Knights Of The Black Earth

by Margaret Weis

  "It's for the good of the country," Mary Krammes said automatically as if she'd been repeating the words over and over again, even in her sleep. "That woman's death is for the good of the country."

  Raoul shrugged. "Of course, that is what all traitors have said, since the beginning of time."

  Baejling rose stiffly to his feet. "We should proceed to the hotel, Excellency. Tonight is the Embassy Ball. You will be formally introduced and presented to the President and Madme President. You can meet her, get a good look at her. Tomorrow you deliver your letters of mark--"

  "All forged, you know. Quite a good job. We have a member of our team. His name is Tycho. He--"

  "Tomorrow." Baejling hung on grimly. "You will proceed to the palace tomorrow--"

  "Oh, we won't be staying that long," Raoul said complacently.

  Baejling sat back down again.

  "What? But--How? Surely you're not thinking of"-Baejling swallowed, lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper--"assassinating Madame President during the ball!

  She'll be surrounded by bodyguards! Her supporters. They'd catch you. We'd all be shot on the spot!"

  Raoul gazed at Baejling long moments. The Loti's drugfuzzy eyes slid into focus, became fixed and cool, without pity, without compassion.

  "I am an expert at my work. The Little One is an expert at his. You either trust us and allow us to proceed as we think right or you terminate our employment this moment."

  Baejling looked sick. Mary Krammes, white to her lips, said something to him in her own language. He nodded heavily, wiped the handkerchief over his head again. Lifting his previously untouched wineglass, he downed the drink at a gulp.

  Raoul glanced out of the comer of his eye at the Little One. The Adonian's eyelashes flickered. He smiled serenely. "Well, what will it be, Dolf, dear?"

  Baejling's hands clenched into fists. "Do it," he said harshly.

  "Is ... is there anything you need ... from us?" Mary Krammes asked faintly.

  "No, Mary, darling, thank you," Raoul said. "We have everything we need. However, I assume that you two will be in attendance?"

  "Yes. Yes, of course."

  "Good. And now, I do believe that we should be proceeding to the hotel. This beastly smell is giving me a pounding headache. And headaches cause wrinkles. As does stress. You should really do something about that, Dolf. Those frown lines around your mouth--most unattractive. I could give you some cream I found on Avedai Arden. Oil of cucumber. Rub it in three times daily .... "

  Raoul took hold of Baejling's arm, sauntered off, talking of his favorite subject next to clothes--cosmetics. The Little One shambled after, small legs forced to take two steps to the humans' one. His shoulders, beneath the raincoat, heaved up and down.

  Mary Krammes, hurrying along fearfully behind, wondered if the strange little creature was laughing.

  The Embassy Ball was a glittering affair, held in the Grand Ballroom of the Presidential Palace. Men and women, dressed in their very finest, most elegant clothes, drank champagne and ate small, fancifully decorated and bland tidbits, which were being circulated throughout the ballroom by tall, fancifully dressed waiters. Since all present knew that the waiters were spies for the secret police, the conversation among the guests tended--like the food--to be elaborate and innocuous.

  Talk picked up considerably with the arrival of the Ambassador from Adonia. Raoul was in full regalia; he might have gone onstage as the Sun God or even a sun itself. He was dressed all in gold, from a rayed golden headdress, to golden doublet and knee breeches and hose, to golden slippers--low-heeled, since he might possibly be going into action. Every centimeter was crusted with golden bangles and/or sequins. His eyelids were painted with gold and he wore metallic gold lipstick, of which he was evidently worded about smudging, for he kept his lips always slightly apart, was careful never to bite them or pass his tongue over them.

  The Little One, trundling along at Raoul's side, wore the same raincoat and hat--a small and shabby satellite orbiting a gorgeous sun.

  The majordomo pounded his staff on the polished marble floor, made his sonorous announcement. "His Excellency, the Ambassador of Adonia."

  Raoul extended a shapely, gartered leg, bowed low, sweeping a large feathered fan across his body. Rising to what he assumed were admiring nmrmurs from the audience, he glanced about vaguely, accosted a passing footman, who indicated the reception line, where the President and his wife and other dignitaries waited to greet their arriving guests.

  Raoul floated that direction, spreading charming smiles and clouds of lilac perfume. He passed down the line, blithely ignoring the cold and withering stares of the ministers of Defense and Morality. He gave the men what passed for an Adonian handshake--dabbling his fingers lightly in the palm. With the women, he brought their hands near his lips but never bestowed a kiss on any of them, undoubtedly to protect his flawless lipstick.

  But, when introduced to Madame President, Raoul behaved quite differently. Awed by her beauty, he murmured a few words of polite and correct greeting, then actually deigned to press his golden-coated lips against the skin of her extended hand.

  Madame President found this all highly amusing. She made a polite response to Raoul, then, switching off her translator with a feigned, casual gesture, she said something to her husband having to do with "fairies and fags." All of which the Little One passed on to Raoul.

  Raoul, smiling coyly, advanced to pay his respects to the President. The Adonian ambassador was apparently not all that impressed with Mr. President, who was shriveled and shrunken, a withered husk covered by wrinkled skin. Raoul, gazing at the man, speculated seriously on vampirism in modem times.

  Madame President, meanwhile, was delightedly and laughingly exhibiting to her neighbors the gold lipstick impression left on her skin. She would, she claimed loudly, never wash this hand again. Her comments drew polite laughter from all those within heating distance, as well as from those who could not possibly have heard but considered it politic to laugh anyway.

  Raoul wended his way through the crowd. He discovered Baejling and Krammes huddled together in a distant comer of the gigantic ballroom, attempting to appear nonchalant and comfortable, with the result that both managed to look extremely suspicious.

  "Ah, here you are!" Raoul sang out loudly. "I've been searching for you everywhere. Don't kiss me, either of you. You'll muss me."

  "What the devil are you doing?" Baejling demanded in a furious undertone. "You're drawing everyone's attention to US--"

  "There's something I must tell you," Raoul whispered, adding loudly, with an admiring glance, "You're right about one thing, Dolf. Madame President is a remarkably beautiful woman." He gave a rapturous sigh. "I'm quite smitten. Is my lipstick smudged, Doll7."

  Baejling gave him a disgusted glance, started to turn away. Krammes tugged on her partner's sleeve. Several of the waiters were eyeing them closely.

  Raoul removed his mirror from a gold lain6 shoulder purse, studied himself critically. "I'm smudged! How beastly !"

  "Hot in this room, isn't it?" Baejling said loudly, adding in a low voice, "Look, we're calling this off. We've had word that the secret police are on to us. Why don't you--"

  "Ah, a bit late for that," said Raoul quietly. "The deed is done."

  Baejling darted a swift glance at the reception line, where Madame President--looking extremely fit and healthy-continued to receive guests.

  "What is this? Some kind of sick joke?"

  Raoul removed a small vial from his purse, then began dabbing the contents on his lips.

  "In about six hours," he said, speaking softly, under cover of music from a small orchestra, "your Madame President will start to feel extremely unwell. About an hour after that, she will be in excruciating pain and convulsions. In twentyfour hours, she will no longer be able to move her lower extremities. In forty-eight hours, she will be dead."

  The Little One pulled a handkerchief out of one of the raincoat's pockets, handed the cloth to Raoul.r />
  "Thank you, my friend," he said gravely, and began to wipe his lips.

  Baejling's jaw sagged. "How--"

  "The lipstick," Raoul said simply, taking extreme care to remove the last vestige. "The poison is in the lipstick. One of my favorite techniques. I wear a protective base coat underneath and I am quite careful, of course, never to ingest any myself. But it is always wise to take precautions. I am drinking the antidote for it now."

  He consumed the contents of the vial, then examined his lips critically. Certain that every trace of the golden, poisoned lipstick was gone, he returned the mirror to his purse.

  The Little One held open a plastic bag marked HAZARDOUS WASTE. Raoul deposited the handkerchief and the empty vial inside. The Little One snapped the bag shut, thrust it into a pocket. Baejling and Krammes watched the proceedings in dazed disbelief.

  Raoul reached into his purse, drew forth a second vial of the clear liquid. He held it out.

  "What's this?" Baejling eyed it suspiciously, refused to touch it.

  "The antidote," Raoul said with a sly smile. "Administered anytime in the next twenty-four hours, it will save Madame President's life. The choice is yours. She will not be in such extreme pain that she cannot negotiate. You might, perhaps, be able to strike a bargain with her. The antidote in exchange for an extended trip on her part to a distant moon. If the lady proves recalcitrant"--Raoul shrugged--"you let her die."

  He pressed the vial into Baejling's hand. The man's fingers closed over it nervelessly.

  Krammes clutched at him. "This gives us a chance! We don't have to be murderers--"

  "Unless she refuses. Or orders us shot anyway. The safest course to follow would be not to tell her. Let her die."

  "A difficult decision." Raoul was sympathetic.

  Baejling stared at the antidote, then lifted his haggard gaze to Raoul. "Damn you."

  Raoul smiled sweetly. "Our work is guaranteed or your money will be cheerfully refunded. And now, if you both will excuse us, we have a transport to catch."

  "You won't be able to leave. There are no transports for off-world--"

  "Ah, I have the distinct feeling that one will soon be making an unscheduled departure. Not to won'y. We can take care of ourselves. Farewell. It's been lovely. Give me a kiss good-bye, DolL"

  Shuddering, Baejling backed up a step.

  Laughing, Raoul turned on his golden heel, sauntered leisurely through the crowd. Taking his time, he paused to drink a glass of champagne. The Little One trotted doggedly along behind.

  So very civilized. Didn't want to do the dastardly deed yourselves, did you?" Raoul raised his glass in a toast to Krammes and Baejling. "Here's to what you kiss next, my dears."

  CHAPTER 9

  Assess the advantages of taking advice, then structure your forces accordingly, to supplement extraordinary tactics. Forces are to be structured strategically, based on what is advantageous.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  "What the hell's keeping that damn Loti?" Xris demanded.

  Switching on the screen in the center of the table--a screen that provided a view of the large bar area of the Exile Cafe--he scanned it for some sign of the flamboyantly dressed Adonian.

  "Relax, will you, Xris? He'll make it. He said he wanted to say hello to a few old friends from back when he used to work here. You didn't say it was urgent, you know," Harry reminded him. "This is just a planning session, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, yeah." Xris was roaming restlessly around the room. "It's just ... I want to get on with it, that's all."

  The others present exchanged glances, raised eyebrows, asked silently what was up. Most specifically, all looked to Harry Luck, who had been with Xris and the Mag Force 7 team the longest.

  Harry shrugged his shoulders, made a face. He didn't have a clue, indicated silently to the rest, You know as much as I do.

  Each one of the members of Mag Force 7 had received a coded transmission to meet on this date in the Exile Cafe on Hell's Outpost--a desolate chunk of rock that could barely be dignified with the term "moon." Drifting on the fringes of the galaxy, Hell's Outpost was made unique by the Exile Caft, described politely as "a meeting place for professionals in search of employment." All file galaxy knew, however, that the Exile Caf6 did not cater to the sort of professionals likely to scan the vid classifieds.

  But even if one was not looking to hire or to be hired, the Exile Caf6 was an excellent meeting place. A large bar area located on the ground floor provided decent liquor and edible meals. The waiters and waitresses were attractive and would provide their own form of entertainment for a price. Weapons could be worn but not used--on penalty of immediate death. This was a place of business and those who came here were serious.

  Rooms in the Exile Caf6 were guaranteed private by the management, who boasted that not even the Royal Navy took such precautions to keep identities concealed and conversations secret. The user paid for such luxuries, of course, but the people who frequented the Exile Caf6 could generally afford it.

  And thus the members of Mag Force 7 who were present were wondering what they were doing here. Planning sessions were usually held in Xris's condo on Alpha Gamma. Mag Force 7 was a mercenary team, handpicked by Xris himself. They were licensed by the government, had a welldeserved reputation as being the best in the business. They had done jobs for the topmost of the top levels in government. Xris was on a first-name basis with the Lord Admiral, Sir John Dixter, and had once saved the life of the fleet adjutant, Mendaharin Tusca. It was rumored, but not known for certain, that Xris had once been secretly employed by Her Majesty the Queen.

  Mag Force 7 didn't need to take on shabby or dirty little jobs. And though they took care to keep a client's business secret--if that's what the client wanted--they had never before taken the extraordinary precaution of meeting at the Exile Caft.

  Xris took another turn around the room. Harry--whose specialty was piloting every craft that flew, floated, or ran on wheels--watched his boss in perplexity. The two had been together a long time--years, in fact. Other members in the original team had come and gone. Died on the job, some of them: Chico, killed by the Corasians on Shiloh's Planet; Britt dead in the tunnels of a Corasian slave labor mine. Lee had quit the team to get married. Harry was the only one left of the old bunch. He'd never seen Xris--usually as cool as the metal he was mostly made of--nervous, on edge.

  A lilting voice came floating through the commlink. "It is--" A pause, as if the person speaking had to think about it.

  "Raoul," said Harry, grinning.

  "Raoul," decided the voice. "And the Little One."

  Xris switched the screen from the bar area to the hallway outside the meeting room.

  Raoul, resplendent in an eye-piercing fluorescent green unitard, smiled blissfully and waved to the cam.

  Xris activated the controls, admitting the Loti, the raincoated Little One, and a heady wave of perfume.

  Raoul wafted inside the room. "Xris Cyborg," he said gravely, gliding over and giving Xris a light kiss on his left cheek. "I am extremely pleased to see you again. The Little One also extends his most gracious compliments." The raincoat shook itself, like a dog readjusting its fur. Xris, accustomed to the typical Adonian form of greeting, submitted to the Loti's kiss with a good grace, but only after he'd taken a close, scrutinizing look at Raoul's lips. Not that Xris feared Raoul would deliberately poison his boss, but the fact that he was wearing lethal lip gloss occasionally slipped the Loti's drug-fogged mind.

  "Peach-flavored, nothing more." Raoul flicked his tongue over his orange-tinged mouth.

  Xris grunted. "You're late."

  "I am? For what?" Raoul was astonished.

  "The meeting. I didn't bring you here to celebrate old home week," Xris added wryly.

  "Meeting ..." Raoul cast a vague glance around the room, suddenly noticed there were other people present. He gave them a charming smile, fluttered his fingers at them. "The team assembled. I am extremely pleasured to see you all again
. The Litfie One, as well. We are sorry to have kept you waiting." He turned to Xris with a reproachful air. "We were not informed that our presences were required in a timely and immediate fashion."

  "The meeting was called for thirteen hundred hours--"

  "But you didn't tell us we had to be here by then," Raoul pointed out with an aggrieved air. Green eyelids--to match his unitard--fluttered. "I do not see how this can be my fault, Xris Cyborg."

  Xris opened his mouth, shut it on what would have been a caustic remark. The last thing he wanted to do now was hurt the Adonian's feelings. The thought of Raoul's face, streaked with tears and green eyeliner, was too much. Besides, what Raoul had said was true. The Loti operated on his own time system, which bore little or no relation to any other time system currently in use anywhere in the galaxy. Xris had never quite figured it out. When timing was critical to the operation, Raoul and the Little One were always where they were supposed to be at the precise second. But to casually mention to Raoul that he should be attending a meeting at 1300 hours ...

  Raoul's eyes were starting to shimmer. "In the days of my former employment in this location--due, if you will recall, to the untimely and most treacherous death of my late former employer, Snaga Ohme--I made a considerable number of acquaintances here at the Exile Caff, all of whom were quite pleased to see me again. But if you would have told me, Xris Cyborg, that you had called a meeting of the team--"

  "Very well, Raoul," Xris interrupted testily. "It's all my fault. I apologize for you being late."

  "And I forgive you," said Raoul graciously.

  He brushed his finger lightly across the cyborg's feshand-blood ann, then minced across the room to take a seat with the rest of the team, who were now grinning at each other.

  Xris waited with exemplary patience for Raoul to settle himself. When the Adonian had his legs crossed and his hair arranged on his shoulders and his lip gloss reapplied and when the Little One had plopped himself down on the floor and pushed the fedora back to reveal the bright, gleanting eyes, Xris called the meeting to order.