Authors: Margaret Weis
"Your
requests have been logged, Captain. Advise me of your current
status."
Dion heard
voices in the background, Williams's included, as if he had turned
away to confer with someone else aboard his own ship. The boy waited,
tense, to hear the response.
Williams
returned.
"The
mercenaries have barricaded themselves with their spaceplanes on
hangar decks Charlie and Delta. The hangar bay doors are sealed shut,
but the mercenaries managed to capture the controls on Charlie deck.
It will be only a matter of time, according to our computer experts,
before they override the system, wrest control away from the
computers, and operate the doors by the emergency manual devices. I
have been told that there is nothing we can do to prevent them , . .
something about safety regulations—"
"Yes, yes."
Aks sounded impatient. "Go on, Captain."
"We retain
control of the hangar bay doors on Delta. The mercenaries are trapped
there with no way out. Given reinforcements, we could retake the
controls on Charlie deck and end the fighting with an all-out
assault. As it is, my numbers are too few. My forces are divided,
split in half. We're just barely holding our own."
"Thank you,
Captain. I will relay your report to Lord Sagan."
The transmission
ended, cut off from the admiral's end. Dion heard Williams attempt
several times to reestablish contact. At length, using language
suited neither to the captain's rank nor to his normally cool
demeanor, Williams broke off.
Dion stared
blankly out at the stars wheeling beneath him. Dixter ... his friends
. . . cornered! Fighting for their lives. Dying. . . .
My fault! Dion
said to himself in bitter realization. I was the one who talked them
into joining us! I led them into this trap! What do I do? What
can
I do?
His heart raced;
his hands began to sweat and he wiped them on his flight suit. He
forgot about the Warlord, forgot to wonder why Sagan had gone through
that charade, pretending the transmitter was broken, relaying a false
message.
Tusk, Nola, John
Dixter . . . dying. Maybe already dead, all because of me.
"Did you
say something, sir?'
"Yes, is
that
Defiant
I can see out there now?"
"Yes, sir.
Defiant
confirmed "
The destroyer
glimmered white in the eternal night of deepspace. Dion could see
dogfights raging around it— probably some of the mercenaries
who still had their freedom, attacking Sagan's forces, trying to aid
the captives trapped inside the ship. Dion stared at the destroyer,
swore bitterly beneath his breath. This wasn’t going to be
easy.
First, I have to
find a way to get on board, he thought. That shouldn’t prove
too difficult. But once I'm on board, I have to reach the hangar
decks without getting myself killed or captured in the process.
"Call up a
blueprint of that destroyer," he ordered the computer.
"I beg your
pardon, sir?"
"A
blueprint! A diagram. You know, what the ship looks like if it's
sliced open. "
"Yes, sir,"
the computer murmured. A short interval passed and then an image
appeared on the screen. "Is this what you want, sir
3
"
"Yes."
Dion studied it. "Next shot. Quickly. I want to see the entire
ship."
"Yes, sir."
Diagrams flashed
on and off. He absorbed each one, the images imprinted on his
photographic memory.
A voice came
over his commlink.
"We have
you in our sights, spaceplane. Identify yourself, and approach no
closer."
"This is
Eagle One," stated the computer with some asperity. "Lord
Sagan's private plane. Please be so good as to—"
"We have
received a report that Eagle One has been stolen. You have thirty
seconds to identify yourself'
The computer
sounded baffled, unable to cope with the situation. "Stolen!
That report is completely false and erroneous. I would know if my
ship had been stolen or not and it has not. I repeat,
Defiant,
this is Eagle One, Lord Sagan's private—"
"Fifteen
seconds and counting, spaceplane."
Dion could see,
or imagined he could see, one of the gigantic lascannons swiveling
around to his direction. So this is Sagan's plan . . . get rid of me.
No fuss. No muss. Nothing left behind except a few little specks of
dust.
Dion drew a deep
breath.
"Thank the
Creator!" he screeched. Fortunately, he didn't have to pretend
to be frightened. "I didn't think anyone was going to notice me!
I—I got chased by one of the Corasians and I'm lost. I'm trying
to get back to
Phoenix." .
Silence on the
commlink, voices in the background, talking to each other.
"Who the
hell is that?'
"Dunno.
Sounds like some kid."
"Who the
hell is this?' The voice returned to him.
"Dion. Dion
Starfire." The young man paused, waiting. Sweat trickled down
his neck into his flight suit.
The voices were
conferring again. "Starfire? Isn't that—"
"Yeah.
That's the kid. The one who might be king, if you believe—"
"King?
Shit! What in the name of Lucifer is he doing wandering around out
there in the middle of a battle? And we received a report that that
plane was stolen!"
"Hell,
remember when you were sixteen and took daddy's floater without
permission? What did your old man do?"
"Turned me
over to the cops. Taught me a lesson, I guess. At least the next time
I stole it I took it off-world. Hey, kid. Starfire."
"I'm here.
Say, can you tell me what it means when a red light starts flashing
above a dial marked fuel?"
Silence.
The voice
returned and was very calm, very soothing. "I think it might be
a good idea if you skipped going back to
Phoenix.
Come and
visit us for a while, kid."
"Is there a
problem?"
"No! No.
Let us check that gauge for you. Probably a malfunctioning indicator
switch. Happens all the time in those new prototype planes. We're
gonna lock a tractor beam on to you. There, that's gotcha, kid. Just
take it easy. Cut your engines. Relax."
And in the
background, "Raise
Phoenix.
Tell Lord Sagan we're
bringing the kid into
Defiant
, safe and sound. Maybe there'll
be a promotion in this!"
Dion grinned,
settled back comfortably in the pilot's seat. "Don't count on
it!" he said softly.
I am fire and
air . . .
William
Shakespeare,
Antony and Cleopatra,
Act V, Scene 2
Aboard
Phoenix,
the fragile lives encased in the warship's megagrams of zero-grav
Fused steel endured the enemy bombardment with the stolid fortitude
and iron discipline drilled into them by their commanders. Each man
performed the tasks demanded of him to keep
Phoenix
alive and
functioning or to inflict damage on the enemy. Each kept his duty
uppermost in his mind, attempting to override the deep, inner
knowledge that he was trapped inside these metal walls with no
escape, no way out, and that a million mischances could end his life,
either swiftly, before he might be able to take that next breath, or
slowly, dying alone in horrible, agonizing terror.
"My lord."
Admiral Aks straightened from leaning over an instrument panel, where
he had been almost pleading with the computer to change its verdict.
The admiral was gray with fatigue, looked his age and ten years
older. "The damage to the reactor is irreversible. An explosion
is imminent. We must evacuate.
A muscle at the
side of Sagan's eye twitched. The dark eyes narrowed. "How
long?"
"An hour,
perhaps, my lord Unless we take additional damage."
A thud, the ship
rocked. Maigrey reached out. steadied herself on the control panel.
The shields blocked a direct view outside
Phoenix,
but the
vidscreen was providing excellent coverage of the Corasian vessel
looming near, the fiery tracers of the ongoing barrage.
"Shields on
the port side are damaged but holding. It was the shields for'ard
that gave. We've got the port side to her now, my lord—"
"Yes."
Sagan east a glance at Maigrey.
I can give you
nothing, my lord, she answered him silently. Neither encouragement in
your hour of need . . . nor triumph over your defeat, I'm too tired.
I don't care anymore.
Maigrey wondered
if she looked as had as he did. She must. The Warlord seemed to think
it safe to shift his attention away from her. "Put me through to
the reactor's engineers."
A vidsereen came
to life, portraying a scene of death. Bodies lay unheeded on the
deck, the living stepping over the dead, who after all had no more
concerns. Smoke hung in the air: twisted and tangled metal could be
seen in the background. Maigrey saw the warning lights flash, heard
the Klaxons bleat. A man stood before the screen, his protective suit
ripped and torn.
Whatever Sagan's
thoughts might have been, they din't show on his face. Maigrey could
have read them—as tired as he was, his guard was down—but
she didn't want to. Biting her lip, she turned away from him, kept
her eyes on the screen.
"What is
your status?" Sagan asked, voice calm as if this were a routine
exercise.
"Not good,
my lord. The blast doors held, the contamination's been contained to
this area, according to reports—
"That's
confirmed, my lord," Aks murmured.
"—and
we've slowed the meltdown, but there's no way we can halt it."
"How long?"
"If we stay
with it, we can give you an extra hour in addition to the original
estimate, my lord. Maybe longer; but after that, I can't guarantee
it. '
Sagan paused,
involuntarily turned his gaze away to the Corasian vessel. Its giant
bulk filled the screen. The man in the reactor room saw him, perhaps
guessed his thoughts.
"You can
use that extra hour, my lord?"
"Yes, but I
won't order you to stay. In fact, I order you to leave, right now."
The man glanced
down at his torn suit, at the badge that measured radiation level. He
smiled wearily. "We respectfully decline to obey, my lord. We're
dead men, anyway. We'll give you the time you need."
"You will
be recorded in my personal log as heroes. Your families will be
compensated. I will see to it personally."
"Thank you,
my lord."
That was
standard procedure. The men all knew it. But the engineer's strained
face relaxed. He must have been thinking of a wife somewhere,
children. This eased his burden. He could go to his men, too, and
have something to tell them , . . besides the fact that they were
going to end in a ball of fire.
A tear slid down
Maigrey's cheek. It was stupid to cry. She'd seen men die. They were
dying now on
Defiant.
John Dixter. Maybe Dion. . . . She
should try to escape, try to help them, but she stood here crying
like a child. She wiped the tear away, but another came after it, and
another.
"Stop
sniveling! Sagan snapped, adding beneath his breath, "You were a
Guardian once! Try to act like it!"
I was a Guardian
once, Maigrey thought. I was twenty once. I was going to live forever
. . . or so I imagined. Now I'm forty-one and my body aches. I'm sick
of watching good men die. I'm sick of the fighting. Let the damn ship
blow up. Let it all end right here, right now. There are worse ways
to go than in a ball of fire. For one brief moment, we'll shine as
brightly as the stars.
"...
evacuate all personnel except those absolutely necessary to the
ship's function. Fly off all planes, including those that are damaged
if they're at all spaceworthy. A bounty to any pilot who brings in a
damaged plane. And I want to make a course change. Cease lire. Bring
Phoenix
in nearer the Corasian—
"Nearer, my
lord?" Aks stared, "Cease fire?'
Oh, get with it,
Admiral! Maigrey silently advised him. A child of six could figure
out this strategy. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
The Warlord checked an irritated sigh, patiently explained his plan
to his admiral.
Aks protested.
"But, my lord, that's far too dangerous! You should leave now. I
have your shuttle standing by—"
"Tell Giesk
to send some of the wounded in my shuttle. I'll fly my plane out. The
lady will accompany me."
Maigrey was
shivering. The bridge was icy cold. All systems not absolutely
essential to the sustaining of life had been either shut down or
moderated That, apparently, included heat.
I have to get
away from here, away from him! she prodded herself.
Why bother? she
answered herself dully, despairingly. He'll only find you again. Your
minds are too closely linked.
Hes become like
death. There's noplace to run, noplace to hide.
Death
is
the one place, she reminded herself, sighing. But that is forbidden
me.
I am a Guardian.
My life is pledged to my king. As long as Dion lives . . .
As long as he
lives. What good am I to him now? What good am I to anybody? She had
heard Aks repeating Captain Williams's report to the Warlord. She had
heard the mercenaries were trapped, fighting for their lives. John
Dixter, who came into this war for love of her.
The tears began
to come in earnest now. she couldn't stop crying. Sagan would be
furious. Let him.
". . .
Snaga Ohme," Admiral Aks was saying to the Warlord in a low
voice. "He insists on speaking to you."
Maigrey gulped,
caught Sagan's swift, penetrating glance, and changed her startled
reaction to a hiccup. Her tears ceased with a suddenness that made
her eyes sting and burn.
Snaga Ohme.
The Adonian weapons
dealer, the genius who had been in secret contact with Derek Sagan.
John Dixter had stumbled across the information, and now, Maigrey
guessed, Dixter was paying for his knowledge with his life.