The Knights of the Black Earth (41 page)

Xris motioned for
Tycho to join them.

“All clear down
here,” Tycho reported.

“Yeah,” said Xris,
spitting out the twist. “That’s because there’s a reception committee waiting
for us at the spaceplane.”

“How many?” asked
Tycho.

“Too damn many. We’re
clearing out.”

Tycho’s face
darkened. “Jamil’s trapped on the bridge—”

“He’s abandoning
ship. We all are.”

They stared at
him.

Xris switched on
the comm to Jamil. “Rescue-two—
now!”
Xris hoped Jamil had truly
understood his message.
Turn out the lights and. lock up the house. Then
follow the signs.
If not . . .

A second’s
worry-packed delay, and then the lights went out. The air went off. Emergency
lights flickered on, casting an eerie bluish glow over everything. A
computerized voice echoed through the corridor.

“Warning! Life
support has shut down. Follow the white lights and proceed to the emergency
exits. Stay calm. Warning! Life support has shut down. Follow the white lights
and proceed to the emergency exits. Stay calm. Warning! . ..”

Small white
lights, embedded in the deck, began to flash in a distinct pattern, leading in
one direction.

Quong nodded his
head; he was beginning to understand. Rowan had it; she was smiling in
approval. Tycho was already changing skin color to blend into the semidarkness.
Raoul looked delighted. He was probably enjoying the light show.

“Move out,” Xris
ordered.

Following the
guide lights, they headed down the corridor at a run. Tycho took the lead; his
rifle scope had infrared sights. Quong shepherded Rowan, Raoul, and the Little
One. Xris brought up the rear. They met no one. All resistance, apparently, was
gathered around their spaceplane.

“Rescue-five.”
Xris alerted Harry. “Take off. We can’t reach you.”

“Rescue-one, I
didn’t catch that. Would you repeat?”

Xris sighed, shook
his head. “Rescue-five, dammit, take off! We’re going out in the escape pods.”

“But Xris!
Spaceplanes can’t recover escape pods! I—”

“Orders,
Rescue-five,” Xris snapped.

“Sure, Xris. I
mean, Rescue-one.”

It was all very
easy after that. So easy, in fact, that once they reached the pods, Raoul
announced that he had time to go back after his clothes. Xris, not even
bothering to comment, shoved the Adonian into the escape pod.

The pods aboard a
Verdi-class vessel are built to hold eight people—not comfortably, but then
escape pods weren’t meant to be used for extended periods of time. Since
Verdi-class ships had no hyperspace capabilities and were not armed, they weren’t
likely to venture into the wilds of space. Traveling near the busy trade
routes, a ship in trouble was likely to have help within hours. And, as Xris
knew, help was already on its way.

When everyone was
crammed inside the pod, perched on the hard benches, their heads and backs
pressed against the curved walls (the tall Tycho was bent double), Xris sealed
the pod, pressed the emergency release. The pod dropped off. Small rocket
thrusters fired, taking them a safe distance from the ship before shutting
down.

Bursts of fire
indicated the launching of a second pod, not far from theirs—that would be
Jamil. In the distance, Xris could see the Schiavona spaceplane hovering near
the pods like a distraught mother hen. They had escaped neatly, easily. He
wondered how long it would take the soldiers lying in ambush for the team to
figure out they weren’t coming. All they had to do now was sit back and wait
for that freighter. And think up a plausible story.

“Harry,” said
Rowan into the comm, almost as soon as the pod had ejected, “put me through to
the computer.”

She gave detailed
instructions to the computer on how to break into its counterpart aboard the
Canis Major,
how to sneak around without being noticed, what files to find,
and how to begin downloading them. Then she sat and fidgeted.

“I suppose it has
occurred to you, Xris, that we may be rescued, then immediately tossed into the
brig.” Tycho was often grumbling and irritable after a raid. “What’s to keep
the professors”—he jerked his long thumb toward the vessel—”from claiming that
we seized their ship, terrorized them, then fled when things got too hot?”

“They won’t,” said
Xris, chewing lazily on a twist. He began investigating the damage to his arm. “In
fact, it’s my guess they won’t even stick around.”

“But Harry said
they couldn’t start their engines for another six . .. I’ll be damned.” Quong
was keeping watch out the porthole. “You were right. There they go. Full main
thrusters.”

“Stop them, Xris,”
said Rowan suddenly. In her urgency, she reached across, rested her hand on his
good one. “Tell Harry to shoot them down. Now!”

“Are you crazy?”
Xris stared at her. “Fire on an unarmed ship—some helpless research vessel? In
full view of that freighter? Okay, the bastards weren’t so helpless, but that
freighter captain doesn’t know that. We’d not only be tossed in the brig, we’d
be thrown into the disrupter!”

“Not after they
saw the evidence I’m downloading. Do it, Xris!” She was in earnest. Her grip on
him tightened.

“Too late,” Quong
said coolly. “By the Holy Master, they had hyperspace, as well! They’re gone!”

Xris pushed his
way forward, peered out the porthole. No sign of the
Canis Major.
The
ship had jumped into one of the nearby Lanes. He sat back down.
What
the
devil was going on?

“Someone went to a
lot of expense to modify that ship,” Tycho observed. “Imagine, adding backup
linear drive
and
hyperspace to a Verdi-class!”

“Of course they
would,” Rowan said irritably. “They would have to, with what they’re planning.”

“What
are
they planning? What have you got on them?” Xris demanded.

She looked over at
him.

“Less than sixty
hours from now, they’re plotting to assassinate the king.”

Let fortune’s
bubbles rise and fall. . . .

John Greenleaf Whittier,
A Song of Harvest

“And that,” said
Raoul, spreading his hands dramatically, “is my story.”

He was obviously
enjoying himself, enjoying his audience, enjoying being the center of
attention. So much so that Xris, sucking on a twist, regarded him with
suspicion.

Quong rolled up
the Adonian’s sleeves, made a brief examination of his arm. “He’s had blood
drawn. You can see the discoloration on the skin.”

“It’s all in the
computer files, Xris,” Rowan added. “Well, not all of it. We were only able to
download a small segment before they made the jump. There are a lot of holes.
But it adds up.”

“Maybe. But to
what?”

“To regicide,”
Rowan said. “Like I told you.”

Xris shook his
head.

Within an hour of
their escape from
Cants Major Research I,
the team had been picked up by
the freighter. The captain listened to their story—how they’d heard the
distress call, stopped to help what they thought was a disabled vessel, boarded
the ship, were then set upon by thugs, and barely escaped with their lives.

The captain had
been dubious: not surprising, considering Tycho standing there holding a
specialized iridium sniper rifle; Raoul, blushing in shame, in his hospital
gown; Xris with half his left arm sizzling and popping; and Rowan bleeding from
a scalp wound. To say nothing of the Little One.

There was the
possibility, of course, that the captain watched the nightly news, would
recognize them. But Xris wasn’t overly concerned about that. Even if the
captain had seen the news, freighter captains were notorious for minding their
own business. They had their own problems, including delivery dates to meet.

The vessel that
had sent the distress signal had disappeared; the crew wasn’t around to speak
for themselves. The captain asked a few questions—just enough to make his
report look good—then was only too happy to transfer Xris and his team back to
their spaceplane and be rid of them.

Once on board the
Schiavona, Xris attempted to put together the pieces of what was turning out to
be an extremely bizarre puzzle. Just what did the kidnapping of a
fashion-conscious Adonian Loti have to do with the assassination of a king?

“You said Dr.
Brisbane asked you questions.” Rowan pursued Raoul’s debriefing. “What about?”

Raoul shrugged. “My
late former employer, Snaga Ohme. The time I spent with my late former
employer. I must say that it brought back very painful memories.”

The Adonian was
lucid—or at least as lucid as Raoul could ever be, considering that no one was
actually certain where he ended and his drug-induced euphoria began. Quong had
given Raoul, now dressed in a flight suit, a mild sedative—to help him get over
the shock of the hospital gown, which seemed to bother him more than any of the
other torments he had suffered. With the exception of his true concern for the
Little One.

Raoul’s gaze
strayed often to his friend, as if reassuring himself the empath was safe, and
he occasionally patted the Little One on whatever part of the small being was
handy. The Little One huddled possessively near Raoul, the one visible eye
gleaming in triumph.

There was still
the matter of Rowan. Here was Xris’s opportunity to ask Raoul and the Little
One about Rowan’s veracity. He’d been looking forward to doing just that, but
now that the moment had come, he put it off. This other matter was more
important, he told himself. Or maybe it was because he already knew the answer.

“What specific
questions did Dr. Brisbane ask you about Snaga Ohme?” Rowan persisted
patiently.

Raoul fluttered
his hands. “It was all so . . . dreadful and confused. That hideous gown. I was
not my accustomed self, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at them from the
corners of his eyes.

“We get the idea,”
Xris said wryly.

Raoul sighed,
attempted to concentrate. “I believe that the dreadful female kept asking me if
Snaga Ohme had ever given me any sort of injections. If he had used me for any
sort of tests or experiments.”

“And did he?”
Rowan sat forward, interested.

“No.” Raoul looked
bewildered. “Why would he? My late employer, Snaga Ohme, was a purveyor of
weaponry. What had I to do with such onerous devices as bombs and tanks?”

“What indeed. . .
.” Rowan murmured. “You told Dr. Brisbane this?”

“Yes.”

“And .. .”

“She did not
appear to believe me. It was at that point that she announced that she was
going to terminate me.” Raoul shuddered delicately.

“But she didn’t,”
Xris said.

“I don’t believe
so.” Raoul was forced to consider the matter.

“Did she give you
any reason why?”

“The only thing
she gave me was an extremely powerful sedative. At which point,” Raoul added
gravely, “I began to feel much better.”

“I’ll bet you did,”
Xris muttered. “You don’t know why she kept you alive?”

“I didn’t say
that,” Raoul returned with dignity. “You asked if she gave me a reason. No. She
did not. But I heard her talking to the ugly man. The ugly man said—and I
quote—’Some of the micromachines in his body have not yet exploded. He will be
an excellent test subject for the device.’ Unquote.”

Rowan was nodding
her head, looking well satisfied. She was the only one who had read the stolen
computer files. This must be making some sort of sense to her. It made none to
Xris.

“Come off it,
Loti.” Harry chortled. “The only people who have micromachines in their
bloodstream are Blood Royal. You don’t expect us to believe you’re Blood Royal,
do you?”

“Do you suppose I
could be?” Raoul was blissful. “A cousin to His Majesty!”

“I think it highly
unlikely,” Xris responded.

Raoul gave the
matter thought, shrugged. “You’re probably right. Mummy and Daddy were both
courtesans and it is a well known fact that the Blood Royal did not generally
go in for that line of work. On the other hand—”

“Don’t expect an
invitation to the Starfire family reunion,” Xris interrupted. “So far as we
know, there’s only one person left alive in the galaxy who is Blood Royal, and
that’s the king.” He was going to add,
Look, Raoul, level with us. Why did
they really snatch you?
But before he could get the words out, Quong
interrupted.

“This is
incredible.” Quong was studying the computer printouts. “They
did
find
micromachines in Raoul’s bloodstream!”

Jamil snorted in
disgust. “You’re not telling us the poisoner over there is in line for the
throne?”

“No. No. The
Adonian is
not
Blood Royal. He could not be; Adonians were not
considered a suitable race for genetic altering, which was how the Blood Royal
became Blood Royal, how they were able to take the micromachines into their
bodies and use them. Which brings up the question: How did the micromachines
get into the Adonian’s bloodstream? And what do his captors mean by ‘exploded’?”

“That’s why they
kept asking him about injections,” Rowan said, excited. “Snaga Ohme must have
injected
the micromachines into Raoul’s blood.”

“But why? And
where would Ohme get them?” Quong wondered.

The Little One
tugged on Raoul’s sleeve, demanding his attention.

Raoul listened to
that silent voice, then translated. “The Little One recalls that there was a
bloodsword in the possession of our late former employer. If you remember,
Snaga Ohme was not only a purveyor of weapons but a collector as well.”

“That’s it, then!”
Quong announced. “Ohme could have removed some of the fluid containing the
micromachines from the sword and injected it into Raoul.”