The Lost King (26 page)

He was rewarded with a
smile that rearranged all the freckles on her cheeks and nose and did
a little minor rearranging with his heart. Reminding himself sternly
that he didn't like short, stockily built brunettes, Tusk turned his
attention back to the job at hand. The fighters had taken up their
positions—one behind the TRUC and one on either side.

They were well above
the planet by now, surrounded by the eternal starry night of space.
The torpedo boat hove into view. Spotlights shone on its bristling
weapons and illuminated the myriad whirling, flashing, revolving, and
oscillating instruments sticking out from it in all directions. It
was small, built for the speed and maneuverability that would give it
the advantage over a larger opponent. The torpedo boat floated in
front of them, well out of range of most weapons the TRUC might be
likely to have, but not the lascannon. Good. That was gonna be a nice
little surprise.

"Tusk," Nola
said, "I've shut off the anti-grav. If I don't fire my rockets
soon we'll drift off course."

A streak of flame
zipped past them. Nola started; her hands on the instrument shook.

"Warning shot
across the bows," Tusk said. "They want our attention."

"They got it!"
the woman muttered.

"TRUC 4," an
official-sounding voice came over the radio.

"By orders of
the—" there was a slight hesitation on the part of the
voice, "Mectopian Council, you are under arrest. You and the
mercenary pilots with you will surrender yourselves to our
jurisdiction. The mercenary pilots will be escorted back to our base.
We will see that you reach the Republic freighter safely. If you
cooperate, this will be taken into consideration in your sentencing."

"This bastard
wants a fight," Tusk commented.

"That's an
off-world accent," Nola said in a low voice, "and he
mispronounced the name of the government."

Tusk nodded, frowning.
"Stall," was all he could think of to say.

"Hello, out there.
I'm experiencing instrument malfunction," Nola said into her
mike. "Would you repeat your instructions?"

"You heard me,
TRUC 4," was the cold response. "You have thirty seconds to
surrender or we open fire."

"Two fighters
closing on me, Commander," Nigol reported.

"Get into position
but remember orders—let them shoot first. Nola, put up the
deflector shields everywhere except the front so that I can fire."
Tusk rose to his feet and positioned himself behind the lascannon—an
extremely tight fit.

"I only
have
front deflector shields!" Nola snapped. "To protect the
cab."

"Damn!" Tusk
swore. Dixter'd told him that during his briefing on the TRUC. "Keep
talking, then. Link, Mirna, you handle the freighters, and throw what
you can at that torpedo boat."

"Righto,"
sang out Link.

"Yes, sir,"
returned Mirna.

"Are you from the
Republic?" Nola was shouting.

A flash of light and
bone-jarring jolt was their answer.

"Ordinary
missiles." Tusk held onto the grips of the lascannon for
support. "Hit us somewhere in front and below. Any damage?"

"No." Nola
was white-faced but steady and calm. She even managed a weak grin.
"It takes a lot to damage a TRUC."

"Thank you,
Creator!" Tusk murmured.

Flares and flashes
outside the windscreen indicated the Scimitars were attacking. Tusk
crouched behind his gun, lining up the computerized sights that were
being fed readings from the radar.

"Hold tight, Nola.
Don't pay attention to what I'm doing or to those birds out there. Do
you have to warm up your engines or anything like that to start this
tub moving?"

"No. When I fire,
we go. Real simple."

The beginnings of a
plan were lurking about in Tusk's mind. It was desperate and not to
be thought of until things were . . . well, desperate.

Another shot slammed
into them, knocking them around a little but no damage. That captain
must realize he isn't accomplishing anything except making a nuisance
of himself, Tusk thought. Off-world, is he? Probably answering to a
couple of government flunkies aboard his ship. He'd do what they said
to a point. Then he'd take matters into his own hands—or at
least that was how Tusk read that cold, impersonal voice. He could
almost hear it saying, "I regret very much the action I was
forced to take which led to the total destruction of the TRUC but as
you see we were unable to impress upon them our determination not to
let rebel-held shipments through—"

"Hey, Tusk,"
came Link's voice, "get this S.O.B. off my tail, will you, ol'
buddy?"

Tusk, shaking his head,
opened fire.

Flaming bolts shot from
the usually inoffensive TRUC. The needle-nose chasing Link caught one
and went spinning out of control. Its partner, realizing suddenly he
was facing a lascannon, pulled up so sharply he did a roll over and
flew out of range to consider the matter.

Another shot slammed
into the TRUC. The captain must not have known about the lascannon.
He did now, which was unfortunate but couldn't be helped. Tusk would
have liked to have him come in a little closer.

"I'm going in for
a hit," Mirna reported.

"I'll cover you."
Tusk opened a steady barrage of fire at the torpedo boat. Its
deflector shields were up. He was doing little damage but hoped at
least to make them keep their heads down, perhaps even score a lucky
hit. Did they have to lower their shields to fire the torpedoes? He—

A bright orange flash,
and Mirna was gone.

There was nothing left
of her Scimitar. It had been vaporized. All over in less than a
second. Tusk hadn't seen a thing. He couldn't even tell the part of
the ship from which the torpedo had been launched.

"Sweet, holy
mother. Did you see that?" Link sounded awed.

"I saw it."

In anger and
frustration, Tusk fired another ineffectual burst at the torpedo
boat.

"TRUC 4." The
captain was back on the air. "You have seen a demonstration of
our weapon's superiority over your own. I ask you once again to
surrender."

"Do it, Nola,"
Tusk ordered,.

"What?" She
turned to stare at him, her face strained and incredulous. "You
can't be serious! I'm not going to!"

"Do it!" Tusk
growled. "Link, Nigol? You two clear out. Run like you're scared
as hell. You can't do anything against that torpedo boat."

"I wouldn't say
that," Link protested.

"I smell one of
the famous Tusk scams," Nigol struck in. The alien added
something in its own language that Tusk assumed was good luck but
which sounded as if someone had dumped a bucket of frogs into a pond.

"Okay, we're outta
here." Link was disgruntled. "Make sure you get Nola home
on time tonight. We got a date."

The two fighters peeled
away, spiraling out of the skies and drawing off three of the
needle-noses after them.

"A plan? What
plan?" Nola was glaring at him suspiciously.

"A date? With
Link?" Tusk glared back at her. "What do you see in that
two-timing hotshot?"

The woman's face
flushed to the roots of her brown hair. The green eyes flashed.
Before she could reply, Tusk added, "I thought I gave you an
order, Rian."

"You could at
least tell me what's going on!" Another shot thudded into the
hull.

"No time,"
Tusk said, which was a lie. He didn't want her having to think about
what she was going to have to do any longer than necessary. "Go
ahead. Surrender. Make it sound convincing."

Nola, shooting him a
frustrated, helpless glance, spoke into the mike. "This is TRUC
4. Don't fire anymore. I—I surrender. "

"Good," Tusk
whispered. "Now, more panic. Tell them we've been hit and that
I'm dead."

Her anger faded,
replaced by astonishment. Completely mystified, Nola spoke into the
mike, her eyes on Tusk. "We've been hit. My gunner's dead.
I've—I've got his blood all over me!" Her voice rose
shrilly. "Don't hurt me, please!"

Tusk held his breath.
Everything hung on the torpedo boat captain's next command. The
mercenary was counting on the fact that this man was a professional,
as tough and experienced as he'd already shown himself.

"TRUC 4, raise
your deflector shields."

"Hot damn!"
Tusk crowed.

"But that means we
can't use the cannon!" Nola hissed.

"Do it!" Tusk
commanded tersely.

Returning to his seat,
he strapped himself in securely, taking extra precautions. Nola,
sighing, yanked on a lever. A scraping and rumbling sound and the
deflector shields lurched into place. Tusk was happy to see that they
were every bit as old-fashioned and massive as he had hoped. No
invisible force fields for the TRUC. Reinforced steel plate that they
couldn't even see through, leaving the driver to steer by instrument
readings.

Good, Tusk thought.
That'll make it easier for her.

"My shields are
up," Nola reported unnecessarily, knowing that the torpedo ship
could see them.

"I'm going to send
an armed party aboard, TRUC 4," returned the captain of the
torpedo boat. This guy was taking no chances.

"What's he doing?"

From where he sat, Tusk
couldn't see Nola's radar screen, and he fidgeted nervously.

"He's moving
toward us, closing fast," Nola reported.

"That's good. Now,
Nola," Tusk said, keeping his voice even and calm, "when he
gets closer still, right in front of us, I want you to start this
baby up."

Nola sucked in her
breath, her eyes widening. The freckles on her face were vivid brown
against her pale skin.

"But that will
mean—"

Tusk nodded. "Ramming
them—an old and honored tradition in the history of naval
warfare."

"Tusk!" Nola
gasped. "It won't work! We'll all end up dead."

"I thought you
said this thing could fly through a mountain."

Nola, looking sick,
shook her head.

Tusk considered taking
over, but he didn't know anything about flying one of these
contraptions. Nola's hair clung in loose, damp ringlets to her
sweating forehead. Her eyes shimmered with tears that she had too
much pride to shed. Her full hps trembled.

Date with Link!

Reaching out, Tusk took
hold of the woman's chilled hand. "You can do it, Nola! You have
to do it! There's no other way now. You don't want to let Marek down?
Or all the rest who re depending on you? Think of them, Nola. Don't
think of anyone or anything else. Where's the torpedo ship now?"

Nola looked unwillingly
at the screen. "Almost— Going around to the portside."

"He must not have
a launch vehicle. That or he wants to lock onto us. When he's in
range, head this mother straight at him."

For a tiny moment, Tusk
thought she was going to fail him. Then her head lifted, her lips
tightened. Nola drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and
put her hand on the ignition button. The hand made some minute
adjustments to the instruments, changing the direction the rockets
would fire to take the TRUC straight into the path of the torpedo
boat.

Nola knew her vehicle.
She alone could best gauge how near the torpedo boat would have to be
so that it wouldn't have time to react and get out of the slow-moving
TRUC's path. There was nothing for Tusk to do but sit back, brace
himself, and wait.

Those were the worst
few moments of his life.

Now that he had
convinced the woman to take this drastic action, he was having second
thoughts. She was right. It didn't matter that the torpedo boat was
about thirty times smaller. It would blow up and take them with it.
The TRUC, after all, wasn't indestructible. Even with the deflector
shield protecting them, the cab was vulnerable. He was an idiot. A
damn fool. He'd let down everyone. Dixter. Marek. The kid. He'd get
himself killed and—worse—he'd kill this woman who trusted
him, who was depending on him. She'd know, in those last few
horrifying moments, that he'd been wrong . . .

Nola's finger jerked
spasmodically. A roaring blast from the rear told him the rockets had
fired. The TRUC lurched forward.

An indrawn breath,
holding it, holding it—

A jarring thud,
blinding light, a concussive blast—

A constant beeping was
making his head hurt.

"Shut up!"
Tusk told XJ, flapping about with his hand to give the computer an
extra little reminder.

He couldn't find it.

"XJ?" Sitting
up, he opened his eyes. "What the—?"

Where was he? Whoever
was playing this joke better cut it out. He turned his head to locate
the sound of the beeping and end its days forever when he saw a
figure slumped over the control panel. Memory returned in an aching
torrent.

"Nola!"

Shoving aside the
broken lascannon, which had toppled to the deck, Tusk leaned over the
woman's comatose body. Gently removing the helmet, he felt her neck
and found a pulse—strong and even. Exhaling a deep sigh, he
eased her back into the chair. There were no holes in the flight
suit, no signs of blood except for a cut on her lip where the mike
had driven into her mouth when she fell forward. Like him, she must
have been knocked unconscious by the explosion.

Glancing out the
windscreen, Tusk saw the wrecked and mangled deflector shield. The
screen itself was cracked, but its seal held. Tusk recalled guiltily
all his uncharitable thoughts about that thick windscreen.

"Bless you!"
He reached out and patted it. He could have kissed it. No, on second
thought he'd rather kiss something else.

"Nola." He
brushed back the damp brown hair. "Nola!"

Slowly, she opened her
eyes, blinked, and looked up at him with a hesitant smile that set
freckles dancing over her face.