,” Harry answered. “The King James gave orders not to shoot. The fighters fired one of those tracking missiles into it and let it go. And you want to know another weird thing? They scanned the bomber and found a life-form aboard. But they couldn’t establish contact with whoever it was.”

  “Shit,” Xris said with feeling, and he struck the two sides of the jeep’s steering mechanism. The entire left side crumpled beneath the blow of his cybernetic hand. His right hand hurt like hell.

  “What do we do, boss?”

  “Hold on a minute. I’ve got to think.”

  “You have three seconds to tell me what’s going on,” Tess said grimly, “or I will shoot you.”

  Xris stared out over the tarmac. Harry and Jamil, standing near the hangar, were two small figures distorted by the heat waves roiling up from the red surface. He should have known. But Grant seemed so meek and compliant....

  “Jeffrey Grant found the robot,” Xris told Tess. “He took it on board our Claymore bomber and flew off with it.”

  Tess regarded him warily. “You’re joking.”

  Xris shook his head.

  “This is some sort of ploy to make me give h
im back his machine, isn’t it?” Tess said hopefully.

  Xris continued to shake his head.

  “All right. Let’s suppose for a minute that this is on the level.” Tess was trying very hard to remain calm. “Why would the man do such a crazy thing? Does he plan to take the robot to Harsch?”

  “No,” said Xris. “He plans to save its life.”

  “Save it— Someone told him about the bomb. Great!” Tess said bitterly. “That’s just wonderful!” Flinging open the door, she started to jump out.

  Xris tried to stop her. “Wait till I set the hoverjeep down! You’ll break your neck.”

  Tess ignored him. Leaping nimbly over the side, she dropped to the ground, set off at a run toward the air traffic control building.

  Xris swung the jeep around, caught up with Tess. Driving the jeep in front of her, he slammed on the brakes. The air jets shut down. The jeep plunked to the ground.

  “Remember me?” he shouted. “I’m the guy who’s supposed to deliver this robot to Harsch!”

  Tess was breathing fast, her face flushed. “Tell me— did that pilot of yours really fake a crash-landing in a Claymore?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he that smart? Or that stupid?”

  “You don’t want to know the answer. Either way, he’s the best damn pilot in the galaxy.”

  She considered, then nodded her head. “Fine. Meet me at the hangar. Be ready to fly.”

  She turned, started off. Xris jumped out of the jeep, followed.

  “Wait just a goddamned minute, Captain! I’m not in this man’s Army. I admit I screwed up taking this job. Boy!” Xris shook his head “Did I screw up! And I’m willing to take the robot to Harsch—”

  “You’re willing to get paid!” she cut in.

  “Damn right. I’ve earned it. But this is more than I bargained—”

  “Darlene,” Tess said loudly, clearly. She frowned, concentrating. “Your Adonian friend mentioned the name Darlene. Could that be Darlene Mohini? Major Mohini? There are a lot of people who’d like to know where she is.”

  Xris glared at her.

  “Let go of my arm, Captain”—Tess lifted her chin— “and carry out your orders.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Xris said coldly. Straightening, with a snap, he saluted. “Go to hell, ma’am.”

  Turning on his heel, he left her.

  Muttering imprecations on everything from women to robots to Naval Intelligence and meek, mild museum curators, Xris climbed back into the hoverjeep, slammed it into gear, and roared off toward the hangar.

  On arrival, he found Harry standing in the spot where his Claymore had been parked, staring wistfully at a grease spot. “I can’t believe it’s gone,” he said, as Xris walked up.

  “Believe it,” Xris snapped. “Where’s Jamil?”

  Harry waved in the general direction of the hangar.

  “Asleep.” He shook his head admiringly. “That man can sleep anywhere. I never saw nothing like it.”

  Xris walked over to the hangar. Jamil sat in a folding chair, his arms and head draped over an oil drum. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. Xris started to touch him, to wake him.

  He changed his mind. Let him sleep. Odds were, he was going to need it. Xris twitched his jaw in a certain way. The comm channel in his subcutaneous transmitter came on.

  “Doc, Tycho, you both hear me?”

  “Yes, Xris. No sign of the ‘bot. One guy thinks he saw it, but he isn’t sure if it was the ‘bot he saw or if he was experiencing flashbacks from a bad acid trip—”

  “Skip it. New developments. Report back to the airfield. ASAP. Xris out.”

  He next tried Raoul.

  “Raoul, this is Xris. Over.”

  No response, although he did hear a startled “Mmmm?”

  “Raoul, this is Xris. Over.”

  “Xris?” Raoul was tentative.

  “Raoul, this is Xris. Over.”

  “It sounds like Xris,” he heard Raoul say, probably to the Little one.

  “It is Xris!”

  “Where are you?” Raoul’s voice had a hysterical edge. “1 can hear you, but I can’t see you!”

  “I’m on the comm, Raoul,” Xris said patiently. “The comm. You remember. Left ear. Put your hand up, touch the skin. You’ll feel a bump.”

  “Ah!” Raoul sighed deeply. “I thought you were a disembodied spirit. Or perhaps one of those other voices I sometimes hear....”

  “Where—”

  “Isn’t that redundant? Disembodied spirit? Aren’t all spirits disembod—”

  “Never mind!” Xris seemed to always get sucked into these weird conversations. “Where are you?”

  He could practically hear Raoul’s head swiveling.

  “We are in an establishment which maintains that it serves food. Personally, I have my doubts. The man behind the counter asked me what I wanted. I said something light—crackers and pate fois gras, with a glass of white wine, dry, chilled to the correct temperature. I did not specify the vineyard, because I could tell it was hopeless. The man was extremely rude anyway. He said—”

  “Report to the hangar!” Xris was finally able to get a word in. “We’re leaving.”

  “Not a moment too soon.” Raoul was emphatic. He was silent a moment, then asked, “Where, exactly, will we find the hangar?”

  “Ask someone. Xris out.”

  He slumped down in a chair in the empty hangar, felt the sweat pool in a damp patch on the back of his uniform. He could guess what Tess had in mind—she was going to go chase after this blasted Grant and his blasted robot. And what about Darlene? They were due to meet her when her ship docked on Moana. He wanted someone there with her. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone, not now. Not since the Hung knew who she was. The Hung may have lost her for the moment—at least he hoped that was the case. But they’d find her again.

  Maybe he could shake loose Doc and Tycho, Raoul and the Little One? Xris had never planned to have every last one of them involved in this job. He’d send the others off to guard Darlene. Yes, that was a good plan. He’d send them off. He’d stay with Tess and Harry, help capture Grant and the kidnapped robot.

  That settled, Xris tried to relax, but he only grew more fidgety. When he caught himself thinking that, yes, the term “disembodied spirit” was a redundancy, he angrily shoved himself to his feet and stomped outside to see what the devil was keeping everyone.

  “Please hurry, gentlemen,” Tess said crisply. “The Claymore has a head start on us. Climb on board and take your seats. Pilot Luck, what’s the matter? I assume you can fly a PRRS?”

  “I can fly anything, ma’am,” Harry said. He was being honest, not bragging. “But ... we’re going to chase the Claymore in this?”

  “Yes, Pilot Luck,” Tess’s voice hardened. “What’s wrong with this spaceplane?”

  “Nothing, ma’am,” Harry replied seriously. “Except when do you want to catch the Claymore? Sometime next year?”

  Tess’s cheeks reddened. She reached for the comm in the hoverjeep. “I’ll get another pilot—”

  “Take it easy.” Xris intervened. “Harry’s just being honest. And he’s right. This clunker”—he made a disparaging gesture—”will never catch up with a fighter-bomber.”

  Tess frowned; her eyes glinted. “I’m open to suggestions. Just how did you plan to stop the Claymore and recover the ‘bot?”

  “Send the command cruiser King James after it.”

  Tess hesitated, then said, not looking at Xris, “Something I didn’t mention. We’re convinced that Harsch has high-level contacts in the Navy. A flagship command cruiser goes tearing after one insignificant Claymore. A strange-looking robot is captured and brought on board. It would be the talk of the ward room for a week. If Harsch found out, that would be the end of our operation. We might never have another chance to catch him. No, we can’t risk it.”

  “But you’ll risk losing the Claymore and the robot?” Xris raised an eyebrow, or what w
ould have been an eyebrow if he’d had any eyebrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s not much of a risk,” Tess argued. “The Claymore is being flown by an inexperienced novice. We checked Grant’s records. He has a pilot’s license, but he only ever flew corporate shuttles. As for this ‘clunker,’ as you term it, the PRRS may not look like much, but she’s faster than she looks. She has a tractor beam and, as her name suggests, the PRRS is built specifically for this type of operation.”

  “PRRS?” Dr. Quong said. “The name doesn’t suggest anything to me, except maybe a cat with a lisp. Purrs. Get it? Cat with a—”

  “PRRS. Pilot Recovery and Rescue Ship,” Jamil informed them. “If a pilot’s plane is disabled or damaged in space or if the pilot is forced to eject, the PRRS can tractor home the crippled plane or pick up the life pod. These spaceplanes aren’t real pretty to look at, but when you’re marooned out there in the endless night with your fuel running low and the black cold creeping into your bones, nothing looks more beautiful than this old girl coming to take you home.”

  Harry only shook his head gloomily. He clumped up the ramp, entered through the enormous, gaping hatch.

  The PRRS was a converted Flamberge medium bomber. Its bomb bay and weapons mounts had been removed to add a tractor beam and a much larger cargo section. The gun turrets had been taken off, replaced with grappling equipment.

  Dr. Quong and Tycho boarded, carrying with them the equipment Tess had stowed in her jeep. This included Jeffrey Grant’s Collimated Command Receiver Unit, which was still humming to itself.

  Jamil lingered a moment to take a long, nostalgic look, then he walked up the ramp. He patted the hull affectionately as he entered.

  That left Xris and Tess and Raoul and the Little One. Raoul was hovering, obviously had something urgent to impart. He had probably lost an earring.

  Xris shook his head. “Later.”

  He turned to Tess. “You’re chasing after the Claymore. Do you mind telling us what we’re doing here?”

  “Just what you’re being paid to do,” she said coolly. “Once we catch it, you’re going to deliver the robot to Harsch.”