Knights Of The Black Earth

by Margaret Weis

"Ah, you mean you would dress me! Thank you," he said, snatching the gown, "but no."

  Fumbling at the ties, accidentally ripping one off, struggling to separate the sleeves, which adhered to the gown as though they'd been glued to it, Raoul was at last semidressed.

  The unsightly garment was the ultimate torture, and the experience almost shattered him. At the sight of himself in the mirror, Raoul suffered excruciating pain, very nearly gave way to despair

  The ugly man shoved Raoul toward the door

  Whether due to the erratic motion of the spaceship, the bump on his head, or his lack of what the Loti usually referred to as "support," Raoul discovered that walking was an adventure in itself. Attempting to locate the door, he wandered into a corner The ugly man was forced to place hairy hands on Raoul again, steer him back on course.

  "Whoever is flying this ship must be swilling jumpjuice," Raoul said thickly, careening through the half-open door and out into a brightly lit corridor. "I don't suppose he'd share?"

  The ugly man did not answer. He did not appear to be having any difficulty walking the undulating, heaving, and twitching deck, but guided Raoul's floundering steps with a rough and uncouth touch.

  It was when the walls started to throb, pulsing to the rhythm of a gigantic beating heart, that Raoul began to fall apart.

  "Something's wrong with the engines!" He came to a giddy stop, looked around in terror. "Can't you hear it? Kathump. Ka-thump."

  The ugly man paid no attention. Another shove started Raoul moving, brought him to a sealed door The ugly man opened it with a touch on the controls, then retrieved Raoul, who had drifted off down the corridor. Returning with the Loti, the ugly man herded Raoul in through the open door

  The name of the ship/ said the insistent voice inside Raoul. Find out the name!

  "I can't." He moaned, weak and barely conscious. He'd caught another glimpse of himself reflected in a large steelglass window. "I can't."

  A woman clad all in white, with a white cap over her hair, white rubber gloves, and a white sterile mask over her face stood beside a medicbot.

  "Put him here," said the woman.

  The ugly man did as requested, forcibly seating Raoul in a chair

  Raoul stared at the woman in the mask. "What happened to your mouth?"

  The woman's eyes, visible above the mask, narrowed. "Loti!" she muttered in disgust. "Leave us alone."

  The ugly man protested. "He's been given the detoxifiers and he's on a real downer. You might need help with him, Doctor."

  The woman sniffed, shook her head. "I can manage this wretch. And I don't want to risk contaminating the samples. Wait outside the door. You can carry the bloodwork to the lab."

  The man nodded, left. The door slid shut.

  The woman turned to the 'bot. "You may begin. Start with the blood, then do the bone marrow."

  The medicbot went to work. Raoul sat back in the chair. The 'bot produced a laser extractor, placed it into position, switched it on. The woman watched closely, then sat down at a computer terminal, began to make voice entries. The voice inside Raoul was sympathetic, but demanded action.

  "Speaking of names" though no one had been--"what is the name of the ship?" Raoul asked the 'bot. It did not answer.

  Raoul watched, fascinated, as his own red blood flowed into the extractor. From there it was deposited into various tubes and vials, all of which the 'bot carefully labeled and arranged on a tray.

  At length, growing light-headed, Raoul allowed his gaze to wander.

  "I am in a room, my friend, in which there are several white beds, separated from each other by curtains hanging from tracks on the ceiling--"

  The woman with no mouth, absorbed in her work, glanced up. "What did you say?" she asked irritably.

  "What is the name of the ship, madame?" Raoul was extremely polite. It was, he thought, a reasonable question.

  The woman snorted, returned to the computer.

  Raoul shrugged, continued. "They are taking my blood away from me and putting it into little tubes. I don't have the slightest notion why. Unless I am being held prisoner by vampires .... "

  This fascinating and titillating thought carried him through the next few moments by providing certain entertaining fantasies. Then a particularly nasty jab from the 'bot returned him to what passed for reality.

  His gaze--which had been wandering aimlessly around the room, flicking over various serious-looking machines-landed on a cabinet made of steel with a code-key locking device. Raoul blinked, focused both his eyes and his attention. He lurched forward in his chair, occasioning a scolding from the medicbot.

  The woman with no mouth turned. "Please sit still," she ordered. "The extractor is very sensitive equipment." Then she noticed Raoul's fixed and rapt expression.

  "What is in the cabinet?" he asked.

  "Supplies," the woman answered, frowning.

  "Ah..." Raoul sighed, sat back in the chair, and stared at the locked cabinet.

  "Test samples completed," announced the 'bot.

  The woman collected the vials, finished the labeling, and called the ugly man back into the room. "Take these to the lab," she said.

  The ugly man took the vials and disappeared.

  The woman approached Raoul. She had pulled down her mask.

  Raoul jumped, stared at her vaguely. "Have we met?"

  She drew up a chair, took out a small vidcam, placed it in front of Raoul, ordered it to activate.

  "The subject is an Adonian of undetermined age. He is also, purportedly, a Loti. I am beginning the interview now." She looked at Raoul. "You were once in the employ of the weapons dealer Snaga Ohme."

  "Ah," said Raoul sadly. "My late former employer. A channing man. But most unfortunate. He managed to get himself murdered, you know--"

  The woman was not interested. "How long were you with Snaga Ohme?"

  Raoul shrugged. "What is time but an ephemeral butterfly, flitting through the dead garden of our wretched existence?"

  The woman asked other questions, interminable questions, which Raoul answered absently with whatever came into his head. His gaze had returned to the steel cabinet.

  The laboratory door slid open; the ugly man walked inside.

  "Knight Officer wants to know how the interrogation is going."

  The woman switched off the ridcam, handed it to the man. "He can judge for himself." She sounded pleased. "I would say the evidence is conclusive."

  "The blood samples have been evaluated. They test positive."

  The woman gave a stiff nod. "I will await Knight Officer's orders."

  The ugly man glanced at Raoul. "Good riddance," he said, and left.

  Raoul sank back in his chair. Time passed. The woman appeared impatient. She paced back and forth. The medicbot whirred about the room, cleaning up.

  Then a voice came over a comm. "The interview is satisfactory, Doctor. You may terminate the subject."

  "Yes, Knight Officer," the woman answered.

  "Terminate the subject," Raoul repeated dreamily.

  That means you, twit! They're going to kill you the voice inside Raoul's head shouted. Do something.

  Yes, I should do something. I should, Raoul thought, fight for my life. Yes, that is what I should do.

  But he was feeling weak-headed and lethargic, completely uncaring. Various notions of attacking the woman flitted into his skull, danced around there aimlessly, and eventually fluttered out. Fighting required so much effort ....

  "You will take care of Xris for me, won't you, my friend? He and the others will be terribly lost without me. You can communicate with him by--Ah!"

  Raoul sucked in his breath. The woman had gone over to the cabinet. Removing a plastic card from the pocket of her white coat, she inserted the card into a slot, punched in a series of numbers on a keypad.

  Raoul watched through half-closed eyes.

  The cabinet was, as he had supposed, filled with small bottles. Each small bottle was filled with a chemical substance.<
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  Life might be worth living, after all.

  The woman removed a vial containing a reddish orange liquid. She emptied the contents of the vial into an infusor that was attached to the 'bot's mechanical arm. "Inject him," she commanded.

  The medicbot trundled toward Raoul.

  Halfway there, however, the 'bot rolled to a stop. Its mechanical head swiveled around.

  "I have run a routine analysis on this drug. Are you aware, Doctor, that the injection of this substance will be lethal to the patient?"

  "Of course I'm aware," the woman returned, irritated. "Continue with the injection."

  "I cannot, Doctor." The medichot ground to a halt. "My programming will not permit me to kill a patient."

  "Then give the damn thing to me." The woman seized the injector from the 'bot.

  Raoul watched the woman draw near. A dim, terror-filled haziness seemed to slow time, to stretch it like an elastic band. Seconds lengthened to hours, hours to eternities. The speed of sound slowed. The woman's loud, thudding footfails reverberated through Raoul's body. A squeaking bearing on the 'bot grew louder and louder until it was a shrill, screeching scream.

  A voice boomed over the comm. It had a strange, echoing quality to it, which made it difficult for Raoul to understand what was being said. He heard the words, some part of his brain understood; other parts watched them drift past.

  "Synchronize chronometers to Zulu Time--now. Mission go/nogo will be transmitted in sixty-six hours. Mission completion, barring nogo, will occur by eighty-one hours. You have your orders."

  This made no sense to Raoul, but it jolted the woman. She stopped, stared at the comm as if she would have liked to interrogate it.

  The ugly man reentered the room. He was in haste and appeared greatly excited.

  "Have you terminated the subject yet, Doctor?"

  "I am about to do so now," the woman responded. "I had trouble with the 'bot. I heard the announcement. The mission is starting. May the one true God be with us."

  "God is with us," the man answered reverently. "Something's happened with the Royal Navy--" The doctor was alarmed. "They've discovered us!" "You're paranoid." The ugly man scoffed. "How could they? No, I don't think that's it. Knight Officer isn't talking specifics, but he says the military's got big problems and that this proves God is working for us in this matter. Work on the device has been completed, except for the final test ran. Speaking of the test, the termination order for the subject is canceled."

  The woman stood about six centimeters from Raoul. She continued to hold the injector in her hand. Raoul--attracted by the bright reddish orange color of the poison--stared at it in fascination.

  "Why is that?" The woman sounded annoyed.

  "Further examination revealed the possibility of undamaged micromachines in the subject's bloodstream. If this is true, it will make him the ideal candidate for the last runthrough of the device. We won't have to sacrifice one of our own. Knight Officer wants you to look at the blood samples, to see if you reach the same conclusion."

  "Interesting," the woman said in thoughtful tones. "Of course. I will be right up."

  Turning, walking away from Raoul, she laid the injector on a countertop. Raoul stared at the injector, its color the only bright spot of warmth in the cold, sterile room.

  "What are we going to do with the Loti in the meantime?" the ugly man asked. "When he goes into total withdrawal, he will be a confounded nuisance. A raving lunatic. We'll have difficulty managing him."

  "I will give him a strong sedative, render him comatose. After that"--she shrngged--"the test itself will kill him."

  "Report to the lab as soon as he goes under. I will send one of the squires to keep an eye on him."

  The woman returned to Raoul, laid a long-nailed and cold-fingered hand on his shoulder. "Stand up," she ordered. "Go lie down on that bed."

  Raoul obeyed, meandered off in what appeared to be the general direction of the bed. The medicbot intercepted him halfway to the steel cabinet, gently turned him around, gently steered him to the bed.

  Raoul lay down. He had the vague impression that they weren't going to kill him after all. He supposed he should be happy about this, but what had truly perked him up, caught his attention, were the words "strong sedative."

  "Give him forty ccs." The woman was issuing instructions to the medicbot. "I presume your programming allows you to do that," she added sarcastically. "Yes, Doctor," said the 'bot, and whirred toward Raoul. Raoul watched it approach with blissful anticipation. The 'bot placed the injector on Raoul's upper arm. The drug flowed into him. Raoul experienced a sudden feeling of intense drowsiness that very nearly put him to sleep. He closed his eyes.

  "There, that should take care of him," said the woman, and Raoul was dimly conscious of the fact that she left the room.

  The medicbot, no longer needed, shut itself down.

  After several moments, Raoul opened his eyes, sat up. He yawned, stretched, looked about him with interest. Feeling relaxed, alert, as after a good night's rest, he jumped down off the bed.

  The injector lay forgotten on a tray. Raoul took it, studied it, sniffed at it, made his analysis, and hid the injector beneath the pillow of the bed. He walked over to the computer, scrolled back through the doctor's entries, read them with interest.

  What is the name of the ship?

  The voice was much clearer now and Raoul recognized it. Hopeful, exhilarated, he searched the lab room, found nothing. He hastened back to the computer files. Nothing there, either.

  Frustrated, Raoul glared at the computer, began folding and unfolding the hem of the detested hospital gown.

  It was then he noticed the markings stenciled on the bottom. Laundry markings.

  Raoul smiled blissfully. Returning to the bed, he lay down, rested his head on the pillow.

  "The name of the ship is Canis Major Research I," he reported to the Little One, then settled back to enjoy being heavily sedated.

  CHAPTER 20

  . . . And thereby hangs a tale

  William Shakespeare,

  As You Like It,

  Act 2, Scene 7

  Xris woke with a start and the panicked feeling that always hit him when his systems shut down. The sound of a snore was highly comforting. He glanced over to see the Doc, sitting upright, his head lolling backward, asleep in one of the metal frame chairs.

  Tycho, who didn't handle jumps well, was stretched out on a cot, feebly twitching and groaning. The Little One was a bundle of blankets. Above the usual rattlings and thrummings of the plane, Harry's loud voice could be heard discoursing on the subject of fleas.

  Xris did a careful systems analysis. Everything checked out. Quong must have fixed him up. Standing, Xris walked forward into the cockpit.

  Jamil, looking intensely bored, was listening to Harry. Rowan was pretending to listen. In reality, she probably hadn't heard a word, sat stating out into space.

  Xris began to chew on a twist. "Hello," he said. "How's everything going?"

  "Fine, everything's fine," Harry said cheerfully.

  "You okay?" Jamil asked gruffly.

  Xris nodded, changed the subject. He hated talking about the times when he "crashed," as Quong put it. "What's our ETA?"

  Harry glanced at the instruments. "Six hours fifty-four minutes and seven seconds."

  "Good. Now why don't you and Jamil go take a walk."

  Jamil, casting a glance at Rowan, was already on his feet. Harry just sat there, looking blank.

  "Take a walk, Harry," Xris repeated. "Beat it."

  "C'mon, Harry." Jamil prodded the big man. "You can show me that video."

  "Oh, uh, sure. If you really want to see it. You know, I never knew bugs could be so interesting. Why, were you aware that the flea is known for its agility in leaping--"

  The two wandered off back into the interior of the cargo plane.

  Xris leaned against the console, chewed on the twist.

  Rowan continued to stare into space.
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  Xris stirred, shifted his gaze to join hers. "Give me one good reason," he said quietly, "why I shouldn't throw you out there."

  She finally looked at him.

  "Where do you want me to start?"

  Xris waved his hand. "Oh, how about when you decided to betray us to the Hung?"

  Rowan sighed. "I didn't, Xris. You have to believe me. I didn't."

  Xris remained silent, was unconvinced. He finished off the twist, took out another.

  "I admit I made mistakes, Xris. I know that now. I knew it then, but by the time I realized ... I should have talked to you ... I wanted to ..."

  Shutting her eyes, she shivered. The spaceplane was cold and her uniform--a crisp white blouse and knife-pleated black slacks--was intended for the sheltered, temperaturecontrolled space station. Xris realized he was still dressed in the yellow coverails. He glanced around, found a downfilled jacket--Harry's, to judge by the enormous size--and tossed it to Rowan. She wrapped it around her slender shoulders, hunched into it.

  "I've often wondered if it would have made any difference," she continued. "Maybe if I'd opened up to you that day of the briefing, before we left for TISor 13... met you in the bar, like I promised, talked about--" She abruptly skipped that part. "Maybe I would have been less preoccupied with myself. I might have seen the warning signs ...."

  She stared at him bleakly. Her hands lay limply in her lap. "I couldn't! I wanted to, but I couldn't! Damn it, Xris, can't you understand? You'd been right! You'd been so goddamn right. And I hated you for being right. I didn't want to hear you say, 'I told you so' !"

  Xris took the twist out of his mouth. "Year, I figured that. I wanted to apologize. Your private life was none of my business. I should have kept my mouth shut. It's just--" He shook his head.

  "You were trying to save me from myself," Rowan said, smiling the lopsided, sad smile. "I know that. I knew it then. And I knew the truth about her, too. I just didn't know the truth about myself."

  She was silent a moment, seemed about to add something. She did add something, eventually. But Xris had the feeling it wasn't what she'd intended.

  "I wanted to be loved. It was nice, having someone to come home to at night. I wanted what you and Marjorie had .... "