Harry peered through the windscreen, nodded.
"Drop us off there," Xris ordered.
Harry steered the hovercraft for the hill, brought the vehicle down for a gentle landing. Quong produced his scanner, did a quick search for other craft. They were alone. No other vehicles nearby.
Xris opened the back end of the van, climbed out. Quong, from inside, handed the equipment to him. Tycho---rifle in hand--jumped to the ground and immediately began studying the area, looking for the best possible site. When everything was unloaded and Xris had run through the checklist, he looked at his chronometer.
"Oh-eight-forty-five." He turned back to the van. "On your way, Harry. Communications inside Olicien go down at oh-nine-hundred. We'll see you at the spaceplane at oh-ninethirty. Jamil--remember the code cards. Good-bye and good luck."
Xris slammed shut the double doors. The van lifted off, headed back in the direction of the bright yellow building that was Olicien central.
"Move out," Xris ordered Tycho. "Keep us covered. Stun setting."
The tall alien nodded. He was already beginning to alter skin color, was now a mottled brown to match the brown bushes and scrub trees that dotted the barren hillside.
Xris and Quong gathered up their equipment, started walking down the slope. They headed for a creek that ran at an angle between the small hill and the spaceplane. The two splashed into the shallow water, proceeded upstream toward the tarmac and the spaceplane.
Xfis stopped every few meters or so, scanned the area. He had lost sight of Tycho, but that wasn't unusual. The alien was probably hunkered down in the brush. He'd be the exact color of the hillside itself by now.
Xris turned his attention to the van, which was just pulling into the parking lot of the Olicien facility. Harry and Jamil both climbed out, straightened their ties. Briefcases in hand, they entered the main door of the building. 0855.
Quong halted, took off his backpack. He removed a collapsible metallic dish, placed it on the ground on the edge of the creek bank, aimed the dish at the vidnet antenna on top of the Olicien building. Using a spectrum analyzer, he scanned the communication airwaves for the frequencies in use, downloaded the information into the dish.
Looking back at the analyzer, he said, "All blocked."
0901.
Xris removed a grenade from his leg compartment, set its delay for six SMT hours, activated the detonation mechanism, and placed the grenade beside the metallic dish. He made it a practice to always take out the garbage. Xris spoke into the commlink.
"Tycho, this is Xris, do you read me?"
"I read you loud and clear. I am in position. There are four targets on the tarmac in front of you."
"I see them. I'm going to give them five minutes. With luck they'll move to the far side of the plane. If not, you'll have to take them out." "Understood."
Xris didn't want to have to cross the tarmac in full sight of God, the giant plastic beetle, and the crew of the spaceplane. He didn't want a bunch of comatose bodies littering the ground, either. The sight of fellow crewmen dropping over was almost certain to cause someone to panic and then all hell would break loose.
"Come ore" he said to the crewmen under his breath. "Leave, damn it."
Almost as if obeying his order, three men walked around to the far side of the plane. A fourth remained, however, working on a maintenance panel on the winglet.
"Go along, kid," Xris told him. "Go follow after your buddies."
Quong stood beside him, squinting against the sunlight, unable to see anything more than the plane itself.
"Oh-nine-oh-five, Xris."
The Doc was holding a short-barreled autogun. It could fire two hundred bursts per second and was 'known as a "corridor broom" for its capability of making a clean sweep of any small area. It had no stun capabilities, but it was Doc's favorite weapon. Xris could trust Quong not to use it unless there was absolutely no other way out. And that wasn't going to happen.
Xris was feeling lucky.
The mechanic shut the panel. Bending down, he picked up his tool kit, started walking away.
"Xris!" Tycho was back. "Go for it! I've got you cow ered!"
Xris began running across the tarmac. Running was not an easy task for the cyborg, and one he generally tried to avoid. The metal part of his body worked faster and better than the physical; the flesh-and-blood half seemed a drag on the artificial. Consequently, his run was awkward and ungainly.
He felt uncomfortable, unstable, and off balance. In the back of his mind lurked the fear that he might stumble and fall and something vital inside him would short out. He had visions of himself lying helpless on the tarmac.
Not today, said a voice. Today's the day. After all these years, it's finally coming together.
Xfis relaxed, let the physical part of his body glide into synch with the metal, and loped across the landing strip. Quong was at his left, keeping pace easily. The middle-aged doctor wasn't even breathing hard.
The spaceplane stood on a tripod landing system. The plane was a new model based on an old design dating back to the dawn of spaceflight, but over the centuries no one had come up with anything as reliable and efficient. Two wings swept back from the fuselage, forming the delta-wing configuration necessary for in-atmosphere travel. It was big enough to accommodate passengers and cargo, was equipped with shields and reinforced superstructure to withstand the rigors of hyperspace.
Xris gestured. Quong headed for the nose of the spaceplane. Xris ran to the tail section.
The four crewmen were bunched together, gathered around a large maintenance 'bot, cheerfully discussing something being displayed on a computer screen. None of them was armed; not surprising.
This was all so easy. So damn easy.
Xris rounded the plane's tail, eased to a walk. He raised his weapons hand, aimed.
"Good morning, friends." Xris shouted above the conversation to make himself heard. "If you all keep very still, no one will get hurt."
At the sound of a strange voice, four heads jerked around. One of the men, who recognized Xris from their talk yesterday, grinned as if he thought this was a joke. The grin slid from his face when he got a good look at Xris's arm, noticed the metal projectiles that had replaced the cyborg's left hand.
Quong appeared from around the plane's nose, the autogun leveled.
The crewmen began to yamruer. Typical Aurigans, they wanted to discuss the matter. A motion from Xris's metal hand silenced them. They raised their arms in the air.
Quong kept the men covered. Xris hurried to the hangar, looked inside. The hangar was extremely dark, especially after the brightness of the sunlit tarmac. His natural eye went temporarily blind, but his artificial eye instantly refocused and adjusted filters.
Only one man was in the hangar, and he was seated before a small computer, shouting commands at it. In addition, some sort of machine with a loose beating was making a deafening racket. The man hadn't heard anything that had gone on outside, apparently. Xris walked right up to him, poked the hard steel of his weapons hand into the base of the man's skull.
"Don't say a word," Xris ordered. "Move your fingers away from the keyboard. Now."
It was possible the computer was tied to a central system inside Olicien. A verbal or typed warning could sound the alarm. The mechanic was too shaken by the sudden feel of cold steel on his flesh to do anything, however. He went rigid with fear. Xris eventually gave up trying to get the mechanic to raise his hands. The poor guy couldn't move.
Xris motioned. "Bring 'em inside."
The other four crewmen marched into the hangar, their hands on top of their heads. Quong dragged the fifth man out of the chair, added him to the group, and herded them into the center of the hangar.
Xris was back on the comm. "Tycho, this is Xris. All is secure. Move in."
"I'm on my way."
Xris left Quong on guard duty, went back outside. He touched a control on his ann. A door on the side of his mechanical leg popped open, revealing a holding r
ack for tools and weapons. Xris detached his weapons hand, placed it in the correct slot, and replaced it with a tool hand. The compartment door closed.
Making some minor adjustments, Xris walked to the maintenance 'bot, read the message on the monitor: Maintenance check complete. All systems within operational parameters.
"Couldn't have timed it better if I'd tried!" Xris gloated, and actually laughed.
He looked out over the tarmac, searching for Tycho. A flash of sun off the barrel of the beam rifle was the only clue to the alien's location. Tycho's skin had turned black, in order to blend in with the tarmac.
0910.
Smooth. Very smooth.
Xris moved to the loading doors located on the other side of the spaceplane. They were sealed shut, locked. He found the security keypad, studied it. The numbered and ominously glowing pad was designed to allow access only to those who had authorized fingerprints and punched in the correct code. An alarm would sound if anyone else so much as breathed on the wrong key.
Xris touched a control on his mechanical hand. A durasteel cutting drill extruded from the center digit. He activated the drill, plunged the whirling bit into the "9" button on the keypad. The drill cut through wires and into a metal plate behind. Sparks flew. The keypad went dark. He held his breath.
No siren howled. Slowly, the hatch began to rise.
Tycho appeared at Xris's side, seeming to materialize out of the tarmac itself.
"Nice work, boss."
"It's a standard Morubundi K-33 Keypad. Any teenager with a screwdriver could have taken it out. Navy probably required them to install some sort of security system and Olicien bought the cheapest on the market."
"You can't blame them," said Tycho. "What are the odds that something like this would happen to them?" "I guess this is just their lucky day," Xris said, grinning. He headed back into the hangar, rejoined Quong and his prisoners, who were now slumbering peacefully on the cement floor. Quong exhibited a can of hypno-spray. Xris nodded.
Tycho set up his rifle on top of a storage bin, aimed the weapon at the double doors leading into the Olicien facility. Quong began to strip off the crew's yellow, bug-adorned coverails.
0915.
All going according to plan.
And then his comm buzzed.
Quong and Tycho looked up, faintly alarmed.
"Xris here," Xris answered briefly.
"Is this Mr. Borg's office? Is that you, Mable?" Harry's voice. "Uh, put me through to Cy, will you, sweetheart?"
Someone must be listening in.
Xris took out a twist, put it between his lips. "This is Mr. Borg. What's wrong, Harry?"
"It's Raoul, Cy. You heard from him?"
"No, not a word. What's the matter?"
"He's not here, Cy. Raoul never showed."
CHAPTER 13
Attack when they are unprepared, make your move when they do not expect it.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
"Shit!" said Xris loudly and with feeling.
The response came over clearly on Harry's cel'link. Harry looked at Jamil, who shook his head. It was not exactly the response likely to come from the chief executive of an outer space floating platform corporation. Harry looked askance at the Olicien receptionist, afraid she, too, had heard the expletive.
But the receptionist had begun talking to Harry and Jamil the moment they entered the door and hadn't paused, except to draw breath. She continued to talk now, and probably hadn't heard, though she was starting to slow down and was obviously getting a bit too interested in Harry's conversation. Jamil distracted her, asked a question about Raoul that got her started again. Harry moved closer to the door, tried to see out to the tarmac.
"This is weird, Xris," Harry said in a low voice, under cover of Jamil's conversation. "We've waited for Raoul as long as we can."
"Did you try his cornre?"
"No response. What's really strange, he was supposed to meet one of their people for breakfast at the hotel. He never showed."
"Something's gone wrong."
Harry glanced at his watch. 0918.
"The question is, boss, do we go ahead?"
"We've gone too far to quit now. Proceed as planned. I'll try to raise Raoul. Out."
Harry stared a moment at the link, then replaced it in his briefcase, snapped the case shut. Jamil was watching him. Harry nodded once. Jamil flickered his eyelids in understanding.
"We'd like to meet with your manager anyway, if we could. Undoubtedly Mr. de Beausoleil will be here momentarily."
"Certainly. I'll let Mr. Darminderpal and Ms. Kohli know you are here. Too bad about Mr. de Beausoleil. I'd try calling him again, but our links don't appear to be working at the moment. Our commlink company is so impossible. This is the second time this month. Such a fine-looking young man, and so polite. We had a nice conversation yesterday. And his funny little friend in the raincoat. Never says a word, does he?" The receptionist, still talking, gazed curiously at Harry, who had begun to unpack the "contraption" from its case. "Why, what on Allus--"
"We thought we'd bring along the device we're currently using for exterminating the little critters," Jamil explained. "This unit just isn't doing the job for us. We figured your people should take a look at it."
Harry fit his arms into shoulder straps, hoisted a battery pack onto his back. A short length of hose trailed out the right side of the pack. He attached the hose to a large metal ring, attached three metal tubes to the ring, forming a triangle. Finally, he clicked into place a pistol grip with a triggering device. He flicked a switch. The battery pack hummed. The ring with the tubes began to rotate.
The receptionist stared at it, then began to giggle. "Why, you could destroy bugs the size of the one out there on our front lawn with that thing!" "Why, yes. Yes, ma'am, we could," said Harry gravely. The "contraption" was, in reality, a disguised 4.2-megawatt laser pulse cannon with triple rotating barrels. Specially designed and built by Quong, the cannon could take out the building, and everyone inside.
"I'm sure Mr. Darminderpal will be fascinated by it. He has a collection of extermination devices from all over the galaxy .... "
Continuing to talk to them, the receptionist managed, at the same time, to inform a Ms. Kohli that she had visitors.
This done, the receptionist tamed her attention and her conversation back to the prospective new clients.
Harry reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small spray can. "Then there's this product. We've tried applying it to our skin, but the damn bugs actually seem to enjoy the taste. Perhaps you're familiar with the brand?"
He held the can for the receptionist to see. As she leaned forward, peering intently at the label, Harry sprayed the contents of the can directly into the woman's face. She gasped involuntarily, inhaling the spray. Not that inhalation was necessary. As soon as Raoul's hypno-spray made skin contact, the victim was comatose.
The receptionist flopped forward across the desk.
Harry lifted her, propped her up in the chair, turned the chair away from both the hall and the front door.
Jamil took a quick glance out the door, locked it shut. "No one outside," he reported. "But we have company inside."
A woman in a brown suit was walking toward them. Jamil moved swiftly. "Good morning. I'm Kevin Coleridge. This is my colleague, Jeff Fuqua."
"How'dya do?" Harry bobbed his head.
"Jeff, why don't you wait here for Mr. de Beausoleil?" Jamil glanced significantly at the front door. Ms. Kohli stared at the cannon. "What's that thing?" I'll explain later. We might even give you a demonstration. Where's your office? Nice building you have here. Such an interesting color."
Jarnil took hold of Ms. Kohli by the arm, propelled her politely but fh'mly back down the hallway. "It seems that our Mr. de Beausoleil is late. We're operating on a rather strict time schedule. If we could go ahead with our meeting ..."
"Of course, Mr. Coleridge. Come back to my office. I've sent for Mr. Darminderpal, our senior tec
hnician. Oh, just a moment. I forgot ..." Pausing, the woman turned to the receptionist. "Madeline?"
Harry was bending over the desk, apparently having the most interesting conversation with the receptionist and managing to block the view of anyone in the hallway.
"Madeline, please hold my calls." Ms. Kohli didn't wait for a response.
She entered the office, moved aside to let Jamil pass in front of her. A thin man, clad in yellow coverails, was standing at the window, staring with fixed intensity outdoors in the direction of the tarmac.
"That's odd ..." the man began.
Jamil gave a loud and hacking cough.
Startled by the sound, the man turned his head.
Jamil was on him instantly, grabbing the technician's hand and shaking it heartily. "How do you do, sir? I'm Coleridge. Kevin Coleridge."
"Darminderpal." The man gave his name vaguely. He turned his head, looked back out the window. "What is it?" Kohli asked.
"I thought I saw a stranger out there--"
"My business card."
Jamil reached into his pocket, took out a can of hypnospray and blasted Darminderpal in the face. The man gagged, gargled. His eyes rolled. He slumped forward. Jamil caught the flaccid body, lowered it to the floor.
"Don't move or make a sound," Jamil ordered, holding the spray can in front of Ms. Kohli.
Gliding past her, Jamil shut and locked the office door. Then, pocketing the spray can, he pulled a .22-decawatt lasgun from a shoulder holster. He glanced at his watch. 0930. They were running late.
"Keep very quiet and no one will get hurt. Your friend on the floor is just taking a nice little nap."
"What do you want?" the woman asked fearfully.
Jamil gestured with the gun toward a wall safe. "Open it."
Kohli shook her head.
"Is the money really worth your life?" Jamil demanded, his voice hard, gruff. "What about his?" He tumed the gun on the comatose technician.
"But--but ... there is no money." Kohli extended her hands in a pleading gesture. "You have to believe mel We only k-keep cash on payroll day and this isn't--"
"What?... Damn!" Jamil blustered. "Raoul really screwed this up good. He said this was payroll day!"
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