Ghost Legion

by Margaret Weis

  "Good," Maigrey cut in crisply. "Ready?"

  Kamil nodded, unable to speak. Her throat was so dry, she wondered how she would manage to force any sound out. She was faint, shaking, but it was now or never. Drawing a deep breath, she screamed.

  Her voice cracked; she choked. Desperate, aware of the gray eyes regarding her with detached speculation, Kamil drew another breath, screamed again. Her pent-up fear and frustration found an outlet. The sound was astonishing, almost frightened her.

  The door burst open. The guard entered, his weapon drawn, as Maigrey had predicted. He was bigger than Kamil had first thought. She was tall, but he towered over her by a head. The hand that held the gun was massive and strong. He wasn't looking at her, didn't see her, but was searching swiftly and expertly around the small room. It wouldn't be long before he found her, crouched, frightened, unable to move, hiding behind the door....

  Suddenly the man's mouth gaped open. His eyes bulged; he fell back a pace.

  Lady Maigrey stood in front of him, silver armor gleaming, pale hair stirring, as if in an ethereal wind. She gazed at the man without a word.

  Kamil flung herself on the guard with a strength born of desperation. She grabbed his hand, wrenched the gun from it with an ease she hadn't expected, turned the weapon on him .. . and froze.

  It was one thing to shoot in the heat of battle, fire at targets you couldn't see. It was quite another to shoot an unarmed man who was only an arm's length away, staring straight at you.

  If the man had remained standing still, Kamil probably couldn't have gone through with it. But the guard—angry and embarrassed—reacted instinctively to his danger. He lunged at Kamil.

  Terrified, Kamil fired.

  The blast knocked the man backward. He fell against the partially opened door, slid to the floor, and lay there.

  Kamil began to shake.

  "Stop that!" Maigrey snapped. "Shut the door!"

  Kamil did as she was told, stepping gingerly over the body to do so. She knew he was dead.

  "Take off his uniform," Maigrey ordered. "And put it on. Quickly, child! Quickly! Don't think about it," she added. "Just do it."

  Kamil did as she was told. "Dion," she repeated over and over. "I have to get to Dion. He's all that matters."

  Kneeling down beside the man, she rolled the body over, face up, and started to divest him of his uniform. She noticed then that he was alive. Sighing in relief, she worked swiftly.

  Soon his uniform was off him and on her. The uniform was a jumpsuit, stretchy, made to fit a variety of sizes, and so Kamil didn't look as odd in it as she had expected.

  "The helmet," Maigrey reminded her.

  Kamil grabbed it, jammed it on her head. It smelled of sweat and some sort of disinfectant shampoo. She started for the door.

  "Wait a minute. You're not finished here. Bind his wrists behind his back. Rip up that gown of yours. Wrap his head in the pillowcase to muffle his voice when he comes to. Don't worry. He won't smother."

  Kamil had to wrestle the inert and almost naked heavy body. Fortunately, she was accustomed to roughhousing with her brothers, and so that part, while distasteful, wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She made a neat job of the knots; stood up, sweating.

  "Now?"

  "Now," said Maigrey.

  Kamil started to open the door, hesitated. "Will you be with me?"

  "You won't see me," Maigrey said. "But I will be with you."

  Nodding, Kamil yanked open the door. She started to look up and down the corridor, then remembered that—in her uniform—she had a perfect right to be here. She sauntered casually out of the room, locked and sealed the door behind her. She set off down the corridor.

  "When do they change guards?" a voice in her ear asked.

  "At 2400," Kamil answered. "If they keep to their usual schedule. I did find that out," she added, rather defensively.

  "Good for you. Hopefully, no one will miss him until then. Which gives you time. Do you know where Tusk's quarters are?"

  "No, but I figured I could ask. That wouldn't look strange, would it? I mean, with all the confusion of coming on board ..."

  "Perfectly normal. You have a talent for this."

  Kamil flushed, pleased. Then she shook her head. "But I froze back there. When he came in with the gun. If he hadn't seen you ..." She paused. "You did that on purpose, to save me. .. ."

  "Mice and pumpkins," Maigrey told her. "But the ball ends at midnight, child, so you had better hurry."

  "Cynthia, it's like this," Tusk was saying. "This prince that you admire so much is nothing more than a double-crossing, cold-blooded murderer. He's sending every one of us to his or her respective graves. No, I take that back. There won't be enough left of us to put in a grave. Not enough to put in an eyedropper. You've heard of the space-rotation bomb? Well, the prince has it and it's on board ship right now and he's planning to blow it up tomorrow morning after breakfast ... Fuck it."

  Tusk tromped around his tiny room, kicked a chair in passing for good measure.

  "She'll never buy it," he told his reflection in the small steelglass porthole, out of which he could see Vallombrosa, looking like one of young John's rubber balls. "And I've got 'til morning to convince her? Shit!" He kicked the chair again. "I wonder what the hell went wrong? Why didn't Sagan tell me?

  " Course that woulda been a first," Tusk went on bitterly. "He hasn't told me one goddam thing from start to finish. And this just might be the finish. Go out with a great big bang. 'Do it by morning,' " he mimicked.

  Tusk glanced at the time. "Well, I'm not getting anywhere here. Wonder where good ol' Cynthia'll be this time of night? Her quarters, probably. Maybe something brilliant'll come to me on the way there—"

  He was just about to open the door when the door opened on its own.

  One of the prince's guards stood there, his gun leveled at Tusk's breast.

  Tusk raised his hands in the air. "What the—"

  The door slid shut. The guard removed his helmet.

  "It's me, Tusk. I want you to take me to Dion."

  "Kamil!" Tusk collapsed back against the bulkhead, clutching his chest. "Jeez! I wish people'd quit doing this to me! My heart can't take much more of this. And just what the hell are you doing?" he demanded irritably. "Why don't you go back—"

  Tusk lunged, made a swift and expert grab for the lasgun, intending to snatch it away before she knew what hit her. Unfortunately, he was the one who got hit. She brought the gun down hard on his hand, cracked his knuckles.

  Tusk yelped. "Where'd you learn that?"

  "Never mind. Now take me to Dion."

  "Oh, for the love of—" Tusk sighed, exasperated. "Look, Kamil, I got things to do. Important things. You don't understand what's going on. And I can't explain now. Just take my word for it, everything's under control."

  He couldn't believe he'd just said that with a straight face. "Okay? Okay. I'll take you back to your room and—"

  "You'll take me to Dion," she repeated for the third time, pointing the gun at him. "I've shot one man already."

  "What the hell do you think you're going to do once you get there?" Tusk demanded. "He won't go with you. He's already told you that once. Yeah, I heard that conversation you two had. You plan to knock him out cold and haul him off while he's unconscious?"

  "If I have to," Kamil said, her jaw setting. She gestured with the gun toward his leather flight jacket, lying over a chair. "Put that on. And get your gear. We're leaving."

  Tusk, shrugging, did as he was told. Kamil put her helmet back on, gestured with the gun at the door. "Go on. Open it. Keep your hands in the air. You're my prisoner. A traitor. You're to be locked up with the king."

  "You say so, sweetheart." Tusk shook his head. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he walked out of the room and into the corridor. Kamil followed, the gun jammed into his back.

  Kamil had no idea where they were going. They marched down the corridor, down several corridors, took a lift, marched dow
n another corridor. People stared at them, but no one interfered, most probably figuring the less they knew about this the better.

  She kept close watch, afraid Tusk would try some sort of trick, maybe lead her back to her own room. She dared not ask Lady Maigrey, for fear Tusk would overhear, and the lady was keeping silent, perhaps for the same reason.

  But they obviously weren't going to the detention center.

  "This isn't the way to the prison cells," she said in a low voice to Tusk, after they'd just passed the Officer's Club.

  "Dion's not being held in the brig," Tusk said out of the corner of his mouth. "Flaim wants to keep him close by, keep an eye on him."

  That made sense, Kamil supposed. And it gave her something else to worry about. Running into the prince would be unfortunate.

  "Faster," she said to Tusk.

  He obeyed, shaking his head. They rounded a corner. The number of people roaming the corridors had steadily decreased. The corridor they turned into was empty, except for two guards standing duty in front of a door located at the very end.

  Kamil's heart quickened with excitement.

  Tusk strode forward. The guards came to attention, looked at Tusk and his escort quizzically.

  "I'm to lock this man up with the ki—Usurper," Kamil told them. "Open up."

  Rather to her surprise and considerably to her relief, the guard obeyed her without question. One said something into a commlink. The door slid open.

  Lord Derek Sagan stood inside.

  Chapter Three

  And I would hear yet once before I perish

  The voice which was my music—Speak to me!

  George Gordon, Lord Byron, Manfred

  "What's this?" Sagan demanded. "What have you done now? Gotten yourself arrested?"

  Tusk jerked a thumb back at Kamil. "Claims I owe her money."

  "Do you?"

  "Maybe. I thought it was just a friendly game." Tusk shrugged. "Anyway, I haven't got it. I told her that, being my employer, you held the plastic."

  "We will discuss this in private," Sagan said grimly.

  Kamil was caught. She could do nothing, and her mentor appeared to have forsaken her. She walked into the Warlord's quarters. The door slid shut behind her.

  Tusk disarmed her easily. "Guess who?" He took off her helmet.

  Kamil emerged, flushed, defiant. "You bastard," she said to Tusk.

  "Sorry, sister." He sounded bone tired. "I'm only doing my job. She drew this on me." He handed the lasgun over to Sagan. "Ordered me to take her to Dion. I think she's got some idea of bustin' the kid out. Don't ask me how she got loose." He glanced at her, shook her head. "Maybe she's been takin' a correspondence course in commando training. Learn to Kill for Fun and Profit. Anyhow, she made a pretty neat job of it."

  "Indeed." Sagan eyed her with interest.

  "I figured I better bring her here. You'd know how to keep her outta mischief. Either that or I could lock her up on board the Scimitar. XJ'd watch her."

  "I don't think that would be a good idea," the Warlord responded wryly. "Her instructor might be prepared to give her flight lessons.' His tone grew stern. "Does anyone know you're gone?'

  She stood mute, refusing to talk.

  "There was probably a guard," Tusk offered. "She said something about shooting one guy already. They won't find him until they change guard at 2400—"

  "Unless he's supposed to report in on the hour," Sagan said. He was silent, thoughtful, then looked up at Tusk. "Go to the girl's quarters. I'll deactivate the security lock. Enter and dispose of that guard—"

  "What am I supposed to do with him? Flush him down the toilet?"

  "I don't care what you do with him," Sagan snapped, irritated at the interruption. "Just arrange it so that no one finds him for at least twelve hours. Then fix the girl's room to make it appear that she's left. Permanently. Do you understand?"

  "No, but that never seems to bother anyone," Tusk muttered.

  Sagan chose to ignore him.

  "When that is finished, you must proceed with the plan."

  "Why tonight, if you don't mind my askin'—"

  "There is a possibility—a very good possibility—that Flaim will detonate the bomb tomorrow."

  Tusk swore. "Great! That's just fuckin' great!" He swore again, then said, "Let's suppose that by some miracle I get everyone convinced that they want to seize control of the ship. Just when are we supposed to do it?"

  "You will know."

  "How?"

  Tusk waited for an answer, but the Warlord remained silent.

  "You're not even going to give me a damn signal?" Tusk shouted.

  "Keep your voice down. The less you know, Tusca, the better for you and everyone. Don't worry," Sagan added dryly, "you won't have any trouble recognizing it."

  "A bomb blast does sorta tend to get your attention," Tusk said bitterly. He sighed. "This is goddam impossible. Look, my Lord, Kamil here's got a good idea. Why don't we just spring the kid, take him—and us—out of danger?"

  "First, Dion would not go. Second, I doubt if even you, Mendaharin Tusca, could shoot your way through a fleet of warships. Third, you will need a ship of this size and a loyal crew in order to rescue the queen. Fourth, there are the dark-matter creatures. What do you intend to do about them? Fifth, you would not achieve the major objective."

  "Which is?" Tusk asked. He looked subdued.

  "My problem. And we are running out of time. I suggest you get on with it."

  Sagan turned to the computer, called up data on the security system.

  Kamil, bewildered and amazed and apparently forgotten, had shrunk back into a corner.

  Tusk started to leave, paused by the door. "You're aware, my lord, that Cynthia may just decide I'm a traitor and shoot me on the spot?"

  Sagan did not glance around. "That is a risk. But one I'm willing to take."

  "Yeah, well, just so you don't eat your heart out worryin about me." Tusk glowered, glanced over at Kamil. "Say hello to your dad and brothers for me. And don't you worry, everything's going to be okay."

  "Contact me on the bloodlink I gave you when you have the ship secure," the Warlord ordered, as Tusk put his hand on the door control.

  Tusk snorted. "You've got a helluva lot of confidence in me."

  "As I told your earlier," Sagan replied, "there is much of your father in you."

  Tusk stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he shook his head and left.

  The Warlord continued to work on the computer. Worn out by fear and excitement, Kamil began to shake.

  "I've been a fool," she said in a small voice.

  Sagan made no response. He might not have heard her.

  Kamil rubbed her burning eyes, leaned her head back. She was too hot. There seemed far too little air to breathe. She tugged at the tight-fitting body armor.

  "Sit down. Lower your head between your knees," Sagan instructed, still not bothering to look at her.

  Kamil did as she was told, sinking down to sit on the deck. She rested her arms on her knees, her back bent, her head almost touching the deck. Surprisingly, she felt better.

  Sagan switched on the commlink. "Put me through to Prince Starfire. Yes, it's urgent. Tell him the Olefsky girl has tried to escape."

  Kamil was on her feet. "No! They'll take me back—"

  Sagan flashed her a warning glance, raised a warding hand.

  "Yes, Your Highness. I have her. The girl had help. The man who was supposed to be guarding her has disappeared. No, she hasn't told me who her accomplice was—so far. I will continue to interrogate her." A pause, listening. Then, "I think it best if she remains in my custody, Your Highness. At least until I discover who assisted her. I have moved her to a different cell block and doubled the guard. Very good, Your Highness. Has Pantha reported back?"

  Sagan listened again. His expression grew dark, the eyes shadowed. His lips tightened until they were nothing more than a thin slash across his face. The shadow spread from him throughout the room.
>
  "I see." Sagan spoke quietly. "The creatures told him that. What does he think?"

  Again silence. His gaze abstracted, he stared into the shadows.

  "I am afraid I must agree with him," the Warlord replied. "The creatures are no longer to be trusted They have become a distinct menace. We are all in danger. Is Pantha still in the alcazar?"

  The Warlord's expression darkened still further, eyes narrowed. A flame flickered deep within. His voice betrayed no hint of his obvious disquiet. "Yes, I find that odd myself. But at least if the creatures are not around this ship, we are safe for the moment. When will Pantha return?"

  He asked the question casually enough, but his hand clenched tightly as he waited for the answer. When it came, he relaxed, the fingers uncurled. He smiled, dark and mirthless. "Probably the wisest course, although I doubt if he will accomplish much by remaining on Vallombrosa longer. I am going to go make the rounds of the other ships in the fleet, place them on full-alert status. . . .

  "I will endeavor to do so, Your Highness," he added after another pause, "and I appreciate the compliment, but if I am late, I suggest you proceed. Pantha's starjewel will arm the bomb as well as mine."

  The transmission ended. Sagan stood in silence, staring at nothing, absorbed in his thoughts, which must have been terrible ones, to judge by his expression. Kamil was careful to keep quiet, not to disturb him, though she was frantic to know what was happening.

  At last he seemed to reach some inner decision. His face hardened, became again unreadable. The fire in the eyes shut off, the source feeding it removed.

  "Tell me, please?" Kamil ventured.

  Sagan eyed her, shrugged. "Flaim's going to detonate the bomb tomorrow morning. Instead of dying while defending the galaxy from the Corasians, Dion will die defending it from the dark-matter creatures."

  "But you're going to stop him!" Kamil said, excitement surging through her. "You and Tusk. You're going to take over the ship! You didn't betray Dion. You've done all this, risked all this for his sake. The Lady Maigrey knew. That's why she said what she said about love. I didn't understand—"