Robot Blues (21 page)

“What... the hell
... happened?” she demanded dazedly. “Where am I?”

“In your room,”
Raoul replied. “I had them carry you up here. I know one isn’t supposed to
remove the body from the scene of the crime, but after the initial excitement
of the murder, your corpse was casting rather a pall over the party. I’m sure
the police will understand. Particularly when they learn that it was all a
hoax.”

The Little One
tugged on Raoul’s sleeve, motioned at the French doors, which led from the room
to a deck with a seaside view.

“Ah, yes, speaking
of the police”—Raoul put his arm around Darlene’s shoulders, helped her sit up
in the bed—”they’ll be here any minute. You should really be leaving.”

“Tell me what
happened,” Darlene said, clutching Raoul and giving him a shake. “I have to
know what happened! It was the Hung, wasn’t it?”

“They tried to
poison you.”

“In the champagne.
That’s why you switched ...” She paused, stared at him. “Good God! You drank
it!”

“One of us had to,”
Raoul said simply. “The Little One read their minds. The assassins were
prepared to kill everyone here in order to make certain of you. They had with
them devices known as scramblers.”

“Yes, that would
have done it,” Darlene said. She was regarding Raoul anxiously. “Are you sure
you’re all right?”

“Don’t worry. I—
Whatever is the matter?” Raoul demanded.

The Little One had
gone stiff, rigid. Suddenly he threw himself down face-first on the floor,
began to kick his feet and beat his fists into the carpet.

“What is it? What’s
wrong?” Darlene asked, alarmed. She stared at him. “I’ve never seen him behave
like that. Have you?”

“Well, yes, but
not generally when we have company. Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve taken the
antidote.” Raoul pointed to a hypo lying on the nightstand. “And, really,
considering the number of chemical substances of which my body is the humble
repository, I am not certain I needed the antidote at all. The poison, once it
reached my bloodstream, must have been in a highly confused state of mind.”

“You could have
been killed!” Darlene said, shuddering. She put her arm around Raoul, hugged
him close. “And you know it.” She kissed him. “You saved my life!” She looked
over at the Little One, who had rolled over onto his back, was beating his
heels on the carpet, pounding himself on the head.

“Just ignore him,”
Raoul said lightly. “And now, my dear, the police are notoriously slow to
respond to calls during Carnival season, but the prospect of a murder to
investigate might give them some incentive.”

“Yes. You’re
right. I’m going.” Darlene rose hurriedly to her feet. She staggered, swayed,
sat back down just as hurriedly on the bed. She put her hand to her forehead. “Whoo,
boy. Just a minute. What was that stuff you gave me? No, on second thought, I
don’t want to know. There.” Taking it slower, she stood up again. “That’s
better.”

“Here’s your
overnight bag.” Raoul handed it to her. “I packed it.”

“Where am I going?”
Darlene asked, taking the bag without being cognizant of either the fact that
she’d taken it or the bag itself.

“Out the French
doors. Across the deck. Climb over the railing. Descend the stairs down the
cliff side to the beach. Once you reach the beach ... reach the beach— that
rhymes,” Raoul added, charmed.

“Yes?” Darlene
prompted.

Raoul recalled
himself to the task at hand, though he could not forgo repeating his ascension
to the poetic. “Once you reach the beach, take the boardwalk to the magnet, the
magnet to the spaceport. Cruise ships leave from there all the time.”

Darlene opened the
French doors, looked out into the night, which was beautiful, as are all nights
on Adonia. The sounds of music, voices, and laughter wafted in from the garden.
A splash and another splash. People were jumping into the pool. She paused, her
hand on the ornate door handle. “1 wonder how the Hung found me. The Little One
was positive no one was following us.”

The Little One let
out a savage howl. Jumping to his feet, he raced across the room, shut himself
up in the closet.

Darlene gazed
after him in astonishment.

“He admits that he
is sometimes mistaken,” Raoul said quietly. He edged her out the French doors. “But
at least now they will think you are dead. This should effectively throw off
all pursuit.”

“Yes ... good-bye.
And thank you.” She started out the doors. She halted, looked about vaguely. “My
computer.”

“Leave it,” Raoul
said, shoving her along. “You have your clothes, that’s most important.”

“Hang the clothes!”
Darlene dropped the bag on the floor. “Hand me my computer.”

“You can’t go on a
pleasure cruise without clothes!” Raoul stated firmly. “Not, that is, unless
you’re planning on taking one of the nude—”

“No, no,” Darlene
said hastily.

“I packed them all
specially.”

“Very well, then,”
she said, knowing that she’d never get away otherwise. “I’ll take my clothes
and
the computer.”

Raoul picked up
the computer case. Regarding it with distaste, he handed it to her. “I packed
all your new clothes. Your old clothes, I’m sorry to say, met with rather an
unfortunate accident. Here you are.”

Darlene grabbed
the bag, clutched at her computer case. She kissed Raoul again on the cheek. “Thanks
again, for everything. You and the Little One. Tell Xris I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes,” Raoul said,
smiling airily. “I’ll tell him.”

Muffled howls and
thumps could be heard coming from the direction of the closet.

Darlene gave it a
worried glance. “Are you sure he’s all right?”

“Positive. Don’t
worry. Take care of yourself.” Raoul had hold of the French doors. He was
drawing them shut when he recalled last-minute instructions. “Remember to
smooth the blush in the hollow of the cheek. Use that cream I gave you to get
rid of those lines around your eyes. Keep the bangs soft and don’t wear red. It
makes you look anemic.”

Darlene waved from
the deck railing. She climbed up and over and, the next moment, had vanished
from Raoul’s sight. He could hear her footsteps as she ran down the wooden
stairs. He shut the doors, an unusually thoughtful expression on his face.
Ordinarily, Raoul took care not to think—it was damaging to the complexion— but
matters had taken a serious turn. A knock came, the bedroom door opened. The
butler entered.

“Pardon me, sir,
but the police have arrived.”

“Have they?” Raoul
asked, preoccupied. He waved a negligent hand. “Give them something to eat.”

“Very good, sir,”
the butler replied. His gaze shifted to the bed. He raised one eyebrow. “I beg
your pardon, sir, but where is the corpse?”

“Corpse,” Raoul
repeated vaguely. His gaze was fixed on the closet, which had suddenly fallen
silent.

“The young woman,
sir, who collapsed and died in the atrium.”

“Ah, that corpse.”
Raoul shrugged. “I assume it must be around somewhere.”

“Am I to
understand, sir, that you have misplaced it?”

“Yes, that’s it,”
said Raoul. “We’ll hold a scavenger hunt. The first person who finds the corpse
wins a prize.”

“Very good, sir.
Oh, and I should inform you, sir, that the bartenders say their time is up. If
you require them to stay longer, they are to be paid triple.”

This caught Raoul’s
attention. “Indeed? Their time is up? I should say that it very well might be.
Send them to me.” Reaching for his handbag, Raoul took out a tube of lipstick. “I
have a little something to give each of them.”

He walked over to
the mirror, began to carefully apply the lipstick to his lips, taking care not
to touch his lips with his tongue.

“Very good, sir.
And, in the interim, sir, I am a bit concerned about that missing corpse....”

“Don’t worry,”
said Raoul. “I’m certain it will turn up. If not that particular corpse, then
some other. I suppose the police are not fussy?”

“I’m afraid I
couldn’t say, sir.”

“Discuss the
matter with them while they are dining,” Raoul instructed. “Give them some
champagne. Show them the scene of the alleged crime. Let them question a few
witnesses. See to it that they are occupied for the next thirty minutes. By that
time, I’m certain a corpse— or maybe even two—will have surfaced.”

The butler lifted
a second eyebrow to match the first, but he said nothing. He had his orders.
Bowing, he withdrew, shutting the door softly behind him.

Raoul went
immediately to the closet.

The Little One was
sitting on a hat box in an attitude of the deepest dejection. His head clutched
in his hands, he rocked back and forth, making small feral sounds. Raoul put
his arm comfortingly around his friend’s thin shoulders.

“It’s not your fault.
How were you supposed to have known?”

The Little One
pulled his fedora down over his head, shook it vigorously.

“We don’t have
much time,” Raoul said. “The bartenders are coming to be paid. After that, I
suggest that we embark on a cruise ourselves. The Adonian police are generally
fair and open-minded, particularly to those who have contributed to their
association generously in the past, but with one corpse gone missing and a
couple of new ones showing up in its place, this is likely to tax the sheriffs
patience. While we’re waiting for the bartenders, fill me in on the details.
Xris and Jamil are in danger, you say?”

The Little One
shoved his hat back; his eyes gleamed from beneath the brim. Lifting his hands,
he pointed to his head, described circles with his fingers around his temples.

“A telepathic
scrambler! That’s what has been bothering you, ever since we visited the
museum. The name of the weapons known as scramblers. That made you realize what
had happened. Professor Sakuta is not what he seems. He was lying to us all the
time. Have I understood you?”

The Little One
gave a gloomy nod.

“I don’t suppose,”
Raoul said, “that you have any idea what Professor Sakuta’s true thoughts were?”

The Little One
shook his head morosely, beat himself on the forehead with his small fists.

“It’s not your
fault,” Raoul repeated kindly. “No one blames you. Don’t blame yourself.”

Raoul was again
thoughtful, again risking damage to his complexion. The urgency of the
situation appeared to warrant the sacrifice.

“There is only one
thing to be done,” Raoul decided. “Darlene is safe, for the time being. The
Hung thinks she is dead and we’ll make certain that they don’t find out
otherwise. It seems to me, therefore, that our next priority must be to rescue
Xris Cyborg and Jamil from whatever it is that threatens them. We could
undertake to do this ourselves—”

The Little One
growled.

“No, you’re right,”
Raoul agreed. “We must assemble the team.” The idea appealed to him. He
smoothed his hair. “
I
will assemble the team. I’ve never done that before.
It should be quite thrilling. Well, of course they’ll listen to me,” he added,
offended. “Why shouldn’t they? I—”

A knock on the
door interrupted him.

Raoul rose to his
feet. Opening the door, he saw the two bartenders—handsome, charming, smiling,
confident.

“Dear boys,” Raoul
said. “Do come in.”

He greeted them
each with a kiss.

“I can’t explain
myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

“I don’t see,”
said the Caterpillar.

Lewis Carroll,
Alice in Wonderland

“
K
ing
James
Control, this is Navy Three Five Niner Zircon. Please clear for
priority landing.”

“Navy Three Five
Niner Zircon, you are cleared for immediate landing in Bay One Forward. All
other traffic is diverted. Do not exit your spaceplane until the Marine Guard
is in place. Understood, Navy Three Five Niner Zircon?”

“Roger that,
King James
Control. Beginning landing sequence now. Navy Three Five Niner
Zircon, out.”

The bomber cruised
toward the massive ship. Jamil studied it, memorizing detail for possible use
later. The aft engines were modular in design and were fitted outrigger style,
so that they could be jettisoned in case of an engine overload. Below the
engines, the hull formed a flight deck and landing platform.

The bomber
gracefully arced toward the platform, and gently touched down. Maneuvering
thrusters kept the spaceplane from bouncing off the deck, until the magnetic
clamps took hold and trundled the spaceplane along the deck into the hangar.

The hangar’s blast
doors did not shut behind it, once they had cleared the atmosphere shields. The
pilot did not leave her seat. The bomber would not be staying here long. Once
the bomber was stationary, the ground crew scrambled over the wings and up the
side of the spaceplane for servicing. The hatch popped, and both VanDerGard and
Jamil exited, climbing down the ladder to the deck.

A colonel,
accompanied by two Marines armed with beam rifles, awaited them. Behind the
colonel, a platoon of Marines were assembled.

“Oh, God. This is
it,” Jamil said to himself, blinking in the bright lights.

The colonel
stepped forward, extended his hand.

Jamil stared at
the hand in astonishment—he’d been expecting a rifle in his gut, not a
handshake. Belatedly, awkwardly, he reached out, shook hands.

The colonel had a
firm, confident grip. He was in his early forties, freckled, with buzz-cut red
hair, a warm smile, and a friendly manner.

“Colonel Jatanski,
I’m Colonel Michael Ponders, General Hanson’s chief of staff. You’re to come
with me.”

Ponders had to
nearly shout to be heard in the hangar bay, which was echoing with the banging
and clanging and swearing of maintenance crews at work on the spaceplane. He
and Jamil started walking, heading for the blast doors that led off the hangar
deck. Major VanDerGard fell unobtrusively into step behind them, as did the two
armed Marines.