The Knights of the Black Earth Read Free Page B

reporter James M. Warden and His Majesty the
King dwindled to insignificant dots, then were gone.
    A commentary on
life, Bosk thought, staring at the empty screen with watery eyes.
    “Where should I
begin?”
    “The
space-rotation bomb,” specified the stranger.
    Bosk glared,
suspicions returned. “You must be from the king. No one else knew about
that.”
    “I’m not from the
king, Bosk,” the stranger said patiently. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you where I am from. But for now, I’d say you’re being paid enough not to be curious.
Let me help things along. We know about the space-rotation bomb. We know
how Warlord Sagan came up with the design for it. How he needed someone to
build it. Needed it done quick and quiet, because he was planning to overthrow
the galactic government. And so he went to Snaga Ohme.”
    “The only man in
the universe who could have built that damn bomb,” Bosk said with moist-eyed
pride. He sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Whoever had that
bomb coulda overthrown six billion governments.” He gazed back into the past,
shook his head in admiration. “It was sweet. Best work Ohme ever did. He said
so himself. Blow a hole in the fabric of the universe. Destroy all life as we
know it.”
    “That was only
theorized.”
    Bosk waved his
hand, irritated at the stranger’s slowness of thought. “That’s not the point.
Blackmail. The threat. Hold it over their heads. Sword of something-er-other—”
    “Damocles,” said
the stranger.
    Bosk shrugged, not
interested. He coughed, licked his lips, looked longingly at the bottle.
    The stranger
ignored the look. “Ohme built the bomb according to the Warlord’s
specifications, using Sagan’s financing. But then it occurred to Ohme that,
with this bomb in the Warlord’s possession, Derek Sagan might get a—shall we
say—swelled head?”
    “Snaga Ohme was
the most powerful man in the galaxy,” Bosk averred. “The top weapons dealer and
manufacturer alive. No one could touch him. Kings, warlords, governors,
congressmen, corporate leaders—they all came running when he so much as
twitched his pinkie their direction.”
    “Ohme feared that
the Warlord—if and when he came to power—might put him out of business. So Ohme
built the negative wave device to kill Derek Sagan.”
    Bosk shook his
head vehemently. “Not kill him.”
    “Keep Sagan in line,
then.”
    “If he leaned on
us, we could lean back.” Bosk was defensive. “We were looking out for our own
interests.”
    “Sagan has the
bomb, blackmails the government. Ohme has the negative wave device, blackmails
Sagan.”
    “It was an
ingenious idea. You gotta admit that.”
    “All predicated on
the fact that Sagan was specially genetically designed. One of the Blood Royal.
The device would kill him and him alone, even in a crowd. Yes, a truly
remarkable concept. If it worked. ...”
    Bosk snorted. “It
worked, all right.”
    “Ohme tested it?”
The stranger appeared surprised, intrigued. “We weren’t aware that he’d built a
working model.”
    Bosk opened his
mouth, suddenly closed it again. He shrugged, surly now, and deciding to be
uncooperative. Who was this bastard? Coming here with all his damn stupid
questions. And how the hell did he know so much? What was going on?
    Standing up, a bit
unsteadily, Bosk stalked over, grabbed the bottle, stalked back, and poured
himself a drink. He flopped down in the chair, reached for the remote, turned
on the vid. James M.
    Warden was
resurrected. He was still interviewing His Majesty the King. Her Majesty the
Queen had joined them.
    The mental hand
that had been tugging at Bosk’s brain gave him a sudden sharp jab that made him
flinch, literally. He saw it all now. Everything became suddenly clear, as
clear as it could be through a liquor-soaked haze.
    You juice-head, he
swore at himself. You damn near let him walk off with this for a measly twenty
thou. It’s worth ten times— hell, make that a hundred