The Knights of the Black Earth (37 page)

“Described as
well-trained mercenaries, these men are wanted ‘for questioning concerning the
alleged break-in of a Naval establishment.’ The leader is a cyborg, known only
as Xris. A former federal agent under the old regime, he left that job to form
his own mercenary unit, which has done work for—so we understand— some
extremely
high-ranking
people.”

Warden paused to
allow the audience to catch his meaning, then continued. “These men are
considered armed and highly dangerous. If you see any of them, you are urged to
take no action yourselves, but to contact your local law enforcement agency.”

James M. Warden
leaned forward again in his chair, placed his hands on the table. “A Naval
establishment attacked, a crack team of mercenaries wanted for ‘questioning,’
the surprise ‘readiness’ test of the Royal Navy. Coincidence, viewers?”

Warden closed with
his standard line. “I think not.”

“You see there!”
Olefsky waved at the vid. “By my bowels and spleen, you are the most notorious
criminals in the galaxy!” His gaze narrowed. “I could summon my soldiers. You
should be cooling your heels in my dungeons.”

Xris started to
say something to the effect that it would take an entire regiment of the Bear’s
soldiers to capture him, if he decided to fight. But he wouldn’t fight and
Olefsky knew it, so why bother? Xris kept his mouth shut.

“You still won’t
tell me what is going on,” Bear said, his tone grim.

Xris stared
moodily out the window. “It’s all a mistake. A misunderstanding.”

The Bear frowned,
tugged at his beard.

“I can explain
everything to the Lord Admiral,” Xris added. “Ten minutes with Dixter and we’ll
be in the clear.”

The Bear was
shaking his head.

Rowan appeared in
the doorway. “Xris,” she said excitedly, “I think I’ve found something.”

Xris was about to
follow her when he discovered he wasn’t going anywhere. Bear’s massive hand had
clamped down on the cyborg’s good shoulder.

“I’m going to call
Dixter right now,” Xris promised.

“It is not as easy
as that, I am afraid, my friend,” Olefsky replied. “You heard this news about
the Naval ‘readiness test.’ I’ll tell you what is truly going on. I have been
informed. Operation Macbeth, it is called.”

“Macbeth!” Rowan
repeated, stunned. “Good God!”

“Operation Macbeth”—the
Bear rumbled on—”is designed to thwart a revolution. All communication between
ships is silenced. Anyone who tries to communicate with a ship of the line will
be fired on.”

“It’s because I
know the codes,” Rowan murmured, looking dazed. “Of course. I never imagined
that they would go this far, but I don’t suppose they have any choice. I could
take over the fleet! Macbeth would be the only way to stop me.”

“But we’re not
trying to take over the damn fleet,” Xris said impatiently. “And if I can just
talk to Admiral Dixter—”

“That’s the point,
laddie,” said the Bear. “You can’t talk to Dixter or anyone else in the Royal
Navy. No one can, not even myself. Not for seventy-two hours.”

“What a bizarre
situation!” Rowan spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “The Navy shuts down
communications because I could betray them, and because communications are shut
down I can’t communicate with the Navy to let them know I’m not a traitor. What
do we do?”

The Bear gazed at
them from beneath thick, lowering brows. “Turn yourselves in to the
authorities.”

“That’s not a bad
idea, Xris.” Jamil spoke up. “We could go to the nearest land-based army unit.
Walk in the front door with our hands in the air. Then they’ll have to listen
to us.”

“And what happens
to Raoul in the meantime?” Xris demanded.

Olefsky was
immediately concerned. “Raoul? What have you done with the Peacock?”

The Bear was fond
of the Adonian and of the Little One and would frequently invite them both to
the castle. Raoul’s burning goal in life was to instill a sense of fashion
consciousness in the Olefskys and, although the Adonian found the task
daunting, he bravely and resolutely refused to shrink from the challenge. He
was constantly carrying over various ensembles, spending fatiguing hours
endeavoring to convince Olefsky that smelly deer hide— while practical—was not
suitable for formal dinner invitations to the Glitter Palace. All of which the
Olefsky family found highly diverting and hung the new clothes up on the walls
as curiosities.

“Where is the
Peacock?” Olefsky peered around.

“Someone snatched
him. Beat up the Little One. We don’t know why. We don’t think it has anything
to do with .. . this other.”

The Bear glanced
at the Little One, who was clinging to Rowan’s uniform jacket. Olefsky noticed,
for the first time, the bloodstained bandage. He growled, frowned, paced about thoughtfully,
trampling a small end table.

Xris took out a
twist, tapped it on his knee. “I won’t abandon a member of my team. I signed
contracts with all of you and I’ll keep my end of the agreement. I’ll go after
Raoul myself if I have to.”

Jamil was defensive.
“Damn it, Xris, I didn’t mean we should abandon him! You know I’m with you. I
was just being—”

“I know.” Xris
interrupted, softened his tone. “I understand. You were just being logical. I’m
sorry, guys. I’m tired. We’re all tired. I got you into this. What Jamil says
does make sense. Go with him, take his advice. He’ll know how to handle it. You’ll
probably get reduced sentences.”

Harry said “No!”
loudly and glared at Jamil.

Jamil looked grim
and uncomfortable and muttered something to the effect that it was a sound idea
and they should consider it.

Quong, his eyes
closed, was apparently approaching this as he might have approached the
solution to a mathematical equation, even to the point of absently working
calculations with slight movements of his fingertips.

Tycho yelled
something unintelligible; he’d grown so flustered he’d accidentally switched
off his translator.

Jamil and Harry
both loudly told him to turn it on.

“Bear,” Xris said
quietly, talking beneath the confusion, “I know Dion, remember? Hell, I helped
put him on the throne! I swear to you on ... on what’s left of me”—he held out
his flesh-and-blood arm—”that we’re not fomenting a revolution. We’re not
intending to overthrow the king or assassinate him or anyone. May this arm be
cut off if I’m lying.”

“Yes,” the Bear
said, “go on.”

Xris drew in a
deep breath, let it out slowly. “Give me these seventy-two hours to find Raoul
and do what I can to straighten out this mess. By the end of that time, no
matter what happens, I’ll turn myself in.”

“You are in great
danger, my friend,” Olefsky observed. “Not only is the Royal Navy after you,
every law officer and bounty hunter in the galaxy will be out to capture you,
bring you in—dead or alive.”

Xris said nothing,
had nothing to say to the obvious.

Olefsky stared at
him, ruminated. Suddenly the Bear leaned forward, smote Xris on the back, a
blow that jarred every rivet in the cyborg’s body.

“I trust you. I
believe you. You have seventy-two hours. What’s more, if you need a spaceplane
other than that yellow monstrosity in which you landed”—the Bear grinned—”you
may borrow one of mine.”

“Thank you, Bear,”
Xris said, offering to shake on it. “You won’t regret this.”

“I do not think I
will.” Bear heaved a sigh. Then, clasping firm hold of Xris’s good hand,
Olefsky added solemnly, “The good God help you if you are lying, laddie. In
that instance, I myself will be the one who takes this arm.”

The Bear squeezed
his bulk back through the door. Alerting his two sons to his presence with a
playful blow on the back of each shaggy head, he thudded down the stairs,
strode off into the woods. His lumbering sons and the dog crashed along behind.

The Bear’s final
threat had been emphasized by a crushing grip. Xris could still feel the ache.
He had his seventy-two hours. Just what the hell he was going to do with them
was currently open to question.

He turned to
Rowan. “Yes? What have you got? Did you find Raoul?”

She nodded, gently
placed her hand on the Little One’s small shoulder.

“He gave you the
clue. A research vessel, registered to a university. The name is
Canis Major
Research I.”

The Little One
made some sort of guttural, almost feral sound, and nodded so vigorously that
the fedora toppled off, revealing the bandaged face. Moving with remarkable
swiftness, the empath retrieved his hat, clapped it back on his head.

“And how the hell
did you figure it out?” Xris asked.

Rowan grinned. She
was actually enjoying herself.

“When the Little
One hugged the dog, it occurred to me that what he was trying to tell us had something
to do with dogs. What could it be, except the name of the ship?

“Once I knew that,
I went into the files of the local spaceport on Auriga, downloaded the names of
vessels that had requested landing permission during that particular time
period—”

“Wait a minute.
You just waltzed in?”

“Well, maybe it
wasn’t quite that easy” Rowan looked modest. “I’m dead, so far as computer
access is concerned. All my passwords have been wiped clean. I can’t even log
on to my own personal computer in my apartment. But people are always leaving
back doors open. It was fairly simple, actually, given what I know. Anyhow,
once I had the names, I did a search through the list. Nothing with the word
dog
turned up. But I was certain it had to be there.

“So was he.” She
gestured to the Little One. “He was practically glued to me. I knew I was on
the right track. So I tried
dog
in other languages, merged that list
with the list of ship names and there was the match—
Canis Major.
I asked
the Little One if that was the name and he indicated yes. I asked him if his
friend Raoul was on that ship and he nodded yes again.”

The Little One was
still saying yes. Whenever anybody looked at him sideways he would nod and
pound his two small fists together.

Xris glanced at
Quong for confirmation. “How reliable is this, Doc? How would a Tongan know the
word
Canis
had anything at all to do with dogs? Unless, of course, Raoul
is teaching his little buddy dead languages in his spare time.”

“It is very much
possible,” Quong replied. “Many telepaths use mental imagery to convey their
thoughts and read the thoughts of others. They do not need words. For example,
Raoul hears the name ‘
Canis Major,’’
thinks ‘the dog star,’ thinks of
dogs, bringing up an image in his mind of a dog. The Little One brings up the
image of a dog in his mind and attaches that to Olefsky’s animal. Major Mohini”—Quong
bowed to Rowan—”searches for names having to do with dogs and, finding one,
produces a very strong mental image of a dog in her mind, which is picked up by
our small friend.”

“I can track the
ship, Xris,” Rowan offered. “It is a Verdi-class vessel, the kind typically
used for research or short hops between planets. It has no hyperspace
capabilities, no weapons, no shields. A long-range spaceplane could catch it
in, say, eight hours.”

Xris took a drag
on the twist. “A research vessel. You mean the kind colleges use to go out and
chart star systems and study insect life on other planets and all that?”

“That would seem
so, given the name,” Rowan responded. Xris snorted. “Then this makes no sense.
What the hell are a bunch of egghead professors doing with Raoul? Writing a
thesis on the correct shoes to wear with knee-high velvet pants after five?”

“Judging by what
they did to the Little One, my friend, this is not a joking matter,” Quong
observed gravely. “The beating he took was a professional job. They intended to
kill him.”

“Yeah, I know. I
found him, remember?” Xris considered, then made up his mind. “Very well. I’m
going to pay a little visit to this
Canis Major Research I.”

“We’re with you,
Xris,” said Jamil. He looked uncomfortable. “And, uh, about what I brought up
earlier, about turning ourselves in. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it. You
made sense.” Xris massaged his arm. It still ached. “I know everyone’s
exhausted, but since we only have seventy-two hours, we need to leave right
away. We can catch some sleep on the plane. Gather up your gear and let’s move
out.”

The rest left.
Xris found himself alone with Rowan. At least as alone as they could be,
considering that the Little One was hanging on to Rowan’s slacks like a lost
child.

Xris decided the
best way to go about this was quick, cool, businesslike. “You can’t stay here
by yourself. It wouldn’t be safe. I’ll take you over to Olefsky’s—”

She was smiling,
shaking her head. “I’m coming with you, Xris. I know you don’t trust me, but—”

“I told you once,”
Xris interrupted coldly, “I need you alive. Besides, it’s not your problem.
Raoul’s my man and—”

“And he’s the only
way I have to prove to you I’m telling the truth.” Rowan rested her hand again
on the Little One’s shoulder. “He can’t tell you what I’m thinking and feeling.
I’m not sure he understands. But his friend Raoul will. He will tell you. And
you’ll believe him, won’t you?”

Xris believed
already. He couldn’t help himself. He was having to work very hard at
not
believing.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll
believe him.” He snubbed out the twist. “Well, now I guess we go see a man
about a dog.”

Therefore those
who skillfully move opponents make formations that opponents are sure to
follow, give what opponents are sure to take.

Sun Tzu,
The Art of War

“Unknown
spaceplane, this is
Canis Major Research I.
You are in violation of
intergalactic safety regulation number 2158-B3, which requires a five-kilometer
exclusion zone between—”