Ghost Legion (72 page)

Kamil had no idea where they were going. They marched down the
corridor, down several corridors, took a lift, marched down another
corridor. People stared at them, but no one interfered, most probably
figuring the less they knew about this the better.

She kept close watch, afraid Tusk would try some sort of trick, maybe
lead her back to her own room. She dared not ask Lady Maigrey, for
fear Tusk would overhear, and the lady was keeping silent, perhaps
for the same reason.

But they obviously weren't going to the detention center.

"This isn't the way to the prison cells," she said in a low
voice to Tusk, after they'd just passed the Officer's Club.

"Dion's not being held in the brig," Tusk said out of the
corner of his mouth. "Flaim wants to keep him close by, keep an
eye on him."

That made sense, Kamil supposed. And it gave her something else to
worry about. Running into the prince would be unfortunate.

"Faster," she said to Tusk.

He obeyed, shaking his head. They rounded a corner. The number of
people roaming the corridors had steadily decreased. The corridor
they turned into was empty, except for two guards standing duty in
front of a door located at the very end.

Kamil's heart quickened with excitement.

Tusk strode forward. The guards came to attention, looked at Tusk and
his escort quizzically.

"I'm to lock this man up with the ki—Usurper," Kamil
told them. "Open up."

Rather to her surprise and considerably to her relief, the guard
obeyed her without question. One said something into a commlink. The
door slid open.

Lord Derek Sagan stood inside.

And I would hear yet once before I perish

The voice which was my music—Speak to me!

George Gordon, Lord Byron,
Manfred

"What's this?" Sagan demanded. "What have you done
now? Gotten yourself arrested?"

Tusk jerked a thumb back at Kamil. "Claims I owe her money."

"Do you?"

"Maybe. I thought it was just a friendly game." Tusk
shrugged. "Anyway, I haven't got it. I told her that, being my
employer, you held the plastic."

"We will discuss this in private," Sagan said grimly.

Kamil was caught. She could do nothing, and her mentor appeared to
have forsaken her. She walked into the Warlord's quarters. The door
slid shut behind her.

Tusk disarmed her easily. "Guess who?" He took off her
helmet.

Kamil emerged, flushed, defiant. "You bastard," she said to
Tusk.

"Sorry, sister." He sounded bone tired. "I'm only
doing my job. She drew this on me." He handed the lasgun over to
Sagan. "Ordered me to take her to Dion. I think she's got some
idea of bustin' the kid out. Don't ask me how she got loose." He
glanced at her, shook her head. "Maybe she's been takin' a
correspondence course in commando training. Learn to Kill for Fun and
Profit. Anyhow, she made a pretty neat job of it."

"Indeed." Sagan eyed her with interest.

"I figured I better bring her here. You'd know how to keep her
outta mischief. Either that or I could lock her up on board the
Scimitar. XJ'd watch her."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," the Warlord
responded wryly. "Her instructor might be prepared to give her
flight lessons.' His tone grew stern. "Does anyone know you're
gone?'

She stood mute, refusing to talk.

"There was probably a guard," Tusk offered. "She said
something about shooting one guy already. They won't find him until
they change guard at 2400—"

"Unless he's supposed to report in on the hour," Sagan
said. He was silent, thoughtful, then looked up at Tusk. "Go to
the girl's quarters. I'll deactivate the security lock. Enter and
dispose of that guard—"

"What am I supposed to do with him? Flush him down the toilet?"

"I don't care what you do with him," Sagan snapped,
irritated at the interruption. "Just arrange it so that no one
finds him for at least twelve hours. Then fix the girl's room to make
it appear that she's left. Permanently. Do you understand?"

"No, but that never seems to bother anyone," Tusk muttered.

Sagan chose to ignore him.

"When that is finished, you must proceed with the plan."

"Why tonight, if you don't mind my askin'—"

"There is a possibility—a very good possibility—that
Flaim will detonate the bomb tomorrow."

Tusk swore. "Great! That's just fuckin' great!" He swore
again, then said, "Let's suppose that by some miracle I get
everyone convinced that they want to seize control of the ship. Just
when are we supposed to do it?"

"You will know."

"How?"

Tusk waited for an answer, but the Warlord remained silent.

"You're not even going to give me a damn signal?" Tusk
shouted.

"Keep your voice down. The less you know, Tusca, the better for
you and everyone. Don't worry," Sagan added dryly, "you
won't have any trouble recognizing it."

"A bomb blast does sorta tend to get your attention," Tusk
said bitterly. He sighed. "This is goddam impossible. Look, my
Lord, Kamil here's got a good idea. Why don't we just spring the kid,
take him—and us—out of danger?"

"First, Dion would not go. Second, I doubt if even you,
Mendaharin Tusca, could shoot your way through a fleet of warships.
Third, you will need a ship of this size and a loyal crew in order to
rescue the queen. Fourth, there are the dark-matter creatures. What
do you intend to do about them? Fifth, you would not achieve the
major objective."

"Which is?" Tusk asked. He looked subdued.

"My problem. And we are running out of time. I suggest you get
on with it."

Sagan turned to the computer, called up data on the security system.

Kamil, bewildered and amazed and apparently forgotten, had shrunk
back into a corner.

Tusk started to leave, paused by the door. "You're aware, my
lord, that Cynthia may just decide I'm a traitor and shoot me on the
spot?"

Sagan did not glance around. "That is a risk. But one I'm
willing to take."

"Yeah, well, just so you don't eat your heart out worryin about
me." Tusk glowered, glanced over at Kamil. "Say hello to
your dad and brothers for me. And don't
you
worry,
everything's going to be okay."

"Contact me on the bloodlink I gave you when you have the ship
secure," the Warlord ordered, as Tusk put his hand on the door
control.

Tusk snorted. "You've got a helluva lot of confidence in me."

"As I told your earlier," Sagan replied, "there is
much of your father in you."

Tusk stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he shook his head and left.

The Warlord continued to work on the computer. Worn out by fear and
excitement, Kamil began to shake.

"I've been a fool," she said in a small voice.

Sagan made no response. He might not have heard her.

Kamil rubbed her burning eyes, leaned her head back. She was too hot.
There seemed far too little air to breathe. She tugged at the
tight-fitting body armor.

"Sit down. Lower your head between your knees," Sagan
instructed, still not bothering to look at her.

Kamil did as she was told, sinking down to sit on the deck. She
rested her arms on her knees, her back bent, her head almost touching
the deck. Surprisingly, she felt better.

Sagan switched on the commlink. "Put me through to Prince
Starfire. Yes, it's urgent. Tell him the Olefsky girl has tried to
escape."

Kamil was on her feet. "No! They'll take me back—"

Sagan flashed her a warning glance, raised a warding hand.

"Yes, Your Highness. I have her. The girl had help. The man who
was supposed to be guarding her has disappeared. No, she hasn't told
me who her accomplice was—so far. I will continue to
interrogate her." A pause, listening. Then, "I think it
best if she remains in my custody, Your Highness. At least until I
discover who assisted her. I have moved her to a different cell block
and doubled the guard. Very good, Your Highness. Has Pantha reported
back?"

Sagan listened again. His expression grew dark, the eyes shadowed.
His lips tightened until they were nothing more than a thin slash
across his face. The shadow spread from him throughout the room.

"I see." Sagan spoke quietly. "The creatures told him
that. What does he think?"

Again silence. His gaze abstracted, he stared into the shadows.

"I am afraid I must agree with him," the Warlord replied.
"The creatures are no longer to be trusted They have become a
distinct menace. We are all in danger. Is Pantha still in the
alcazar?"

The Warlord's expression darkened still further, eyes narrowed. A
flame flickered deep within. His voice betrayed no hint of his
obvious disquiet. "Yes, I find that odd myself. But at least if
the creatures are not around this ship, we are safe for the moment.
When will Pantha return?"

He asked the question casually enough, but his hand clenched tightly
as he waited for the answer. When it came, he relaxed, the fingers
uncurled. He smiled, dark and mirthless. "Probably the wisest
course, although I doubt if he will accomplish much by remaining on
Vallombrosa longer. I am going to go make the rounds of the other
ships in the fleet, place them on full-alert status. . . .

"I will endeavor to do so, Your Highness," he added after
another pause, "and I appreciate the compliment, but if I am
late, I suggest you proceed. Pantha's starjewel will arm the bomb as
well as mine."

The transmission ended. Sagan stood in silence, staring at nothing,
absorbed in his thoughts, which must have been terrible ones, to
judge by his expression. Kamil was careful to keep quiet, not to
disturb him, though she was frantic to know what was happening.

At last he seemed to reach some inner decision. His face hardened,
became again unreadable. The fire in the eyes shut off, the source
feeding it removed.

"Tell me, please?" Kamil ventured.

Sagan eyed her, shrugged. "Flaim's going to detonate the bomb
tomorrow morning. Instead of dying while defending the galaxy from
the Corasians, Dion will die defending it from the dark-matter
creatures."

"But you're going to stop him!" Kamil said, excitement
surging through her. "You and Tusk. You're going to take over
the ship! You
didn't
betray Dion. You've done all this, risked
all this for his sake. The Lady Maigrey knew. That's why she said
what she said about love. I didn't understand—"

"What did she say?" Sagan asked abruptly.

Kamil hadn't meant to mention that. She flushed and stammered,
embarrassed. "You—you're going to think I'm crazy. She
wasn't real. How could she be real? I haven't slept in nights. And
sleep deprivation causes hallucinations. They're very. ..."

He took a step toward her. "You saw her?"

"I ... I thought I did."

Kamil was too frightened to try to argue further. He was so intense,
rigid; his eyes seized her, wrung her soul.

"What did she say?" He laid distinct emphasis on each word,
as if he forged each out of steel, linked them together in an iron
chain.

Her throat and mouth were dry. She swallowed again. The expression on
his face, the look in his eyes were terrifying.

"She said, Love is the one part of us death cannot kill.' "

He closed his eyes and sighed. The sigh was deep and anguished, drawn
up from some dark part of his being.

Kamil caught a glimpse of it on his face—savage and hopeless.
Shuddering, appalled, she lowered her head, unable to look at him,
his pain too intense for her to bear.

Only when she heard him moving purposefully about the cabin did she
dare look again. He had gone into an adjoining room. The door slid
shut behind him. Kamil waited, nervous, apprehensive. That look of
his, that terrible look, like one past hope Suppose she'd been wrong;
Maigrey had been wrong. Suppose he'd sent Tusk off to certain death.
. . .

The Warlord returned. He was clad in a flight suit.

"Put your helmet back on," he ordered, lifting it and
handing it to her.

She tried to, but her hands were shaking. She fumbled with the strap.
He watched her impassively, made no move to assist.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Leave," he said.

"Leave the ship?" She stared, aghast "Leave Dion here
to die! No! I won't come! I won't let you—"

"You have a choice, young woman," he interrupted, the chill
in his voice effectively silencing her. "Either come with me now
or I will kill you now. I dare not let you remain behind. Left on
your own, you have the power to do too much mischief." He laid
heavy, ironic emphasis on the words "on your own."

Kamil was in no doubt that he meant what he said. And although she
was prepared to give her life for Dion, she wasn't quite ready to do
so now.

"I'll go," she answered meekly.

"Keep silent. Follow my lead. Don't question anything I say or
do." He handed her back the lasgun. "You know how to shoot
that, I presume?"

Kamil stared at it, stared up at him. "Yes, my lord." Her
lips moved, but no sound came out.

He nodded. "Switch it off stun. From now on, if you have to
shoot, you will have to kill."

She did so. She could kill him now. He was unarmed. He had turned
away from her; his hand was on the door control. Kamil raised the
gun.

But she couldn't fire.

She had heard stories about the charismatic power of the Blood Royal.
How they could subvert, charm, persuade. Did he hold her in thrall by
some form of genetically engineered enchantment? Or perhaps it was
just common sense, telling her that she was lost if she killed him
now. Perhaps it was an unseen hand, laid on her own.

Perhaps it was die voice, soft, like music.

Kamil thrust the gun in the holster.

Sagan opened the door, propelled her out, one strong hand firm on her
shoulder. The guards snapped to attention.