Robot Blues (10 page)

“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.

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.

The two were
settling down to a comfortable conversation when Colonel Strebbins loomed up. “Wonderful
speech, Colonel,” he said. “I see you’ve met Captain Strauss. Best shot on the
base with a lasrifle. Had our qualifiers last week.”

“Thank you.
Colonel.” The captain flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

Strebbins turned
to Jamil. “Your aide tells me that you have a particular interest in how we run
things here on Pandor. He suggested I come over here now and give you the
complete lowdown.” He glanced at the blonde. “1 don’t want to bore you. Captain
...”

“If you’ll excuse
me, sir?” Captain Strauss gave Jamil a smile, picked up her drink, and left.

Colonel Strebbins
leaned his elbow on the bar and began. “When I took command six years ago, this
base had one of the lowest efficiency ratings in this quadrant. Since that
time, I ...”

Jamil listened,
nodded, sipped his drink, silently cursed Xris, and swore to get even.

An hour later, the
colonel was launching into an account of the base’s new morale-boosting
program, complete with a description of the enlisted personnel’s sock hop and
talent show, when conversations paused, heads in the bar started turning,
people began looking toward the front foyer.

“By God,”
Strebbins said, interrupting himself. He set down his empty glass on the
counter. “What’s all this?”

Jamil, thankful
for any interruption, looked to see what all the fuss was about.

Two officers stood
in the entryway. One—a pilot-was still wearing her flight suit, carried her
helmet under her arm. Jamil raised his eyebrows. The pilot had committed a
serious breach of etiquette. You didn’t walk into the officer’s mess in a
flight suit unless you had a damn good reason. The patches on her shoulder
indicated that she flew a Stiletto precision bomber, Zircon Squadron. Not
stationed here. The fact that she still carried her helmet meant she intended
to leave again swiftly.

The other officer
wore the standard dress uniform, with the rank of major, though the
gold-braided aguillet around one shoulder identified him as an aide-de-camp for
a lieutenant general or higher. The major removed his beret and entered the bar
area. He walked straight up to Colonel Strebbins.

“This man appears
to have urgent business for you, Colonel,” Jamil said, lifting his drink and
preparing to leave, feeling relieved that he’d been spared an account of the
talent show. “I’ll leave you—”

“Excuse me, sirs,”
the major said, including them both in his glance. “I am Major VanDerGard of
General Hanson’s staff. I have been sent to immediately retrieve Colonel
Jatanski.”

Jamil gulped,
stared. He decided to set down his drink before he dropped it. His first
thought was: Xris. Xris has set this up, damn him.

Figuring that,
Jamil was just about to make some smart-ass remark when he took a good close
look at the serious-eyed major, at the major’s gold braid, at the uniform that
was rumpled with travel. Then there was the obviously flight-weary pilot
waiting in the foyer.

Jamil’s gut
tightened. Not even Xris could pull off a stunt like this. Plus he would never
do anything to jeopardize the job. Whatever this was, it was for real.

“Yes, Major.”
Jamil said, hoping astonishment would cover apprehension. “I’m Colonel
Jantanski. What is it?”

“Sir, you are
requested to be the assisting officer for Lieutenant Colonel K. A. Katchan. As
the lieutenant colonel’s commanding officer, you are the first choice for
assisting officer, and the lieutenant colonel has chosen you. His Special
General Court-Martial is to sit for opening statements in thirty hours, and you
will need to begin work immediately.”

Colonel Strebbins
was grave. “Well, Jatanski, it looks as if one of your people has gone off the
deep end. I don’t envy you this one. Sorry I won’t get to see your presentation
tomorrow. This sounds serious, though.”

Jamil had read
many times the standard author’s cliche about a character who feels suddenly as
if he has entered a dream. Jamil didn’t dream; he prided himself on the fact
that he slept soundly throughout the night, was not one to wake suddenly
screaming from the throes of a nightmare.

Not until now.

Now he was in one
of those frightful dreamlike situations in which everything is going wrong, you
know it’s going wrong, you want to try to fix it, but you are powerless to act.
Jamil knew he should say something, but he could only stand staring at the
major in speechless amazement while his brain scrambled to make some sense of
the senseless.

Jamil thought
back. Katchan! I remember a Katchan. He served under me ... but that was
six
years ago\
And Katchan had been a supply sergeant! They don’t normally
promote supply sergeants to lieutenant colonel! To say nothing of the fact that
I’m not in the Army anymore. I haven’t been in the Army for years. I can’t
serve on a court-martial. I’m not a colonel!

Most of all—I’m
not
Colonel Jatanski!

The game’s up,
Jamil realized. Someone’s found out. Xris and I are going to be doing a long
stretch in the brig.

Okay, but if that’s
true, where are the MPs? The beam rifles? The manacles? The Army doesn’t
usually play games, especially with people impersonating their officers.

The major was
regarding Jamil with respect, Colonel Strebbins with sympathy.

“You look a bit
rocky on your feet, Jatanski. Comes as a shock to you, I expect.” Strebbins
motioned to the sergeant behind the bar. “Another drink for the colonel. Make
it a double.”

“Thank you,” Jamil
said faintly. “Katchan is an excellent officer. Never gave me cause for
complaint. What”—he put the glass to his lips, tried to look casual—”what is
the charge?”

“Theft of
government property,” the major replied.

Jamil gagged,
choked.

“Steady, there,
Jatanski,” Strebbins said solicitously, pounding Jamil on the back.

Are the MPs
arresting Xris right now? Jamil wondered. Is this a ruse to get us both off
base without trouble, without publicity?

He set down his
empty glass. “I’ll have to find Captain Kergonan—”

“That won’t be
necessary, sir. The captain is to carry on as planned,” the major said.

Jamil stared,
stunned. “I beg your pardon. Major?”

“General Hanson
feels that Captain Kergonan is eminently qualified to carry on in your absence,”
the major elaborated. “The captain is quite familiar with the subject material
and is capable of handling the assignment on his own. Wouldn’t you agree,
Colonel Jatanski?”

“Yes, eminently,”
Jamil murmured. He shoved himself away from the bar. Perhaps I can find Xris,
warn him. This smells like a trap. “I’ll just go back to my quarters, get my
gear.”

“I’m sorry, sir,
but we need you to come straight to the spaceplane. The trial is being held on
the command cruiser
King James II,
General Hanson’s flagship. It is just
now entering this system. Captain Ng will fly us back.” The major turned to
Strebbins. “If you could send someone for the colonel’s luggage, sir ...”

“Certainly,”
Strebbins said heartily.

“That won’t be
necessary,” Jamil intervened. He had a few things in his luggage he’d just as
soon not be discovered, things like a nonregulation .23-decawatt pistol, the
vial containing the water-contaminating virus, the hand-drawn map of the base. “Captain
Kergonan will take care of it for me.”

“Are you sure?”
Strebbins asked. “You don’t want to go before old Iron Guts Hanson without a
clean pair of socks.”

“Yes, no question.”
Jamil was firm. “Captain Kergonan will take care of everything. If you would
give him that message—that he is to carry on in my absence.” He glanced
uncertainly at the major.

The major nodded. “General
Hanson’s orders, sir.” He reached into the pocket of his flight jacket, pulled
out an envelope containing a disk. “I have that in writing. If you could see
that Captain Kergonan receives this, sir?”

“I’ll see to it,”
Strebbins said, took the computer disk, stood tapping it on the bar.

Jamil stared at
the disk, wished he could get a look at the orders, but it would have been
coded to Xris’s military I.D. number and personal password.

Of course, Xris
didn’t have a
real
military I.D. number, nor did he have a
real
password. He’d made that all up, had instructed Darlene to enter it into the
military’s computer files before they left. Someone had gone to one hell of a
lot of trouble to ferret them out!

And for what?
Jamil had no idea.

“If you please,
sir. The spaceplane is being refueled. The car is waiting.” The major was
obviously impatient to leave.

Strebbins offered
his hand. “Good luck, Jatanski. Glad it’s you and not me. Hate these damn
courts-martial. Always put me to sleep. And I was really looking forward to
your lecture, too. But I’ve no doubt that Captain Kergonan will manage fine.”

“I’m sure he will,
sir,” Jamil said.