"Not you, Tusk. Sagan's made you. Link. Send the boy with—"
"Link! That ego-inflated blob of hair gel? He's not a Guard—" Tusk stopped, his tongue asking his brain if he really wanted to continue. "Thanks for the suggestion, sir, but Link didn't make the promise to the kid's dead friend. I did. It's my responsibility."
"Not anymore. She made it mine. Send the boy with Link, and that's an order—"
"It doesn't matter, either of you," Dion interrupted coolly. "I'm not going anywhere. Not till I get some answers."
"Kid—"
"I mean it, Tusk. Don't argue with me. You don't understand."
"Goddam right I don't! Dead ladies talking to you. Sagan coming to haul us off and shove us in the disrupter and you and the general sittin' here on your—"
"That'll do. Tusk," Dixter interrupted. The boy's right. We're all in this too deep to wade out now."
"I just hope like hell the water doesn't close over our heads in the meantime," Tusk muttered. He stood near the door to the office, irresolute and unhappy.
The boy's intensely blue eyes were wide and clear and glittered with an unholy radiance. The red-golden hair, swept back from the forehead, was like a cascade of flame in the cold sunshine that filtered through the trailer window. He sat forward, staring at Dixter, his lips slightly parted as if to take a deep, long, and satisfying drink.
"This proves it, doesn't it, sir? It proves who I am! Beyond all doubt."
"It doesn't prove anything, son, except that you're of the Blood Royal." The general poured himself another brandy.
Dion looked downcast, but gamely tried again. "That promise you talked about making—to 'someone very dear. Someone who was dying.' That was to her, wasn't it? To Lady Maigrey? Now don't you see, sir? She's absolved you of that! She isn't dead. I know she isn't. Please tell me what you know, sir!"
"I'll tell you," Dixter said, staring into the glass. "But I warn you. It isn't much."
The general was quiet. There was no sound except the whispering of the maps. Tusk, still standing near the door, shifted from one foot to the other, gazed longingly outside, and finally threw himself back into his chair. "Link!" He said in disgust and reached for the brandy bottle.
"What do you know about comets?" John Dixter asked.
Chapter Twenty-one
Go and catch a falling star .
John Donne, "Song"
"Comets? Sir, you were talking about ..." Dion paused.
Dixter hadn't heard, hadn't even looked up. Rolling the brandy on his tongue, he swallowed. "They're made of ice, you know. Flaming ice, they streak across the sky, touch you with fire, and then disappear. You ever been to Laskar, Tusk?"
"Where they make this stuff?" Tusk upended the bottle. "Yeah, sir, I've been there."
Dixter, reaching into a drawer, pulled out another bottle, uncapped it, and poured himself a generous glass.
"A hell-hole, Laskar. A planet where any sin known to human and alien is for sale at any price. I haven't been there in years, but I don't suppose it's changed."
"Worse, sir," Tusk said. "The cities are wide open. No law. But the casino owners and such pay their taxes, if you know what I mean."
"I heard as much. Well, in the old days we used to try to keep the place in order—taxes or not. We had a base near the capital—"
"It's still there, sir. That's where they collect the taxes. " Tusk swigged brandy.
"The king's army used to assist the locals if things got out of hand, which things did on a pretty regular basis. It was a great place for B and R, one of the hot spots in the galaxy."
"Off-limits now, General. Has been ever since pirates hijacked that naval destroyer, murdered the crew, took off with the ship, and started attacking the commercial fleets. There was a big public outcry. People wanted the President to shut Laskar down or maybe just drop a couple of nukes on it but all that happened was to declare the planet an official, no man's land. 'Citizens, go there at your risk. The government will not be responsible.' Like I said, Laskar pays its taxes."
"Somebody's paying, that's for sure. It'd be interesting to know who and for what. Still, that's neither here nor there. Another drink, Tusk? Sure you won't have one, Dion?
"Well, where was I? Laskar. Yeah. I was on Laskar. Stationed there, when I was a colonel. Thirty-two years old, by my planet's calculations. I was due for reassignment and it couldn't come fast enough. Some men liked that tour. I knew guys who volunteered for it. I hated Laskar. It's got a green sun. Something about the atmosphere. Turns everything you look at green. You learn to sleep days. First because you can't take the sight of everything bathed in a sickly gangrenous glow. Second because you're up all night anyway. Life on Laskar begins at dusk. Life ends at night, generally alone, in an alley.
"Lovely place, Laskar. You never went to the grocery store without one hand on your lasgun and a friend walking behind to make sure you weren't stabbed in the back in the frozen food aisle."
Dixter watched the brandy swirl in the glass.
"My orders for transfer came through, finally. I was scheduled to ship out on a battle cruiser orbiting on routine patrol. Some buddies and I went to celebrate in a bar we'd found that was relatively civilized—for Laskar. We were standing around the bar when some of the Royal Air Corps pilots from this cruiser swaggered in. We knew there'd be trouble. A lot of the base soldiers were in that bar, and ground troops've got no use for hotshot fly-boys. My friends left. They were officers and had their stripes to think about. But I was getting off that stinking planet and I just plain didn't give a damn. Besides, the owner was a good guy. I'd done him a few favors and I knew where the back door was and the combination to the lock that opened it. I decided to stick around and see the fun.
"Sure enough, the pilots had a few and then started in on 'land-bound lubbers.' The soldiers told the fly-boys where they could fly their planes and it wasn't deepspace. I don't know who threw the first punch. It didn't matter, 'cause within seconds it was every man for himself. I stood at the end of a bar, drinking brandy. This brandy." Dixter held the glass to the light. "Occasionally I'd duck a bottle or convince some private that he didn't really want to hit a colonel and shove him back into the fracas. The pilots were getting the worst of it.
There wasn't a stick of furniture left intact unless you count my barstool. The owner was on the phone, screaming for the cops. It would be just a matter of time before the M.P.'s arrived to bring down the curtain. I was thinking about heading for the door in back when one of the Air Corps officers walked through the door in front."
Dixter took a mouthful of liquor down the wrong way, coughed, and covered his mouth with his handkerchief. Tusk started to reach out unsteadily to pound the general on the back, thought better of it, and latched onto the bottle instead. Dion sat on the edge of his chair, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his penetrating gaze fixed on Dixter.
"The officer was a female. I'd known women officers before and I could take them or leave them. Some were good. Some were bad. Just like men. Just like aliens. But this one-—" Dixter drew in a soft breath, "she was young. Too young. And fragile. Hair the color of sea foam. Eyes that changed color like the sea, too. Sometimes they'd be green, sometimes sparkling blue, sometimes dark and gray. Not that I noticed the color of her eyes then. I just remember thinking that it must have been that hair and those eyes that got her those major's bars she was sporting and she'd probably take one look and beat it. Hell, there were fists punching, feet kicking, fingers gouging. There wasn't room for the bodies on the floor; they were starting to stack up in the corners.
"But she didn't leave. I saw her lips tighten and suddenly, from the expression on her face, I knew how she'd won those bars. She waded into the melee, grabbed hold of the first pilot that came flying her direction, and smacked him hard to bring him to his senses.
"'Get out, Fisher,' she ordered. 'The M.P.'s are coming.'
"The fly-boy was thinking about arguing until he saw who had him.
&
nbsp; "'Yes, sir, Major,' he mumbled and staggered toward the door.
"She was back in the midst of the fight, as cool as you please. Someone—like me, I thought—should get her out of here before she gets hurt. But I just sat there. Somehow I knew, by the look of her, that she wouldn't thank me for coming to her rescue. Besides, she didn't need rescuing. One guy took a swing at her. In less time than it takes to tell, he was on the floor wondering what had run him over. But she wasn't there to fight. She was there to get her men out before they landed in the lockup and she did. When they saw her, they forgot about their brawl.
"'Out!' was all she said, and they slunk out, those who could walk carrying those who couldn't.
"She turned back, going through the debris, lifting up the overturned tables to make sure no one got left behind. Satisfied that she had all her boys, she headed for the door.
"I'm not a praying man. But I said a prayer then—the kind a kid prays. You know, 'Grant me this, God, and I'll do anything you want in return.' And my prayer was answered. Sirens and whistles. The M.P.s were right outside. That broke up the fight in a hurry. Guys began leaping through the windows. Too late, of course. They were being nabbed on the sidewalk. She was trapped. If she walked out, she'd walk right into their arms and, what with the blood spattered on her and her hair down in her face and her uniform torn, it wasn't likely she could pass herself off as an innocent bystander. The room spun around me and it wasn't the brandy. Somehow, I managed to cross the floor and I caught hold of her hand.
"'This way,' I said.
She never hesitated. We were out the back door just as the M.P.'s came in the front.
"'Quick!' she said. 'They'll be back here, too.'
"We ran down the alley, knocking over boxes, scattering stray cats and bottles and bums. When we reached the street, we let the crowd on the sidewalk catch us up and take us with them. Behind us, I could hear more sirens. We ducked into the shadows of a doorway. I was still holding her hand.
"'Thank you, Colonel.' She caught her breath. Her eyes were brighter than the street lamps. I would've been in real trouble if my commander'd had to come get me out of jail.' She laughed, though, when she said it. I wondered why, at the time. 'I owe you one, Colonel—'
"'Dixter. John Dixter.'
"'Where's home base?'
" 'Here, but I'm shipping out tomorrow. Reassignment.'
"'Good. You'll be traveling with us.' She slipped her hand out of mine. 'Thank you again, Colonel Dixter. I won't forget.'
"She was gone. Vanished into the crowd.
"I didn't even know her name."
Dixter's glass was empty. He didn't refill it. Tusk lolled in his chair, his face lit by a warm glow. Dion never moved, never took his eyes from the general's face. Outside he heard Bennett pounding on the locked door to the trailer, but the sound wasn't real, not nearly as real as a decadent city beneath a green sun.
"I hate spaceflight," Dixter growled suddenly. He glanced at Tusk, who blinked and made some attempt to sit up straight. "You wouldn't understand. No pilot ever does. I guess that's the real reason I stayed in that bar to watch the fly-boys get the flak knocked out of "em. Oh, I know all about the beauty, the mystery, the romance of space. To me, it's just a cold and lonely place to die. Where's the romance in sudden decompression—your brains gushing out of your nose? Or in being blown to pulp or drifting endlessly, marooned, to die of the cold or starvation or by your own crazed mind?
"Plus I always get space sick. The first three days out for me are hell and I'd been dreading the flight to my new assignment. But not now. When it came time to board, I was the first one in the shuttle. Of course, I was still sick as a dog. For three days I couldn't move off the bed, except to crawl to the head. Finally, when I decided I might live after all and I could keep water down, at least, I made my way out into the ship and began to search for her.
"I found out where the pilots bunked, where their officers' quarters were. I hung around, hoping to see her. I came to know every major by sight, but I never found the one I was looking for. Maybe she hadn't meant this ship, but there weren't any others. Besides, I saw a couple of her boys, their faces cut and swollen from the beating they'd taken. A week went by and then one day a pilot I'd met—I got to know a lot of them, as you can imagine—and I were walking down a corridor to the rec room ..."
Dixter filled his glass, but he didn't drink it. He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his graying hair.
"I saw her and knew in that moment the answer to everything: why she wasn't quartered with the other pilots, why those boys of hers turned white at the sight of her, why she had those major's bars and she couldn't have been more than twenty, why nothing would ever be the same for me again.
"She was coming down a corridor, walking toward me, and she was dressed in the shining silvery armor of the Guardians. Around her shoulders was the blue cloak with the silver edging that marked her rank, around her neck was the starjewel, at her waist was the bloodsword. At her side walked a man—tall and strong and proud. He was dressed in silver armor and wore the blue cape, only his was edged in gold.
"'Derek Sagan,' said my friend, seeing me staring and thinking I was looking at him.
"When he said the name, I did look. 'Sagan?' Even on Laskar, we'd heard of him. 'What's he doing on board a cruiser?' It was the first time I'd ever heard of the Guardians being directly involved in combat.
" 'He's been given command of a special squadron—an idea he proposed'. It's made up entirely of members of the Blood Royal, because of those touted mystical powers of theirs. I'm thankful I'm not part of it. He's a brilliant commander but a real bastard to serve under. A perfectionist. Can't tolerate mistakes. They say he's as hard on himself as anyone else, but that doesn't make it any easier to be around him."
"'Who's the woman?' I asked. All I could see were her dark eyes and that glittering jewel.
"'The Lady Maigrey Morianna.'
"This guy I was with had spent some time at court, I found out. His father was a minor potentate of some sort and he considered himself an expert on the Royal Family.
"'Major Morianna, I should say,' my friend said. 'She's a pilot, too. My guess is she'll be in the new squadron. A member of the Blood Royal, of course. The king's a first cousin on her father's side, I believe, and Sagan's a cousin once removed or something like that—despite the fact that he's a bastard. I mean a real one."
"He spoke in a whisper. I didn't blame him. Looking at Sagan's face, I wouldn't have said those words aloud within a light-year of him.
"'What about her?' I asked casually, trying to be cool.
"I guess I failed, 'cause he grinned at me and shook his head.
"Forget it, friend. You might just as well have fallen in love with a comet. Fire on the outside and cold in the center. She's a warrior from a family of warriors. On her planet her people ride horses and fight with arrows and spears. She was thrown out of the Royal Academy for Women when she was six for nearly knifing one of the Sisters. King ordered her sent to the men's academy with her brother. That's where she met Sagan.' He leaned closer to me, lowering his voice even further. 'They're mind-linked.'
"'What the hell's that?'
"I was only half-listening. Her hair was so soft and fine it floated when she walked. It was long, almost to her waist. She must have had it braided under her cap the day I saw her.
"'Watch the two of them,' my friend said. 'It's really uncanny. They can share thoughts. Their eyes meet and you can almost see the energy flash between them.' He rambled on, but I wasn't listening.
"Fall in love with a comet. That was true. I saw it now. She'd flash through my life and leave only an aching blackness when she was gone, i saw it all as she walked down the passage, coming toward me. I had been going to say something to her, but I put that thought out of my mind, just as I put her out of my life at that moment.
"They strolled through the ship as if they owned it. Hell, maybe they did, for all I knew. People made way for them
without even thinking about it. I flattened myself back up against the bulkheads, hoping to fade into the ductwork. Sagan was saying something to her. Her eyes brushed over me without a glimmer of recognition and then she was past me. That was that, I supposed. I was almost relieved when Sagan stopped, his attention drawn to someone else. Maigrey turned her head. She looked at me—directly at me—through that mist of hair and she grinned. It wasn't a smile. It was a grin—one conspirator to another. She raised one finger in a warning kind of gesture. Like this—'keep quiet.' I remembered what she'd said about her 'commanding officer.' Then she turned and walked away.
"And that was that." Dixter toyed with the half-empty glass. "We became good friends on that trip. We were friends for years. Her friendship wasn't what I wanted, of course, but I took that over losing her. She was Blood Royal, after all. Her ambition burned in her. It had been born in her, she'd been raised for it. Politics bored her, she didn't want that. She wanted to fly. She and Sagan and the others in the squadron were the first members of the Blood Royal the king allowed to become pilots. Usually, you know, they were married off to others in the royalty to keep the bloodline pure. But this was when things were starting to fall apart for the monarchy. I guess the king figured he needed all the help he could get.
"And the help tyrned around and stabbed him in the back."
Dixter fell silent. The banging and yelling had increased in volume and ferocity. He glanced vaguely in the direction of the outer door.
"Confound it, Tusk, make 'em stop that racket!"
Rising to his feet, Tusk lurched forward, fumbled with the lock, flung open the door, and staggered into the outer office. Dion heard the mercenary conferring with Bennett. Whatever he said obviously didn't have much effect, for Bennett himself appeared in the doorway.
"General Dixter, sir—"
"It's all right," Dixter said. "Just"—he waved his hand— "leave us alone."
The Lost King Page 24
