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  Amadi was watching him carefully. “So—you found Dalin Rowan.”

  Xris chewed. The tobacco juice slid down his throat, erasing, for the moment, the faint metallic taste that never seemed to leave his mouth, always reminded him that he was more metal than man. He had to be careful here, very careful.

  Xris grimaced, stared at the windshield. “How’d you find out?”

  Amadi shrugged. “Someone hacked his way into our computer system a couple of months ago. Neat, sweet, clean. The job had Dalin Rowan’s footprints all over it. He was searching for files on the Knights of the Black Earth. Imagine my surprise when, a few days later, you and your team manage to stop the knights from turning His Majesty the King into the universe’s largest carbonated soft drink.”

  Xris looked blank. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Amadi. You got the wrong information. I heard about that incident on the GNN news. Their anchorman was the would-be assassin, wasn’t he? Warden, that was his name. I’d love to take credit for saving the king’s life, but we were light-years away at the time.”

  “You were a lot closer than that.” Amadi tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “You were the one who shot up that hotel, destroyed one of the regicide devices. That poisoner of yours—what’s his name, the Adonian Loti—he and the character in the raincoat took out Warden, who was the knights’ backup assassin.

  “Oh, I can’t prove any of this—Olefsky’s Wolf Brigade whisked you and your team away before anyone could spot you. The Lord Admiral concealed the Loti— or should I say the Honorable Ambassador from Andonia? All handled very neatly. His Majesty is safe, the Knights of the Black Earth are destroyed. We’ve been told from the highest level that the case is closed. Fine.” Amadi shrugged. “Case closed. But there’s another case that’s wide open.”

  “Which is?” Xris swallowed the remainder of the twist.

  “The break-in of a top-secret naval installation.”

  “The Navy called in the bureau on that one, did they?”

  “You know damn well the Navy didn’t call us in. They’ve shut the lid so tight you couldn’t pry it loose with a concussion grenade. They won’t even admit the damn base exists, much less that someone actually managed to crash their security and waltz right in.”

  “Well, that’s the military for you,” Xris said. “Always got to have their little secrets.”

  “That’s where you found Dalin Rowan, wasn’t it, Xris?” Amadi said. “That’s where he was hiding. You found him and you were going to kill him, weren’t you? But he talked his way out of it. He was the one told you about Armstrong.”

  Xris had to phrase this next question carefully. Deep inside, he was doing a little exulting, but he needed to make sure he was right. He took out another twist, took it out of a golden cigarette case that had the Royal Seal embossed on it. A gift, from His Majesty, from the first time Xris had done the king a favor.

  “You got it all wrong, Amadi. I heard about Armstrong from a gypsy fortune-teller. She saw it in my cards. As to Dalin Rowan, you guys gave him his new identity. I would have thought you would have kept tabs on him.”

  “We gave him a new identity to protect him from the Hung. After he testified at the trial, he was supposed to take his new ID and disappear.”

  Xris leaned back in the seat, folded his arms. “Let me guess what happened after that—Dalin Rowan took a new ID, all right, only it wasn’t the one you had fixed up for him. His disappearing act was for real. Hell, you can’t blame him, Amadi. You know the Hung. Dalin Rowan all but destroyed them. He put their top men in prison. He bankrupted their operations. If there’s one person in the universe the Hung—or what’s left of them—would like to see hanging in a Corasian meat locker, it’s Dalin Rowan. And yes, the Hung leaders are stashed away on some penal planet, and yes, they don’t have any cash, but that won’t stop them—”

  “It isn’t stopping them, Xris,” Amadi said quietly.

  “They have cash, apparently. Reserve funds we didn’t know about. Their people are still on those penal colonies, but you and I both know that guards and supply ship captains can be bribed, that orders and money and drugs and God knows what all flow in and out of those places. And you know something else, Xris.” Amadi eyed him. “If we know you have access to Dalin Rowan, the Hung know it, too.”

  “How?” Xris’s lip curled around the twist. “Got a few more traitors left in the department?”

  “Damn it, Xris!” Amadi slammed his hand on the steering mechanism with enough force to rock the vehic. “We need to talk to Dalin Rowan! He’s got information we can use. He’s bound to know where the Hung kept those reserve accounts. Either that or he can go through the old files, track the information down. It’s there. It has to be there. We just missed it the first time around.”

  “Sorry, Amadi,” Xris said coolly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Dalin Rowan. I guess you’ll have to crack the Hung on your own.”

  Amadi was grim. “You think you can protect him, Xris? Think again. You’re good. But you’re not as good as the Hung. They have the money, the manpower, the resources. Bear Olefsky’s Wolf Brigade won’t be there to rescue you the next time. Rowan’ll never know what hit him. We’re his only hope.”

  Xris glanced at his watch. “Been nice seeing you again, Amadi, but I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for my appointment as it is. Are you going to keep following me? If so, I can make it easy for you. I’ll mail you my itinerary for the next few weeks.”

  He put his hand on the latch, found it was locked. “Open the door, Amadi. Unless you want me to kick it open.” Reaching down, Xris pulled up his pants leg, revealed gleaming steel. “If I use this leg to kick open that door, you won’t have much of a door.”

  Amadi pushed a button. The latch clicked.

  “I could make things tough for you, Xris.”

  “You could,” Xris conceded, “but you won’t. I just might happen to bump into Dalin Rowan on the sidewalk one day.” He opened the door, climbed out. “If I were you, I’d go back to collecting my pension.”

  He slammed the door shut, waited on the sidewalk for Amadi to drive away.

  Amadi didn’t move. He had his hand on the speaker controls. He was going to say something, make another appeal, a final offer.

  The cat in the driveway yawned, stood up, stretched, came over to Xris and rubbed around his legs. Xris knelt down, petted the cat, all the while watching Amadi, who decided he wasn’t saying anything, after all.

  The gray two-door rose on its air cushions, floated off down the street.

  The cat rolled over on its stomach and purred. Xris knew how the animal felt. He could have very easily done the same.

  Chapter 3

  Men! The only animal in the world to fear!

  D. H. Lawrence, “The Mountain Lion”

  Xris’s euphoria had evaporated by the time he reached his own vehicle. The bureau was barking up the wrong tree, but that was small comfort. The fact that they were giving chase was disheartening. And Amadi had been right about one thing ... well, okay, he’d been right about a lot of things, but one was most critical. If the bureau dogs were on to the scent, Xris could be damn sure that the Hung would be panting along behind.

  That crack about traitors had been a cheap shot. The bureau was a good organization, but it was an organization, employing millions of people spread out all across the galaxy. Not surprising to find those whose credit had gone critical, who would be willing to sell a name, a number. The Hung were very good at finding desperate people, very good at using them.

  “The one advantage we have,” Xris said to himself, as he climbed into the car under the watchful eyes of the dog and the interested eyes of the toddler, “is that everyone is looking for Dalin Rowan. Nobody’s looking for Darlene.”

  That had been the whole point in talking to Amadi— to ascertain if the bureau knew that the female Xris had abducted at gunpoint from the top-secret naval base had once been his former partner and best friend. He had also once been
a male.

  “The ultimate disguise,” was how the detective who had tracked Darlene down had put it.

  Years ago Federal Agent Dalin Rowan had infiltrated the crime syndicate known as the Hung. A genius with computers, Rowan had managed to worm his way into their systems, had not only gained evidence against them, but had also sent their financial empire into a nosedive. The leaders were jailed, the small fish fled to calmer waters.

  The Fed protected Rowan; he testified at the trial behind an opaque bulletproof screen, using a voice scrambler. (The defense had successfully challenged holographic testimony). When the trial was over, the bureau had a new identity all prepared for Dalin Rowan. But Rowan had already taken steps on his own.

  Michael Armstrong had been a Fed agent. He’d sold out to the Hung. It was Armstrong who set up Xris and Mashahiro Ito to die in that munitions factory. A short time later, Armstrong was found dead, murdered. The Hung, of course. Armstrong’s usefulness to them had ended, and they’d rid themselves of a potential threat. That was what the bureau claimed.

  Dalin Rowan knew different. Armstrong’s credit with the Hung hadn’t run out. He wasn’t a threat to the Hung. He was a threat to someone else, someone in the bureau itself.

  Rowan hadn’t been able to find out much; just enough to make him nervous about accepting the bureau’s phony ID. Dalin had to disappear completely, utterly, leaving no trace. A few months of hormone treatments, the operation, and Dalin Rowan was dead.

  Darlene Mohini was born.

  Darlene Mohini’s phony identity was so good that he—she—managed to gain security clearance at the very top levels of the Royal Navy. She became a code-breaker, a code-maker. Her abduction—by Xris—had forced the Royal Navy to all but shut down for seventy-two hours while they changed their codes. Xris had ruined all that for Darlene; he’d blown her cover and now he felt responsible for her safety. She was a valued part of the Mag Force 7 mercenary team now, as well as— once again—a trusted friend.

  He and Darlene both knew that the Hung would be after her; they should have figured the bureau in on the hunt, too.

  “Thank you, John Dixter, for keeping her secret,” Xris said quietly, maneuvering the vehic down the boulevard.

  John Dixter, Lord Admiral of the Royal Navy, knew the truth. He knew about Dalin Rowan, about Major Darlene Mohini, about Darlene Rowan. The bureau was searching for Dalin. But what about the Hung? Who were they searching for?

  Xris had no answers. He fretted and fumed and thought of this possibility and that possibility and only when he realized he had no idea where he was or how he got there did he force himself to snap out of it. He and Darlene had discussed all this; he’d made the best possible arrangements to protect her, short of locking her in a lead-lined container and sealing her up in cold storage.

  “If the Hung are going to end my life, Xris,” Darlene had said to him, “they’re going to end my life.”

  And so she was working with the Mag Force 7 team, a group of mercenaries who were for hire to anyone who had plastic enough to be able to afford the best in the business. Someone could, apparently. Xris was on his way to the Megapolis Space and Aeronautics Museum to meet with Dr. Michael Sakuta, curator, who’d expressed an interest in hiring the team for a job.

  Xris checked the map in the rental vehic, discovered that, although part of his mind had wandered, the other part was right on track. The residential section gave way to an elite shopping district, and where that ended, the manicured lawns of the museum began.

  Xris parked the vehic and mounted the broad marble stairs to the staid, columned portico. He entered a side door, showed the pass that had been sent to him by the curator. He was told how to find the museum’s offices, and walked into the gigantic, echoing foyer into a throng of schoolchildren, who had stopped to gape at a side by-side comparison of an ancient Atlas rocket booster and a compact, powerful Naval spaceplane.

  Xris paused to listen to the guide, who was describing Earth’s first moon landing to the group of now giggling children. The kids had probably been to Megapolis’s moon on school outings. Glancing around the enormous room, Xris found Raoul and the Little One. He did not see Amadi. Xris hadn’t really been expecting to. That tailing business had been mostly for show—to shake Xris up, jolt him. Xris gave Amadi credit. He’d succeeded.

  As for keeping Xris under surveillance, Amadi wasn’t the least bit interested in Xris’s business, except to hope maybe Xris might lead them to Dalin Rowan, and Amadi surely knew better than to figure Xris would make a blunder like that. As for the Hung, if they didn’t know it, they soon would. Xris nominated several likely candidates as Hung spies, fixed an image of each of them in his mind for later reference, and strolled over to meet with Raoul and his diminutive cohort.

  Raoul was staring at something—Xris couldn’t see what—with fixed intensity. Xris wondered what had captured the Adonian’s attention. It could be anything from a holographic rendering of the solar system to a trash receptacle. Dr. Quong had once described Raoul’s thought processes as comparable to butterflies in a sunny meadow: flitting happily this way and that, alighting on a bright-colored flower, staying for a time, then fluttering off again. In this instance, Raoul was transfixed by an illuminated and animated soft drink dispenser.

  The Little One, muffled in raincoat and fedora, stood patiently at his friend’s side, watching Xris. The cyborg attempted to arrange his mind to meet the telepath’s searching scrutiny. A hopeless task.

  Walking up, Xris tapped Raoul on the shoulder. “Most people come to look at the exhibits.”

  Raoul—not the least surprised—turned his unfocused gaze languidly on Xris, then sent it wandering vaguely about the museum. “Whatever for?”

  Xris was relieved to see that Raoul was dressed quite conservatively in a dark suit, white shirt, and hat. This outfit was such a radical change from the last Xris had seen Raoul in—lime-green silk lounging pajamas—that Xris forgave the nipped-in waist on the suit jacket, the mauve spats, which matched the mauve cravat, and the six glittering earrings. Raoul had sleeked back his long black hair into a ponytail. A homburg perched at a fashionable angle on his head and he carried a walking stick with a pearl handle. He had only a hint of mauve on his eyelids, a touch of mascara, and a soft pink lipstick. This was apparently Raoul’s version of the well-dressed academic.

  The Little One tugged on Raoul’s coattail. The two spoke silently in whatever manner they communicated. Raoul’s gaze shifted back to Xris. His eyes focused, his gaze sharpened, the mauve eyelids narrowed.

  Xris scowled at the Little One, but by that time it was too late.

  “He says you are upset, Xris Cyborg,” Raoul murmured.

  “I’m upset,” Xris snapped. “Let’s leave it at that for the time being. We’re late as it is. Sakuta’s offices are upstairs. We’ll walk. You have your passes?”

  “Of course.”

  Raoul cast one last lingering glance at the soft drink machine, then followed Xris toward the stairway, located some distance away from the main crowd. Since the staircase led only to the museum offices and was marked EMPLOYEES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT, the staircase was little used.

  “Ask him”—Xris jerked his thumb at the Little One— “if anyone’s taking an unusual interest in us.”

  “He says that one gentleman is extremely taken with my hat,” Raoul replied.

  “Not quite what I had in mind,” Xris said.

  “No, I didn’t suppose it was.”

  Raoul looked to the Little One, who was standing on the stairs, scanning the crowd. At length, the fedora shook back and forth.

  “No, Xris Cyborg. No one is focusing his or her thoughts on us at the moment.”

  “Good,” Xris said.

  “No one is focusing his or her thoughts on Darlene Rowan, either,” Raoul continued imperturbably.

  Xris glared at the Little One. “Just once, I’d like to have a private thought in my head. Just once. Would that be too much to ask?”


  The small telepath cringed and sidled closer to Raoul, who rested a protective hand the the Little One’s shoulder.

  “He has no way of knowing, my friend. The concept of privacy is unknown among his people—”

  “Save it for Doc’s thesis.” Xris snorted and climbed the stairs in glum and ill-tempered silence.

  Raoul and the Little One accompanied him, the Little One occasionally tripping over the long raincoat he wore. The two were holding one of their incomprehensible conversations.

  “I was only going to inquire ...” Raoul was saying in a loud whisper that echoed up the stone staircase.

  The Little One waved one hand, made a tugging motion.

  Raoul hushed, listening to the Little One’s silent reply. Xris found the discussion highly irritating. He could have ignored an ordinary conversation between two people, but he couldn’t help listening to these two, couldn’t help trying to fill in the blanks, so to speak, trying to guess what the Little One was silently transmitting. And Xris always had the feeling that they were talking about him.

  Which, in this case, they were.

  “I know he’s in a bad mood,” Raoul responded, “but I don’t see any harm in asking ...”

  The Little One was holding forth again, apparently, because there was another burst of silence from Raoul. Xris gritted his teeth, bit back an order for them both to shut up.

  “It’s only once a year,” Raoul said, aggrieved.

  Xris came to a halt on the first landing. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “It is nothing, Xris Cyborg,” Raoul demurred, lowering his purple-hued eyelids. “I was going to request a leave of absence, but the Little One maintains that you are not in a good mood and that therefore this would he an inappropriate time to approach you—”

  “Leave of absence? What for?” Xris demanded, then remembered. “Oh, hell, is it that time of year again? No, I may need you for this job.”

  He began climbing the stairs again.

  “But if you don’t need us?” Raoul pursued, assisting his small friend, who was having difficulty traversing the broad stairs. Xris slowed his pace, though he did his best to make it look unintentional.