King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  Daniel stood up. He didn't know he was standing until he was on his feet, and then he knew only because he nearly fell. Turning, he gripped the top of the bureau, bent over it, shaking.

  "The real thing is better. Better than anything you've imagined! Of course, you'd have to take off these damn paralyzers—"

  Daniel raised his head, saw her face reflected in the mirror, saw—for a split second—the coldness, the calculation in the black eyes. It was gone in an instant, when she saw he was watching. But, too late . . . too late.

  Whirling, he lurched over to the nightstand, grabbed the injector, pressed it against the woman's arm.

  Torni said nothing, stared up at him. He watched her grimly, waited for the drug to take effect. Her eyes began to lose their focus, the lids grew heavy.

  "All right," she murmured. "So I tried. You can't . . . blame me."

  The eyes closed, flared open. They were clouded, soft. She looked up at him, sighed. "Such a gentle . . . lover."

  She slept.

  Brother Daniel hurled the injector from him. Sinking to his knees, he covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud.

  Night watch, another.

  Maigrey was awake. They were near the end of their journey. She sat in her cabin, located on C deck, next to an anti-grav lift that led directly to the bridge on the deck above. Two slumbering passengers, a rotund human male and robust human female in probably their mid-sixties, had been removed from the cabin to make room for Maigrey. Sparafucile and Agis had carried them, not without difficulty, to other quarters.

  "Lots of meat on those bones," Sparafucile had stated on his return, his ugly face split in a grin. "They will not lose much during hibernation. We take Corasians to see them first, yes?"

  Maigrey had ignored him at the time; the half-breed had a warped sense of humor. But she found herself remembering that remark every time she entered the room, every time she saw the man's clothes, hanging in the closet, the woman's jewels, arranged neatly in a case upon the vanity, photos of what Maigrey supposed must be grandchildren on the night-stand. If something went wrong . . .

  Nothing was going to go wrong. Maigrey put the thought firmly out of her mind, concentrated on completing her calculations on the fuel consumption. Everything had gone smoothly so far, almost too smoothly. They were almost three quarters of the way across the Void. Tomorrow or the next day they would have to leave hyperspace, prepare to enter the Corasian outer defense perimeter. Maigrey almost wished something would go wrong between now and then. Nothing major, mind you, but just enough to propitiate the gods, who—so it was rumored—never liked to see man grow too content.

  She switched on the small desktop computer.

  "Blackjack?" it said brightly.

  "No, bring up—"

  "Craps? Bridge? Solitaire?"

  "No. Bring up the latest fuel consumption reports."

  The computer, aggrieved, did as it was told.

  A knock on the door interrupted her.

  "Enter," said Maigrey, her voice activating the controls. "Put it down there," she ordered, not looking up, thinking it was Raoul with dinner.

  "My lady."

  It wasn't Raoul. Maigrey glanced around, saw Brother Daniel standing in the doorway.

  "I need to talk to you, my lady." His hands were folded, his eyes dutifully cast down. But when he spoke, he raised his eyes level with hers and she saw, in the eyes, the shadow of pain.

  Maigrey sighed, supposing that, after all, she should feel thankful. Her prayer had been answered. Something was undoubtedly wrong.

  "What about your prisoner? You didn't leave her alone?"

  "Raoul has agreed to stay with her for the time being," said Brother Daniel. "She is sleeping now, anyway."

  "Very well. I'll be with you in a minute. I have to finish this first. Shut the door and sit down."

  Brother Daniel did as he was told.

  Maigrey endeavored to complete her complex mathematical figuring, but she was acutely aware of the young priest's presence, though he spoke no word, made no sound.

  "That's enough for today," she informed the computer, finally. The numbers swam before her eyes.

  "Perhaps you'd care to wager on whether or not we have enough fuel to make it back safely to this galaxy?" the computer asked cheerily. "Double or nothing?"

  Maigrey shut it oft turned around to face the priest.

  There'll be enough," she assured him. "Provided we don't take any detours."

  He looked relieved, nodded. A nerve twitched in his face, at the comer of one eye. His hands trembled on his lap, his complexion, normally pale, was gray. He was thin, had visibly lost weight.

  "Brother Daniel, how long has it been since you slept?" Maigrey asked severely. "Or eaten anything? Good God, if you collapse—"

  "I won't," he said with a wan smile. "We're trained to fast. I've been doing it deliberately—fasting, praying." He flushed slightly, his cheeks gaining a semblance of color. "And other things." He pressed his lips together, swallowed.

  Maigrey, taking his meaning, glanced at the back of his shirt, reflected in the vanity mirror behind him. Faint traces of blood could be seen, staining the fabric, evidence of the scourge, self-flagellation. She said nothing, waited for him to continue.

  He saw she understood. "It hasn't helped."

  He drew a deep breath, suddenly left his chair, sank down upon his knees before her. "My lady, may I make my confession to you?"

  Maigrey stared at him, startled. "Brother Daniel, I—I hardly think that would be . . . right. I'm not a priest, as is Lord Sagan. I've never taken holy orders. I can't offer you absolution—"

  "I am aware of this," said Brother Daniel, and his voice had grown firmer, stronger. His gaze fixed on her and it was steady, unwavering. "But you are close to God, my lady. I feel it. I know. The half-breed, Sparafucile, tells me that we will be entering the Corasian galaxy soon, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. We will be in mortal peril from that moment on, won't we, my lady?"

  "Yes," said Maigrey.

  "I could not die at peace with this burden on my soul. Hear my confession, my lady. Part of it concerns you. Part of it requires human forgiveness. As for God, I must put my faith in Him, that He will be understanding."

  "Very well," said Maigrey, growing suddenly cold, fearful.

  Was this all a plot, hatched by the priest and his prisoner? Brother Daniel had never approved this plan. Maybe this was his way out. Was that captain, even now, perhaps, stealing onto the bridge? Sparafucile had been spying on them, but the assassin couldn't watch them all the time. Perhaps he'd missed this.

  It was on the tip of Maigrey's tongue to make some excuse, warn Agis. . . .

  You fool, she told herself. You're panicking. She forced herself to think logically. She herself had seen Captain Corbett yesterday. The woman was still drugged, still only half-conscious about half the time. Raoul had said that even when they quit giving the woman the drug, it would take days for the effects to wear off. Agis was quite capable of dealing with Captain Corbett, if she managed to make it that far. And Sparafucile was undoubtedly close at hand, as he always was, whether anyone wanted him or not.

  "My lady," said the young priest, "I have fallen in love."

  He fell silent, head bowed.

  Not "I am in love" but "I have fallen in love." Fallen. Yes, that's how he would think of it.

  "Is that all?" Maigrey asked, exasperated, speaking before she thought.

  He looked up, stricken, his agony evident in the body's rigid lines, taut muscles, straining tendons, the stripes of blood across the slender shoulder blades.

  "I'm sorry, Brother Daniel," she said, sighing, "but I imagined— I am the one who needs to ask forgiveness."

  "No, you don't, my lady." His voice was almost fierce. "I know what you imagined. And you wouldn't be far wrong. That, too, is part of my sin. I considered betraying you, betraying my lord. I planned, plotted. I thought, time and again, of how it might be done. She and I talked. She
has lucid moments, rational, especially when the drug begins to wear off. It grew harder and harder for me to continue giving her the injections. I—" He choked, was forced to quit speaking, lowered his head again.

  "Brother Fideles," Maigrey said gently, knowing this would hurt, but thinking it might eventually help, "did it ever occur to you that she's been using you? That she doesn't really care for you?"

  "I know," said the young priest quietly. "I'm not such a fool as that. I knew the first day what she was after." He flushed, continued in low tones, "And how she would try to get it. But there have been times, especially lately, when I thought that perhaps . . . that is . . . that she might be coming to care . . ."

  "The woman is a good captain," said Maigrey. This should be cut off swiftly, cleanly, the wound cauterized with flame before it festered. "She cares about one thing and that's her ship, her command, her responsibility to her crew, her passengers. She discovered a weakness in her enemy and took advantage of it, using the only weapon at her disposal. It is unfortunate you got hurt, Brother Fideles, but war is hell."

  He glanced up, to see if she were mocking him, laughing at him. But she was earnest, serious. He went extremely pale.

  "Yes," he said steadily, "you are right. I mean nothing to her."

  "Have you broken your vows of chastity?" Maigrey asked. If he was going to confess, he should dig down to the bottom of his soul.

  "Many times. In my mind only. But there is no difference in the eyes of the Creator," he added swiftly.

  "I give Him a little more credit than that," Maigrey said dryly. "After all, He was the One who developed the concept. It seems to me, Brother, that your besetting sin is the sin of pride, and I believe it is for that you need to beg God's forgiveness."

  "Pride?" Brother Daniel stared at her in confusion.

  "You're one of us now, my friend," said Maigrey, gently smiling. "You're no longer perfect, no longer living up among the angels. You have indeed 'fallen,' fallen to our level. You are human."

  Brother Daniel frowned, not quite understanding, wondering again if she was teasing him. He looked into her eyes, saw sympathy, pity, but also admonition, rebuke.

  "I've been that insufferable?" he asked ruefully.

  "On occasion."

  "Yes. I suppose I have," he admitted after a moment's thought, ashamed. He rose to his feet. "Thank you, my lady. I will return to my duties."

  "I can take you away from her, now, Brother, if you would like," Maigrey offered. "Raoul could—"

  "No, my lady. It is my responsibility. Besides, Tomi—I mean, Captain Corbett—is now fairly certain that I will not succumb to her seductions. I don't believe she'll try anything further."

  No, Maigrey had the feeling the woman knew when she'd been beaten. The young priest was pale but composed, saddened but tranquil. The captain must see, in that face, that she had lost. But did she see, too, what wounds she had inflicted? Did she know what terrible torment the young man had suffered, alone, in the dark? What fevered, aching dreams of desire he had sought to drive out of his mind by torturing his own flesh?

  Maigrey ushered Brother Daniel out the door, watched him wend his way down the corridor.

  War was hell. Before returning to her work, Maigrey promised herself a woman-to-woman talk with Captain Tomi Corbett.

  The night watches came to an end, finally.

  Maigrey stood on the bridge, hands clasping the back of the pilot's chair. She watched, over Agis's shoulder, the numbers flash past until her eyes burned with the strain.

  "And . . . mark, my lady," he reported.

  "Prepare to bring us out of hyperspace."

  "Yes, my lady." He and the half-breed did as commanded.

  Maigrey activated the commlink that would carry her words throughout the slumbering ship.

  "We're coming out of the Jump," she reported. "We are now in the Corasian galaxy."

  A red light flashed, winking ominously. Maigrey saw it, saw Agis's glance at her, making certain she had noticed.

  "In fact, " she added grimly, "we've just tripped one of their alarms. I should say we can expect company almost anytime now. You know what you're supposed to do. Remain calm, and everything will be fine. Secure the ship for reentry."

  Sitting down, she strapped herself in and tried to recall, idly, how much it was you were supposed to pay the ferryman that took you across the river Styx.

  Chapter Two

  About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night . . .

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

  One moment the Corasians were not there and the next moment there were swarms of their small planes flying from the mother ship, surrounding the Galaxy Belle, weaving their tractor beam web around the luxury liner. Fortunately, it was not the Corasian way to shoot first and ask questions later, even against a ship that had violated their territory. Corasians value human technology too much to risk damaging a prize. Far better to haul it off, dismantle it, study it, learn from it, then scavenge the parts.

  And, in addition, the collective mind—that was really quite intelligent, if not particularly creative—was curious. Why was this ship, a pleasure craft, here? It could not possibly have strayed off-course. The Belle must be in their galaxy for a reason and the Corasians were interested in knowing what that reason was.

  "Pass the word for Xris," ordered Maigrey.

  Agis complied, relayed the message to engineering.

  A thin mechanical voice, translated from electronic impulses broadcast by the Corasian mother ship, sounded through the stillness on the bridge, "Alien vessel, you have deliberately flown through our defensive barriers. This is a hostile act. You are our prisoner. Prepare to be boarded. Repeat. Prepare to be boarded."

  "Transmit this message," ordered Maigrey. "Galaxy Belle to Corasian people. We have no hostile intent. This ship is not armed. We have a business proposition."

  "State your business proposition."

  "My lady," said Agis in an undertone, "the tractor beam net is closing around us."

  "Yes, thank you," murmured Maigrey. "This is our proposition. We have nine hundred and seventy-five prime specimens of human flesh aboard this vessel. All adults, in good health, suitable for work or the slaughterhouse. We're seeking a buyer."

  "We do not make deals with aliens who have violated the terms of the treaty between our galaxies and who have entered our territory illegally. Your ship and its cargo are considered contraband and are hereby confiscated. Prepare to be boarded."

  The door slid open. The cyborg entered.

  Maigrey glanced questioningly at him. Xris nodded, pointed at a button on the console on the arm of her chair. "Push that, sister, and they'll think a star went nova. Only it won't be a star. It'll be us."

  "Satisfactory," Maigrey said to Xris. "Galaxy Belle to the Corasian people. This ship is wired to explode. Make any attempt to board, without our permission, and you will lose the vessel and its cargo. Your scanners will verify."

  The Corasians did not respond.

  "We are being scanned, lady-mine," reported Sparafucile.

  Maigrey said nothing, sat back to wait, her hand resting near the button.

  The thin mechanical voice returned. "We ask permission to come aboard and inspect your cargo."

  "Permission granted," said Maigrey with a tight smile, rising to her feet, moving briskly across the deck. "Agis, you have the helm. Xris, Sparafucile, come with me." Pausing in the open door, she turned. "Agis, if I give the command, you know what you must do?"

  "Yes, my lady," he said calmly. His gaze shifted to the button, looked up at her.

  Maigrey, satisfied, went out, the cyborg and the half-breed accompanying her. Sparafucile did not walk with them, but shuffled a few paces behind; either acting as rear guard, or keeping an eye on her, Maigrey could never be certain which.

  She glanced curiously at Xris, who was arming his weapons hand. Cracking open the metal fingers, he removed the gas pellets and darts
appropriate for use in fighting humans. From the compartment in his cybernetic leg, he took out ten objects made of metal, shaped like small torpedoes.

  "My own speciality. A Corasian killer. I designed them myself, after the battle on Shilo. They act like heat-seeking missiles," he explained, inserting the projectiles swiftly and deftly into the fingers of his weapons hand. "They're attracted to the abnormally high temperature of the Corasian, explode on impact."

  "That would shatter the robot body," said Maigrey, eyeing the weapons curiously, "but not the Corasian itself. In feet, it would probably thrive on the energy of the explosion."

  "I thought of that. Each is armed with a small anti-matter charge. Minute, but hopefully enough to disrupt the Corasian energy field and turn them to jelly."

  "Hopefully?" Maigrey raised her eyebrows.

  Xris smiled, clicked shut the fingers of his hand. Lights flashed up and down the artificial arm, accompanied by a series of beeps. The cyborg listened attentively to die tone, watched the lights—that ranged from green to yellow—and appeared satisfied. He relaxed, removed a twist from his uniform pocket, stuck the length of black tobacco in his mouth.

  "I haven't exactly had a chance to test them yet, sister."

  "You'll undoubtedly have the opportunity before this is ended, but not here, not now. The last thing we want at this point is a fight."

  She was aware of the half-breed's shambling footsteps behind her. He had crept up to examine, over Xris's shoulder, the new weaponry, then had resumed his place again. It was interesting, Maigrey noted, that his footfalls could be heard when he wanted them to be heard; that he could move as silently as the night if he didn't.

  "Apparently they don't want a fight either. Not much chance we'll have to use that button now," said Xris, lighting the twist with a flick of his hand. "They're hooked."

  "There never was much doubt. They didn't dare risk losing a catch like this. They've got us and they know it. What harm in stringing us along?"