Agis turned to Tomi. "Captain, you have the helm. The fleet will be here in approximately four hours. I'm picking up no sign of Corasian activity. You should be safe enough until help arrives, provided you do nothing to alert the enemy to your presence."
Tomi grunted, sneered. "If you're waiting for my grateful thanks, don't bother!" Her gaze shifted, fixed on the priest. "And you're going to go down there with her, with them? Onto a planet that's crawling with Corasians?"
"Yes," Brother Daniel answered steadily.
"Don't be a fool! Don't go. It's suicide. She's crazy. This woman—she's Blood Royal. They were all crazy. Stay here . . . on the ship. Stay ..."
Tomi's voice faltered. She felt Maigrey's eyes on her, continued defiantly: "Stay on board here, with me." Her voice softened. "I want you to. No tricks now. I mean it."
Brother Daniel shook his head.
"All right! Go with them!" Tomi told him. "It won't do any good. They'll still despise you. Just like I do!"
Brother Daniel flinched, the scorn in her voice flicking across him like the lash.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking up at her. "I did what I believed was best. I don't expect you to understand. But I hope someday that you can forgive me."
A sob welled up in Tomi's throat. Angrily, she turned away, stared out at the fiery sun.
"You, bitch," she said abruptly. "Get rid of them. I want to talk to you a minute. Alone."
"The rest of you go on. I'll meet you at the docking bay. Ill be all right," Maigrey added to Agis and Sparafucile, who appeared reluctant to leave her by herself with the captain. "That's an order."
The men filed out. The door shut behind them. Maigrey turned to Tomi. "What is it, Captain? Be brief."
"The Corasians have the space-rotation bomb? Is that on the level? That's why you've done ... all this?"
"I could tell you that was the reason. But I don't know why you should believe me."
"I don't know why either." Tomi's hands gripped the back of the pilot's seat, her fingers digging into the leather. "And I don't know why I should give a damn what you think about me, but I wanted to tell you that you were wrong. What you said to me . . . back in my room . . . about the priest."
Tomi sighed, put her hand to her head that felt like it was splitting apart.
"I don't despise him. I don't know why I said that. I really do care about him. I didn't, at the beginning. I meant to try to seduce him, to use him to escape. And part of me still meant it. But part of me didn't. Maybe you could tell him that, if you think it would help."
Maigrey regarded the woman silently, her face impassive. "Good-bye, Captain Corbett. Good luck."
"I'm not the one who'll need it." Tomi cast her a grim glance. "You haven't got a prayer and you know it."
"On the contrary," Maigrey replied gravely. "That's the one thing we do have."
Chapter Five
And he went consenting, or he was no king, and power would not fall on him to lead the people.
Mary Renault, The King Must Die
Dion was in Lord Sagan's quarters on board Phoenix, quarters that were now his. Except they weren't his, not really. Too much reminded him of Sagan, too much of Maigrey. He heard their voices . . .
Reprimanding, forbidding, ridiculing . . .
And Tusk's and Dixter's and Nola's . . .
Arguing, pleading, advising . . .
DiLuna's, Rykilth's . . .
Flattering, deceiving, lying . . .
And Abdiel. His voice had returned, his whisperings louder now that Dion was drawing nearer.
Promising, tempting . . .
The cacophony was deafening, confusing.
Opposed to the tumult was silence, terrifying, appalling, the silence of being alone. Yet, in that silence, he might hear that still, small voice that had spoken to him before. He might, if he listened closely, hear his own voice.
And he thought he knew what it was trying to say.
But he would never know until he could listen to the silence.
"Your Majesty." Another voice.
"Yes, Admiral." Dion switched on the commlink, saw the admiral's lined and care-worn face on the viewscreen.
"Has Your Majesty received the coordinates from the Lady Maigrey?"
"Yes, Admiral. I have."
"Time is of the essence, Your Majesty. ..."
"I'm aware of that, Admiral. I'll be bringing them to the bridge myself."
He shut down the transmission, stood staring unseeing at the screen.
His choice. His decision.
Dion turned, headed for the doors, the double doors, embellished with a golden phoenix, rising from flames. The centurion standing guard outside came to attention.
"Cato," said Dion, confronting his captain. "You were appointed to the Guard by Lord Sagan. You were loyal to him."
"I would have given my life for him, Your Majesty, and deemed it an honor."
"Would you do the same for me, Captain?" Dion asked.
The centurion's gaze shifted, met Dion's. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Very good, Captain. Turn out your men, and come with me."
General John Dixter stood on the bridge of Phoenix, waiting stoically for the Jump. He knew it would make him sick, it always did. The long trip across the Void had been sheer hell. Dr. Giesk had tried this remedy and that, none of which had worked. Giesk had finally given up. It was the doctor's considered medical opinion that this sickness was all in Dixter's head and that if he would put his mind to it, he'd get over it.
Dixter had told Giesk just exactly what the doctor could do with his considered medical opinion and where he could go after he finished doing it. Having dealt with the doctor previously under far from pleasant circumstances, Dixter received considerable satisfaction from this conversation, recalled his words with pleasure as he had staggered back to his cabin and collapsed on his bunk. John Dixter was undoubtedly the only person in the fleet who had actually breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when they entered the Corasian galaxy.
But they had come out of the Jump, only to make it again. The general should really be in his quarters, now, but there were last-minute details to cover concerning troop landing and deployment, should such be necessary. At least that's what he told himself. Actually he was on the bridge for one reason and one reason alone.
He had the distinct feeling that His Majesty was plotting something. The allies knew Maigrey'd sent the coordinates of their destination to the king and the king alone. The allies all assumed that he'd share.
Everyone except John Dixter.
"Excuse me, sir."
The general jerked his mind back, tried to remember what it was they'd been discussing. "I'm sorry, Tusk. What were you saying?"
"If the main objective is to get Lady Maigrey and her team off-planet and back to Phoenix, then shouldn't we send the marines in, first units lay down covering fire and—"
Tusk stopped talking. Dixter looked around. Admiral Aks had just returned from the commlink.
"His Majesty is bringing the coordinates in person," the admiral informed Captain Williams.
"About time! What took him so long?"
The two had drawn away from the other personnel on the bridge, walked over to stare out the large viewscreen at the assembled ships of the fleet, massed in battle formation, prepared for the inevitable enemy attack once their presence in tie alien galaxy became known.
Dixter and Tusk, sitting at a command console, concealed behind a bank of instruments, could hear clearly the conversation between the two officers.
"What the devil has he been doing all this time, sir?" Williams repeated.
"Who knows? Trying to make up his mind what to do, I suppose."
"I'll be glad when Lord Sagan is back to put an end to this nonsense," said Captain Williams.
"You're not the only one." Aks heaved a sigh.
"I suppose, when my lord returns, there can be no question over who is really the ruler of the galaxy?"
The two e
xchanged significant glances.
"No question whatsoever. There would have been none before this, if Lord Sagan had not been forced to deal with Abdiel."
"I must say, sir, that His Majesty managed the disposition of the fleet quite brilliantly."
"The young man has paid attention to what my lord has taught him. But I fear—"
The rhythmic, measured tramp of booted feet interrupted them. The entire complement of Honor Guard, dressed in battle armor, accompanied their king onto the bridge.
Adjusting his expression and his uniform, the admiral moved forward, Captain Williams following, to greet their king.
His Majesty smiled pleasantly.
Dixter and Tusk exchanged glances, both of them knew that smile.
"Admiral, all going well?"
"As well as can be expected, Your Majesty." Aks fidgeted nervously.
Williams, handsome face rigid, stood stiffly at attention. "Your Majesty, we have wasted enough time! We are at full alert status, behind enemy lines with an enemy force on the way. Give me the coordinates ..."
"I am well aware of the situation, Captain," Dion interrupted. "I came to tell you that there has been a change in plans. I will not be giving you the coordinates. I am taking a spaceplane, flying to the Corasian planet alone."
Everyone began talking at once.
"Quite impossible, Your Majesty! Lord Sagan would never permit—"
"Errant nonsense! You have no idea what you're saying. Captain of the Guard, escort His Majesty back to his quarters—"
"Captain of the Guard," intervened Dion, "place Captain Williams and Admiral Aks and anyone else who opens his mouth under arrest."
The centurions brought their weapons to bear on their targets. Aks, face blotchy, red, mottled with patches of white, stared at the beam rifle pointed at him in astonishment. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. Williams was spluttering with outrage.
"Captain Cato, deploy your men." Dion gestured. He glanced around at the crew on the bridge. "You people are relieved of your duties. Stand back, do what you're told, and no one will get hurt."
The Honor Guard moved into position, weapons drawn. Bridge personnel stared at them in astonishment, then, glancing at their officers and finding no help, they raised their hands, stood up, and moved away from their instrument panels. The centurions lined them up against a wall, forced them to sit down on the deck, hands on their heads.
"You, too, Tusk, I'm afraid," said Dion. "I'm going to take your Scimitar and I'll have enough trouble with XJ as it is. I don't want you interfering—"
Tusk stood stock still, his hands at his side, ignoring the beam rifle a centurion held on him. "Damn right I'm gonna interfere. I'm gonna interfere good. I'm coming with you."
Tusk ..." Dion looked annoyed, tried to be patient. "You don't understand—"
"And Nola, too. You'll need a gunner."
Dion shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tusk, but I can't let you."
Tusk shoved the beam rifle out of his way, began to walk toward Dion. "I said I was coming."
"Tusk, they'll shoot—"
"Go ahead." Tusk kept walking.
The centurion leveled his weapon on the mercenary.
"Hold your fire," Dion commanded, exasperated. 'Tusk, you don't understand! You don't know what I have to do."
"I've got a pretty good guess."
"Maigrey and Sagan tried to protect me from this, Tusk, but they can't. I've got to make the sacrifice."
"I know, kid."
"It may be that this was all I was ever meant to do. All the mistakes, all the evils of the Blood Royal have culminated in me. If I'm the last, the end, then everyone can start over being ordinary. Tusk, I'm taking the bomb with me! And I'll detonate it, if I have to."
"I figured that, too. Don't forget, kid, I'm Blood Royal. Half of me, at least. I guess I got a responsibility myself. I think maybe that's why my old man dumped this on me." He fingered the star he wore in his left earlobe. "He hoped I'd stop and face myself, instead of running from myself all my life. Well, I just quit runnin', kid."
Dion hesitated a moment.
Tusk grinned. "It's up to you, kid. Either take me or shoot me."
"I ought to shoot you. But, all right. Go find Nola and get the plane ready. I'll be there in a minute."
"General Dixter, I'm placing you in command while I'm gone. I'm sorry"—Dion smiled wryly—"but I'm afraid you're getting the rotten end of the deal. You'll have to explain to Rykilth and DiLuna that there's been a change in plans, and unless I miss my guess, they're not going to take this very well.
Wait for my signal. You'll either fly Phoenix in to bring us out or be prepared to make the Jump back across the Void. And if that's what's required, you'll have to move fast."
"I understand, sire."
"I'll give you what time I can. I've made calculations, based on Sagan's analysis of the space-rotation bomb. According to my findings, the Void should dissipate the expanding force of the explosion. The destruction should be limited to this galaxy."
"You're insane!" Captain Williams started forward, found a centurion's beam rifle against his chest.
"I trust I can count on you, sir?" Dion asked quietly, ignoring the interruption and the captain.
John Dixter looked at the flaming red-golden mane of hair, the calm blue eyes, and he thought back to that hot day on Vangelis when he'd first seen the face, first experienced that riveting shock of looking into those blue eyes and seeing simultaneously a future and a past.
"You can count on me, sire."
"And if you'd do one more thing for me. I've left messages in my computer files for . . . certain people. If I don't come back, would you see that they are delivered?"
"Certainly, son," said John Dixter.
"Thank you, sir," Dion turned to leave.
I tried to deny him, Dixter said to himself. I kept my mouth shut, hoped he would go away. But I think, all along, I'd been waiting for him. I'd been waiting seventeen years for the story to end. And is this it? Was he meant only to die for us?
Dion left the bridge.
"Don't just stand there, General!" shouted Captain Williams. "The boy's obviously gone mad! You have influence over him. Go after him! Talk some sense into him!"
"I don't think that's possible, Captain. His Majesty wouldn't hear. He isn't listening . . . to us."
"If you ask me—"
"No one did," growled Tusk.
"If you ask me," repeated XJ loudly, preparing for takeoff, "there are easier ways to avoid getting married."
Chapter Six
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible, Served only to discover sights of woe . . .
John Milton, Paradise Lost
The spaceplanes streaked out of the darkness, leaving behind a trail of fire that must remind the Creator of the day when He hurled his rebel angels from heaven. An apt analogy, Maigrey thought, especially considering where it was the fallen angels landed. Her plane touched on the planet's barren surface.
The broken planet was thickly covered with some sort of carbon-based vegetation, probably planted by the Corasians since it was unlikely anything would have sprung up on its own following the cataclysmic destruction of the planet itself. The vegetation, with its numerous twisted limbs and stunted, gnarled trunks, had a treelike look to it.
"Atmosphere thin, but breathable," Agis reported, studying the instrument readings. "Apparently that plant life exudes oxygen."
"Developed for the convenience of their slave labor, no doubt. Another reason why Abdiel would have picked this place."
Maigrey recalled descriptions of the mind-seizer's dwelling on Laskar, recalled her own experience with him, although that had been twenty years ago, when he was both younger and stronger. Even then, Abdiel had been forced to pamper his fragile, frail body like a hothouse violet. He could not last long living in harsh or hostile conditions.
"Will we find any of them here, my lady, do you th
ink?" Agis was asking.
"Any what? Human slaves?" Maigrey looked out at numerous charred tree stumps—a crude food supply for the Cora-sians, when they couldn't come by anything they liked better. "I doubt it," she said shortly.
She began shutting down her plane's systems. Agis, stoic and reliable, was strapping on his weapons—lasgun, beam rifle, grenades. Brother Daniel, a feint flush on his cheeks, was keeping himself out of the centurion's way. Maigrey had heard, though she had pretended not to, Agis trying earlier to convince Brother Daniel to carry a weapon.
The priest had calmly, adamantly refused. The power of God was with him, he said, and nothing Agis could argue in return would shake Brother Daniel's conviction. Maigrey did not attempt to intervene. She knew how much his faith had cost the young man. She could only trust the Creator would give him some sort of return on his investment.
Maigrey looked out her viewscreen, saw Xris and his men making a dash across the short stretch of open ground between the planes and the tunnel entrances that resembled mounds of dirt thrown up by some burrowing animal. The cyborg and his crew deployed commando style around the mounds, but met no resistance, not a glimmer of the red glow that presaged an encounter with the Corasians.
Following after him, two strange figures traipsed slowly and unconcernedly over the wide-open patch of ground, heading for the tunnel entrance. Raoul, dressed in what the Loti perhaps dimly assumed was camouflage, was wearing a Corasian-red jumpsuit, complete with matching red gloves and flat-heeled pumps. Shuffling along at his side was the Little One, a walking raincoat, topped by the battered fedora.
Xris waved his arm at her, indicating all clear.
"Time to go," she said.
Leaving the pilot's chair, she went to one of the storage compartments, knelt down, and removed an object wrapped in black velvet. The velvet slid unheeded to the deck. Rising, she walked to Agis, held the bloodsword out to him.
"This is my lord's. You will carry it for him, give it to him when we reach him."
"Yes, my lady." Agis took reverent hold of the weapon, and carefully inserted the sword into the weapon's belt around his waist. "Thank you, my lady."
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