Mag Force - Hung Out Part 32

"Death is only one way to die, Xris," he said softly. He picked up his briefcase. "You should know better than anyone."

CHAPTER 31.

... he was ... of the Devil's Party without knowing it.

William Blake, Marriage of Heaven and h.e.l.l.

Petronella's pa.s.sage to Del Sol was quite luxurious. As it should be, she thought resentfully, considering what she was paying for it. For the price of this ticket, she could have purchased a small house. She tried her best to enjoy herself her first night on board, but the mystery in which she was involved kept intruding.

She wasn't in the gla.s.s-glittering, silver-gleaming wait-staff-groveling dining room. She was inside the office of Jafar el Amadi, trying to find a clue in something he'd done or said.

She wasn't listening to her dancing partner's whispered words of seduction. She was hearing Andrew Robison take her off the case.

Consequently, the people at her table thought her a crashing borea"crashing being the operative word. Due to the emotional turmoil she was in, the Talisian part of her seemed to be in overdrive.

Having figured she'd broken enough crystal for one night, Petronella retired to her stateroom early. She wasn't sleepy. Her mind was wound too tight to release and start slowing down. She roamed around the small cabin, watched a nebula float past, and deliberately did not sit down at her computer, because she knew if she did, that meant she'd made a decisiona"and she didn't think she had, yet.

In twelve hours, the ship would make the Jump to hypers.p.a.ce. The decision would be taken out of her hands. Once in hypers.p.a.ce, she wouldn't be able to make contact with anybody.

But she had twelve hours....

Petronella's pacing carried her past the tiny desk that folded down from the wall. Her computer was on the desk.

The business card with Darlene Mohini's personal computer uplink was on the computer.

Petronella walked past it six times. At the seventh, she reached for the card, activated it.

The business card was not glitzy and flamboyant as some: It sang her no songs, it sent her no animated creatures to cavort across the small screen. Darlene's name appeared in a soothing shade of deep blue. That was all. Just the name.

Petronella held fast to the card, almost as if she were a psychometrist, willing it to reveal something about its owner. The card gave her nothing more than the name, however. Sighing deeply, Petronella inserted the card into her computer.

Darlene had said to call her anytime; if her computer wasn't on, the incoming message would alert it, cause it to turn itself on. If she wasn't awake or wasn't there, her computer was linked to her commlink and would let her know that she had a message waiting. Petronella hoped Darlene would be asleep or gone somewhere, taking in dinner and a show. That would give her some time to reconsider.

But Darlene was neither asleep nor enjoying a pleasant evening's relaxation. She must have been working on her computer, might almost have been waiting for this call, for she appeared on the screen before Petronella was ready to see her.

Petronella gave a little start of astonishment. Her water carafe slid off the table and landed on the floor, splashing water over her bare ankles. Fortunately the carafe was made of plastic.

"Ms. Rizzoli," said Darlene, smiling. "What a pleasant surprise. You look very nice in that dress. It must have been a great party."

"What?" Petronella asked. Then she remembered; she was still wearing her evening gown. Looking down at the silk and sequins, she flushed in embarra.s.sment. She supposed she could have appeared more unprofessional; she could have been in her pajamas. The flannel ones.

"I'm on board ship," she said in apology. "We had to dress for dinner."

"Taking a vacation?" Darlene asked coolly. Her eyes darkened and a tiny crease pulled her brows together.

"I need to know if I can trust you," Petronella said quietly, urgently. "I can't trust anybody else, it seems. So far you're the only people who haven't lied to me. At least not that I know of. But that's just it. I don't know! And I'm staking my job, my future, maybe even my life on this. You have to admit that you're a pretty weird bunch...."

"I'm afraid you've started in the middle. What are you talking about, Ms. Rizzoli?"

"I know I've started in the middle. I can't tell you the beginning. Not yet. Please, I need to know. Can I trust you?"

"Yes," said Darlene gravely. "Though I'm not-sure how I can prove it."

Someonea"another member of the team, presumablya"said something in the background.

"One moment, please," Darlene said, and, switching her computer to soothing music and a blank screen, she turned away.

"Would a reference help?" she asked, returning. She didn't give Petronella time to answer. "Tell me how you can be reached."

Petronella sent her access code. "But I'm not surea""

"Thank you. Someone will contact you," Darlene said, and the screen went blank.

"References?" Petronella said to the empty screen. "I'm not hiring a nanny, for G.o.d's sake!" Irritably kicking the water carafe out of the way, she roamed back over to stare gloomily out the viewscreen. "I shouldn't have called. Or if I did call, I should have known what I wanted!"

And now, of course, since she had to stay awake to wait for this next calla"a call she didn't want to receive, but which she couldn't very well avoida"she was suddenly sleepy.

She yawned. Yawned again.

"d.a.m.n!" Petronella muttered. Picking up the water carafe, she carried it to the replicator and filled it with coffee. She changed out of her evening dress and into blue jeans and a floppy-sleeved shirt. Not quite appropriate, perhaps, for receiving references, but she was feeling put-upon and didn't much care. Propping herself up with pillows, she stretched out on the bed and began read the latest trashy romance, confident that between the coffee and the t.i.tillation she'd remain awake.

A buzzing sound startled her.

She sat up. Apparently the love scenes hadn't been all that arousing. The champagne and her unexpected nap had left her with a nagging headache.

The incoming message light was flashing on her computer. Petronella jumped off the bed, indicated she was ready to receive. Glancing at the clock, she was startled and not particularly pleased to see that almost six hours had pa.s.sed. Either the team had experienced difficulty getting in touch with their reference or they had experienced difficulty finding a reference! This was ludicrous. Petronella was now extremely sorry that she had called Darlene. She was sorry she had traveled to Del Sol, sorry to have wasted her money.

An official looking symbol flashed on the screena"a bright golden sun with a lion's face, the sun's rays forming the lion's mane. The symbol was very elegant, very impressive, and Petronella was trying to prod her sleep-befuddled brain into thinking where she'd seen it before and what it meant when the symbol disappeared.

A blond and slender man, dressed in an elegant white suit, white shirt and a crimson red tie appeared on the screen. Petronella had a confused impression of warm wood, fine furnishings, rich draperies in the background.

"Ms. Petronella Rizzoli?" asked the man in a clipped, well educated, and pleasingly modulated voice.

"Yes, I'm Petronella Rizzoli," she replied.

"My name is D'Argent. Please hold one moment for His Majesty."

The man vanished. The official symbol was back on the screen.

"What?" Petronella demanded, shocked. "What did you say?" She tapped on the screen. "h.e.l.lo? Come back? What? Ia" Oh!"

The official symbol had disappeared.

D'Argent was back, but only for an instant.

"His Majesty, King Dion Starfire."

And there on her screen was a man she had seen many times, but only on GNN news reports. She recognized him immediately, despite the fact that he was not wearing his crown or his robes of office. The red-golden hair and the blue, blue eyes, the famous Starfire eyes that were part of his heritage, were unmistakable. He was dressed quite casually in a beige cardigan sweater and open-collared shirt. Judging from the shelves of ancient books in the background, he was in his famous library.

Panicked, Petronella wondered if she was supposed to curtsy, couldn't figure quite how to manage that while seated in a chair. Her face burned, little p.r.i.c.kles tingled through her body, her hands were chilled.

"Ms. Rizzoli," said His Majesty. "We are pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Your Majesty! I'm..." Flabbergasted wasn't what one said, she supposed, although that was what came to mind. "Honored," she finished lamely.

The king came right to business. "We understand that you are seeking references for a group of mercenaries who call themselves Mag Force 7."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Petronella said in a small voice.

"Ms. Rizzoli, I don't know whether you are questioning their efficiency or their courage or their honor or their trustworthiness. It doesn't matter. I can answer for them on all counts. I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of the services they have performed for me, but I can a.s.sure you that in all respects they performed selflessly, professionally courageously."

The king had been grave and serious up to this point, but now he smiled, a radiant smile, very much like the sun that was his symbol.

"I admit that they can seem a little strange, Ms Rizzoli," he said, and his voice was as warm as his smile. "Their methods are unorthodox and occasionally illegal. But I would trust them with my life. I have, in fact, trusted them with my life. Not only that, I would trust them with the lives I hold more dear than my owna"the lives of my wife and my child. Does this help you, Ms. Rizzoli?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Petronella faintly. "Thank you for taking the time."

"It was our pleasure. Good evening, Ms. Rizzoli."

D'Argent was back on the screen.

"The audience with His Majesty, King Dion Starfire, is concluded."

The screen went blank.

Petronella sat staring at the blank screen until an announcement over the shipboard comm alerted her to the fact that within a few hours they would be making preparations for the Jump to hypers.p.a.ce. This meant that she would have to be in her cot, with the safety webbing over her. There would be no chance for further communications.

She fumbled for Darlene's card, inserted it into the computer.

Darlene was there immediately. "Did you talk to our reference?"

"Ms. Mohini," said Petronella, anxious not to waste time, "I'm on my way to Del Sol."

"You are?" Darlene looked amazed.

"I know this sounds bizarre, but I think that there's a connection between Xris's arrest and your being hired to go to Del Sol. I don't know what it is yet. I think the answer is on Del Sol. I can't talk about it now. I want to arrange a meeting with you when I arrive, which will be about twenty-four hours from now."

"Certainly, Ms. Rizzoli. We should meet in public.

There's a large shopping mall known as the Bayside Plaza.

I'll meet you at the scarf counter in Bergdorff's for lunch. Twelve hundred hours."

Petronella made a note. "Fine. I'll be there. Your friend, Tampambulos. He's in prison on Jango?"

"Yes?" Darlene was concerned. "What about him?"

"I don't suppose there's any way you can contact him, but if you can, warn him that he's in danger. Very great danger. That's all I can say. I have to sign off now. We're going to be making the Jump to hypers.p.a.ce. I'll see you on Del Sol."

"Ms. Rizzoli!" Darlene said urgently. "Tell usa""

Petronella switched off her computer.

She had abandoned the side of the angels.

CHAPTER 32.

Give me a man that is capable of a devotion to anything, rather than a cold, calculating average of all the virtues!

Bret Harte, Two Men of Sandy Bar, Act IV.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?"

Harry looked up and up and up at the monstrosity that had just lowered itself from the skies and was, at present, parked on every single landing pad at the admittedly small local s.p.a.ceport and was lapping over onto several nearby corn fields.

"It's what you requested," said the commander of the Wolf Brigade. He glanced at the behemoth proudly. "It's a prototype. The new Xena cla.s.s. Not even in production yet."

Harry scrunched his eyes against the blazing sun. He was reminded of a fish he'd seen once at an aquarium. Quong had called it a manta ray. This ship resembled a manta ray in shape, or rather the shadow of a manta ray, because it didn't look substantial. It sort of wavered and shimmered darkly. Harry had the feeling it might dissolve into the tarmac.

"I don't think I asked for anything this ... well... big," he said.

"You said you wanted a ship designed for speed, with stealth capabilities, to haul men and machinery. That's the biggest armored transport there is in the universe. It's completely undetectable by most standard planetary radar. It isn't the fastest ship in the universe," the captain admitted, "but then its armor is so heavy and its shields are so strong that it doesn't need to be able to outrun anything in the universe. It can take a direct hit from a lascannon and maybe bounce you around in the c.o.c.kpit some, but other than that, no effect."

Harry wasn't really paying much attention. He was thinking back to the request he'd left with Bear Olefsky. "I said I needed a ship with room enough to carry six men, one of them a machine."

The commander frowned. "That's not what we heard." His frown darkened, looked particularly formidable coming from the depths of his gleaming plastisteel helmet, which was fashioned to resemble the head of a wolf, complete with teeth. "Are you saying you don't want it? Do you know how much trouble and expense the Bear went to in order to deliver this to you on time?"

"I appreciate it. I really do," said Harry. "It's just ... I don't suppose ... you'd have anything smaller? Along the same lines, of course. This is really amazing. Just... smaller?"

"No," said the commander grimly. "We don't. Not that we could have it here on time. This came from halfway across the galaxy, you know."

"It seems pretty slow on landing," Harry ventured. "It weighs more than some moons," the captain said in frigid tones. "What do you expect? It's faster on takeoff. And, in case of an emergency in s.p.a.ce, the c.o.c.kpit detaches. Men are worth more than machines, I always say."

"That's a good saying," Harry said. "Men are worth more than machines." He repeated it to himself a couple of times, glancing at the commander out of the corner of his eye, hoping the commander would be impressed. The commander wasn't.

"Sign here to indicate that you received delivery and that everything was satisfactory." He emphasized the last, glared at Harry, and held out a pad.