Ghost Legion (49 page)

"Look, sir, my lord, if you'd give me more details, then I could
decide few myself."

Sagan did not turn around. He shook his head.

"This is just dandy." Tusk swore. "You don't trust me.
I sure as hell don't trust you—"

"It's not that, Mendaharin Tusca," Sagan interrupted, still
keeping watch out the window. "You have a pregnant wife, a
child. I presume you don't want them involved. Though," he added
in a lower voice, "some people already think you know too much.
Come here." He motioned toward the window.

Tusk hesitated a moment, then stepped forward.

"Look outside," Sagan said.

Suspecting a trick, Tusk peered out through the chink in the blind.
"What the hell am I looking at beside a whole lotta concrete?"

"The woman sitting on the bench out in front of the grocery
store fanning herself. Do you know her?"

Tusk looked at her intently—again. She'd thrown away the pop
can. "No." He shrugged. "That doesn't mean a lot. We
do a roaring tourist trade around here—"

"She knows you," Sagan said coolly. "She followed you
here."

"From my home?"

"From your home. They know where you live. They've had you under
surveillance for a week now."

Tusk eyed Sagan. "You did this to me."

"You did this to yourself, Tusca. When you befriended a
seventeen-year-old boy and helped make him a king."

Tusk peered back out at the woman. It
was
odd, her sitting
there like that in the middle of the day. "Meaning to say that
I'm already involved, no matter what I decide."

"Perhaps." Sagan shrugged. "Perhaps not. They
might
forget about you ... about your wife and child...."

Tusk took another look at the woman on the bench. Irritably, he
snapped the blind shut.

"This has all happened too fast. You gotta give me some time."

"We don't have time," said the Warlord. "They are
watching you. I don't believe they have penetrated Banquo's disguise,
but they'll soon figure out who I am and then they'll start watching
me. This room is the one safe place where we can talk without being
overheard."

"There's the Scimitar. ..."

Sagan shook his head.

Tusk stared at him. "You're saying they've got it bugged? Naw,
that's crazy!"

Sagan lifted an eyebrow. "Is it? Think back. Have you had any
customers in the last two weeks?"

Tusk tried to think. He was beginning to feel as if he were sinking
deeper and deeper into dark water.

"No. Business hasn't been all that great," he said glumly.
"Hell! Wait a minute, though. They decided we weren't what they
had in mind, but they went on board, took a look around ... Shit!

"If you're right, I'm already in this." Tusk glowered. "I'm
in this up to my goddam neck. And I still think
you're
responsible!"

The Warlord had no comment. A slight smile tugged at his lips; it did
not warm the eyes.

Tusk turned on his heel, walked toward the door. He had his hand on
the handle, was opening the door when Sagan spoke.

"If you go home, they'll grab you, your wife and your child.
They can't afford to leave witnesses. On the other hand, if you and
Lazarus Banquo leave now, we can board the Scimitar and be off-planet
before they know what's happened. Once we're away, you can send a
message to your wife, warn her to flee to a place of safety."

Tusk stood a moment, then he yanked open the door, stalked out of the
room, slammed the door shut behind him. Clutching the computer disk
in his hand, he tromped angrily down the hall, took the fire stairs
instead of the elevator, came storming out into the front lobby.

Rozzle was standing at the reception desk. "I'm sorry, Tusk. If
there's anything . . ."

Tusk walked over to the front entrance. "Did Link get home all
right?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I had one of the girls drive him. Tusk, I—"

Tusk's eyes flicked in the direction of the woman seated in front of
the grocery store. She sat fanning herself in the heat, looking up
and down the road as if she were waiting for someone.

Turning, he walked back to the desk. "Rozzle, do me a favor.
Send a message to Banquo. Tell him I've gone to get
our
Scimitar ready for liftoff. He can meet me there whenever he's
ready."

Rozzle grimaced, shook his head. "That fat bastard. Sure, I'll
tell him. Look, Tusk, again, I'm really sorry . .."

"Forget it," Tusk said grimly. "It's not your fault."

He left the motel, walked across the parking lot. Climbing into the
jeep, he kicked it into gear, drove off. He took a quick glance in
the rearview mirror.

The woman was gone.

By a knight of ghosts and shadows

I summoned am to tourney

Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end.

Anonymous, "Tom O'Bedlam"

"Open up, XJ!" Tusk bawled, banging on top of the
Scimitar's hatch. "Hurry up! I'm about to fry out here in the
sun!"

The hatch whirred open slowly. Tusk tumbled down the ladder. The
Scimitar's interior was dark and sweltering hot.

"Tusk, is that you?" came an irritable voice, which sounded
as if it had been awakened from a nap.

"Jeez, turn the air on, will you?" Tusk said mopping his
brow with his shirttail. "It's like a goddam oven in here!"
"If you think I am going to waste fuel—" "Shut
up and do it," Tusk growled, in no mood to argue. "We've
got a—" he swallowed, "new owner and he—"
"What?" XJ screeched.

"You heard me," said Tusk, glancing around the plane
nervously. He knew he wouldn't be able to spot the listening devices,
but he couldn't help looking. "Link lost his share of the
spaceplane in an ante-up game. The new owner's coming to ... uh ...
take it out for a spin. So get ready for liftoff. Oh, and while
you're at it"—he tried to sound casual—"run the
routine system check for bugs."

"New owner—! Link lost—! Bugs—" XJ's
circuits were overloading. The computer sizzled and crackled
incoherently. "There are no bugs on
my
plane. He won't
find so much as a cockroach—"

Tusk swung himself down into the cockpit. Crouching over the
computer, he hissed, "Listening devices, you RAMless idiot! Run
the
routine program!
"

"Routine program? What routine—" Tusk gave the
computer a swift thump. "Oh!" XJ's lights blinked
viciously. "
That
routine program. Why didn't you say so?
Not that I'll find any—I'll be damned."

Tusk grunted. Collapsing into the chair, he lowered his aching head
into his hands.

"You want me to get rid of them?" XJ asked in subdued
tones.

"No," Tusk snarled, "I want to keep them for pets!"

"Gee, aren't
we
in a mood today?" XJ said loftily.

There was silence, then the report. "All clear. Who planted
them— What in the name of ROM are you doing?"

Tusk was staring at himself in one of the steel panels, poking and
pulling at his skin.

"I think I am," he said.

"Am what? Crazy? Yeah, I could have told you—"

"No. My skin. I think I've turned white." Tusk put his nose
to the steel plate, ran his hands over his face.

"Would you at least
try
to make sense?" XJ demanded
irritably. "What happened to the plane? Who's the new owner?
Someone with a brain, I trust."

"I've heard about things like this," Tusk said, examining
his hands. "People have a sudden shock. Their hair turns white
overnight—"

"
Hair
turns white! Hair! Hair! It happens to hair, not to
skin, you moron. What happened to the plane?" XJ howled.

"Link got in an ante-up game—" Tusk began.

"Is that
him
?" XJ interrupted, shocked.

"Who?"

"The new owner. Outside. I can't believe this—"

"Switch on the cam," Tusk said, sounding nervous.

An image appeared on the vidscreen. It was Lazarus Banquo, in his
air-chair, jetting across the tarmac.

Tusk jumped to his feet. "Open up the cargo bay. We'll get him
on board through that."

"Shall I rig up a winch?" asked XJ sarcastically.

Tusk whipped around, glared at the computer. "You might be
interested to know that he owns the half of the plane that has you in
it."

"I'm not surprised," XJ retorted. "An intelligent,
sensible-looking gentleman like that would immediately recognize my
talents—"

Tusk left to open the cargo bay.

"A fine-looking plane, sir. Fine-looking,'' said Lazarus Banquo,
rubbing his hands together. Safely ensconced inside the Scimitar, he
drove his chair around the passenger compartment. "I see you've
made a few improvements—"

"We took care of the bugs," Tusk interrupted. "You can
... uh ... make yourself comfortable now."

Without waiting for a response, he headed again for the cockpit and
began running through his systems check. He could hear, up above,
what sounded like a balloon deflating.

"Well be ready for liftoff in about thirty minutes. Sorry it's
taking so long, but I had all the systems shut down to save on fuel—"

"My
idea, sir," the computer chimed in, talking in
dulcet tones. "You'll find we run an extremely efficient ship,
Mr. uh ... I don't believe we have been introduced. Who is this
gentleman, Tusca?"

XJ sent a mild electrical jolt through Tusk's fingers.

"Ouch! Jeez!" Tusk snatched his hand back. "You—!"
He paused, then said sweetly, "I'm pretty busy right now, XJ.
Why don't you go up and introduce yourself to our new owner?"

"I'll just do that." XJ popped into its remote unit.

Small arms wiggling, it soared up from the cockpit and into the
Scimitar's main cabin. Tusk stood up to watch.

"How do you do, sir? I am XJ-27 and I'm the one who really
runs—"

XJ's optics flared. It gave a wild
eep,
then, with a strange
sound—a sort of an electronic gargle—the remote went dark
and crashed to the deck with a thud.

The lights went out; air-conditioning and life-support systems shut
down. Tusk fumbled for a nuke lamp. Switching the beam on, he climbed
up the ladder, flashed the light around.

Lord Sagan stood on the deck. XJ's remote unit lay at his feet,
wobbling back and forth. Then it slowly rolled to a stop.

"My God," said Tusk, awed, "I think you've killed it."

The Warlord actually smiled.

"If that's the case, I have an FNCB 67 in my volksrocket. We can
make the transfer—"

Lights on the remote flickered, flashed on, went out, came back on,
dimmed a moment, but the computer hung in there. Cool air began to
blow into the cabin once again.

"Where . . . where am I?" asked XJ feebly.

"If we're finished with the theatrics," Sagan said grimly,
"and if there's any water, I'm going to take a shower." He
was still pulling plastiskin off his face.

"There's . . . there's water, m-my lord," stammered XJ, a
glitch fluttering its audio. "Lots of water. More water than you
could possibly want ... ever."

The Warlord stripped off the remains of Lazarus Banquo, then squeezed
himself into the small shower unit.

Tusk, trying hard to keep a straight face, went back down to the
cockpit. XJ followed, the remote unit breathing down Tusk's neck.

"Why didn't you tell me?" the computer demanded, seething.
"I could have shorted out! I think I did melt down two whole
boards. Was that ... is that ... Derek Sagan?"

"Yes," said Tusk, flipping switches.

"Alive?" XJ's lights blinked nervously. "I mean . ..
you saw him, too, didn't you?"

"Alive as I am," said Tusk. "Maybe more. The sight of
him just about sent
me
six feet under."

"
He
won the plane from Link? Sagan . . . owns us?"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down. You might say we were his all
along," Tusk muttered. Hearing the water begin to run, he
breathed a little easier.

"This is your fault," said XJ in gloomy tones. "I know
it is. What does he want with you?"

"Us," Tusk corrected. "You remember that Ghost Legion
business?"

"Ghost Legion . .." XJ's light brightened. "They
offered us a job. They were willing to pay good money—"

"We'll be lucky if we live to cash the check. I don't know much
about the deal. He"—Tusk glanced back nervously at the
shower door—"wouldn't tell me the details. But it has to
do with Dion. The kid's in some kind of danger and—"

"From Sagan?"

"Jeez! Keep quiet, will you?" Tusk broke out in a cold
sweat. "No, not from Sagan. At least Sagan says it's not from
him. Damn, I wish I knew what was going on!"

"So who had the plane bugged? Did Sagan do that?"

Tusk shook his head. "Naw. He warned me about it. I don't know
who, for sure, but I could make a guess—"

"The Ghost Legion."

"It's got to be. They asked me questions about Dion. I thought
I'd convinced them that he and I had called it quits, but either they
didn't believe me or ..."

"Or what?"

"Or Sagan convinced them otherwise He got me into this on
purpose."

"Because you could help Dion?"

Tusk was quiet a moment, then—after another glance at the
shower door—he said Softly, "Maybe because I can
get
to Dion. I know if I was Dion, I wouldn't let the Warlord within a
light-year of me."

"You think Sagan's setting you up for the galaxy's biggest
sucker? If so, he's come to the right place."

Tusk mulled this over. "I thought so, at first. Part of me still
does. But part of me doesn't. You saw that elaborate scheme he cooked
up to keep from being spotted himself. He fooled me—"

"I knew who he was. All along," XJ protested. "Recognized
him the moment he appeared on the screen. I was just putting you on—"

Tusk ignored the computer. "And he's been living in the disguise
for who knows how long? All that padding must weigh a metric ton. To
say nothing of sitting cramped in that chair for hours on end, unable
to move, his face all covered with plastiskin. ..