King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  The 'droid slid forth a credit machine. Maigrey entered Sagan's account number. The 'droid approved.

  "Look into this," it ordered, pointing out a scanning device.

  Maigrey did so. A tiny ray of intense light shot out, pierced her right eye, momentarily blinding her. The device shut off. She stepped back, blinking, trying to see through the black dot of an afterimage.

  "The effect will pass in a few minutes," said the droid. A segment of red-velvet wall slid aside, opening into a narrow corridor filled with white-blue light. "That way to the Cafe. Two-drink minimum."

  They entered the corridor. A door slid shut behind them. It would not reopen. From this point, everyone moved on into the Cafe. The exit was located on the opposite side of the dome, obtainable only by passing through the Cafe.

  The corridor they entered was a tube of steel about six meters long. The only light came from the far end, a round patch of darkness, surrounded by a circle of bright blue neon lights.

  "If the drink prices are on a level with the room rates, I doubt if even the Warlord's bank account will cover more than a couple of rounds," Agis murmured, coming up to walk at her side.

  "Such a sum would buy the Abbey," said Brother Daniel in disapproving tones. "And we are offered only a single room?"

  "And that for only six hours," Maigrey said. "Admittedly, I took the most expensive. The Cafe has others that rent for less, but I'm not only paying for the room, Brother, I'm paying for privacy, secrecy, and prestige. This is no cut-rate job. I intend to hire the best and I want everyone to know I can pay for it."

  They reached the entrance to the Cafe proper. It wasn't a door, but was rather like stepping into a black hole. Complete, baffling, disorienting darkness engulfed them. There was, suddenly, no floor beneath their feet, they could feel no walls on either side. Maigrey, recognizing a sensory-deprivation chamber, fought down an involuntary panic reaction. Within moments, light was in her eyes, her feet were on the floor. She had entered the Cafe.

  A circular, domed room that extended upward through all four stories, the Cafe presented, at first glance, an eerie contrast of bright lights and deep shadows. A gigantic circular bar, around which several hundred people could have gathered, stood in the center. The bar was made of clear acrylic, lit by white neon tubing that encircled its base three times. The white light shone up through the bar, illuminating the faces of all who sat there.

  The remainder of the Cafe's lower level was taken up by innumerable round tables, of various sizes. A globe of light stood in the center of each table. The globes were of differing colors, ranging from white to blue to red to green. As Maigrey and her group entered the globes began to change color, flashing from blue to red, from white to blue, from red to green. Faces could be seen only by the light of the globes and nowhere else. The remainder of the room was shrouded in darkness, lit by the waiters—male and female—in various states of undress, whose painted bodies gave off a phosphorescent glow.

  Each table held, in addition to the globe, a vidscreen. On these screens flashed the faces of those who entered, or if so desired, the vids could be used by those seated at the tables to communicate with those upstairs in the private rooms.

  Maigrey glanced behind her to make certain her companions were following, worrying that Brother Daniel might have been unable to cope with the sensory deprivation chamber. He emerged apparently unscathed, although appearing considerably bewildered, accompanied by Sparafucile, who had a firm grip on the young priest's arm.

  "Fun, eh?" The assassin grinned.

  "It was . . . interesting," said Brother Daniel faintly.

  Maigrey smiled at him reassuringly, saw his eyes shift to a point behind her, widen, and suddenly lower. His face burned red.

  Maigrey turned, was met by a 'droid, this time made to resemble a human female—perfect in every detail as far as they could see, every detail being more or less on display.

  "Table for four?" asked the hostess in programmed, seductive tones.

  "No, we have a private room. We'll go straight there."

  "As you wish. This way, please."

  The hostess, her half-naked body glowing a faint green, herself a walking lamp, led the way, at a slow and languid pace, through the tables. Faces, illuminated in the light, floated like disembodied heads in a sea of darkness. Eyes stared at them, followed them.

  Maigrey kept herself aloof, allowed her gaze to meet no one's.

  The hostess led them to a cylindrical tube that stood at the rear of the Cafe, opposite the entrance. Here was another round black hole that marked the exit. Here, also, was the elevator that led to the upper floors.

  "It is an anti-gravator," said the hostess. "Take hold of the brass ring when you arrive at your destination to stop your ascent, then simply step out."

  Maigrey nodded. The hostess opened her hand. On the palm was located a small keypad. Maigrey entered the account number and an amount for the tip. The hostess cast Brother Daniel a teasing, provocative glance through lowered, gold-gilded eyelids, and glided away.

  Brother Daniel, his gaze riveted to the floor, did not notice.

  The gravator had no door. Maigrey stepped inside and immediately began floating gently upward. The rest followed after her; Sparafucile keeping close to Brother Daniel.

  An odd pair, Maigrey thought, looking down on them. Having entered after her, they were slightly beneath her. She could only assume, uneasily, that the assassin was shadowing the priest out of distrust, which would undoubtedly mean trouble sooner or later. It had been a mistake to bring him, a superstitious weakness on her part. Agis certainly thought that was true. God knew what, then, the cold-blooded assassin must be thinking.

  "Brother Daniel will simply have to watch out for himself," she muttered, reaching out for the ring on level four and pulling herself to a halt. "Or else You'll have to watch out for him," she added, glancing heavenward. "I'm certainly not going to!"

  The fourth level, the top of the dome, had only one room. Maigrey eased herself out of the gravator, stood in a narrow corridor, lit by dim, recessed ceiling lights. At the end of the corridor was what appeared to be a blank wall, devoid of decoration except for a single, hieroglyphic-like eye.

  Maigrey waited until everyone had joined her before proceeding down the silent, empty corridor. She came to stand before the eye, stared into it. A beam of light shot out, scanned her eyeball, shut off. The wall vanished, replaced by pitch-darkness. She stepped into it. A light flashed on, revealing a small, round room with a domed ceiling. A round table stood in the room's center, surrounded by a round, comfortable sofa. On the table was a vidscreen and a globe of light, identical to the globes they'd seen in the Cafe below.

  The four squeezed into a room—a tight fit. When all had crowded inside, the door shut and sealed behind them.

  "Cozy," Maigrey said, pressed against the wall. She motioned everyone to stand back. "Don't anyone sit down yet. Agis, check for listening devices.

  The centurion drew out a hand-held scanner. He activated it, stared at it, narrow-eyed, listened to its faint humming.

  "Clean, my lady," he reported.

  Maigrey nodded. "Carry on then."

  To Brother Daniel's intense astonishment, Sparafucile pulled out a nuke light, dropped to his hands and knees, and proceeded to crawl under the table. Agis jumped on the sofa, poked and prodded at the ceiling panels, that were firmly fixed in place.

  "What are they doing? Looking for dust?" the priest asked with an incredulous laugh.

  Maigrey didn't answer. Agis knocked, pushed on each steel wall panel, endeavored to shove his hand between the sofa and the wall. He shook his head, stepped down.

  Brother Daniel looked confused. "But, my lady, I thought you said this place was private, secret—"

  Hammering and rattling noises, from beneath the table, interrupted the priest, indicated that the assassin might be attempting to tear the furniture apart. Then they heard a grunting sound, the noise ceased.

  Mai
grey's expression grew grave. The shaggy head and misshapen features of the assassin emerged back into the light. Sparafucile placed on the table what appeared to be a small, round, smooth rock—green stone, streaked with red.

  Maigrey felt the strength drain from her body. She sat down, suddenly, on the sofa, stared at the rock.

  Brother Daniel started to say something. Agis cast him a warning glance, shook his head. Sparafucile lifted the rock in his hand, closed his palm over it. There came a cracking sound, as of a walnut being crushed. The assassin opened his hand. Green dust mixed with bits of rock fell from his grasp, like sand falling through an hourglass, to form a small mound on the table.

  "Him, Starlady," said the assassin. "Same device as I find on Laskar. Furniture is bolted to floor. Rock was wedged good and solid back in corner formed by table's base." Sparafucile dusted off his hands.

  "Not a bad try," murmured Maigrey. "Considering he didn't have much time—between when we first said we wanted this room and our coming up here. Damn, damn, damn!" She sighed, stared at the rock dust.

  "Surely, my lady, you expected this," said Agis gently.

  "I did. It was why I looked for it. But that doesn't make it any easier. So much for security. I should demand my money back."

  "The mind-dead go where they will. Few can stop them," intoned Sparafucile.

  "And no one would believe me anyway." Maigrey shrugged, smiled ruefully. "After all, what was it? A rock. Nothing more."

  Brother Daniel caught onto a word. "Mind-dead. My lady, you told me that those monks . . . with the eyes, the terrible eyes . . . were mind-dead. Are you saying that they are here?"

  "Yes. And sent by him—the one called Abdiel," the half-breed answered. "Does the priest know of him?"

  "Yes," said Brother Daniel in a low voice, his face pale. "I know of him. ..."

  The assassin grunted again, shook himself like a mongrel dog. Maigrey touched gingerly, with the tip of her finger, the mound of rock dust.

  "What was that thing?" Agis asked. "Obviously not technological, since it didn't show up on the scanner."

  "It isn't. It is what it appears to be—a rock, known as bloodstone. Years ago, the Blood Royal used these stones to communicate, one with the other. The stone acts as a focus for the psychic powers or some such notion. It was a toy, really. Normal communication routes were easier and required less mental discipline. Lovers exchanged bloodstones, that sort of thing. But the mind-seizers came to realize that the stones had a far greater potential.

  "The Order of Black Lightning discovered that they, with their enhanced mental energies, could use the stones to spy, to overhear conversations. They could even, so I've been told, use the stones as another eye, to see events transpiring far, far away.

  "Through this simple stone, Abdiel could hear me, see me, and, if he chose, perhaps even read my thoughts."

  "He knows we're here, then. Will he try to stop us?" Brother Daniel asked, glancing about the room fearfully, as if he expected to see the old man emerge from the walls.

  "No. That isn't his purpose, his intent. He knows I'm coming to him. He wants me to come. But he doesn't want to be taken by surprise. He would like very much to know how I'm coming and when. Do you think this room is safe now?" she asked Sparafucile abruptly.

  The assassin's misaligned eyes narrowed. "I think no place safe from him, Starlady."

  "I agree. And now, gentlemen," she continued briskly, "if you will sit down, we will get on with our business."

  Chapter Nine

  How long do you stay fresh in that can?

  The Cowardly Lion to the Tin Man, from The Wizard of Oz

  Maigrey ordered drinks: a vodka martini, straight up, olive, not a twist, for herself, water for Agis (Sagan's men, like Sagan himself, did not consume alcohol), a pot of hot tea for Brother Daniel, and an impossible-to-pronounce concoction for the half-breed.

  "The waiter will bring them," said the hostess. "Anything else I can do for you?"

  Maigrey assured her there wasn't, sank back into the sofa cushions, thinking that a martini would be extremely welcome, wishing she could enjoy it. She watched idly the assassin flick through images on the vidscreen, switching from one table to another, from one face to another, with a rapidity that made her dizzy.

  At last he grunted—this seemed to be his primary form of communication—and swiveled the computer screen around for her to view.

  "This good man, lady-mine," he said, having undoubtedly come up with that appellation from hearing Agis refer to her as "my lady."

  "He do work for Sagan Lord."

  Maigrey saw, by the white light of the globe on his table, a human male of indeterminable age—an old thirty or a young fifty. He was completely bald, his face and scalp were mottled with white splashes—acid burns, Maigrey recognized. Dark, brooding eyes were almost hidden in the shadow of an overhanging forehead. He had a drink on the table in front of him. Two hands rested near the glass. One hand was made of flesh and bone and blood. The other was metal.

  "Cyborg," said Sparafucile.

  "What percentage?"

  "Over seventy. Left side. Hand, leg, foot, face, skull, ear, eye."

  "A class job. I wouldn't have guessed the face. Why didn't he get a natural hand to match?"

  "That hand of his—special design. Does many special things, lady-mine. And then, it is his way. He does not try to hide what he is."

  "No," Maigrey murmured. "He flaunts it, in fact. He looks promising, but he's not for hire. His light's not green. Obviously, he's not in need of work."

  "Him never in need. " Sparafucile grinned. "People come to Xris. He not go to people. But cyborg always willing to listen."

  "Xris, you said his name was."

  "Xris."

  Maigrey reached out, touched a button, saw the cyborg's gaze shift, focus on the screen before him. Otherwise, he did not move.

  "I'd like to buy you a drink," Maigrey said.

  The cyborg's hand, the real one, shifted to the glass in front of him.

  "Thanks, sister," he said in a voice that had a faint mechanical tinge to it, "but I haven't finished this one yet."

  "Too bad. If you change your mind, I'm in the upper room," replied Maigrey with a smile.

  The glittering eyes were momentarily hooded. The cyborg lifted his drink, drained it in a gulp, and rose to his feet.

  Maigrey removed her portable computer linkup from its case, connected it with the computer aboard her spaceplane.

  "Sagan's files. Mercenaries," she commanded.

  The computer complied.

  "Xris, cyborg."

  The computer brought up the file swiftly. Maigrey studied a long list of references, then read the single-sentence remark— Sagan's personal comment—at the end. She smiled, sighed.

  A tap on the door, a voice sounded through the commlink.

  "Waiter."

  Agis drew his lasgun. Sparafucile's hand slid inside his rags. Maigrey quit the file, touched a control beneath the table. The door slid aside. A figure, fantastic in dress and appearance, entered, pushing a floating tray bearing glasses, a cup, and a teapot. Maigrey stared.

  "Raoul, isn't it?" she said.

  The beautiful Adonian bowed gracefully in acknowledgment, flashed her a charming smile. Deftly, he placed the glasses on the table, one in front of each, handing the correct drink to the proper person. When he had finished, he sent the tray to wait for him near the door, and made another low and elaborate bow. Straightening, he flipped his long, straight, shining black hair back over his rainbow-velvet-clad shoulders and favored Maigrey with another charming smile.

  "You work here, now, Raoul?" she asked.

  "Alas, my most gracious lady," said the Adonian, continuing to smile with the drug-induced euphoria of the Loti, "the untimely and brutal death of my late former employer, Snaga Ohme, forced me to seek other gainful means of support for myself and my friend. You remember my friend?"

  "The Little One. Yes, where is he?"

&nbs
p; "He remains in our dwelling place. You will understand, my lady, that this den of thieves and murderers, present company excepted," he added, with another fluttering bow, "is no place for the sensitive and delicate nature of an empath."

  "Yes, I can imagine," Maigrey replied, doing her best to keep from smiling. "Am I to take it that you are unhappy working here?" It was difficult to tell with the Loti, whose drugged state generally gave the impression that it was impossible for them to be unhappy about anything.

  Raoul appeared absolutely blissful as he shook his head sadly. "It is not that, my lady. What is happiness, after all, but the fleeting, transitory butterfly of an emotion that is impossible to catch and hold for long before it flies away."

  He allowed a white, delicate hand to emulate the insect of which he spoke. Then, smoothing his hair, he returned from this flight of fancy to what passed for him as reality. "When I saw you enter, my lady, I knew a moment's happiness, the first true happiness I've known in some time. I do not work here stricdy for the money. I have many means at my disposal of earning my keep that are not nearly so degrading or that bring me in contact with such low companions. I intend no offense, of course, my lady. I, more than anyone, understand how circumstances have forced you to place yourself in this unsavory locale."

  "Truly," said Maigrey gravely, accustomed to talking to Adonians, "we are fellow sufferers of misfortune. Please go on."

  "Thank you, my most gracious lady," said the Adonian with a heart-melting smile and another bow. "The Little One and I are here, you see, for a reason. We have a vendetta."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand," said Maigrey cautiously, wondering if the Loti knew what the word "vendetta" meant, thinking he may have mistaken it for some type of blow-dryer.

  "My late former employer, Snaga Ohme, was a very good employer," said Raoul. The drug-misted eyes were, for a moment, suddenly sharp and clear, fixed on Maigrey with a purpose and conviction that was extremely disconcerting. "A very good employer," repeated Raoul, "and a fellow Adonian. We—the Little One and I—know the name of my late former employer, Snaga Ohme's, murderer."