King's Test (26 page)

Maigrey
shivered. The words were a spear driven through her body. Fearfully,
she looked behind her, expecting to see him step out of the walls.

No one else was
in the room. She was alone. Slowly, she stretched out her hands,
touched and lifted the crystal cube.

She wasn't quite
alone, however. Bosk and Snaga Ohme were still there, apparently,
though they seemed as distant from her as if they'd been standing on
Laskar's sun. She was vaguely aware that, when she lifted the bomb,
both leapt to their feet. Bosk was yammering about something,
threatening somebody. Snaga Ohme was remonstrating with the man,
seemingly. Maigrey couldn't hear him distinctly, didn't care what he
said. She heard only the voice inside her head, inside her being.

Do you know
what you hold, my lady?

"No."

Think back,
Maigrey, remember a time long ago. Color, quark, beauty . . . death.

Color, quark,
beauty, death—a strange litany.

And then she
knew. All feeling left her fingers. Numb, chilled, she held on to the
cube only out of desperation.

A color bomb.
Space-rotation bomb.

It had long been
theorized that if the quarks of an atom could be pulled apart and the
color bond which held them together stretched to its limit, the space
between them could be rotated in such a way that, upon release, the
quarks rushing back together would collide, totally annihilating
matter, producing pure energy.

This was similar
to the principle by which objects were able to travel faster than the
speed of light. But this theory was the dark side, the unholy side.
For once begun, the explosion would set off a chain reaction,
affecting atom after atom. Annihilation would spread,
instantaneously. Theoretically the explosion would stop . . .
eventually ... far out in space where matter was reduced to a single
atom drifting in a vast void. But not before entire solar systems had
died a flaming death. And there were certain scientists—mostly
liberals of a bleeding heart variety—who had speculated that
the horrific forces unleashed might tear a hole in the universe,
destroying everything in the galaxy and beyond instantly, utterly. A
rent in creation's fragile fabric.

No one, until
now, had been blessed—or cursed—with the temerity, the
audacity, the means and ability to construct a space-rotation bomb.
King Starfire had never permitted it, refused even to discuss it.
President Robes had purportedly made overtures to Congress, seeking
funds to begin research and development, but the aforementioned
liberals created such a public furor in the press that Congress
always overwhelmingly voted against it.

Robes might have
proceeded with the project under the sheltering cloak of galactic
security but the scientific community and the press—eagerly
watching for just such a slip—would have pounced on him, gone
for the throat.

Sagan was
another matter. The Warlord had grown so powerful, possessed such
wealth and military might, that he could tell Congress to go to hell.

And now he had
the means of sending them there.

Or rather,
Maigrey thought, I have it.

Ultimate power.
The rulership of the galactic empire. The lives . . . the deaths ...
of trillions upon trillions.
Et tibi dabo claves regni caelorum.
She held, in her hands, the keys to the kingdom of heaven.

Yes, my lady,
you hold ultimate power. And how you long for it! The scar may be
upon your face, but it cuts deeper. It cuts to the soul!

The scar. The
flaw. The fatal flaw. The taint in the Blood Royal. Born and bred to
rule—the ability to utilize power became the need to utilize
it, then need became desire, desire degenerated to lust.

"And why
shouldn't I rule?" Maigrey asked, hands clutching the crystal
cube, fingers caressing the smooth, cold sides, the sharp, biting
corners pricking her skin. "I would restore the monarchy. My
rule would be fair, just, wise. I would teach Dion, raise him up to
become a king!"

A sparkle of
light, bright and pure and cold, caught her eye, chilled the fever
burning in her blood. The starjewel, the Star of the Guardians, the
symbol of her pledge to serve a king, not become one.

"I suppose
I should be like Galadriel in the old storybook," she said
bitterly. "'Diminish, and go into the west.' I won't, my lord!
The hobbit has given me the ring and, by God, I'm going to use it!"

You
forget,
lady, that I alone possess the energy source needed to activate it, I
only know the code that will start the sequence.

That was
logical. Sagan had provided Ohme with the theory, the design, had
allowed the Adonian to build the bomb, but the Warlord would have
been a fool to place the means to explode it in Ohme's grasp. An
energy source, something only Sagan could use, something to which
only he had access. That shouldn't be too difficult to figure out,
once she had the opportunity to examine the weapon.

As for the code,
for anyone but her, coming up with that would be practically
impossible. The symbols on the top of the box probably represented
other symbols—what? It could be anything: numbers, an alphabet,
musical notations. A computer could be programmed to randomly
generate all the possibilities and discover the right one, but—using
all the known languages in the galaxy, all the numerical systems—it
would take lifetimes.

And then Maigrey
knew. She knew at least the key to the code, and once she knew that .
. .

"You are
clever, my lord. A forgotten poet, writing in a forgotten language.
But there is one person who remembers. I remember, my lord. I
remember and I've been aware of the poet, for he's been in your mind
of late. And, knowing the poet, it should not be difficult to come up
with the poem—"

Sagan didn't
answer, but she sensed his doubt, his confusion, and she knew she was
right.

And then he was
gone. He wasn't defeated. He had another move to make, she was
certain. But, for now, she controlled the board, she was winning the
game. It was an exhilarating and highly unusual feeling.

Bosk was still
carrying on about something. Maigrey gradually became aware of his
existence, returned to the reality around her. The man was red-faced,
shouting, but he hadn't laid a hand on her. He didn't dare.

The might and
the majesty of the Blood Royal surrounded her, guarded her like a
force field. She could feel it crackle and spark. She could draw on
it, bring this mansion down around Ohme's shell-shaped ears if she
wanted. Melt the wiring! She would melt stone, melt flesh!

Snaga Ohme, on
the other hand, was calm, in control, though he watched her narrowly.

And then it
occurred to Maigrey that she was in possession of the starjewel
and
the bomb.

"I could
walk out with both of them," she said to the Adonian. "Leave
you with nothing. It would be nothing more than what you deserved,
after all, for trying to double-cross my lord."

"Yes, my
lady—whoever you are—you could." Snaga Ohme smiled;
the liquid eyes were limpid pools of oil. "You can murder me
where I stand, slay me with a touch, a look. But you won't. You're a
Guardian. And with your great strength comes a great weakness: honor.
Even Sagan, whose heart is said to be made of adamant, suffers from
this curse. Honor is the crack in the armor. It destroyed most of
you, years ago. It will destroy you who are left."

Maigrey was only
half-listening. She felt a sense of urgency, suddenly, could hear the
ticking of a clock. Sagan was on his way, coming to claim his "pearl
of great price," his keys to the kingdom of heaven.

I have
preparations to make, Maigrey realized. I can't waste time discussing
honor with a man who probably doesn't know how to spell it.

She tucked the
bomb awkwardly beneath her arm—the thing was heavy and
difficult to hold properly, but she'd be damned if she'd set it
down—and fumbled in the folds of the chador. Producing the
rosewood box, she held it out to the Adonian.

Snaga Ohme's
fingers closed on the box. Maigrey's, suddenly, couldn't let it go.

She saw the
jewel again as she had seen it moments before, sparkling with its
blue-white flame. But she couldn't really see it. The jewel was
hidden in the box, shrouded in her black robes.

The scar on her
face began to throb painfully. Her power was starting to crumble. She
saw Snaga Ohme cast a quick, meaningful glance at his cohort, saw
Bosk's lips part in an answering smile.

Swiftly, Maigrey
released the box, almost threw it into the Adonian’s grasping
hand. He snatched it away, pressed it close to his breast.

"One of the
footmen will show you out, Major."

Maigrey inclined
her head, heard the rustle of the dark fabric of the veil. She was
incapable of speech, wanted only to be away from this place.
Concealing the bomb in the black winding cloth of the chador, she
left without a backward glance.

"The
woman's on her way," Bosk reported.

Snaga Ohme
didn't hear his cohort. The Adonian stood near the window, gazing at
the radiant, shimmering starjewel with a rapturous expression, his
fingers running over it, delighting in every carved facet of the rare
gemstone.

Realizing that
Ohme would be absorbed in the covetous contemplation of his prize for
at least the next several hours, if not the next several days, Bosk
was heading for the door, about to remove his unwanted self, when a
hoarse, strangled cry arrested him.

"Boss?
What?" Bosk whirled around in alarm, hand on his lasgun, with
some wild thought that the fey woman had returned and was crawling in
through the window.

Snaga Ohme
remained alone and unharmed, however, staring at the starjewel, but
his rapt gaze had been replaced by one of cunning and triumphant
understanding.

"This is
it!" Ohme breathed, holding the jewel in his hands, thrusting it
forward for Bosk to see.

Bosk didn't see,
however, and remained staring at his friend with a puzzled
expression.

Ohme's head
snapped up. "The woman! I want her!"

"But she's
out the gate, boss. The remote just reported—"

"Damn!"
The Adonian scowled, impervious to the fact that he was inflicting
masses of wrinkles on himself. "Go after her, Bosk! Bring her
back!"

"But what
if she won't come?"

"Then shoot
her!"

"But you
just said you wanted her—"

"Dolt!
Idiot!" The Adonian gazed greedily once more at the starjewel,
then thrust it into a pocket. Suddenly, he darted forward, grabbed
Bosk by the cheeks and kissed him resoundingly on his forehead.
"Beloved Bosk! It's not her I want! It's the bomb! Don't you
understand? The bomb!"

"But you
made a deal—"

"Ah, you
know my motto, Bosk.
Caveat emptor!
Yes, beloved Bosk,
caveat
emptor
indeed!"

Caveat
emptor.

Let the buyer
beware.

Ancient Roman
dictum

Entering the
tram car, Maigrey sank back into the cushy seat. She kept hold of the
bomb; her hands burned against its cold, smooth crystal surface, as
if she were touching a block of ice with wet fingers. Her thoughts
were in tatters, streaming away from her before she could catch hold
of them, blown by the twisting winds of exultation, confusion, and a
vague horror of herself. The tram car trusted that she'd had a joyous
and prosperous meeting with its master and asked if she'd like
anything to read.

The journey to
the gate was uneventful. The remote at the gate eyed the bomb with
its glassy optics, and Maigrey tensed, but apparently the remote had
orders to let her out with it safely. The gate opened, the force
field's hum altered in tone, and she was safely off of Snaga Ohme's
estate. Maigrey breathed a sigh of relief, caught herself doing so,
and realized then that somewhere in the jumble of her confused mental
state had been the warning that Ohme would try to recover his
property.

"Honest as
an Adonian," so the saying went, and it wasn't intended as a
plaudit.

The remotes had
brought the hoverjeep around. Maigrey inspected it thoroughly before
entering. The beam rifle had been reactivated, as previously agreed.
The vehicle had not been sabotaged, though she did find a tracking
device, cleverly concealed.

She considered
removing it, decided to leave it. Why make things difficult? Maigrey
climbed in the jeep, placed the bomb carefully on the seat beside
her, adjusted the beam rifle within easy reach. Activating the jeep,
she sped down the steep, rocky path that led away from the Adonian's
estate. She noticed that it had rained heavily while she'd been
inside the Adonian's. Large puddles dotted the driveway and in the
distance was the rumble of thunder. Apparently Ohme's force field
kept out rain as well as locusts.

Steering the
hoverjeep, concentrating on her driving gave her mind a focal point,
enabled her to gather the remnants of her thoughts, weave them
together, and cover the inner turmoil with a soothing blanket. She
considered the warning her instincts had provided. Yes, undoubtedly
Ohme would try to regain the bomb. It was logical, made perfect
business sense. He had other buyers, he had the starjewel. What was
stopping him?

Maigrey could
almost hear his report to the Warlord.

"A pity
about the poor woman, but, my dear Lord Sagan, I can't be held
responsible! Laskar's been plagued by roving bands of drug addicts.
The wretches will steal anything to support their foul habit. I
warned Haupt not to allow the woman to travel alone. I did indeed.
The thieves stole everything, or so I read in the police report.
Hoverjeep, beam rifle, the jewel, the bomb. ... I haven't the vaguest
idea where it is now, my lord. You might try the local pawn shops.
..."