King's Sacrifice (46 page)

"What
happened?" she asked.

It was easy to
talk, necessary to take the mind off what faced them. For a few
critical moments, the two of them would be by themselves on the
cruise ship.

"We raided
an illegal munitions factory run by a gang of drug lords on TISar 13.
The raid was supposed to be an open and closed job, but the drug
lords had been tipped off, probably by someone inside our own agency.
They waited until we were in the plant, then blew the son of a bitch
sky-high.

"I was
lucky, I guess. They were picking up pieces of my partner for three
days. But I was alive, more or less. They took me to a hospital,
hooked me up to a machine . . . and then turned me into a machine."

"Why didn't
you stop them, if that was what you wanted?" Maigrey asked,
startled at the cyborg's vehemence.

"I tried
to. But I was half out of my head with pain and the drugs. They said
I wasn't in my right mind." Again, the bitter smile. "And
my wife, she couldn't let me go. She told them to do anything they
could to keep me alive. A year I spent in that goddam hospital. A
year learning how to walk and talk and see and hear and think all
over again. The only thing that kept me going was her. I was doing
this all for her. And then they sent me home. I walked in the front
door and reached out to touch my wife, reached out with my new, fake
hand ..."

Xris suddenly
grabbed hold of Maigrey's arm, the metal fingers closed painfully
over her flesh.

"Like
that," he said.

She sat
unmoving, regarded him calmly. "And what happened?"

"She didn't
say a word, but I felt her flinch, shudder." Slowly, he released
Maigrey. "And the light in her eyes—love? Hah! Pity. She
was sorry for me. I could just imagine what it would be like that
night. Her lying in bed, stiff and cold, that pity in her eyes,
letting a machine make love to her—"

"You never
even gave her a chance, did you?"

"Gave her a
chance to what? Hurt me ten times more than I'd been hurt already?
They can't give you drugs to ease that kind of pain, sister. No, I
turned around and kicked the door down with this fake leg of mine,
and kept on going. I figured she'd divorce me, but she never has.
It's been five years now. I guess she heard how much money I was
bringing in and decided to try to get hold of it all when my battery
pack shuts down for good."

He glanced at
Maigrey's arm, saw the marks his metal grip left on her skin. "I
don't seem to bother you. Or else you're just really good at keeping
it all hidden inside. But then," he added, shifting his gaze
pointedly to the scar on her face, "I guess you've been hurt
yourself."

"Scar
tissue is tougher than ordinary flesh, though not nearly as pretty."

"Hunh. You
could cover it up, some makeup, plastiskin—"

"You could
do the same. It wouldn't matter, would it?"

"No,"
he said after a pause, studying her. "I guess it wouldn't."

She looked away
from him, stared out into space. "Has it ever occurred to you
that your wife hasn't divorced you because she still loves you?
Because she took a vow for better, for worse ..."

"Forget
that shit. This wasn't in the contract."

"Perhaps,"
said Maigrey, "you didn't read the fine print."

Xris snorted
derisively. Tilting back in his seat, he took another twist from his
pocket, stuck it in his mouth. He glanced at the digital clock on the
console. "Ten minutes, thirty-five seconds. You know what to
do?"

"It
is
my plan," Maigrey pointed out.

"Okay,
sister. Don't get riled. Just remember, when the gas pellets go off,
hold your breath for ten seconds."

"I'll try
to keep it in mind. I hope those men of yours know what they're
supposed to do.
And
when they're supposed to do it. Timing is
critical—" She glanced at the viewscreen nervously. "If
any of them fly into visual or instrument range too early . . ."

"Relax,
sister. Don't worry about my men," said Xris easily. "Worry
about your own, especially that monk."

"He's a
renegade priest."

Xris removed the
twist from his mouth, regarded her, a glint of amusement in his one
living eye. "Like hell. The same goes for that supposed
deserter, too. You could put him in a dictionary under Loyalty, Duty,
and Honor. Still, he looks like a good man. The monk's a different
story. Speaking of contracts, working with a gutless wonder like that
wasn't in mine. That's going to cost you extra."

"Brother
Daniel is no concern of yours. I'll take care of him."

"He's my
concern if he snaps." The cyborg clicked his metal fingers
together. "He puts everyone else in danger."

"Brother
Daniel is stronger than you might imagine. Or than I think he
imagines."

"You
selling me on him, sister? Or selling yourself? Hey, look, it doesn't
matter. First time he screws up, he's gone. That's it. I intend to
make it back—if not in one piece, then at least in however many
pieces they've put into me. Besides, I didn't manage to spend half
that money you paid me and I sure don't plan to let my wife enjoy
herself with it."

A hangar bay
yawned open. They could see bright lights inside, robot crews
standing around waiting to receive them.

"You could
divorce
her,
you know," Maigrey pointed out coldly,
readying her bloodsword. "Or arrange to will your money to
someone else."

"I could,"
said Xris grimly, the twist balanced precariously again on the corner
of his lip, "but knowing she'll get everything when I die is my
one incentive for staying alive."

. . . upon the
sea of death, where still we sail darkly, for we cannot steer, and
have no port.

D. H. Lawrence,
The Ship of Death

Captain Tomi
Corbett was in her cabin aboard
Galaxy Belle,
struggling to
get out of her tight-fitting evening gown. She'd been entertaining at
the captain's table when word was brought to her—in code, of
course, not to unduly alarm the guests—that there was an
emergency, she was needed on the bridge.

"What's up,
Church?" she'd asked her second in command. Discipline was easy
and relaxed on board the cruise liner.

"Federal
agent. Came out of nowhere. Requesting permission to come aboard."

"I don't
like this," Tomi muttered, staring at the small spaceplane,
white paint and GRD insignia gleaming officially among the stars.
"Get hold of the boss."

Tomi Corbett was
a shrewd officer and a skilled spacepilot. She'd been trained in the
Galactic Air Corps, left a brilliant career in the military when it
became obvious that they were going to yank her out of space and
promote her up to boredom, sitting behind some desk, talking at some
computer.

In her late
thirties, single, attractive, well off, and carefree, Tomi took a
year to consider the job offers that came pouring in. She accepted
the captaincy of the
Galaxy Belle
for one reason—it paid
double the salary of more legit jobs. And Tomi had, by this time,
grown accustomed to the finer things in life.

The job had
other advantages. She was, generally speaking, in sole command of the
ship. The boss,
Galaxy Belle's
owner, ran the games, looked
after the business end. He knew nothing about space flight or the
ship itself, couldn't have told you the bow from the stern, thought
port and starboard were both after-dinner drinks, and was firmly
convinced that a parsec had six legs and wings.

Tomi was,
therefore, in charge—up to a point.

"I don't
like it," she told the boss bluntly. "We've never had this
kind of thing happen with the Feds before."

"There's
never been a political situation this screwed up before," the
boss replied testily. "These jerks probably figure they'd better
get what they can while they can before the government topples and
they find themselves out of work."

"It could
be pirates ..."

"When have
you ever known pirates to hit a gambling ship?" the boss
scoffed. "They know we don't carry cash. Strictly a credit
operation."

"What
if"—she lowered her voice—"it's a hit. We heard
rumors that the syndicate—"

"One
blasted spaceplane with two people aboard? Not even Malone's that
stupid. The high-stakes poker game's tonight. I don't want my guests
disturbed. You deal with it and deal with it quietly, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

When the boss
called her captain instead of Tomi, as was usual between them, she
knew there was no point in arguing. She didn't like it, but she
couldn't give any solid reason for not liking it, beyond the fact
that it was out of the ordinary, out of routine. Tomi had learned,
from her days with the Galactic Air Corps, that anything out of
routine was almost always trouble.

"What do
you think?" She looked at her lieutenant.

Jeff Church had
been around a long, long time. He was old enough to be Tomi's father,
but he didn't resent serving under a woman less than half his age. He
didn't resent anything anymore. An intelligent man, he was also a
nice man—too nice. He'd seen people with half his brains but
twice his chutzpah promoted over him. He'd retired early on an
inadequate pension, was forced to find work. He'd accepted this job
gratefully; Tomi being the first captain willing to hire a man his
age.

Tomi knew she
could trust him, knew she could trust his judgment.

"I don't
like it either, Tomi. But the boss says do it so I guess we'd better.
It might be a good idea to send a security team down to meet them,
though."

"Yes, I
think you're right."

She gave
permission for the agents to come aboard, and arranged everything
else, including dinner, a few hundred dollars worth of chips on the
house, agreeable companionship.

"And make
that security detail look like a welcoming committee. But I want them
armed and ready to really 'welcome' these guys, if necessary. Oh, and
don't mention this to the boss."

Church nodded,
and went off to carry out his orders.

Having done all
she could without offending the boss, Tomi hurried to her cabin to
change into her uniform. It wouldn't be dignified for the captain to
greet government agents, if that's who they were, in a silver,
strapless number, no matter how well it set off her dark brown skin.
And if they weren't Federation agents, she needed to be ready for
action.

Tomi was
fumbling at the buttons on the uniform's designer jacket when the
call came through to her cabin.

"Captain!
This is security. We've got trouble. I . . . I—"

She heard a
gasping sound, then a noise as of something heavy—like a
body—hitting the deck.

"Security!
Security!" Tomi beat her fist on the controls.

No reply.

"Shit!"
Tomi hit another control. "Church! We've got trouble on hangar
bay nine. What's going on down there? What do the cams show?"

"The cams
have gone dead, Tomi," reported her lieutenant. "And the
hangar bay door's standing wide open."

"Well, shut
it!"

"We can't,"
he reported. "Someone's jammed the controls."

"Get us out
of here!" Tomi commanded. "Send every available man on
security to nine—"

"I've
already done—"

"Seven
spaceplanes on our screens, sir!" squeaked an excited young
communications officer in the background. "They're all around
us! And . . . And they're firing at us, Lieutenant!"

"Raise
shields," was the automatic command that came to Tomi's lips,
but she clamped her lips shut without saying it.
Galaxy Belle
had no shields to raise. The ship wasn't even armed. She'd told the
boss, time and again, that he should add guns and armaments, but he
was afraid it would scare off the paying customers.

"They mean
business, Tomi," said Church quietly. "They know what
they're doing."

"I'm on my
way to the bridge. Get those damn doors shut!"

"Useless,
Tomi. We're being boarded."

Nothing to say
to that except several words not fit to be spoken over the commlink.
Her uniform half-buttoned, her jacket flap hanging open, Tomi grabbed
her lasgun belt, buckled it on, left her cabin, and headed at a dead
run for the bridge. Guests shrank back against the bulkheads as she
flew past, staring at her in drunken amazement, curiosity, or—in
some instances when they wouldn't get out of her way fast
enough—enraged ire.

She arrived on
the bridge, breathless and panting. "Seal that door!" she
ordered, pointing at the door through which she'd just run. "At
least they won't get on the bridge. Has security reported in?"

"If they've
tried, they can't get through!" Church gestured at the control
console in disgust. "The commlink's flooded with calls,
passengers demanding to know what's going on."

"I wish I
knew!" Tomi drew in a seething breath. "Get them off! Now!
Clear the lines."

"Should we
sound the general alarm?"

Tomi hesitated,
shook her head. "No, that would send everyone into a stampede.
Have you warned the boss?"

"He's in
the poker game. No calls. I've contacted his bodyguards—"

Tomi swore
again, tried desperately to think. It had to be a hit. Yet, -yet,
something just wasn't right. . . .

"Security!"
she shouted, fuming.

A banging came
from outside the door. "Open up!"

The young ensign
gulped, face pale. "What?—" he began.

Tomi motioned
furiously for silence.

"We have
boarded your ship," came the voice. "It's under our
control. Open up or we'll blow it open."

"Good
luck," Tomi told them, turning away. "That should keep them
busy awhile. Where the hell's—"