King's Test Page 3

  "Open the Warlord's channel," he commanded.

  The computer's lights flared. "Sir, I—"

  "I don't want to talk on it." Dion said in mollifying tones. "I just want to listen. You've been ordered to obey me, haven't you? Just in case I had guts enough to play in his game?"

  "The channel is now open, sir."

  "Keep quiet!" Dion whispered. He clamped his lips shut, silencing even his breathing, cursing the background noises of the spaceplane that he hadn't noticed until this moment. It occurred to him that maybe some sort of indicator would flash aboard Phoenix, alert the Warlord that he had an eavesdropper. Dion half-expected at any moment to hear Sagan's baritone, irritably commanding him to stop interfering in the affairs of the adults.

  Gradually, after listening several moments to an appalling level of noise, Dion realized that no one aboard Phoenix was likely to hear him breathing. They wouldn’t be likely to hear him if he shouted. The channel was dead, silent, when suddenly a voice came on.

  "This is Captain Williams. I want to speak to Lord Sagan."

  The voice sounded strange, high, tense, agitated. Dion had trouble recognizing the young, personable, and highly ambitious captain of Defiant.

  "His lordship is not available, Captain Williams. I will transfer you to the admiral."

  "Aks here."

  "I must speak to Lord Sagan!"

  "Captain Williams"—Admiral Aks’s voice didn't sound much better than that of his junior officer—"Phoenix is under fire from a Corasian destroyer. We've taken a direct hit. Our situation is critical. What the hell is your problem?"

  Captain Williams was silent long moments. When he spoke, his voice was carefully modulated. "This is my problem. As you are aware, John Dixter managed to escape detention. He and his people have barricaded themselves on two hangar decks. I am currently fighting a full-scale pitched battle against a force of well-trained mercenaries who are quite prepared to die and take my ship and my crew with them!"

  "We are aware of the situation, Captain. Lord Sagan was informed of your unfortunate blunder before he left on his mission to rescue young Starfire. He presumed, Captain Williams, that you were capable of repairing your error—"

  "Begging your pardon, Admiral," Williams cut in, "but I have no time right now to listen to criticism of my actions. My report will be made in full to yourself and Lord Sagan, provided we live through this. I am essentially being forced to fight a land battle aboard a starship, and we are not equipped to handle this sort of action. I repeat: I need reinforcements, I need brain-gas—'

  "Your requests have been logged, Captain. Advise me of your current status."

  Dion heard voices in the background, Williams's included, as if he had turned away to confer with someone else aboard his own ship. The boy waited, tense, to hear the response.

  Williams returned.

  "The mercenaries have barricaded themselves with their spaceplanes on hangar decks Charlie and Delta. The hangar bay doors are sealed shut, but the mercenaries managed to capture the controls on Charlie deck. It will be only a matter of time, according to our computer experts, before they override the system, wrest control away from the computers, and operate the doors by the emergency manual devices. I have been told that there is nothing we can do to prevent them , . . something about safety regulations—"

  "Yes, yes." Aks sounded impatient. "Go on, Captain."

  "We retain control of the hangar bay doors on Delta. The mercenaries are trapped there with no way out. Given reinforcements, we could retake the controls on Charlie deck and end the fighting with an all-out assault. As it is, my numbers are too few. My forces are divided, split in half. We're just barely holding our own."

  "Thank you, Captain. I will relay your report to Lord Sagan."

  The transmission ended, cut off from the admiral's end. Dion heard Williams attempt several times to reestablish contact. At length, using language suited neither to the captain's rank nor to his normally cool demeanor, Williams broke off.

  Dion stared blankly out at the stars wheeling beneath him. Dixter ... his friends . . . cornered! Fighting for their lives. Dying. . . .

  My fault! Dion said to himself in bitter realization. I was the one who talked them into joining us! I led them into this trap! What do I do? What can I do?

  His heart raced; his hands began to sweat and he wiped them on his flight suit. He forgot about the Warlord, forgot to wonder why Sagan had gone through that charade, pretending the transmitter was broken, relaying a false message.

  Tusk, Nola, John Dixter . . . dying. Maybe already dead, all because of me.

  "Did you say something, sir?'

  "Yes, is that Defiant I can see out there now?"

  "Yes, sir. Defiant confirmed "

  The destroyer glimmered white in the eternal night of deepspace. Dion could see dogfights raging around it— probably some of the mercenaries who still had their freedom, attacking Sagan's forces, trying to aid the captives trapped inside the ship. Dion stared at the destroyer, swore bitterly beneath his breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  First, I have to find a way to get on board, he thought. That shouldn’t prove too difficult. But once I'm on board, I have to reach the hangar decks without getting myself killed or captured in the process.

  "Call up a blueprint of that destroyer," he ordered the computer.

  "I beg your pardon, sir?"

  "A blueprint! A diagram. You know, what the ship looks like if it's sliced open. "

  "Yes, sir," the computer murmured. A short interval passed and then an image appeared on the screen. "Is this what you want, sir3"

  "Yes." Dion studied it. "Next shot. Quickly. I want to see the entire ship."

  "Yes, sir."

  Diagrams flashed on and off. He absorbed each one, the images imprinted on his photographic memory.

  A voice came over his commlink.

  "We have you in our sights, spaceplane. Identify yourself, and approach no closer."

  "This is Eagle One," stated the computer with some asperity. "Lord Sagan's private plane. Please be so good as to—"

  "We have received a report that Eagle One has been stolen. You have thirty seconds to identify yourself'

  The computer sounded baffled, unable to cope with the situation. "Stolen! That report is completely false and erroneous. I would know if my ship had been stolen or not and it has not. I repeat, Defiant, this is Eagle One, Lord Sagan's private—"

  "Fifteen seconds and counting, spaceplane."

  Dion could see, or imagined he could see, one of the gigantic lascannons swiveling around to his direction. So this is Sagan's plan . . . get rid of me. No fuss. No muss. Nothing left behind except a few little specks of dust.

  Dion drew a deep breath.

  "Thank the Creator!" he screeched. Fortunately, he didn't have to pretend to be frightened. "I didn't think anyone was going to notice me! I—I got chased by one of the Corasians and I'm lost. I'm trying to get back to Phoenix." .

  Silence on the commlink, voices in the background, talking to each other.

  "Who the hell is that?'

  "Dunno. Sounds like some kid."

  "Who the hell is this?' The voice returned to him.

  "Dion. Dion Starfire." The young man paused, waiting. Sweat trickled down his neck into his flight suit.

  The voices were conferring again. "Starfire? Isn't that—"

  "Yeah. That's the kid. The one who might be king, if you believe—"

  "King? Shit! What in the name of Lucifer is he doing wandering around out there in the middle of a battle? And we received a report that that plane was stolen!"

  "Hell, remember when you were sixteen and took daddy's floater without permission? What did your old man do?"

  "Turned me over to the cops. Taught me a lesson, I guess. At least the next time I stole it I took it off-world. Hey, kid. Starfire."

  "I'm here. Say, can you tell me what it means when a red light starts flashing above a dial marked fuel?"

&nb
sp; Silence.

  The voice returned and was very calm, very soothing. "I think it might be a good idea if you skipped going back to Phoenix. Come and visit us for a while, kid."

  "Is there a problem?"

  "No! No. Let us check that gauge for you. Probably a malfunctioning indicator switch. Happens all the time in those new prototype planes. We're gonna lock a tractor beam on to you. There, that's gotcha, kid. Just take it easy. Cut your engines. Relax."

  And in the background, "Raise Phoenix. Tell Lord Sagan we're bringing the kid into Defiant, safe and sound. Maybe there'll be a promotion in this!"

  Dion grinned, settled back comfortably in the pilot's seat. "Don't count on it!" he said softly.

  Chapter Four

  I am fire and air . . .

  William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, Act V, Scene 2

  Aboard Phoenix, the fragile lives encased in the warship's megagrams of zero-grav Fused steel endured the enemy bombardment with the stolid fortitude and iron discipline drilled into them by their commanders. Each man performed the tasks demanded of him to keep Phoenix alive and functioning or to inflict damage on the enemy. Each kept his duty uppermost in his mind, attempting to override the deep, inner knowledge that he was trapped inside these metal walls with no escape, no way out, and that a million mischances could end his life, either swiftly, before he might be able to take that next breath, or slowly, dying alone in horrible, agonizing terror.

  "My lord." Admiral Aks straightened from leaning over an instrument panel, where he had been almost pleading with the computer to change its verdict. The admiral was gray with fatigue, looked his age and ten years older. "The damage to the reactor is irreversible. An explosion is imminent. We must evacuate.

  A muscle at the side of Sagan's eye twitched. The dark eyes narrowed. "How long?"

  "An hour, perhaps, my lord Unless we take additional damage."

  A thud, the ship rocked. Maigrey reached out. steadied herself on the control panel. The shields blocked a direct view outside Phoenix, but the vidscreen was providing excellent coverage of the Corasian vessel looming near, the fiery tracers of the ongoing barrage.

  "Shields on the port side are damaged but holding. It was the shields for'ard that gave. We've got the port side to her now, my lord—"

  "Yes." Sagan east a glance at Maigrey.

  I can give you nothing, my lord, she answered him silently. Neither encouragement in your hour of need . . . nor triumph over your defeat, I'm too tired. I don't care anymore.

  Maigrey wondered if she looked as had as he did. She must. The Warlord seemed to think it safe to shift his attention away from her. "Put me through to the reactor's engineers."

  A vidsereen came to life, portraying a scene of death. Bodies lay unheeded on the deck, the living stepping over the dead, who after all had no more concerns. Smoke hung in the air: twisted and tangled metal could be seen in the background. Maigrey saw the warning lights flash, heard the Klaxons bleat. A man stood before the screen, his protective suit ripped and torn.

  Whatever Sagan's thoughts might have been, they din't show on his face. Maigrey could have read them—as tired as he was, his guard was down—but she didn't want to. Biting her lip, she turned away from him, kept her eyes on the screen.

  "What is your status?" Sagan asked, voice calm as if this were a routine exercise.

  "Not good, my lord. The blast doors held, the contamination's been contained to this area, according to reports—

  "That's confirmed, my lord," Aks murmured.

  "—and we've slowed the meltdown, but there's no way we can halt it."

  "How long?"

  "If we stay with it, we can give you an extra hour in addition to the original estimate, my lord. Maybe longer; but after that, I can't guarantee it. '

  Sagan paused, involuntarily turned his gaze away to the Corasian vessel. Its giant bulk filled the screen. The man in the reactor room saw him, perhaps guessed his thoughts.

  "You can use that extra hour, my lord?"

  "Yes, but I won't order you to stay. In fact, I order you to leave, right now."

  The man glanced down at his torn suit, at the badge that measured radiation level. He smiled wearily. "We respectfully decline to obey, my lord. We're dead men, anyway. We'll give you the time you need."

  "You will be recorded in my personal log as heroes. Your families will be compensated. I will see to it personally."

  "Thank you, my lord."

  That was standard procedure. The men all knew it. But the engineer's strained face relaxed. He must have been thinking of a wife somewhere, children. This eased his burden. He could go to his men, too, and have something to tell them , . . besides the fact that they were going to end in a ball of fire.

  A tear slid down Maigrey's cheek. It was stupid to cry. She'd seen men die. They were dying now on Defiant. John Dixter. Maybe Dion. . . . She should try to escape, try to help them, but she stood here crying like a child. She wiped the tear away, but another came after it, and another.

  "Stop sniveling! Sagan snapped, adding beneath his breath, "You were a Guardian once! Try to act like it!"

  I was a Guardian once, Maigrey thought. I was twenty once. I was going to live forever . . . or so I imagined. Now I'm forty-one and my body aches. I'm sick of watching good men die. I'm sick of the fighting. Let the damn ship blow up. Let it all end right here, right now. There are worse ways to go than in a ball of fire. For one brief moment, we'll shine as brightly as the stars.

  "... evacuate all personnel except those absolutely necessary to the ship's function. Fly off all planes, including those that are damaged if they're at all spaceworthy. A bounty to any pilot who brings in a damaged plane. And I want to make a course change. Cease lire. Bring Phoenix in nearer the Corasian—

  "Nearer, my lord?" Aks stared, "Cease fire?'

  Oh, get with it, Admiral! Maigrey silently advised him. A child of six could figure out this strategy. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. The Warlord checked an irritated sigh, patiently explained his plan to his admiral.

  Aks protested. "But, my lord, that's far too dangerous! You should leave now. I have your shuttle standing by—"

  "Tell Giesk to send some of the wounded in my shuttle. I'll fly my plane out. The lady will accompany me."

  Maigrey was shivering. The bridge was icy cold. All systems not absolutely essential to the sustaining of life had been either shut down or moderated That, apparently, included heat.

  I have to get away from here, away from him! she prodded herself.

  Why bother? she answered herself dully, despairingly. He'll only find you again. Your minds are too closely linked.

  Hes become like death. There's noplace to run, noplace to hide.

  Death is the one place, she reminded herself, sighing. But that is forbidden me.

  I am a Guardian. My life is pledged to my king. As long as Dion lives . . .

  As long as he lives. What good am I to him now? What good am I to anybody? She had heard Aks repeating Captain Williams's report to the Warlord. She had heard the mercenaries were trapped, fighting for their lives. John Dixter, who came into this war for love of her.

  The tears began to come in earnest now. she couldn't stop crying. Sagan would be furious. Let him.

  ". . . Snaga Ohme," Admiral Aks was saying to the Warlord in a low voice. "He insists on speaking to you."

  Maigrey gulped, caught Sagan's swift, penetrating glance, and changed her startled reaction to a hiccup. Her tears ceased with a suddenness that made her eyes sting and burn. Snaga Ohme. The Adonian weapons dealer, the genius who had been in secret contact with Derek Sagan. John Dixter had stumbled across the information, and now, Maigrey guessed, Dixter was paying for his knowledge with his life.

  Her proclivity to burst into tears paid off for her now; gave her an excuse to keep her face hidden. The mind-link between herself and the Warlord was now broken. Sagan erected mental barriers the moment the Adonian's name had been mentioned. And the
Warlord, angered at her giving way to her weakness, was paying scant attention to her. Maigrey let her body sag down into a nearby chair, slumped on the console, hid her face in her arms, and strained to hear the almost inaudible conversation.

  "I don't have time to talk to that fool—"

  "My lord, he insists." Aks lowered his voice further. "He has heard about our . . . um . . . danger, my lord. He wants . . . his money."

  "Money!" Sagan exploded. Drawing a seething breath, he managed to regain control of himself, but it was with difficulty. "Very well. Admiral. I will speak to him. In my private quarters."

  Maigrey felt the Warlord's attention turn again to her. He was staring at her, wondering what to do with her. He was the only one aboard this ship whose powers were equal to hers, who could stop her if she chose to use her phenomenal, inbred abilities. But she was undoubtedly the last person he wanted around while he was talking to this Snaga Ohme. Quite a quandary.

  "Leave her in my care, my lord," Aks said, voice softened. The admiral was of the old school, obtuse, but chivalrous. "You can see, she's exhausted, harmless—"

  "My lady will be harmless only when she's dead. And somehow I don't think I will trust her even then.' Sagan heaved an exasperated sigh. "But I have no choice, it seems."

  Maigrey raised her tear-streaked face, watched the Warlord warily. He had said he would never allow her out of his sight. . .

  Sagan gestured to his personal bodyguards, who had been standing at a discreet distance during his conversation with the admiral. The men obeyed with alacrity. The Warlord reached out, took the lasgun from one guard's holster.

  Maigrey was too dazed with fatigue to think what he was doing. She recognized his intent only when he turned, pointed the lasgun at her, and fired.

  "I trust your weapon was set on stun?" Sagan handed the lasgun back to the shaken guard.

  "Y-yes, my lord," the man stammered. "As you command, when we are aboard ship. "

  "Very good." The Warlord glanced down at the motionless body lying on the deck. "Stay with her."

  Bending down, he put his hand on the woman's neck, felt the pulse, then gently brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. "After all, my lady, you did complain of being tired. The rest will do you good." Straightening, he involuntarily put his hands to his lower back, but was careful to keep his face expressionless, careful to keep from wincing in pain. "Aks, carry out your orders. I will be in my quarters."