King's Sacrifice (59 page)

And he went
consenting, or he was no king, and power would not fall on him to
lead the people.

Mary Renault,
The King Must Die

Dion was in Lord
Sagan's quarters on board
Phoenix,
quarters that were now his.
Except they weren't his, not really. Too much reminded him of Sagan,
too much of Maigrey. He heard their voices . . .

Reprimanding,
forbidding, ridiculing . . .

And Tusk's and
Dixter's and Nola's . . .

Arguing,
pleading, advising . . .

DiLuna's,
Rykilth's . . .

Flattering,
deceiving, lying . . .

And Abdiel. His
voice had returned, his whisperings louder now that Dion was drawing
nearer.

Promising,
tempting . . .

The cacophony
was deafening, confusing.

Opposed to the
tumult was silence, terrifying, appalling, the silence of being
alone. Yet, in that silence, he might hear that still, small voice
that had spoken to him before. He might, if he listened closely, hear
his own voice.

And he thought
he knew what it was trying to say.

But he would
never know until he could listen to the silence.

"Your
Majesty." Another voice.

"Yes,
Admiral." Dion switched on the commlink, saw the admiral's lined
and care-worn face on the viewscreen.

"Has Your
Majesty received the coordinates from the Lady Maigrey?"

"Yes,
Admiral. I have."

"Time is of
the essence, Your Majesty. ..."

"I'm aware
of that, Admiral. I'll be bringing them to the bridge myself."

He shut down the
transmission, stood staring unseeing at the screen.

His choice. His
decision.

Dion turned,
headed for the doors, the double doors, embellished with a golden
phoenix, rising from flames. The centurion standing guard outside
came to attention.

"Cato,"
said Dion, confronting his captain. "You were appointed to the
Guard by Lord Sagan. You were loyal to him."

"I would
have given my life for him, Your Majesty, and deemed it an honor."

"Would you
do the same for me, Captain?" Dion asked.

The centurion's
gaze shifted, met Dion's. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Very good,
Captain. Turn out your men, and come with me."

General John
Dixter stood on the bridge of
Phoenix,
waiting stoically for
the Jump. He knew it would make him sick, it always did. The long
trip across the Void had been sheer hell. Dr. Giesk had tried this
remedy and that, none of which had worked. Giesk had finally given
up. It was the doctor's considered medical opinion that this sickness
was all in Dixter's head and that if he would put his mind to it,
he'd get over it.

Dixter had told
Giesk just exactly what the doctor could do with his considered
medical opinion and where he could go after he finished doing it.
Having dealt with the doctor previously under far from pleasant
circumstances, Dixter received considerable satisfaction from this
conversation, recalled his words with pleasure as he had staggered
back to his cabin and collapsed on his bunk. John Dixter was
undoubtedly the only person in the fleet who had actually breathed a
heartfelt sigh of relief when they entered the Corasian galaxy.

But they had
come out of the Jump, only to make it again. The general should
really be in his quarters, now, but there were last-minute details to
cover concerning troop landing and deployment, should such be
necessary. At least that's what he told himself. Actually he was on
the bridge for one reason and one reason alone.

He had the
distinct feeling that His Majesty was plotting something. The allies
knew Maigrey'd sent the coordinates of their destination to the king
and the king alone. The allies all assumed that he'd share.

Everyone except
John Dixter.

"Excuse me,
sir."

The general
jerked his mind back, tried to remember what it was they'd been
discussing. "I'm sorry, Tusk. What were you saying?"

"If the
main objective is to get Lady Maigrey and her team off-planet and
back to
Phoenix
, then shouldn't we send the marines in, first
units lay down covering fire and—"

Tusk stopped
talking. Dixter looked around. Admiral Aks had just returned from the
commlink.

"His
Majesty is bringing the coordinates in person," the admiral
informed Captain Williams.

"About
time! What took him so long?"

The two had
drawn away from the other personnel on the bridge, walked over to
stare out the large viewscreen at the assembled ships of the fleet,
massed in battle formation, prepared for the inevitable enemy attack
once their presence in tie alien galaxy became known.

Dixter and Tusk,
sitting at a command console, concealed behind a bank of instruments,
could hear clearly the conversation between the two officers.

"What the
devil has he been doing all this time, sir?" Williams repeated.

"Who knows?
Trying to make up his mind what to do, I suppose."

"I'll be
glad when Lord Sagan is back to put an end to this nonsense,"
said Captain Williams.

"You're not
the only one." Aks heaved a sigh.

"I suppose,
when my lord returns, there can be no question over who is really the
ruler of the galaxy?"

The two
exchanged significant glances.

"No
question whatsoever. There would have been none before this, if Lord
Sagan had not been forced to deal with Abdiel."

"I must
say, sir, that His Majesty managed the disposition of the fleet quite
brilliantly."

"The young
man has paid attention to what my lord has taught him. But I fear—"

The rhythmic,
measured tramp of booted feet interrupted them. The entire complement
of Honor Guard, dressed in battle armor, accompanied their king onto
the bridge.

Adjusting his
expression and his uniform, the admiral moved forward, Captain
Williams following, to greet their king.

His Majesty
smiled pleasantly.

Dixter and Tusk
exchanged glances, both of them knew that smile.

"Admiral,
all going well?"

"As well as
can be expected, Your Majesty." Aks fidgeted nervously.

Williams,
handsome face rigid, stood stiffly at attention. "Your Majesty,
we have wasted enough time! We are at full alert status, behind enemy
lines with an enemy force on the way. Give me the coordinates ..."

"I am well
aware of the situation, Captain," Dion interrupted. "I came
to tell you that there has been a change in plans. I will not be
giving you the coordinates. I am taking a spaceplane, flying to the
Corasian planet alone."

Everyone began
talking at once.

"Quite
impossible, Your Majesty! Lord Sagan would never permit—"

"Errant
nonsense! You have no idea what you're saying. Captain of the Guard,
escort His Majesty back to his quarters—"

"Captain of
the Guard," intervened Dion, "place Captain Williams and
Admiral Aks and anyone else who opens his mouth under arrest."

The centurions
brought their weapons to bear on their targets. Aks, face blotchy,
red, mottled with patches of white, stared at the beam rifle pointed
at him in astonishment. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
Williams was spluttering with outrage.

"Captain
Cato, deploy your men." Dion gestured. He glanced around at the
crew on the bridge. "You people are relieved of your duties.
Stand back, do what you're told, and no one will get hurt."

The Honor Guard
moved into position, weapons drawn. Bridge personnel stared at them
in astonishment, then, glancing at their officers and finding no
help, they raised their hands, stood up, and moved away from their
instrument panels. The centurions lined them up against a wall,
forced them to sit down on the deck, hands on their heads.

"You, too,
Tusk, I'm afraid," said Dion. "I'm going to take your
Scimitar and I'll have enough trouble with XJ as it is. I don't want
you interfering—"

Tusk stood stock
still, his hands at his side, ignoring the beam rifle a centurion
held on him. "Damn right I'm gonna interfere. I'm gonna
interfere good. I'm coming with you."

Tusk ..."
Dion looked annoyed, tried to be patient. "You don't
understand—"

"And Nola,
too. You'll need a gunner."

Dion shook his
head. "I'm sorry, Tusk, but I can't let you."

Tusk shoved the
beam rifle out of his way, began to walk toward Dion. "I said I
was coming."

"Tusk,
they'll shoot—"

"Go ahead."
Tusk kept walking.

The centurion
leveled his weapon on the mercenary.

"Hold your
fire," Dion commanded, exasperated. 'Tusk, you don't understand!
You don't know what I have to do."

"I've got a
pretty good guess."

"Maigrey
and Sagan tried to protect me from this, Tusk, but they can't. I've
got to make the sacrifice."

"I know,
kid."

"It may be
that this was all I was ever meant to do. All the mistakes, all the
evils of the Blood Royal have culminated in me. If I'm the last, the
end, then everyone can start over being ordinary. Tusk, I'm taking
the bomb with me! And I'll detonate it, if I have to."

"I figured
that, too. Don't forget, kid, I'm Blood Royal. Half of me, at least.
I guess I got a responsibility myself. I think maybe that's why my
old man dumped this on me." He fingered the star he wore in his
left earlobe. "He hoped I'd stop and face myself, instead of
running from myself all my life. Well, I just quit runnin', kid."

Dion hesitated a
moment.

Tusk grinned.
"It's up to you, kid. Either take me or shoot me."

"I ought to
shoot you. But, all right. Go find Nola and get the plane ready. I'll
be there in a minute."

"General
Dixter, I'm placing you in command while I'm gone. I'm sorry"—Dion
smiled wryly—"but I'm afraid you're getting the rotten end
of the deal. You'll have to explain to Rykilth and DiLuna that
there's been a change in plans, and unless I miss my guess, they're
not going to take this very well.

Wait for my
signal. You'll either fly
Phoenix
in to bring us out or be
prepared to make the Jump back across the Void. And if that's what's
required, you'll have to move fast."

"I
understand, sire."

"I'll give
you what time I can. I've made calculations, based on Sagan's
analysis of the space-rotation bomb. According to my findings, the
Void should dissipate the expanding force of the explosion. The
destruction should be limited to this galaxy."

"You're
insane!" Captain Williams started forward, found a centurion's
beam rifle against his chest.

"I trust I
can count on you, sir?" Dion asked quietly, ignoring the
interruption and the captain.

John Dixter
looked at the flaming red-golden mane of hair, the calm blue eyes,
and he thought back to that hot day on Vangelis when he'd first seen
the face, first experienced that riveting shock of looking into those
blue eyes and seeing simultaneously a future and a past.

"You can
count on me, sire."

"And if
you'd do one more thing for me. I've left messages in my computer
files for . . . certain people. If I don't come back, would you see
that they are delivered?"

"Certainly,
son," said John Dixter.

"Thank you,
sir," Dion turned to leave.

I tried to deny
him, Dixter said to himself. I kept my mouth shut, hoped he would go
away. But I think, all along, I'd been waiting for him. I'd been
waiting seventeen years for the story to end. And is this it? Was he
meant only to die for us?

Dion left the
bridge.

"Don't just
stand there, General!" shouted Captain Williams. "The boy's
obviously gone mad! You have influence over him. Go after him! Talk
some sense into him!"

"I don't
think that's possible, Captain. His Majesty wouldn't hear. He isn't
listening . . . to us."

"If you ask
me—"

"No one
did," growled Tusk.

"If you ask
me," repeated XJ loudly, preparing for takeoff, "there are
easier ways to avoid getting married."

As one great
furnace flamed, yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness
visible, Served only to discover sights of woe . . .

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

The spaceplanes
streaked out of the darkness, leaving behind a trail of fire that
must remind the Creator of the day when He hurled his rebel angels
from heaven. An apt analogy, Maigrey thought, especially considering
where it was the fallen angels landed. Her plane touched on the
planet's barren surface.

The broken
planet was thickly covered with some sort of carbon-based vegetation,
probably planted by the Corasians since it was unlikely anything
would have sprung up on its own following the cataclysmic destruction
of the planet itself. The vegetation, with its numerous twisted limbs
and stunted, gnarled trunks, had a treelike look to it.

"Atmosphere
thin, but breathable," Agis reported, studying the instrument
readings. "Apparently that plant life exudes oxygen."

"Developed
for the convenience of their slave labor, no doubt. Another reason
why Abdiel would have picked this place."

Maigrey recalled
descriptions of the mind-seizer's dwelling on Laskar, recalled her
own experience with him, although that had been twenty years ago,
when he was both younger and stronger. Even then, Abdiel had been
forced to pamper his fragile, frail body like a hothouse violet. He
could not last long living in harsh or hostile conditions.

"Will we
find any of them here, my lady, do you think?" Agis was asking.

"Any what?
Human slaves?" Maigrey looked out at numerous charred tree
stumps—a crude food supply for the Cora-sians, when they
couldn't come by anything they liked better. "I doubt it,"
she said shortly.