Authors: Margaret Weis
"What's the
official government reaction to the press conference?" he asked
abruptly.
"About what
you'd expect. Robes said that the notion Sagan'd been abducted by
some evil genius was . . . let's see if I can remember it exactly.
'What you'd expect of an eighteen-year-old youth who imagines himself
in a fairy tale.' I gotta admit I kinda like that one." Tusk
grinned, then sobered. "The bad thing is that they've put out a
reward on the Starlady. 'Armed and dangerous.' Which means every
bounty-hunting scuzz between here and the Copernicus system will be
gunning for her."
"It's what
she wanted." And at least I didn't have to do it, Dion added
silently. He yanked too hard on one of the straps of the rucksack,
tore it off.
"Hey, kid,
don't take it out on the equipment," Tusk remonstrated quietly.
"You may be living out of that sack a long time. From what I've
heard about this godforsaken planet of Olefsky's, he's somewhere back
in the twelfth century. He doesn't even have indoor plumbing, the
Bear claims it's for wimps. I guess runnin' out in the snow to go to
the head in the middle of the night in your altogether with the
temperature at thirty below is supposed to make you tough."
Dion couldn't
help smiling. He relaxed, felt better. "I know it would make me
tough. Either that or make me think twice about drinking beer after
dinner. Besides, his theory must work. You've seen Olefsky."
"Flesh
mountain? Though I gotta admit most of him's solid. You know what his
kid told me? On the day he becomes a 'man,' each of his sons has to
kill an ox with one blow of his fist, then carry the carcass home
over his shoulders. And women have to go through the same type of
ritual. But they probably go easy on girls. I hear he has a
daughter," Tusk added ominously.
Dion laughed,
zipped himself into a flight suit. "Most likely she gets two
hits on the ox, then only has to drag it home."
"Most
likely we won't be able to tell her
from
the ox!" Tusk
shook his head.
"What are
you two talking about? What girl killed an ox? Heavens, Dion, aren't
you packed yet? You men. I've been ready for hours." Nola
entered the young man's quarters. "XJ sent me to look for you.
The computer's about to have a meltdown. Claims he's had life support
on for an hour now and you're wasting fuel."
"I'll waste
him," Tusk muttered. "The kid's ready to go anyhow. Put
your helmet on. No one's supposed to recognize you. The boys out
there got their orders?"
"Of course.
The centurions will continue to post guard as if I'm still inside my
quarters. Food will be brought to my room and one of them will eat
it. I'm not making any public appearances due to my deep concern over
the current dangerous situation."
"Good."
Tusk rubbed his hands. "Well, I guess we're olf, like a herd of
mad turtles as my dad used to say."
"You're
enjoying this," Nola accused him.
"Damn
right, sweetheart. No more tight collars and droid reporters. No more
Captain Williams with his perfect teeth and pressed pants. I'm back
to what I do best." He put his arm around her. "Lovin' and
fightin'."
Dion grabbed the
helmet. "I thought we were going," he said coldly. Seeing
the two of them happy together, watching them exchange glances that
he knew were bedroom glances, overhearing whispered words that he
knew were bedroom words twisted him up inside.
"Where's
General Dixter?" he asked more calmly, trying to untie the knot
of anger and envy that was tightening his gut. "Already on
board?"
Nola's
expression was grave. "He's not going with us, Dion."
"Not going?
But—"
"Look,
kid," Tusk intervened. "You know how the general hates
space flight. Cooped up in that little spaceplane that's barely big
enough for the three of us, he'd last about a day."
"He's been
with us so long, I was counting on him for advice—"
"Dixter
says you'll do fine, Dion," interrupted Nola gently. "He
has every confidence in you. You've been trained by the best, he
says."
"He thinks
he should stay aboard
Phoenix,
in case that flippin' Galactic
general gets a wild hair up her nose and decides she wants to board
the ship."
"Probably a
good idea." Dion sighed. One more gone. "I'll go say
good-bye—"
"I think
the idea was that he'd avoid good-byes, kid. He's had about one too
many, if you know what I mean."
Dion nodded,
hefted the pack.
"Helmet,"
said Tusk.
"I haven't
forgotten." He fit it over his head. "That look okay?"
Tusk inspected
him. Nola tucked wisps of red hair up in the back.
"I'll meet
you on the flight deck. We're not supposed to be seen together."
Dion settled the
pack on his shoulder, left his quarters. The Honor Guard, pretending
he was just another pilot, did not salute him. But one said, in an
undertone that was barely picked up by even the helmet's sensitive
monitors, "Good luck to Your Majesty."
Dion stopped,
glanced around. "Cato, isn't it? You've been promoted?"
"Yes,
Your—sir," he said, remembering he was supposed to be
speaking to just another pilot.
"Where's
Agis? I hope nothing's happened to him."
Cato's face
remained impassive. "He went AWOL, sir. He took the news about
his lordship very hard. Very hard indeed."
"Ah, I see.
You understand your orders, Captain?" he asked in an undertone.
"Perfectly,
Your Majesty."
"Then,
carry on. Remember, you haven't seen me."
Dion continued
on down the corridor alone.
"Here they
come," said XJ gloomily. "I want to go on record as saying
that I don't approve of this."
"Duly
noted," Dion answered.
Now that he was
back inside the spaceplane, listening to the computer's complaining,
excitement tingled through him, burned away his unhappiness. He was
suddenly extremely glad to be going somewhere, extremely glad to be
doing something, eVen if he did face the possibility of being blown
to cosmic dust.
A thud hit the
side of the spaceplane. The sound of unsteady feet came clomping up
the ladder, followed by a pounding on the hatch and a raucous voice,
shouting, "Open up in there! you mechanical sonuvabitch!"
XJ's lights
flashed in irritation. "Drunk again? I'll fix you, you rummy—"
The computer
caused the hatch to drop open with unexpected swiftness. Tusk,
leaning on it, slipped and tumbled through headfirst. He landed
heavily on the deck on his back, dumping most of the contents of a
bottle of champagne over himself on the way down.
XJ chuckled to
itself loudly.
Tusk, groaning,
got to his feet, shook his fist in the computer's general direction.
"You didn't have to do that!"
"I'm a true
thespian," returned the computer loftily. "I get into my
part."
"Oh, Tusk,
honey!" came Nola's voice. "Can you come . . . give me a
little help!" She giggled. "I can't seem to make my feet
work right. ..."
"Be right
there, schweetheart!" Tusk bawled. Turning his head, his voice
suddenly sober, he gave Dion the high sign. "Okay, kid, it's
your move. Everybody should be watchin' us, but keep your head down
anyway."
Dion nodded. «
Tusk, singing
loudly, champagne bottle in hand, clambered unsteadily back up the
ladder. Dion slipped up another ladder, one that led to the gun
turret looated above the Scimitar's cockpit. A bubble of steelglass,
the gun turret was plainly visible to everyone on the hangar deck.
Dion, careful to keep his head down, wedged his body into a tight,
cramped shadowed space between the seat and gun, and wondered, as
tightly as he was stuck in here, how he was ever going to get out
again.
Wriggling about
some, trying to keep the circulation from leaving his legs, he peeped
up over the rim of the viewscreen to watch the proceedings outside
the spaceplane. As Tuck had said, everyone on the hangar deck was
watching and laughing at the drunken newlyweds.
Nola, champagne
glass in hand, was endeavoring to climb the stairs leading up into
the spaceplane. She couldn't seem to find the first rung. Staring at
it with the serious, intense concentration of one who sees ten rungs
where there should be only one, she lifted her foot, placed it firmly
on thin air, and nearly fell over on her nose.
She paused to
consider the matter, drank off about half the champagne while
thinking about it, and tried again. This time she didn't even come
close and staggered across the flight deck. Several helpful flight
crew members caught her and aided her back to the spaceplane.
"Hey,
you're gettin' pretty friendly with my wife!" Tusk snarled,
leaning out over the hatch, waving the champagne bottle. "Just
back off! Here, honey. I'll lend you a hand."
The flight crew
hoisted Nola, giggling madly, onto their shoulders and gave her a
boost up the ladder. Tusk caught hold of her, dragged her on board by
the well-rounded seat of her pants. The two disappeared precipitously
down through the hatch, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass
and wild laughter.
The hatch
whirred shut.
Dion heard Tusk
climb into the cockpit. A moment later the mercenary's face appeared,
peering up at him.
"You okay
up there, lad?"
"If you
don't expect me to move quickly," Dion retorted. "I'm
wedged in here so tight you're going to have to pry me out with a
crowbar!"
"You'll
move quick enough if they start shooting at us," Tusk predicted.
"Okay, Nola, take the co-pilot's seat. Now, XJ, you know what to
do."
"Have you
ever noticed," stated the computer irritably, "that we
never fight our way out of trouble, anymore. We drink our way ..."
"Just shut
up and do what you're supposed to do," Tusk snapped viciously.
"This drunk routine was Dixter's idea, by the way."
"Figures,"
said XJ. "Leave it to the general to know your one strong
point."
"Would you
two stop it and get us out of here!" Dion demanded. "I've
lost all feeling in my feet!"
"Sure
thing, boss. Hit the engines, XJ. Kid, tell us what's goin' on from
your angle."
The spaceplane's
engines started with a roar, the deck on which Dion was sitting began
to vibrate, nearly jarring the teeth out of his head. He kept watch
out the viewscreen.
"The flight
crews are waving their arms and running over here. There go the
alarms," he added needlessly. The horn blasts nearly deafened
them all. The men on the hangar deck were making frantic hand
signals, warning Tusk to shut his engines off. "Too late. The
red lights're flashing! There they go!"
As a safety
precaution, the hangar bay doors opened automatically within a
prescribed time period after a spaceplane's engines were fired. The
alarms and flashing lights advised everyone on the deck that the
atmosphere and pressure were about to be reduced and it would be
advisable to clear the area.
"Scimitar,
this is deck control. Just what the devil do you think you're doing?"
came a stern voice over the commlink.
"S-sorry,"
slurred Tusk. "Hit the wrong . . . Nola, get off me. Yeah, sure
I like that, sweetheart, but ... oh, yeah. I really like that!"
Sounds of
breathless laughter and kissing.
"The doors
are starting to open, Tusk," reported Dion.
He could see
Tusk's legs only from the knees down. The mercenary was lying on his
back on the console. Nola, leaning over him, was kissing him on the
neck. Each had their hands—not on each other—but on the
control switches.
"Deck
control!" XJ came on. "Would someone get these drunken
idiots off my plane?"
"We'd be
happy to, computer, as soon as he shuts down his engines!"
returned deck control.
"Hangar bay
doors open!" Dion reported. "You're clear!"
"Yes, sir,"
said Tusk. "Shutting down now, sir. I—Oh, shit!"
The spaceplane
took off with a blast and a burst of speed that flattened Dion back
against the bulkheads and sent Tusk and Nola flying. The Scimitar
shot out of the hangar deck and swooped into space.
Dion grabbed
hold of the seat of the gunner's chair, which was about level with
his nose, and managed to pull himself up. Looking down below, he saw
a black hand and arm reach up from the deck, grab hold of the
console. Tusk emerged from underneath, grim-faced and red-eyed with
fury.
"What's the
matter, Tusk?" said XJ, lights flickering innocently. "You
didn't want maximum acceleration?"
"You
sonuva—"
"No
swearing! I got us out of there, didn't I?"
"Yeah. Most
of us. If you don't count my guts.
They're
still lyin' on the
flight deck. Nola, you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm
fine. Just a little shaken." Nola got to her feet. Her eyes were
wide. She put her hand to her head. "Wow! That was some ride."
"Kid?"
Tusk peered up into the gun turret. "You okay?"
"If you
don't count the fact that my spine's on the outside of my skin
instead of the inside, I'm dandy. Now what?"
"Get the
gun ready. We're not outta this yet. We're comin' up on the blockade.
XJ, find us a Lane. And here comes someone to look us over."
"Act one.
Scene two," stated the computer. "Places, everyone. ..."
Dion drew in a
deep breath, his fingers closed nervously over the lascannon's
handgrips, his thumbs located the firing buttons. A spaceplane zoomed
into view. He located it in his sights.
"Got it."
"Good.
Don't get an itchy trigger finger, kid. The last thing we want to do
is cause a stir. XJ, keep the shields down. We want to look like
butter wouldn't melt on our afterburners. Hopefully, we'll just ease
on out of here."