Robot Blues (9 page)

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, had 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.”