Knights Of The Black Earth Read online

  Xris had no comment, but he made a mental reminder of this slipup. Medical insurance. Why hadn't he thought of that? Probably the same company, the same policy that had covered him, obtained through the bureau. Rowan had never been sick a day in his life, but still ...

  "One of our operatives noticed your friend had been under treatment by a doctor during the trial. Could have been stress; probably what people were told. But in checking through the insurance files, our agent discovered that the doctor was administering a drag at frequent intervals. Except the drug wasn't a stress drug. Hormone shots. Female hormones. They have to inject the hormones several months in advance of the surgery. Swells the breasts, among other changes. Prepares the body and the mind, you see."

  Xris didn't want to see. He wished Wiedermann would shut up. The cyborg edged his way toward the door.

  Wiedermann trailed along behind. "Once we'd gone that far, the rest was easy. Then we ran into the death certificate. A nice touch. Almost stopped us cold." It stopped Xris. He turned, stared.

  "It was in the hospital computer," Wiedermann explained. "Dalin Rowan died on the operating table. Date, time. We nearly lost him there, but I figured out what he must have done. Dalin Rowan died the day Darlene Mohini was born. I knew what to look for and, sure enough, I found it--a woman checking out of that hospital who had never checked in. I included a copy of the death certificate for you. It's in the file. Thought you might be amused."

  A death certificate. Rowan had written his own death certificate. Well, maybe that made things easier.

  Xris reached the outer office, negotiated his way around the boxes of ancient, forgotten records of ancient, forgotten cases. He and Wiedermann shook hands. Wiedermann's grip was cold and damp, fishlike. Xris didn't prolong the goodbyes. He stood outside the closed door. Opening the file, he located the death certificate, stared at it, not really seeing it.

  He was back inside that hospital. Back inside the nights, inside the terrible pain. Back inside the days, learning how to walk, talk, see, hem' ... live all over again. If you could call it living.

  He snapped the file shut, was about to continue on his way out of the building when the door popped open.

  "Oh, by the way" Wiedermann peered out--"when you see Darlene Mohini, you might mention that if we were able to find her, so could others. Like the Hung. Her cover's blown. She's in real danger. You'll be sure to tell her that, won't you?"

  "Yeah," said Xris, shifting the file to his cybernetic hand, getting a secure grip on it. "I'll be sure to tell her."

  CHAPTER 7

  The Way means inducing the people to have the same aim as the leadership, so that they will share death and share life, without fear of danger.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  The large, private spacegoing vessel left Laskar at a leisurely speed. The ship--a typical research model, known as Canis Major Research /--was not supposed to be equipped to make the jump to hyperspace. Such modifications to university research ships were extremely expensive, generally unnecessary, and would have excited comment, required the need for explanations. As it was, the killers were able to slip off Laskar quietly, orbital-traffic control giving them bored clearance.

  Inside a small room on board the ship, one of the four men--the one who had murdered Bosk--sat in front of a computer terminal. He was working on the terminal and at the same time speaking into a coremlink. He stopped both when the hatch slid open and one of his subordinates entered.

  "Knight Officer. I've monitored Laskar's evening news, sir."

  "Yes, and--?"

  "The fire destroyed the building completely. A single body was discovered in the wreckage. The body was burned beyond recognition, but only one tenant remains unaccounted for and it is presumed that the body is that of an Adonian known as Bosk. The fire was suspicious in origin, believed to have started in the apartment of the dead man. He was known to have ties with the mob. Neighbors reported that four men--armed--paid the deceased a visit shortly before the fire broke out. They described the vehicle the suspects were driving. It was discovered abandoned a short time later, stripped and burned."

  "The local authorities are satisfied that it was the mob?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Case closed, then."

  "I would say so. Yes, sir. The Laskar police will not get involved in mob business."

  "Very good. Tell Knight Officer Captain he may depart when ready."

  The subordinate nodded, departed.

  The leader returned to work.

  "You heard his report, Knight Commander?" the leader asked over the comm. "Satisfactory. Continue. What is it you have found?" The voice at the other end of the commlink was laconic, crisp, and obviously belonged to a machine. The speaker entered his or her words into the computer, the computer spoke them aloud. No one, not even the highest-ranking officer of the knighthood--of which Bosk's killer was one--ever heard the Knight Commander's voice. No one had ever seen the Knight Commander. No one knew his or her real name. All information was exchanged via commlink--voice only.

  "Contrary to initial reports, Commander, it appears from Ohme's files that he actually constructed a working model of the negative wave device." "Indeed."

  "The device was crude. apparently, but operational. Ohme's records indicate that he performed a test on a living subject. And that the test was successful."

  "A living subject." Knight Commander mused. "How is this possible? He wouldn't have dared test it on Derek Sagan. And if I'm not mistaken, there were no other Blood Royal known to exist at the time."

  "That is true, Commander. This was just prior to Sagan's discovery of the whereabouts of the young king. Snaga Ohme did not have a Blood Royal on which to test his device, but that presented no problem for him. He couldn't find a true Blood Royal and so he created one. If you will recall, sir, Ohme had an extensive collection of weapons dating back to ancient times. Appropriate for a weapons dealer.

  "Among his collection was a bloodsword. According to the notation in Ohme's catalog, the bloodsword was obtained during the Revolution, when most of the Blood Royal were eradicated. Inside this sword are the micromachines that are injected into the body of the Blood Royal when they insert the sword's needles into their hands. These micromachines connect the body and brain with the sword and are used to activate both the sword and its shielding device. A certain amount of these micromachines remain in the bloodstream and are activated every time the sword is used.

  "Ohme removed the fluid containing these micromachines from the bloodsword and injected that fluid into his test subject. He then used the newly created negative wave device on the subject and recorded the results."

  "Was the subject aware he or she was being used for such purposes?"

  "According to Ohme's account, no, the subject was not aware. Ohme feared that the subject's awareness might influence the test results."

  "He was probably right. Did the subject die?"

  "No, Commander. Ohme didn't want to kill the subject, who might prove useful to him later. Ohme wanted to study the effects of the device on the micromachines in the subject's bloodstream."

  "How did Ohme manage to keep such an experiment on the subject secret?" The mechanical voice held no inflection, but the officer could discern that his superior was skeptical.

  "The subject was a male, in his late twenties, and, according to the record, a Loft."

  "Slang term for habitual drug user, if I'm not mistaken?"

  "Yes, Knight Commander."

  "An expression that has its roots on Earth. The fruit of the lotus or lotophagi, as the Greeks termed it, was supposed to induce in those who ate it a state of dreamy forgetfulness, a loss of desire to return home. One might almost consider the entire human race as lotus-eaters. But they will remember their home." The voice was soft, ominous. "We will make them remember."

  A pause, then the voice returned to business. "Surely such a heavy drug user as a Loti would be an inappropriate candidate for testing?"

&nbs
p; "Ohme recognized this problem, sir, but determined that the drugs in the subject's system would have no influence on the micromachines and vice versa. It appears, from my preliminary investigation of the files, that Ohme was correct."

  The Knight Commander was not convinced. "Ohme was a genius, there is no doubt about that, but he did not possess the patience and meticulous mind of a good researcher. He obviously chose this Loti because the man was convenient and not liable to ask questions. However, we must work with what we have. What were the results of his experiment?"

  "Unfortunately, Commander, the exact results of the test are not recorded in the files. The last entry is dated the day on which Ohme was murdered. It reads, 'The experiment has been highly successful.' Nothing more. Bosk makes some attempt to fill in the experiment's results, but he was not in Ohme's complete confidence. Careful analysis proves that Bosk 'knew very little; most of what he added was mere speculation gained from observing the test subject, who lived and worked in Ohme's mansion."

  Silence from the commlink. Then, "There is nothing more?"

  "No, Knight Commander."

  "Are you certain, Knight Officer?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Damn!" said the Commander. "We need more information!"

  Silence. The Knight Officer, having nothing further to contribute, maintained disciplined quiet. He made no suggestion as to their next course of action, would make none unless he was asked. Looking out the viewscreen, he watched the planet Laskar dwindle to a small green marble.

  A wretched planet, corrupt, vile, he thought. But really no different from countless others in the galaxy. Humanity trashes its home, flees it, seeks out others, and ends up destroying them. It is only a matter of time before it will all end out here. Then the swarm of humanity will turn their faces homeward again. Then they will come to us and say humbly, "We are sorry." ...

  "It would be extremely valuable to us"--the Commander spoke suddenly and abruptly, startling the Knight Officer--"if we could get our hands on the test subject."

  "Yes, Commander." The officer brought up the file containing information on the Loft. "Bosk had the same idea, apparently. He began to search for the man, but only in the most desultory and haphazard fashion. He soon gave up. The subject is an Adonian, as was Snaga Ohme. You are familiar with the Adonians, Commander?"

  "A degenerate race of people who live solely for their own pleasure and gratification. Intelligent, channing, and completely amoral. Ohme was typical of his breed. I suppose this Loti is another?"

  "A hired assassin, Commander. Specializing in chemical poisonings, as one might expect from someone who is dependent on chemicals. Ohme kept this Loti around to perform 'odd' jobs now and then. Ohme surrounded himself with his fellow Adonians. Bosk was another."

  "As a race, Adonians are extremely attractive--the men and the women. Snaga Ohme could not stand to be long in the presence of an ugly person. The only thing that overcame his squeamishness on this point was money. Continue, Knight Officer."

  "Yes, sir. This Loti had other advantages. He is firm friends--has an almost symbiotic relationship--with an empath."

  "Not unusual," remarked the Commander. "Empaths enjoy being around Loti because their drug-induced tranquillity is rarely disturbed and thus the empath is not subject to disturbing emotions."

  "The two were rarely apart, according to Ohme's notes. The Loti is the only one who can understand the empath. He acted as a sort of translator whenever Ohme needed to know what someone was thinking or feeling." "What race is the empath?"

  "Bosk claims no one knows. The empath was always cloaked in some sort of disguise. No one ever saw the face. Ohme had no interest in trying to find out."

  "So long as the empath proved useful, Snaga Ohme wouldn't care."

  "On studying the empath's description, Commander, I think it probable that we are dealing with a Tongan."

  The Knight Commander was silent again.

  "I have examined all the facts, Knight Commander. The empath is extremely short in stature. He is always disguised, which indicates that there is something unusual about his features or his body, and the Tongans as a race are as ugly as the Adonians are beautiful. He appears to have not only empathic abilities but telepathic abilities as well. Tongans are the only race to meet all these requirements."

  "You know, of course, Knight Officer, that Tongans are forbidden on pain of death from leaving their home world?"

  "All the more reason for the disguise, sir."

  "Perhaps you are right. At any rate, such an unusual pair would be fairly easy to track."

  "Bosk had no difficulty, at first. He and the Loft kept in contact. Both of them were eager to avenge Ohme's death. But whereas Bosk had determined that Ohme was murdered by Derek Sagan, the Loti was following a different theory. He was convinced that the murderer was a man known as Abdiel. Following this theory, the Loti worked in the Exile Caf6 on Hell's Outpost, figuring that either Abdiel or someone who knew the old man's whereabouts must come to this place eventually. The last message Bosk received from him, the Loti was joining up with the late Lady Maigrey Morianna. They planned on entering the Corasian system--"

  "So," said the Knight Commander, "the Loft was part of that small band of heroes. His Majesty owes both his throne and his life to them. Their leader was a cyborg--a rather unusual cyborg, as I recall." "I have no information on that, sir," the officer admitted. He was not surprised that these facts were known to the commander. The Knight Commander knew every prominent and/or infamous person in the galaxy; he was familiar with the political situations on innumerable major planets; he was privy to knowledge not readily accessible to ordinary citizens of the realm. Once, when the officer had first joined up with the organization, he had used such clues in an attempt to puzzle out the Knight Commander's true identity. That had been almost twenty years ago. Now the officer--a true fanatic--no longer knew or cared. He revered. And obeyed.

  "No further information beyond that?"

  "No, sir. Bosk indicates that he never heard from the Loft again and that attempts to find him proved beyond his means."

  "I believe I know where to look. Return to home base, Knight Officer. Proceed with the construction of the negative wave device and await my commands. When the whereabouts of this Loti are discovered, you will be informed."

  "Yes, Knight Commander."

  "What is the Loti's name, by the way?" "Raoul, sir. And the empath is known as the Little One." "Raoul and the Little One," repeated the Knight Commander. "Yes, it is them. They are members of a mercenary team called Mag Force 7. Their leader is a cyborg known as Xris."

  CHAPTER 8

  ... And, lips, 0 you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

  William Shakespeare,

  Romeo and Juliet,

  Act 5, Scene 3

  The two minor government officials stood in the waiting area of the Modena Spaceport, looking up at a terminal displaying the arrival time for incoming flights. The time had not varied in the last thirty minutes--the transport would be half an hour late--but the officials continued to check it just the same, both of them acutely aware of the man in the dark suit. Leaning comfortably against a nearby pillar, he scanned intently the people gliding past on the moving sidewalk.

  "What's he looking at them for?" the woman irritably asked her companion. "We're the ones he's following."

  "Probably viewing them as targets on the shooting range," returned the man. "Look at the way he's smiling."

  The woman shivered. "Don't. This is bad enough. Do you think he suspects us?"

  The man considered. "No. We're only doing our job, after all. Meeting the ambassador from Adonia. I don't much like this scheme, but the cyborg is said to be one of the best in the business. We have to put our faith in someone."

  "More than our faith. Our very lives!" The woman swallowed, put her hand to her throat. "I... I think I'll go to the restroom."

  The man in the dark suit shift
ed his gaze to the woman, watched her enter, watched her return.

  "He kept an eye on you," her companion muttered beneath his breath. "No, don't look. He's still watching."

  "I can't stand this," the woman said. "I---"

  She was interrupted by the arrival of a flight attendant. "Pardon me, sir, madam, are either of you booked for this flight?"

  "We're meeting someone," the woman replied.

  The attendant nodded, relieved. "I was afraid you were passengers. You've no idea what a nightmare we go through now. All the forms that have to be filled out. Checking documents. Not that I'm complaining, mind you," the attendant added hastily. "I am in complete agreement with the government's new regulations concerning civilian travel restrictions. It's just--"

  The arrival of the transport saved the attendant from further indiscretions. She hurried off to unlock the door, admit the disembarking passengers, of which there were very. few. The drab, unhappy world of Modena was not a pleasant place to visit these days.

  "How do you suppose we'll recognize him?" the woman asked.

  "I don't believe we'll have much trouble," the man answered dryly. "He's an Adonian, after all."

  They had absolutely no trouble recognizing him.

  It was rather as if the full color spectrum had just breezed in by transport and, on arrival, blown up. The Adonian was dressed in a tight, form-fitting jumpsuit colored a deep royal blue. Over this he wore a floor-length vest made of garish, rainbow-hued silk that billowed out behind him when he walked, revealing purple socks and emerald shoes. The sight was actually a shock to the central nervous system of the conservative Modenans. The two government officials, stunned by the impact, were momentarily unable to move.

  The Adonian, seeing no one else in the vicinity and assuming, therefore, that these people must be waiting for him, flung himself in their direction and exploded in their midst.