King's Test (19 page)

Tusk snorted. "A
trap!" But Dion closed his hand tightly over the mercenary's
arm, counseling silence.

"By 'this
man' I presume she means you?"

The messenger
again inclined his head.

His actions, his
voice, everything about this guy gave Tusk the creeps. Tusk stared at
him, trying to figure it out, when he suddenly realized what it was.
The guy's eyes didn't have the sightless stare of the blind, they had
the sightless stare of the dead! No life in them, behind them. No
thought, no feeling.

A shiver rippled
up Tusk's spine. His mother would have said someone was standing on
his grave. He appreciated Dion's touch, suddenly, glad to feel
someone warm and alive. He noted that the young man kept his hand on
his arm, as if he'd experienced the same uncanny sensations.

"Where did
you see Lady Morianna?" Tusk demanded.

The man slowly
pivoted his head, turned the dead eyes to Tusk, and the mercenary was
immediately sorry he'd drawn attention to himself.

"I may say
nothing more than that which I have been bidden to say."

"Are we to
come with you?"

"I travel
before you, Dion Starfire. I am to return immediately. You will come
when you may, though it should be soon. Apprise no one of your plans
or your destination."

"Thank
you," Dion said, removing his hand from Tusk's arm, making a
gesture of dismissal.

The man did not
stir. "May I inform the Lady Maigrey Morianna of your decision?"

"I will
come, of course."

"Dion!"
Tusk protested, scandalized. "It's phony! This guy's phony!"

"Maigrey
could be in trouble—"

"Yeah! So
an experienced warrior, who's fought more battles than you have zits,
calls for help from a seventeen-year-old kid! Sure, I'll buy that all
day long!"

Dion's face
burned. "Tell Lady Maigrey I will be there."

The messenger
seemed neither pleased nor the reverse at the decision. Whether the
young man stayed or went or shot him where he stood appeared to be a
matter of complete indifference to the robed and hooded figure. He
waited a moment to ascertain if more information was forthcoming.
Finding it was not, he walked out of the room without a word.

"Shit!"
Tusk swore, banging his fist on the table.

"You don't
have to go."

"I do so!"

"Don't give
me that crap about being my Guardian!" Dion turned, suddenly
furious.

"I don't
like it any better than you do, but I got no goddam choice! Even if
I'm not your Guardian, I'm your friend and, kid, don't you see? It's
a trap!"

"Then who
set it?" Dion shouted back. He glanced outside, lowered his
voice. "The Warlord?" he asked in an undertone.

Tusk opened his
mouth, snapped it shut again. "Not likely!" he muttered,
after a moment's thought. "Sagan wouldn't believe you'd be
stupid enough to fall for that line.."

Dion paled in
anger, spoke with controlled effort "No, it couldn't have been
Sagan. The messenger's arrival obviously caught Link by surprise—"

"You don't
know for certain that Link's a spy for the Warlord. The guy's a
blowhard, sure, but he's not a traitor—"

"He'd do
anything for money. And he probably doesn't see any harm in getting
paid just to keep an eye on me or to repeat 'rumors.' All the more
reason"—Dion moved to stand close to Tusk—"for
us to get out of here."

Tusk mumbled
something, scowled.

"Besides,"
Dion continued, "there's a chance the message could be
legitimate. She might really need me." The voice grew grim.
"After all, she saw me in action."

Not by half, she
didn't, thought Tusk, remembering with the same sense of shock he'd
felt on board
Defiant
seeing Dion coming toward him, flight
suit spattered with blood and that strange, exultant madness in the
blue eyes.

The boy
waited—not for Tusk to say yes, they would go or no, they
wouldn't. He was waiting merely to see if Tusk agreed to come along.
If not, Dion would go alone and there would be nothing, short of
knocking the kid out and tying him to a tree, that would stop him.

That or tipping
off the Warlord.

Damn! My brain's
fried! Tusk thought. How could I think of such a thing? It was that
walking corpse of a messenger. . . .

"Well?"
Dion said. "Are you coming with me or are you going to stay here
with . . . Link?"

Tusk heard the
subtle pause. The kid knows what I'm thinking! Jeez, what next?

"I should
stay!" Tusk retorted. "This is the worst thing you could
do, kid. The very worst. You're right! I'd sooner send you to Sagan!"

"But you
won't." Dion shook his red mane of hair.

"You know
damn good and well I won't! I've never yet done what I shoulda done.
I guess there's no reason to start now."

"That's not
why."

"No? Then
I'd appreciate hearing what is!"

The boy's
sensual lips curved to a slow smile. "Whether you like it or
not, you're my Guardian."

"Which
makes you my goddam king? Fuck it! The real reason is that I wouldn't
hand a devil dartworm over to the Warlord! I wouldn't hand"—Tusk
gestured wildly—"Link over to the Warlord! Especially now
that he's got Dixter. What do we do about the general, anyway?"

"Taking
Dixter hostage is not for our benefit," Dion said softly. His
face was grave. The blue eyes looked far away. "We can't do
anything about that now, Tusk. All the more need to reach Lady
Maigrey on Laskar."

"Yeah,
well, if she's anywhere within ten thousand light-years of Laskar,
I'll eat my socks."

Dion ignored
him. "Good, let's get going. We'll slip out after dark, when
Link's likely to be good and drunk. Would Nola come with us, do you
think? We could use a gunner."

"Sure,
she'll come."

Dion walked over
to the door, realized Tusk wasn't following, and turned around. "What
is it now?" the young man demanded impatiently.

"Oh,
nothing much," Tusk said airily. "Just a small matter of
money. How do you plan to fund this expedition, kid? That fancy
prototype plane of yours sucks down fuel faster'n Link sucks down
jump-juice. We're gonna need food, gear, cash to spend finding a
place to park on Laskar—a city
not
known for its low
standard of living!"

Dion opened his
mouth, shut it again. Crimson flushed his cheeks. "I hadn't
thought of that."

"Yeah,
well. Most heroes don't. XJ keeps my credit line tied up with a
security code lock. No way I can touch it, even if I had any credit
left, which I don't. What about you?"

Dion was
obviously embarrassed, frustrated. "I'm no help, I'm afraid—"

Tusk stood
scratching his head, figuring. "You might be, kid, at that. You
might be, after all. That fancy plane of yours's got a lot of little
extras on board. We'll strip it to the bare bones, make a trip to the
nearest pawnshop—"

"Strip my
plane!" Dion caught Tusk's baleful eye, subsided. "That's .
. . that's a good idea. Will the money we get be enough?"

"No. But I
know how to make more." Strolling forward, Tusk slipped his arm
through the boy's, talked confidentially as they walked out the door.
"That system of yours for calculating odds on ante-up hands ...
it work every time?"

"It's
mathematically sound, but—"

"Mathematically
sound. Good, kid." Tusk patted the young man on the arm. "I
like the ring of that. Mathematically sound. We'll find Link. Let's
hope Sagan paid him in advance. The Warlord doesn't know it, but he's
about to fund a trip to Laskar."

"Your
ladyship."

"Yes, XJ?"

"We are
coming out of the Jump, approaching the planet Laskar."

"Eighteen.
Nineteen. Twenty! Thank you, XJ." Maigrey ceased her exercising,
fell back on the deck with a groan, and lay still, breathing deeply.
Exerting herself, she removed the weights from around her wrists and
ankles, performed several stretching exercises to relieve the
tightness in her muscles. Finally, mopping her face with a towel, she
slid down the ladder to the bridge, strapped herself into the pilot's
chair in readiness for the maneuver known as the "Jump back."

"Heart
rate, one eighty," observed the computer. "That's high for
a . . . um . . . woman." XJ appeared slightly confused.

"A woman
my
age?"
Maigrey grinned and tossed the towel down onto the
deck. "Don't worry," she added, seeing the computer's
glassy eye swiveling toward the towel disapprovingly. "I'll tidy
up the place after the Jump."

"You
have
been overexerting yourself, your ladyship—"

"It beats
thinking." And she wouldn't think, not about anything but the
situation at hand.

"I beg your
pardon—"

"Nothing,
XJ. Talking to myself." Maigrey sat silent, tapping her fingers
on the arm of the chair.

"Your
ladyship?"

"XJ."

While we re
waiting, the rebellion is something of a hobby of mine. I've never
met an eyewitness before, a person who was actually there. I'd
appreciate hearing your account—"

"My account
would be rather boring, I'm afraid," Maigrey said, smiling
faintly, her fingers absently stroking the scar on her cheek.

"Oh. but
I'm certain that it wouldn't—"

"Yes, it
would. You see, XJ, I can't remember a thing."

The computer
appeared dubious but obviously didn't want to contradict. "I can
understand how painful it must be for you." it suggested
delicately.

"Not
painful at all." Maigrey shrugged. "I simply can't
remember. I was injured severely. The doctors believe my memory loss
had something to do with that."

"Yes, your
ladyship, but John Dixter said—"

"How much
time has passed since we left
Defiant
? Standard military time,
please."

"Seventy-six
hours, thirty-seven minutes, and—"

"Thank
you."

"—forty-two
seconds. I'm familiar with several methods used to cure memory loss,
your ladyship. All you have to do is think back to what you were
doing the day before—"

"How soon
will we be able to contact planet Laskar? Approximately."

"Five
hours, your ladyship. Where was I? Ah, yes, the day before the
revolution, you were—"

"I think
you had better concentrate on the Jump."

"But, your
ladyship—"

"That will
be all."

The computer
relapsed into whirring silence. Maigrey rubbed her forehead, sighed.
The day before the revolt. I was in the Palace, wondering where Sagan
was, worrying about Semele. The baby was due to arrive anytime. And
John Dixter—

No! She blocked
off that avenue of thought instantly. The grand ceremony, the banquet
honoring their squadron, was the next day. Sagan should have been
there, but he'd taken an unexplained leave of absence a month before.
An emergency, he'd said. His mind was completely closed to mine. I
had no idea what he was plotting.

Or did I? How
could I have failed to know, to understand? What if I knew and
betrayed—

Angrily, Maigrey
shook her head, backed away from that thought as well. Whenever she
began to try to remember that time, a feeling of dread and terror
crept over her. She longed to run, to hide. It was fortunate she was
strapped into the chair or she would have leapt up, made some attempt
to escape.

Five hours to
Laskar, she reminded herself. The present is what counts. The past is
dead and buried. Well, at least it's dead. Dion. Dion is the one who
matters.

Maigrey banished
the ghosts, leaned back in the chair, and concentrated on the
present.

What is Sagan
doing now? I have to be careful, the line between us is stretched so
taut that the slightest touch will set it quivering like a live
thing. I know he knows where I'm going, possibly even what I'm
plotting. And he must know that I would know that he would know.

Maigrey sighed
again, rested her head on her hand. All this knowledge was giving her
a headache.

Still, I have
the advantage: time and distance and the freedom to use both. I am,
after all, nothing more than an escaping prisoner. He is a starfleet
commander, a citizen general. A Warlord who has just lost his
flagship, a political power in deep trouble with a political rival.
Sagan will have work to do. He can't simply drop everything and chase
across the galaxy, no matter how valuable the prize. He will try to
stop me, of course. I have to figure out how, and then block his move
before he can make it.

Maigrey smiled.
On a chessboard, the queen has free range of motion. The king is able
to move only a square at a time.

"Now,"
she pondered aloud, "I could land on Laskar and try to gain
access to Snaga Ohme on my own, representing myself as what? A
private citizen who just happened to have heard about this bomb? No,
that's obviously out. Besides, it would take days, months perhaps, to
gain an interview with the Adonian. I don't have that kind of time.

"I need
official backing. I need someone the alien trusts. Scratch that. I
need someone the alien knows, someone he would expect. I need to
be
someone he would expect."

"Coming up
on the Jump, your ladyship."

"Thank
you," Maigrey murmured absently. "Yes. That's the only
possible way it will work. There's a risk, but hopefully, in the
confusion ..." Briskly, she sat up straight, brushed her hair
out of her face. "XJ, when we get within range of Laskar, I want
you to put a call through to the commander of the galactic army base
located there."

"You do?"
XJ's lights flickered in shock.

"Yes, I do.
And I want you to transmit this message. To the commandant, Fort
Laskar—" Maigrey clasped her hands, put her fingers to her
lips, and began to dictate.