The Knights of the Black Earth (53 page)

“Why haven’t they
fired on it, my lord?” Cato carried the battle into the enemy camp, so to speak.

Dixter, realizing
this, offered a brief apology. “Sorry, Captain. You know your job.
And—unfortunately, at times like this—I know mine. That drop ship is designed
to withstand enemy attack from the ground or the air. The shielding is damn
near impenetrable. You can drop bombs on it all day long and
maybe
put a
dent in the damn thing.

“Oh, sure,” he
added, in response to Cato’s frown, “we could destroy it with a few plasma
missiles, which would also fuse together in one gigantic metal lump every
single civilian vehic in that parking lot. Not to mention the civilians
themselves.”

“Yes, my lord.”
Cato rubbed his smooth-shaven chin.

“Besides”—Dixter
spoke softly, almost to himself—”I’m not certain we should do anything to that
drop ship.”

“Sir?” Cato was
clearly appalled.

“Just a hunch,
Captain. Just a hunch. And of course we’ll do something.” Dixter was soothing. “Just
as soon as we figure out what.”

“Good God, my
lord! Look!”

One side of the
drop ship opened wide. A hulking machine— large and massive and mottled
gray-green in color—lurched out. The thing was belching great quantities of
black smoke. People in the vicinity began shrieking in terror.

“Analyze that gas,”
Cato ordered over the comm. “Could be poisoned,” he added for Dixter’s benefit.

The Lord Admiral
said nothing, just shook his head.

The answer came
back sounding slightly puzzled. “Chemical analysis reads .. . exhaust fumes,
Captain.”

“I’ll be damned.
That’s an old PVC-28 Devastator,” Dixter said, squinting into the sunlight.

“And it’s headed
this way, my lord. Civilian casualties or no, we’ve got to—”

“No, it’s not.”
Dixter pointed. “It’s turned. It’s heading for the ... hotel?”

Both men watched,
bemused, as the PVC crunched and mangled its way over the vehics in the parking
lot, firing bursts of tracer fire to clear people from its path. It smashed
through a retaining wall, rolled down a culvert, disappeared for several long
moments—when it must have come to a halt. Then it surged up the other side and
trundled on, continuing its relentless drive toward the Ceres Towers.

Dixter was on the
comm. “Commander, alert the local police to immediately evacuate that hotel and
seal off the surrounding area.”

“Damnedest thing I
ever saw,” Cato remarked. “At least the king and queen appear to be safe enough.”

“Captain,” said
the Lord Admiral grimly, his gaze fixed intendy on the PVC, “I have a hunch
about this, too. Do whatever it takes to get that damn limo going!”

The PVC clanked
and thundered its way down the side of the culvert. Xris rode in the gun
turret; Jamil steered from down below. Harry and Quong, Raoul and the Little
One were jammed shoulder to shoulder in the middle. The insides smelled oddly
of gardenia and burning oil. When the Devastator reached the culvert’s bottom,
Xris ordered Jamil to stop.

“Rowan!” Xris was
forced to shout into the comm over the rumbling of the engine. “Has the king
been evacuated yet?”

“No, Xris!” she
returned. “They’re keeping him inside the limojet.”

It made sense.
Under any other circumstances, the shielded, specially designed limo would be
the safest possible place. Unfortunately, ironically, it was likely to become
the safest possible steel-lined coffin.

“Any luck jamming
the negative wave device?”

“We confused them
for a few seconds, but they were able to outmaneuver us. The knights know we’re
on to them now. You better hurry, Xris.”

Sliding down out
of the turret, the cyborg almost landed in Raoul’s lap. The Loti had a
handkerchief pressed over his nose and mouth with one hand, the other held fast
to the hem of his golden cape, attempting to keep it out of the grease on the
floor.

Xris stood
practically on top of the Adonian, shouted to be heard.

“Try to reach the
Royal Guard! Tell them that they
have
to get the king out of the
limojet! The knights are using the limo as their target. The king would be
safer in the crowd than he is in that damn car! You got that?”

Raoul nodded,
cautiously removed the handkerchief, and shrieked, “Do you have any ideas on
how I’m supposed to get close enough to tell anyone anything?”

Xris shook his
head, reached for the controls that opened the hatch. “No, but you’ll figure
something out! You always do.”

“I do, don’t I?”
Raoul remarked calmly.

Clasping hold of
the Little One’s hand, the Adonian stepped over Harry, fell over Quong, and
headed for the open hatch. A trickle of muddy water ran through the culvert.
Raoul gazed at it, looked back at Xris reproachfully.

Xris shrugged. “It’s
only water. You won’t melt.”

Sighing, Raoul
took off his shoes, gathered his cape around him, and jumped. The Little One
flung himself out afterward. They were almost immediately lost in the smoke
from the PVC’s exhaust.

At least they’ll
be out of view of the hovercraft circling overhead, Xris reflected. He ducked
back inside the PVC.

“Let’s go!” Xris shouted
to Jamil, and the lumbering vehicle lurched forward, began rolling up the side
of the culvert. “Full throttle! Don’t stop for anything now!”

Coughing, choking,
hanging on to his shoes with one hand, the Little One with the other, and
trying to keep his golden cape from dragging in the mud, Raoul trudged up the
side of the culvert. His spirits were as low as it was possible for the spirits
of an Adonian Loti to get, which put them somewhere in the vicinity of the
golden sash that encircled his slim waist.

Reaching a
concrete wall—put there to keep children and other members of the populace from
tumbling into the drainage ditch— Raoul paused to watch the Devastator slam
right through that same wall, go crunching over the wreckage.

Raoul sighed. “They
have all the fun.”

He gazed at the
concrete wall. He would have to climb over it—no jolly smashing through it—and
he sighed again.

He only hoped he
didn’t rip a seam.

Raoul placed his
shoes—low-heeled, since he was going into action—carefully on the wall. Reaching
down to his friend, he lifted the Little One and swung him up onto the top of
the wall, which was about level with Raoul’s shoulders.

Noting the dirt on
the top, Raoul sighed a third time. Really! Xris expected the impossible!

“I trust I will be
fully compensated,” he remarked, then put his hands on the wall and, closing
his eyes to the grime, pulled himself up.

He climbed over,
lowered himself to the ground, and was almost immediately elbowed, kneed, and
rudely mauled by the crowd. Some people were trying to escape, others were
clambering to get a better view, while still others were fighting simply to
keep from getting crushed or trampled.

Raoul, who had
been about to lift the Little One down, now thought better of it. He climbed
hastily back up onto the wall, gazed at the mob in disgust.

“I’ve never seen
anything quite like this,” he remarked to the Little One. “With the possible
exception of the night our late former employer, Snaga Ohme, was murdered and
Lord Sagan spread the false report that the space-rotation bomb was about to
detonate. But even that didn’t compare to this because we had only a few
hundred panic-stricken people stampeding about the mansion, while here . . .”

He couldn’t go on.
Words were simply not adequate.

At that moment, the
pressure of the mob eased. The hole punched into the side of the concrete wall
by the PVC had opened up an alternative route—at least so most people appeared
to believe, for they were streaming through the opening and running down into
the culvert with no very clear idea of where they were going or why.

“Bizarre,” said
Raoul. “And just think of it. Most of these people are probably sober.”

The Little One
nodded gloomily, tugged on his friend’s sleeve, and pointed.

The Royal Limojet
could not be seen, surrounded as it was by the Royal Guard. But Raoul knew what
his friend meant.

“Ah, yes. The
king.”

Raoul contemplated
the sea of humanity roiling between them and His Majesty and, for the first
time in his life, the Adonian was subject to a feeling of helplessness.

“There is simply
no way, my friend,” he said to the Little One. “We are doomed to failure.”

This feeling made
him uncomfortable. Raoul hated feeling uncomfortable. He wondered if he’d
brought along anything to alleviate the stress. Opening his handbag, he began
searching for relief. Several sheaves of stiff, folded paper, tucked into the
side of the purse, hampered his rummaging. He took the papers out, glanced at
them—vaguely curious to see what they were—and started to toss them away.

And then he had an
idea.

He clutched at the
papers, held them fast, as if they were the most precious objects to come into
his possession in a month: new diamond earrings, perhaps, or a jar of thigh
cream.

“This is it!”
Raoul breathed softly.

The Little One,
reading his thoughts, clapped his hands and began to jump up and down—a
perilous move on top of the wall. Raoul was quick to calm his friend’s joy.

“We have to find a
policeman,” Raoul said, and was immediately cheered and delighted by the
oddity. Generally policemen were out trying to find Raoul, not the other way
around.

The Little One,
standing on the wall, tapped his friend on the head, drew Raoul’s attention to
several small hovering vehicles known as chariots because they purportedly
resembled the chariots of ancient times—minus the horses and the wheels.
Designed for police use, the chariot was nothing more than a round section of
metal floor plating surrounded by a steel railing and equipped with anti-grav
plates and blast jets. When activated, the chariot rose into the air, carrying
the police in rapid—albeit breezy—transit above the congested sidewalks of the
city.

Police chariots
were zipping around overhead, endeavoring to funnel the crowd out and away from
the immediate vicinity of the hotel.

Raoul put his
golden shoes on, stood on top of the concrete wall, and began waving his hands,
crying shrilly.

“Help! Help me!
Help! Police! Help!”

The Adonian was a
dazzling spectacle in his glittering doublet and golden hose and breeches. His
golden cape caught the wind, billowed around him. Jewels and sequins glittered
in bright sunlight. He might have been another sun, fallen to the ground.

Just when it
seemed to the harried police that they were finally getting the situation under
control and the mob was starting to disperse, they noticed a crowd beginning to
form around a flamboyantly dressed Adonian screaming for help on a concrete
wall.

The police moved
in quickly.

“Get down from
there!” one policeman demanded, bringing his chariot level with Raoul. “Move
along or you’ll find yourself in jail!”

Raoul shoved the
sheaf of papers at the startled cop.

“I’m the
Ambassador from Adonia!” Raoul gasped breathlessly. “My aide and I were supposed
to be among the dignitaries attending the king, but we became separated from
the group when the revolt started.”

“There’s no
revolt,” the policeman said swiftly. Too swiftly.

Raoul nodded
gravely. “My lips are sealed. But you must understand that I fear for my life
and that of my aide. I demand that you take us to a place of safety. The
nearest would be the temple, I presume.” Raoul’s painted eyelids fluttered. “I
request the protection of the Royal Guard.”

The policeman
examined the credentials, which appeared authentic, down to the silver wax seal
and the red ribbons. The crowd, drawn by the sight of the police, rather than
dispersing, grew larger. At that moment, a burst from the PVC’s lascannon split
the air like a thunderclap. The crowd gasped, screamed, and surged toward the
wall.

Raoul blanched in
terror, threw his arms around the policeman, nearly strangling the man.

“Officer, please!
Our lives are in your hands. If anything happens to us, you will be held
personally responsible! This could well cause a breach between our two
governments!”

“What the hell is
going on?” A policewoman in another chariot sailed over.

“He’s the Adonian
ambassador, Sergeant. Wants to be taken to the Royal Guard. His credentials
check out.” The policeman endeavored unsuccessfully to pry Raoul loose.

“Then let them
protect him, by all means. We don’t need any more trouble. The Goddess knows we
have enough to deal with. We’ve been ordered to evacuate and seal off the area
surrounding the hotel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The policeman
opened a gate. Raoul hopped inside, dragging the Little One with him. The
chariot took off, soaring over the heads of the crowd, heading up to the very
steps of the temple itself.

Raoul could see
the Royal Limojet clearly now. Looking back, he could also see the PVC
Devastator, blasting its way toward the hotel.

Raoul held his
golden purse over his head, endeavoring to keep his hair from getting mussed in
the wind.

“Thank heaven,” he
remarked to the Little One, “I was dressed for the occasion.”

. . . then you are
like a rabbit on the loose, so the enemy cannot keep you out.

Sun Tzu,
The Art of War

Laser fire burst
around the PVC, but even the high-powered beam rifles carried by the local cops
couldn’t penetrate the massive tank’s nullgrav steel armor. Xris kept up a
steady stream of lascannon bursts that effectively cleared their path. Most of
the police, seeing that their weapons had no effect, turned and ran, with the
exception of one stalwart cop—either more courageous than his fellows or
crazier—who leaped bodily onto the PVC as it roared across the hotel parking
lot.