The Lost King (51 page)

"The Corasians
used the humans they captured as slaves, forced them to build more
machines, and within a century had become a completely mechanized
populace spread out over hundreds of planets in their galaxy."

"This is the
conference room," Dion said in a low voice. "Through those
doors."

"The doors that
are closed and guarded." Maigrey crossed her arms, and leaned
back against a bulkhead. "I guess we're early. I'm always early.
It's a compulsion. Just as bad as people who re always late."

"We're not the
only ones," Dion muttered, returning the stares of the other
early arrivals—ship's officers, gazing curiously and with
interest at the woman and the young man— the subject of the
fascinating rumors currently circulating throughout the fleet. Dion
moved nearer Maigrey, who was regarding them all with amusement, as
if enjoying a private joke.

"The Golden
Squadron was being honored for heroism against the Corasians the
night of the revolution, wasn't it, my lady? At least that's what
Tusk said. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up."

Maigrey had gone
exceedingly pale. The indigo blue dress she wore emphasized the
pallor. The elation of the alcohol was fading, giving way to
depression and the beginnings of a bad headache.

Seeing the young man's
chagrined expression, Maigrey flushed self-consciously. "There
you go, apologizing again."

More officers appeared,
milling about in the corridor, talking in low voices. They were
waiting for the Warlord, who hadn't yet arrived. And though everyone
stared at Dion and Maigrey and it was obvious they were the subject
of much of the whispered discussion, no one spoke to them.

"I don't mind
talking about it," she said. "It'll tell you something
about the enemy. The renowned Gold Squadron, famous in story and
song, had been sent on—of all things—a recruiting
mission. Sagan was furious. He considered himself above all that
nonsense. But the king had commanded us to go and we couldn't
disobey. ..."

Her voice trailed off;
she was silent, looking back. The voices faded around her, the walls
of the ship dissolved. Once again, she was standing on that beautiful
planet with its trees and birds and gently rolling sea, the white
sand beaches, the water that glittered with phosphorus in the long,
warm, soft nights. What was the planet's name? She couldn't recall.
And there'd been a time when she'd thought she'd never forget.

And then had come the
shadows.

"I saw the enemy,
in my mind, much like yesterday. Only I didn't know what they were.
We'd fought them before, but I'd never seen them in my visions. I was
nervous and upset, which was odd, because all the others—even
Sagan—had begun to relax and enjoy ..."

Her eyes closed. She
shook her head. "But never mind that. I knew something dreadful
was going to happen, some sort of terrible calamity was sweeping down
on this planet. Sagan, through the mind-link, came to share my fear.
We went to the authorities, tried to convince them to take
precautions, to mobilize their defenses. By then I knew what the
enemy was, I could see the Corasians clearly. But this planet was a
happy place, a sunny place. And what were we but a bunch of royal
brats—too smart for our own good?

"We returned to
our base. Sagan had decided, orders or no orders, we were getting the
hell out of there. But it was too late. The Corasians came out of
hyperspace and hit the planet before it knew what was happening.

"It was a pilot's
worst nightmare—being caught on the ground during an assault.
The Corasians don't use destructive nuclear weapons. God forbid that
they should hurt the machines or ruin a perfectly good food source.
They drop chemical bombs; that paralyze all living organisms. Then
they move in and take over. Some of the people—the strong
ones—are restored, used as slaves. Others—the old, the
weak, the children—well, they're marched, like cattle, into the
slaughterhouses. And for the same purpose."

"My God!"
Sweat beaded Dion's upper lip. The lines around his mouth were tinged
green.

"The Corasian
fleet was sighted and the planetary government had just time enough
to send everyone into terror-stricken panic. The first battle we
fought wasn't against the enemy. We fought our own kind. They wanted
our planes. They wanted to escape. It was awful. I remember Danha
Tusca, weeping, as he shot them down. Sagan saved our lives that day
. . ."

"Maigrey,"
Dion said softly.

But she didn't see him
or hear him. She didn't see or hear the Warlord come up and stand
right in front of her. She was blind to the present. Her eyes saw
only the past.

"He was calm,
frighteningly calm. He said we couldn't survive an encounter with an
invading fleet; he ordered us to delay our takeoff until most of the
Corasians had landed and were occupied in conquering the planet. Our
helmets protected us from the paralyzing gas.

"Sagan's plan
worked. When we finally lifted off, the main body of the enemy fleet
had been dispersed and was scattered all over the solar system. We
fought our way out easily, flew to the nearest battlecruiser in the
vicinity and alerted the king. The Royal Army attacked and eventually
drove the enemy from the planet.

"Sagan saved our
lives," Maigrey repeated. "His will held us together when
we were falling apart. He was our commander and
we
revered and
respected him. We would have followed him anywhere."

She became aware of her
audience, of the man standing before her, clad in golden armor,
golden helmet hiding the face in shadows. Her voice faltered when she
realized what she'd been saying and who'd been listening.

"We revered and
respected him," she repeated steadily, "and we would have
followed him anywhere—except down, into dishonor, disgrace.
Into hell."

The lion is alone, and
so am I.

George Gordon, Lord
Byron, "Manfred"

The conference chamber
aboard
Phoenix
was a large, oval room whose walls were
decorated with a gigantic composite photograph of the galaxy taken
from the side and focused inward. One gigantic arm of the galaxy's
spiral began at approximately the place the Warlord was standing. The
myriad stars swept around the room, bunching up and becoming thicker
and thicker above the door at the room's far end, which was directly
opposite Lord Sagan. On the opposite side of the door, the stars
flattened out and the other spiral arm extended around the room,
vanishing into darkness, both arms nearly meeting right above the
Warlord's head. It looked to Maigrey as if the stars were engulfing
them and she began to feel slightly claustrophobic. Not to mention a
throbbing headache.

"And that,
gentlemen, is the updated report on the enemy's strength. They are
formidable, to say the least."

To say the least. The
officers were avoiding meeting each other's eyes. Those who couldn't
hide their appalled expressions stared down at their hands. The rest
kept carefully impassive gazes fixed on their Warlord.

"I have been in
contact with the President. He has ordered us, essentially, to stand
in harm's way. If we cannot stop the enemy, we are to inflict severe
damage, force them to halt their advance."

"My lord. " A
young officer, the youngest present, raised his hand.

"Williams."

"Begging your
pardon, my lord, but why doesn't the Republic support us? They could
have fifty cruisers here within a ship's week."

An intelligent young
man. Maigrey noted Sagan reward him with an approving glance. Of
course, the Warlord couldn't tell him the truth, tell this young man
that he and his compatriots were being sacrificed to their liege
lord's dangerous ambition.

"Such a move would
leave the densely populated systems at the galaxy's heart virtually
unprotected. A second line of defense is being thrown up here"—the
Warlord moved along the wall, to stand near one panel at the center
of the galactic map—"and here." There was some
muttering and low exchanges of conversation. The Warlord allowed this
to continue for only a certain length of time, then his deep baritone
overrode them. "We have our orders, gentlemen. There is no use
whining about them."

The officers appeared
chagrined, some—among them young Williams—flushed
angrily. "My lord—" he began in protest.

"I have not yet
finished, Captain. There is, of course, another alternative to the
two I have mentioned. We damage the enemy, we stop the enemy, or we
destroy the enemy utterly. I have decided on the latter. In other
words, gentlemen, I intend to win."

Three rousing cheers,
Maigrey thought, leaning her aching head on her hands. She could feel
the wave of enthusiasm break over her, sweeping them all along with
their Warlord to, what? Inevitable destruction. We would have
followed him anywhere. . . .

"Are you feeling
quite well, my lady?"

The Warlord, walking
back to his place at the head of the table, paused behind her chair.
He was furious with her, but whether over what she'd said or the fact
that she'd been drinking was beyond her current mental capacity to
figure out.

"Yes, thank you,
my lord. A slight headache. It will pass." Maigrey didn't bother
to look up at him.

The Warlord continued
past her, pausing a moment to answer a question put to him by Admiral
Aks. What in God's name had caused her to bring up that ancient
history anyhow? It was that cursed wizard's potion. She'd asked for
one to make her forget the past, not present it to her in living
color.

". . . our
strategy will be to wait. We'll take up stations outside the Vangelis
solar system, to protect our supply sources, particularly the
uranium. We have some time in which to prepare ourselves. The
Corasians, following their customary procedure, are establishing
bases in Shelton's system. They'll need to obtain fuel and to repair
whatever equipment was damaged in their attack on Shelton."

The faces of the
officers were grim. Many of them had fought the Corasians and knew
what they did to a conquered planet. One of them—Williams
again—raised his hand.

"My lord, why
don't we attack them now, on Shelton's planets, before they recoup
their strength?"

Sagan's lips were a
straight dark line beneath his helmet. "I don't like the thought
of what's happening to the people on Shelton's planets any more than
you do, Captain Williams. But to rush heedlessly to their rescue
would serve no one. We will let the Corasians stretch
their
supply lines. We will let them come to us and we will spend our time
preparing to meet them."

There was a struggle in
young Williams's face. He wanted desperately to argue. Perhaps he
knew someone on Shelton's planets. Or maybe he was just a young
warrior who longed for the glory of the charge, who lacked the
patience to crouch down in the foxhole and wait. Dion, next to
Maigrey, stirred restlessly. He must agree with the captain, Maigrey
realized. Why is it always the young, who have the most to lose, who
want to rush headlong to death?

Because they are
immortal, Maigrey answered silently. Once, I was immortal. . . .

Williams managed to
control himself and the meeting continued.

"I will not hide
from you gentlemen the fact that we are in desperate need of
manpower. The local systems can be of no help to us. They have put
their own military on alert and will be providing for the defense of
their own planets. The Lady Maigrey has offered a suggestion which I
have considered and have decided to act upon. You know, of course,
about the conflict being carried on between one Marek and the
government of Vangelis. Marek called in mercenaries to assist him.
Lady Maigrey proposes that we ask these mercenaries—
particularly those who are fighter pilots—to join us."

"My lord, I must
protest!" Captain Nada, of course. "Even if this scum could
be scraped up out of the gutter and molded into some sort of viable
fighting force, it would be impossible to trust them!"

"What do you mean,
scum?" Dion was on his feet, his chair crashing to the floor
behind him.

"That will do,
Dion." Sagans tone was stern.

"Viable fighting
force?" The young man was in a rage, past hearing. "They
can outfight you, you fat—"

"Dion, sit down."

The Warlord did not
raise his voice. It penetrated the young man's fury, however—that
and Maigrey's cool fingers touching his forearm. Swallowing his
wrath, Dion picked up his chair and sullenly returned to his seat.

"Perhaps with any
other troop of mercenaries, I would agree with you, Captain Nada. But
these are led by a man known to myself, to Lady Maigrey, and, I
believe, to Admiral Aks."

The admiral nodded.

"His name is John
Dixter. He held the rank of general in the old Royal Army. I have
served with Dixter. He is a capable commander, a good judge of men. I
can assure you that his people will be disciplined, skilled, and—if
Dixter gives me his word-—I believe they can be trusted."

Maigrey stared at
Sagan. What a commendation! It was no more than John deserved, but
still— The knowledge made her uneasy. Any man Sagan rated that
highly would be a man he would consider dangerous. She probed his
thoughts but discovered them roped off, barricaded. She sensed
duplicity; this wasn't the innocent overture for an alliance of
desperation that it appeared. But, if not, then what? Surely, even
Sagan, when driven into a corner and fighting for his life, would not
expend his energy in taking potshots at an apparition from his past?
Maigrey, frustrated, was suddenly sorry she had ever made the
suggestion. She had the distinct impression that, somehow, she had
played right into Sagan's hands.