The Knights of the Black Earth (24 page)

“Sorry, Commander!”
Xris shook his head violently, tapped on his ear. “My hearing 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 ‘bot 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 coveralls.

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 Doc 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 office. 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 coveralls 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.”

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 tech 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.

“I’ll 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
fcwing.

Alarms on Xris’s
cybernetic arm started beeping, LEDs flashed red.

The tech glanced
at him in astonishment.

Xris jerked up the
sleeve of his coveralls, 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, staring 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. Wash that 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?”