Authors: Margaret Weis
"I have to
admit that . . . er . . . that shroud's not a bad idea, your
ladyship," XJ remarked grudgingly. "You could hide a
missile launcher inside that body bag! By the way, you'll find a
missile launcher in the storage compartment there underneath the
trash compactor. Also a nice assortment of blades, grenades, and a
needle-gun that fits in a shoulder holster—"
Maigrey moved to
the storage compartment, knelt, and opened it up. But her hands went
past the assortment of weapons, collected by Tusk over the years, to
a small rosewood box the mercenary would not have recognized as
belonging to him. She caressed the polished wood. When her fingers
began to tremble, she hurriedly thrust it beneath the folds of the
chador, secreting it in a zippered pocket of the body armor.
Rising to her
feet, she started toward the ladder leading up and out of the
spaceplane. She frowned slightly, having forgotten that she would
have to negotiate the climb encumbered by the robe's flowing skirts.
"Keep the hatch sealed," she ordered XJ. "No one is to
come aboard in my absence."
"Sure,
sure. Wait, your ladyship! You've forgotten to take any weapons!
Women!" the computer muttered, but was sufficiently impressed
with the lady to keep its volume low.
"Thank you,
XJ." Maigrey, skirts in one hand, was climbing the ladder with
difficulty. "But from what I understand of the Adonian's
security, I couldn't smuggle a butter knife into his house."
"You said
yourself this character couldn't be trusted. Listen, your ladyship,"
XJ said eagerly, "I've got plastic explosive, looks and tastes
just like chewing gum! Put a wad in your mouth and no one'd ever
suspect. You've only got to be careful about one thing—don't
blow bubbles. ..."
"No, thank
you, XJ. It won't be necessary."
Maigrey stopped
at the top of the ladder, thrust open the hatch, and looked out over
the large, walled complex that was Fort Laskar. A squad was drilling
on the parade ground, men and women baking in the hot sun, being
driven by a bulldog of a sergeant snapping at their heels. In another
area, the fort's band practiced, its music brisk and metallic,
punctuated by the rattle of drums. Five suborbital fighters flew high
overhead, dark spots against the nauseous green sun. Sonic waves
broke over the base, rattling windowpanes, jarring taut nerves.
Standing on the
ladder, preparatory to climbing up and out, Maigrey rested her hands
on the hull, rested her chin on her hands, and gazed out over the
people, the buildings, the walls to the bleak and barren horizon and
beyond.
Sagan was far
away, yet he was near, so near to her that it seemed if she stretched
forth her hand, she would touch him. He walked at her side, hovering
over her like some dark angel. She had only to speak, and he would
answer.
The mental link
between them was strong; it had never been stronger, not even in the
days of their youth, when they had been far closer than they were
now.
"Or perhaps
not," she said to herself. "Then we were bound by light, by
intellect, by victory, by beauty. We were strong, immortal,
invincible. We were young. But now he and I are bound by chains much
stronger: by darkness, by age and experience, by sorrow and pain, by
fear . . . and by death."
"Your
ladyship, please reconsider!" XJ, in its remote unit, popped up
out of the hatch, lights flashing in consternation, small arms
wiggling. "The Adonian's dangerous! You can't go alone,
unarmed!"
Maigrey's hand
lightly touched the black fabric of the chador covering the rosewood
box hidden at her breast. "I won't be going unarmed." Her
gaze, intent, somber, shifted to the heavens, to the storm clouds
gathering on the horizon. "And I won't be going alone."
Maigrey brought
the hoverjeep to a halt, allowing it to settle down into the dust of
the road. She had traveled through vast open desert, diving down into
a steep, narrow ravine, rocketing up a rock-strewn defile, and
finally arriving at Snaga Ohme's estate. A tall bronze gate, set into
a high-standing wall made of the garish, multicolored crystalline
brick that was popular on (and no doubt imported from) the man's home
planet of Adonia, formed the entrance to the fortresslike dwelling.
Maigrey, craning
her neck, could barely see the tops of giant trees lifting their
green limbs above the wall. Bold abstract patterns, formed out of the
myriad colored bricks, dazzled the eye. The bronze gate was highly
polished, the gleam from the metal nearly blinding, even in the hazy
sunlight. And it was all strictly for show. Maigrey could hear the
faint hum of the force field that was the true guardian of the
Adonian's vast wealth.
Leaning back in
the seat of the hoverjeep, she watched and waited for her presence to
be acknowledged.
Several bricks
suddenly slid aside. Numerous computer remotes, of the type known as
"killer remotes" because of their armaments, floated out of
the wall and took up positions around her vehicle. One, the leader,
bobbed over to Maigrey, keeping level with her head.
"Please
remove yourself from your vehicle," the remote instructed,
speaking general military.
Maigrey did as
she was told. Several of the remotes surrounded the hoverjeep,
inspecting it with their scanners.
"A beam
rifle," one reported.
"Deactivate
it," the lead remote ordered.
"It's
dangerous country out there," Maigrey protested, gesturing with
a black-robed hand. "I have to drive back. ..." She had
switched languages, using
muslamic,
the language of the women
of the chador.
The remote was
nonplussed. It answered her in the same language, speaking fluently
and idiomatically.
"We will
reactivate the weapon upon your return," the remote informed
her. "Name?"
"Major
Penthesilea. I am expected."
"Snaga Ohme
expects everything and nothing," the remote intoned. "You
have clearance to pass. Your vehicle will remain under our care. When
I open the gate, walk through immediately; do not dawdle. Proceed
directly to the tram. Do not step off the path. I repeat. Do not step
off the path. Once inside the tram, do not make any attempt to remove
yourself from the tram while it is in motion. This is for your own
safety and protection. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Accompany
me, please." The remote led her forward to the gate, the other
remotes backing off but keeping her under close surveillance.
The bronze gate
swung open at Maigrey's approach; she heard the hum of the force
field change in tone. Passing through the gate, accompanied by the
remote, she noticed the walls decorated with what she might have
expected from an Adonian—Snaga Ohme's portrait.
"I am
fluent in all major languages of the galaxy," the remote said
offhandedly, leading Maigrey along a narrow path made of crushed
marble.
Beautiful plants
grew on either side of the path—flowers beautiful and deadly.
No such crude devices as land mines for Snaga Ohme. Maigrey, counting
quickly, recognized at a glance over twenty species of vegetation
lethal to humans alone, plus at least six that would kill any living
organism they could wrap their tendrils around. A slithering sound
and a low snarling whine coming from the shadows of the manmade
jungle informed her that the plants weren't the only killers roaming
at large over the estate.
"I also
speak Corasian," the remote added, as an afterthought.
"Snaga Ohme
doesn't miss a bet, does he?" Maigrey glanced up, overhead. Sun
and cloudy sky were still visible, but seemed to shimmer slightly.
The sun had acquired a halo. "The force field extends up and
over the estate?"
"Of course.
It protects us from conventional bombers, nuclear strikes, laser
attacks from space, and locusts," the remote said. A tram on a
monorail glided forward; doors swung open.
"Locusts?"
Maigrey repeated in some surprise.
"Damn
nuisance—locusts. Please remain inside the tram until it comes
to a full and complete stop. This is for your own safety. The average
life expectancy in the jungle is forty seconds. Have a nice day."
The tram doors
slid shut and sealed. The vehicle cruised away with Maigrey inside,
moving slowly at first.
"Please be
seated," the tram said, speaking
muslamic.
"Snaga
Ohme welcomes you to his house and hopes that your stay will be a
pleasant one. Make no attempt to open the door. It is wired to
explode. Magazine?"
The tram picked
up speed, rocketing along the monorail. Trees and plants and flowers
passed in a dizzying blur. Maigrey thumbed through a year-old copy of
Laskarian Hot Spots,
found listed the name of the bar where
she had first met John Dixter.
Closing the
magazine, she tossed it aside and sat back against the leather seats,
stared unseeing into the deadly jungle.
. . . one pearl
of great price . . .
St. Matthew,
13:45
"Do you
recognize her?" Snaga Ohme asked.
"No. And we
have most of Sagan's known agents'-on file. We've sent her
description through the computer. There's no match."
"What about
the breed? You don't have
him
on file?" Snaga Ohme said
languidly.
Bosk appeared
nettled. "
If
the breed really exists! No one's lived to
tell of meeting him. You know my theory. I think he's a rumor Sagan
started just to frighten his more gullible opponents. At any rate,
she's not a half-breed, nor a 'droid. She's the genuine article."
Snaga Ohme and
his cohort lounged in the Adonian's security room, observing their
visitor on numerous screens. Hidden cameras, and some not so hidden,
provided the Adonian a look at everyone living, working, or entering
his dwelling. So thorough was his scrutiny that he could see a
close-up of the woman's hands on one screen and at the same time
observe a view of her skeletal make-up and the functioning of her
vital organs on another.
"What is
she—blood type, DNA, that sort of thing?"
Bosk was
slightly embarrassed. "We can't tell. The testing equipment's
not working properly."
"Not
working!" Snaga Ohme stared at him in unparalleled amazement.
"Since when?"
"Since ...
I don't know!" Bosk looked harassed. "Since she walked in
the house, I suppose! It was operating well enough yesterday. I've
got the repair crews on it."
"Odd."
Snaga Ohme mused, sipping at champagne. "Still, I don't suppose
it matters. She's not armed."
"A beam
rifle in the jeep, but that's standard military procedure. She may
not have known it was in there. She's wearing standard military light
body armor. Other than that, the only object she has on her person is
a small box made of rosewood."
"What's in
the box?"
"Energy."
"Energy?
What sort of energy? A rechargeable battery? What?"
"Just . . .
energy." Bosh shrugged, kept his gaze averted.
"Dear boy,
have you gone mad? Perhaps it's a bomb."
"No, it's
not a bomb. It's benign, harmless. And it's just what I say it
is—energy. Like she was carrying a small sun, for example."
"Take it
away from her. Bring it to me."
"We tried."
Bosk flushed. "She said if we touch it, the deal is off.
According to our voice analyzer, she means it, too. She's not
bluffing."
"And you're
certain it's not an explosive?"
"We sent it
through the neutralizer. Nothing."
"She didn't
object to that?"
"No. Look,
boss, you said yourself Sagan wouldn't try to kill you over a little
thing like double-crossing him."
"I
am
extremely valuable to the Warlord," Ohme reflected. "And,
for all his other faults, Derek isn't one to cut his nose off because
his helmet rubs it wrong. But this woman of his is most puzzling. A
mystery." The Adonian frowned.
"Don't make
such a face, my dear!" Bosk reprimanded him, reaching out a hand
to smooth his superior's flawless marble brow. "You can't think
how it wrinkles you."
"Confound
it, if I develop wrinkles, it won't be my fault! It will be hers! I
detest mysteries! Take the woman to my office."
Bosk left on his
errand. Snaga Ohme rose to his feet, turned his head to look in one
of the ever-present mirrors. The frown line was no longer visible,
had done no permanent damage. He was still beautiful.
The Adonian's
estate was larger in area than many civilized nations in the Galactic
Democratic Republic. His house and the buildings attendant to it were
taller and more numerous than those in some cities. None of the
actual weapons manufacturing was carried out on Laskar. Raw materials
were more readily available and labor was cheaper on other planets.
Then, too, factories and laboratories tend to be ugly things and the
Adonian could not bear to be around anything ugly. His one concession
to the business side of his life were mazes of target ranges, located
in catacombs below his vast estate, and a gigantic auditorium
specially designed to show off his latest inventions.
Once a year, the
Adonian gave a party in that auditorium, a party that was known the
galaxy over. Invitations were sent only to the rich and powerful or,
in some instances, to those Snaga Ohme's research teams determined
had the potential for becoming rich and powerful. Invitations to the
Adonian's party were, therefore, highly coveted. The reputation of
several hitherto "unknowns" had been made by being asked to
the party. One person, at least, was rumored to have killed himself
when his invitation—always hand-delivered in person by an
Adonian of extraordinary beauty and charm—didn't arrive.
Snaga Ohme's
mansion was extraordinarily beautiful. It was, Maigrey decided,
too
beautiful. The effect, on walking through rooms and halls whose
design and style and furnishings had been copied from the most
beautiful rooms and halls in the universe, was tantamount to sitting
down to dinner and discovering the table loaded with nothing but
chocolate eclairs, meringues, and whipped cream cakes.