"Four, my lady."
"Then I ve drunk four drinks, unless the toothpicks're breeding. Do you know, in thousands of years of progress, we've never been able to improve on the toothpick? I suppose when man was slogging his way through the swamps, beating his dinner over the head with clubs, he picked up a stick and poked what was left out of his teeth. And here we are today, traveling beyond the speed of light, proving Einstein wrong, and scattering toothpicks throughout the universe. A marvelous creation, man."
Dion glanced around the bar, hunched closer to her. "Lady Maigrey," he said in low tones, "can I ask you a question about that initiation?"
"Shhhh," she warned, and he leaned nearer.
"During the rite, I kept that . . . ball ... in the air. I willed it with my mind to stay floating above my hands."
"Yes?" she said, arranging the toothpicks in a square on the bar.
"I've been trying it, in my room. I can't even keep a paper cup up in the air!"
Maigrey folded in one side of the square. "You did what you did out of desperation, duress, adrenaline. It takes years of study and training to learn to break the laws."
"Break the law? But I don't want—"
"Physical laws. The laws of the universe."
"Can you do it? Break the laws?" he asked in almost a whisper.
Maigrey smiled, rearranged the toothpicks into an M.
"What could you do, if you wanted, my lady?"
"What could I do?" Her voice, her smile, were soft. "I could split the bulkheads open. I could short out all the electrical systems. I could make each man in this bar rise up and slay himself."
Dion stared at her, skeptical, dubious. "If you could do all that, you could have escaped, any time you wanted!"
"Yes, I suppose I could have," Maigrey said, reversing the toothpicks, forming a W.
"Then why—" he paused, licking his lips. "Me, isn't it?"
Maigrey nodded, reached for her glass, and took a drink. "Yes, you, Dion Starfire. I am a Guardian, after all."
"You want something, kid?" The bartender came over.
"What? Oh, no, thank you." Dion waited until the man left. "This power—can you teach me to use it?"
"No."
"No?" Dion was disappointed, angry. "Then Lord Sagan will."
"I don't think so. You see, that was the message of the rite, Dion. One of the messages, at any rate. You have the power, but you are destined never to be able to make use of it."
"Why? How do you know?"
The gray eyes fixed on him, their gaze cool, dispassionate. "Because it turned on you. Because it damn near killed you!"
"But that's not right, not fair! It's a . . . waste!"
Maigrey's gaze went back to the glass in her hands. "Yes, a waste. All such a waste." Rousing herself, she sighed and said, "It's almost time for the meeting." She slid off the barstool.
"Wait a moment." Dion, rising, blocked her way. "If you have these wonderful powers, why don't you use them? Like"—he gestured angrily, frustrated—"to pick up that glass or open doors—"
"We can't live without order in our lives. One group of the Blood Royal tried it. They became outlaws, running—not from the laws of man—but from the laws of the universe. They plunged into chaos and never managed to find their way out."
"Who were they?"
"They called themselves the Order of Dark Lightning, a mockery of the priests' Order of Adamant. They were 'mind-seizers.' Their order was destroyed during the revolution. I suppose you could say, after all, some good came out of evil." Maigrey waved to the bartender, who bowed in return. "Thanks, Merlin."
"Is that his name?" Dion turned to stare.
"God, I hope not."
She walked out of the bar. Dion was amazed to see every man rise to his feet as she passed. He imagined her standing in the midst of them, her long, pale hair flowing over her shoulders, her arms raised to the heavens, commanding, "Die. Die for me. Die for me now!"
Dion saw the expressions on the faces of the men, heard the murmured words of respect and admiration that fell at her feet like rose petals, and he began to believe in her. His belief shook him to the core of his being.
"You've fought the Corasians before, haven't you?" Dion said, hastening after the woman, who was traversing the corridors at an incredible rate of speed. Men cleared her path, but they didn't clear Dion's, and he was continually caroming off people and muttering apologies.
"Yes," Maigrey answered, glancing over her right shoulder. Not finding him there, she looked over her left, saw him attempting to dodge a servicebot, and slowed her pace to allow him to catch up. "The Corasians used to raid the galaxy on a regular basis, hitting the planets on the outer fringes, mostly. They're desperate for new technology. They're an intelligent species, but they haven't a creative bone in their bodies. In fact, they haven't any bones in their bodies."
Maigrey stopped and peered around the maze of corridors. "Where's the conference room?"
"This way." Dion steered her down a passageway to their left. "What are they, then?"
"Creator only knows. To me, they look like something a volcano spit up. Some sort of intelligent form of energy, kind of like a flaming amoeba. That sounds like a drink, doesn't it? A flaming amoeba. We made the Corasians what they are today, you know."
"We did? How? We take this elevator to level nine."
"My, those doors shut fast, don't they? What level's the flight deck on?"
"Level sixteen. Why?"
"No particular reason. Just handy to know these things. Where was I? Oh, yes. Bringing the Corasians into the twenty-second century. It happened around the middle of the twenty-first, when hyperdrive had been perfected and humans were happily zipping all over the universe, spreading toothpicks. A bunch of priests— That sounds funny, doesn't it? A bunch of priests. Perhaps it should be a flock.
"Anyway, these priests were sent off to bring not only toothpicks but the Word of God to the poor benighted souls in the galaxy next door who'd never heard it. Discovering intelligent minds on the planet of Corasia, the priests promptly landed and realized almost at once that they had made one of history's all-time great mistakes. Sort of like the enterprising life insurance salesman who sold policies to the men of the Seventh Cavalry right before the Battle of Little Big Horn.
"The Corasians were delighted to see the priests. So delighted that they refused to let them go."
The elevator came to a halt. The doors opened.
"The Corasians kept the priests prisoner until the day they died and, from what we have gathered, the good fathers must have prayed daily for death. You see, at that time, the Corasians were just molten blobs, roaming around their planet, sucking up the energy they needed to live. They'd just about depleted the sources. The priests were—no pun intended—a godsend."
"This is the level," Dion said. Maigrey hadn't moved. He looked at his watch. "We should hurry, my lady."
"Yes, I guess we should." She walked out of the elevator, took a wrong turn. Dion drew her back. "The first thing the Corasians did was to take over the priests' robots. The Corasians discovered that they could fit their bodies inside these machines and use them for the hands and arms that they lacked. Their own energy powered the bots, they supplied the intelligence. Once they'd done this, they had the ability to take apart the robots, figure out how they were built, and start building their own.
"By 'interrogating' the priests, the Corasians learned about our galaxy and the marvels of technology we'd created that were just sitting around, waiting to be picked up. Using the priests' taped voices, the Corasians sent out distress signals and trapped ships that came to their rescue. Once they had these ships, they were able to scavenge more equipment, build more robots. Eventually they sailed forth and attacked other ships, which led them to the human and alien colonies that were springing up on the fringes of their own galaxy.
"The Corasians used the humans they captured as slaves, forced them to build more machines, and within a century had bec
ome a completely mechanized populace spread out over hundreds of planets in their galaxy."
"This is the conference room," Dion said in a low voice. "Through those doors."
"The doors that are closed and guarded." Maigrey crossed her arms, and leaned back against a bulkhead. "I guess we're early. I'm always early. It's a compulsion. Just as bad as people who re always late."
"We're not the only ones," Dion muttered, returning the stares of the other early arrivals—ship's officers, gazing curiously and with interest at the woman and the young man— the subject of the fascinating rumors currently circulating throughout the fleet. Dion moved nearer Maigrey, who was regarding them all with amusement, as if enjoying a private joke.
"The Golden Squadron was being honored for heroism against the Corasians the night of the revolution, wasn't it, my lady? At least that's what Tusk said. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up."
Maigrey had gone exceedingly pale. The indigo blue dress she wore emphasized the pallor. The elation of the alcohol was fading, giving way to depression and the beginnings of a bad headache.
Seeing the young man's chagrined expression, Maigrey flushed self-consciously. "There you go, apologizing again."
More officers appeared, milling about in the corridor, talking in low voices. They were waiting for the Warlord, who hadn't yet arrived. And though everyone stared at Dion and Maigrey and it was obvious they were the subject of much of the whispered discussion, no one spoke to them.
"I don't mind talking about it," she said. "It'll tell you something about the enemy. The renowned Gold Squadron, famous in story and song, had been sent on—of all things—a recruiting mission. Sagan was furious. He considered himself above all that nonsense. But the king had commanded us to go and we couldn't disobey. ..."
Her voice trailed off; she was silent, looking back. The voices faded around her, the walls of the ship dissolved. Once again, she was standing on that beautiful planet with its trees and birds and gently rolling sea, the white sand beaches, the water that glittered with phosphorus in the long, warm, soft nights. What was the planet's name? She couldn't recall. And there'd been a time when she'd thought she'd never forget.
And then had come the shadows.
"I saw the enemy, in my mind, much like yesterday. Only I didn't know what they were. We'd fought them before, but I'd never seen them in my visions. I was nervous and upset, which was odd, because all the others—even Sagan—had begun to relax and enjoy ..."
Her eyes closed. She shook her head. "But never mind that. I knew something dreadful was going to happen, some sort of terrible calamity was sweeping down on this planet. Sagan, through the mind-link, came to share my fear. We went to the authorities, tried to convince them to take precautions, to mobilize their defenses. By then I knew what the enemy was, I could see the Corasians clearly. But this planet was a happy place, a sunny place. And what were we but a bunch of royal brats—too smart for our own good?
"We returned to our base. Sagan had decided, orders or no orders, we were getting the hell out of there. But it was too late. The Corasians came out of hyperspace and hit the planet before it knew what was happening.
"It was a pilot's worst nightmare—being caught on the ground during an assault. The Corasians don't use destructive nuclear weapons. God forbid that they should hurt the machines or ruin a perfectly good food source. They drop chemical bombs; that paralyze all living organisms. Then they move in and take over. Some of the people—the strong ones—are restored, used as slaves. Others—the old, the weak, the children—well, they're marched, like cattle, into the slaughterhouses. And for the same purpose."
"My God!" Sweat beaded Dion's upper lip. The lines around his mouth were tinged green.
"The Corasian fleet was sighted and the planetary government had just time enough to send everyone into terror-stricken panic. The first battle we fought wasn't against the enemy. We fought our own kind. They wanted our planes. They wanted to escape. It was awful. I remember Danha Tusca, weeping, as he shot them down. Sagan saved our lives that day . . ."
"Maigrey," Dion said softly.
But she didn't see him or hear him. She didn't see or hear the Warlord come up and stand right in front of her. She was blind to the present. Her eyes saw only the past.
"He was calm, frighteningly calm. He said we couldn't survive an encounter with an invading fleet; he ordered us to delay our takeoff until most of the Corasians had landed and were occupied in conquering the planet. Our helmets protected us from the paralyzing gas.
"Sagan's plan worked. When we finally lifted off, the main body of the enemy fleet had been dispersed and was scattered all over the solar system. We fought our way out easily, flew to the nearest battlecruiser in the vicinity and alerted the king. The Royal Army attacked and eventually drove the enemy from the planet.
"Sagan saved our lives," Maigrey repeated. "His will held us together when we were falling apart. He was our commander and we revered and respected him. We would have followed him anywhere."
She became aware of her audience, of the man standing before her, clad in golden armor, golden helmet hiding the face in shadows. Her voice faltered when she realized what she'd been saying and who'd been listening.
"We revered and respected him," she repeated steadily, "and we would have followed him anywhere—except down, into dishonor, disgrace. Into hell."
Chapter Three
The lion is alone, and so am I.
George Gordon, Lord Byron, "Manfred"
The conference chamber aboard Phoenix was a large, oval room whose walls were decorated with a gigantic composite photograph of the galaxy taken from the side and focused inward. One gigantic arm of the galaxy's spiral began at approximately the place the Warlord was standing. The myriad stars swept around the room, bunching up and becoming thicker and thicker above the door at the room's far end, which was directly opposite Lord Sagan. On the opposite side of the door, the stars flattened out and the other spiral arm extended around the room, vanishing into darkness, both arms nearly meeting right above the Warlord's head. It looked to Maigrey as if the stars were engulfing them and she began to feel slightly claustrophobic. Not to mention a throbbing headache.
"And that, gentlemen, is the updated report on the enemy's strength. They are formidable, to say the least."
To say the least. The officers were avoiding meeting each other's eyes. Those who couldn't hide their appalled expressions stared down at their hands. The rest kept carefully impassive gazes fixed on their Warlord.
"I have been in contact with the President. He has ordered us, essentially, to stand in harm's way. If we cannot stop the enemy, we are to inflict severe damage, force them to halt their advance."
"My lord. " A young officer, the youngest present, raised his hand.
"Williams."
"Begging your pardon, my lord, but why doesn't the Republic support us? They could have fifty cruisers here within a ship's week."
An intelligent young man. Maigrey noted Sagan reward him with an approving glance. Of course, the Warlord couldn't tell him the truth, tell this young man that he and his compatriots were being sacrificed to their liege lord's dangerous ambition.
"Such a move would leave the densely populated systems at the galaxy's heart virtually unprotected. A second line of defense is being thrown up here"—the Warlord moved along the wall, to stand near one panel at the center of the galactic map—"and here." There was some muttering and low exchanges of conversation. The Warlord allowed this to continue for only a certain length of time, then his deep baritone overrode them. "We have our orders, gentlemen. There is no use whining about them."
The officers appeared chagrined, some—among them young Williams—flushed angrily. "My lord—" he began in protest.
"I have not yet finished, Captain. There is, of course, another alternative to the two I have mentioned. We damage the enemy, we stop the enemy, or we destroy the enemy utterly. I have decided on the latter. In other words, gen
tlemen, I intend to win."
Three rousing cheers, Maigrey thought, leaning her aching head on her hands. She could feel the wave of enthusiasm break over her, sweeping them all along with their Warlord to, what? Inevitable destruction. We would have followed him anywhere. . . .
"Are you feeling quite well, my lady?"
The Warlord, walking back to his place at the head of the table, paused behind her chair. He was furious with her, but whether over what she'd said or the fact that she'd been drinking was beyond her current mental capacity to figure out.
"Yes, thank you, my lord. A slight headache. It will pass." Maigrey didn't bother to look up at him.
The Warlord continued past her, pausing a moment to answer a question put to him by Admiral Aks. What in God's name had caused her to bring up that ancient history anyhow? It was that cursed wizard's potion. She'd asked for one to make her forget the past, not present it to her in living color.
". . . our strategy will be to wait. We'll take up stations outside the Vangelis solar system, to protect our supply sources, particularly the uranium. We have some time in which to prepare ourselves. The Corasians, following their customary procedure, are establishing bases in Shelton's system. They'll need to obtain fuel and to repair whatever equipment was damaged in their attack on Shelton."
The faces of the officers were grim. Many of them had fought the Corasians and knew what they did to a conquered planet. One of them—Williams again—raised his hand.
"My lord, why don't we attack them now, on Shelton's planets, before they recoup their strength?"
Sagan's lips were a straight dark line beneath his helmet. "I don't like the thought of what's happening to the people on Shelton's planets any more than you do, Captain Williams. But to rush heedlessly to their rescue would serve no one. We will let the Corasians stretch their supply lines. We will let them come to us and we will spend our time preparing to meet them."
The Lost King Page 37
