Xris shorted out the force field, walked into the cell.
Dull-eyed, stupefied with terror, the six stared at him. They didn't believe in him ... at first. Then she recognized him. Her eyes widened, color flooded her pale cheeks. Her lips parted. She rose to her feet.
The others didn't know him, but they understood. Hope lit their eyes. The kindest thing he could do for them was to end it, swiftly.
"Sorry," he said. "I can only manage one."
He reached out, took hold of her, pulled her to his side.
"If my team was with me, I could—"
He stopped. Explanation was time-consuming, unnecessary.
"My children," pleaded the man, shoving a pair of ragged, sleepy, and frightened kids toward Xris. "It doesn't matter about me, but take them with you. Please, for the love of God—"
She was pleading with him, too. Urging him to take the others, no matter that it would endanger them all. And there was no arguing with her.
A needle flicked out of the palm of his mechanical hand, punctured her skin. She was startled at the sudden sharp pain, but before she could cry out, he shot her full of the drug She sagged against him. Her eyes closed; her body went limp.
He picked her up with his mechanical arm, thinking, The last time I touched her with this hand, she flinched.
"Shoot us, then," said one of the women, gathering the children close, holding them tight. "That's the least you can do."
Yeah. It was. It would take time, time he didn't have. But it was the least he could do. Xris took aim and shot them, shot them all.
Then, carrying her in his arms, he headed for the exit.
A red glow flooded the tunnel, blocked the way. The Corasians opened fire. Laser light flared around him.
"Hit," came a synthesized voice. "Two kills."
"Damn," Xris muttered.
He holstered his lasgun, checked the clock, shook his head. He had to get out faster. He needed to cut at least forty seconds off his time.
Deactivating the dummy in his arm, he dropped it to the floor and crossed over to the control panel located on a far wall of the target range. He hit a switch. The red glow died. The holograph people and the children disappeared. Forty seconds. Where the hell was he going to pick up forty seconds?
A blue light began to blink above the door.
"Visitors," the synthesized voice informed him.
Xris looked out the observation window, saw two people—at least he guessed one was a person—standing in the hallway. Raoul and the Little One.
The cyborg muttered a curse beneath his breath. He hadn't expected them back this soon. He had planned to be long gone before they came.
He considered sending them up to report to Harry; then it occurred to the cyborg that Harry was probably the one who'd sent them down here to report to him. If Xris refused to see them, they would grow suspicious, and the last thing Xris wanted was to rouse suspicions in these two—particularly the Little One. Best to see them, hear them out, act as if nothing was up, give them their orders, send them away.
He hit the switch, opened the door.
The two entered. Xris shut the door behind them.
"We'll talk in here," he said. "I can seal it off."
Raoul nodded complacently. Raoul would have nodded complacently if Xris had told him he was intending to blow off his head. Raoul was an Adonian—a human race noted for then-beauty. He was also a Loti, so called because he lived, thrived, and survived on mind-altering drugs. He drifted through life in a state of euphoria, never frightened, never upset, never disturbed by anything. At least, that was how Raoul claimed he lived.
Xris was beginning to wonder.
During the past three years, Raoul had worked with Xris, been one of the team. They'd handled several dangerous assignments and Xris had seen Raoul in action, seen the Loti react to the unexpected swiftly, alertly—too swiftly and too alertly for a doped-up Loti. And yet he never lost the glassy-eyed gaze, the vacuous expression, the isn't-the-world-a-beautiful-place smile. Not even when it seemed likely that they were all about to die.
Raoul glanced around in bored fashion as he minced inside the target room, shuddered delicately. "A Corasian meat locker. How truly ghastly."
Purple-drenched eyelids fluttered. He smoothed his long black hair, which had been ruffled by the slight breeze created by the opening of the door. "You do find the most remarkably ugly places in which to play your games, Xris Cyborg."
Xris shrugged. Pulling out a particularly noxious form of cigarette known as a twist, he stuck it in his mouth, lit it, breathed in the foul-smelling smoke. "A little target practice, that's all."
He was aware of a sudden change in Raoul's partner, known only as the Little One. Two bright and intense eyes shifted their curious gaze from the target range to Xris's face.
If Raoul was a mystery, his partner was an enigma.
No one had ever seen the Little One; no one had ever heard him speak. No one knew his race, creed, color. All anyone had ever seen of him was the raincoat, a pair of small humanoid hands, and those penetrating eyes—the only portion of the small creature's face visible from between the pointed collar of the overlarge raincoat in which the empath habitually enveloped himself. All topped by a battered fedora.
Xris couldn't even say for sure that the Little One was a he, except that Raoul termed him a he. But, given the Loti's own androgynous state, Xris wasn't at all certain Raoul knew the difference.
The Little One was getting too damned interested in Xris's insides.
The cyborg did what he could to adjust his thought pro-cesses, but this wasn't as easy as adjusting a cybernetic leg or hand. Too bad. His brain should be a machine, like the rest of him.
Erase. Shut down. Switch off.
No more pain. No more hurt. Disk drive empty.
"Too bad your late boss didn't set up a target range for poisoners," he commented, taking a drag on the twist.
"What an extraordinarily interesting idea," said Raoul, struck. "Still, I don't quite see how it could have been possible—considering the quiet nature of my profession—to create that atmosphere of violence and excitement that you all seem to find so attractive—"
Raoul paused at this point, glanced down at the Little One. The Loti looked back at Xris, and the shimmering, drug-vacant eyes didn't appear to be quite as vacant as the cyborg would have liked.
"The Little One says you are not seeking thrills this day, Xris Cyborg," said Raoul, flipping his black hair over his shoulders with a graceful motion of his delicate hands.
He looked around at the target range, at the elaborate sets designed to replicate perfectly the inside of a Corasian "meat" locker, at the scoreboard that registered two kills for the Corasians, at the dummy—dressed to resemble a human female—lying huddled on the floor of the cell.
"You are practicing here with serious intent," Raoul observed.
"Special job," Xris commented briefly, hoping this would end it. He took the butt end of the twist out of his mouth, ground it on the concrete floor with his good foot.
Raoul gave him an exasperated glance. Reaching down gingerly, he picked up the twist between thumb and index finger, and—making a face—threw it in the trash compactor.
"What about your assignment?" Xris asked, changing the subject. "Since you're back early, I take it you completed it satisfactorily."
"Most satisfactorily:" Raoul gave him a charming smile. "The Little One says you are going alone."
Xris fixed the Little One with a look that caused the empath to literally shrivel up. The raincoat actually seemed to deflate; the eyes disappeared beneath the brim of the fedora.
"I thought he was an empath—soaked up feelings. Since when did he get to be a goddam mind reader?"
"It comes with age, among his people."
"What?" Xris grunted, eyed the fedora. "You serious?"
"As serious as possible in an absurd world. But I think you are attempting to change the subject, Xris Cyborg. You are goin
g alone on a mission that is fraught with deadly peril. This is not good," chided Raoul, gently sighing. "This is not worthy of you. Or wise of you. And so the others will feel, once I tell them—"
"You're not going to tell them!" Xris snapped, taking another twist out of his pocket. He thrust it into his mouth, didn't bother to light it. "Better get used to this place 'cause I'm locking you in here. Don't worry. I'll send Harry for you in the morning. He'll let you out in time to wash your hair and put on your makeup. By which time I'll be long gone."
"On your way to Corasia, by yourself. A suicide mission. And to rescue one person—"
Raoul glanced down at the Little One, who—undeterred by Xris's fierce warning stare—apparently said something to his partner in whatever mysterious way they managed to communicate.
"Your wife," said Raoul softly.
"Tell him he's lucky I don't stuff him in there," Xris snarled, pointing to the trash.
"How have we deserved this of you, Xris Cyborg?" Raoul asked. The Loti's eyes filled with tears. "What faith have we broken with you that you do not keep faith with us? How have we failed you?"
"Shit!" Xris took the twist out of his mouth, threw it on the floor. "Don't start crying. In the first place this is personal, none of your goddam business. In the second place, I don't need you. Any of you, but especially I don't need a whacked-out poisoner and a snoop! I'll take care of this little matter and I'll be back before you know I'm gone. You can tell that to the others. Tell them I'm taking some time off, a well-deserved vacation."
Raoul opened his peach-colored lips.
"Not another word!" Xris warned. "Or by God I will stuff him in the trash. And you with him." He leaned back on the console. "Now, make your report."
Raoul exchanged glances with the top of the fedora, which was about all that could now be seen of the Little One. Apparently deciding that Xris meant what he said, the Loti removed a lace hankie from his blue beaded evening bag dabbed his eyes—careful not to disturb his mascara—and then spread the hankie carefully over the control panel to dry.
"We met, as arranged, at the Exile Cafe. They had arrived ahead of me, by two days. An expensive room, near the top. I had the impression that they had never been there before, but naturally I did not ask."
"Who are they?"
"John Does. Nobodies." Raoul raised a disdainful plucked eyebrow. "Experienced starpilots. The Little One says they have military backgrounds, some mercenary work, nothing of interest. They gave me their names, of course, but the Little One says that the names were false."
"And who are they working for?"
"They claimed to be members of a prodemocracy organization unhappy with the return to a monarchy. The Little One says that, too, is false. They have no strong political beliefs as would be manifest if they were dedicated members of such an organization. Instead, they were acting a part, repeating what they had been told to say."
Xris took out another twist, examined it absently, shifted his gaze to the Little One. "He pick up on any real names? Places?"
"A group calling itself the Ghost Legion. The thought crossed the mind of each person at various times. Does that nomenclature mean anything to you, Xris Cyborg?"
Xris shrugged. "Could be anything from a paramilitary organization to a dance troupe. I'll pass it along. These characters you met were obviously just flunkies. Did you get any land of a line on the people higher up?"
"Something rather strange. I led the discussion to commanders, leaders." Raoul flushed a delicate pink. "I am afraid I was forced to denigrate you and your leadership capabilities, Xris Cyborg. If anything of what I said should happen to come back—"
Xris waved his good hand. "Think nothing of it What'd you find out?"
"The Little One descried a name."
"Yeah? And?"
Raoul lifted himself on his patent leather dancing pumps, swayed forward, and whispered "Starfire!" in breathless, dramatic tones.
Xris lit his twist, took a puff.
Raoul waited, regarded the cyborg expectantly.
Xris took the twist out of his mouth. "Yeah? So?"
Raoul's purple-lined eyes opened wide. "Do you not find that odd, Xris Cyborg?"
He snorted. "That you're talking about commanders and these former military pilots think of their king? The commander-in-chief?"
"But they are plotting to overthrow him, Xris Cyborg. Why would they think of him?"
"Ever heard of a guilty conscience?"
Raoul stared blankly.
The cyborg shook his head. "Skip it. Was what you offered them satisfactory?"
"I assume so. They examined the layouts to make certain all was there. But the Little One says that they lacked the technical expertise to truly understand what it was they were looking at."
"That's what we counted on. These guys are just the middlemen. Their job is to transport the goods to the experts. I hope you sold your soul dearly?"
"They were quite munificent," remarked Raoul, with a smile and a fluttering motion of his hands toward the beaded bag. "I will, of course, deposit this in the corporate account. After we deduct our expenses, of course."
"Of course," Xris said dryly. "I suppose that new outfit of yours is on the list. Kind of subdued for you, isn't it?"
Raoul looked down solemnly at his crushed purple velvet toreador pants, mauve hosiery, and matching purple sequined jacket.
"I thought I should present a serious image. I should look earnest in my desire—"
"—to betray king and country." Xris grinned, stuck the twist in his mouth. "So this is what the well-dressed traitor is wearing this year. Any indication of when they plan to strike?"
"The Little One says they intended to transmit the information we provided to another location, have it checked over."
"That should keep em busy awhile. Where do they plan to send it?"
"The Little One was unable to ascertain. A coded sequence. I doubt if these people know where they're sending it."
"Probably not. Well, we got a fish on the line. I hope this makes Dixter happy." He paused. Raoul was shaking his head, regardless of the harm the movement did to his hairstyle. "What's the matter?"
"I find it difficult to believe that any group would attempt to attack this facility. My former employer, the late Snaga Ohme, used to say that not even the renowned forces under the command of the dead Warlord Derek Sagan could lay siege to this place with any hope of achieving success."
"Your former employer was right." Xris cast an approving glance around. "It might be harder to break into His Majesty's palace, but I doubt it. Shields and the force field protect us from air attack. Life expectancy on the outer grounds is thirty seconds—if you watch where you step. Inside, we can pick up fleas crawling across the floor. Yeah, your former employer knew how to build a damn fine house for himself. Still, not even all this fancy technology kept him alive. He let his guard down once, maybe, but once was all it took."
"Yes, that is true." Raoul sighed and flashed a blissful smile. "And so we appear to let our guard down and wait to see who lunges at us."
"That's what we were hired for. Damn dull, if you ask me, but I couldn't very well say no to the Lord of the Admiralty."
Xris began packing up his gear—specially designed missiles that fired from either a gun or his cybernetic weapons hand. He'd developed them three years ago, when he'd been hired by the Starlady to fight Corasians. The missiles had worked then, saved their lives. He'd modified them, refined them, sold his design for them to the Royal Military. He was a wealthy man now. Which was good, since it was going to take a large portion of that wealth to get him into and out of Corasia alive.
"When are you leaving?" Raoul asked, watching the cyborg's preparations.
"Tonight."
"The others will notice you are gone."
"By the time they do, it won't matter. Might as well make yourself comfortable. You may be here for a while."
"This is not in the contract, Xris Cyborg" said Raoul,
seating himself on the edge of the control panel. Taking a small mirror from the beaded bag, the Loti studied himself in it frowned slightly. He removed a silver tube from the bag opened it and began to trace a peach-colored line around his lips. "You are always very insistent on the contract."
"There's a clause about an act of God in the contract," Xris told him. "Look it up. Besides, you don't need me for this job. Hell, you got half the Royal Military out there, the other half on call. Tell Lee he's in charge. Nothing's going to happen. Whoever they are, they won't be ready to make their move for a long, long time. Shit, it'll take them a military month to figure out those phony layouts we provided. By then I'll be back—"
"You won't be back," said Raoul complacently. He regarded the cyborg from beneath languidly drooping, half-closed, purple eyelids. "Not if you go alone. You don't have a chance. You will die. And so will she."
Xris said nothing.
Raoul sat on the control panel, swinging his shapely legs back and forth. The empath was huddled underneath a fake fiberglass boulder. He looked remarkably dejected, hopeless, despairing.
"If he's picking up on my mental state, no wonder," Xris muttered, suddenly angry.
He stalked over to the sliding door, moving with his awkward gait, trying to force the natural human part of his body to work faster, be better than the stronger, indestructible mechanical part. He had almost reached the door when Raoul slid off the control panel, flitted over toward Xris. The Loti sidled near.
"A kiss for luck, my friend."
"No, you don't." Xris stiff-armed Raoul, shoved the Loti's head against a wall, being careful to use his mechanical hand near the Loti's mouth. "I know about the lip gloss, remember? What's in it today?"
"A sleeping potion." Raoul gasped a little in pain, though the smile never left his face. If anything, the smile was rather more blissful. "You would not have slept long. We could have discussed the matter. Please, do not crush the velvet. I—"
"Xris!" Harry's voice boomed out into the target range. "You better get the hell up here! Our security monitors just went berserk! And is that empath down there with you? Bring him along."
Ghost Legion Page 2