“Take a woman. Show her unrelated objects scattered at random on a desk. Remove her from the room. Thirty minutes later, ask her what object was where and odds are she’ll be able to remember. A man, given the same test, won’t have a clue. I’m a gatherer, myself. I suppose, over the centuries, some of the gentler lines have been obscured.”
It occurred to Xris that a lot more than Wiedermann’s gentler lines had been obscured, but the cyborg kept quiet. Wiedermann did not expect a response, apparently. He was no longer paying attention to his client, had begun flipping through the myriad documents in the file.
Xris shifted restlessly. Tiny beeps from his cybernetic arm and the faint hum of his battery pack blended with the hum of the various computers behind Wiedermann. The detective continued to peruse the file, but Xris had the impression that Wiedermann’s thoughts had drifted off somewhere else.
Xris decided it was time those thoughts returned to him.
“Uh, look, Mr. Wiedermann—”
“Ed. Ed Wiedermann. The younger.”
“Fine. You sent for me, Ed. I take it that means you’ve made some progress on my case?”
“Yes. Yes, we have.” Wiedermann nodded, continued to study the file. “We’ve completed it successfully, in fact.”
The surge that went through Xris had nothing to do with his batteries. Elation sparked, its jolt nearly stopping his heart with bright, intense pleasure. He spent a moment reveling in the triumph, then said slowly, “You mean you’ve found him. Rowan.”
“Dalin Rowan.” Wiedermann savored the name. “We’re close. Very close.”
Xris shut his eyes. Emotion brought tears, burned behind the lids. His hand—his good hand, resting on his good knee—clenched into a tight fist. Nails dug into his flesh. Good flesh, warm flesh. Blood—warm blood, real blood—throbbed in his temples. A buzzing sounded; his system was warning him that it was having difficulty compensating for this sudden adrenaline rush that was unaccompanied by strenuous physical exertion. He drew in several deep breaths to try to calm himself down.
“Tell me—where is he?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve called a halt to the operation,” Wiedermann said offhandedly, frowning at the file in his hands.
“You did what?” Xris couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly, thought his auditory system might have shorted out.
“I spoke clearly enough.” Wiedermann was testy. The green eyes narrowed. “I’ve halted the operation. I have a good idea—an excellent idea, in fact—where this case is headed. And I don’t like it. We could find ourselves in a great deal of difficulty. Our firm is not, at this point, prepared to accept the risk. I’ve spoken with my father and he—”
With his good hand, Xris shoved aside an enormous stack of folders, toppling them to the floor. He leaned over the desk, planted the left elbow of the metal arm in the newly cleared space directly under Wiedermann’s nose.
“You see this?” Xris wiggled his metal fingers. “Nine years ago, this arm was real. So was my leg, my eye, and all other parts of me. I won’t bore you with the details—you’ve got them on file. I damn near died in that explosion. Dalin Rowan, my friend and partner, saved my life. But I never got a chance to thank him. After the accident, he disappeared.
“I owe him.” Xris was forced to pause, readjust himself. He was experiencing momentary breathing difficulty. “I owe him big. I spent a year of my own life searching for Dalin Rowan. No luck. You’ve spent six years’ worth of my money searching for him. You tell me you’ve found him, but you won’t tell me where he is. I think you might want to reconsider. Hand over that file.”
“Certainly.” Wiedermann was calm, not the least intimidated. “But you wouldn’t find it much help. It’s not your case. Here, see for yourself.”
Xris backed off. He’d played enough ante-up to know when a man was bluffing. “All right, then. Where are my files?”
“In the computer.” Wiedermann indicated the screens behind him. “One of the computers. You’ll never find them, you know. Not if you searched a lifetime. And I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell you. I haven’t decided.”
“What do you want?” Xris demanded. “More money?”
Wiedermann shook his head. “We operate in this galaxy at His Majesty’s pleasure. At any time, the galactic government could revoke our license. If that happened, the total worth of the Crown Jewels couldn’t compensate us for our losses. If your case results in legal action against us, I want to be certain we have a chance to win.”
“Legal action?” Xris snorted. “What legal action? I’m trying to find my friend—”
“It’s up to you,” Wiedermann interrupted. “If we decide not to proceed, you won’t be charged for our time. We’ll refund your retainer. You won’t be out anything.”
“Only eight years of my life,” Xris said through clenched teeth.
“Tell me your story.”
“I told you the goddamn story once. Your operative, that is. It’s in the blasted files!”
Wiedermann leaned back in his chair. Crossing bony legs over bony knees, he put the tips of his fingers together.
Xris eyed the computer screens. His fingers twitched. He was good with computers, but he wasn’t that good. Dalin Rowan—now there had been the computer expert. In all these years, Xris had never run across anyone as good as Dalin.
Slowly, reluctantly, the cyborg sat back down.
Xris paused a moment to get his thoughts in order. It didn’t take long. Not a day went by but that he didn’t think about it. Wondering, trying to make sense of it.
“It was back during the days of the democracy. I was a Fed, a member of the bureau detailed to handle interplanetary crime. I don’t know how much you know about the agency; probably quite a bit.”
Wiedermann smiled, nodded. “The bureau hasn’t changed all that much under the new regime. Cleaned up some, maybe. But basically the same.”
“No reason it should change,” Xris said. “They’ve got good people. We were good, most of us. Dedicated. Loyal. And if there was some corruption, hell, that’s only to be expected in an organization that big. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that the whole damn government was corrupt, from the president on down. Not that it would have made much difference, I guess. I did what I did for the bureau for my own reasons.”
“And those were?”
Xris shrugged. Taking out the cigarette case, he held it in his hand, but didn’t open it. He tapped it thoughtfully with a good finger.
“It’s no big moral thing with me. Right. Wrong. Good. Bad. Ethics vary from planet to planet. On Adonia twenty years ago, it was legal to abandon a child for being ugly. We had a hell of a time with local laws. But that’s not important. What got to me, what kept me going, were the people who got fat off other people’s misery.”
“Yes, go on.”
Xris shifted in his chair, attempted to make himself more comfortable. Not an easy task when half his body was metal.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me smoke?”
Wiedermann shook his head, patted his chest. “Asthma.”
Xris removed a twist from the case, clamped his teeth down on it, chewed it. The bitter juice flooded his mouth, washed out the faint metallic flavor that he always tasted, despite the fact that the doctors told him it was all in his mind. Some days the taste was stronger than others.
“It’s what kept me from being on the take, I guess. I had my chances, but I knew where the money came from: babies who were born whacked out from drugs, sixteen-year-old hookers smashed up by their pimps, old people swindled out of their life savings. These people were at the bottom and at the top were guys in the fancy limojets who held handkerchiefs over their delicate noses when they drove through the stinking slums they helped create. Bringing those guys down, making them lie flat on the pavement in the muck and the filth, rubbing those delicate noses in it—that’s why I worked for the bureau.”
Xris thrust the case back in his shirt pocket. “I had money e
nough. Everything I needed, everything I wanted. My wife and I—”
Xris stopped abruptly, smiled easily. “But you don’t want to hear all that. It was a long time ago, anyway. And it all came down to one job. One simple, routine job.. ..”
Chapter 4
To unfailingly take what you attack, attack where there is no defense. For unfailingly secure defense, defend where there is no attack.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Xris and his longtime friend and partner Mashahiro Ito forced their way through the crowds pouring out of the mass transit station, walked the short distance to the main entrance of FISA headquarters. The season was spring on Janus 2. The gardens decorating the grounds were just beginning to come back to life after their winter’s hiatus. Budding trees extended protective limbs over the tentatively blooming flower beds. Ito had once discoursed at great length on the symbology of the protective trees, the helpless flowers. Xris, grinning, had once told Ito what he could do with his symbology.
A large and massive sign read ADMINISTRATIVE GOVERNMENT FACILITY, JANUS 2. The sign made no mention of the fact that the Federal Intelligence and Security Agency was housed inside the building; it was supposedly top secret. But everyone on the planet knew. Janus 2 was quite proud of it. The building was a regular stop for tour shuttles.
The agents dodged a group of uniformed schoolchildren, who squealed with delight.
I’ll bet he’s a Fed!”
Hey, mister, can we see your gun?”
Xris shook his head, kept walking. A large and ugly electrified fence—a grim contrast to the flower beds—surrounded the building. Xris was always meaning to ask Ito what symbology the fence held.
“Any idea what this meeting is about?”
“Nope,” Ito answered, lowered his voice. “But it’s bound to be about the Hung. We’ve been working on this damn case for months now. Word is it’s ready to break.”
“About time! I hope this isn’t another of those goddamn ass-numbing talk sessions. Sit around and yammer at one another for hours and get nothing done.”
Ito laughed, but he wasn’t very sympathetic. He liked the planning part of any assignment, considered it a “cerebral exercise.” Xris considered it bullshit He liked the action—the forty-four-decawatt lasgun pointing at some punk’s skull and the “Freeze, Federal agents! Hands behind your head!” part of the operation.
“Is Rowan coming?”
“I don’t know,” Xris said shortly. “I haven’t seen much of him lately.”
Ito cast a sharp glance at his friend. Xris was aware of the scrutiny, did his best to ignore it. Dalin Rowan was the third member of what a few in the agency jokingly called the Trinity. Xris, Ito, and Rowan: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, so named because Xris was the oldest and the biggest; Ito was short, slender, and the youngest; Rowan was quiet, unassuming, and could walk through a computer without leaving a trace behind. The three had worked together for years now and were one of the top teams in the agency. They were also close friends. Or rather, they used to be.
The two agents entered the first checkpoint—a small access building with two doors. One door provided entrance through the electrified fence, the other door granted access to the facility. Security guards checked ID badges and issued visitor passes to those who were cleared for them.
The senior guard looked up from his newsvid reader and nodded.
“Going to cause any trouble today, Xris? I just need to know, so’s I can plan my lunch break around you.”
Xris shook his head. “Hell, that was an accident, Henry. I didn’t mean to set off the alarms. I forgot I had the damn knife on me.”
“Huh-uh.” Henry grinned. He’d been an agent once, until he could no longer pass the physical. But that had been at age eighty. He still had a grip like a nullgrav steel vise—as Xris had good reason to know.
“You’re in charge of him today, Ito. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing.”
“You’ll outlive us all, Henry.” Ito laughed.
Xris was to remember that remark.
He and Ito entered the main administration headquarters building, encountered another security guard.
Ito pulled his lasgun out of his shoulder holster and placed it on the counter. “Morning, boys.” Folding his arms, sighing, he settled back to wait.
Xris laid his regulation lasgun on the counter. He drew forth a small modified derringer from his suit pocket and placed it on the counter. Next came a long, thin blade from the back of his jacket, a needle-gun from a leg holster, and a boot knife.
“Glad you’re here to protect us, Father,” Ito said.
“And I always will be, my son,” Xris returned solemnly, and patted Ito on the head.
They walked without incident through the weapons detectors, headed for the lifts.
“Floor thirty-five,” Xris said, and inserted his security card.
The lift whisked them up, stopped. Stepping out, Xris and Ito glanced up at the briefing screen.
“Mission briefing 2122027, 0845hrs, 3506.”
“That’s us.”
The two were early for the briefing, but they weren’t alone. Another man sat at a desk in the back, sipping coffee and working on a portable computer. He looked up, smiled, nodded. Xris and Ito nodded back, took their seats at the desks that made this room resemble a classroom.
Xris was back up a moment later, going to get coffee for himself, tea for Ito. He’d just returned to his seat when Ito nudged him. Dalin Rowan had walked in.
“Dalin, how’s it going?” Ito asked pleasantly.
“Okay,” Rowan replied.
His lips jerked in what was intended for a smile, but didn’t quite make it. And nothing sounded less okay than his “Okay.”
He took a seat in the center of the room, about four chairs removed from Xris and Ito. The stranger in the back had finished his coffee, continued to work on the computer.
“Been a long time, buddy,” Xris said quietly. “I’ve been worried about you.” It was an apology.
Rowan glanced up. He was pale, thin, had obviously lost weight. He attempted the jerky pseudo-smile again.
“Sorry I haven’t called, Xris. I .. . I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” Rowan glanced at the stranger in the back, added, “I’ll talk to you after the meeting.”
Xris nodded, settled back, relieved. He and Rowan had not parted on the best of terms and he hadn’t seen or heard from his friend in a month. All because of that damn bitch. Xris had tried to point out to his friend what everyone else knew but was too polite to mention: The whore was taking Rowan for a ride. A wild and thrill-packed ride, maybe, but a ride nonetheless. An expensive ride.
You goddamn fool! You’re thinking with your zipper, not your brains! Xris recalled those words clearly. They were the last words said between them.
Rumor had it now that the slut had left Rowan. When he could no-longer pay for the tickets, the amusement park had shut down the rides. Looking at his friend, Xris guessed that this time the rumor was true. He wondered uncomfortably if other rumors were true, as well. That Rowan was in big financial trouble, seriously in debt.
Well, Xris reflected, I’ll find out soon enough.
The superintendent entered, accompanied by an older woman wearing a flight suit. Xris and Ito exchanged glances. They’d been right. The super was Jafar el Amadi, top man on the Hung Conspiracy case. So that’s what this was all about.
The meeting came to order.
Amadi opened with a frown; but then, he always frowned.
“Agents, this briefing will be kept short. First, I’d like to introduce your controller, Agent Michael Armstrong.”
Xris twisted in his desk. The man in the back acknowledged the introduction. Tall, thin, and middle-aged, Armstrong didn’t look as if he had the stamina for fieldwork; probably why he was assigned to the more sedentary controller role.
“Next I want to introduce Captain Lisa Bolton, skipper of the Vigilance, our new orbital control ship. All rig
ht, let’s get down to business.
“To sum up: we have reason to believe that the Hung have infiltrated the very top levels of the galactic government. We don’t have any hard evidence, but there are several indications, most noteworthy being Senator Gravesborne changing his vote at the last minute on the arms control legislation which went down to defeat last month. Because of this defeat, the Hung were able to start up a munitions plant on TISor 13 and a weapons factory on TISor 8. The syndicate doesn’t need these weapons; the Hung are well supplied. Obviously, they’re not manufacturing guns for themselves. They’re selling them. And now we think we know who’s buying—the Corasians.”
Xris sat up straight. Even Rowan, who had been staring listlessly at his desk, lifted his head, his attention caught. The Corasians occupied the galaxy next door and wanted to take over the entire neighborhood. Unfortunately, when the Corasians moved in, they had a bad habit of devouring the neighbors. Made entirely of energy, the fiery bloblike entities roamed about searching for food— any living being would do, but Corasians were particularly fond of human flesh.
“This is only a suspicion, mind you. We can’t prove anything— yet. That’s why you’re all here today. As you can imagine,” the super continued grimly, “I’ve got the boss on my back on this one. Chief Superintendent Robison is in my office more than I am lately. President Robes has taken a personal interest in this investigation, ladies and gentlemen, so let’s do this one right. I want to retire in four years on schedule. Got it?”
They all nodded. Xris, glancing at Rowan, was pleased to see some color in his friend’s wan face. Work—the best remedy for whatever ailed you. Even a broken heart.
“Let’s get down to details. Xris, you and Ito and Rowan will conduct a raid on the munitions plant on TISor 13. Word is that’s where their central computer system is located. Rowan will handle the computer end. Xris and Ito will find out what’s being produced and if it’s been designed with those damn Corasian blobs and their robot casings in mind. Once we get hard evidence, we can bust this thing wide open.
The Knights of the Black Earth Page 4