"Bosk ..." Ohme ordered.
Maigrey raised her right hand, opened it palm out, for the Adonian to see. "I wouldn't," she said softly.
The green-tinted sunlight, now darkened to a sullen brown-gray by the storm clouds, shone on five scars, five puncture marks in the palm. The Adonian sank back into his chair, knees giving way, his body gone nerveless.
"Bring the bomb," he ordered Bosk.
The associate cast a sharp, questioning look at the Adonian. Receiving no oblique sign, Bosk did as he was told. He crossed the room, stood before what appeared to be a blank wall of black marble, placed his hand on an unseen panel, and spoke several words softly, beneath his breath. The panel slid aside. Maigrey couldn't see clearly from her angle, but the first panel apparently opened on a second, because Bosk was forced to perform a similar ritual. There came the sound of metal scraping against rock. He thrust his arm into the opening in the wall and spoke again, then withdrew it slowly. In his hands, he held gingerly, reverently—as the knights of old might have held the Holy Grail—a crystal cube.
Bringing it over, he set the cube on the desk in front of Snaga Ohme.
Maigrey studied it, feeling relief, mingled with disappointment. She was relieved she didn't have to transport something the size of a neutron bomb, vet what kind of bomb could this be?
The crystal cube was solid, stood about ten centimeters high, and was ten wide. Inside the cube, embedded in the crystal, was a pyramid made of pure gold. A small, flat computer keyboard containing numerous small keys—twenty-six, by Maigrey's hasty count—adorned the cube's top. The point of the pyramid was connected to the underside of the keyboard. Maigrey studied the keys; each bore a symbol, unrecognizable.
She retrieved the rosewood box, tucked it beneath the folds of the chador. "Most impressive—for a paperweight."
Hardly, my lady. Pick it up, a voice invited.
It wasn't the Adonian who spoke. It was Sagan.
Maigrey shivered. The words were a spear driven through her body. Fearfully, she looked behind her, expecting to see him step out of the walls.
No one else was in the room. She was alone. Slowly, she stretched out her hands, touched and lifted the crystal cube.
She wasn't quite alone, however. Bosk and Snaga Ohme were still there, apparently, though they seemed as distant from her as if they'd been standing on Laskar's sun. She was vaguely aware that, when she lifted the bomb, both leapt to their feet. Bosk was yammering about something, threatening somebody. Snaga Ohme was remonstrating with the man, seemingly. Maigrey couldn't hear him distinctly, didn't care what he said. She heard only the voice inside her head, inside her being.
Do you know what you hold, my lady?
"No."
Think back, Maigrey, remember a time long ago. Color, quark, beauty . . . death.
Color, quark, beauty, death—a strange litany.
And then she knew. All feeling left her fingers. Numb, chilled, she held on to the cube only out of desperation.
A color bomb. Space-rotation bomb.
It had long been theorized that if the quarks of an atom could be pulled apart and the color bond which held them together stretched to its limit, the space between them could be rotated in such a way that, upon release, the quarks rushing back together would collide, totally annihilating matter, producing pure energy.
This was similar to the principle by which objects were able to travel faster than the speed of light. But this theory was the dark side, the unholy side. For once begun, the explosion would set off a chain reaction, affecting atom after atom. Annihilation would spread, instantaneously. Theoretically the explosion would stop . . . eventually ... far out in space where matter was reduced to a single atom drifting in a vast void. But not before entire solar systems had died a flaming death. And there were certain scientists—mostly liberals of a bleeding heart variety—who had speculated that the horrific forces unleashed might tear a hole in the universe, destroying everything in the galaxy and beyond instantly, utterly. A rent in creation's fragile fabric.
No one, until now, had been blessed—or cursed—with the temerity, the audacity, the means and ability to construct a space-rotation bomb. King Starfire had never permitted it, refused even to discuss it. President Robes had purportedly made overtures to Congress, seeking funds to begin research and development, but the aforementioned liberals created such a public furor in the press that Congress always overwhelmingly voted against it.
Robes might have proceeded with the project under the sheltering cloak of galactic security but the scientific community and the press—eagerly watching for just such a slip—would have pounced on him, gone for the throat.
Sagan was another matter. The Warlord had grown so powerful, possessed such wealth and military might, that he could tell Congress to go to hell.
And now he had the means of sending them there.
Or rather, Maigrey thought, I have it.
Ultimate power. The rulership of the galactic empire. The lives . . . the deaths ... of trillions upon trillions. Et tibi dabo claves regni caelorum. She held, in her hands, the keys to the kingdom of heaven.
Yes, my lady, you hold ultimate power. And how you long for it! The scar may be upon your face, but it cuts deeper. It cuts to the soul!
The scar. The flaw. The fatal flaw. The taint in the Blood Royal. Born and bred to rule—the ability to utilize power became the need to utilize it, then need became desire, desire degenerated to lust.
"And why shouldn't I rule?" Maigrey asked, hands clutching the crystal cube, fingers caressing the smooth, cold sides, the sharp, biting corners pricking her skin. "I would restore the monarchy. My rule would be fair, just, wise. I would teach Dion, raise him up to become a king!"
A sparkle of light, bright and pure and cold, caught her eye, chilled the fever burning in her blood. The starjewel, the Star of the Guardians, the symbol of her pledge to serve a king, not become one.
"I suppose I should be like Galadriel in the old storybook," she said bitterly. "'Diminish, and go into the west.' I won't, my lord! The hobbit has given me the ring and, by God, I'm going to use it!"
You forget, lady, that I alone possess the energy source needed to activate it, I only know the code that will start the sequence.
That was logical. Sagan had provided Ohme with the theory, the design, had allowed the Adonian to build the bomb, but the Warlord would have been a fool to place the means to explode it in Ohme's grasp. An energy source, something only Sagan could use, something to which only he had access. That shouldn't be too difficult to figure out, once she had the opportunity to examine the weapon.
As for the code, for anyone but her, coming up with that would be practically impossible. The symbols on the top of the box probably represented other symbols—what? It could be anything: numbers, an alphabet, musical notations. A computer could be programmed to randomly generate all the possibilities and discover the right one, but—using all the known languages in the galaxy, all the numerical systems—it would take lifetimes.
And then Maigrey knew. She knew at least the key to the code, and once she knew that . . .
"You are clever, my lord. A forgotten poet, writing in a forgotten language. But there is one person who remembers. I remember, my lord. I remember and I've been aware of the poet, for he's been in your mind of late. And, knowing the poet, it should not be difficult to come up with the poem—"
Sagan didn't answer, but she sensed his doubt, his confusion, and she knew she was right.
And then he was gone. He wasn't defeated. He had another move to make, she was certain. But, for now, she controlled the board, she was winning the game. It was an exhilarating and highly unusual feeling.
Bosk was still carrying on about something. Maigrey gradually became aware of his existence, returned to the reality around her. The man was red-faced, shouting, but he hadn't laid a hand on her. He didn't dare.
The might and the majesty of the Blood Royal surrounded her, guarded her like a f
orce field. She could feel it crackle and spark. She could draw on it, bring this mansion down around Ohme's shell-shaped ears if she wanted. Melt the wiring! She would melt stone, melt flesh!
Snaga Ohme, on the other hand, was calm, in control, though he watched her narrowly.
And then it occurred to Maigrey that she was in possession of the starjewel and the bomb.
"I could walk out with both of them," she said to the Adonian. "Leave you with nothing. It would be nothing more than what you deserved, after all, for trying to double-cross my lord."
"Yes, my lady—whoever you are—you could." Snaga Ohme smiled; the liquid eyes were limpid pools of oil. "You can murder me where I stand, slay me with a touch, a look. But you won't. You're a Guardian. And with your great strength comes a great weakness: honor. Even Sagan, whose heart is said to be made of adamant, suffers from this curse. Honor is the crack in the armor. It destroyed most of you, years ago. It will destroy you who are left."
Maigrey was only half-listening. She felt a sense of urgency, suddenly, could hear the ticking of a clock. Sagan was on his way, coming to claim his "pearl of great price," his keys to the kingdom of heaven.
I have preparations to make, Maigrey realized. I can't waste time discussing honor with a man who probably doesn't know how to spell it.
She tucked the bomb awkwardly beneath her arm—the thing was heavy and difficult to hold properly, but she'd be damned if she'd set it down—and fumbled in the folds of the chador. Producing the rosewood box, she held it out to the Adonian.
Snaga Ohme's fingers closed on the box. Maigrey's, suddenly, couldn't let it go.
She saw the jewel again as she had seen it moments before, sparkling with its blue-white flame. But she couldn't really see it. The jewel was hidden in the box, shrouded in her black robes.
The scar on her face began to throb painfully. Her power was starting to crumble. She saw Snaga Ohme cast a quick, meaningful glance at his cohort, saw Bosk's lips part in an answering smile.
Swiftly, Maigrey released the box, almost threw it into the Adonian’s grasping hand. He snatched it away, pressed it close to his breast.
"One of the footmen will show you out, Major."
Maigrey inclined her head, heard the rustle of the dark fabric of the veil. She was incapable of speech, wanted only to be away from this place. Concealing the bomb in the black winding cloth of the chador, she left without a backward glance.
"The woman's on her way," Bosk reported.
Snaga Ohme didn't hear his cohort. The Adonian stood near the window, gazing at the radiant, shimmering starjewel with a rapturous expression, his fingers running over it, delighting in every carved facet of the rare gemstone.
Realizing that Ohme would be absorbed in the covetous contemplation of his prize for at least the next several hours, if not the next several days, Bosk was heading for the door, about to remove his unwanted self, when a hoarse, strangled cry arrested him.
"Boss? What?" Bosk whirled around in alarm, hand on his lasgun, with some wild thought that the fey woman had returned and was crawling in through the window.
Snaga Ohme remained alone and unharmed, however, staring at the starjewel, but his rapt gaze had been replaced by one of cunning and triumphant understanding.
"This is it!" Ohme breathed, holding the jewel in his hands, thrusting it forward for Bosk to see.
Bosk didn't see, however, and remained staring at his friend with a puzzled expression.
Ohme's head snapped up. "The woman! I want her!"
"But she's out the gate, boss. The remote just reported—"
"Damn!" The Adonian scowled, impervious to the fact that he was inflicting masses of wrinkles on himself. "Go after her, Bosk! Bring her back!"
"But what if she won't come?"
"Then shoot her!"
"But you just said you wanted her—"
"Dolt! Idiot!" The Adonian gazed greedily once more at the starjewel, then thrust it into a pocket. Suddenly, he darted forward, grabbed Bosk by the cheeks and kissed him resoundingly on his forehead. "Beloved Bosk! It's not her I want! It's the bomb! Don't you understand? The bomb!"
"But you made a deal—"
"Ah, you know my motto, Bosk. Caveat emptor! Yes, beloved Bosk, caveat emptor indeed!"
Chapter Nine
Caveat emptor.
Let the buyer beware.
Ancient Roman dictum
Entering the tram car, Maigrey sank back into the cushy seat. She kept hold of the bomb; her hands burned against its cold, smooth crystal surface, as if she were touching a block of ice with wet fingers. Her thoughts were in tatters, streaming away from her before she could catch hold of them, blown by the twisting winds of exultation, confusion, and a vague horror of herself. The tram car trusted that she'd had a joyous and prosperous meeting with its master and asked if she'd like anything to read.
The journey to the gate was uneventful. The remote at the gate eyed the bomb with its glassy optics, and Maigrey tensed, but apparently the remote had orders to let her out with it safely. The gate opened, the force field's hum altered in tone, and she was safely off of Snaga Ohme's estate. Maigrey breathed a sigh of relief, caught herself doing so, and realized then that somewhere in the jumble of her confused mental state had been the warning that Ohme would try to recover his property.
"Honest as an Adonian," so the saying went, and it wasn't intended as a plaudit.
The remotes had brought the hoverjeep around. Maigrey inspected it thoroughly before entering. The beam rifle had been reactivated, as previously agreed. The vehicle had not been sabotaged, though she did find a tracking device, cleverly concealed.
She considered removing it, decided to leave it. Why make things difficult? Maigrey climbed in the jeep, placed the bomb carefully on the seat beside her, adjusted the beam rifle within easy reach. Activating the jeep, she sped down the steep, rocky path that led away from the Adonian's estate. She noticed that it had rained heavily while she'd been inside the Adonian's. Large puddles dotted the driveway and in the distance was the rumble of thunder. Apparently Ohme's force field kept out rain as well as locusts.
Steering the hoverjeep, concentrating on her driving gave her mind a focal point, enabled her to gather the remnants of her thoughts, weave them together, and cover the inner turmoil with a soothing blanket. She considered the warning her instincts had provided. Yes, undoubtedly Ohme would try to regain the bomb. It was logical, made perfect business sense. He had other buyers, he had the starjewel. What was stopping him?
Maigrey could almost hear his report to the Warlord.
"A pity about the poor woman, but, my dear Lord Sagan, I can't be held responsible! Laskar's been plagued by roving bands of drug addicts. The wretches will steal anything to support their foul habit. I warned Haupt not to allow the woman to travel alone. I did indeed. The thieves stole everything, or so I read in the police report. Hoverjeep, beam rifle, the jewel, the bomb. ... I haven't the vaguest idea where it is now, my lord. You might try the local pawn shops. ..."
Sagan would know differently, of course. He would know who really had the bomb—or who had undoubtedly already sold it to someone else by that time. But the Adonian's crime would be difficult to prove. Any retaliatory attack against Ohme would be costly and futile. The bomb would be gone. The other warlords and powerful people in the galaxy who depended on Snaga Ohme's genius would be extremely upset with Sagan for damaging their pet weapons manufacturer. And, like it or not, when the time came for Sagan to make his move, he would need those people as allies. He would also, much as he hated to admit it, need Snaga Ohme.
"I'll have to be ready for them." Maigrey had fallen into the habit of talking to herself during her long years of exile. "That shouldn't be too difficult. Ohme may be a genius when it comes to designing weapons, but the only strategic maneuvers Adonians practice are in bed!"
It would be an ambush, Maigrey decided. She'd be attacked before she arrived back at the base.
That settled, she
was able to give other matters consideration. And she came to the conclusion that her true danger wasn't Snaga Ohme. Her true danger was the clock. The Warlord was moving nearer to Laskar with each passing second, and she wasn't ready for him. Now this stupid ambush would delay her further. It was all very irritating!
Maigrey reached the end of the drive, steered the hover-jeep onto a highway, known locally as Snaga's Road. The highway was a magnificent stretch of concrete, eight lanes, and had been designed to accommodate nearly every type of vehicle, from the old-fashioned, wheeled motor cars preferred by the romantic to the modern, air-cushioned jet and hover craft.
The highway led from the Adonian's estate into Laskar city proper. It had been built at great expense with galactic citizens' tax dollars and it was used once a year—the night of Ohme's famous party. On that evening, the highway would be jammed with vehicles, all traveling one direction.
Maigrey paused at the intersection of Ohme's drive and Ohme's road, considering. She could take this highway, the route she'd come, or she could cut across country.
"I can't throw off pursuit," she mused aloud, drumming her fingers on the steering mechanism, "nor do I necessarily want to. I don't want to make Ohme work too hard. The bastard might accidentally come up with something clever. Then there are those damned mountains, between here and the fort. They're not particularly tall, but crossing them will be time-consuming. I'm not that familiar with the countryside; I certainly can't afford to wander around lost! Blast the Adonian anyhow!" Maigrey pulled down the veil covering her mouth and nose; it seemed to be suffocating her. "I'll keep to the main road . . . and hope we get this over with soon!" The hover-jeep shot forward, roaring along the almost empty stretch of pavement.
Maigrey's hand toyed with the commlink controls. "I could call Haupt, tell him I'm in trouble. . . . No. The poor man's nervous enough, imagining he's responsible for me to the Warlord. Haupt'd probably send an entire armored division complete with air support to my rescue!" Maigrey's hand moved to the cool crystal of the bomb. "And the fewer who know about this, the better."
King's Test Page 19