Authors: Margaret Weis
One of the
features of the tour through the stately mansion—a tour
obviously intended to flaunt Ohme's wealth—were the rooms the
Adonian fancifully called the Jewel Box. Known throughout the galaxy
for his collection of rare and priceless gems, Snaga Ohme had devoted
one entire wing to their display. Enclosed in their steelglass cases,
the jewels gleamed and glittered, flamed and sparkled. The very
latest techniques in lighting were used to set off each to its best
advantage. Here, Maigrey had to admit, was true wealth, true
splendor.
"Our most
prized pieces," Bosk said. "The crown jewels— sold by
the government following the revolution in order to raise money to
aid those impoverished by the decadent life-style of the king and his
family."
Decadent
life-style. Maigrey sighed softly. Poor king. Poor, misguided king.
"Interested
in the crown, are you? Yes, it is the most valuable object in the
collection, worth the wealth of several planets, I'm told. And such
an entertaining history goes along with it. See the dark blotch
there, beneath the fire diamond?
It's blood. His
late Majesty was wearing this very crown the night of the revolution,
the night of his—"
A roaring in her
ears drowned the voice. Maigrey breathed in smoke, her skin was
scorched by flame. She was running, running desperately. ...
A barrier in her
mind crashed down, shutting off the memories, leaving her in
darkness. For a terrifying instant, she was blind, disoriented, had
no idea where she was. And then the blank wall that had blocked her
vision dissolved. She saw Bosk and the jewels—the man prattling
on, oblivious to his guest's inattention. Maigrey blessed the
foresight that had led her to hide her face beneath the veil.
She walked away,
cutting off Bosk in mid-speech.
Every room in
the house was the same—sumptuously beautiful. The servants were
beautiful, the pets were beautiful, the people in the oil paintings
were beautiful. Maigrey was exhausted with beauty by the time she and
her escort reached the private office of the Adonian. Located in its
own separate wing, the office was connected to the main house by a
tunnel whose colored lights, dancing to recorded music, were
incredibly beautiful.
"Major
Penthesilea? I trust I am pronouncing that correctly?" Snaga
Ohme rose to greet her, actually crossed the large, thick-carpeted
room to take her hand in his and press it warmly.
From his
welcome, she might have been bringing him his heart's desire—which
she was, but he couldn't know that yet. Adonians were invariably
charming; they couldn't help it, it was an inborn trait. Ohme would
have greeted his most detested enemy in the same fashion.
Maigrey glanced
around the office and was relieved to note that, though the room was
beautiful in design and furnished quite beautifully, Snaga Ohme had
been forced of necessity to permit a certain amount of ugliness. His
arsenal of weapons, hidden among the paintings, the statuary, and
other objets d'art, had been cleverly concealed, but an expert eye
could find them. Maigrey located what she hoped were most of them,
felt at home for the first time since she'd entered the estate.
"I am Snaga
Ohme." The Adonian introduced himself with a charming humility,
as if his face wasn't one of the most reproduced and recognizable in
the galaxy.
Ohme led his
guest to a chair at his desk, held it for her himself, hovered over
her as if she were made of the most fragile, exquisite porcelain and
might shatter at a harsh touch. He made numerous anxious inquiries:
Was the chair comfortable for her? Was the room temperature too warm?
Too cool? Would she accept a glass of champagne? A plate of imported
strawberries? A cushion for her head? A cushion for her feet?
Maigrey,
accustomed to dealing with Adonians, assured Snaga Ohme several times
that she had never in her entire life been happier or more contented
than she was at this particular moment. It amused her, on looking up,
to see focused on her the tiny glass eye of the lethal laser that
could obliterate her in seconds.
Finally, after
assuring himself that he could do nothing to increase her happiness,
Snaga Ohme seated himself behind a massive desk carved of ebony. Like
his gardens, like his office, he was beautiful on the surface, deadly
beneath.
Soft, luxuriant,
wavy black hair framed a face virile and strong and masculine. His
white teeth were perfect, his lips curved sensually. His eyes were
liquid gold, like olive oil. He spoke in a rich baritone voice.
Settled into his chair, Ohme fixed his golden-eyed gaze on his guest.
His hand, moving unobtrusively, glided beneath his desk. Harsh light
illuminated Maigrey, half-blinding her, leaving the Adonian in
shadow.
Standing behind
Maigrey was Bosk. Hands folded respectfully, he seemed by his
demeanor to have been born for no other purpose than to serve Ohme's
honored guests. Maigrey knew better, knew a trained killer when she
saw one.
Rising to her
feet, she moved to another chair, a chair that stood in darkness. The
Adonian was all sudden concern. Had she been sitting in a draft?
"The
light," she said, "it hurts my eyes. I hope you don't
mind." Maigrey noted the laser beam, tracking her.
"Oh, but I
do mind . . . Major." Another light switched on, illuminated her
in a pool of radiance.
Snaga Ohme
glanced at himself in the mirror on his desk, then condescended to
pay the woman the compliment of looking at her. "You have such a
low and musical voice, you move so gracefully, your eyes are quite
fine. Why do you hide yourself from the sight of those who must adore
you, if they were privileged enough to see what can only be a lovely
face? Remove your veil."
"I have
taken a vow that no man will see my face," Maigrey replied.
"Is Derek
Sagan included in this 'vow' . . . Major?" Snaga Ohme leaned
back in his chair, delicately placed the tips of his fingers
together. The gold eyes were oily slits. Sparkling jewels from
numerous rings glinted in the light.
Maigrey decided
enough was enough. Lifting her right hand, she made a slight gesture.
The light above her winked out. Every light in the room went out,
plunging them all in darkness. A faint hum, that had been barely
audible, ceased. She heard Snaga Ohme sit abruptly forward.
"Bosk!"
"I've got
her covered!"
Maigrey felt a
gun press against her head, beneath the right earlobe. She relaxed
back into the creaking leather of the chair.
"Control
room?" The Adonian was, by the sound of it, pressing buttons and
flipping switches.
"Checking!"
a voice shouted from the ceiling. "No malfunction. Everything
just blew! Some type of tremendous electrical overload. Most of the
circuits are . . . fried!"
"The wiring
in these older homes is dreadfully substandard," Maigrey
observed.
"The devil
with the wiring!" Snaga Ohme rose to his feet, turned, and pawed
his way through several layers of heavy velvet and silk curtains
until he came to large steelglass windows. He shoved the curtains
open. The room was flooded with green sunlight that had an odd cast
to it—the approaching storm. Gazing at Maigrey, the Adonian's
olive-oil eyes seemed to have turned suddenly rancid.
"Who are
you?" he demanded.
"You know
my name," she answered. "Perhaps your associate could
remove his weapon—which, by the way, is no longer
functioning—and we could continue with our business. I am not
an assassin. I assure you, Snaga Ohme, had I been sent to kill you,
you would be dead right now."
Bosk looked for
the red light indicating that the lasgun was operational. Not finding
it, he threw the weapon to the floor, grabbed Maigrey roughly by the
shoulder. "I'll take her to the dungeon—"
"No, no."
Snaga Ohme was regarding Maigrey thoughtfully. His voice regained its
former politic politeness. "Don't be discourteous to our guest,
Bosk. Forgive him, Major, he worries about me more than my own
mother. As you say, let us get back to business."
The Adonian
smoothed the wrinkles in his suit, adjusted his tie, and relapsed
back into his chair. An oblique motion of his hand sent Bosk,
grumbling beneath his breath, to take his place at the side of the
desk.
"I have
something to sell, Major. You want to buy it. It is extremely
costly." Ohme spread his hands, sighing. "The age-old law
of supply and demand. The demand is great and the supply limited.
There is, in fact, only one and there are several customers
interested in obtaining it. You, if I understand correctly, represent
Lord Sagan—"
"—who,"
Maigrey interposed, "if I understand correctly, fronted the
money for the research and development of the . . . object . . ."
"Yes, that
is true, and therefore I am willing to keep the price down for his
lordship, adding only a small fee for the trouble and inconvenience
due to his failure to pay on time. Unfortunately, Major," said
Ohme with a sigh, "I have the impression that here is where our
deal begins and . . . here it ends. A TRUC-load of golden eagles
would hardly be sufficient payment, and you have brought nothing. I
do not accept credit."
Snaga Ohme rose
to his feet. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he smoothed
nonexistent creases from his jacket. "Meeting you has been an
interesting experience, Major. Extend my regards to Lord Sagan."
Maigrey slid her
hand beneath the folds of the black robes, reached into the pocket of
her body armor, and withdrew the rosewood box. She saw, out of the
corner of her eye, Bosk tense and take a step toward her. She saw
Snaga Ohme make a quick gesture, warding the man away. They had known
of the box's existence, obviously, but they could not know what was
inside. The inherent properties of the jewel itself would mask it
from any type of detection equipment.
Maigrey ignored
Ohme, ignored Bosk. She concentrated on the box, on keeping her hand
from shaking, though a tremor ran through her body. Never before, in
all the long and noble history of the Guardians, had anyone done such
a thing as she was about to do. She had not realized it would be so
difficult and, for a moment, was afraid she couldn't go through with
it.
If she didn't,
she would lose, Sagan would win.
Maigrey set her
hand upon the box, lifted the lid.
Bosk sucked in
an awed breath. Snaga Ohme made no sound; he had ceased to breathe.
It was as if
Maigrey had stretched out her hand and caught and held the sunbeams
shining through the window. And vet the light was more brilliant. It
was as if she had plucked a moon from the night sky. And yet it was
more radiant. It was as if she held forth a star. . . .
Faced with a
choice of breathing or passing out, Snaga Ohme caught his breath. "A
starjewel," he said in his own language.
"Does the
jewel cover the price of the bomb?" Maigrey inquired coolly.
"Lady,
whoever you are, I must be honest!" Desire cracked Snaga Ohme's
voice. He reached out a trembling hand. "What you offer is worth
far more ... far more! I've never seen ... I didn't know any still
existed. ... All were destroyed. ..."
Maigrey snapped
the lid shut, nearly catching the Adonian's fingers, and sat back,
calm and composed, her hand covering the box.
"And now I
want to see what it is I am buying."
Snaga Ohme's
eyes were on the box. His fingers twitched. The handsome face had
flushed a shade of red that, had he observed himself in the mirror,
he would have seen was profoundly ugly. He wasn't looking in the
mirror, however. For the first and perhaps only time in his life, he
had forgotten his appearance. He pointed at the box.
"Bosk ..."
Ohme ordered.
Maigrey raised
her right hand, opened it palm out, for the Adonian to see. "I
wouldn't," she said softly.
The green-tinted
sunlight, now darkened to a sullen brown-gray by the storm clouds,
shone on five scars, five puncture marks in the palm. The Adonian
sank back into his chair, knees giving way, his body gone nerveless.
"Bring the
bomb," he ordered Bosk.
The associate
cast a sharp, questioning look at the Adonian. Receiving no oblique
sign, Bosk did as he was told. He crossed the room, stood before what
appeared to be a blank wall of black marble, placed his hand on an
unseen panel, and spoke several words softly, beneath his breath. The
panel slid aside. Maigrey couldn't see clearly from her angle, but
the first panel apparently opened on a second, because Bosk was
forced to perform a similar ritual. There came the sound of metal
scraping against rock. He thrust his arm into the opening in the wall
and spoke again, then withdrew it slowly. In his hands, he held
gingerly, reverently—as the knights of old might have held the
Holy Grail—a crystal cube.
Bringing it
over, he set the cube on the desk in front of Snaga Ohme.
Maigrey studied
it, feeling relief, mingled with disappointment. She was relieved she
didn't have to transport something the size of a neutron bomb, vet
what kind of bomb could this be?
The crystal cube
was solid, stood about ten centimeters high, and was ten wide. Inside
the cube, embedded in the crystal, was a pyramid made of pure gold. A
small, flat computer keyboard containing numerous small
keys—twenty-six, by Maigrey's hasty count—adorned the
cube's top. The point of the pyramid was connected to the underside
of the keyboard. Maigrey studied the keys; each bore a symbol,
unrecognizable.
She retrieved
the rosewood box, tucked it beneath the folds of the chador. "Most
impressive—for a paperweight."
Hardly, my
lady. Pick it up,
a voice invited.
It wasn't the
Adonian who spoke. It was Sagan.