King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  She stared in disbelief. "No, wait! You've made a mistake."

  "Have you made a mistake, Agis?" My Lady asked.

  "No, my lady. These are the correct coordinates."

  Tomi rounded on the woman. "But that will take us into the Corasian galaxy!"

  "Yes, it will, Captain."

  "Who are you?" Tomi, for the first time, felt fear slither inside her. "What do you want?"

  "My name is Maigrey Morianna. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

  "Yes, I've heard of you," answered Tomi grimly. "You're one of the Blood Royal. One of the last. There's a bounty on you—dead or alive."

  She glanced at the strange weapon the woman wielded, remembered the terrible feeling of being forced to obey this woman's will. At least that much was explained. Other pieces were starting to fall into place.

  "One of the other last surviving members of the Blood Royal—what's his name, Sagan—fled to Corasia to escape being executed for murder. And you're off to join your lover. That's why you want this ship, isn't it?"

  The soldier stirred in his chair, looked around at Tomi with a frown.

  "Complete your work, Agis."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Maigrey shrugged, started to turn away.

  "And you also need us to bribe your way into the galaxy safely!" Tomi cried. Fear and anger were making her lose control. "You're going to sell us to the Corasians! You bitch!"

  Tomi lunged, intent on killing the woman, not thinking, not caring what happened to herself. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, was the panicked thought that dying like this would be far preferable to the fate that awaited her in the Corasian galaxy.

  An arm of steel blocked her way, a steel fist on her jaw knocked her fiat. Tomi staggered back into a chair, fell, landed heavily on the deck. The blow made her dizzy, she almost lost consciousness. Fighting the pain and mists threatening to engulf her, she forced herself to a sitting position, clinging to the overturned chair for support.

  Xris stood over her, apparently waiting to see if there was any fight left in her. There was, but Tomi decided this was neither the time nor the place. She shook her head weakly, wiped away blood with the back of her hand, and spit out a dislodged tooth.

  The cyborg, satisfied, turned to Maigrey. "You fried those door controls good, sister. It's jammed. It won't shut."

  "Can you fix it?"

  "Sure. Take a couple of hours—"

  "Then do so."

  "What about the captain here?"

  "I'll keep an eye on her. When Sparafucile's finished his work, he can escort her and her lieutenant to their quarters. Good work, Xris," Maigrey added with a smile. "You and your men."

  "All in the contract, sister."

  Removing his weapons hand, the cyborg cracked open a plate in the cybernetic leg, snapped the weapons hand back into its place, removed another hand whose fingers were far smaller, with intricate jointing, designed for working with delicate precision and skill. He snapped that hand on his wrist, returned to the hatch.

  Maigrey offered to help Tomi stand.

  The captain refused, sullenly, pulled herself up by hanging onto the chair. She saw out of the corner of her eye, the young man, Brother Daniel, watching. His face had gone white, he looked shocked and upset.

  Good. Very good.

  "Are you all right, Captain?" Maigrey asked.

  "Yeah, your meat isn't damaged!" Tomi said bitterly, rubbing an aching jaw. "What's with the water supply? You drugging it?"

  Maigrey nodded. "We can't have the passengers and crew causing us trouble. You'll be in a state of hibernation—we want the meat delivered fresh, of course; the Corasians won't buy frozen goods."

  "I'll stop you," Tomi said softly, her black eyes fixed on the woman's gray ones. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll stop you."

  "Oh, I don't think so," said Maigrey. Lifting a canteen from its place on a belt at her waist, she tilted it to her lips, took a long drink, lowered it, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sooner or later, Captain, you're bound to get thirsty."

  Chapter Fifteen

  And I had done a hellish thing . . .

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

  Maigrey sat on the bridge of the Galaxy Belle, staring out into the black gulf beyond, the Void that separated their galaxy from the galaxy of their enemy. No stars. Nothing, except the occasional atom, drifting through the vastness.

  Inside, she was like that Void. Black, empty, nothing. She was transporting a thousand innocent people to what would undoubtedly be horrible death—for she admitted to herself, the odds of this plan working were very slim—taking them to be placed, literally, in a Corasian meat locker, and she felt nothing.

  "My lady." Brother Daniel's voice, softly respectful.

  Maigrey was vaguely aware of the priest standing before her, a tray of food in his hand. She shook her head.

  "My lady," he said, gently chiding, "you must eat."

  "Eat." Maigrey shivered. "Have you ever seen Corasians eat, Brother Daniel? I have. Corasians—themselves energy— feed off energy, feed off humans, aliens, trees, any living energy-rich being."

  Daniel, face pale, sat down beside her, laid his hand on her arm. "My lady, don't do this to yourself—"

  Maigrey turned, looked at him, the gray eyes seeming to reflect the Void. "Or maybe it will be worse than that." Her gaze left him, shifted back to the black gulf. "The Corasians need slaves to work for them in their factories, building ships and planes capable of carrying them across the Void and into our galaxy. And as you work, you know in your heart that you are developing the tools that will soon enslave others. But not to work is punished most horribly."

  "You're only tired, my lady. You haven't slept—"

  "He's dying, Daniel."

  The young priest caught his breath. The hand on her arm involuntarily tightened its grip. "Who, my lady?" he asked in a low voice, though he knew the answer well enough.

  "I can't put it into words or define it or even make logical sense of it. A man can sit on the shore of an ocean for hours on end, watching the tide go out, but it recedes so slowly and imperceptibly that he is rarely conscious of the fact. Only when he looks down at the wet sand at his feet and realizes that, hours before, water stood in deep pools or lapped gently on the shore, is he aware of the change. I look into myself, Brother, and see nothing but a long stretch of empty sand."

  "The mind-seizer—" Brother Daniel began.

  "No, I sense Abdiel's fury, his helplessness and frustration. Knowing Sagan as he does, he had not foreseen this possibility. He assumed that Derek was the same driven, ambitious man that he was in his youth. Abdiel couldn't know of the changes that have come to my lord since that time. Sagan is giving up," she added simply. "He is using death to flee his enemy."

  "My lord would never do such a thing," Brother Daniel said. "To take one's own life is to commit a terrible sin."

  Maigrey smiled sadly. "If it was Abdiel alone my lord fought, you are right. He could hold out, withstand whatever torture the mind-seizer inflicted on him. But Sagan's true battle is against himself. The only way he can win that battle is to lose, and he prefers to simply withdraw peacefully from the field of contest.

  "And what will I do, Brother Daniel?" Maigrey's voice was laden with pain. "I must confront him, halt his retreat, drive him back to the battlefield, force him to fight—a fight he can't possibly win, a fight that will leave him irreparably damaged, inflict wounds that will never heal. I will do this to him and then I will leave him, leave him to struggle on alone."

  She stared out again into the eternal darkness. Her eyes burned. No tears would come to bring comfort.

  "One is never alone with God—"

  "Do you believe in Sagan's dream, then, Brother Daniel? Do you believe such is our fate and that we cannot alter it? If so, what makes the Creator better than a puppet master, and we poor mortals nothing but His toys?"

  "I've heard you say, my lady: 'I have no c
hoice.' But that isn't precisely true, is it? You've been given choices. Right or wrong, you've chosen to follow one path over another. And now consider this, my lady. If God chooses to shine His light on a path that would ordinarily be dark, couldn't it be that He is trying to show the way?"

  Or trying to prevent it, Maigrey was about to reply when they were interrupted by Agis and Xris returning from an inspection of the engine room.

  "All is well, my lady," Agis reported. "This ship is quite capable of making the Jump to the other galaxy. Fjiel supply is more than adequate to take us there—"

  "And return?" Maigrey asked, coming back briskly to the problems at hand.

  "It will be close, but I trust His Majesty's armada will carry its own fuel supply. When this ship joins the fleet, it can refuel at that time."

  Maigrey's ironic smile twisted the scar on her face. "Of course it can. What about engineering? Can you and your men take over?"

  "No problem," Xris answered. "The engines are in good shape. Better than usual for these tubs. This captain runs a tight ship."

  Maigrey nodded. "Satisfactory. Did you warn your men not to drink the water?"

  "Yes, my lady. We provided them with their own supply." Agis crossed over, took a seat beside her. "Shall I prepare for the Jump, my lady?"

  "Yes, and send the signal to His Majesty. I've input the code and the destination. All you have to do is transmit. When you've finished that, pass the word for Sparafucile and Raoul."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Agis set about his task. Xris, having acquired the parts he needed from the electrical room, returned to his work, attempting to fix the door. Maigrey shifted in her chair, stared back out into empty space.

  Brother Daniel folded his hands, sought to pray. But the simple gesture of clasping his hands together reminded him that he had his own problems, though they were of the flesh, not the spirit. He'd come to discuss them with her but he found he couldn't. His problems seemed petty, now. He wasn't at all certain that she would understand him.

  And he was ashamed. He could speak glibly enough of God when it came to dealing with the problems of another, but with his own . . . His attempt at prayer wasn't a success. His thoughts refused to ascend to heaven, but lurked in a warm darkness, far lower.

  Daniel's first care had been for the most seriously wounded patient aboard the ship, the lieutenant. He and Agis carried the man to the sick bay, where the shipboard doctor, with curt efficiency, removed the dart from the arm.

  Brother Daniel made certain, during the surgery, that the doctor ingested no water. When the operation was finished, however, and the patient resting comfortably, Daniel watched in silence as the doctor poured himself a glass of water from the tap, drank it down. Within moments, the doctor was, himself, lying on one of his own berths, drifting off into a deep, deep sleep.

  The priest went over the medical supplies, took what he needed to treat the captain's burned hand, and left, repeating to himself that drugging everyone was much better than holding their victims captive, in a state of perpetual, mind-numbing terror; better than the threats, the beatings, the attempts at escape, the killings that must certainly take place in a protracted hostage situation.

  Returning to the bridge, he found Lady Maigrey and Agis deep in discussion over the best route into Corasia. Xris was conversing with his men, checking on their status through a commlink device that was, apparently, built directly into the cyborg's skull. Daniel glanced around. The captain was gone.

  "Excuse me, my lady, but where is the . . . the captain?" For some reason, Daniel couldn't talk about the woman without feeling his skin burn, his insides knot up.

  Maigrey turned from her work, glanced at him.

  Daniel felt immediately guilty, although of what he wasn't quite certain. He held up ointment and bandages. "For her hand," he said, lamely.

  It seemed the lady saw right through him, but she only said, "Sparafucile escorted the captain to her quarters. It's located for'ard, on the engine deck. I can't spare anyone to take you, at the moment ..."

  "I ... I can find it," stammered Brother Daniel, anxious to escape the lady's amused, albeit somewhat concerned, scrutiny. The thought, too, of the female captain in the hands of the half-breed assassin appalled the priest. He hurried off, and thanks to the cruise ship having numerous maps with "You Are Here" arrows posted on the bulkheads, for the convenience of the passengers, he descended from the bridge, which was on something called Boat deck, found Engineering deck with relative ease.

  Wandering the corridor, searching for the captain's cabin, Daniel almost ran into Sparafucile, emerging from a room. The priest heard—through the partially opened door—the sound of a woman moaning in pain.

  "What did you do to her?" Daniel demanded, confronting the half-breed.

  The misaligned eyes in the cruel and brutish face squinted, narrowed in silent laughter. The mouth, barely visible behind the mass o^ragged hair hanging over the face, curled in a leer.

  "Woman try to have some fun with Sparafucile," said the assassin. "She think maybe Sparafucile is not smart. Or maybe that he is not dedicated to his job. Woman knows better now. I do not think she will try to have fun with Sparafucile again."

  The voice was soft, with a slight hissing sound. Daniel felt his insides shrivel, cold pervade his bowels. He was overcome by revulsion, but—seeing those cunning eyes closely observant of him—he tried to keep his feelings concealed. He took a step forward.

  The half-breed blocked the priest's way through the door.

  "Let me pass," Daniel said, starting to grow angry.

  "What you want with woman?" The half-breed grinned, as if he could guess the answer.

  "The Lady Maigrey sent me," Brother Daniel replied. "I have medicine, bandages." He took another step forward until he was almost touching the half-breed. "Let me past."

  "Lady send you." Sparafucile considered the matter. He stepped aside slowly, with the grace of a slithering snake. "I stay with you."

  "No," said Brother Daniel. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Besides, her ladyship wants you to report to her on the bridge."

  That was a lie, but the priest trusted God would forgive a lie in a good cause.

  The assassin moved away from the door.

  "Be careful," the half-breed warned. "The woman is tricksy.

  Maybe she try to have some fun with you, too. If you need help, you call Sparafucile."

  One of the eyes, the higher of the two on the grotesquely deformed face, closed in a wink. The assassin moved down the corridor, silently, swiftly.

  Daniel glanced into the room, saw the woman lying on the bed. When he looked back, the assassin had disappeared, as if he had melted into the bulkheads. Daniel shivered, entered the room, and shut the door behind him.

  The woman groaned. Daniel forgot his anger and revulsion and any other intrusive feelings in his pity and compassion for someone hurting. Hurrying to her bedside, he examined her swiftly, could find no trace of blood or any visible wound. Her almond-shaped black eyes were shadowed with pain, but alert, watching him. Her groans had ceased, stifled when she saw him come near her. She was breathing heavily, but deeply. Her dark brown skin glistened with sweat. Her hair, shaved on the sides above the ears, but luxuriant above, was so black as to be almost blue. It sprang from a central peak at her forehead, stood up, glistening, like an ebony crown on her well-shaped head.

  Lying on the bed, weakened by pain, her body nevertheless taut and coiled, tense for action, she reminded Daniel of a wild animal, caught in a trap, yet prepared to fight for its life. Her uniform jacket had been unbuttoned when they'd first encountered her on the bridge. The flap now hung open, as if tearing hands had ripped it, partially revealing the large bare, firm breasts beneath.

  Daniel stared, caught himself staring, and turned away abruptly.

  Hardly knowing what he was doing, moving blindly, acting out of well-trained instinct, he set the medicine and bandages down on a nightstand and hastened into the
bathroom. He drew a glass of water from the tap, returned to the woman.

  She lay in a more relaxed position, though the eyes fixed on him remained dark with suspicion.

  Trying to imagine her as just another of his male patients aboard Phoenix, Brother Daniel came to her bedside, leaned down to support her to a sitting position, and held the water to her lips.

  "Drink this," he said.

  The violent thrust of her strong hand knocked the glass out of Daniel's fingers. It fell to the floor, shattered.

  "Get away from me!" Tomi said through clenched teeth. "Get out! Go back to your murdering bitch and tell her I didn't fell for it!"

  Brother Daniel stared at the broken glass at his feet, at the water seeping into the carpet that covered the ship's metal deck.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—Please, believe me. I had no intention. I . . . saw only that you were in pain. I thought to give you ease ..."

  He couldn't look at her. Bending down, he began to pick up the shards of glass. "I'll remove this . . . you might cut yourself. And then, I will leave. ..."

  The woman said nothing more to him. Brother Daniel concentrated on his work, but he was acutely aware of the woman lying on the bed, of her black eyes watching him, of her breathing growing easier, of the smell of some type of exotic perfume that came from her. His hand trembled, he almost cut himself. He deposited the larger pieces of glass in a trash compactor. Returning to the bathroom, he soaked a towel in water, came back and used it to wipe up the smaller pieces. Uncertain, then, what to do with the glass-encrusted towel, he finally stuffed it, too, in the trash compactor. He never once looked at the woman but he knew, the entire time, that she never once took her eyes from him.

  When he was finished, he came to stand beside the bed, his hands folded before him, his eyes staring at the lemon yellow sheet covering the mattress.

  "I will leave the ointment for your burn. Apply it liberally, then cover it with the bandage. That will stop the pain and keep the wound sterile. You can wash your hand, but always reapply the ointment afterward. You can only live for a few days without water." He started to turn to go.