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Publitius Syrus, Maxims, 469
Who in the universe would want Raoul?
"A good question," Xris admitted.
"You think it's got something to do with this job?"
The thought had already occurred to Xris. He'd discarded the notion before he was halfway out the hotel room.
"Not logical. The people at Olicien sure as hell didn't expect us, did they?"
Harry neatly maneuvered his way around a lumbering truck. "Nope. They were real surprised."
"And if the Royal Navy was on to us--say Wiedermann went crazy and tipped them off--they'd be after me. Raoul's made a lot of enemies over the years, but most of those would want him dead. Why take him alive?"
"Information," Harry guessed. "About us."
Xris shook his head. "You ever try to get information from a Loti? Half of it you can't believe and the other half you don't want to believe. But that's not the problem."
"Yeah." Harry grunted. "The job."
The job. What to do without Raoul and the Little One? Raoul, the charmer, the talker. Raoul, who was supposed to distract the security guard at RFComSec, then shoot him full of dope to keep him from sounding the alarm. And the Little One, who was supposed to read the guard's mind, alert Raoul to possible danger.
Xris glanced down at the small body. Blood was starting to soak through the blanket. If the Little One survived, he wasn't going to be reading anyone's mind today
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