Robot Blues Read online

  Jamil relaxed a moment more in the cool comfort of the cabin, joking with the shuttle pilots and enjoying a chilled glass of orange juice. The flight attendant was writing down her phone number.

  She handed it to him. He thanked her, thanked the pilots, and proceeded down the stairs. He couldn’t recall enjoying anything in his life half so much as watching Xris salute him.

  Jamil returned the salute, glanced around in feigned astonishment.

  “The staff car is not here, sir,” Xris reported.

  Jamil wasn’t surprised. The big surprise would have been if the staff car had been there to meet them.

  “Find out what the devil’s happened to it, Captain!” Jamil ordered, but Xris was already crossing over to the small terminal building, his eye on some poor unfortunate corporal.

  Jamil strode over to the terminal building, taking his time. He could hear Xris’s furious bellow.

  “Why the hell isn’t Colonel Jatanski’s staff car on the tarmac, ready to pick us up?”

  The corporal stammered his reply. “I’m s-sorry, sir, but we have no record of any senior officers arriving on base today.”

  “We’ll see about that, Corporal!” Xris stated grimly.

  Jamil took a moment to enjoy the view.

  Pandor was a desert planet—at least the part on which they had landed was desert. A white-hot sun blazed in a cobalt-blue sky. No need for paved landing strips. The tarmac was red dirt, baked hard by the relentless sun. The buildings of the landing site, and those of the Army base itself, which he could see off in the distance, were low, stone structures, cut from rock that was the same reddish color as the dirt. Singularly unattractive.

  Off to his left, at the far end of the tarmac, were two huge hangars. Both had their doors open, to try to obtain some relief from the sweltering heat for the crews working inside. Various signs in Standard Military identified the Army Aviation squadrons based on Pandor. Bombers and fighters and fighter-bombers, these spaceplanes could be used for both land and space combat. Jamil made a mental note of them; you never knew when such information might come in handy.

  A sign adorned with an orange skull on a black background hung over the first hangar, announced the fact that the 2311th Bombardment “Thundering Death” Squadron was stationed there. In front of the doors, a massive Claymore Heavy Bomber was winding up its engines for some type of maintenance check, to judge by the grounds crew swarming around it. Next hangar over was the home of the 1073rd Tactical Fighter “Ruby” Squadron. Maintenance crews could be seen working on the Dirk Fighters inside.

  By the time Jamil arrived at the terminal, Xris had hauled the unfortunate corporal inside, had him sweating over a computer terminal.

  “Punch up the daily routine for this god-forsaken base, Corporal,” Xris ordered.

  The corporal obeyed. Jamil bent over, glanced at it. The screen lit with the daily administrivia: Order unit photographs from the base photographic unit, Mess C will be closed at lunch today, The construction area is off-limits to all personnel, and so forth. Jamil was just starting to get worried when he saw the name Jatanski flash by. There it was: Reminder to all personnel to attend tomorrow’s briefing on “Foreign Object Damage to Spaceplane Engines” to be given by noted aerospace expert Colonel R. A. Jatanski.

  Xris jabbed his finger at the entry, glared at the red-faced corporal, who no doubt saw private’s stripes in the cyborg’s eyes.

  “Uh, s-s-sir, I-I—”

  “Get me my goddamn staff car!” Xris yelled.

  “Yes, sir!”

  The sweating and shaken corporal grabbed the phone; Jamil and Xris could both hear him talking in urgent tones to someone on the other end, probably the Base Commander’s aide.

  “I was getting nervous,” Jamil said in a low voice to Xris. The two had strolled over to the window, in order to give the corporal room to maneuver.

  “You pull up the daily list then!” he was overheard to say.

  “I thought maybe Rowan might have blown it,” Jamil continued.

  Xris smiled, shook his head. His hands kept reaching for his pocket, kept reaching for the gold case of twists that would have normally been there, was not there now. Due to health concerns, military personnel were prohibited from smoking. Not even a colonel’s aide could have broken that rule. Xris put his hands behind his back, clasped one hand over the other’s wrist, held them firmly.

  “How’d she manage to break into a military computer?” Jamil wondered.

  Xris shook his head. “How the hell should I know? That’s Darlene’s department. She was on their payroll for years, must have found more than a few back doors.”

  “Your car is on the way, sir,” the corporal informed them. “Colonel Strebbins extends his apologies.”

  Jamil curtly nodded, continued to stand in magnificent and indignant aplomb at the window. Their backs to the corporal, he and Xris exchanged glances. So far. So good.

  Half an hour later, a black hovercar, adorned with a small flag indicating colonel rank fluttering from the front bumper, landed in front of the terminal. A private in a very neat, very crisp dress uniform stepped out and entered the terminal. Xris waved him down. The private halted, gave a very neat, very crisp salute.

  “Begging your pardon, Sir. The Base Commander, Colonel Strebbins, sends his deepest apologies for the delay. He says that he is very much looking forward to the briefing tomorrow, Sir. Your Room in the VIP quarters has been arranged. Captain, Sir, you will be staying in the transient officer’s quarters, next door. Colonel Strebbins requests the pleasure of your company tonight at his table at the Officer’s Mess, 1900 hours for 1930 hours, if you wish.”

  Jamil nodded. “Yes, tell the colonel that Captain Kergonan and I will indeed attend.”

  The private loaded their luggage into the hovercar. The colonel entered the staff car, relaxed in cool luxury, while Xris gave instructions to the corporal regarding the delivery of the large and clumsy crate containing the “exhibit” materials that was resting on the tarmac.

  The corporal gazed at the shining specially designed metal crate, with its myriad dials and gauges, all prepared to provide the antique robot with a constant humidity level, constant temperature, protection from the contamination of unfamiliar environments, and other comforts.

  “That must be some exhibit, sir!” the corporal stated in awe.

  Xris pointed to the “biohazard contamination” symbol he himself had added to the outside of the crate. “As you can see, Corporal, this should be handled with extreme care. The colonel and myself are the only ones who have been trained in the procedures to allow us to handle this material safely. Anyone else risks doing serious damage to the environment, perhaps to himself. Understood?”

  The corporal must have been wondering what all this had to do with the topic of the colonel’s lecture, “Foreign Object Damage to Spaceplane Engines,” but he said nothing about that, assured Xris that the crate would receive the very best treatment, and asked where it should be delivered.

  Xris walked over to the staff car, knocked on the window. Jamil pushed the button; the window slid down.

  “Excuse me. Colonel, but the corporal wants to know where you want the crate delivered.”

  “How the devil should I know?” Jamil said in an undertone, glaring at Xris.

  “What was that, Colonel?” Xris said, leaning his head in the window. “Begging the colonel’s pardon, but I don’t believe that location would be suitable,” he added, having heard Jamil mutter, “Up your ass!”

  They had known in advance that the crate was going to present a problem. It was equipped with air jets, which eased it gently over the ground. Xris wouldn’t have any difficulty getting it to the construction site, but he couldn’t very well be seen taking the damn thing for a stroll through the base after dark. Ideally, they needed to stash it someplace near the site. And, at the moment, they had no idea where the best place would be.

  Sakuta’s map of the base, provided by his colleague, ha
d obviously been drawn up by some ivory-tower intellectual playing at being a commando. It was rife with X’s marking the ammunition dump, arrows pointing out the guard posts, and was careful to note in red all the back entrances to every building. Unfortunately, the map maker had not thought it important to include information on such mundane locations as warehouses and storage sheds.

  Xris and Jamil had agreed to play this one by ear, ask the right questions, make their plans accordingly. Generally Xris handled this sort of thing; he was good at thinking on his feet. But Xris had now just dumped the whole matter into Jamil’s lap. Xris could always retrieve it, if he had to. He was all set to offer a suggestion if Jamil bobbled the ball. This was payback for the luggage toting.

  Xris’s head was in the window, where no one could see him. He grinned, winked.

  Jamil leaned forward. “Have the crate delivered to your room, Captain.”

  The grin vanished from Xris’s face. He said something beneath his breath that no captain would ever say to a colonel and expect to live through, drew back, stood up, and gave the instructions to have the crate delivered to his quarters. Actually, that was a damn good idea. It was just too bad Jamil had to be the one to think of it. He’d be certain to remind Xris of this when the time for paychecks rolled around. The corporal looked dubious, but it wasn’t his place to argue with either a captain or a colonel.

  Xris took his place in the front seat with the driver.

  Jamil sat back in the cushy seat in the rear, folded his arms, relaxed, and prepared to enjoy the ride.

  * * *

  Jamil’s quarters were palatial. The army base on Pan-dor didn’t get many high-level visitors—it didn’t get many visitors of any level, apparently. Those who came were treated royally. The aide pointed out the “honor” bar down the hall. Each of the rooms had a fireplace (the desert nights on Pandor were chill), marble-topped desk, and bath facilities, and a vid entertainment system.

  Xris was not so fortunate, as Jamil well knew, being highly familiar with transient officers’ quarters. The cyborg’s room was clean and spacious. (“You have ample room for the crate, Captain,” Jamil had pointed out.) The furniture was functional—about the only compliment that could be paid it—consisted of a metal bed, a metal desk, and a metal sink. The crate sat on the floor.

  Jamil was putting the finishing touches on his dress uniform when Xris knocked on the door. Jamil invited the captain inside, shut the door, and reflexively ducked the swing Xris took at him.

  “That’s for sticking me with that blasted crate,” Xris said in an undertone. He had already taken a twist out of its case, which he had stashed in his steel bag. Thrusting the twist in his mouth, he started to chew. He glanced around. A lift of his eyebrow asked, You check this place out?

  Jamil nodded, went back to the mirror to make final adjustments. Both officers were in dress uniforms, well tailored with all the proper insignia, patches, epaulets, and suitable metals. Raoul was in charge of the team’s wardrobe, and the uniforms were in immaculate state, fit perfectly. Xris and Jamil removed the few extra unmilitary adornments which Raoul thought added “that certain touch.”

  “All right, we go over the plan again. After dinner—”

  “After the port and the toasts,” Jamil corrected. “And they’ll probably ask me to make a speech.”

  “Fine.” Xris ground the word up with the twist. “After all that, we traipse off to the bar—”

  “The head table rises,” Jamil said. “That’s where I’ll be sitting. When we’ve left, then everyone is free to go to the bar. I’ll meet you there and—”

  “And you’ll send me on some sort of errand—”

  “I’ll order you to go check out the hall where I’ll be giving the lecture.”

  Xris pondered. “What if some bright-eyed lieutenant wants to show it to me in person?”

  “Not necessary. We wouldn’t want to take him away from the fun. I have a map. A good one,” Jamil added, casting a disparaging glance at Sakuta’s map. “I’ll stay in the bar and keep the base commander busy.”

  “If possible, I’d like to find someplace to stash the crate near the construction site. Once that’s accomplished, I’ll experiment, see how easy it is to get off-base. If I make it, we go with Plan A. If not, we’ll move on to Plan B.”

  Jamil grinned. “My taste for Pandoran stout.”

  “Yeah. If either plan works, I’ll have the ‘bot safely stowed in the crate by the time you give your lecture tomorrow. You say—”

  “I say that I’ve run tests and the environment here isn’t suitable and so on and so forth and it would be too dangerous to open the crate, so we’ll have to forgo the exhibits.”

  “Plan C, you don’t even bring the crate. You explain the same thing. I’ll recover the robot during your lecture. We pack up and leave.”

  “What about workmen at the construction site?”

  “I talked to the private when he showed me the room. The window overlooks the site, so it was a perfect opportunity to ask what’s going on. He said that construction had halted because of a crashed spaceship they found. Guards are posted, but only on the road leading in. The crash site’s about five kilometers away from the main entrance. They’ve placed portable electronic fencing around the downed ship.” Xris patted the compartment in his cybernetic leg where he kept his tool and weapons hands. “Nothing that can’t be solved.”

  Jamil nodded. “It all seems dead easy.”

  “Yeah, doesn’t it?” Xris shifted the wad of soggy twist from one side of his mouth to the other. “I almost wish some little something would go wrong, just to ease our minds.”

  “Bite your tongue!” Jamil admonished. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. We have every contingency covered and, if all else fails, there’s Plan D.”

  “Biological warfare.” Xris shook his head. “I trust it won’t come to that. For one thing, I don’t want to hang around for twenty-four hours, waiting for everyone to start racing for the latrines. But, just in case, I’ve located the base water supply and I’ve got the germ mixture Raoul concocted in a vial, locked up in the crate.”

  “You’re sure this stuff is harmless?” Jamil asked. “We’re in enough trouble with the Lord Admiralty over the Major Mohini episode as it is. I wouldn’t want to have to explain why we accidentally poisoned a couple thousand military personnel.”

  “Raoul assured me that the most that will happen is diarrhea and stomach cramps. A mild case of food poisoning, that’s what it will look like. I had the Doc check out Raoul’s germs and Quong gave it the okay.”

  “Then I think we’ve got everything covered.” Jamil looked at his watch. “Nineteen hundred. You ready?”

  Xris chewed rapidly, swallowed—regretfully—the last of the twist. “You’ll keep the speech short, won’t you?” he said, his hand on the door handle.

  “Are you kidding?” Jamil was put out. “Do you know how many of these ass-numbing speeches I had to sit through in my day? Listening to some blowhard colonel tell all about his experiences during the Faraqu Split, how he held off six thousand crazed Faraqi with his side arm alone?” Jamil rubbed his hands. “Now’s my chance for revenge!”

  Xris eyed him. “If you think I’m going to sit there and listen to you bullshit for thirty minutes ...”

  “Oh, all right,” Jamil grumbled. “But what’s it worth to you? Something extra in my paycheck?”

  “How about a paycheck at all, Colonel? There’s that little matter of the luggage, not to mention a robot coffin sitting on the floor in my bedroom.”

  Jamil bargained. “Five minutes?”

  “Three,” Xris amended. “And I’ll dock you one hundred golden eagles for every minute over.”

  “Done.” Jamil growled. “But you’ve shattered a dream.”

  Xris snorted, and the two walked out.

  Chapter 9

  The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company. />
  William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing,Act 3, Scene 3

  “And it was while I was standing in the desert at Faraqu, with six thousand wild-eyed Faraqi glaring down at me from the heights, with only my needle-gun left to defend myself and the women and children entrusted to my care, that I came to realize that the life of the Royal Army officer is the best life in the universe! God bless us all!”

  Jamil sat down amid thunderous applause. He looked out to Xris, seated with the other low-ranking officers. The cyborg was pointing at his watch. Jamil had run two minutes over. That would cost him plenty, but it had been worth it. One crusty old major was actually wiping a tear from his eye. A lovely blond captain was regarding Jamil with admiration.

  The base commander made a suitable reply. The officers at the head table rose and departed in state, all looking very solemn and well fed. The meal had been actually quite decent. Colonel Strebbins spent a goodly portion of the meal relating the story of how he had swiped the cook from the 1083rd, stationed on Vangelis II. The port after dinner had been excellent. Now the officers were free to retire to the more informal and relaxed atmosphere of the bar, a separate room attached to the dining area. The major was pumping Jamil’s hand and wanting to discuss the inept strategy and tactics at Faraqu. Jamil made polite excuses and walked over to the bar, where the blond captain was talking to Xris.

  “Your speech was so inspiring, Colonel,” she said, after Xris had made introductions.

  “One might call it ‘golden,’ “ Xris said under his breath, but loud enough for Jamil to hear.

  Jamil cut neatly in between Xris and the blond captain. “Captain Kergonan,” he said over his shoulder, “I think you should go check on the arrangements for my talk tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir, Colonel,” Xris said, putting his untasted drink back down on the bar.

  It occurred to Jamil that Xris left far too quickly and far too obediently, particularly when he must have noticed the blond captain frowning in disappointment at the cyborg’s leaving. Jamil figured something was up, was convinced of it when he saw Xris pause on the way out the door to speak to Colonel Strebbins. Xris might just be making polite remarks about the dinner, but Jamil was on his guard. He asked the captain what she thought of the inept strategy that led to the defeat at Faraqu.