The Knights of the Black Earth (35 page)

“Maybe they’ll be
able to trace it back to us somehow.”

“I’ll scramble the
log,” Rowan offered. “By the time I’m finished with it, that plane will think
it’s been to Corasia and six other galaxies.”

“Yeah, you could,”
Xris said. “Or you could fix it so that it would lead someone right to us.”

“For God’s sake,
Xris!” Harry exploded angrily. “Lay off her! If she’d wanted to lead them to
us, she could have left that damn ‘tick’ to do the job. Come on board, ma’am.”

Rowan looked
uncertainly at Xris, who gave a grudging nod.

Is it a matter of
trust? he wondered, watching the two of them walk to the plane. Or is it a
matter of not wanting to lose the hate that’s kept me alive all these years?
Without that, what do I have left?

He turned around
to find Jamil, Quong, and Tycho staring at him.

“I’m tired. We’re
all tired,” Xris said by way of explanation.

They said nothing,
returned to their chores.

They’re losing
faith in me, Xris realized. And I can’t blame them. Damn it, I’m beginning to
lose faith in myself. I’ve never had a job go this wrong. If I was
superstitious, I’d almost say it was cursed.

He’d been right
about one thing, though. They were all exhausted. Turning back, he saw Rowan
stumble wearily on the uneven tarmac.

“Allow me, ma’am,”
Harry offered, catching hold of her, steadying her.

She thanked him.
The two continued on toward the spaceplane, but not before Harry had cast Xris
a final reproachful look over his shoulder.

“Great! So now
I’m
the bad guy,” Xris said bitterly.

Removing the butt
end of the twist from his mouth, he tossed it on the stone, ground it out
beneath his heel.

“You have to
admit, Xris, your friend did a neat job of saving our skins.” Tycho came over
to stand beside the cyborg. “She didn’t have to do it. Harry’s right. She could
have arranged it so that we’d be locked up in some brig right now. Not only
would she be safe, she’d be a hero. Instead ... well . . . she’s in this up to
her neck. Right along with us.”

“Do you believe
the story she told you? About Armstrong and what happened at the factory? ...
Sorry,” Jamil added with a rueful smile, “but I had to listen to something
other than Harry’s lectures on the lives and habits of fleas. Her explanation
sounded logical to me.”

“Yeah, but then it
would, wouldn’t it?” Xris said, frowning. He didn’t like talking about himself,
his past, didn’t like his wounds open for public viewing. But he owed his team
something for this, even if he could offer nothing more than unloading the
metal casing that housed his soul. “She’s had years to come up with it. I don’t
know.” He shook his head moodily. “I just don’t know. And she still could have
betrayed us. I don’t feel safe, not even here.”

“I know what you
mean,” Quong said, glancing around uneasily.

The woods were
silent, but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Even animal sounds were hushed.
That could be the result of the spaceplane’s landing; probably was. But
everyone stirred restlessly, kept looking around, fearful of ambush. Jamil even
peered up into the sky, as if he might catch a glimpse of Naval battleships
cruising among the clouds.

“A lot of people
know about Journey’s End, Xris. Your friend Dixter, for one. He’s been a guest
here.” Jamil shook his head gloomily. “The Marines are probably on the way.”

“They’ll have to
get through Olefsky first. He’s a major power in this part of the galaxy and no
one, not even the Lord Admiral, will want to offend him. Still, you’ve got a
point. We should get ready to move out.” Xris opened up the commlink. “Harry,
make it quick. We could have company.”

“Rowan says five
minutes,” Harry reported, then added, “She sure is a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” Xris
muttered. “She sure is.”

He saw again in
his mind Harry take hold—politely—of Rowan’s arm. Rowan thanking
Harry—politely—and then gently, politely, moving away. For the first time since
they’d come together, it occurred to Xris to wonder if his friend was now a
woman as in .. . well
... a woman.
Or was this disguise only skin deep?
His file said he’d taken female hormone shots. Xris wondered what that meant
exactly. He’d have to ask Raoul, who was most assuredly informed on the matter.
Adonians were said to change sex as easily and as often as they changed
clothes.

Rowan acted like a
woman, but then he had always been a good actor, one reason he’d done so well
infiltrating the Hung. He was forced to play his roles as if his life depended
on them and he’d been playing this role for almost seven years now.

But which was
Rowan inside: male, female? Did she even know? Did she care?

Xris suddenly
recalled a part of the report he’d received on her. She had rarely, in seven
years, left the space station. She lived alone. No husband. No lovers. No close
friends.

Alone.

Maybe that
answered his question.

Shaking his head,
Xris shouldered his share of the equipment, headed for the hoverjeep.

Mute and
magnificent . . .

John Dryden,
Threnodia Augustallis

The hoverjeeps
pulled up in front of the house. Climbing out, Xris looked toward the wooden
balconies on the upstairs floors, more than half expecting to see pantyhose
hanging out to dry—a sure sign that Raoul had returned.

The balconies were
empty, the house locked up.

“Damn,” Xris
muttered, and looked at the Little One.

He was
disconcerted to find the Little One looking back at him.

The battered and
bloodstained fedora was perched at an odd angle on the empath’s bandage-swathed
head. Only one eye was visible, and that because someone—probably the Little
One himself—had shoved the bandage up in order to see. That one beady, gleaming
eye was staring at Xris intently and it suddenly occurred to the cyborg that
the Little One needed to communicate with him as urgently as Xris needed to
communicate with the empath.

The Little One
knew—through the strange, almost symbiotic relationship—where Raoul was and
what was happening to him! Xris was sure of it.

But how to get
that information out of the small person, who hud never been heard to utter a
word? Who might not even comprehend what they were saying?

But he would
certainly know what they were thinking.

“Take the jeeps
around to the garage,” Xris ordered, climbing out. “Get rid of any tracks we
may have left. Once we’re inside the house, we keep the blinds lowered. Don’t
switch on any lights. I want anyone approaching this place to think it’s still
deserted. Check the sensors on the back door before you enter. Rowan, you’re
with me. Quong, bring the Little One.”

“Pictures,”
suggested Quong as they climbed the stairs, waited on the front porch for Xris
to check the sensor readings. “Primitive man communicated with pictures.”

“Primitive men
weren’t empaths,” Xris returned. Then, “Sensor readings check out. No one
inside.” He unlocked the door, touching his hand to a security pad.

The door opened
directly onto a spacious living room: airy, open, with beam ceilings, an
entertainment center, a fireplace in the middle of a sunken pit surrounded by
comfortable leather-cushioned couches. Large floor-to-ceiling one-way windows
provided the spectator with a spectacular view outside, yet prohibited anyone
from seeing inside. Off the living room was a kitchen.

The bedrooms, game
rooms, offices rambled off in different directions, some upstairs, some down.
An observatory on the top doubled as a conning tower, lookout station. Xris’s
office was directly off the living room, faced into it. Inside he kept his
computers, his books, and his own personal arsenal and collection of antique
weapons: an old gas mask, a commando knife, a flashlight, a grenade belt and
pouch, his own lucky grenade. That grenade, by
not
detonating, had once
saved Xris’s life.

“The house is
beautiful, Xris,” Rowan said, gazing around in satisfaction, appreciation. “It’s
what you always dreamed of building.”

She might have
said
what you and Marjorie always dreamed of building,
but she didn’t,
for which Xris gave her points.

Xris motioned for
Rowan to sit down. Quong fussed over his patient. The Little One perched on the
very edge of the couch, his feet not touching the floor. Rowan pulled her shoes
off. She yawned and, before Xris could stop himself, he was yawning, too.

“We should all get
some rest,” Quong said severely.

“Yeah, in a little
while,” Xris returned. He sat down opposite the Little One.

Quong was
frowning. “I might remind you, my friend, that— after all—this
is
Raoul.
.. .”

Xris gazed at
Quong steadily. “He’s a member of the team, Doc. I don’t abandon a member of
the team.
Any
member.”

Quong lifted an
eyebrow, said nothing more.

Xris began to
think of, to concentrate on Raoul.

Immediately the
Little One became animated. He clapped his small hands; the single eye visible
beneath the fedora glistened.

“Do you know where
Raoul is?” Xris asked, speaking slowly and enunciating each word clearly, with
no particular object in mind other than that it was what one tended to do when
talking to someone who spoke a foreign tongue.

He must have also
raised his voice level, because Quong observed tersely, “He’s mute, Xris. He’s
not deaf.” There was a pause. “At least, I don’t think he’s deaf.”

The fedora bobbed
up and down enthusiastically.

“Where is Raoul?”
Xris asked.

The Little One
excitedly pointed at the ceiling.

“Upstairs?” Xris
tested. “In his room?”

The fedora shook
violently. Xris breathed a sigh. At least now he knew the Little One could
understand what was being said to him.

“You mean up ...
up in the sky. The stars. Space.”

The Little One
clapped his hands again, rocked back and forth excitedly on the couch.

“Great. Just
great. On average, how many inhabited star systems would you say there are?”
Defeated, Xris pulled out a twist, bit down on the end.

“Look, Xris.”
Rowan touched his arm.

The Little One was
shaking his head, waving his hands.

“Not
a star
system,” Xris said.

The Little One
indicated it was not.

The other members
of the team entered one by one, all of them looking worn out.

“Nothing to
report,” Jamil said, stretching and flexing his aching muscles. “We covered our
tracks. Harry made sure the security cams are in place and working. The gear’s
unloaded, stowed away. Any objections if I take a nap?”

Xris shook his
head.

“I’m gonna get a
beer,” Harry said. “Anyone else want one? You, ma’am? Anything I can get for
you? A glass of white wine?”

Rowan glanced at
Xris, bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. “No, thank you.”

Harry wandered off
to the kitchen. Jamil went upstairs. Tycho flopped his long body onto the
couch, closed his eyes, and turned off his translator. His skin color gradually
assumed that of warm brownish red leather.

“Raoul’s
not
in space,” Xris tested again.

The Little One
waved off the assertion.

“Raoul
is
in space. He’s—”

“On a ship!” Rowan
guessed.

“He’s being held
prisoner on a spaceship!” Xris felt as if he were playing charades.

The Little One
made fists of his hands, smashed them together— apparently, a sign of
approbation.

“Well, that
narrows it down to a billion or so,” Quong observed helpfully.

“Xris”—Rowan was
excited—”if the Little One could give us a name, I could get into the Navy’s
registry files. If the ship’s got hyperspace capability, they have to register
a flight plan. If not, they’d still be fairly easy to locate.
ISDS—Insterstellar Ship’s Directory System—keeps track of everything that moves
through space. We know the kidnappers were on Olicien’s home planet just a day
or two ago. They might have left a trail, asked for clearance for landing, gone
through customs—”

Xris shook his
head. “Not likely. Probably set down in some deserted airfield, like space
pirates.”

“I’m not so sure,”
Rowan argued. “On a heavily populated system like Auriga, landing at a deserted
airstrip could put them a thousand kilometers away from the city. And why run
the risk of attracting the wrong kind of attention? At a busy spaceport, they
could easily smuggle their victim on board, offer some kind of excuse in case
anyone asked. Maybe he’s been taken ill or was on the juice—anything. I’ll bet
they came and left as legitimate, law-abiding citizens. And I’ll bet I can find
them in the files.”

“Except that the
Navy’s probably shut you out of those files by now.”

Rowan smiled. “This
is me we’re talking about, Xris. But I
do
have to have the ship’s name.”

And that proved
impossible. The Little One obviously wanted to tell the name to them as much as
they wanted to hear it, but he couldn’t manage to get it across. Xris began by
handing the Little One a computer drawing pad and an electronic pen.

The Little One
recoiled in horror, refused to even touch them. (This was the first indication
Dr. Quong had that the Tongan are terrified of modern technology.)

Rowan tried an
ordinary pad of paper and a pencil, drew a few symbols to get the idea across.

The Little One
took hold of the pencil awkwardly, wrapping his entire hand around it. He
scrawled a heavy line on the paper, ripped it, then tossed both pad and pencil
away in frustration.

Harry sat down
with his beer, began coming up with spaceship names.
“Enterprise, Fortitude,
Hercules . .