"I do not think they will be difficult to track, sir," the officer replied. "The cyborg has several different dwelling places. We have posted men at all of them. We have also arranged for Raoul's home on Adonia to be kept under constant surveillance."

 

    "Excellent. We must be patient, however. Wait for them to split up. As you say, the cyborg Xris is a formidable foe. Not only that, he has friends in the highest places. We do not yet want to call undue attention to ourselves. Therefore, do not attempt to apprehend the Loti in the cyborg's presence. There will come a time when this Raoul and his small companion are alone. Strike then." "Yes, Knight Commander."

 

    "Contact me immediately when you have effected the Loti's capture. Any questions?"

 

    "Yes, sir. What are we to do with the creature known as the Little One?"

 

    "He is of no use to us. Kill him."

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12

 

 

 

    In battle, confrontation is done directly, victory is gained by surprise,

 

    Sun Tzu, The Art of War

 

 

    Christy's Cracked Egg Restaurant was large, crowded---especially for this early in the morning. According to Xris's research, the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet was extremely popular, attracting large numbers of people--ideal for Xris's purpose. When he entered, no one even glanced twice at the cyborg. Dressed in a business suit that covered his mechanical limbs, a sun visor hiding his cybernetic eye, and a foam-flesh and plastiskin cosmetic hand attached to his arm, Xris looked the part of an Aurigan executive.

 

    Having informed the 'bot who steered him to his table that there would be four joining him, Xris loaded his plate with the local fare and sat down to eat and wait.

 

    Tycho was next to arrive. The tall, skinny alien did attract a few curious stares, but the customers soon returned to their meals, having more interest in Aurigan mush---considered a delicacy. Located on one of the major trade routes, the capital city of Auriga was home to a large intergalactic population. Not much surprised the citizens of Auriga. Tycho located Xris, sat down.

 

    "Steer clear of the mush," Xris advised in a low voice.

 

    A vegetarian, Tycho gave the mush a look, grimaced, and told the 'bot he would be having only carrot juice.

 

    "Any trouble with the weapons?" Xris asked.

 

    It was not necessary to keep his voice down. A cheerful people, Aurigans enjoyed talking--the louder, the better. Consequently, the restaurant was a din of noise, with every Aurigan in the place shouting shrilly and gleefully at every other Aurigan. Xris had turned his hearing down to the bare minimum necessary and still the row was deafening.

 

    Tycho shook his head. His long-fingered hand could have wrapped twice around the glass of juice. He sipped at it. "No problems. I expected none. So long as I do not bring the rifle on board the spacecraft with me, I am rarely stopped. After all, it looks the same as any other beam rifle. I carry the duonamic sights hidden on my person in a shielded case."

 

    Xris nodded. Duonamic sights were the hallmark of the professional assassin and were illegal in most parts of the galaxy. With those sights, which detected any form of radiation from heat to light, as well as Doppler movement, Tycho could not only see through walls, he could shoot the person standing on the other side.

 

    "There won't be any need for gun play," Xris said. "It's going to go smooth. I'm feeling lucky. I'm due this."

 

    Tycho looked at him strangely. "It's well to be prepared. Better safe than sitting in your canoe without a paddle."

 

    Xris could feel another lecture coming on, wasn't in the mood; and so he didn't respond. He ate his mush more for the sake of putting food into his body than because he was hungry. He was too tense, too wired to be hungry. What he truly wanted was a twist, but smoking was forbidden in the dining establishment. He went back to the original subject.

 

    "Where did you leave the rifle?"

 

    "In the hovervan. Harry's parking it now. I met him and Quong outside. The Doc had to go powder his nose. They should both be here any minute." "They're here now."

 

    Standing in the entrance, partially blocking it with his large body, Harry was scanning the crowd. Tycho waved his long ann. Quong emerged from the bathroom and the two joined the rest of the team. Harry left immediately to fill his plate at the buffet table. Quong selected fruit and cereal. Returning to the table, he eyed Xris in concern. "Are you feeling well?"

 

     There were times, Xris decided, when having your own private medic was a distinct disadvantage. "Yeah, Doc, I'm fine."

 

    "You don't look it." Quong was blunt. "I'd like to run a systems analysis "

 

    "I said I'm fine. Just a little keyed up, that's all. Adrenaline pumping."

 

    Xris took out a twist. "I'm not going to smoke it," he informed the waiter 'bot, who had located and zeroed in on the forbidden object with the speed of a sublight torpedo.

 

    The 'bot continued to lurk about, obviously convinced that Xris was going to light up the moment its electronic eye was turned, and finally Xris gave up and put the twist away. The 'bot retreated and Harry came back with two plates.

 

    "Fried meat, fried potatoes, eggs. You're going to need a heart replacement before you're forty," Quong observed testily.

 

    "Sure, Doc." Harry was unperturbed. "Good thing I've got you around to take care of me."

 

    "Not when you abuse your system like that. Besides, of what use is a new heart if the arteries leading to it are clogged? I am fifty years old and in far better physical condition .... "

 

    The argument went on, as it did almost every time the two sat down for a meal together. The discussion about cholesterol levels flowed around Xris. He found it irritating, had to bite off a snide comment.

 

    Fortunately, Jamil had just entered. Xris waved to his friend, who was looking extraordinarily handsome in his expensive business suit. As he passed through the restaurant, several women, with typical Aurigan forthrightness, yelled at him to join them. Jamil smiled, made polite responses, and sat down beside Xris.

 

    "Breakfast?" Xris asked.

 

    "The food's not bad," Harry mumbled, his mouth full.

 

    "I've eaten already," Jamil answered, adding casually, "She makes a great omelette."

 

    Harry gulped, swallowed. "She? How the hell do you manage? You just got here last night!"

 

    "He keeps himself in excellent physical condition," Quong intoned. "Women appreciate that."

 

    "Fine, then." Xris interrupted what was likely to be either an argument about clogged arteries or a discussion of Jamil's sex life. "Harry, did you check in with Raoul and the Little One last night?"

 

    "Yeah." Harry nodded. "I met the Loti in the bar of the fancy hotel he's staying in. Olicien's putting them up in style."

 

    "Did Raoul manage to get a layout of the Olicien place?" Harry patted his suit pocket. "I've got the diagram here. Raoul paid them a visit yesterday. The bug people gave him a personal tour and took him to dinner. Adonian charm, you know. The franchise is family-owned, small. This RFComSec contract is their biggest account and, since they've got the equipment to service space stations, they're eager to land others like it. Oh, and by the way" Harry winked--"as far as they're concerned, RFComSec is a Naval 'refitting and maintenance station.'"

 

    "That's what they've been told to say, obviously. Does Raoul think the Olicien people know the truth?"

 

    "Not a chance. Oh, they know it's a Naval base--"

 

    "All the people running around in uniforms would probably tip them off," Xris said dryly.

 

    Harry grinned. "Yeah. According to the Little One, no one at Olicien has the least suspicion that they're dealing with anything as big as a top-secret Naval base. Not even the personnel who go up there. The empath gave them the onceover. To them, the space station's nothing more than a floating body-repair shop."

 

    "What's the timetable?" Jamil asked, preparing to set his chronometer.

 

    "It's oh-eight-hundred now. We travel there, get ourselves into position by oh-nine-hundred, which is when you and Harry are supposed to meet Raoul at the Olicien HQ." Xris looked at Harry, who confirmed.

 

    "I went over that with Raoul last night. He says it's all fixed up. Jamil and I are high-level company executives. He's arranged for us to meet with their manager at oh-ninehundred."

 

    "Fine. The spaceplane with the exterminators on board leaves the Olicien grounds at ten hundred. The exterminators are scheduled to arrive at the space station at thirteen hundred."

 

    "Three hours?" Harry was impressed. "They must have hyperdrive."

 

    "They do," Xris said. "I took a look at the plane yesterday, spent some time chatting with one of the mechanics. Said I was looking for work. The plane--"

 

    "You short of credits, Xris?" Harry asked anxiously. "'Cause I'd be happy to loan you a few."

 

    Xris scratched his forehead. Harry was a good fighter, an excellent pilot, and the best hovercraft driver in the business. But, over the years, the big man had taken one too many stun-blasts to the head.

 

    "No, Harry." Xris was patient. "I'm not. But thanks anyway. We're dealing with your standard light-cargo spaceplane, with a few major exceptions. These include hyperspace capability and an XP-28 computer upgrade."

 

    "Compliments of the Royal Navy, no doubt. Your tax dollars at work, gentlemen," Tycho muttered through his translator.

 

    "The Olicien plane's crew never deviates from their time schedule," Xris continued, "so neither can we. They've got a thirty-minCe window to make their landing on the space station or the trip's scrubbed for the day, rescheduled. Security reasons, obviously. RFComSec wants the exterminators there when the place is quiet--which suits us fine." "I am all in favor of quiet," Quong agreed.

 

    "Raoul and the Litfie One join us at the Olicien plant at oh-nine-hundred. That gives Quong and Tycho and me an hour to hijack the plane, load all the equipment. Plenty of time, even if something goes wrong, which it won't."

 

    "He's feeling lucky," Tycho observed.

 

    Xris ignored him.

 

    "Meanwhile, Raoul and Harry and Jamil take over the Olicien facility. Will you need access codes for the spaceplane, Harry?"

 

    "With hyperspace drive and an XP-28, you can bet On it. The bug people won't want to chance anyone taking joyrides in that baby. XP-28--my favorite computer system." Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "This is going to be a treat."

 

    "How long to secure the facility?" Xris looked at Jamil.

 

    "Ten minutes. Twenty if we have to search for code cards and reprogram them."

 

    "I'll give you thirty, just in case. Meet us at the plane at Oh-nine-thirty. How long do you figure preparation for takeoff, Harry?"

 

    "Not long. Most likely the course will already be laid into the computer. Ten minutes."

 

    "And we've got thirty. That gives us some breathing room. Everyone ready? Then let's move out."

 

    Xris motioned to the 'bot, who trundled up. The amount they owed flashed across its screen. Tycho entered the credit account number. The 'bot thanked them and hoped they had a wonderful day.

 

    "We intend to," Xris told it as they left.

 

    They climbed into the hovervan. Harry asked the computer for directions to Olicien Pest Control. A threedimensional map appeared on the screen. They drove off.

 

    Jamil studied the layout of the facility. Raoul had learned--under duress---how to draw a fairly clear diagram. But he found the task tedious in the extreme and Xris had never been able to break the Adonian of the habit of embellishing the mundane work with fanciful doodles. Jamil was forced to trace his route from the entrance to the manager's office through several large beetles; two eyes and a smiling mouth had been added to the O of "Olicien."

 

    Quong worked on Harry's "contraption"ma device meant to look like a souped-up bug killer, but which had other, far more interesting applications. Xxis removed his business suit, put on body armor which had been modified to free up his cybernetic arm and leg, detached the useless cosmetic hand. From a compartment built into the leg, the cyborg removed one of his weapons hands, attached it to the arm.

 

    Quong looked up from his work. "Which one is that?"

 

    "Small rocket launcher."

 

    The rockets were heat-guided. Xris's servoelectric 'eye processed the target's image and downloaded it to the rocket just before launch. The small rocket would zero in on its prey with unerring efficiency.

 

    "Heavy-duty for this job," Quong observed. "I trust I won't have to use it," Xris said quiefiy. Quong said something else, but Xris pretended he didn't hear. Once he was outfitted and had done a systems check, he took out a twist, moved over to sit next to the van's open window for a smoke. He also pretended not to see that the others had exchanged glances all around. They were wordedmnot about the job, but about him.

 

    Damn it, just let me alone! he told them silently. When this is finished, it'll all be okay. And this is going to finish it. I know it. I'm due. I'll be okay.

 

    He watched the smoke from the glowing twist whip out the window, watched the end of the twist bum red in the rushing wind.

 

    Quong finished work on Harry's bug "contraption," set it aside, and changed into body armor and fatigues. Tycho was wearing his armor beneath his civvies. A type developed specially by his people, the body armor was completely transparent, to accommodate his changes in skin coloration.

 

    Chameleons are not accustomed to wearing clothing, which interferes with their natural ability to blend in with their surroundings. They are not, therefore, shy or modest. It had taken the other team members a short time to get used to Tycho's transparent body armor. Now they no longer noticed. But the sight of the naked chameleon often came as a shock to other, more inhibited humanoids.

 

    Once everyone was dressed, they settled back into their seats. Tycho assembled his beam rifle. He and Quong discussed the current rise in Royal Treasury bonds and whether or not Tycho thought the rise would continue and Quong should invest now or wait. Janill checked his weapons and sang along in his rich baritone with the music from the local radio station. Harry enjoyed the drive. No one attempted to talk to Xris, although he could feel their anxious gazes slide over him, then slide quickly away. He smoked another twist.

 

    They left the central city, buzzed over the suburbs, and entered a large industrial park, which appeared to be trying to hide the fact that it was an industrial park by camouflaging itself with trees, pruned hedges, and a few placid ponds. The buildings housing the various businesses were indistinguishable from one another--long, low warehouses trying valiantly not to look like warehouses.

 

    A sign posted at the entrance to the park warned that space vehicles took off and landed on this site. Hovercraft were advised, for their own safety, to keep close to ground level and stay in the marked lanes.

 

    "AccoMing to the map, we're coming up on it, Xris," Harry reported, peering intently at the various signs adorned with various company logos.

 

    Xris left his seat in the rear of the van, came to sit beside Harry.

 

    "You can't miss it. The building's painted bright yellow and there's a giant plastic bug on the front lawn. By the way, the spaceplane's painted the same color."

 

    Harry shook his head. "Hell of a thing to do to an XP-28. They're sensitive, you know."

 

    "I know." XJ'is was sympathetic. "You two can commiserate- over it."

 

    Harry slowed the van. The others stared with interest out the window.

 

    "Keep going," Xris advised. "The airstrip is another kilometer on ahead, at the end of this tarmac. You can see the hangar--"

 

    "It's hard to miss," Jamil said dryly.

 

    "I've seen some ugly shades of yellow, but that's the worst," Quong stated. "Don't you go turning color to match." He poked Tycho in the ribs.

 

    "I don't believe that would be possible." Tycho shuddered.

 

    The van flew along the marked route past the Olicien facility, heading for the hangar.

 

    "The takeoff site's about a kilometer from the hangar, which puts it two kilometers from the main building. The hangar sits between the building and the spaceplane, so there's not much chance that anyone happening to look out a window of the main Olicien building would see anything funny going on with their spaceplane. Just in case anyone did see us and took it into his head to report us to the local cops, Quong's going to disrupt their communications, both phone and ridnet."

 

    "Just as long as the Doc doesn't disrupt ours in the process," Jamil said. "Remember the Guaranty Fidelity Bank security job?"

 

    Quong stiffened. "That will not happen again, I assure you, Major Khizr! The device I have with me blocks microwave transmissions only. Our comms work on the VHF band. Therefore, Major "

 

    Xris was quick to intervene. When the doctor got formal, trouble loomed. "Look"--Xris pointed--"they've got the spaceplane out." The others could barely see the plane. Jamil produced binocs. Xris adjusted the lens in his cybernetic eye, brought the distant plane into sharp focus.

 

    "I can see four people from this angle. Here's where we leave the marked route, Harry. Take us to that low rise over there, the one that overlooks the tarmac."

 

    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 rack 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 technician. 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!"

 

    The woman just stared helplessly at him.

 

    Jamil waved the gun. "Then if there's no cash, you won't mind opening the safe, will you? Or would you rather see me open up your tech's head?"

 

    Kohli gulped, mumbled, "No, please. Don't hurt--"

 

    "Move!"

 

    She moved, opened the safe with her hand print and a coded entry.

 

    Jamil shoved her roughly to one side. Peering in, he swore loudly. "My God! You're telling the truth. Nothing but plastic." He snatched up the spaceplane's code cards. "Let's see how much you have in your accounts."  He thrust the card into the computer.

 

    "But those aren't credit cards. They only operate--"

 

    "Operate what?" Jamil demanded, though he knew perfectly well.

 

    The woman bit her lip, shut her mouth.

 

    Muttering to himself, pretending to be frustrated over his inability to discover a bank account, Jamil was, in actuality, swiftly altering the code on the cards. This done, he removed them from the computer, slid them into his pocket. "Ah, hell! I'll work on this later. Wait till I get my hands on that Adonian!"

 

    He pulled the aerosol can out of his pocket. "You're going to take a little nap now, like your friend. You might want to sit in the chair first."

 

    The woman sank down in the plush chair behind the desk. Jamil sprayed her in the face. She blinked once, and slumped forward.

 

    Jamil slid the lasgun back into the holster. Opening the office door, he glanced quickly up and down the hall.

 

    "Yes, I know the way out, Ms. Kohli. Thanks. We'll be in touch."

 

    Shutting the door, Jamil walked swiftly down the hall.

 

    "Any trouble?"

 

    Harry rose to his feet. "Nope, all quiet. You?"

 

    "Their senior tech spotted one of our guys out by the plane. I sprayed him before he got a good look. Let's get out of here. We're already late."

 

    "Did you get the cards, make the code change?"

 

    "In here." Jamil slapped his pocket.

 

    Harry unlocked the front door. They both walked out into the bright sunshine.

 

    "Keep me covered," Jamil ordered.

 

    Harry posted himself outside the front door.

 

    Jamil opened his briefcase, removed a large canister. On the way into the company, he had looked for and found the building's central air-conditioning unit, located on the roof. Jarnil climbed the maintenance ladder attached to the building's exterior wall. Once on the roof, he placed the canister beside the air intake system, pulled the ring tab on the top of the canisten White smoke began to rise and was immediately sucked into the system's intake. Jamil climbed down, rejoined his partner.

 

    Harry was on the comm. "Xris, we've got the code cards. We're now leaving the building. Jamil's released the gas. Everyone inside should be sound asleep by now."

 

    "Good work. When you come, bring the van. There's been a change in plans. Out."

 

    The two exchanged glances, then each looked at his watch.

 

    0940.

 

    It was rather late for a change in plans.

 

    When the van pulled up to the hangar, Xris was there to meet it. The cyborg yanked open the door on Jamil's side.

 

    "I'm going to find out what's happened to Raoul. I'll take Harry with me. You and the others load the gear in the plane. Search through the company's flight records--you'll find them in the hangar office. Find the latest codes and approach vectors for today's run."

 

    Jamil jumped out. Xris, barely waiting for him, climbed inside the van. Tycho and Quong, wearing bright yellow coverails, stood near the spaceplane.

 

    "What about the clock?" Jamil shouted over the roar of the hovervan's engine.

 

    "Screw the clock!" Xris yelled. "We need Raoul and the empath! Don't worry. We'll make up the time en route."

 

    He slammed shut the door. Jamil backed hurriedly away.

 

    Inside the van's cab, all was quiet. Harry was looking unhappy.

 

    "Just drive, damn it!" Xris said irritably.

 

     Harry drove, wheeling the vehicle around so swiftly that the blast from the air jets nearly knocked Jamil off his feet.

 

    "Where's his hotel? Near here, I hope."

 

    "Yeah, Xris. Not far. But "

 

    Xris brought up the computer map. "What's the name? I'll punch it in. Get the fastest route."

 

    Harry looked even more unhappy. "Uh, that's just it, Xris. I can't remember the name of the hotel. But"--he perked up---"I do remember his room number. Ten-nineteen."

 

    Xris removed the twist from his mouth. "You what?"

 

    "I don't remember the name of the hotel, Xris," Harry said miserably. "I'm sorry. I'd had a few drinks. It just didn't register. But the room number. I know that."

 

    "That's going to be a fucking big help. Do you know how many hotels there are in this bloody city?"

 

    Xris didn't often swear. Harry's hands tightened on the wheel. He stared straight ahead. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

 

    "I know about where it is, Xris," he said suddenly. "And I know what it looks like. It's a fancy building. I'll know it when I get there."

 

    Xris drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. "All right. I guess that'll have to do."

 

    "I'm sorry, Xris. I didn't think it would be important."

 

    "Just drive, Harry. Just drive."

 

    0945.

 

    Harry recognized the hotel--the Grand Aurigan---easily. It was big and elegant. Valets swarmed around the front entrance, eager to relieve travel-weary guests of all their burdens, including their means of transportation.

 

    "Valet parking, Xris," Harry said, slowing the van to a crawl about a block away from the hotel.

 

    "We can't risk that," Xris replied. "We're going to need to leave here fast. Drive around."

 

    They located a side entrance, with only a doorman on duty. Vehicles of all types lined the street. There was no place to park. Harry dropped the van to street level.

 

    "Stay here. Keep the engine running and your comm on," Xris instructed, jumping out.

 

    He had removed the tool hand, replaced it with the fleshfoam hand, but had not bothered to change out of his fatigues. The doorman glared at him.  "He can't hover there," he said.

 

    "I'll only be a minute," Xris told him, heading for the door.

 

    "But--" The doorman started to argue.

 

    Xris shoved the man aside, yanked open the door. When the elevator didn't arrive fast enough to suit him, the cyborg found the stairs, took them two at a time to the tenth floor.

 

    He emerged through a fire door, began scanning room numbers. A woman with a small child passed him, both in swimsuits, evidently on their way to the pool. Otherwise, the corridors were quiet, empty.

 

    "No one around," Xris reported to Harry over the comm. "I was half expecting to find the hallway jammed with cops. But nothing appears to be wrong."

 

    "The damn Loti took an overdose," Harry returned. "You'll probably find him spaced out of his mind. Or maybe he met someone in the bar last night. Or some thing. I hate to think what you might be walking in on."

 

    It's possible, Xris agreed, just not probable. In all the years he'd worked with Raoul, the Adonian had never let the team down. Xris halted in front of a large double wooden door with 1019 in brass digits.

 

    He listened. His augmented hearing would have picked up the flutter of Raoul's false eyelashes. No sound.

 

    Xris scanned the hall. No one in sight except a cleaning 'bot down at the far end. Removing his lasgun from his shoulder holster, Xris lightly tapped on the door with the barrel.

 

    "Raoul!" he called.

 

    He hoped--hoped like hell--the door would open. He'd find the embarrassed and apologetic L9ti trying to kiss him.

 

    The door remained closed.

 

    "I'm going in," Xris told Harry.

 

    Gun in hand, Xris kicked his steel leg into the door, burst it open. Splinters flew. The lock snapped. He dashed in, his gun moving in a tracking arc, looking for targets. He saw nothing more alarming than one of Raoul's hats.

 

    The room was made up. The beds hadn't been slept in. Raoul's luggage was open, clothes strewn about--on the bed, on the floor. A red taffeta cloak was draped over the rid. Xris might have concluded immediately that the place had been trashed, but Raoul's bedroom back home looked exactly the same, only worse. Even an overturned lamp was nothing out of the ordinary, if Raoul happened to be suffering through a bad hair day.

 

    And then, "Damn it all," Xris said softly.

 

    "What is it, Xris?" Harry heard the cyborg's ominous tone. "What've you found?"

 

    Xris didn't answer. Walking over to a cream-colored wall, he examined the large wet splotch, touched it. Then he swore.

 

    "Blood. And it's fresh."

 

    "You need me up there?"

 

    "No. Stay with the van."

 

    Xris found several more red spots on the carpet, still more in front of the bathroom. Gun raised, he slowly pushed open the bathroom door with the toe of his boot, looked in the mirror on the wall to see if anyone was inside.

 

    No one was. At least not that he could see from this angle.

 

    Xris shoved open the door, whipped around it.

 

    "Dear God in heaven!" he said, appalled.

 

    "Xfis! What is it? You okay?"

 

    "I'm fine," Xris said bitterly. "It's the Little One."

 

    The small figure lay huddled in the bathtub. Blood was spattered all over the walls and the sides of the tub; the raincoat was soaked red, especially around the collar. The fedora was askew on the battered head.

 

    Gently, Xris removed the hat, to try to get a better look at the injuries. He recoiled in revulsion and shock. Not from the sight of blood or the brutal punishment the small body had taken; Xris had seen people beaten up before. It was the sight of the small body itself.

 

    "Xris?" Harry was getting nervous. "You better hurry. That doorman's been raising hell about our parking in a nopark zone. What's going on? Is the little fellow dead?"

 

    "Beats the hell out of me," Xris said, baffled. "At first I thought his face was smashed in. Now I'm beginning to think he was just born this way."

 

    Kneeling beside the body, Xris put his hand on what he presumed was the neck. He thought he could feel a pulse, but if so, it was faint and thready.

 

    He glanced swiftly around the bathroom, looking for a towel to stanch the bleeding, saw an object on the counter.

 

    His lips tightened. He changed his mind about the towel. Shoving the lasgun into its holster, he went back to the bedroom, yanked a blanket off the bed, returned to the bathroom. He worked swiftly, trying to be gentle, but aware that time was ticking away.

 

    Time for the job. Time for the Little One's life.

 

    He wrapped the small, bloodied body in the blanket, lifted it easily in his arms. Making certain the blanket covered every part of the Little One, Xris carried the empath out of the hotel room. He took the stairs again, figuring the odds of meeting anyone on the fire escape were slim.

 

    "Harry, I'm coming out. I've got the Little One with me. See if you can distract that doorman."

 

    "No need to worry, Xris," Harry returned. "I think he's gone to get the cops."

 

    Xris made it down the stairs and out the door, practically knocked over a couple entering the building. They looked at him and his burden in startled surprise.

 

    "Sick kid," Xris said, barreling past them.

 

    Harry was waiting outside the van. He had the back doors open. Xris laid the Little One inside, then jumped in himself. Harry had already returned to the driver's seat. The van lifted into the air, soared down the block just as the doorman, in company with a traffic cop, rounded the corner.

 

    "So what's happened?" Harry glanced back worriedly at the blanket-covered body. "Is the Little One dead? Where's Raoul?"

 

    "I don't think the little fellow's dead, but he's not all that alive, either. We'll take him back to Quong. If anyone can fix him up, it'll be the Doc. As for Raoul ..." Xris paused, then said, "I found his makeup kit on the bathroom sink."

 

    Harry gave a low whistle, shook his head.

 

    "The room was a mess, like there'd been a fight," Xris continued. "All his clothes are still there."

 

    "Raoul wouldn't go to his own funeral without his makeup kit," Harry observed, glanced sideways at Xris. "Except in this case, maybe?"

 

    "I don't think he's dead." Xris drew the blanket closer around the Little One, tucked it in. "We'd have found Raoul in the same condition as the Little One. The Loti's been snatched. Someone kidnapped Raoul."

 

    Harry was silent a moment, pondering. Then he said, in all seriousness, "But, Xris ... who would want him?"

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

 

 

    It is a bad plan that admits of no modification.

 

    Publitius Syrus, Maxims, 469

 

 

    Who in the universe would want Raoul?

 

    "A good question," Xris admitted.

 

    "You think it's got something to do with this job?"

 

    The thought had already occurred to Xris. He'd discarded the notion before he was halfway out the hotel room.

 

    "Not logical. The people at Olicien sure as hell didn't expect us, did they?"

 

    Harry neatly maneuvered his way around a lumbering truck. "Nope. They were real surprised."

 

    "And if the Royal Navy was on to us--say Wiedermann went crazy and tipped them off--they'd be after me. Raoul's made a lot of enemies over the years, but most of those would want him dead. Why take him alive?"

 

    "Information," Harry guessed. "About us."

 

    Xris shook his head. "You ever try to get information from a Loti? Half of it you can't believe and the other half you don't want to believe. But that's not the problem."

 

    "Yeah." Harry grunted. "The job."

 

    The job. What to do without Raoul and the Little One? Raoul, the charmer, the talker. Raoul, who was supposed to distract the security guard at RFComSec, then shoot him full of dope to keep him from sounding the alarm. And the Little One, who was supposed to read the guard's mind, alert Raoul to possible danger.

 

    Xris glanced down at the small body. Blood was starting to soak through the blanket. If the Little One survived, he wasn't going to be reading anyone's mind today. And who would he cormnunicate with if he did? The Little One never "talked" to anyone except Raoul.

 

    Xris swore softly to himself. He should abort the job right now. End it. Give it up. Call it off. The Olicien people would think it was a bungled robbery, leave it at that. Breaking into RFComSec was too dangerous without Raoul and the Little One.

 

    Too dangerous.

 

    And yet, Xris said to himself, when will I have this chance again?

 

    Olicien would be on their guard after this. Plus the Royal Navy--eternally paranoid--would undoubtedly conclude that this "robbery" had something to do with their top-secret space station. They'd tighten security until not even His Majesty could get on base without being strip-searched. What's worse, the Navy might start asking questions ....

 

    Xris took out a twist, absently chewed on it, stared out the van's window. He was seeing not the Olicien Pest Control factory, which was looming ahead, but another factory. A factory in a swamp. A factory that had become a tomb.

 

    A tomb for the living, as well as the dead.

 

    For though they ternled him "alive," the living Xris, the Xris he had been, was buried in the rubble alongside what remained of Ito.

 

    The van glided to a halt, set down on the tarmac. The rest of the team surged out of the hangar. Xris shoved open the doors.

 

    "Doc!" he called. "Take a look at the Little One. Harry, start the plane up. The rest of you get on board; Doc and I'll be along in a second. Someone's kidnapped Raoul. We'll have to go without him."

 

    Harry came around to the back end of the van. Doc was already inside, examining the Little One. Tycho and Jamil looked at Harry, looked at each other, looked at Xris.

 

    "We are going," Xris said, his voice tight. "We've gone too far to stop now."

 

    The others nodded, left. Xris couldn't tell whether they agreed with him or were simply too well disciplined to argue.

 

    Not that it mattered.

 

    He turned back to the van.

 

    "Holy Master!" he heard Quong say, and the man sounded awed.

 

    "Well, Doc? How is he?" Xris tried to curb his impatience to be gone.

 

    Quong turned. His almond-shaped eyes were wide; his mouth gaped.

 

    "Xris, did you know? He"--the Doc gestured at the Little One--"he is a Tongan! I've never seen one before, but I'd stake my professional career on it."

 

    "I don't care if he's Derek Sagan's grandmother," Xris said acidly. "Is he alive?"  "Yes, but--"

 

    "Can you help him?"

 

    "I think so." Quong sounded dubious. "I don't know that much about Tongan physiology. No human in our profession does. You see, no one's ever had a living specimen to study. Or a dead one, for that matter. No human has ever been allowed on the planet and, so far as I know, not a single Tongan has been permitted off-planet. This is a rare opportunity--"

 

    "Save it for your thesis!" Xris snapped. "Let's get him onto the plane!"

 

    "Certainly, Xris." Quong was calm, efficient. And he was once again eyeing Xris with concern. "If you could carry him. Be careful. Try to support the head .... "

 

    Xris reached down, lifted the Little One in his arms, and stalked off to the spaceplane.

 

    "Good morning, XP-28." Harry eased himself into the pilot's chair in the spaceplane's cockpit. "My name is Harry Luck. I'm the new pilot. You might want to adjust your voice activation to my verbal patterns."

 

    "Good morning, Pilot Luck. Please enter your Olicien authorization number to transfer pilot functions."

 

    Harry took the code card Jamil had obtained in the Olicien offices, slid the card into the console. A series of letters and numbers appeared on the computer screen, flashed on and off. Then came the word: Proceed.

 

    "Pilot Luck," said the computer. "Welcome aboard. You must be a new employee. According to my bioscans, the entire cleaning crew is new. One of your people is injured. Why is this person being brought on board? I recommend that he be left on the ground for treatment."

 

    Xris arrived in the cockpit, pointed grimly to the plane's chronometer. 1030. They were already behind schedule by thirty minutes.

 

    "I have received and duly noted your recommendation, XP-28," Harry said calmly. "One of our people is a doctor. He's treating our friend now. But thank you for your concem. I'm uploading the flight plan, approach vectors, and the authenticity codes for the flight to the space station. Oh, and we're running a bit late. Bypass the fuel conservation program, if you have to, in order to reach RFComSec on time."

 

    The computer hummed to itself a moment, then said, a bit stiffly, "Yes, Pilot Luck. I suppose you will be taking manual control now?"

 

    Harry leaned back comfortably in his chair. "No, no. You handle it."

 

    The computer's screen actually appeared to glow with pleasure.

 

    "It is obvious you are a true professional, Pilot Luck. Unlike others I could mention. I perceive no difficulty in making up the time. In fact, I could get us there twenty minutes ahead of schedule."

 

    "Uh, no," Harry said hastily. "They might not be ready for us. We'd only have to sit in the docking bay and wait."

 

    "I understand. Please strap yourselves in. We will be taking off in ten minutes. I'll be leaving you now, to begin prelaunch cycle."

 

    "It's all yours," Harry said complacently.

 

    The computer busied itself. The hatch sealed shut, lights came on. Life-support began its comforting hiss.

 

    "Some pilot you are," Xris muttered, taking advantage of the delay to change into the bright yellow coverails. "Sitting there doing nothing. I thought you hated letting computers run things."

 

    Harry shrugged. "In some cases. In this one, I've made the computer my friend."

 

    "True. I thought we were in for a fight there."

 

    "We would have been, with an old XJ model. Those independent-minded computers were a pain in the ass. These XP-28s ..." Harry gave the computer a pat on its console. "You just have to know how to handle them. Most pilots don't. They refuse to relinquish control. Which makes no sense. The computer can handle the mundane stuff--takeoff, landing, routine flights--more efficiently than any human pilot. And, as you can see, it gets a real ego boost. I always work this way with an XP-28. From now on, I can do no wrong."

 

     Xris granted and ripped a seam out of the shoulder. He was far bigger than the last man to wear this bug outfit.

 

    Harry cast an admiring glance at the cargo plane's cadaverous, ugly, utilitarian interior. "This plane is a beauty, Xris. I don't suppose we could keep it? I could give it a new paint job."

 

    "We're going to be in enough trouble already. If anything goes wrong at RFComSec, every ship in the Navy will be on the alert for this craft. We'll use it to throw off pursuit. Once we reach home, we'll set the plane on autopilot and send it back."

 

    "A real shame." Harry sighed.

 

    Xris took over the copilot's seat, swiveled around.

 

    The plane's interior was dark, green, and smelled of chemicals and grease. Since the plane's main function was to transport cargo on short hops, passenger comfort was not a priority. There were no windows, except in the cockpit. Large tracks, designed to wheel heavy equipment on and off, ran from the tail section, down the center, almost to the cockpit. Passengers and crew sat on metal-frame seats bolted to the bulkheads or rested in metal-frame cots attached in the same manner. It was in one of these that Xris had laid the Little One. They had stowed the bug-'bot (as Tycho called them) maintenance machinery in the rear. Everyone was now strapped in, ready for takeoff.

 

    "How's the Little One, Doc?"

 

    "He'll live. His people apparently have remarkably thick skulls. A blow like that would have pulverized mine. His is cracked, but not seriously. He's lost a lot of blood and he's going to be unconscious for a while, but he'll wake up with no more than a nasty headache."

 

    "Not in the middle of the raid, I presume?"

 

    "Unlikely. We'll be leaving him on board?"

 

    Xris nodded. The spaceplane lifted off, began rocketing through the atmosphere. The Olicien Pest Control Company was suddenly a bright yellow patch on the fast-receding ground. No one spoke until the plane had cleared the planet's atmosphere, was heading for the Lanes, where they would make the jump to hyperspace. Star-studded blackness surrounded them. At that point, the computer switched off the main thrusters and it was possible to hear again.

 

    Jamil asked the questions that were on everyone's mind. "So what's the change in plan? How do we manage without the charmer and the erapath? Who's going to keep the guard occupied?"

 

    "Harry will take Raoul's place," Xris said.

 

    Harry blinked. He looked as if he'd been hit over the head with a plastisteel pipe. "What? Me? But--"

 

    "It makes sense," Xris continued. "I want you to stick close to the spaceplane so that if anything does go wrong, you can reach it before all hell breaks loose. As for the guard, just talk to him, that's all."

 

    "But I don't have the drug!" Harry protested. "Raoul was supposed to drug the guy!"

 

    "You've got the hypno-spray--"

 

     "Yeah, right. Some iron-guts Marine lets me waltz up and shove an aerosol can in his face! Right!" Harry was bitter.

 

    "You'll think of something," Xris said curtly.

 

    Unstrapping himself, he headed back to the rear cargo bay to double-check the equipment. The others exchanged glances. Discussion over. Quong shook his head.

 

    "Pilot Luck," said the computer, "we are coming up on the Lanes. Would you care to review my calculations for the jump to hyperspace?" "Uh, yeah. Sure." Glumly, Harry returned to his duties. The spaceplane made the jump. The team members were, for the most part, silent. Xris had not returned from the rear cargo bay area. They could see him, an indistinct shadow brightened by occasional glints of ambient light off metal. They could all smell the rank tobacco smoke. They all concluded rightly--that he wanted to be left alone.

 

    Quong remained near the Little One. The empath had not regained consciousness. The doctor took the opportunity to examine his comatose patient. Speaking into a handheld recorder, he entered all his newly discovered information on the physiology of a Tongan.

 

    Jamil found a cot, stretched out for a nap.

 

    Harry, hunched morosely in the pilot's seat, was playing games with the computer.

 

    Tycho came forward, tossed avid cassette in Harry's lap. "Here, I found this when I was back at the bug place. I figured I'd give it to Raoul, but it looks like maybe you could use it."

 

    Harry picked up the vid, glanced at the title and groaned.

 

    Fleas: The Immortal Enemy.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

 

 

    When the speed of rushing water reaches the point where it can move boulders, this is momentum.

 

    Sun Tzu, The Art of War

 

 

    "Pilot Luck, we are entering the one-light-year exclusion zone around the RFComSec space station. I have already obtained preliminary clearance through flight operations, but security would like to speak to the person in charge. They have scanned us," the computer added with maddening complacency, "and they have some questions."

 

    Harry glanced at Xris, seated in the copilot's chair.

 

    "Relax. I expected as much." Xris leaned forward. "Put me through."

 

    The computer complied and the next voice they heard was RFComSec.

 

    "Olicien Two Five Niner, this is Approach Control. Are you receiving me?"

 

    Xris spoke calmly. "This is Olicien Two Five Niner. We are on approach to your station on our regularly scheduled pest extermination visit. We've given you the security passwords and clearances. Is there a problem, Approach Control?"

 

    "No, Olicien Two Five Niner. All that's fine. But according to our scans, you're not the regular crew, plus you're short-handed. There's normally seven."

 

    "Approach Control, the regular crew has been stranded on Clinius. They were doing a job on that planet when their ship was struck by lightning. Fried the electrical circuitry. My crew was the only crew with the requisite clearances to act as replacements for this one trip,"

 

    Xris chewed on a twist. If Approach Control was the least bit suspicious and tried to check up on them through Olicien, this trip was going to be a short one. But he was counting on the fact that this sort of incident couldn't be all that unusual. In twenty years of flea eradication, there must have been times when the regular crew didn't show. Danm it, it wasn't that big a deal!

 

     Let it go right, Xris pleaded silently with Fate. You owe me this one. Let it go__

 

     "Olicien Two Five Niner, you are cleared to Shuttle Bay One."

 

    Harry exhaled loudly. "You know the procedure, XP-28. Take us in."

 

    Quong came forward into the cockpit, a subcutaneous inserter in his hand. "Gentlemen, it is time for me to insert the communicators."

 

    Harry grimaced, rubbed the back of his neck. "Jeez, I hate those damn things! It hurts like hell going in and I always end up with a rash. I think I'm allergic. Why can't we just use our regular commlinks?"

 

    "Because the real exterminators wouldn't have sophisticated equipment like that," Xris answered. "We didn't find any type of communication devices in the equipment they had ready to load on board. It's likely they just use the station's internal communication system. Make sure, when you talk into these, that no one hears you."

 

    "I know. I know," Harry grumbled. "But won't they hear us anyway? I mean, with all the fancy scanning equipment they've got on board, aren't they likely to pick up our signal?"

 

    "The odds are against it." Jamil joined them in the cockpit. "Remember, the arrival of the exterminators on RFComSec is a common occurrence. People are used to it; they're complacent. They won't be looking for trouble and unless you're scanning specifically for this type of transmission, you won't find it."

 

    "It's a chance we'll have to take. Which means we keep communication down to the bare minimum. High urgency/ need-to-know only. Besides"--Xris patted Harry on the knee--"you're going to keep the guard so enthralled with your scintillating conversation that he wouldn't notice a direct hit from a plasma cannon."

 

    "Yeah." Harry snorted. He flinched when Quong placed the cold metal inserter on his skin behind his ear, yelped when the device went in. "It's the sound I hate. Thump! Like it hits bone or something."

 

    "It's all in your head," Quong said, and laughed loudly at his own joke.

 

    He was the only one. Harry didn't get it. Xris didn't hear it. He was staring fixedly at the space station. "Xris ..."

 

    He glanced around. "What? Did you say something, Doc?"

 

    "I'll need to make adjustments to your receiver to put you on the same frequency," Quong repeated patiently. He'd said the same thing three times now.

 

    Xris tilted his head. The Doc depressed a tiny button in back of the cyborg's left ear, opened a small panel. Using minuscule, delicate tools, Quong made the necessary adjustments.

 

    "Okay, boss. Give it a try."

 

    "Right, listen up. Does everybody hear me?"

 

    Harry nodded, grumbled. "Yeah. It tickles. I hate that damn tickle."

 

    Tycho's voice reverberated in Xris's ear. "Check."

 

    Jamil came in next.

 

    Quong confirmed his with a quick nod. He snapped shut the panel.

 

    "What do you want me to do with the Little One?"

 

    "Leave him here. He'll be all right, won't he?"

 

    "Yes, but that wasn't what I meant. Surely someone on that station is going to ask why only five of us show up for work when they've scanned six life-forms on board."

 

    Xris swore to himself and at himself. I should have considered that, already made plans. I'm slipping. Too emotionally involved. Yeah, I'm emotionally involved!

 

    He made a pretense of running a systems check on his cybernetic ann.

 

    "Good thinking, Doc. Bandage up the little guy's face real good. Hide the bloodstained raincoat and hat. Cover him with a blanket. I'll feed them a line if they ask."

 

    Quong departed. The others stood around, stating at him.

 

    Concerned.

 

    Xris glanced at them irritably. "You guys got nothing better to do?"

 

    They filtered out.

 

    "Coming up on the thousand-kilometer marker, Pilot Luck," the computer reported.

 

    The thousand-kilometer marker was a small navigational buoy placed in the approach lane to guide incoming vessels. Acting as guide was apparently not its only function, however. Strobe lights began to flash.

 

    "We are being scanned, Pilot Luck," XP-28 informed them.

 

    "I thought we'd already been scanned," Harry protested.

 

    "They're looking for weapons," Xris said briefly.

 

    "Well, they won't find any on board this plane," Harry stated with an accusatory glance at Xris. "They're all stacked neatly in that bloody hangar back at Olicien."

 

    Xris smiled, shrugged. Leaving the weapons behind had been--and obviously still was--a sore point. When he'd first mentioned that the team would have to enter the facility weaponless ("Naked!" Tycho said indignantly), Xris was afraid he'd have to either call off the project or find a different team. Harry had balked, Tycho and Jamil had argued vehemently. Even Quong, who generally obeyed orders with cold-blooded mechanical precision, had expressed doubts.

 

    "If everything goes according to plan," Xris had argued patiently, "we won't need weapons. I don't want to take the chance of an innocent person getting hurt. We'll be long gone before anyone ever figures out something's wrong. We stroll in, stroll out. An hour after we've left, Dalin Rowan drops dead. Cause: unknown." This part of the plan had not met with general enthusiasm. "And if something does go wrong?" Jamil had asked. "The station is crawling with armed Marines," Xris had replied lightly. "You won't have any trouble finding weapons."

 

    "We just can't shoot anyone," Jamil had said glumly.

 

    "Right."

 

    The cargo plane flew slowly past the marker.

 

    Xris reached in his pocket, pulled out a twist, and lit it. The statement that there were no weapons on board wasn't quite accurate. Tycho had brought along the duonamic sights. Xris was armed. His weapons hand and its assorted devices were packed into his leg compartment. Shielded, of course, but a truly sophisticated scanner might just pick them up ....

 

    Olicien Two Five Niner set off no alarms.

 

    RFComSec rotated like a pinwheel in space. The central hub, bristling with conununications antennae, transmitters, receivers, was brightly lit. Four arms extended from the hub to an outer ring. This ring--the living area for the three thousand residents of RFComSec--was dark by comparison. Only a few sporadic tiny specs of light, shining through windows, glittered against the darkness.

 

    "Cutting engines," the computer announced. "We will coast in until the magnetic tractor beams lock on." A slight jolt indicated that this had occurred.

 

    "Olicien Two Five Niner," came a voice, "you are now under station control."

 

    Soon, Xris told himself, almost shaking with excitement. In maybe thirty minutes or less, I'll be face-to-face with Dalin Rowan.

 

    He could swear that he could see Ito's face floating in front of him.

 

    At the hub's center, a door one hundred meters wide and fifty meters tall began to open. The spaceplane glided into the aperture. The plane's metallic skin shimmered with the reflected energy of the atmospheric integrity force field, which maintained the atmosphere inside the station during the time shuttle bay doors were open. Once the craft was inside, control personnel guided the spaceplane slowly to the middle of the bay, rotated it, and set it down.

 

    Looking out the plane's viewscreen, Xris read, in Startø dard Military, the words: Unsecured. Quarantine.

 

    "Damn!" he muttered, blowing smoke. "Quarantine! We've been scanned. Why the hell are we being quarantined?"

 

    "Maybe they're looking for bugs?" Harry chortled. He prodded the cyborg. "That's a joke."

 

    "Computer, is this standard procedure?" Xris snapped, in no mood for humor.

 

    "Yes, sir. We normally enter this area. The plane and its cargo are checked by security. The equipment is scanned here, then the plane is moved over to the loading dock. It's routine."

 

    Routine! Xris stared at the yellow markings. at the steel doors that were now rumbling shut. Ito's face disappeared.

 

    I should have asked about the routine, Xris told himself. The one member of the flight crew who has been here-probably a hundred times or more--is the XP-28 flight cornputer. I should have taken the time during the flight to find out from the computer exactly what the landing procedure was. It's what I would have done on any other job. Another error in judgment.

 

    "Go on back, tell the rest what's going on, and see if they need help with the equipment," Xris told Harry. "I'll be there in a minute."

 

    Harry hesitated, then said softly, "Sure, Xris." He unstrapped his harness and left.

 

    "So far, I've been lucky," Xris said aloud to nobody. "The next mistake I make could be the last mistake I make."

 

    He unclipped the shoulder harnesses holding him into the copilot's chair, stood up, and moved back to the cargo area.

 

    "Don't worry. There won't be another," he said to himself--and to the memory of Mashahiro Ito.

 

    The team was assembled, all wearing their yellow coveralls with the large black beetle and OLICIEN PEST CONTROL erablazoned on the back. The Little One, his extraordinarily ugly and battered face concealed by bandages, slept soundly on the cot. Quong had bundled the erapath in bulky blankets to conceal his small stature. The bloodstained fedora and the raincoat had been safely stowed away in a locked compartment.

 

    "Everyone know what he has to do?" Xris glanced around.

 

    They all replied in the affirmative. Calm. They were all confident, self-possessed, calm. Xris envied them.

 

    "This is it, then," he continued. "Harry, go back to the cockpit. Take the plane to the loading dock, then head up to central security ops and start shinoozing about fleas. Computer, open the cargo bay hatch."

 

    The hatch opened. The loading ramp descended to the deck of the shuttle bay. A Marine lieutenant, backed up by a detail of six armed soldiers, was there waiting for them. The ramp thudded into place. The lieutenant motioned for the pest control team to join him. They all clumpPal down the ramp.

 

    "Who's in chargeT' the lieutenant asked.

 

    "I am," Xris said, stepping forward. He extended his good hand. "Aaron Schwartz."

 

    The lieutenant shook hands cordially, glanced at Xris with only minimal curiosity. The Marine had obviously seen his share of eyborgs.

 

    The yellow coverails effectively hid Xris's metal leg. He had attached his tool hand, however, equipped with drill and screwdriver and other instruments--routine, with one small exception. The thumb was a special design, housed a tiny needle. When activated by contact. the needle popped out, injected a delayed-action lethal drug.

 

    "I see you've got a new team this time, Schwartz." The lieutenant was relaxed, jovial, obviously thankful for any excuse to break the monotonous duty on this isolated space station. "So Kloosterman and Lypps got stranded on Clinius, did they? Poor bastards. Dullest planet in the galaxy. And you got tagged for this detail."

 

    "Yes, sir. We were the only ones available who were cleared for the job." Xris gestured behind him. "You want to look over our equipment?"

 

    The lieutenant gave it a bored glance. "Maybe a quick look. Just to make sure you guys aren't trying to smuggle jump-juice in here." He laughed. Xris gave a polite chuckle.

 

    The lieutenant did a head count. "Our scans indicated six life-forms. Who's still on board?"

 

    "My pilot is waiting to move the plane over to the docks, and I've got an injured crew member. The load shifted when we made the jump. He got clonked a good one."

 

    The lieutenant was concerned. 'Tll summon a medic."

 

    "Won't be necessary, sir, thanks. He's out cold."

 

    "But it won't be any trouble," the lieutenant persisted. "Our doctor could check him over while you work."

 

    "One of our guys is an EMT. He bandaged him up. It's not really necessary to bother your medical staff. Besides, technically he was injured on Olicien property. The company's responsible. Your people would have to fill out a diskload of forms, what with worker's comp, insurance, medical release waivers. It wouldn't be worth the hassle just for a bump on the head."

 

    "You've got a point." The lieutenant considered the situation a moment, wrote down something on his electronic notepad. He showed it to Xris, offered an electronic pen. "I've made a notation that I offered medical treatment and that you refused. If you'd sign here..."

 

    Xris did so, solemnly scrawling the name "Aaron Schwartz" on the line indicated.

 

    "There. That should satisfy the authorities." The lieutenant smiled, relieved. "Sergeant, take your detail on board."

 

    The soldiers trooped up the ramp. Jamil and the others moved to one side to let them past. A few of the Marines gave Tycho an odd look. The chameleon's skin had, unfortunately, changed to the same obnoxious yellow color as his coverails.

 

    Five minutes later, the Marines exited the plane. The sergeant made his report.

 

    "Nothing out of the ordinary, Lieutenant. All the equipment checks out. The injured man seems okay. He's asleep. I didn't want to disturb him."

 

    The lieutenant turned back to Xris. "Very well, Schwartz. Move your plane over to loading dock 28L. The sergeant here will escort you gentlemen to that location to unload your gear, then on to Engineering. Clear?"

 

    "Yes, sir. Thanks." Xris yelled up to Tycho, who had keyed the intercom button on the door control. "Tell Harry he has clearance to move into loading dock 28L. We'll meet him there."

 

    Tycho solemnly repeated the message via the spaceplane's comm, although Harry had already heard everything over his own internal coremlink.

 

    The spaceplane lifted from the deck and glided smoothly forward.

 

    The lieutenant spoke a few words to the sergeant, then headed for the exit. The sergeant ordered one of his men to stay with the team, and dismissed the rest.

 

    "Good hunting, Schwartz," the sergeant said, smiling.

 

    "Thanks for the help, Sergeant."

 

    The sergeant left. Xris and his team, accompanied by a young Marine, were marched over to loading dock 28L. They found the plane there ahead of them, settled on the deck in the designated area. Harry lowered the cargo ramp.

 

    Jamil, Tycho, and Quong located several floating air-carts, activated them, and took them up the ramp into the spaceplane. Harry joined Xris on the deck. The escort Marine stood several meters away, his beam rifle carelessly slung over his shoulder. He was relaxed, interested in the proceedings, which were a change from boring routine. He certainly wasn't expecting trouble.

 

    In low tones, Harry asked, "Everything go okay?"

 

    "So far."

 

    Tycho and Jamil appeared, pushing air-carts loaded with equipment down the ramp.

 

    Quong shoved the last cart out of the plane. He reached over to the control panel to close the hatch.

 

    Xris waved, caught the Doc's attention. The hatch took twenty seconds to cycle through before it opened. Those twenty seconds might mean the difference between life and death if they had to make a fast exit.

 

    Quong left the hatch open, the ramp in place, and joined the others on the loading dock.

 

    "We're all set to go, boss," Jamil said loudly.

 

    The Marine glanced back at the spaceplane. "You're not going to shut the hatch, sir?"

 

    Xris grinned. "Why, kid? You afraid someone's gonna steal my plane?"

 

    The Marine stared, momentarily taken aback. Then he laughed, somewhat shamefacedly. "No, sir. I guess not. If you'll follow me. Oh, and, uh, sir. I'm sorry, but smoking's not permitted anywhere in the space station."

 

    Xris had the twist in his mouth. He started to offer his customary explanation that he wasn't going to smoke the damn thing, then decided it would be easier to put the twist away. He didn't want trouble of any sort.

 

    He and Harry helped push the heavily loaded carts. Xris paired himself up with Jamil, the only ex-military man among them. They exited the loading dock, entered the space station interior.

 

    Wide double doors led into a faintly lit access corridor. Pipes and cables were visible overhead, providing heat, power, oxygen, and other services. The walls were painted white. Emergency oxygen stations and fire-fighting equipment were mounted in compartments in the wall every twenty meters. The team moved along in single file behind the Marine.

 

    They passed two more sets of double doors, marked by signs in Standard Military. The first read SS-SIGINT 2--2 and the other HS-SIGINT.

 

    Xris, mentally going over the layout of the space station, tried to get a fix on their location. "What does that mean?" he asked Jamil, not bothering to lower his voice. With the rattle of the equipment and the whoosh of air from the cart, the cyborg wasn't worried about being overheard.

 

    "Siglnt stands for 'Signal Intelligence,'" Jamil returned. "I don't know what the other letters mean."

 

    "Let's hope it isn't important."

 

    The access corridor opened into a large, brightly lit work area. Overhead cranes were built into tracks in the ceiling. Huge metal-paneled doors lined the walls. Yellow and black floor markings were covered by puddles of greenish motor oil.

 

    "Please wait here, sir," the Marine instructed. 'Tll inform Commander Drake that you've arrived."  The Marine left.

 

    "This is Engineering," said Jamil.

 

    Xris marked it on his mental map.

 

    Moments later, pistons hissing, the metal doors along the right side began to open. Looking through them, Xris spotted some of the most important units in the space station-water pumps. Water was a highly valuable resource in space, second only to air. The air exchangers were located here. too, along with the myriad other machines all designed tO keep the living inside the space station alive.

 

    The Marine returned, accompanied by a short, stocky, muscular man wearing regulation coverails with commander's tabs on the collar. He smiled broadly, shook hands all around.

 

    "Greetings, gentlemen. I'm Bradley Drake, chief plant engineeL"

 

    "Aaron Schwartz. We're here to perform the routine maintenance on the exterminator drones and to restock their chemical supply."

 

    "Sure, same as usual," said the commander. "You guys are new here. Do you know where to find everything?"

 

    "Actually, no. The regular team was stranded on Clinius, no way to brief us. If you could show us where the 'bot control station is located and, uh, this man here" he indicated Harry--"needs to be escorted to the central security station."

 

    Xris could almost see everyone in the team tense up. This was the crucial part of the entire operation. If the commander balked, they were in trouble.

 

    As it was, Drake did appear startled by the request. "Why do you need a man at security? That's not normally part of your routine."

 

    Xris nodded. "We're installing a new software maintenance release in the exterminator 'bots. If they stray during testing, they're liable to set off your alarms, and we don't want some trigger-happy Marine to vaporize them. I don't suppose the Navy'd be thrilled about having to pay for replacements."

 

    "Right, right. I see your point. The private"--Drake indicated the young Marine--"will take your man to security. I'll let them know he's coming. You'll find the bug-'bot station over there, by Air Exchanger Three next to the bulkhead. Let me know if you have any problems."

 

    The commander returned to his office. Harry, looking nervous, grabbed a tool box and left with the Marine.

 

    Xris motioned for the rest of the team to follow him, headed for the service area--a computer station located near a major air exchange unit. Three large air conduits, over a meter in diameter, entered the exchanger. From there, the conduits branched out, stopped at various access ports throughout the station.

 

    "You're in charge, Quong," Xris told him.

 

    The Doc moved over to the computer, began tapping on the keyboard. After studying it a moment, he turned to the others.

 

    "According to Xris's information, there are twenty-eight exterminator robots roaming around the facility, inside the air ducts. We bring them down through that conduit there to check their programming, update it if necessary, and replenish their chemical supply. Jamil, you and Tycho remove the air duct access ports. I've called 'bots one, two, and three down for servicing."

 

    A large metal conduit, attached to the air ducts, canted downward at a gentle slope, ending at deck level. A large metal plug sealed it shut. Tycho and Jamil removed the plug just as the first 'bot rumbled down the conduit and exited onto the floor. The 'bot was cylindrical in shape, moved on crawler tracks, and didn't look particularly intelligent.

 

    Jamil hooked up the hose from the chemical tank on his cart to 'bot one. As he refilled its tanks, Tycho ran the selfcheck program built into the unit. That was routine. What wasn't routine was the placement of a microchip specially designed by Quong. Minuscule in size and perfectly harmless--unless activated--one microchip inside the 'bot's complex inner workings would never be noticed.

 

    By the time the team had finished with the first 'bot, numbers two and three had arrived. Quong ordered robot one back into the duct. Tycho placed identical microchips in 'bots two and three.

 

    'Bot five had just been serviced when Xris heard a beep in his ear. He looked around. Station personnel were moving through the work area, going about their business. No one was paying any attention to the exterminators.  Xris activated the comm. "Xris here."

 

    "Harry here. I'm in the can just outside security. I'm surrounded! Two guys are working the computers and monitors and that damned Marine's still with me. Nobody told him he could go home, so he's sticking to my ass like one of those fleas I was reading about. I'm surprised he's not inside the stall with me. What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

 

    Raoul, where are you when I need you? Xris asked silently. The charming Loti would have sent the Marine out for coffee and a sandwich, kept the security officers sniggering at the latest Adonian ribald jokes, while artlessly leading the conversation around to FCWing. ("I heard the juiciest rumor about one of our employees and one of yours. Doing something more than killing bugs, if you know what I mean! He worked in ... let me see ... somewhere called FCWing. Yes! In the women's restroom, no less!")

 

    And while the security officers were thinking about FCWing, the Little One would have sucked their minds dry.

 

    "Harry, we've been through this." Xris remembered to be patient. "Tell the security personnel you've got to keep an eye on these 'bors and in order to do that you have to know where the conduits run. Have security pull up floor plans, and study them. When you come to one called CCA-2 FCWing, let me know where it's located."

 

    "Okay, right." Harry sounded glum. "I'll give it a try. Out."

 

    Xris shook his head, turned to Quong. "This may take a while, Doc. Once you've serviced 'bot fifteen, slow down a bit. Buy us some time."

 

    Quong passed the word to Tycho and Jamil, who began to ease up. They had just serviced 'bot twenty, with no word from Harry, when Quong tapped Xris on the shoulder.

 

    "Here comes trouble," the Doc warned under his breath.

 

    Commander Drake had emerged from his office. "You guys are running a little behind schedule."

 

    "It's this new software upgrade," Xris explained. "It's taking a while to install--" His commlink buzzed in his ear.

 

    "Xris!" It was Harry.

 

    "Maybe you should explain this to me." Drake was talking at the same time.

 

    Xris looked blank. "Did you say something, Commander?"

 

    Drake raised his voice. "I was saying maybe--"

 

    "Sorry, Commander!" Xris shook his head violently, tapped on his ear. "My heating unit appears to have shorted out. If you don't mind, I'll go fix it. Aleko here will answer your questions." Tycho, taking the hint, pounced on Drake, began talking. "We're updating the maneuver routines in the robots, Commander. The plan is to allow one 'bot to go to the aid of another 'hot if it finds a large breeding nest. We figure that this will increase the effectiveness of the program immensely. Have the fleas been bad lately?"

 

    Xris moved off, keeping a close watch on Drake. Fortunately, the commander was more interested in fleas than in malfunctioning cyborgs.

 

    "Xris here. What's up, Harry?" Xris asked in a low voice, cupping his hand over his ear.

 

    "I think I've got a fix on that location for you. Lima Three Niner, Deck Eight. If FCWing's not there, it's real close."

 

    "Right. Harry, pay close attention to the monitors. There's going to be some activity up there, so be prepared to handle it. I can't talk anymore. We've got company." Xris cut off Harry's protest.

 

    "We've been having a problem with the fleas down here," Drake was saying to Tycho. "The filters catch them in the air exchangers and they're breeding--"

 

    Xris returned. "If you don't mind, Commander, we are running behind schedule and my men need to get back to work."

 

    "You want me out of the way." Drake smiled broadly. "I understand. Stop by my office before you leave, if you have time. The other crew usually does. I've got hot tea, fresh doughnuts."

 

    "Sure thing, sir. Thanks," Xris said, and watched the commander walk off.

 

    A nice guy. Xris hoped like hell nothing would go wrong. He turned to Quong, who was scratching at his neck.

 

    "With all this talk of fleas, I'm starting to itch."

 

    "It's all in your head. Listen, I've had word from Harry.

 

    Lima Three Niner, Deck Eight."

 

    Quong ran a check. "That area's serviced by 'bot eleven---one Tycho's already 'fixed.'"

 

    Xris breathed a sigh. That would save time. His luck was holding.

 

    "I'll start the malfunction cycle." Quong pulled out a handheld minicomputer from the pocket of his coverails.

 

    He tapped in several commands, extended the small antenna, and transmitted instructions. Several seconds later, the microchip that Tycho had installed into the 'bot's control circuitry responded.

 

    "All systems go," the Doe announced.

 

    A minute passed. Xris glanced at Quong.

 

    "Don't worry, Xris. It'll work."

 

    Tycho and Jamil continued to perform their chores on the 'bots, but both kept an eye on Quong's computer.

 

    Another minute passed. Xris looked back at Drake's ofrice. The door remained shut. Another minute ...

 

    Commander Drake burst out of his office, waving his arms to attract their attention. He began shouting at them when he was still about twenty meters distant.

 

    Xris ceased work, loped toward him. "What is it, Commander? What's all the excitement?"

 

    "Security called. One of your 'bots is malfunctioning! It's dumped its chemicals. The stuff's dripping down out of the ceiling into the offices! Is it poisonous? Should I evacuate personnel?"

 

    "No, sir!" Xris said hastily, not having foreseen such a drastic response. "No need to evacuate anyone. The chemicals are perfectly safe. Unless you're a flea," he added with a grin that he hoped didn't look as corpselike as it felt.

 

    Drake wasn't amused. "Well, toxic or not, that gunk's liable to get into the computer systems. You better take care of it."

 

    "Yes, sir. We can probably fix it from the station."

 

    Xris moved back to Quong. Drake tromped along behind, breathing down his neck. "One of the 'bots is malfunctioning. See if you can bring it up on the screen."

 

    "Sure thing. Where is the 'bot located, Commander?"

 

    "FCWing."

 

    "And where's that, sir?"

 

    "Lima Three Niner, Deck Eight. It should be in the ducting off junction three-eighty-one."

 

    Quong brought up the control routine for 'bot eleven. He tapped keys, gloomily shook his head.

 

    "It doesn't seem to be responding. I can't gain control from here." He glanced at Xris. "You'll have to go fix it by hand." Drake frowned. "That's a secure area. I'm not sure--" "Excuse me, Commander," Jamil intervened. "But if this 'bot is dumping its chemicals, it's probably shorting out. Which means it could lose its programming and take off on its own. If it starts wandering around the air ducts, we might never find it. It might crash into something vital."

 

    Drake looked worried. "Right, I see your point." He thought a moment. "Why don't you give me instructions on how to fix it. I'll go--"

 

    "It takes special tools. I'll have to train you--"

 

    "There's no time for that, Schwartz," Quong yelled. "The 'bot's starting to veer off course!"

 

    Drake looked frazzled. He could handle an enemy bombardment. A runaway bug-'bot was something new in his experience. "Hell! Wait a minute. I'll get someone to escort you."

 

    The commander bellowed. Everyone in the area halted, froze. The commander bellowed again, this time added a name.

 

    A short man in Navy coverails jerked his head up, waved in response, came trotting over.

 

    "Technician Collins." Drake performed hurried introductions. "Schwartz here's got a malfunctioning 'bot. Take him up to FCWing. Help out if he needs it."

 

    "Yes, sir. Schwartz, if you'll follow me ..."

 

    Xris had to restrain himself from grinning widely at the others. Looking serious and stern, he grabbed a tool box from the cart, followed the technician.

 

    Behind him, Commander Drake called out, "Good hunting, Schwartz."

 

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

 

 

    When the speed of the hawk is such that it can strike and kill, this is precision.

 

    Sun Tzu, The Art of War

 

 

    Outside the work area, Xris and his escort entered a corridor with dim lighting, white walls that ended in a T-junction. The teeh turned left, punched an elevator button.

 

    "Deck Eight," Collins commanded when the lift arrived and he and Xris were inside.

 

    The doors opened onto another corridor that looked exactly like the first, except that this one had a large "8" stenciled on the wall and a sign reading: SECURE AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

 

    "'Tll need to stay with you at all times, sir," said the tech.

 

    Yes, well, that was going to be a small problem.

 

    Xris smiled, nodded, said nothing.

 

    Collins took the first corridor they came to, which branched to the left. He stopped in front of the second door on the right. The computerized sign above the door read FCWlNG.

 

    Alarms on Xris's cybemetic arm started beeping, LEDs flashed red.

 

    The tech glanced at him in astonishment.

 

    Xris jerked up the sleeve of his coverails, made a quick adjustment of the fluid levels to the hydraulics. His heart was pumping like a photon combustion chamber. "All fine now," Xris said.

 

    The technician raised an eyebrow, but placed one hand on the security pad to the right of the door, held up a pass with the other. "Collins, Maintenance, Access Two Eight One Alpha Two."

 

    The door opened.

 

    The tech entered, Xris almost tripping on his heels.

 

    The room was softly lit, glowed with the eerie light of innumerable computer screens of various shapes and sizes. Xris's augmented hearing caught the soft hum of the machinery that was banked along a wall to his right.

 

    The center of the room contained several work desks. Xris recognized standard data- and commlink receivers and transmitters, digital state diagrams, and three-dimensional holographic data abstraction diagrams--all had been hastily shoved aside. A puddle of orangish, greenish liquid-dripping from the ceiling--had accumulated on the desk and was slowly starting to ooze to the floor.

 

    A man, standing beside the desk, was staring up at the ceiling in baffled astonishment. A woman was on the comm, yelling at security.

 

    Xris gave the woman a close scrutiny, comparing her to the picture of Darlene Mohini burned into his brain. It wasn't her.

 

    He glanced swiftly around the room.

 

    On the left-hand side was a wall with a single door. The wall was plastered with electronic scratch boards. Across them were drawn mathematical equations, bits of computer code, diagrams, and sketches of equipment. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Xris could have sworn he recognized the neat, precise handwriting. He looked again at the door.

 

    It was shut. But another computerized sign on the wall beside it flashed: CCA-2. Xris heard Wiedermann's reedy voice echo in his mind. Her job description reads: CCA-2. Clerical work, maybe. We have no idea what CCA stands for, but a level 2 employee ...

 

    "I'm from Olicien Pest Control," Xris began. The words came out a croak and he was forced to stop to cough, clear his throat. "It looks as if you've found our malfunctioning 'bot."

 

    "Is that what it is?" The man, stating at the ceiling, shook his head. "I never would have guessed."

 

    "Who would? One of those damn bug-'bots," said the woman, from her position next to the comm. "And you said it was the toilets backing up."

 

    "So? What do I know?" The man glared at Xris. "You gonna fix it or what?"

 

    The woman remained standing next to the comm. Xris discovered that his metal hand had clenched into a fist. He made a conscious effort to relax. He had to get rid of these two and the tech.

 

    Dalin Rowan was in that office. Xris knew it as surely as he knew he was trapped inside his damn metal body. And he wondered why, with all the commotion, Rowan hadn't come out to investigate. A thought chilled him. Maybe Rowan was on coffee break. Lunch break. Gone to powder her nose...

 

    Xris had a sudden memory of his friend--hunched over a computer, rapt, enthralled, completely oblivious to anything happening around him. Once they'd been caught in a firefight, forced to shoot it out with some goons. Rowan, breaking into the computer, had been negotiating a maze of security traps in an effort to crack the system. The goons attacked. Laser beams flashed around him. He kept working. He'd won a commendation for bravery. Only he and Xris and Ito knew--and often joked about it later--that Rowan hadn't even been aware a firefight was going on. "Who's in there?" Xris asked, pointing at the ccA-2 sign. The woman followed his gaze. "That's Major Mohini's office. We didn't want to interrupt her work. But perhaps I better tell her--" She started toward the door.

 

    "No, that won't be necessary," Xris intervened. "The problem's out here."

 

    Moving to the desk, he noticed a splotch of green on the sleeve of the man's uniform. "You didn't get any of this on your skin, did you?"

 

    The man glanced down. "Well, some of it splashed onto my hand and the back of my neck, but--"  "Is it toxic?" The woman was alarmed.

 

    Xris had no idea whether it was or not, but this was too good to pass up.

 

    "Look, I don't want to frighten you," he began in a calm, soothing tone guaranteed to scare the hell out of everyone. "But you better get to the washroom. Scrub that stuff off. Use strong soap. Does it burn or itch? You're not dizzy, are you?"

 

    "Well ... maybe a little ..." The man was gulping, rubbing at his hand. "And it ... it is beginning to burn--" Xris turned to the other two. "Take him to the john. Washthat stuff off him. Then get him to sick bay. You both better go with him. He may feel faint."

 

    The woman hurried to help her friend.

 

    "I'm nauseous," he said in a quavering voice. "I'm not sure I can walk."

 

    "Lean on me," the woman told him.

 

    "You better go, too," Xris told the tech.

 

    "But I'm not supposed to leave you--"

 

    "If he keels over, she'll never be able to hold him up." Xris moved closer to the tech, spoke in low, urgent tones. "You've got to rinse the skin with water and soap within five minutes or that stuff can seep into the bloodstream. And then ..." He shrugged. The tech wavered.

 

    "I feel sick." The man rocked on his feet.

 

    Either the stuff was toxic or he was extremely susceptible to the power of suggestion. The woman struggled to support him, but she was short and he was tall.

 

    "Crewman! Give me some help here!"

 

    "Yes, ma'am." Obeying orders was deeply ingrained. The tech turned to Xris. "Please stay here until I can send someone to escort you, sir. It's for your own safety."

 

    "Sure thing," Xris promised. "Oh, if they don't see me at first, tell them not to panic. I may be up inside the air ducts."

 

    The tech waved his hand in acknowledgment and ran off.

 

    The door shut, sealed behind him.

 

    Xris climbed onto the desk, reached up, removed a couple of ceiling panels. If security entered the room, they'd spend the first few moments searching for him up there. Once the panels were gone leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling-Xris jumped down, turned to the door marked CCA-2.

 

    "Jamil," he said over the comm. "I'm in FCWing. I sent my escort off and I'm alone now, but I won't be for long. Everything okay with you down there? Still got company?"

 

    "Everything's quiet. Security reported you found the malfunctioning 'bot. The commander was thrilled. He went back into his hole."

 

    "Good. Listen, I've located Rowan. In an office off a main room up here. This is a secured area. My escort had to show a pass and use a palm print to enter. The door to the office is shut. I don't see any card slots or palm pads or code buttons, just a plain ordinary door control. Is it likely to be rigged?"

 

    "If it's like other military bases I've been on," Jamil returned, "the answer's no. Why bother? If you've got clearance that far up, you're not the type to go around snooping through other people's offices. My guess is the door won't even be locked."

 

    "I hope like hell you're right." Xris switched comm channels. "Harry, I've located Rowan and I'm going in."

 

    "Xris!" Harry was whispering, sounded tense. "Security's sending someone up--"

 

    "Take it easy, Harry. It's under control. I only need five minutes. Out."

 

    Xris had to pause a moment to stop shaking. The green ccn-2 flared bright, blurred around the edges. He started walking and it seemed to him that he had been making this walk, taking these steps, ever since that moment when he first woke up in the hospital and 'knew that his life was over.

 

    He checked the needle in his thumb, made sure the mechanism was working. He reached the door, hit the control.

 

    It slid silently open.

 

    A woman sat in a swivel chair at a desk. Her back was turned to Xris. All he could see was a tumbled mass of shoulder-length curly brown hair. Above her swirled a mathematical model. She was staring at it intently, using a computer holographic pointer to make changes in the algorithm.

 

    Xris cast a quick glance around, searching for electronic eyes, security cams.

 

    Nothing. The room was essentially baren, devoid of life. No photographs of family, a lover, not even a pet. No green .plants to relieve the gray sterility of her surroundings. Nothing except computer equipment. But all of it was impressive. Expensive state-of-the-art machines, the very latest in technology.

 

    A little warning went off in Xris's mind. This was some fancy setup for a mere clerk.

 

    He stepped inside the room. A touch of the control and the door slid shut behind him. The woman never moved, didn't appear to have noticed his entry.

 

    The way she was sitting, the tilt of the head, the very movement of the hand--all familiar. So very familiar.

 

    Tiny alarm beeps went off in Xris's arm. He ignored them.

 

    "Rowan." He t?ied to say it twice, but his voice failed. The third time it came out strong. "Rowan. Dalin Rowan."

 

    The hand holding the pen froze in midair. The woman didn't move for a long moment, the space of a thudding heartbeat. Then, slowly, taking care to make no sudden motions, she put the pen down on the desk.

 

    "Hello, Xris," she said quietly, and turned around.

 

    Her face contorted in pain when she saw him. Xris kept tight control of his own face, determined to show no emotion, not even the fury that was suddenly engulfing him like white-hot flame.

 

    He looked for Dalin Rowan in the woman's features and he found him. Rowan was there, although it looked as if someone had taken an eraser and rubbed off all the sharp, masculine edges, made them rounded, blurred. But the eyes were the same: intelligent, a bit red from overuse, and-oddly--sad and resigned.

 

    "You know me," Xris said and his voice grated harshly. "And I know you. So I guess we both know why I'm here."

 

    Rowan nodded, sighed. Her hands were folded calmly in her lap. "I've been expecting you. Or them. The Hung." She shrugged. "I didn't know which would find me first."

 

    She smiled, lopsided. "Ironic. All these years, I've listened for the footstep behind my back. When it finally comes, I don't hear it." Rowan looked up at him steadily. "I'm glad it was you, Xris. Glad and ... strangely enough ... relieved." She glanced around. "It's all over at last."

 

    Xris was at a loss. This was certainly not what he'd expected. He'd been imagining the fear. The look of guilt. The frantic plea for understanding, for life--which he would take grim pleasure in denying. He hadn't expected resignation, sadness. It was starting to unnerve him.

 

    He brought up the mental picture of Ito.

 

    "You're going to die, Rowan." Xris held up his metal hand, wiggled the thumb. "There's a needle here. When I touch you, it'll inject poison into you. It's a pity," he added, working himself back into his comfortable anger, "but you won't feel any pain. Not like Ito. Not like me. You'll be unconscious for about an hour--long enough for me to leave-and then you'll die. Of unknown causes. This leaves no trace, and there's no antidote."

 

    Rowan listened to all this gravely, as she once used to listen to Xris outlining a plan for a bust. When Xris was finished, she sat motionless, looking up at him. She said nothing, no word in her own defense.

 

    Xris was becoming exasperated. "Why? Just tell me why. If you needed money that bad, you could have come to me. I didn't have much, but what was mine was yours. You knew that! Damn it, Rowan, we were friends! Why didn't you talk to me?"

 

    And now her gaze lowered. Her hands trembled. She shook her head. The long brown hair fell forward, hiding her features. Still, she said nothing.

 

    "I see. Maybe you needed more than we had. So you set me and Ito up." Xris grunted. "I guess I should be glad--"

 

    "Xris!" It was Harry's voice. "Security's in FCWing! They're looking for you!"

 

    "Hey! Olicien Pest Control!" The shout came from outside the closed CCA-2 door. "Are you up inside the ducts there? Come down here a minute."

 

    Xris didn't bother to respond. He was cold, brisk, efficient. He took a step toward Rowan, metal hand reaching for the woman's ann.

 

    "You can scream for help," he said, "but it won't do you a damn bit of good. Sorry it has to end this way between us, Rowan--"

 

    If she had screamed, jumped up, rushed him, she would have been dead. Rowan remained seated, watching him with those calm, sad eyes. She held perfectly still, and that probably saved her.

 

    That and her next words.

 

    "Joker's wild, Xris. For God's sake, get out of there. Joker's wild."

 

    He heard, once again, a frantic and unrecognizable voice:

 

    All Deltas! Jokers wild! For God's sake, get out of there! Joker's wild/Joker's wild!

 

    Xris paused, his hand not four centimeters from the woman's arm. "Yeah? The abort code for the mission. What's that supposed to prove. You knew it. Armstrong would have given it to you."

 

    But Armstrong wouldn't have given Rowan that little added cry of panic that had echoed in Xris's mind during the terrible days of pain that followed. That wasn't part of the abort code.

 

    For God's sake ...

 

    Rowan stood up, moved nearer, courting death. "They told you I killed the crew, stole the shuttle, left you and Ito to die. If I had betrayed you, why would I have transmitted the abort code? And I was the one to transmit it that day."

 

    "Bug man!" The voice outside the door was starting to sound impatient, suspicious. "Are you up there? Harrison, go on up and check."

 

    Xris stared at this woman who was Rowan and who wasn't Rowan. Something inside him gave way--a dam bursting, a seething cauldron boiling over, a festering sore draining. He wanted to believe. Dear God, he wanted to believe!

 

    But Rowan was smart, creative. He--she'd had all these years to think up a clever lie.

 

    "We have to talk, Xris!" Rowan put her hand on his arm, the deadly arm. "You have to hear what I found out. You have to let me explain!"

 

    "He's not up here, Captain," came the report from outside the door.

 

    "Security! Intruder alert. Unauthorized personnel at large in FCWing."

 

    Alarms sounded.

 

    The cyborg's metal hand twitched. He moved it back, away from Rowan. Then he nodded once, abruptly.

 

    She touched the control. The door slid open.

 

    "Captain. Call off the alert. The gentleman's here--"

 

    "Jamill" Harry was shouting into the comm. "I can't raise

 

    Xris! All hell's breaking loose! You guys head for the plane.

 

    I'm going after him."

 

    "Harry, don't--" Xris began, then stopped.

 

    All he could hear over the commlink was Harry shouting, someone else sweating, glass breaking, and lasgun fire.

 

    And then Harry's comm went dead.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 17

 

 

 

    The prayer of the chicken hawk does not get him the chicken.

 

    Proverb, Swahili

 

 

    Xris's hand--his good hand, flesh-and-blood--closed over Rowan s arm. He jerked her back into the room, hit the door controls. The door slid shut.

 

    "Is there another way out of here?"

 

    "Yes," Rowan answered, short and sweet, not wasting time for explanations. Just like the old days.

 

    Could he trust her like the old days?

 

    He'd soon find out.

 

    His leg compartment flipped out. He pulled out his lasgun, fired, effectively soldered the door control.

 

    "Where's the other door?"

 

    "At the opposite end of the room, to your left."

 

    "I see it. Does it lock?"

 

    "Yes, but the guards could override it."

 

    "I'm sure you could fix it if you wanted to. And believe me, you want to." Xris aimed his lasgun at her.

 

    Rowan smiled, shrugged, and sat down at the computer. "There," she said after a moment's work. "We can get out. No one else can get in. Not without plastic explosives," she added.

 

    "Funny." Xris snorted.

 

    Outside, he could hear voices: "Security, I've found the intruder. He's in FCWing, Major Mohini's office. The door controls have been frozen. We can't get inside."

 

    A phone on Rowan's desk began to buzz insistently. She looked at Xris.

 

    He picked it up.

 

    "What we have now," Xris told whoever was on the other end, "is a hostage situation. I've captured your major. I'm armed. One move to break in here and your major's dead."

 

    He hung up, tipped the phone off the desk, tossed it-wires dangling--into a comer. "Derek Sagan was right," Xris muttered to himself. "Shoot--don't talk. I'd have saved myself a hell of a lot of trouble if I'd just gone ahead and shot her!"

 

    He heard the captain repeatedly calling, "Security!"; then, "I can't raise anyone. Something's wrong. One of you men go check central security ops."

 

    Harry must be doing something constructive. Xris hoped his pilot was not getting himself killed at the same time.

 

    "Jamil." Xris was back on the comm. "What's going on down there?"

 

    "Xris!" Jamil sounded relieved. "Where--"

 

    "Answer the question!" Xris snapped.

 

    "We made it to the spaceplane two jumps ahead of Commander Drake and a squad of Marines. We're okay, but they're sure as hell not going to let us fly out of here."

 

    "Hang tight," Xris growled. "I'm working on it."

 

    Like hell he was. Trapped inside a computer room with his one-time best friend who had maybe tried to kill him, while half the Marines on the space station were lined up outside waiting for him. "I can help," Rowan offered. "Just tell me the setup." Xris hesitated, studied her. Logic told him not to trust this woman; she was battling for her life. But it was Rowan talking and they were together again, their backs against it, outnumbered, everything going wrong that could go wrong. And in the brown eyes that were Rowan's eyes was the same bright excitement of long ago--the delight in the challenge, the exhilaration of the adrenal rash, the fun of beating the odds.

 

    Besides, when it came down to it, what choice did he--or his team--have?

 

    "Remember this," said Xris, lifting his metal hand, wiggling the thumb with its deadly needle. "If you let me down, so help me, I'll--"

 

    He didn't finish. It wasn't necess. ary.

 

    "I understand," Rowan said quietly.

 

    "Here's the deal. I've got a man stuck in security. I've got three more men trapped inside our spaceplane, which is located on loading dock 28L. None of my men is armed. They have orders not to kill."

 

    Rowan raised her eyebrows. "You're kidding."

 

    All was quiet outside the door--too quiet.

 

    "No one dies," Xris said. "We're in enough trouble already."

 

    "You bet you are," Rowan agreed. She was seated at the computer, fingers dancing across the keyboard. "See if you can raise your man in security."

 

    "You're coming with me, you know," Xris told her. "I want to hear that explanation of yours." Then he was back on the comm. "Harry, Harry, can you read me?"

 

    Rowan paused, looked earnestly at him. "Taking me would put you in one hell of a lot of trouble, Xris. More than you could ever imagine."

 

    "You're coming with me," Xris said with finality. "Either you come or I blow your cozy little setup here sky-high. I'm sure the Navy would be real interested in knowing that once upon a time you used to pee standing up."

 

    Rowan looked at him a moment longer, then-unexpectedly--she chuckled, low in her throat. Still laughing, she went back to work.

 

    Xris was back on the comm. "Harry! Harry, come in--"

 

    "Harry here! Xris, are you all right?"

 

    "Never better," Xris answered wryly. "What the hell is going on down there?"

 

    "Security had a make on you. So I knocked 'em out. Like you said." "Then what was all that racket? The hypno-spray--" "Hypno-spray? Jeez, Xris. I forgot all about the damn hypno-spray. I just used my fists. Oh, uh, and I've got a lasgun now. A couple of 'em, in fact."  "Damn it, Harry---"

 

    "They'll be okay, Xris. When they come to."

 

    "Is that your man?" Rowan interrupted.

 

    "Unless someone makes me a better offer," Xris returned bitterly.

 

    "Can he reach the spaceplane from his location in three minutes?"

 

    Xris relayed the message, received an answer in the affirmative. "But they've probably got the plane guarded," Xris added.

 

    "Maybe one or two Marines posted outside the door to the loading dock." Rowan shrugged. "After all, they know you're not going anywhere."

 

    "But we are, aren't we, old friend?"

 

    "Yes, old friend," Rowan replied, with that lopsided smile. "We are. Tell your man to move out. He's got three minutes, starting now." Xris gave the order.

 

    Rowan, breathing a sigh, sat back in her chair.

 

    "What do we do now?" Xris asked.

 

    "Wait."

 

    Xris pulled a twist out of his pocket, lit it.

 

    "Smoking's not allowed," said Rowan, amused.

 

    "Add it to the list of charges." Xris eyed her. "I never thought I'd say this, but you don't make a bad-looking woman. Just what is it we're waiting for?"

 

    "An enemy attack," Rowan returned gravely.

 

    "Fortuitous timing."

 

    "Yes, isn't it. Ah!"

 

    The deck shook beneath Xris's feet, nearly knocking him over. He grabbed hold of the edge of Rowan's desk.

 

    Rowan stood up. "That will be the enemy now. Coming?"

 

    Red lights were flashing, Klaxons sounding.

 

    Rowan negotiated her way through the maze of computer equipment, heading for the side door. Xris, lasgun in his hand, followed.

 

    "What was that?"

 

    "I set a plasma venting system to overload, caused an explosion on Level CC, Section 2. Don't worry. No one was around. That section's been abandoned for years. Unused living space. The hull's been breached--according to the computer by an enemy Corasian torpedo."

 

    "Let me guess: There are no Corasians within a zillion light-years of this place."

 

    "I shouldn't think so," Rowan returned calmly. "But according to the computer, there's an entire enemy fleet out there, complete with mother ships."

 

    "But the scanners--"

 

    "Shut down."

 

    "Hell, all anyone has to do is look outside the danan window. They'll know we're not under enemy attack."

 

    "True," said Rowan. "But it's going to take them at least two hours to convince the computer othewise. In the meantime, all the blast doors have been shut, which means most people are trapped in their own areas. The Marines are under orders to report to their combat stations--if they can get to them."

 

    "But they'll be able to manually override the controls."

 

    "Not anymore." Rowan had reached the door. She looked at Xris. "There'll be guards outside waiting for us."

 

    Xris waved the lasgun. "You're my hostage, remember? Just a minute. If the blast doors are shut, how do we get out?"

 

    "We have manual security override," Rowan answered. She had her hand on the controls, but she didn't open them. "You wouldn't have asked me such questions in the old days, Xris."

 

    "Ito hadn't been blown into a fine red mist in the old days. And I wasn't a machine. I'm letting you live, Rowan. Don't ask me to trust you into the bargain." He jammed the lasgun into her side. "Open the door. And watch what you say and do."

 

    She nodded, touched the controls.

 

    The door slid open.

 

    Five Marines, beam rifles leveled, were waiting for them out in the corridor.

 

    Rowan raised her hands, stepped out. Xris crowded close behind her, using her body as a shield.

 

    "I've got a 22-decawatt lasgun," he told the Marines. "It's set to fire the second the pressure of my finger relaxes. You so much as stun me and the major dies."

 

    "He's not bluffing," Rowan said swiftly. "He's a mercenary, working for the Corasians. Part of the enemy attack force. Now, if you'll just let us pass--"

 

    The captain of the Marines looked uneasy. "You know we can't do that, Major Mohini. We have standing orders to shoot you, rather than allow you to fall into enemy hands."

 

    Rowan glanced back over her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

 

    Xris glared at her. "Why, you--"

 

    The lights went out. The windowless corridor was suddenly, intensely, unbelievably dark.

 

    Xris's infrared vision clicked on; he could see warm bodies. The Marines, on the other hand, were completely blind. The cyborg took out the captain with a blow of his metal hand to the jaw, sent the man reeling. A kick of his steel leg sent another Marine to the floor.

 

    Grabbing hold of Rowan's arm, Xris dragged her after him, began running down the corridor.

 

    Leaderless and unable to see, fearful of hitting each other, the Marines were calling for security to turn on the emergency backup lights.

 

    Security wasn't responding.

 

    "Lights out--your work, too?" Xris asked Rowan. "Taking a chance, weren't you?"

 

    "Not really." She shrugged. "I know you. I figured you'd have some sort of infrared."

 

    They came to a blast door. Rowan punched in a code on the keypad. The blast doors shuddered, slid open. Xris and Rowan slipped through. Rowan hit the controls on the other side, the doors slid shut. This corridor was still brightly lit.

 

    "The elevators won't be working. We'll have to take the fire stairs. Oh, shit."

 

    People were milling about in the hallways. One, spotting Rowan, started toward her. "Major, what's going on? We can't reach secur--" "What the devil are you people doing out here?" Rowan demanded. "Don't you hear the damn alarm? We're under enemy attack! Get to your posts!"

 

    Some returned to their offices. Others remained huddled uncertainly in the corridor. But at least her orders gave them something else to talk about.

 

    Rowan shoved open the fire door, began running down the narrow metal stairs. Xris clattered after her.

 

    "Were those soldiers serious?" he yelled over the noise they were making. "About shooting you?"

 

    "Yes!" Rowan yelled back. "I told you. You're going to be in a lot of trouble."

 

    He grunted, said nothing, saved his breath for running.

 

    They exited out into the work area near the bug-'bot station. And there was Harry, looking nervous, lasgun in hand, waiting for them. He was so relieved at the sight of Xris that the cyborg was afraid for a minute Harry was going to hug him. "Where is everyone?" Xris cast a swift glance around. "Some Marines were all bunched up around the door leading to the loading dock and our plane. I hung around, making myself scarce, wondering how I was going to get past them. Then the floor began to shake and the alarms went off.

 

    That commander fellow talked to someone, then said something to his men about the hull being breached and they had to get up there right away. He left a couple of Marines on guard and the rest left. I took care of the Marines. I used the hypno-spray this time," Harry added hurriedly. They ran through the deserted work facility.

 

    "XP-28's got the engines warming up," Harry continued. "But unless you want me to blast that plane through a nullgray steel door, we're not going anywhere in a hurry. And then there's the tractor beam."

 

    "All taken care of," Rowan said briskly.

 

    Harry looked at the woman running along beside him in considerable astonishment. He nudged Xris. "Who's that?"

 

    "Rowan. Dalin ... Darlene ..." Xris gave up.

 

    "Just Rowan," she said, with her crooked smile.

 

    "The person you were gonna kilt," said Harry.

 

    Xris didn't see any need to answer that.

 

    Harry grinned, rubbed his hands. "That's great," he said. "Really great! I win the pot."

 

    Xris glanced at him, puzzled. "What pot?"

 

    "The bet. With the others. I said you couldn't kill her, Xris."

 

    Fortunately for Harry, Xris was too busy at the moment to respond. They dashed past the comatose forms of two Marine guards and entered loading dock Lima 28. The spaCeplane was lit up, engines throbbing, ready for takeoff.

 

    "I've got Xris, Jamil," Harry said into the comm. "Lower the ramp and prepare for takeoff." He cast a dubious glance at Rowan. "I sure as hell hope you know what you're doing, lady."

 

    The ramp lowered. They hurried on board.

 

    Harry went straight to the pilot's chair, Rowan right behind him. Xris came right behind her.

 

    "She's Rowan. I'll explain later," he said in response to startled looks from the rest of the team.

 

    "Strap yourselves in tight," Harry ordered. "We could be in for a rough takeoff."

 

    Rowan sat down in the copilot's chair. Xris kept as near her as possible, strapping himself into the seat closest to the cockpit. He still held the lasgun in his hand. Rowan glanced at it, then looked away.

 

    "This is what I've done." She spoke to Harry coolly. "I've set the docking bay door controls on automatic. When the spaceplane approaches them, they'll begin to open. Once they've started to cycle, the control tower can't prevent the blast doors from rising. That's a safety feature."

 

    "Okay, so we can fly out of here. What about that damn tractor beam?"

 

    "I've rerouted all power from the tractor beam to the food processing panels and recycling plants. It'll take them awhile to figure that one out."

 

    "All right," Harry said slowly, assimilating the information, "so we fly out and away from the tractor beam. Then the Navy locks us on target with the big guns and shoots us down."

 

    Rowan shook her head. "The lascannons are all being aimed at the Corasian invasion fleet."

 

    Harry gasped. "What? A Corasian invasion--"

 

    "Never mind!" Xris snapped. "Just get us out of here!"

 

    "You're going to fly into a Corasian invasion fleet? Xris, that's sui--"

 

    "It's not real!" Xris shouted.

 

    "He's right," Rowan said soothingly. "It's not real. I'll explain later. You can take off safely now."

 

    But Harry was not to be rushed. "What about patrol planes? We"---he tapped the cargo plane's console--"have no shields, no guns."

 

    "There'll be a few patrol planes out there," Rowan admitted. "Not much I could do about those. But most of the squadron pilots have discovered that their docking bay doors won't open. I activated a maintenance program that--"

 

    "Skip it." Xris knew from experience how long some of Rowan's explanations could last. "Get us the hell out of here now."

 

    Harry glanced over. "You trust her, boss?"

 

    "It doesn't much matter, does it? We can either fly out of here or walk out with our hands on top of our heads. Which is it going to be?"

 

    Xris had avoided the question of trust and everyone in the plane knew it. The others exchanged grim glances.

 

    "Well, when you put it that way ... XP," Harry ordered, "bring main engines on line and fire maneuvering thrusters."

 

    "Excuse me, Pilot Luck," said the computer respectfully, "but I am programmed to remind you that we have not received permission to leave--"

 

    "Take over manual control," Xris commanded.

 

    "Sorry about this, XP," Harry said, giving the computer a conciliatory pat. "But switch flight control over to manual. That's an order."

 

    "Yes, Pilot Luck. I was only doing my duty. I trust that will be so noted in the log."

 

    "Oh, sure, sure," Harry said absently.

 

    He was absorbed in his job now, oblivious to all else. The expression on his face even altered from one of almost perpetual befuddlement to intense, focused concentration. He seemed to flow into the spaceplane, almost like the legendary Blood Royal, who had reputedly been able to connect themselves with their own spaceplanes through the micromachines in their bloodstream. Harry had no micromachines in his blood. He connected with the plane by feel and thought, by instinct and intuition.

 

    The spaceplane lifted off the landing pad, turned, headed for the gigantic metal doors.

 

    The cockpit speaker crackled to life. "Olicien Two Five Niner, you are not cleared for takeoff. Repeat, not cleared. Return to your assigned parking area."

 

    Harry shut off the speaker and aimed the nose of the spaceplane at the blast doors. He fired the thrusters. The doors shivered. The plane flew nearer, nearer, picking up speed.

 

    "As fast as we're flying," Tycho observed to no one in particular, "we won't be able to stop." No one answered.

 

    Xris glanced at Rowan, who was staring at the doors with a pale, set expression on her face. Maybe this is how she's going to end it, he thought suddenly, his stomach muscles tightening. Go out in a ball of fire. And this time she'll make sure of me, as well.

 

    The plane's speed was increasing. Harry steered for the bottom of the blast door, planning to swoop out the moment he had enough room.

 

    If that moment came ....

 

    They were within two hundred meters, rocketing toward nullgrav steel doors that could absorb a direct hit from a meson without buckling. The spaceplane would smash into the blast doors, explode, and maybe leave a black char mark that would probably wash off with a little soap and water.

 

    One hundred and fifty meters. JamiFs ebony skin glistened with sweat. Quong's eyes were closed, his mouth moving, either in prayer or reciting algebraic equations; he did both in emergencies. Tycho's thin fingers gripped the arms of his chair; his skin had turned a sick pink not due to color alteration, but to strain. One hundred meters.

 

    "Ah!" Harry breathed softly in satisfaction.

 

    The blast doors shivered, began to rise--at a crawl.

 

    "Come on, baby," Harry said to the doors. "Faster."

 

    The doors were now a little over a quarter of the way up.

 

    "I'm going for it," Harry shouted. "Hang on."

 

    The plane shot through the opening and soared into the black vacuum of space.

 

    "Did you hear a scraping sound?" Tycho asked, his translator squeaking. "I heard a scraping sound. I'll bet we've left a streak of yellow paint on that damn door."

 

    "I think I left a streak of yellow down my pants leg," Jamil muttered.

 

    "We're not out of this yet," Harry cautioned. "There's a Katana fighter coming for us. Not on visual yet, but you can see it on the screen."

 

    Xris looked--a blip on the sighting screen was converging on them.

 

    "Where's the nearest Lane?"

 

    "The one we took coming in. Out past the thousandkilometer marker." Harry glanced at the screen. "We'll be in range before then. And this cargo plane has all the maneuvering capability of a Solosian elephant. No offense," he added, for the computer's benefit.

 

    "None taken, Pilot Luck," responded the computer. "I am aware of the plane's limitations. And it is my duty to report that the Navy fighter is requesting us to shut down our engines and stand by for towing."

 

    'Tll take that under advisement. In the meantime, increase speed. Give me everything you've got."

 

    "Yes, Pilot Luck," said the computer, adding, after a moment, "I must admit, I find this rather exhilarating. I was once assigned to a short-range Scimitar myself, when I was in the Navy."

 

    "Were you?" said Harry, his gaze divided between the thousand-kilometer buoy, blinking up ahead, and the Katana itself, which could now be seen through the viewscreen. "Then perhaps you could tell me why it's not firing at us. We must be dead in the pilot's sights."

 

    "Pilots are not permitted to fire this close to the station, sir, unless under enemy attack."

 

    "And maybe the soldiers were bluffing back there," Xris said, eyeing Rowan. "Maybe they don't want to blow up Major Mohini."

 

    "It's possible." Rowan appeared thoughtful.

 

    Tracer fire flashed past the viewscreen.

 

    "Warning shot across the bow," Harry said. "XP, plot the jump. I want to be ready the moment we hit the Lane."

 

    "What course?" XP asked.

 

    Harry looked questioningly at Xris.

 

    "Olefsky's system. The rendezvous site. If Raoul manages to extricate himself from whatever predicament he's in, he'll know to meet us there."

 

    Harry nodded, provided the computer with the coordinates. Another shot from the Katana streaked past the viewscreen, this one so close that it seemed to blaze right through the cockpit, temporarily blinding all of them.

 

    "Coming up on the thousand-kilometer marker," Harry reported calmly.

 

    "Pilot Luck," the computer said, "the Katana warns that it has orders to attempt to disable us."

 

    "Fine, fine." Harry waved his hand vaguely. "You ready for the jump?"

 

    The thousand-kilometer marker flashed past.

 

    "Yes, sin"

 

    "Good. Start cycle. In four ... three ..."

 

    The plane shuddered, rocked. Everyone held on for dear life.

 

    "We have been hit, Pilot Luck," the computer said unnecessarily. "Ending jump cycle."  "Damn it! What damage?"

 

    Rowan looked at the screen where a model of the spaceplane was being displayed. "Tail section, but it's minimal. Nothing else hit."

 

    "Thank the Creator it wasn't the engines. Restart jump cycle. Four... three ... two ... one."

 

    A sickening sensation of being turned inside out. A momentary horrifying notion that all your guts have been sucked out through your nose and mouth and are now twisting in the air outside your body. And then just before you pass out--or, in some cases, right after you come to--you look out the viewscreen and notice that someone has switched off all the starlight. But they'd made it.

 

    "Questions," Xris said, endeavoring to unstrap himself from his chain "Have to ask ... questions." He was dimly aware of lights flashing on his arm, warning alarms, then he felt heavy. Far too heavy. "Questions ... Rowan ..."

 

    Doc's face floated above Xris. He heard the word, "Malfunction--"

 

    Then it seemed that the empty, silent, and immensely comforting black blanket of hyperspace wrapped around him, tucked him in for the night.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

 

 

    Incoming fire has the right of way.

 

    Murphy's Military Laws

 

 

    The adjutant strode rapidly into the Lord Admiral's chambers, banging the heavy ornate door and causing the eyebrows of the admiral's aide---one Sergeant-Major Bennett--to lift in disapproval.

 

    "Where's Dixter?" the adjutant demanded unceremoniously.

 

    "Good morning, sir," Bennett said with a withering stare. "If you are referring to Sir John Dixter, he,---" "Never mind, I spotted him. Thanks."

 

    The adjutant sprinted across the large office, knocking askew several antique pieces of furniture. This offense brought a shocked Bennett to his feet.

 

    "Really, Commander Tusca!" Bennett entered the race, moving to intercept the adjutant before the adjutant could intercept the Lord Admiral.

 

    "General Dixter! I mean, my lord! Sorry, sir, I forgot there for a moment."

 

    The adjutant--a well-built human male, small-framed, with black skin and tightly curled black hair--brought himself up sharply in front of the Lord Admiral.

 

    "What is it, Tusk?" Dixter smiled. He didn't mind being reminded of the old days--the days when he'd been a leader of a band of mercenaries. It was one reason he'd invited a former mercenary to serve as his adjutant. That and the fact that Mendaharin Tusca---or Tusk, as he was known--was Dixter's closest friend.

 

    "An urgent call from RFComSec, sir."

 

    "My lord, your appointment with His Majesty," Bennett murmured, hovering.  Dixter hesitated. "Epsilon Red, sir," Tusk said. "Top priority. Urgent." Not even Bennett could argue with an Epsilon Red. 'Tll inform His Majesty that you're dealing with an emergency situation, my lord."

 

    "Yes, thank you." Dixter frowned. Turning, he accompanied Tusk back through his office, out a door, down a corridor, and into the comm. A startling contrast--coming from the lemon-scented, highly polished oak-desk environment of the admiral's office to the cold bright electronic buzz of the central communications operations for the Royal Navy.

 

    "Any idea what this is about?" Dixter asked Tusk.

 

    "No, my lord." They had just entered the comm and Tusk always made an effort, when around other members of the Lord Admiral's staff, to use the correct form of address. "The commander insisted on speaking to you personally. It must be somethin' big, though. They've run up every flag they could find: Epsilon Red, level one, top priority, urgent, most secret. And the transmission's being scrambled from Hell's Outpost back again. They sure as hell don't want any eavesdroppers."

 

    Dixter fished around in a pocket for his antacid tablets. Finding them, he gulped down two. "RFComSec never has emergencies. They're not supposed to have emergencies. They're out in the middle of an uncharted region of space for the sole purpose of not having emergencies. Which comm station?"

 

    "Over here, my lord." A captain rose to her feet, made room for the Lord Admiral. "RFComSec standing by, my lord. Admiral Lopez."

 

    "Thank you, Captain."

 

    She moved discreetly away. Tusk was about to make himself scarce, but Dixter indicated that his adjutant was to stay.

 

    A harried-looking face appeared on screen. The stars on his uniform indicated an admiral, a rear admiral.

 

    "John. Good to talk to you again. It's been too long. A damn shame it's like this, though."

 

    "Good to see you, Roderigo. You're right. It's been too long. Pardon me for saying I wish it was longer. What's up? What've you got? Corasians?"

 

    The rear admiral grimaced. "Funny you should mention that. It's not the Corasians. I almost wish it was. It's Major Mohini. Major Darlene Mohini. She's been taken hostage, kidnapped."

 

    Dixter stared in silence at the screen, scanning the name in his mind, trying to remember. Then, "Good God!" he said, and sat down in a chair. "How did it happen?"

 

    The rear achniral ran his hand through his thinning hair. "It was a professional job. You know that damn flea problem we have? A team of five commandos disguised themselves as exterminators, broke through our security. They went straight for Mohini, so they knew who they were after and how to find her. You want to hear the real kicker, John?"

 

    "Not really, Rod," Dixter muttered under his breath. "But I suppose you're going to tell me." Beneath the cover of the console, he rubbed his stomach.

 

    "Mohini was in on it. Had to be. The commandos knew the layout of the place, the routine. And no one except a genius like the major could have so thoroughly screwed up all our computer systems. We've just now managed to convince our mainframe that the whole Corasian fleet isn't parked outside our space station."

 

    "Damnation." Dixter swore softly. His fingers drummed the console. "This is one hell of a mess, Rod."

 

    "Don't I know it." The rear admiral was looking worried, as well he might.

 

    "There'll have to be an inquiry," Dixter said slowly, thinking as he went. "If it wasn't the major herself, you've got a security leak somewhere. Do you have vids on the commandos?"

 

    "Security cams got some good shots. So did one of our pilots, by the way. He fired one of the new 'tick' tracking devices at the spaceplane. Says it was a direct hit on the tail section. We'll know where and when the commandos come out of hyperspace. Here are the vids. I'll be standing by."

 

    The admiral's face was replaced by a shot taken by a security cam hidden in the ceiling. It showed an attractive woman, wearing a naval uniform, being forcibly escorted from her office by a man in bright yellow coverails. Several armed Marines had them surrounded.

 

    The man was saying, "I've got a 22-decawatt lasgun. It's set to fire the second the pressure of my finger relaxes. You so much as stun me and the major dies."

 

    At that point, Dixter said, "Good God!" again.

 

    And this time Tusk joined him.

 

    Both of them stared in shocked disbelief at the vidscreen.

 

    "Sir ... that's Xris!"

 

    "It can't be," Dixter said flatly. "Computer, give me still shots, enlarged, with enhancements, of each second of that vid. I want a voice print, too. Then search the files and see if you find a match for the photos and the voice."

 

    The computer went to work. Tusk and Dixter watched the rid again.

 

    "It's the cyborg," said Tusk after the second time through. "I'd know Xris anywhere. I should. He saved my life, sir," he added pointedly.

 

    Dixter was grim. "I don't like this any more than you do, Tusk. Xris and his team have done good work for us. If you remember, he was almost killed trying to protect Her Majesty. But he is a mercenary. He works for money. Maybe someone offered him ..."

 

    He stared at the vid again, then shook his head. "That would explain the security leak. Xris had low-level access. I gave it to him."

 

    "What good would low-level do him?"

 

    "A lot, apparently," Dixter said wryly. "Maybe just providing him with the fact that the damn space station has fleas!"

 

    "He wouldn't do that, sir. Xris wouldn't betray you. Damn it, I know him!"

 

    "Match," sang out the computer suddenly, with what Tusk considered an irritating note of triumph. "Photo I.D. Cyborg. Name: Xris. Planet of origin--"

 

    "What about the voice?" Dixter snapped, interrupting the flow of statistics.

 

    "Match. Voice print I.D. Cyborg. Name: Xris. Planet of origin--"

 

    Dixter ordered the computer to be quiet.

 

    Tusk shrugged helplessly. "There has to be some explanation, sir!"

 

    Dixter said nothing, turned his attention back to his rear admiral. "We think we have an I.D., Rod."

 

    "You do? Damn, that was quick. And we've just received a report from the 'tick.' The plane's course will have it coming out of hyperspace in about six hours. The question is, do we shoot to kill, knowing they've got Major Mohini aboard? Or do we try to capture them and risk losing them?"

 

    Dixter was silent, thinking.

 

    Tusk was thinking, too, about the time he'd been shot all to pieces, about Xris coming to his rescue, hauling him through heavy enemy fire to safety.

 

    "This is Xris, sir!" Tusk couldn't help saying.

 

    Dixter cast him a stern glance. "I am aware of that, Commander."

 

    "Sorry, sir." Tusk knew he'd gone too far, overstepped the line.

 

    Dixter sighed, stared at the photo I.D. of the cyborg, who had more than once put his life on the line for a number of people John Dixter cared about.

 

    "Major Mohini must not be allowed to remain in enemy hands," he said slowly. "Give her captors every opportunity to surrender. If they don't, orders are: Shoot to kill."

 

    "Yes, my lord." The rear admiral signed off.

 

    Dixter looked suddenly old, tired. "Now we wait."

 

    Tusk was studying the still photos, staring in baffiement at

 

    Xris and the attractive, intelligent-looking woman he was holding at gunpointú

 

    "Who is this Major Mohini, sir?" Tusk asked. "And why is she so damn important?"

 

    Dixter told him.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 19

 

 

 

    ú . . because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved ....

 

    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

 

 

    Raoul was not happy. He was not enjoying himself--an unusual and alarming state of affairs for a Loti. Lying naked on a bed, his hands and feet locked in steel paralyzers, was a situation that--under different circumstances-might have afforded Raoul a certain amount of pleasure. The room in which he was incarcerated was actually quite charming, tastefully decorated, with ambient lighting and a view of the stars outside his window. The bed was comfortable, the sheets delicately scented. But even these amenities--and the interesting situation in which he found himself---could do nothing to raise the Loti's spirits.

 

    "I attribute this, first, to the large and undoubtedly unsightly bump on my forehead." Raoul mourned aloud. "And second, to the fact that I have been deprived of sustenance for a period which must surely exceed four-and-twenty hours."

 

    By sustenance, he did not mean food. He had, in fact, been given a meal, watched over by an extremely ugly man, who had removed the paralyzers long enough to permit Raoul to spoon down something that seemed to be an excuse for soup. The man would not speak and he refused to bring Raoul wine with his meal. Raoul, therefore, had been unable to eat. Accepting this with philosophical indifference, the ugly man had replaced the paralyzers, taken the food, and left the room, sealing the door shut behind him.

 

    "I am grounded, my friend," Raoul lamented. "I am a cold chicken. Or is it turkey? I am forced to confront reality. The horror," he added in a shuddering whisper. "The horror..."

 

    One might have questioned just how "grounded" the Loti truly was, considering the fact that he was talking to the Litfie One, who was light-years away. But Raoul had to talk. He was accustomed to talking and he was accustomed to talking to his friend. Now he was bereft of his companion, alone, and extremely puzzled. Why in the name of all that was hallucinogenic had someone done this to him?

 

    Perhaps he had enemies... perhaps there were people out there who didn't like him .... Poisoners do not make friends easily. Raoul knew this as a sad fact. It was a long time before Harry Luck could bring himself to eat a sandwich comfortably in Raoul's presence. But surely he had never done anything bad enough to merit such treatment! And the Little One hadn't done anything at all. And yet they'd hurt him. Hurt him badly.

 

    Thinking of his small friend, wondering what had happened to him, Raoul couldn't stop himself from sliding into the darkness of depression.

 

    Or reality, whichever came first.

 

    Desperate to escape by any means possible, Raoul altered history, invented the comforting fantasy that the Little One was still with him. This achieved several key objectives. First, Raoul was able to apologize profusely to the rest of the members of Mag Force 7.

 

    "Tell them I was undevoidably attained," he begged solemnly, too sober to make sense.

 

    Second, and most important, he took comfort in the knowledge that the Little One was with him. And by the time Raoul had spoken to his friend for a while, fantasy tiptoed across Raoul's admittedly blurred lines. In what remained of Raoul's mind--a mystery to everyone, Raoul included--the Little One was listening to him and perhaps even responding.

 

    "I wish I could tell you where I am, my friend," Raoul murmured. "But I cannot. All I know is that I am on board some type of spacegoing vessel and I know this only because I can see nothing but a black void punctuated by stars outside a window. The stars are moving. I am moving. ! therefore consider it likely that I am moving through space."

 

    He was arrested by a sudden thought. "Either that or the bump on my head is worse than I thought." He sighed a dismal sigh.

 

    "I am sorry, my friend. I became distracted. To continue, I am apparently being flown through space with a bump on my head. It is due to the bump that I have no recollection of where I am, very little of what happened to me. The entire night last night was a ghastly experience. Now ! know why you"--here Raoul swallowed--"my poor Little One, were upset a great portion of the evening. You were undoubtedly aware of the dark thoughts being directed against us. But being unable to define your fears--these men were quite clever in concealing their evil designs--you, my unfortunate friend, were not able to warn me.

 

    "The last thing I remember is these dreadful hulking beasts bursting into our room at an ungodly hour, dragging me bodily out of my bath, and . .. and hurting you."

 

    Raoul blinked back tears. The memory was blurred, but it was terrible. He recalled hearing a thin, high-pitched wail, remembered seeing a shadowy hand smash down on a small and defenseless figure. The wail abruptly ceased. Despite this, the hand descended again and again, several times. It was at this point that Raoul rather indistinctly recalled feeling an unpleasant but oddly stimulating emotion.

 

    "Rage. Anger. Fury. I hurled myself at the attackers," Raoul reported with quiet pride. "They ripped my silk kimono, but I persevered. And it was then, I rather imagine, that I received the blip on the headbone. Because the next thing I remember is waking up here, with an ugly hairy man bending over me."

 

    Raoul shuddered again at the recollection.

 

    "I am telling you all this, my friend," Raoul continued plaintively, "because I need you to explain to Xris why I did not arrive at the Olicien Pest Control factory in my yellow coverails. It was the first time I have been where I was not supposed to be instead of where I Was."

 

    That statement momentarily confusing even Raoul, he paused to try to figure it out, gave it up as a bad effort.

 

    "Ah, but I am certain Xris went in search of me. I am certain he found you, my friend, and that you are all right. Yes, I know you're all right!" Raoul repeated, his lips trembling. "You must be. I can't bear to think of you lying there, hurt, alone .... "

 

    It seemed to Raoul that he heard a voice, a whisper, inside his head. It was familiar, reassuring, and it even provided instructions.

 

    "Find out the name of the ship," Raoul repeated to himself. "Very well. If you think it will help." The door slid open and the ugly man walked inside. Raoul turned his head into the pillow. "Really, my friend," he whispered to the Little One, "this person is simply too frightful to bear! I am surprised he has the nerve to show such a face in public!"

 

    The ugly mall said nothing. Crossing the room to the bed, he removed the paralyzers that bound Raoul's ankles and wrists.

 

    "Would you do me the favor of informing me why I have been absconded with?" Raoul asked pleasantly, keeping his eyes averted. His stomach was queasy enough as it was. The voice in his head prodded him. "Ah, yes. And what is the name of this ship?"

 

    The ugly man did not answer. He grabbed hold of Raoul roughly by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.

 

    The room tilted. Raoul tilted with it.

 

    The ugly man held out a hospital gown. It was gray, many times washed, pressed, and sterilized. It was held together with three ties and a snap. "Here, Loti, put that on."

 

    Raoul laughed politely.

 

    "I said put it on."

 

    Raoul regarded the alleged garment with shock. "You can't be serious."

 

    The ugly man tossed the gown at him. "We don't have much time. The doctor's waiting. If you don't put it on, I will."

 

    "Go ahead, by all means," Raoul said, returning the gown. "You can't possibly get any uglier And by the way, while you're undressing, what is the name of this ship?"

 

    The man growled and took a step forward, and then Raoul understood.

 

    "Ah, you mean you would dress me! Thank you," he said, snatching the gown, "but no."

 

    Fumbling at the ties, accidentally ripping one off, struggling to separate the sleeves, which adhered to the gown as though they'd been glued to it, Raoul was at last semidressed.

 

    The unsightly garment was the ultimate torture, and the experience almost shattered him. At the sight of himself in the mirror, Raoul suffered excruciating pain, very nearly gave way to despair

 

    The ugly man shoved Raoul toward the door

 

    Whether due to the erratic motion of the spaceship, the bump on his head, or his lack of what the Loti usually referred to as "support," Raoul discovered that walking was an adventure in itself. Attempting to locate the door, he wandered into a corner The ugly man was forced to place hairy hands on Raoul again, steer him back on course.

 

    "Whoever is flying this ship must be swilling jumpjuice," Raoul said thickly, careening through the half-open door and out into a brightly lit corridor. "I don't suppose he'd share?"

 

    The ugly man did not answer. He did not appear to be having any difficulty walking the undulating, heaving, and twitching deck, but guided Raoul's floundering steps with a rough and uncouth touch.

 

    It was when the walls started to throb, pulsing to the rhythm of a gigantic beating heart, that Raoul began to fall apart.

 

    "Something's wrong with the engines!" He came to a giddy stop, looked around in terror. "Can't you hear it? Kathump. Ka-thump."

 

    The ugly man paid no attention. Another shove started Raoul moving, brought him to a sealed door The ugly man opened it with a touch on the controls, then retrieved Raoul, who had drifted off down the corridor. Returning with the Loti, the ugly man herded Raoul in through the open door

 

    The name of the ship/ said the insistent voice inside Raoul. Find out the name!

 

    "I can't." He moaned, weak and barely conscious. He'd caught another glimpse of himself reflected in a large steelglass window. "I can't."

 

    A woman clad all in white, with a white cap over her hair, white rubber gloves, and a white sterile mask over her face stood beside a medicbot.

 

    "Put him here," said the woman.

 

    The ugly man did as requested, forcibly seating Raoul in a chair

 

    Raoul stared at the woman in the mask. "What happened to your mouth?"

 

    The woman's eyes, visible above the mask, narrowed. "Loti!" she muttered in disgust. "Leave us alone."

 

    The ugly man protested. "He's been given the detoxifiers and he's on a real downer. You might need help with him, Doctor."

 

    The woman sniffed, shook her head. "I can manage this wretch. And I don't want to risk contaminating the samples. Wait outside the door. You can carry the bloodwork to the lab."

 

    The man nodded, left. The door slid shut.

 

    The woman turned to the 'bot. "You may begin. Start with the blood, then do the bone marrow."

 

    The medicbot went to work. Raoul sat back in the chair. The 'bot produced a laser extractor, placed it into position, switched it on. The woman watched closely, then sat down at a computer terminal, began to make voice entries. The voice inside Raoul was sympathetic, but demanded action.

 

    "Speaking of names" though no one had been--"what is the name of the ship?" Raoul asked the 'bot.  It did not answer.

 

    Raoul watched, fascinated, as his own red blood flowed into the extractor. From there it was deposited into various tubes and vials, all of which the 'bot carefully labeled and arranged on a tray.

 

    At length, growing light-headed, Raoul allowed his gaze to wander.

 

    "I am in a room, my friend, in which there are several white beds, separated from each other by curtains hanging from tracks on the ceiling--"

 

    The woman with no mouth, absorbed in her work, glanced up. "What did you say?" she asked irritably.

 

    "What is the name of the ship, madame?" Raoul was extremely polite. It was, he thought, a reasonable question.

 

    The woman snorted, returned to the computer.

 

    Raoul shrugged, continued. "They are taking my blood away from me and putting it into little tubes. I don't have the slightest notion why. Unless I am being held prisoner by vampires .... "

 

    This fascinating and titillating thought carried him through the next few moments by providing certain entertaining fantasies. Then a particularly nasty jab from the 'bot returned him to what passed for reality.

 

    His gaze--which had been wandering aimlessly around the room, flicking over various serious-looking machines-landed on a cabinet made of steel with a code-key locking device. Raoul blinked, focused both his eyes and his attention. He lurched forward in his chair, occasioning a scolding from the medicbot.

 

    The woman with no mouth turned. "Please sit still," she ordered. "The extractor is very sensitive equipment." Then she noticed Raoul's fixed and rapt expression.

 

    "What is in the cabinet?" he asked.

 

    "Supplies," the woman answered, frowning.

 

    "Ah..." Raoul sighed, sat back in the chair, and stared at the locked cabinet.

 

    "Test samples completed," announced the 'bot.

 

    The woman collected the vials, finished the labeling, and called the ugly man back into the room. "Take these to the lab," she said.

 

    The ugly man took the vials and disappeared.

 

    The woman approached Raoul. She had pulled down her mask.

 

    Raoul jumped, stared at her vaguely. "Have we met?"

 

    She drew up a chair, took out a small vidcam, placed it in front of Raoul, ordered it to activate.

 

    "The subject is an Adonian of undetermined age. He is also, purportedly, a Loti. I am beginning the interview now." She looked at Raoul. "You were once in the employ of the weapons dealer Snaga Ohme."

 

    "Ah," said Raoul sadly. "My late former employer. A channing man. But most unfortunate. He managed to get himself murdered, you know--"

 

    The woman was not interested. "How long were you with Snaga Ohme?"

 

    Raoul shrugged. "What is time but an ephemeral butterfly, flitting through the dead garden of our wretched existence?"

 

    The woman asked other questions, interminable questions, which Raoul answered absently with whatever came into his head. His gaze had returned to the steel cabinet.

 

    The laboratory door slid open; the ugly man walked inside.

 

    "Knight Officer wants to know how the interrogation is going."

 

    The woman switched off the ridcam, handed it to the man. "He can judge for himself." She sounded pleased. "I would say the evidence is conclusive."

 

    "The blood samples have been evaluated. They test positive."

 

    The woman gave a stiff nod. "I will await Knight Officer's orders."

 

    The ugly man glanced at Raoul. "Good riddance," he said, and left.

 

    Raoul sank back in his chair. Time passed. The woman appeared impatient. She paced back and forth. The medicbot whirred about the room, cleaning up.

 

    Then a voice came over a comm. "The interview is satisfactory, Doctor. You may terminate the subject."

 

    "Yes, Knight Officer," the woman answered.

 

    "Terminate the subject," Raoul repeated dreamily.

 

    That means you, twit! They're going to kill you the voice inside Raoul's head shouted. Do something.

 

    Yes, I should do something. I should, Raoul thought, fight for my life. Yes, that is what I should do.

 

    But he was feeling weak-headed and lethargic, completely uncaring. Various notions of attacking the woman flitted into his skull, danced around there aimlessly, and eventually fluttered out. Fighting required so much effort ....

 

    "You will take care of Xris for me, won't you, my friend? He and the others will be terribly lost without me. You can communicate with him by--Ah!"

 

    Raoul sucked in his breath. The woman had gone over to the cabinet. Removing a plastic card from the pocket of her white coat, she inserted the card into a slot, punched in a series of numbers on a keypad.

 

    Raoul watched through half-closed eyes.

 

    The cabinet was, as he had supposed, filled with small bottles. Each small bottle was filled with a chemical substance.

 

    Life might be worth living, after all.

 

    The woman removed a vial containing a reddish orange liquid. She emptied the contents of the vial into an infusor that was attached to the 'bot's mechanical arm. "Inject him," she commanded.

 

    The medicbot trundled toward Raoul.

 

    Halfway there, however, the 'bot rolled to a stop. Its mechanical head swiveled around.

 

    "I have run a routine analysis on this drug. Are you aware, Doctor, that the injection of this substance will be lethal to the patient?"

 

    "Of course I'm aware," the woman returned, irritated. "Continue with the injection."

 

    "I cannot, Doctor." The medichot ground to a halt. "My programming will not permit me to kill a patient."

 

    "Then give the damn thing to me." The woman seized the injector from the 'bot.

 

    Raoul watched the woman draw near. A dim, terror-filled haziness seemed to slow time, to stretch it like an elastic band. Seconds lengthened to hours, hours to eternities. The speed of sound slowed. The woman's loud, thudding footfails reverberated through Raoul's body. A squeaking bearing on the 'bot grew louder and louder until it was a shrill, screeching scream.

 

    A voice boomed over the comm. It had a strange, echoing quality to it, which made it difficult for Raoul to understand what was being said. He heard the words, some part of his brain understood; other parts watched them drift past.

 

    "Synchronize chronometers to Zulu Time--now. Mission go/nogo will be transmitted in sixty-six hours. Mission completion, barring nogo, will occur by eighty-one hours. You have your orders."

 

    This made no sense to Raoul, but it jolted the woman. She stopped, stared at the comm as if she would have liked to interrogate it.

 

    The ugly man reentered the room. He was in haste and appeared greatly excited.

 

    "Have you terminated the subject yet, Doctor?"

 

    "I am about to do so now," the woman responded. "I had trouble with the 'bot. I heard the announcement. The mission is starting. May the one true God be with us."

 

    "God is with us," the man answered reverently. "Something's happened with the Royal Navy--" The doctor was alarmed. "They've discovered us!" "You're paranoid." The ugly man scoffed. "How could they? No, I don't think that's it. Knight Officer isn't talking specifics, but he says the military's got big problems and that this proves God is working for us in this matter. Work on the device has been completed, except for the final test ran. Speaking of the test, the termination order for the subject is canceled."

 

    The woman stood about six centimeters from Raoul. She continued to hold the injector in her hand. Raoul--attracted by the bright reddish orange color of the poison--stared at it in fascination.

 

    "Why is that?" The woman sounded annoyed.

 

    "Further examination revealed the possibility of undamaged micromachines in the subject's bloodstream. If this is true, it will make him the ideal candidate for the last runthrough of the device. We won't have to sacrifice one of our own. Knight Officer wants you to look at the blood samples, to see if you reach the same conclusion."

 

    "Interesting," the woman said in thoughtful tones. "Of course. I will be right up."

 

    Turning, walking away from Raoul, she laid the injector on a countertop. Raoul stared at the injector, its color the only bright spot of warmth in the cold, sterile room.

 

    "What are we going to do with the Loti in the meantime?" the ugly man asked. "When he goes into total withdrawal, he will be a confounded nuisance. A raving lunatic. We'll have difficulty managing him."

 

    "I will give him a strong sedative, render him comatose. After that"--she shrngged--"the test itself will kill him."

 

    "Report to the lab as soon as he goes under. I will send one of the squires to keep an eye on him."

 

    The woman returned to Raoul, laid a long-nailed and cold-fingered hand on his shoulder. "Stand up," she ordered. "Go lie down on that bed."

 

    Raoul obeyed, meandered off in what appeared to be the general direction of the bed. The medicbot intercepted him halfway to the steel cabinet, gently turned him around, gently steered him to the bed.

 

    Raoul lay down. He had the vague impression that they weren't going to kill him after all. He supposed he should be happy about this, but what had truly perked him up, caught his attention, were the words "strong sedative."

 

    "Give him forty ccs." The woman was issuing instructions to the medicbot. "I presume your programming allows you to do that," she added sarcastically. "Yes, Doctor," said the 'bot, and whirred toward Raoul. Raoul watched it approach with blissful anticipation. The 'bot placed the injector on Raoul's upper arm. The drug flowed into him. Raoul experienced a sudden feeling of intense drowsiness that very nearly put him to sleep. He closed his eyes.

 

    "There, that should take care of him," said the woman, and Raoul was dimly conscious of the fact that she left the room.

 

    The medicbot, no longer needed, shut itself down.

 

    After several moments, Raoul opened his eyes, sat up. He yawned, stretched, looked about him with interest. Feeling relaxed, alert, as after a good night's rest, he jumped down off the bed.

 

    The injector lay forgotten on a tray. Raoul took it, studied it, sniffed at it, made his analysis, and hid the injector beneath the pillow of the bed. He walked over to the computer, scrolled back through the doctor's entries, read them with interest.

 

    What is the name of the ship?

 

    The voice was much clearer now and Raoul recognized it. Hopeful, exhilarated, he searched the lab room, found nothing. He hastened back to the computer files. Nothing there, either.

 

    Frustrated, Raoul glared at the computer, began folding and unfolding the hem of the detested hospital gown.

 

    It was then he noticed the markings stenciled on the bottom. Laundry markings.

 

    Raoul smiled blissfully. Returning to the bed, he lay down, rested his head on the pillow.

 

    "The name of the ship is Canis Major Research I," he reported to the Little One, then settled back to enjoy being heavily sedated.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 20

 

 

 

    ú . . And thereby hangs a tale

 

    William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

 

 

    Xris woke with a start and the panicked feeling that always hit him when his systems shut down. The sound of a snore was highly comforting. He glanced over to see the Doc, sitting upright, his head lolling backward, asleep in one of the metal frame chairs.

 

    Tycho, who didn't handle jumps well, was stretched out on a cot, feebly twitching and groaning. The Little One was a bundle of blankets. Above the usual rattlings and thrummings of the plane, Harry's loud voice could be heard discoursing on the subject of fleas.

 

    Xris did a careful systems analysis. Everything checked out. Quong must have fixed him up. Standing, Xris walked forward into the cockpit.

 

    Jamil, looking intensely bored, was listening to Harry. Rowan was pretending to listen. In reality, she probably hadn't heard a word, sat stating out into space.

 

    Xris began to chew on a twist. "Hello," he said. "How's everything going?"

 

    "Fine, everything's fine," Harry said cheerfully.

 

    "You okay?" Jamil asked gruffly.

 

    Xris nodded, changed the subject. He hated talking about the times when he "crashed," as Quong put it. "What's our ETA?"

 

    Harry glanced at the instruments. "Six hours fifty-four minutes and seven seconds."

 

    "Good. Now why don't you and Jamil go take a walk."

 

    Jamil, casting a glance at Rowan, was already on his feet. Harry just sat there, looking blank.

 

    "Take a walk, Harry," Xris repeated. "Beat it."

 

    "C'mon, Harry." Jamil prodded the big man. "You can show me that video."

 

    "Oh, uh, sure. If you really want to see it. You know, I never knew bugs could be so interesting. Why, were you aware that the flea is known for its agility in leaping--"

 

    The two wandered off back into the interior of the cargo plane.

 

    Xris leaned against the console, chewed on the twist.

 

    Rowan continued to stare into space.

 

    Xris stirred, shifted his gaze to join hers. "Give me one good reason," he said quietly, "why I shouldn't throw you out there."

 

    She finally looked at him.

 

    "Where do you want me to start?"

 

    Xris waved his hand. "Oh, how about when you decided to betray us to the Hung?"

 

    Rowan sighed. "I didn't, Xris. You have to believe me. I didn't."

 

    Xris remained silent, was unconvinced. He finished off the twist, took out another.

 

    "I admit I made mistakes, Xris. I know that now. I knew it then, but by the time I realized ... I should have talked to you ... I wanted to ..."

 

    Shutting her eyes, she shivered. The spaceplane was cold and her uniform--a crisp white blouse and knife-pleated black slacks--was intended for the sheltered, temperaturecontrolled space station. Xris realized he was still dressed in the yellow coverails. He glanced around, found a downfilled jacket--Harry's, to judge by the enormous size--and tossed it to Rowan. She wrapped it around her slender shoulders, hunched into it.

 

    "I've often wondered if it would have made any difference," she continued. "Maybe if I'd opened up to you that day of the briefing, before we left for TISor 13... met you in the bar, like I promised, talked about--" She abruptly skipped that part. "Maybe I would have been less preoccupied with myself. I might have seen the warning signs ...."

 

    She stared at him bleakly. Her hands lay limply in her lap. "I couldn't! I wanted to, but I couldn't! Damn it, Xris, can't you understand? You'd been right! You'd been so goddamn right. And I hated you for being right. I didn't want to hear you say, 'I told you so' !"

 

    Xris took the twist out of his mouth. "Year, I figured that. I wanted to apologize. Your private life was none of my business. I should have kept my mouth shut. It's just--" He shook his head.

 

    "You were trying to save me from myself," Rowan said, smiling the lopsided, sad smile. "I know that. I knew it then. And I knew the truth about her, too. I just didn't know the truth about myself."

 

    She was silent a moment, seemed about to add something. She did add something, eventually. But Xris had the feeling it wasn't what she'd intended.

 

    "I wanted to be loved. It was nice, having someone to come home to at night. I wanted what you and Marjorie had .... "

 

    Xris tossed the chewed-up twist onto the deck.

 

    Rowan glanced at him, looked away. "I heard. I'm sorry."

 

    "So you were saying you should have talked to me," Xris prompted, cold and hard.

 

    "Yes," said Rowan, "I should have talked to you .... "

 

    Dalin Rowan sat in his seat in the shuttlecraft, pretending to study the material he'd been given yesterday, during the briefing at agency headquarters. He was pretending to study it because the new controller--what was his name? Annstrong. Mike Annstrong--was seated beside him and obviously wanted to pass the time in conversation.

 

    Ordinarily, Rowan would have enjoyed the opportunity to talk with sonleone who had worked in HQ, who could have filled him in on the latest changes, promotions, who was in, who was out. But not now. Not today. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Not even his best friend.

 

    Rowan was hurting. When he'd been a new recruit to the agency, he'd received training in hand4o-hand combat. He'd been pummeled, stepped on, kicked, thrown, stomped, and mauled. There hadn't been one part of his body that didn't hurt. It was how he felt now, except the hurt was inside, not out. And though he told himself it was his ego that had taken the beating, not his heart, the pain was there and it was real. He knew, too, that he was indulging himself in his pain, luxuriating in it, getting some sort of a perverse satisfaction out of it. He was doing his best to prolong it.

 

    You're being a real asshole, Rowan told himself. You shouldn't have stood Xris up last night. This wasn't his fault.

 

    Yes, but he's enjoying this, came the ugly rejoinder from some croaking demon inside Rowan.

 

    He knew that wasn't true. Xris probably hurt as much for his friend as Rowan hurt for himself. But the demon wouldn't shut up, wouldn't let loose. And because he knew he was treating Xris unfairly, Rowan felt guilty as well as hurting. Irrationally, he blamed Xris for adding to the pain.

 

    Someone touched his ann. Rowan gave a violent start, nearly dropping his electronic notebook.

 

    "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you." Armstrong was obviously astonished at Rowan's reaction. He made a vague gesture. "You can see Vigilance from the viewscreen now. Thought you might want to take a look, the ship being new and all .... "His words dried up.

 

    Rowan flushed. "Yeah, thanks. I should put this stuff away anyhow. I guess we'll be docking soon." He switched off the notebook, thrust it into the metal traveling case, and tried to appear interested in the new space cruiser.

 

    And then, in spite of himself, he was interested. Vigilance was the newest weapon in the agency's arsenal. The ship was equipped with the latest in sensing and communications devices. Its main function was to act as an orbiting command post for planetside operations. The relatively simple raid on TISor 13 was to be the test run.

 

    "Sorry I haven't been very good company," Rowan apologized. "It's just ... well, I've got a lot on my mind."

 

    "Sure. I understand," said Armstrong, and then promptly proved he didn't by adding, "From what I've heard, this job should be relatively simple for a computer genius like you."

 

    It was the type of compliment Rowan detested. It made him sound like some sort of freak. And then he wondered just exactly what Armstrong had "heard." And was the reference to "genius" a subtle sneer? Rowan forgot about his own internal miseries, studied Armstrong more closely, taking a good look at the guy for the first time since they'd met yesterday.

 

    What he saw was unprepossessing. Probably in his late forties, Armstrong had sandy hair, tanned skin with a smattering of freckles that gave him a friendly, youthful appearance. He was of average build, average height, apparently average intelligence--an all-around average sort of guy. And from his vacuous smile, Armstrong had intended his remark to be a compliment. Obviously not the subtle type.

 

    A good steady man to have on the team, probably make a good controller. But he wouldn't ever be a friend. Not like Xris. Not like Ito.

 

    Rowan was disgusted with himself. Suddenly he wanted to talk to Xris. Needed to talk to him. The logjam of selfpity and anger was beginning to break up inside. He knew what he had to do now. It would be a comfort to let the pain pour out.

 

    I'll have my chance, he promised himself. When this job is finished and Xris and Ito and I are flying back on Vigilance together, it'll be like old times, sitting, talking over a beer. I'll tell them everything ....

 

    The shuttle docked with Vigilance. The two agents gathered their belongings, prepared to disembark. Captain Bolton was on hand to meet them.

 

    "Welcome aboard the Vigilance. Your berths will be up forward off the forward mess. Stow your luggage. Then meet me on the bridge. I'll give you a tour of the ship."

 

    With a cool nod, Bolton returned to her duties.

 

    "She must be a good captain," Rowan said, shifting his luggage from his right hand to his left. Most of what he carried was equipment intended to help him break into an unknown computer.

 

    "How can you tell?" Armstrong asked. "And which way is forward?"

 

    "This way. Follow me." Rowan led off, Armstrong trailing along behind. "As for Bolton being a good captain, you can generally tell by the feel of the ship. The crew carrying out their duties efficiently, briskly."

 

    "No one's lurking about in dark corners plotting mutiny. Is that it?"

 

    "Something like that," Rowan agreed. "First time on board a working spaceship?"

 

    "Is it that obvious? I must say, it's a bit different from your standard passenger ship, isn't it? Everything's so ... well ... small."