The Knights of the Black Earth (16 page)

“Woman,” Xris
corrected himself grimly, “lives and works on the station, rarely leaves.
According to the files, she’s only left twice in the seven years since he . . .
she’s been assigned to it. Those trips were duty-related.”

“Perhaps,” Raoul
suggested mildly, studying his nails with a critical air, “if we called her by
name, this would alleviate the confusion in your mind, Xris Cyborg.”

“Which name? She’s
got two.”

Raoul shifted his
gaze and again the eyes were disconcertingly focused. “The name you attach to
her in your thoughts. The name of the person she was to you. For that is the
person who must die.”

Xris said nothing
for long moments, just chewed on the twist. Finally he said, “Rowan. We call
her Rowan. That’s who she was and, as far as I’m concerned, who she is.”

Raoul nodded
complacently, repeated “Rowan” to himself several times, spread his fingers,
and waved his hands in the air to dry the nail polish.

Xris again
indicated the holograph. “Best-case scenario would be to catch Rowan alone in
her apartment, which is located somewhere in this block. But that’s out, for
several reasons. Getting onto the space station itself is going to be damn
difficult. Once we get there, we’re going to have a limited amount of time, so
we’ll have to move fast. One thing the military doesn’t give out is the
addresses of its people. We could spend hours wandering around the station
searching for her housing unit, only to find out when we get there that she’s
not at home.

“But she works in
a place called FCWing. Once we’re inside, we tap into the computer, ask it
where to find FCWing, and let the computer lead us right to him. Her.”

Raoul rolled his
eyes, gave a delicate sigh.

Xris pretended he
didn’t hear. “If Rowan’s in an office by herself—no problem. I’ll need five
minutes alone—”

“Five
minutes\
To take out a mark?” Harry was a bit thick-headed.

Xris stared
fixedly at the holograph. “I need time for a short conversation.”

Harry looked
uncomfortable. “Sure, Xris. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Xris turned,
walked away from the table over to the trash receptacle located beneath a fully
stocked bar. He spit the soggy wad of tobacco into the trash, then helped
himself to a brandy—Mataska 7 Star. The seven-hundred-year-old variety. He
poured himself a glass. Looking in the mirror, he could see the others exchange
questioning glances, with the exception of Raoul, who calmly blew on his nails.

Xris swallowed the
brandy, returned to the hologram. “Any questions so far?”

Raoul raised a
hand. “What happens if this Rowan is not alone, my friend?”

“Then I’ll know
for certain there’s not a God,” Xris returned quietly. “I’ll need one of your
special concoctions.” The cyborg indicated his weapons hand. “Something I can
smear on a needle, inject into the flesh. Slow-acting, no antidote.”

Raoul was
thoughtful, intrigued. “I have just the thing. It is known as—”

“I’ll leave the
details to you.” Xris indicated a large digital clock placed in a prominent
location on the wall. “We’re running short on time and we’ve got more important
details to cover.”

“Such as how we
get onto the space station,” Quong observed. “I take it blasting our way
through is not an option.”

“We’d never make
it within torpedo range. The base is well armed with strong defensive
capabilities. It switches on its marker lights only when a ship is near, to aid
in docking. And the only ships that ever dock are Royal Navy, plus a select
few. A very select few. A fleet of Corasian mother ships would have a tough
time taking that space station out.”

“But you have a
plan,” said Harry, grinning.

“I have a plan.”
Xris bent near the hologram. “As I said, the base is mostly self-sufficient.
Mostly. They have one little problem that requires outside intervention.”

Xris straightened,
shook another twist out from the case, and lit it. “Fleas.” He inhaled the noxious
smoke.

“Fleas!” Harry
guffawed.

“They don’t
consider it a laughing matter. It seems that about twenty years ago, some
colonel’s kid sneaked a stray dog on board the space station. The dog was
infested with a particularly virulent type of flea. Not only is this flea
harder than hell to kill, it carries a highly infectious, flulike disease. It’s
not fatal to healthy adults, but it puts them out of action for a considerable
length of time. Came damn close to shutting down the entire RFComSec operation
for about a month the first time the plague hit.

“Since then, the
Navy’s tried every trick known to men and aliens to eradicate the pest. The
best they can do is keep it under control. This requires a team of specially
trained exterminators to come in once a month.”

“Every
month?” Jamil asked, skeptical. “Is this reliable?”

“Every Standard
Military month,” Xris said, “for the last twenty years.”

“Twenty years! Why
doesn’t the Navy just do it themselves?”

“The Royal Navy is
not
in the bug-killing business,” Xris returned. “Besides, this
extermination company invented the system that keeps the fleas dormant. No one’s
quite sure how it works and the exterminators won’t tell. They hold patents on
the entire system and they have an open-ended exclusive contract to take care
of it.

“Here’s what we do
know. The exterminators place robots that release the chemicals in minute doses
all over the station to control the fleas on a continuous basis. If the ‘bots
run across flea-breeding grounds, they actively seek out the fleas and their
larvae and eradicate them using a chemical spray and microlasers. Every month
the Olicien personnel bring the ‘bots in to a central checkpoint for
maintenance and chemical replenishment.”

“Nice profitable
operation they’ve got going,” Tycho observed through his translator. “Paid for
by our tax credits. Ill bet they stick the Navy for a fortune!”

“Quit worrying
about your tax return. At any rate, this is one time the Navy’s
not
going to get their money’s worth. As I said, the exterminators visit once every
SMT month. Every month they fly their own craft, which leaves from their own
home world. They make the jump, arrive on the space station. The crew goes
in—just like they’ve been going in once a month for twenty years.”

“Same old same
old,” Harry said softly. “I’ll bet no one even bothers to check their IDs.”

“Yeah, but is it
the same crew all the time?” Jamil wondered. “If so, we’ve got problems.”

Xris shook his
head. “No, they’ve got other contracts to handle. Plus the usual amount of
employee attrition and turnover. We may have a tough time explaining why
all
of us are new to the job, but I’m sure that’s something our knowledgeable
Adonian salesman can handle.” He looked at Raoul, who grimaced.

“I do not enjoy
playing salesmen, Xris Cyborg.”

Xris was
sympathetic. “I know, but you’re so good at it. And I think it’s about time
that Olicien Pest Control tries to sell the Navy some additional services.
Their charming representative will keep the security systems officer on
RFComSec engaged in bug-related small talk—”

Raoul shot Xris a
reproachful glance.

“—while the rest
of us take care of business. At this point, we face a problem. The
exterminators are supposed to remain in one secure area. The security officer
keeps tabs on them by following their movements on his screen. Any deviation
from the norm and we’ll have the whole blasted Navy on us. And,” Xris added,
taking another drag on the twist, “it’s highly probable that once I locate
Rowan, I’m going to have to leave the area to get to her.”

“I am a good
conversationalist,” Raoul said gravely, “but I do not believe I am capable of
distracting a person with airy chatter— even on a subject as fascinating as
fleas—while his monitor is flashing alarms and urgently attempting to gain his
attention.”

“I don’t expect
you to.” Xris snubbed out the twist. “When the Little One picks up the first
indication that this officer has spotted something wrong, you give him a quick
fix. Nothing lethal—I don’t want any innocent people killed. Just something to
send him to la-la land while we finish the job.”

Raoul nodded
complacently, admired his nails. “I see no problem in this, Xris Cyborg.”

“There is one
little thing I better mention, Raoul,” Xris said slowly.

Not liking the
cyborg’s tone, Raoul looked up in alarm. “What is that, my friend?”

“You have to wear
.. . coveralls.”

Raoul’s eyes
widened.
“Baggy
coveralls?” he whispered, aghast.

“Bright yellow.”

Raoul shuddered.

Xris was
relentless. “With a large black beetle on the back.”

Raoul shut his
eyes, unable to contemplate the horror. “I will take that double pay, after
all.”

Xris looked around
at the others. “That’s the general plan. Now we’ll cover the details. Any
questions so far?”

“What happens if
we get there and this Rowan’s taken the day off or is working the night shift?”
Jamil asked.

“She won’t be,”
Xris said shortly. “I have her work schedule.”

“Damn!” Harry was
admiring. “What’d you do, Xris, ask Lord Admiral Dixter to hand over the Navy’s
classified files?”

“Something like
that,” Xris said easily. “Any more questions?”

They discussed how
they were going to hijack the craft, what they were going to use to subdue the
exterminators before they could be stripped of clothes and equipment. The team
tried to anticipate anything that could go wrong and formed a variety of
contingency plans to deal with various scenarios.

Xris brought the
meeting to a close. “Our time’s almost up. When we leave here, we don’t mention
any of this. Not a word. From this point on, we separate. You four split up. I’ll
keep the Loti and the empath with me. You’ll find the date, time, and location
of our meeting place in a coded file in your own individual computers. That
will also give you the location of Olicien Pest Control. Raoul, you and the
Little One will arrive early, ahead of the rest of the team, in order to
conduct your research. You’re going to have to learn a lot about fleas.”

Raoul gave a
heart-wrenching sigh. “The sacrifices I make for my career. And the Little One”—he
glanced at his slumbering friend—”will find this most distasteful. He has the
strong aversion to insect life-forms that is so prevalent among his kind.”

“He’ll get over
it,” Xris said, who had no idea what “kind” the Little One was and who knew
better than to ask, having been through that once with Raoul and gaining
nothing from it except a throbbing pain behind the eyes. “Wake him up. I’ve got
some additional instructions for you both.”

The others filed
out, pausing to ask final questions or obtain clarification on some minor
details. The last man had gone before Raoul roused the Little One. The empath
shook himself, straightened his raincoat, and stared up from beneath the brim
of the fedora at Xris.

The cyborg reached
across to the control panel, shut and sealed the door.

“Now here’s the
plan for Olicien—” Xris began, then interrupted himself. “What the hell does
he
mean—staring at me like that?”

“The Little One
says you are unsettled in your mind, Xris Cyborg, and that is most unlike you.
Not even when you were contemplating that foolhardy venture to launch a one-man
rescue of your wife from the Corasian prison camp—”

Xris frowned,
interrupted the flow. “If this is leading somewhere, get to it. We don’t have
much time and I still have to pack up the equipment.”

“Not even during
that dark time were you this ... this .. .” Raoul fluttered his hands,
searching his fog-ridden mind for a word. “Deranged.”

“Deranged.” Xris
clamped his jaw down angrily on a twist. “He thinks I’m deranged.”

“Perhaps that is
not the word I meant. Possibly you would prefer
unhinged?”

“I’d prefer you
both out of sight
and
out of mind!” Xris glared at the Little One. “But
I suppose that’s impossible, since you’re traveling with me. This is the last I
want to hear of it, or you can both make the trip home locked up snugly in the
storage compartment. Now here are your orders—”

“We are telling
you this for your good, Xris Cyborg.” Raoul was defensive. “Usually your brain
is like a laser beam—clear, focused, flashing in a straight line toward your
goal. But now, my friend, you are a laser beam in a room full of reflectors.
You bounce off one and are distracted by another. You are zapping all over the
place.”

“Thanks for the
analysis,” Xris said. “Send me a bill.”

“The bill may be a
large one, my friend.” Raoul’s eyes were extraordinarily clear, intense.
Disconcerting. “And we—the others and myself—are the ones who will pay. You are
too emotionally involved. This could lead you to commit rash and hasty acts.
You are already making mistakes.”

“Clear out.” Xris
ground the words between his teeth and the twist. “Both of you. Now. I’ll meet
you at the spaceplane.”

He pointed at the
door.

“In just a moment.”
Raoul appeared to have taken root. The Little One entrenched himself behind the
Loti’s legs. “You must listen to us.”

Xris sighed.
Unless he wanted to get physical—which Raoul would have probably enjoyed—there
would be no budging the Adonian. The fastest way to get rid of him and the
empath was to simply let them have their say. And, although he was fairly
certain no one could plant any listening devices aboard his spaceplane without
his knowing it, he was up against some of the best in the business—the bureau,
the Royal Navy,
and
the Hung. Sure he was acting paranoid. It was
unlikely any of these groups would have found out about him yet, but—as the
saying went—just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone’s not following
you. Best to let Raoul unburden himself inside a secure room.