"We're alone. What do you have to say to me?"
"I was ordered to give my message to you alone—"
"Tusk stays or you leave. Which is it?" The young man's tone was pleasant, but there was no doubting his resolve.
The messenger acquiesced with a slight inclination of his head. "The message is from the Lady Maigrey Morianna. It is by word of mouth and given to me only. She asked me to speak thus: 'Dion Starfire, I am in danger and in need of your help. Meet me on the planet Laskar. This man knows where I can be found.' That is the end."
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. Ninet
een. 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.
The computer took down her words, its circuits nearly overloading at the temerity of the plan.
"At least ..." Maigrey reflected, picking up the towel after the Jump was completed and stuffing it into a storage bin where XJ couldn't see it. "At least Dion is safe and well out of this."
The knowledge didn't do much to ease her conscience, but it helped.
Chapter Four
But the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the Lord exceedingly.
Genesis 13:13
Laskar was a planet with only one continent. That continent had on it only one state and that state only one city. Located on the fringes of the galaxy, the planet had little else to recommend it. It was, depending on where you were, either hot and too humid, or hot and too dry. Most appalling, some type of chemical present in the atmosphere caused Laskar's sun to appear to be green in color—not a brilliant, emerald green, but more of a chartreuse. The green sun bathed the planet in a pale green light that gave every object the appearance of slow decay. Humans, in particular, found the sight nauseating. But then most humans who visited the planet rarely saw the sun.
Laskar had one thing in its favor—its distance from everything else in the galaxy. It had been originally a military outpost; a town of sorts had grown up around the base. Far from civilization, the town was far from civilization's laws, but it was extremely close to soldiers who had lots of money and no place to spend it. Enterprising business people, of the type who prefer that no one investigate their dealings too closely, moved in to Laskar, set up house, opened up shop, and began operations.
Pleasure—or the quest for it—became the planet's foremost source of revenue. Anyone or anything could be had at almost any price. Prostitution, gambling, drugs—no one on Laskar ran a "legitimate" business. Grocery stores sold more paraphernalia and prophylactics than they did food and what you could buy in the frozen meat department was a tribute to human and alien ingenuity. Assassins for hire advertised openly. The Thieves Guild was a thriving concern, operating an eye bank as a charitable sideline. Needless to say, chamber of commerce meetings on Laskar tended to be lively affairs.
The planet was a mecca for those who had nothing and therefore nothing to lose, those who had e
verything and were bored, and those—like Snaga Ohme—who simply wanted to pursue private pursuits in private. Once, shortly after the revolution, certain zealous members of Congress had launched a campaign to clean up Laskar. An alarming drop in government revenue followed. The matter was promptly referred to committee and that was the end of it. Laskar paid well to be left alone.
Brigadier General Vilhelm Haupt, commander of the Galactic Republic Democratic Armed Forces stationed at Fort Laskar, gazed out the window of his office, morosely contemplating the green sunset. He detested this planet. A stern, moral man, Haupt hated the assignment that had brought him here, though he knew very well (and prided himself on the fact) that it was his own virtues which had won him the position.
The commander of this post must be incorruptible, must have no vices, be subject to no temptation. Haupt's military record was above reproach and, morally speaking, he was the most boring man in the entire universe. When the last commander on Laskar had gone AWOL to open her own brothel, Haupt had been the unanimous choice of his superiors to replace her.
The sun spread its nauseating glow across the sky— chartreuse deepening to puce, giving the clouds the colorful effect of a gangrenous wound. Haupt grimaced, wondering if any human ever truly grew accustomed to the sight. Irritably, he snapped the window blinds shut, went back to his desk. Fortunately night was coming soon. Although night brought its own problems.
He sat down to file his report. Another soldier was missing, had not reported back to base.
Fort Laskar had one of the highest desertion rates in the army. Most of the city was off-limits to military personnel, but that only had the effect of making it more glamorous. Bars that weren't restricted actually put up signs announcing that they were in hopes of increasing business.
The brigadier recited the facts of the case of the AWOL soldier to the computer in a tone of complete and utter contempt. Undoubtedly the cops would find the man's body in an alley, throat slashed, money stolen. And for what? Haupt snorted and made a mental note to have the man's description given to the Laskar police, along with the requisite bribe money to encourage them to look for him.
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