King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  "Yes," she said, staring through shimmering eyes at anything in the room except him, "all memories erased, the screen blank." Her hands curled over the back of the chair.

  "And now I'll say what I came to say. I love you, Maigrey.

  Although that may be the wrong thing," Dixter added with a rueful smile. "Maybe you've despised me all these years for loving you, knowing that I could never have you."

  Maigrey raised her eyes to his4 a tear slid down the scarred cheek. "I hope I'm better than that, John," she said softly. "Maybe not much better . . . but a little better than that."

  Dixter stepped forward, took her hand. Maigrey held his fast, tightly, too tightly.

  "We always joked about never saying good-bye to each other; parting without farewell seemed to mean that we would never part. ... I said good-bye to you when I left Defiant, John. Just as, I imagine"—Maigrey smiled wanly—"you said good-bye to me after I had gone."

  Dixter swallowed, but it didn't help. The words wouldn't come past the pain in his chest.

  "I know. I understand. " Maigrey closed her other hand over his. "I thought we should leave it at that. I thought it would be best that way. But now I'm glad you came."

  "And we still haven't said good-bye. Not yet," Dixter added cheerfully, drawing her near. "And the charm is still working. We haven't been parted."

  "No," she said softly, coming to stand close to him, as she might huddle beneath a sheltering oak to escape the rain. "We haven't been parted ..."

  "My lady." Agis's voice, sounding slightly harried. "Mendaharin—"

  "It's Tusk!" shouted Tusk. "I gotta talk to you!"

  "Send him in."

  The doors had only barely opened, before Tusk was bounding into the Warlord's quarters.

  "The wedding's off! That's it. Finished. Off."

  Maigrey shook her head. "Oh, no, it isn't. Not after what I've been through. You're going to get married, Tusca, if I have to hold a lasgun on you!"

  "It's just cold feet, son," said Dixter in mollifying tones. "Every bridegroom feels—"

  "What the hell does the temperature of my feet have to do with this?" Tusk demanded, beside himself. "My feet are fine! it's XJ!"

  "XJ?" Maigrey stared at him blankly. "A computer?"

  Tusk groaned. "That damn, interfering—Can you believe it? He managed to plug himself into the ship's central com-puter. I hope they court-martial him! I hope Sagan rips out his electronic guts. That, that—" Words failed him. Tusk shook his fist in the general direction of his spaceplane.

  "Tusca, you're not making any sense. What has XJ done?"

  "Done? He's found out about the wedding, that's what he's done! And he's mad 'cause he wasn't invited! And if he isn't invited, he's threatened to freeze all my assets solid, plus send out a message that I'm a deadbeat to every credit computer in the galaxy—and, believe me, he's good buddies with all of 'em—and leave me without a kepler to my name. So you see"—Tusk slammed his hand down on a table—"the wedding's off."

  Maigrey looked at Dixter. They tried to stop themselves, but couldn't manage it. Both burst into laughter.

  Tusk drew himself up with wounded dignity, cast each of them a hurt, reproachful glance that only increased their hilarity. Maigrey sank down into a chair, her hand pressed against her side, gasping for air. John Dixter leaned against the back of the couch, wiped tears from his eyes.

  "Bless you, Tusk," he said quietly. "God bless you."

  "Oh, Tusca, I'm sorry," Maigrey said, springing to her feet, halting Tusk as he was about ready to storm out the door. "I know this isn't funny to you. It's just . . . just ..." She giggled, caught herself, and attempted to speak soberly. "The wedding will go on as planned. I'll take care of everything, XJ included."

  "You will?" Tusk looked darkly dubious. "I mean, I know you're Blood Royal and you've got all kinds of powers, my lady, but that computer of mine's possessed! Besides, how're you gonna invite XJ to the wedding anyway? Unless you fly the friggin' spaceplane into the ceremony—"

  "Don't you see, Tusca? That's it. Almost. We don't fly your spaceplane to the ceremony. We bring the ceremony to the spaceplane. Nola wouldn't mind getting married on board the plane, would she? Then XJ could be there. I think it's very touching that he wants to share this with you."

  "I think he's just trying to make my life a living hell. But, well, now that you mention it, I think Nola might kinda like to be married in the spaceplane. After all, that's sorta how we met and we fought the Corasians together in it and I remember that night she was hurt and I thought she was gonna die and I realized how much I loved her. . . .

  "Yeah." Tusk coughed, voice husky, "I think that might be a real good place to be married, after all. Thanks a lot, my lady, General. I'll go tell Nola."

  Tusk hurried away. Maigrey shook her head, sighed, turned to gaze resignedly at the blank commlink screen.

  "Wait until Captain Williams hears this. ..."

  It was probably one of the universe's stranger weddings. Held inside a spaceplane on a hangar on board a warship surrounded by an enemy fleet, the wedding opened with an alarm that upgraded alert status. Pilots and crews on standby cheered the wedding procession. The wedding party clambered up the ladder leading over the hull of the long-range Scimitar, dropped down through the hatch and into the plane's cramped living quarters that Tusk had just spent the last hour furiously cleaning.

  The bride's dress looked as if it had engaged in a battle with a banquet table and lost, but it had a long train of lace, of which the tailor was extremely proud, and Nola herself was so happy and radiant that, as Captain Williams said somewhat bitterly to Admiral Aks, she could have been dressed as a bosun's mate and no one would have noticed.

  There was one frightful moment of panic when the bride's train snagged on a bolt on the exterior of the spaceplane, leaving the bride stuck half in and half out of the hatch. No amount of pulling or tugging would free it and one of the Honor Guard was advancing grimly on it with a knife when the horrified tailor rushed forward to save his creation, freed the bride, and the wedding proceeded. The tailor was universally acclaimed the hero of the day.

  Bride, groom, best man, king, and computer came together in the Scimitar, ready to begin the ceremony. But the maid of honor, the Lady Maigrey, was missing.

  No one knew where she was or why she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

  "Stall," said Dion and left to find her.

  General Dixter stalled as long as possible, but he couldn't delay matters forever; the press corps was waiting impatiently, the ice sculpture was melting, and any moment the ship might be called upon to engage the enemy.

  "I've just spoken to Agis. He reports that she hasn't left her quarters," Dion said in a low voice to Dixter on his return. "But when he tries to contact her, there's no response."

  Dixter looked extremely grave. "This isn't like Maigrey. She knows how important this is to Tusk and Nola."

  "Yes, sir. But I believe we're going to have to go ahead with the ceremony."

  The general glanced at a fuming Captain Williams, pacing up and down the deck, and Admiral Aks, red-faced and impatient, who glared back at him.

  "Hey, what's going on?" Tusk demanded, coming over to them. "Nola says it's hot as hell under that veil and her flowers're starting to wilt. And this damn collar's giving me a rash on my neck. Where's Lady Maigrey?"

  "She'll be along in a moment," said Dixter, glancing at Dion.

  "We'd better go ahead and get started," Dion added.

  "Oh, sure." Tusk appeared downcast for a moment, but nervousness and excitement soon put Maigrey's absence out of his mind.

  The wedding party was small, which was good, because the spaceplane barely held them all as it was. The ceremony took place in the Scimitar's living quarters and was very short and very simple.

  John Dixter, dress uniform pressed within an inch of its life by the faithful Bennett, but still starting, somehow, to look rumpled and slept in, took his place next to a widely grinning
Tusk.

  Dion, attired in his dress uniform, with royal purple sash, stood slightly aloof from all of them, serious, solemn in his self-conscious majesty. He had never been part of them, not truly.

  Dixter, looking at Dion in the brief pause while everyone waited for XJ's remote unit to bob up from out of the cockpit, suddenly remembered the kid who had come into his office with Tusk, the kid who had demanded to know his own name. He's grown, Dixter realized. Not only in height, though he was taller than Tusk, now, by a good several inches. He's grown in dignity, self-confidence, and assurance.

  The severe cut of the uniform became him. He was extraordinarily, remarkably handsome. The luxuriant red hair, full and thick, sprang from the peak on his forehead, fell to shoulder length. The planes of his face were sharp and finely chiseled. He had what Dixter called "the Starfire eyes"— incandescent blue that, like flame, could burn, scorch, illuminate, warm. His only other heritage from his father's side of the family was the pouting mouth, the full, sensual lips that could stiffen in anger and resolve or tremble in weakness, mumble in indecision.

  He has the capability to soar above us all, Dixter thought, light the heavens with a blazing flame, or he can—like his uncle—be defeated by himself, the comet break apart and scatter into nothing but bits of ice and dust, felling into obscurity.

  "I wonder what Maigrey thinks of him," Dixter asked himself, looking for the twentieth time at the hatch, his concern and worry growing. "I wonder where she is?"

  XJ's round remote unit, small metal arms wiggling, lights winking like the eyes of a mischievous monkey, floated and bobbed around the assembled guests until it came to rest between Tusk and Nola.

  Standing in the center of the spaceplane's living quarters; Tusk slightly hunched over to keep from striking his head on a long length of tubing, the bride and groom held fast to each other's hands, looked at each other as if no one else existed but the two of them.

  XJ gave a preparatory bleep, to make certain he had everyone's attention.

  "It's been suggested, by General Dixter, that in lieu of the usual we-gather-here-together crap, that each of us says something that sounds halfway intelligent, which'll be a strain for most of you, particularly Tusk, but do the best you can. I'll begin. First, I'd like to say that I'm truly grateful to her ladyship for suggesting that we hold the wedding on board here. It's the first time Tusk's cleaned the place in the seven years we've been together. And if we're lucky, no one'll notice that pair of shorts hanging over the shower nozzle.

  "Next I want to express my gratitude to Nola Rian for agreeing to marry this slob and hopefully end the steady stream of bimbos we've had tramping through here for the last—"

  "XJ!" Tusk growled, casting a vicious glance at the remote. Nola giggled.

  "And finally, well, er—" XJ stammered Its lights dimmed, it seemed to be having difficulty with its programming. " 'Scuse me a moment. Technical difficulties." The remote blinked off for a second, came back on, a slight hitch in its audio. "I'm gonna say this once and it's a wedding present and I don't ever expect to have to say it again so listen up. Men-da-ha-rin Tusca ..." The remote paused, blurted forth rapidly, the words wrenched out of its electronic guts, "you'rethebest-damnpilotIeverflewwithandIdon'tcarewhoknowsitandIwish-youandRianallthebestsothere.

  "And," XJ added, optic lights flaring, "if anyone ever says that I said that I'll deny it so none of you better. Now hurry this thing up 'cause it's costing me a fortune to run the air-conditioning."

  "XJ, that's really very sweet," said Nola.

  "Gosh, XJ." Tusk cleared a lump in his throat. "I don't know what to say. I think . . . yeah ... I think I could kiss you—

  The remote unit dropped to the floor with a crash, lights out, wiggling arms still. "Keep him away from me!" warned XJ's mechanical voice from its central system, located in the cockpit, "or I swear I'll shut this party down."

  "It's all right, XJ," said General Dixter, smiling, "I have Tusk firmly in hand."

  "Yeah, well, you just keep an eye on him, that's all. Kiss me ..." Bleeping indignantly to itself, the computer lapsed into deeply offended silence.

  Tusk grinned at Nola and winked. General Dixter stepped forward, placed his hands over both of theirs.

  "Tusk, Nola, I only want to say one thing. You've been through a lot of dangers together, you've both laced death together. Now you've got a much harder task, you've got to face life together. Love each other, trust each other, respect each other, befriend each other, and you'll get through it fine. I never had a son or a daughter, but if I did, I would wish for them now just exactly what I'm wishing for each of you. May your fives together be blessed."

  Nola put her arms around him, hugged him, and clung to him. "Don't ever say you don't have a daughter, sir," she said softly, "because you do now."

  "What she said," Tusk managed to get out, before he lost his voice.

  He put one arm around Dixter's rumpled shoulder, the other arm around Nola and the three stood together in silence for so long that XJ, not hearing any action, flickered the lights.

  Dion took an unconscious, involuntary step backward, coming up hard against the bulkhead. He stared at the three, standing together, as he had stared at the first alien life-form he'd ever seen. Love, respect, trust, caring. A bond between two people, a bond that says you are the most important person in the universe to me. Dion spoke innumerable alien languages fluently, but he didn't speak this one, the language of love. He didn't speak it, didn't understand it. He was dark and cold and hollow inside. He wanted light, warmth. He wanted filled! He wanted someone to look at him the way Nola looked at Tusk. He wanted someone to reach out to, someone to laugh with him over silly jokes that meant nothing to anyone else. He wanted someone to yell at, fight with, apologize to, make it all up again. He wanted, desperately, someone to love.

  "But how could I ever be sure of any woman?" he asked himself bitterly. "I've seen them look at me and they don't see me, they see a crown. They see pomp and ceremony. They see their children on the throne. I understand, now, why my uncle never married. I—"

  Five points of searing, burning agony shot into the palm of his right hand. White heat swept through his blood, bile flooded his mouth, fiery dots burst before his eyes. Dion thought for a moment that he might pass out, and he was forced to grab hold of and hang on to the hook from which Tusk suspended the hammocks.

  "Abdiel!" The name echoed inside him. The heat that had suffused his body died, leaving him shivering with intense cold. "Abdiel ..."

  The mind-seizer's presence was powerful, terrible laughter running through the young man's veins. Dion glanced wildly around. He wouldn't have been surprised to see the old man drop through the hatch into the spaceplane.

  Nothing. No one.

  The wedding was proceeding, Tusk and Nola, voices barely audible, were talking only to each other, sharing their vows.

  Dion felt suffocated. He had to get out of here. He had to—he knew suddenly—find Maigrey. He didn't understand what was happening, but she would. A supreme effort of will kept him standing silently until the ceremony was over.

  Husband and wife."

  Nola ripped the veil from her head, flung her arms around Tusk. He held her fast, kissed her. She kissed him. XJ set off the alarm horn and added whistles and bells and other raucous (and a few rude) noises the computer had on file. Dion managed to make his way over to them, gasped out congratulations, and left precipitously.

  "I will see Lady Maigrey!" Dion demanded, bursting out of Sagan's private elevator.

  Agis, standing in front of the golden double doors, moved to open them. "Yes, Your Majesty."

  A cry came from inside Sagan's quarters—a cry of despair and rage and a bitter protest against fate.

  "Excuse me, Your Majesty."

  The captain moved into action swiftly, calling his men to him with a glance. Firmly, yet politely and respectfully, he elbowed Dion out of his way, touched a panel.

  The double doors slid open. Weapon
s drawn, Agis and his men ran into the room. Dion dashed in after them, thrusting aside one of the centurions who sought to keep the king safe until whatever danger threatening them could be determined.

  The room was dark. The only light came from the illuminated dials and buttons on the command console, the faint lambent glow of the computer, and the cold, empty light of the stars outside the viewscreen.

  "My lady!" Agis called out, overturning chairs in his haste and worry.

  "Over here," Dion called, drawn to her by shared pain, shared grief, shared fear.

  A black screen, standing at the far end of the room, hid from view a small altar. Maigrey, dressed as she had been dressed to attend the wedding, in royal-blue robes covered by a silver surplice, lay on the deck before the altar, unconscious.

  Dion knelt beside her, lifted her gently in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered, she looked up at him.

  "Maigrey," he said softly, "it's Sagan, isn't it? What's happened? Maigrey, tell us. . . ."

  She stared at him without recognition. "I, too, must pass through the fire," she murmured. Pain contorted her face, and she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Two

  United thoughts and counsels, equal hope, And hazard in the glorious enterprise.

  John Milton, Paradise Lost

  Dion came to Maigrey's quarters early in the morning.

  "You're to go in, Your Majesty," said the centurion on watch.

  Dion glanced questioningly at the guard, who shook his head.

  Entering the quiet room, Dion looked at the bed, saw that it hadn't been slept in. He found Maigrey behind the screen, kneeling before the altar, her head resting in her hands. He kept silent, thinking perhaps she'd fallen asleep, and was about to withdraw. Maigrey raised her head, looked at him over her shoulder, through a fine curtain of pale hair.