Ghost Legion (50 page)

"Yeah, yeah," XJ snapped. "I'm in tears. So what's his
story?"

"According to what I can piece together, Dion's in danger from
this Ghost Legion. We're going to join, go along with their scheme,
get Dion out in the end. At least that's what I
think
the
Warlord's got in mind. He wouldn't tell me much."

"A double agent. Now,
there's
a good career move. If one
side misses, the other's bound to get you. And you agreed to go in on
this with him, didn't you?"

"What the hell choice did I have?" Tusk demanded bitterly.
"They bugged the plane. Some woman followed me here— from
home, XJ. From home."

"You're sure we're not getting paid?"

Tusk glared, didn't answer.

"I don't like this," said XJ.

"You don't see me dancin' around the fiickin' plane, do you?"
Tusk demanded. He glanced back at the shower door again. "But I
came up with a plan on the way here. I pretend to go along with
Sagan, pretend like I'm working with him, keep an eye on him, find
out what's going on. If anything looks funny, well ... I'm in a
position to warn Dion. The way I got it figured is that I'll be
pretending to be workin' for Sagan, pretending to be against Dion,
when all the time I'll really be workin' for Dion, pretending to be
working for Sagan, pretending to be against Dion."

"You call that a plan?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't. I call it Let's Pretend There's Intelligent Life
on this Spaceplane."

The water in the shower gurgled, spit, and dribbled to a stop.

"I could transmit a message to Dixter." XJ spoke so softly
Tusk almost couldn't hear. "Sagan would never know."

"Yeah," Tusk whispered, "that's what I was thinking.
But we got to figure out what to say ... Tell him—Wait! Shush."

The shower door opened. The Warlord stepped out, toweling himself
off. He walked toward the cock-pit."

"Just about ready. Uh"—Tusk looked around—"what
do you go by these days? I mean, what should I ... we . .. call you?"

" 'My lord' will be satisfactory," replied Sagan, again
almost smiling. "And when you meet the king's first cousin, you
will refer to Prince Flaim as His Highness or His Royal Highness."

Tusk's jaw sagged.

"First cousin?" XJ's lights flickered in suspicion. "What
first cousin? I know the genealogy of the Starfire family better than
I know my own. Which, in case you're interested, I'm a direct
descendant of a Unix-5000—"

"Shut up!" Tusk snarled. "Or you'll be an ex-direct
descendant. What were you saying, my lord? The kid's got a first
cousin? How? Where?"

"I'll spare you the lurid details. Suffice it to say that
Amodius had a son—illegitimate, no rightful claim to the
throne."

"But he wants it anyway." Tusk brightened. "And we're
going to stop him!"

"No," Sagan replied coolly. "We're going to assist
him. Keep telling yourself that. Over and over and over. I want you
to be able to repeat it in your sleep."

"I don't think I'll be getting much sleep," Tusk muttered.

Sagan turned away, went to get dressed. "Lay in a course for
Vallombrosa. Let me know when we're ready to make the Jump."

"Yes, my lord."

Glancing up, to make certain Sagan wasn't watching, Tusk began to
type:

message to john dixter. I'm being

"John Dixter is your son's godfather, I believe," said
Derek Sagan. His voice floated down from the aft section of the
spaceplane.

Tusk's fingers froze on the keyboard.

"Yeah." His throat constricted. He swallowed, tried again.
"Yes, my lord," he managed. Sweat trickled down his
collarbone.

"It would be a pity if something were to happen to him. Or his
godson. Once we're out of orbit, you will send a message to your
wife.
I'll
tell you what to say."

"Yes, my lord."

How the hell did he know? Tusk wondered bleakly. He couldn't have
overheard XJ asking about Dixter. It's not possible. Not even for the
Blood Royal. He knows what I'm thinking. That's what it is. He just
plain bloody well knows what I'm thinking!

Words flashed across the computer screen.

i don't like this. i want to go on record as saying-I don't like
this!

"Put me down for one of the same," Tusk said softly.

Very, very softly.

Be near me when the sensuous frame

Is rack'd with pains that conquer trust;

And Time, a maniac scattering dust,

And life, a Fury slinging flame.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In Memorium A.H.H."

Maigrey restlessly walked the vast halls of heaven, paced them back
and forth, back and forth until the shining beings— whose
patience is purportedly unending—heaved martyred sighs as they
went about their duties.

Knowing the mind of God meant less than nothing to her now. She
wanted desperately to know what was going on in the mind of Derek
Sagan. And so, she left the beautiful, starlit halls (to the vast
relief of those who dwelt there) and entered the physical plane, the
land of the living, to take up her nightly vigil.

One with the darkness, she glided inside the Scimitar. The spaceplane
was traveling the Lanes, which meant the occupants could sleep, leave
the watch to the computer. Tusk slept restlessly, as he always did
without Nola's comforting form beside him.

Maigrey glanced at him fondly, if somewhat worriedly, then took her
place beside Sagan's bed.

He slept soundly, no longer disturbed by intrusive dreams, doubts, or
indecision. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, the
other lying across his chest. His breathing was deep, steady, even.
He had made his choice, for good or for evil.

But this one night's rest could not make up for a score of wakeful
nights. Their mark was on him. His face, strong and hard when awake,
was haggard in repose, his eyes sunken. Only the lips, drawn to a
thin, straight, dark line, remained tight, firm. Whatever purpose he
had, whatever resolve he'd made, he would carry it through to the
end.

" 'Broken old man,' " said Maigrey softly, recalling
Flaim's derisive description, and she sighed in frustration. "I
should be used to this. You never did explain anything to us. We were
your squadron, your Golden Squadron. You expected us to obey orders,
to react instantly to your command, without necessarily knowing why
or what you had in mind. Because of the mind-link, I knew more than
the others did about your plans. But there were times when you caught
me by surprise. And though it was sometimes irritating, sometimes
terrifying for us, we understood."

"Yeah, John, I'll getcha a drink of water," Tusk mumbled
suddenly, starting to climb out of his bed.

"Go back to sleep!" XJ snapped.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Tusk nodded obediently, crawled
back onto the fold-out couch, wrapped his arms around a cushion, shut
his eyes.

"I'm not your— Oh, forget it." XJ went back to work.

Maigrey was silent, until she was certain Tusk had fallen back to
sleep. She moved nearer to Sagan, lowered her voice, until it was no
more than a sigh from a shadow.

"It was second nature to you to keep as much of yourself locked
away as possible. You told us what you thought we needed to know,
nothing more. You couldn't trust. Not even us, who'd grown up with
you. Not even me, who loved you."

She reached up to touch the scar on the flesh she wove from her
memory of life. "In a way, I suppose, it was a compliment. You
had faith in us to come through when you needed us. And we had faith
in you. And it worked. All but once, when you took our loyalty too
much for granted.

"I chose Amodius, my king, then—poor, unworthy king that
he was. I was his Guardian, I had pledged my allegiance to him. And
so had you. And when you saw that Abdiel meant to kill the king, you
offered to guard him—a man you hated and despised—with
your life.

"Surely you would do the same for Dion. You helped raise him, my
lord. Not from boyhood to manhood, but from ordinary to divine. You
found the spark within him and kindled it, and now it burns clear and
bright; not a consuming holocaust, but a shining beacon, for all to
follow.

"You can't be taken in my Flaim, despite the test. ... I know
you're not. I
know
you're not," she repeated angrily, to
silence some inner, arguing voice.

But the voice refused to be silenced. She faltered, wavered.

"But then what is your plan, my lord? Tell it to me this once.
Don't let me go into battle half-blind! I see only the feint outline.
.. . Why,
why
is it necessary for you to bring the two of them
together?

"The risk you run is enormous, and what do you hope to
accomplish? There are alternatives. You could go to Dion, warn him
again
of his peril, tell him what you've discovered,
urge
him to use the space-rotation bomb. ..."

Maigrey paused. "Use it against thousands of innocent people,
whose only fault is that they are captive to one man's corrupt
ambition." She sighed. "All right, so that's out."

She pondered. "You could warn him to take precautions against
his cousin. To increase his bodyguard threefold, never stir from the
palace, shut himself up like a hothouse plant. Yes, there's a
solution. He'd lose the throne as surely as if he'd died on it. He
might as well die on it.

"But is it wise for the two to confront each other? I don't
understand, my lord. I don't understand. And I'm frightened."

She bowed her head. If the dead could cry, the touch of her tears,
falling on his still hand, would have wakened him.

"You have a right to be angry. I feel your anger as I feel the
temptation burn within you. How easy it would be to give up, let go,
fall. How much more difficult to struggle on through the darkness
alone, without the hope of light.

"I tried to give you hope, my lord. I tried to let you know you
aren't alone, but I failed."

Maigrey reached out her hand to touch his. One thought, one wish, one
command and she could wrench herself free of her ethereal bonds,
plunge across the gulf, feel, clasp, hold. She could talk, listen,
answer, reassure.

One spoken word ...

The dark door swung open. The dark path appeared before her. The dark
landscape of terror and travail and sorrow stood etched against a
hideous sunrise.

Maigrey shrank beck Her hand fell to her side.

"How bitter is this separation. How vast and cold and empty the
gulf that keeps as apart. I could cross it, but at what terrible risk
... to us both.

"We are ghosts to each other now, my lord. Echoes of a voice,
memories of a touch....

"I can't stay with you. The temptation to touch you, to talk to
you, is too great. I'll return to the alcazar. As Prince Flaim said,
ghosts make wonderful spies. Wonderful, though ineffective."

She sighed. Her shadowy hand lay over his real one. "If you call
on me, my lord, I will answer, if you need me, I will come to you."

His fingers moved slightly, as if in response, as if he would reach
out to hold her.

But she was gone.

The alcazar of Prince Flaim Starfire would have been classified as
one of the wonders of the galaxy—had anyone else in the galaxy
ever seen it (and been able to return to report of it). It was an
enormous fortress, built entirely of the stone of Vallombrosa, stone
that was the color of bleached bones. And not one wall stood
perpendicular to another. On first seeing the alcazar most people
mistook it for a naturally occurring rock formation put to practical
use.

Closer observation would force them to reconsider. The fortress was
far too well made to have been built by Nature, who tends to overlook
details like doors, windows, and leaky roofs.

Though crudely and oddly constructed, the alcazar was solid. It might
look as if half a mountain had been ripped out to form it, the rock
smashed together and molded like clay. But the walls were solid, the
joints tight, the rooms, with their crazily slanting floors, snug and
dry. It was, in fact, the ideal fortress— strong as half a
mountain, indistinguishable from the whole of the mountain.

The alcazar was constructed, but not by human hands. It had been
"built," if one could use such a term, by the dark-matter
creatures. It had been built by ghosts.

As to those who lived in the alcazar, or who orbited above it in the
space stations, Valley of Ghosts was a most appropriate name, for the
population of Vallombrosa was made up, for the most part, of those
whom others in the galaxy had come to think of as ghosts.

When Garth Pantha returned to Vallombrosa, he was protector to a
future monarch who had no subjects. But Pantha had foresight enough
to know that one day, when Flaim was old enough to make a bid for
power, he would need a loyal and willing population to back him up.
And so Pantha began recruiting people to come to Vallombrosa.

He couldn't recruit them openly, of course, without tipping his hand,
making himself and his strange dark-matter creatures known to the
rest of the galaxy. His problem: How to bring people here who had no
idea where they were going and who would be happy to stay here for
years, living on space stations, isolated and cut off from the rest
of civilization. Who would be desperate enough?

His answer: People on the verge of destruction. People facing
imminent annihilation, hopeless people at the point of certain death,
who would be grateful to the man who came to their rescue.
Innumerable mysterious disappearances over the years were not
mysteries on Vallombrosa.

Take, for example, the vanished population of Otos 4, which led to
the intergalactic war with Rylkith and his vapor-breathers. The
gigantic city of Otos 4 was under siege from its alien neighbors. The
humans, on the verge of starvation, had been transmitting frantic
appeals for the rest of the galaxy to come to their aid. King Amodius
dithered, not wanting to start what he knew would be an intergalactic
war.