Authors: Margaret Weis
Sagan would know
differently, of course. He would know who really had the bomb—or
who had undoubtedly already sold it to someone else by that time. But
the Adonian's crime would be difficult to prove. Any retaliatory
attack against Ohme would be costly and futile. The bomb would be
gone. The other warlords and powerful people in the galaxy who
depended on Snaga Ohme's genius would be extremely upset with Sagan
for damaging their pet weapons manufacturer. And, like it or not,
when the time came for Sagan to make his move, he would need those
people as allies. He would also, much as he hated to admit it, need
Snaga Ohme.
"I'll have
to be ready for them." Maigrey had fallen into the habit of
talking to herself during her long years of exile.
"That
shouldn't be too difficult. Ohme may be a genius when it comes to
designing weapons, but the only strategic maneuvers Adonians practice
are in bed!"
It would be an
ambush, Maigrey decided. She'd be attacked before she arrived back at
the base.
That settled,
she was able to give other matters consideration. And she came to the
conclusion that her true danger wasn't Snaga Ohme. Her true danger
was the clock. The Warlord was moving nearer to Laskar with each
passing second, and she wasn't ready for him. Now this stupid ambush
would delay her further. It was all very irritating!
Maigrey reached
the end of the drive, steered the hover-jeep onto a highway, known
locally as Snaga's Road. The highway was a magnificent stretch of
concrete, eight lanes, and had been designed to accommodate nearly
every type of vehicle, from the old-fashioned, wheeled motor cars
preferred by the romantic to the modern, air-cushioned jet and hover
craft.
The highway led
from the Adonian's estate into Laskar city proper. It had been built
at great expense with galactic citizens' tax dollars and it was used
once a year—the night of Ohme's famous party. On that evening,
the highway would be jammed with vehicles, all traveling one
direction.
Maigrey paused
at the intersection of Ohme's drive and Ohme's road, considering. She
could take this highway, the route she'd come, or she could cut
across country.
"I can't
throw off pursuit," she mused aloud, drumming her fingers on the
steering mechanism, "nor do I necessarily want to. I don't want
to make Ohme work too hard. The bastard might accidentally come up
with something clever. Then there are those damned mountains, between
here and the fort. They're not particularly tall, but crossing them
will be time-consuming. I'm not that familiar with the countryside; I
certainly can't afford to wander around lost! Blast the Adonian
anyhow!" Maigrey pulled down the veil covering her mouth and
nose; it seemed to be suffocating her. "I'll keep to the main
road . . . and hope we get this over with soon!" The hover-jeep
shot forward, roaring along the almost empty stretch of pavement.
Maigrey's hand
toyed with the commlink controls. "I could call Haupt, tell him
I'm in trouble. . . . No. The poor man's nervous enough, imagining
he's responsible for me to the Warlord. Haupt'd probably send an
entire armored division complete with air support to my rescue!"
Maigrey's hand moved to the cool crystal of the bomb. "And the
fewer who know about this, the better."
The jeep cruised
down the deserted highway. Maigrey, tense, alert, was also constantly
aware of the Warlord's ap-proach. She continually glanced in the
rearview mirror or turned her head, looking over her shoulder. She
wasn't searching for the Adonian. Though she knew in her mind that
the Warlord was light-years away, in her heart she had the eerie and
unnerving impression that Sagan was creeping up right behind her.
Angrily, she
shook it off One worry at a time. She couldn't allow herself to
become distracted. This wasn't going to be easy.
About five
kilometers from the Adonian's mansion, the highway wound through a
narrow pass cut into the mountains. Her jeep topped a rise and
Maigrey saw, in the distance, an ancient model tanker truck rolling
ponderously down the highway, heading straight toward her.
"My, my!
What a remarkable coincidence," Maigrey said, slowing the jeep.
She glanced swiftly at the rock-strewn cliffs rising up on either
side of her. An army could hide undetected amid the boulders, pines,
and thick undergrowth.
A sudden booming
sound echoed through the pass. A wheel rim and bits of rubber flew
from the truck; one of its tires had blown. The truck jackknifed,
swerved across the highway onto Maigrey's lane, overturned, and burst
into flames. The truck lay on its side, completely blocking the
highway. The fire roared and crackled. Oily smoke roiled into the
air. No one climbed out of the cab.
"Really,
Ohme, how dumb do you think I am?" Maigrey grumbled, driving the
jeep straight off the road into a ditch.
They would be
watching for her, probably had her in their sights right now.
Hopefully, they would think she'd swerved out of shock or panic.
Hidden behind several large boulders and a sign that read laskar 20
kilometers eat at Tracy's, Maigrey worked quickly, knowing she
couldn't remain down here long or they'd come looking for her.
Stripping off her black veil, she attached it by two corners to the
jeep's front control panel on the driver's side. The black robes came
off next. She bundled the fabric into a shapeless lump and propped it
up in the driver's seat. Removing the bomb, she placed it carefully
on the ground near the sign's metal legs, covered the crystal with a
mass of sweet-smelling sage.
Maigrey grabbed
the beam rifle, lowered the jeep's bubble top, set the drive on
automatic, and sent the vehicle back out onto the highway.
Fortunately, the desert air was calm; the smoke from the wreckage
spiraled straight up into the sky. Those watching would have a clear
view.
The wreck was
about an eighth of a kilometer ahead. Crouching behind a boulder,
Maigrey watched the jeep cruise along the highway toward the wreck,
the black veil fluttering in the wind. Sensing devices would stop the
vehicle automatically when it came to an obstacle, and they did so.
It was powering down, air cushions keeping it afloat a safe distance
from the jackknifed truck.
Bright flashes
of laser light sizzled. The black veil went up in a rush of white
flame that consumed it in an instant. The black robes burned a few
seconds longer, a thin column of smoke rising from the charred
bundle.
Six heads popped
up, three on either side of the highway. Six forms detached
themselves from the rocks and warily approached the jeep. One
inspected the "body," poked at it with his rifle butt.
"There's
not much left," he said dubiously, voice carrying clearly in the
thin air.
"All, she
was a skinny thing. Forget it. Where's the bomb?"
The six men, two
of whom Maigrey recognized from the Adonian's mansion, peered into
the jeep.
"It's not
here. Must be in the back storage compartment."
Four began to
walk toward the rear of the jeep. One remained in front, still poking
at the "body."
"I don't
like this! I never saw a lasgun completely disintegrate—"
Maigrey rose,
raised the beam rifle, opened fire. Two died before they knew what
hit them. Number three had time to swear and fumble for his weapon
before he was hit, the body blown backward over the jeep's trunk.
Maigrey caught number four making a vain attempt to shield himself
behind the body of the third. It didn't work.
By this time,
however, numbers five and six had realized they'd been duped and were
returning her fire. Maigrey kept low. Their aim could only be
guesswork. They hadn't had time to locate her, or so she supposed.
But she
misjudged them. A boulder near her exploded, shooting splinters of
rock, sharp as arrowheads, through the air. Most bounced harmlessly
off the body armor, but one cut the back of her left hand and another
bit painfully into her neck, just below the jaw.
"Congratulations.
You drew blood," she told the other two, and, taking careful
aim, finished both of them off.
Maigrey remained
concealed a few moments, eyeing the corpses and the surrounding
territory. She thought it unlikely that the Adonians would have been
clever enough to send one group forward, keep another in hiding, but
there was always that possibility.
"I can't
stay here all day," she muttered, seeing no one and nothing.
"Sagans coming, and Ohme's wasted enough of my time."
Cautiously, she
raised herself up, beam rifle charged and ready.
Nothing. All was
quiet. The only sounds were the wind howling among the rocks, the
roar and crackle of flames from the burning truck. Maigrey retrieved
the bomb and made a dash for the jeep.
Where they came
from, she never knew. She could have sworn she had carefully
inspected the area but was forced to admit that, in her haste and
worry over the Warlord, she might have been careless. It seemed to
her dazed mind, though, that they rose up out of the ground ... or
out of their own graves.
Maigrey had
reached the hoverjeep, placed the bomb back carefully in the
passenger seat beside her, when movement caught her eye. Fearfully
she wheeled, raised the rifle. . . .
Four humans,
three men and a woman, walked toward her, small stunguns in their
hands. Each differed in appearance, yet all gave the impression of
being exactly alike, perhaps because the faces wore exactly the same
blank expression—the eyes focused on her were totally and
utterly devoid of life.
"Drop your
weapon, Lady Maigrey Morianna," the woman said. She appeared to
be the leader of the four.
Maigrey didn't
obey, not out of courage but because her mind had locked up, refused
to function. She held the weapon in her hands, but her hands had no
idea what to do with it, and therefore did nothing. She couldn't
move, couldn't speak, couldn't think. The figures approaching her
came not from the rocks and brush on the side of the highway, but
from her past.
I am in a
banquet hall, confusion rages around me. I hear the sound of
explosions echo from another part of the palace. I can smell the
smoke, the flame of death. Flatus, on my left, clasps my hand, mouths
words I can't hear. Danha Tusca on my right. His ebony skin gleams
with sweat. Sagan has betrayed us, betrayed me. He holds aloft a
flaming sword and out of the flame and smoke comes . . .
"My master
bids you greeting, Lady Maigrey." The woman reached out and
plucked the beam rifle from Maigrey's nerveless grasp. "You will
accompany us to the 'copter. Your accommodations are prepared. We
have only a prefab dwelling, rather crude. Still, my master hopes
your stay with us will be comfortable—"
One of the men,
standing behind the woman, dropped to the ground without a sound.
Maigrey heard nothing, saw nothing. She stared at the corpse—a
steel bolt had pierced the man's head. The second and third fell at
Maigrey's feet. They died silently, as had their comrade.
But the female
leader apparently heard the sound of the bodies slumping to the
ground. She grabbed hold of Maigrey, used Maigrey's living body as a
shield.
A man clad in
rags with tattered hair and a face out of a drug hallucination glided
toward them, moving like a panther.
Maigrey saw
sunlight flash off a knife blade in his hand. Instinct, years of
training, impelled her to act and she lunged sideways. The knife
flashed past her, thudded into her captor's body with ease and
practiced skill. Death was swift; the hand holding on to Maigrey
jerked in a spasm of pain, relaxed.
Maigrey lost her
balance. Both she and the corpse rolled to the ground, the body
falling on top of her. The man dragged it off, hurled it to one side
of the road, near its dead comrades. Confused and dazed, Maigrey
crouched, waiting for the attacker to come after her, hand groping
over the ground for a sharp rock, a stick—anything to use as a
weapon. Her hand closed over the beam rifle.
The man came
near her. Maigrey picked up the gun, watching him warily. The man
halted, stood poised, hands in plain sight where she could see them.
With one finger, he pointed.
"You hurt."
The whispering voice was thick and rough. His fingers were dirty and
covered with blood.
"Nothing
serious. A flesh wound." Maigrey scrambled to her feet, keeping
her eyes on the ragged man and the hoverjeep between him and her.
He moved with
her, his motion fluid and graceful, reminding Maigrey again of a cat.
Maigrey kept the rifle aimed at him.
"It's not
quite proper form to hold a gun on someone who's just saved your
life," she told him, "but I made one mistake today and I'll
be damned if I'll make another. You'll just have to forgive me."
The man did not
appear offended, but rather almost amused. Cocking his head to one
side, he peered at her out of misaligned eyes. The unwashed, tangled
hair fell forward, covered half his brutal face. "You okay to go
on alone?"
"Yes,"
said Maigrey. "Yes, I'm all right."
The man gave a
curt nod, walked to the corpse, and yanked out his knife. Wiping the
blood on leather trousers that were barely visible through the rags
of what might once have been a blanket or a poncho, the man thrust
the blade back into the top of his boot. Without another word, he
strolled off.
"Wait. Who
are you?" Maigrey called out. "Where did you—? Why—?"
But the man
vanished, disappearing among the rocks so swiftly and suddenly it
seemed that he'd become invisible.
"Thank
you," Maigrey said, rather belatedly.
She began to
shake. The beam rifle seemed to weigh megagrams; she nearly dropped
it.
"Stop it,
you fool! You don't have time to fall apart." But she found it
difficult to move, difficult to drag her fascinated gaze from the
corpses of the four who'd attacked her. The female lay on her back,
her eyes staring sightlessly at the smoke coiling into the sky, not a
great deal of difference in expression between the eyes that had been
living and the eyes now dead. Something stirred in Maigrey's mind, a
hand trying to draw back a thick and heavy curtain shrouding her
memory.