King's Sacrifice (33 page)

The Galactic
pilot issued a warning.

Tusk pulled up,
hung dead in space, shields down, vulnerable. He had the lights on
bright in the cockpit, the pilot would be able to see him clearly.
The gun turret's lights were off, however. The enemy pilot wouldn't
see anyone up there.

Dion sat in the
darkness, hands on the gun, palms sweating, breath coming short and
fast.

"Scimitar,
where're you off to in such a hurry?" The challenging pilot's
voice was female, sounded friendly and extremely bored. "Hell,
you shot outta there like you had one of those damn hypermissiles up
your ass."

"Aw, my
computer's fucked up. It's one of those old XJ-27 models and it's
gettin' senile. Doesn't know its disk drive from a hole in the ground
anymore."

"I'll get
you for that," XJ promised in a low tone.

"Gee,
that's too bad," the pilot commiserated. "When you get it
replaced, try the M-13. Fast, efficient, no back-talk . .

"M-13!"
XJ was shocked. "That ramless mass of microchips. Why, I—"

"Shhhush!"
Tusk growled. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the
tip."

"Anytime.
I'm always here. "

"Blockade
duty's no fun," Tusk said sympathetically.

"Damn
right. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Fuck it! The
only excitement we've had in a week was when the Lady made a run for
it. Heard she got away, too."

"Yeah. Good
riddance, I say. Damn troublemaker. But now that she and that
hard-ass Sagan are gone, maybe the kid'll settle down and get his
head screwed on right."

"What kid?
You mean the boy who would be king? Do you know him?"

"You might
say that. My name's Tusk," said Tusk modestly. "Maybe
you've seen me on the vids."

"Tusk!
Sure, I've seen you. Seen 'His Majesty,' too. What a cutie! Say, some
of the girls and I've been wondering. Is that hair of his for real or
is it a transplant?"

Nola's shoulders
were shaking with silent laughter. Tusk grinned, glanced up at an
appalled Dion, and winked.

"Naw, it's
real. Hey, maybe if they call off this blockade crap, I could arrange
for you to meet him."

"Could you?
That'd be great. They might as well call this off. Everybody we were
trying to keep penned up's already got out. Except for the king. And
I don't suppose he's planning to go anywhere."

"Shit, no,"
said Tusk. "He's a nice kid and all that, but he's got no
backbone."

"Not
anymore!" Dion shifted around in his seat trying to ease the
pain of his bruised spine.

"He's
locked himself up in his room. Sulking, refuses to come out. That's
why I left. Couldn't take the whinin'. Me and the wife here . . .
This is Nola. Say 'hello,' Nola."

"Hello,"
Nola sang out sweetly and waved her hand.

"And you
are . . . ?" Tusk asked.

"Epstein,
Judi. Lieutenant. Yeah, come to think of it, I saw where you got
yourself married. What a pity. You're not a bad-looking guy
yourself."

"I think
I'm going to short out," muttered XJ.

"Just find
us a goddam Lane, will you?" Tusk ordered below his breath.

"I have it
already! And I'd just like to add that the M-13 couldn't have come up
with it this fast. On the screen ..."

"Like I was
saying," Tusk continued, "me and the wife here thought we'd
slip away, grab ourselves some R and R. Things have been kinda tense
the last few days. There's a little planet I know of, about two
light-years from here—white sand, blue water, green trees . . .
orange sky, but then you can't have everything. We thought we'd take
a cruise out thataway. Soak up some rays."

"But that's
outside the perimeter."

"Sure,
yeah, but what the hell difference does it make? You said yourself
they're gonna call off this stupid blockade any day now. We just
leave an hour or so early, that's all."

"I don't
know ..."

"Lock her
in, kid," Tusk said grimly.

"Oh, Tusk!"
Nola reached out, grabbed hold of his hand. "We can't shoot her!
We know her name!"

"I don't
like it any better than you, sweetheart, but if we blow this chance,
we'll never get another one. Kid?"

"Don't
worry," Dion said coolly. "In my sights."

"What about
it, Epstein?" Tusk asked, trying to keep his voice light and
cheerful. "No one'll ever miss us. When I get back, maybe His
Majesty will be over his snit and I'll get him to throw a party."

"And I'm
invited?"

"You
betcha," Tusk said. He squeezed Nola's hand.

"All right,
then. No one's paying any attention to us. Get going, and if you ever
decide you're tired of being married, Tusk, give me a call."

"You can
count on it!" Tusk said.

Nola slugged him
in the arm. "Don't sound so damn enthusiastic."

The enemy
spaceplane veered off. Dion relaxed, slumped over the gun. He was
surprised to find himself trembling.

Tusk approached
the Lane. "Ready to make the Jump, XJ? You strapped in up there,
kid? Here we go . . ."

The first time
Dion'd made the Jump, he'd blacked out. He was used to it, now. He no
longer lost consciousness. He only ended up feeling nauseous and with
a splitting headache.

"We made
it," announced Tusk. "Everyone breathe easy."

Dion slid down
out of the gun turret, landed on the deck of the cockpit. Three of
them were a tight fit. He squeezed past Tusk and Nola, made his way
slowly up the ladder to the small sleeping quarters, and crawled into
one of the hammocks.

"You okay,
kid?" Tusk sounded worried.

"Yes, I'm
okay."

"You know,
Nola . . . I'm gonna kinda miss that planet with the white sand and
the blue trees and the green sky ..."

"Orange
sky," Nola whispered.

Dion heard a
rustling sound, as of two flight suits pressing closely together. He
lay in his hammock and stared into the shadows above his head and
thought about killing someone whose name you knew and whether or not
his hair looked fake and why he hadn't stopped Maigrey from going
after Sagan and how much it hurt to be alone.

Always alone.

. . . we cannot
make our sun stand still . . .

Andrew Marvell,
To His Coy Mistress

"'Gloria
in excelsis Deo.

"'Et in
terra pax hominibus bonea voluntatis. Laudamus te. Benedicimus te.
Adoramus te.'"

Maigrey sat in
the back of the chapel, in the darkness, listening to Derek recite
the prayer. The chapel was cold, being unheated, and empty, except
for the two of them. Derek avoided the formal Sabbath prayer
services, led by a priest of the Order of Adamant and attended by
most of the student body and teachers of the Academy. Sagan preferred
to pray alone, though the priest—a good, gentle man—often
tried to change the boy's mind and draw him into the life of the
Church on campus. Sagan politely, coldly refused. Maigrey understood,
if no one else did. Derek knew himself to be close to the Creator. It
annoyed him to be in company with those who merely mouthed the credo,
forgot the responses, and woke up when the service ended.

He prayed,
therefore, in solitary aloofness, although he didn't mind Maigrey, on
the times she decided to accompany him. She sat in the very back pew,
far from where he knelt at the altar. She never spoke, never
interrupted. But she listened and it seemed to her as if his prayers
carried her nearer a God whom she knew only by reputation, and then
only by having heard her father's soldiers take His name in vain.

" 'Glory to
God in the highest.

" 'And on
earth peace to men of goodwill. We praise Thee. We bless Thee. We
adore Thee.' "

Her presence
went unnoticed, it was to him like the presence of the wind that
stirred against his cheek, the air that was breathed into his lungs.
And his presence was to her . . .

"My lady."
A hand touched her on the shoulder. "We're near the rendezvous."

Maigrey woke
with a start, confused for a moment. She was not in a chapel, but in
a spaceplane, yet she still heard the fluid chanting of a long-dead
language.

"Thank you,
Agis," she said, sitting up.

"Coffee?"

"Yes,
please."

Agis brought her
a steaming cup of a hot liquid that passed for coffee, but always
seemed to taste faintly of hydraulic fluid.

"'Glorificamus
te. Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriaum tuam.

"'We
glorify Thee. We give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory.'"

Agis glanced at
Brother Fideles—Daniel, Maigrey had to remember to think of him
now—and shook his head, shrugging. "I'm surprised you
could sleep through that."

Maigrey sipped
the coffee. "I was so tired . . . and the prayers were like part
of my dream ..."

She fell silent,
remembering, but the memories hurt, and she shook them off. The
present, that's all that mattered. Not the past. Not the future.

"Any sign
of a spaceship?" she asked Agis.

"No, my
lady. But we're early yet. You have time for a shower and
breakfast." -

A hot shower
sounded wonderful. Breakfast did not, but she had to eat. A throbbing
of her temples and a slight dizzy and disoriented feeling were her
body's insistent reminder that she had avoided food the last
twenty-four hours.

" Domine
Deus, Rex caelestis, Deus Pater omnipotens.

"'O Lord
God, heavenly King, God the Father almighty.'"

"Pardon me,
my lady," Agis said in an undertone, with a glance at the
priest, "but he's not going to do that when we're in action, is
he?"

Maigrey hid her
smile. "No, Agis. He has, if you remember, served on a ship of
war. He was commended for his bravery under fire when
Phoenix
was attacked by the Corasians."

Agis raised a
skeptical eyebrow, and returned to the cockpit. The spaceplane was
operating on automatic pilot, flying to coordinates Maigrey had
entered before going to sleep. Which had been, she realized, taking
off her clothes, eighteen hours ago.

Maigrey had
lived and fought in close quarters with men all her life and had
learned the trick of undressing without really undressing. She
noticed, however, that Daniel, occupying the same cramped quarters as
herself, saw her starting to disrobe and brought his prayers to a
speedy conclusion.

Rising to his
feet, a faint flush on his cheek, the priest hurried forward, to join
Agis in the cockpit. Maigrey smiled, shook her head, wrapped herself
in a robe, and locked herself in the tiny shower stall.

The thin trickle
of hot water, pouring over her face and hair and body, relaxed her.
Closing her eyes, she stretched forth a mental hand, reached out to
touch Sagan. Her mind touched nothing. Only his life force remained.
She imagined herself locked in a pitch-dark room. She could feel,
with her hand, the floor, solid beneath her. But the room itself was
empty. She groped about, hoping to touch something, anything. . . .

A stinging pain
stabbed her consciousness, as if, in the darkness, she pricked her
fingers upon a needle. Maigrey snatched her mind back, shocked,
frightened.

Abdiel—attempting
to reach her through Sagan.

Which meant that
he had Sagan, he'd "joined" with him. Maigrey shuddered,
almost gave up in despair. She recovered quickly, realized that
Abdiel was stumbling about in the same dark room as herself. Sagan
wasn't there. He had withdrawn far, far into his innermost being. She
imagined what it would be like, trying to delve into that darkness,
trying to bring him back. Resolutely, she pushed the thought out of
her mind.

The
present—remember, Maigrey? she reminded herself. We're a long
way from that point yet.

He was alive.
That was what counted. She had never been able to define precisely
how she knew he was alive, how she'd known for seventeen years of
self-imposed exile, hiding from him, that he was alive. It was
hearing footsteps not your own walking beside you. It was feeling the
beat of another's heart in tandem with your own. It was hearing
clearly a voice speak when everyone around you was silent.

The soap slipped
from her fingers. Maigrey swore softly beneath her breath. In the
small shower stalls, one had to be practically a contortionist to
pick anything up.

What would it be
like, she wondered suddenly, retrieving the soap, to lose that life
force within hers? What would it be like for her—alive—if
he were dead?

The water
flowing over her went suddenly cold. Maigrey shut it off abruptly.
Soap stung her eyes, she'd neglected to rinse her face. Fortunately
her towel was close at hand. She toweled herself off vigorously,
rubbing life back into her skin.

The loneliness,
for the one left behind, would be unbearable. Separation might not
have been difficult to endure during that early time when Sagan'd
first found her again on Oha-Lau, during that time before the
mind-link had been truly reestablished. But now, they'd grown closer
than ever, bound by chains of darkness, chains of adamant. If the
chains were broken, the one left behind, the one left living, would
have to carry the weight alone.

"My lady!"
Agis rapped on the door. "Ship in sight."

"I'll be
right there."

The present. The
present.

Maigrey wrapped
the towel around her hair, hurriedly put on her robe—after a
brief struggle with her arm in the wrong sleeve—then hastened
forward to the cockpit. The metal deck was ice-cold beneath bare
feet, but, as usual, her boots had disappeared. Probably slid under
the pull-down bunk.

Standing on one
foot, clutching her robe around her, she stared out the viewscreen at
the ship that was creeping toward them through the starlit backdrop
of space.