The Knights of the Black Earth (30 page)

Yes, but he’s
enjoying this,
came the ugly rejoinder from some croaking demon inside
Rowan.

He knew that wasn’t
true. Xris probably hurt as much for his friend as Rowan hurt for himself. But
the demon wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t let loose. And because he knew he was
treating Xris unfairly, Rowan felt guilty as well as hurting. Irrationally, he
blamed Xris for adding to the pain.

Someone touched
his arm. Rowan gave a violent start, nearly dropping his electronic notebook.

“Sorry! Didn’t
mean to startle you.” Armstrong was obviously astonished at Rowan’s reaction.
He made a vague gesture. “You can see
Vigilance
from the viewscreen now.
Thought you might want to take a look, the ship being new and all. .. .” His
words dried up.

Rowan flushed. “Yeah,
thanks. I should put this stuff away anyhow. I guess we’ll be docking soon.” He
switched off the notebook, thrust it into the metal traveling case, and tried
to appear interested in the new space cruiser.

And then, in spite
of himself, he
was
interested.
Vigilance
was the newest weapon in
the agency’s arsenal. The ship was equipped with the latest in sensing and
communications devices. Its main function was to act as an orbiting command
post for planetside operations. The relatively simple raid on TISor 13 was to
be the test run.

“Sorry I haven’t
been very good company,” Rowan apologized. “It’s just . .. well, I’ve got a lot
on my mind.”

“Sure. I
understand,” said Armstrong, and then promptly proved he didn’t by adding, “From
what I’ve heard, this job should be relatively simple for a computer genius
like you.”

It was the type of
compliment Rowan detested. It made him sound like some sort of freak. And then
he wondered just exactly what Armstrong had “heard.” And was the reference to “genius”
a subtle sneer? Rowan forgot about his own internal miseries, studied Armstrong
more closely, taking a good look at the guy for the first time since they’d met
yesterday.

What he saw was
unprepossessing. Probably in his late forties, Armstrong had sandy hair, tanned
skin with a smattering of freckles that gave him a friendly, youthful
appearance. He was of average build, average height, apparently average
intelligence—an all-around average sort of guy. And from his vacuous smile,
Armstrong had intended his remark to be a compliment. Obviously not the subtle
type.

A good steady man
to have on the team, probably make a good controller. But he wouldn’t ever be a
friend. Not like Xris. Not like Ito.

Rowan was
disgusted with himself. Suddenly he wanted to talk to Xris. Needed to talk to
him. The logjam of self-pity and anger was beginning to break up inside. He
knew what he had to do now. It would be a comfort to let the pain pour out.

I’ll have my
chance, he promised himself. When this job is finished and Xris and Ito and I
are flying back on
Vigilance
together, it’ll be like old times, sitting,
talking over a beer. I’ll tell them everything....

The shuttle docked
with
Vigilance.
The two agents gathered their belongings, prepared to
disembark. Captain Bolton was on hand to meet them.

“Welcome aboard
the
Vigilance.
Your berths will be up forward off the forward mess. Stow
your luggage. Then meet me on the bridge. I’ll give you a tour of the ship.”

With a cool nod,
Bolton returned to her duties.

“She must be a
good captain,” Rowan said, shifting his luggage from his right hand to his
left. Most of what he carried was equipment intended to help him break into an
unknown computer.

“How can you tell?”
Armstrong asked. “And which way is forward?”

“This way. Follow
me.” Rowan led off, Armstrong trailing along behind. “As for Bolton being a
good captain, you can generally tell by the feel of the ship. The crew carrying
out their duties efficiently, briskly.”

“No one’s lurking
about in dark corners plotting mutiny. Is that it?”

“Something like
that,” Rowan agreed. “First time on board a working spaceship?”

“Is it that
obvious? I must say, it’s a bit different from your standard passenger ship,
isn’t it? Everything’s so . .. well . .. small.”

“Efficiency, not
comfort.”

As Rowan said
this, both he and Armstrong had to flatten themselves against the bulkheads to
allow an apologetic crewman to slide past.

They continued on
down the corridor, Rowan leading the way. The ship even smelled new. The walls
were a creamy off-white in color, and he could detect the odor of fresh paint.
There were, as yet, no streaks or marks on them, although several of the access
panels were already smudged with fingerprints. Neat red stripes outlined
cabinets containing emergency equipment, such as fire-fighting gear, vacuum
suits, oxygen bottles, and first-aid equipment. All the doors were automatic
sliding panels, with override controls built into the bulkheads.

The corridor
dead-ended. Rowan indicated a ladder leading upward.

“Great,” Armstrong
muttered. He began to climb awkwardly, dragging a small duffel bag behind him. “I’m
glad I packed light.”

Rowan followed,
moving almost as slowly and awkwardly as Armstrong. After a laborious climb,
the two men reached the top, paused to watch a crewman slide down the ladder
with ease, not even bothering to use the rungs. Looking up, she flashed them a
grin. Both men looked at each other, shook their heads dolefully, and continued
on.

“This is the
forward mess,” Rowan said. “Hopefully we have a cook this trip. Living off
frozen and/or dehydrated meals can be hell.” He took a brief survey, nodded his
head. “This is fine. Really first class. Even a bar.” He opened cabinet doors,
peered inside. “Well-stocked, too.”

Armstrong smiled
politely, glanced at the bar without interest.

Doesn’t drink,
Rowan decided. “Do you play cards? Ante-up? Bridge?” He indicated several
tables, surrounded by comfortable-looking chairs. The mess was the focal point
of life for the crew, who used the room for meetings and recreation as well as
eating. “We’ll have enough for a foursome when we hook up with Xris and Ito.”

“No, sorry.”
Armstrong shrugged. “Never learned. Where did you say our rooms are?”

Taking the hint,
Rowan led the way to their quarters. He showed Armstrong his, then left to find
his own. The cabin was small, contained a single bed and a sink. Drawers were
built into the bulkheads. Rowan emptied his clothes onto the bed and began
tossing them into the drawers.

“So Armstrong
doesn’t drink and he doesn’t play cards,” Rowan muttered to himself. “Just as
well. We won’t have to include him in our all-nighters. Not a bad sort, though.
Just boring.”

Captain Bolton
came over the ship’s comm to announce that they’d be leaving the system in ten
minutes. A knock on the door was Armstrong, wondering how to find the
washrooms.

“It’s known as a ‘head’
aboard ship,” Rowan told him, and advised him to try the end of the corridor.

Armstrong thanked
him and left.

Clothes put away,
Rowan began to unload his computer equipment. He checked it, repacked it into a
backpack carrier, stowed it away. He’d have it out again tonight, checking it
again. Before they entered orbit around TISor 13, he’d recheck his equipment a
dozen times. Ever since that botched assignment in the Omacron Interior, ruined
because some bastard had broken in, removed all his interface cables without
his knowing it, Rowan had become obsessive about making certain that whatever
went into his pack stayed in his pack.

This completed, he
lay down on the bed and realized that he didn’t want to get up. He was relaxed,
more relaxed than he’d been in a month, and he knew he could sleep—something
else he hadn’t done for a while. His financial woes would sort themselves out—
surely, after all these years of being a responsible customer, his creditors
would take a tolerant attitude. As for Kim, well, she was gone and that was
that. The hurt was fading rapidly and that should tell him something. If he had
loved her—truly loved her, the way Xris loved Marjorie—then the hurt wouldn’t
let loose. In a way, this was good.

The knock on the
door jolted him awake.

“Yeah?” he called.

“Me, Armstrong.”
The voice came through the door. “Ready for the tour?”

“No, not really,”
Rowan grumbled, wondering for a moment if he could get out of it. You’ve seen
one bridge, you’ve seen ‘em all. Armstrong was interested, of course. As
controller, he’d be working on board this ship. To Rowan, it was a means of
transportation, nothing more. Still, he didn’t want to offend Captain Bolton. “I’m
coming.”

He splashed cold
water on his face, ran his hand through his hair, and opened the door.

The bridge was the
usual blinking display of electronic equipment and control panels—all the very
latest. Any other time, Rowan would have been fascinated. Now, the bright
lights blurred in his eyes. Captain Bolton formally welcomed the two agents to
the bridge, and gave them a guided tour. She explained the navigation and helm
positions, communications station, and the command station. Rowan deftly turned
a yawn into a sneeze.

“In this room,
Agent Armstrong, is the controller station.”

The captain opened
a sealed door off the port side of the bridge. Armstrong entered, took a long
and interested look around.

He asked
questions, she answered. Rowan, after listening a few moments, lounged back
against the door, let the conversation flow past him. Armstrong was sharp,
intelligent, obviously knew what he was doing.

“Monitors . . .
infrared . . . sensing ... ground communication” floated around Rowan. He
smiled and nodded whenever either of them looked at him; had no idea what was
going on. He’d take time later to study the setup when he went to work on the
Hung codes—after about twelve hours’ sleep.

“Excellent,”
Armstrong was saying. “I’ll try a few simulations just to shake it down. Then I’ll
program the station for our upcoming mission and load the tactical imagery.
That is, if I have time. How long until we jump?”

“We’ll move out of
this system and into open space in the next four hours, then make the jump
around oh-three-hundred. I’ll sound general quarters fifteen minutes previous,
so that you can return to your berth and prepare for the jump. After we come
out, we’ll travel under linear drive to the TISor System. That will take around
twenty-four hours.”

Armstrong nodded
absently. He was already seated, starting work.

Captain Bolton
watched him a moment, then turned back to Rowan.

“Would you care to
see anything else, Agent?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Rowan
yawned. “The insides of my eyelids.”

The captain
laughed. “Strap yourself in your bed so that we don’t have to wake you for the
jump.”

“Sure thing.
Thanks, Captain. See you, Armstrong.”

The controller
didn’t even look up. Rowan returned to his room, fell onto the bed, strapped
himself in, then remembered he hadn’t taken off his shoes.

“The hell with it,”
he started to say, but before he had finished the sentence, he was asleep.

“Agent Rowan,
report to the bridge.”

Rowan struggled to
wake out of a deep slumber. He had the impression the voice had been calling
for him repeatedly; it had managed to work itself into his dreams. He tried to
get out of bed, wondered for a frantic instant why he couldn’t move, remembered
that he was strapped in. He fumbled at the belts and webbing, stood up
groggily, and lurched over to the comm.

“Rowan here.”

“Message from the
captain, sir. We will be entering the TISor System in approximately one hour.”

“Thanks.”

He’d been asleep
for over twenty-four hours. No time now to work on those Hung codes. He’d do it
on the trip back.

Rowan dug out
clean clothes, went to shower, eat breakfast, and drink about six cups of
coffee. Following this, he felt sufficiently restored to qualify as a member of
the human race. He returned to the room, collected his equipment, checked it
over and, finding everything as it should be, headed for the bridge.

The bridge aboard
a small ship such as this one was unique in that it was the only area on board
with a large steelglass viewscreen. The screen might seem superfluous to some;
instrumentation gave highly accurate and detailed readings about what was
outside the ship. A few races (notably the eyeless Corasians) relied totally on
instruments, didn’t bother to go to the expense of adding costly viewscreens.
But humans needed them. The screen provided the crew with a visual duplication
of what their instruments were telling them—essential to humans, who receive a
disproportionately large percentage of their sensory input through their eyes.

Entering the
bridge, Rowan paused, stared, awestruck. The view entering the TISor System was
magnificent. The numerous moons shone with the reflected light of the system’s
sun and the radiance of its orange gas-giant planet. Times like this, he
wondered if the people who were touting the now fashionable worship of God were
really on to something.

Vigilance
slipped into orbit around the thirteenth moon. Rowan entered the controller
room to check in with Armstrong. The agent was already on the coram channel
talking to Xris and Ito.

Rowan cast a
cursory glance over the equipment. He hadn’t had time to study it; but then, it
wasn’t really his concern. And there was always the return trip.

Armstrong gave him
a brief and businesslike nod, then returned to his conversation with Xris.

“Everything okay
down there?” Rowan asked Armstrong when the conversation had ended.

“Yes. You may
proceed. You’ll find the day’s codes in the computer. I’ll send you the cipher
key. The shuttle is standing by.”