King's Sacrifice (27 page)

"Say what?"
Dixter stopped, stared at her, truly puzzled.

"Say that
you forgive me. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't want it."

"Forgive
you?" Dixter said, perplexed. "Forgive you for what?
Maigrey, I don't understand—"

"You never
did!"

She raised her
head, the gray eyes were darker, emptier, colder than the deepspace
he abhorred. "You never did understand, did you, John? You're
too damn nice. Too damn honorable. I left you on
Defiant
to
die, John Dixter. I left you, I left Dion, knowing that if I had
stayed, I could have saved you both! I owed you my loyalty out of
friendship. I owed Dion my loyalty out of a sacred trust. I renounced
both. As it turned out, Dion saved himself and Sagan saved you."

"But,
Maigrey, you had your duty—"

"Duty!"
She tossed her hair back from her face, gave a bitter laugh. "Duty.
You mean going after that space-rotation bomb? Snatching it out from
under Sagan's nose? Do you want to know the real reason I went after
it-, John? Do you?"

Maigrey took a
step toward him. The gray eyes were light now, but the flame that
burned within them gave them an ugly cast. She clenched her fist,
fingers grasping, clutching. "I wanted it for myself! I wanted
the power for myself! My God, I sold my starjewel to get it!"

Her hand closed
over the empty place on her breast, the place where the gleaming,
glittering starjewel had always rested. John knew where the jewel
was. He'd seen it . . . once. Once had been all he could stand. Its
clear crystal had darkened. Its aspect was hideous, horrible to look
upon. The silver chain, from which it hung, was black with the
clotted blood of the Adonian Snaga Ohme. The jewel was now in Dion's
possession, it rested in the interior of the space-rotation bomb. The
jewel was the bomb's triggering device.

"Sagan was
right, John. The scar on my face struck far deeper than flesh. It's
in my soul." She drew herself up, tall, majestic. "I think
you had better go."

"You've got
me right where you want me, don't you, Maigrey?" Dixter asked
calmly. "Whatever I say, whatever I do, you despise me. If I say
there's no need to talk about forgiveness between us, then you
despise me for being a 'nice guy.' And if I say all right, yes, you
hurt me but I forgive you, you despise me for being weak. And if I
said I despised
you
and I walked out the door, then that would
be the best that could happen for you, wouldn't it? All memory
erased, the screen blank."

"Yes,"
she said, staring through shimmering eyes at anything in the room
except him, "all memories erased, the screen blank." Her
hands curled over the back of the chair.

"And now
I'll say what I came to say. I love you, Maigrey.

Although that
may be the wrong thing," Dixter added with a rueful smile.
"Maybe you've despised me all these years for loving you,
knowing that I could never have you."

Maigrey raised
her eyes to his
₄
a tear slid down the scarred cheek. "I
hope I'm better than that, John," she said softly. "Maybe
not much better . . . but a little better than that."

Dixter stepped
forward, took her hand. Maigrey held his fast, tightly, too tightly.

"We always
joked about never saying good-bye to each other; parting without
farewell seemed to mean that we would never part. ... I said good-bye
to you when I left
Defiant
, John. Just as, I imagine"—Maigrey
smiled wanly—"you said good-bye to me after I had gone."

Dixter
swallowed, but it didn't help. The words wouldn't come past the pain
in his chest.

"I know. I
understand. " Maigrey closed her other hand over his. "I
thought we should leave it at that. I thought it would be best that
way. But now I'm glad you came."

"And we
still haven't said good-bye. Not yet," Dixter added cheerfully,
drawing her near. "And the charm is still working. We haven't
been parted."

"No,"
she said softly, coming to stand close to him, as she might huddle
beneath a sheltering oak to escape the rain. "We haven't been
parted ..."

"My lady."
Agis's voice, sounding slightly harried. "Mendaharin—"

"It's
Tusk!" shouted Tusk. "I gotta talk to you!"

"Send him
in."

The doors had
only barely opened, before Tusk was bounding into the Warlord's
quarters.

"The
wedding's off! That's it. Finished. Off."

Maigrey shook
her head. "Oh, no, it isn't. Not after what I've been through.
You're going to get married, Tusca, if I have to hold a lasgun on
you!"

"It's just
cold feet, son," said Dixter in mollifying tones. "Every
bridegroom feels—"

"What the
hell does the temperature of my feet have to do with this?" Tusk
demanded, beside himself. "My feet are fine! it's XJ!"

"XJ?"
Maigrey stared at him blankly. "A computer?"

Tusk groaned.
"That damn, interfering—Can you believe it? He managed to
plug himself into the ship's central com-puter. I hope they
court-martial him! I hope Sagan rips out his electronic guts. That,
that—" Words failed him. Tusk shook his fist in the
general direction of his spaceplane.

"Tusca,
you're not making any sense. What has XJ done?"

"Done? He's
found out about the wedding, that's what he's done! And he's mad
'cause he wasn't invited! And if he isn't invited, he's threatened to
freeze all my assets solid, plus send out a message that I'm a
deadbeat to every credit computer in the galaxy—and, believe
me, he's good buddies with all of 'em—and leave me without a
kepler to my name. So you see"—Tusk slammed his hand down
on a table—"the wedding's off."

Maigrey looked
at Dixter. They tried to stop themselves, but couldn't manage it.
Both burst into laughter.

Tusk drew
himself up with wounded dignity, cast each of them a hurt,
reproachful glance that only increased their hilarity. Maigrey sank
down into a chair, her hand pressed against her side, gasping for
air. John Dixter leaned against the back of the couch, wiped tears
from his eyes.

"Bless you,
Tusk," he said quietly. "God bless you."

"Oh, Tusca,
I'm sorry," Maigrey said, springing to her feet, halting Tusk as
he was about ready to storm out the door. "I know this isn't
funny to you. It's just . . . just ..." She giggled, caught
herself, and attempted to speak soberly. "The wedding will go on
as planned. I'll take care of everything, XJ included."

"You will?"
Tusk looked darkly dubious. "I mean, I know you're Blood Royal
and you've got all kinds of powers, my lady, but that computer of
mine's possessed! Besides, how're you gonna invite XJ to the wedding
anyway? Unless you fly the friggin' spaceplane into the ceremony—"

"Don't you
see, Tusca? That's it. Almost. We don't fly your spaceplane to the
ceremony. We bring the ceremony to the spaceplane. Nola wouldn't mind
getting married on board the plane, would she? Then XJ could be
there. I think it's very touching that he wants to share this with
you."

"I think
he's just trying to make my life a living hell. But, well, now that
you mention it, I think Nola might kinda like to be married in the
spaceplane. After all, that's sorta how we met and we fought the
Corasians together in it and I remember that night she was hurt and I
thought she was gonna die and I realized how much I loved her. . . .

"Yeah."
Tusk coughed, voice husky, "I think that might be a real good
place to be married, after all. Thanks a lot, my lady, General. I'll
go tell Nola."

Tusk hurried
away. Maigrey shook her head, sighed, turned to gaze resignedly at
the blank commlink screen.

"Wait until
Captain Williams hears this. ..."

It was probably
one of the universe's stranger weddings. Held inside a spaceplane on
a hangar on board a warship surrounded by an enemy fleet, the wedding
opened with an alarm that upgraded alert status. Pilots and crews on
standby cheered the wedding procession. The wedding party clambered
up the ladder leading over the hull of the long-range Scimitar,
dropped down through the hatch and into the plane's cramped living
quarters that Tusk had just spent the last hour furiously cleaning.

The bride's
dress looked as if it had engaged in a battle with a banquet table
and lost, but it had a long train of lace, of which the tailor was
extremely proud, and Nola herself was so happy and radiant that, as
Captain Williams said somewhat bitterly to Admiral Aks, she could
have been dressed as a bosun's mate and no one would have noticed.

There was one
frightful moment of panic when the bride's train snagged on a bolt on
the exterior of the spaceplane, leaving the bride stuck half in and
half out of the hatch. No amount of pulling or tugging would free it
and one of the Honor Guard was advancing grimly on it with a knife
when the horrified tailor rushed forward to save his creation, freed
the bride, and the wedding proceeded. The tailor was universally
acclaimed the hero of the day.

Bride, groom,
best man, king, and computer came together in the Scimitar, ready to
begin the ceremony. But the maid of honor, the Lady Maigrey, was
missing.

No one knew
where she was or why she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

"Stall,"
said Dion and left to find her.

General Dixter
stalled as long as possible, but he couldn't delay matters forever;
the press corps was waiting impatiently, the ice sculpture was
melting, and any moment the ship might be called upon to engage the
enemy.

"I've just
spoken to Agis. He reports that she hasn't left her quarters,"
Dion said in a low voice to Dixter on his return. "But when he
tries to contact her, there's no response."

Dixter looked
extremely grave. "This isn't like Maigrey. She knows how
important this is to Tusk and Nola."

"Yes, sir.
But I believe we're going to have to go ahead with the ceremony."

The general
glanced at a fuming Captain Williams, pacing up and down the deck,
and Admiral Aks, red-faced and impatient, who glared back at him.

"Hey,
what's going on?" Tusk demanded, coming over to them. "Nola
says it's hot as hell under that veil and her flowers're starting to
wilt. And this damn collar's giving me a rash on my neck. Where's
Lady Maigrey?"

"She'll be
along in a moment," said Dixter, glancing at Dion.

"We'd
better go ahead and get started," Dion added.

"Oh, sure."
Tusk appeared downcast for a moment, but nervousness and excitement
soon put Maigrey's absence out of his mind.

The wedding
party was small, which was good, because the spaceplane barely held
them all as it was. The ceremony took place in the Scimitar's living
quarters and was very short and very simple.

John Dixter,
dress uniform pressed within an inch of its life by the faithful
Bennett, but still starting, somehow, to look rumpled and slept in,
took his place next to a widely grinning Tusk.

Dion, attired in
his dress uniform, with royal purple sash, stood slightly aloof from
all of them, serious, solemn in his self-conscious majesty. He had
never been part of them, not truly.

Dixter, looking
at Dion in the brief pause while everyone waited for XJ's remote unit
to bob up from out of the cockpit, suddenly remembered the kid who
had come into his office with Tusk, the kid who had demanded to know
his own name. He's grown, Dixter realized. Not only in height, though
he was taller than Tusk, now, by a good several inches. He's grown in
dignity, self-confidence, and assurance.

The severe cut
of the uniform became him. He was extraordinarily, remarkably
handsome. The luxuriant red hair, full and thick, sprang from the
peak on his forehead, fell to shoulder length. The planes of his face
were sharp and finely chiseled. He had what Dixter called "the
Starfire eyes"— incandescent blue that, like flame, could
burn, scorch, illuminate, warm. His only other heritage from his
father's side of the family was the pouting mouth, the full, sensual
lips that could stiffen in anger and resolve or tremble in weakness,
mumble in indecision.

He has the
capability to soar above us all, Dixter thought, light the heavens
with a blazing flame, or he can—like his uncle—be
defeated by himself, the comet break apart and scatter into nothing
but bits of ice and dust, felling into obscurity.

"I wonder
what Maigrey thinks of him," Dixter asked himself, looking for
the twentieth time at the hatch, his concern and worry growing. "I
wonder where she is?"

XJ's round
remote unit, small metal arms wiggling, lights winking like the eyes
of a mischievous monkey, floated and bobbed around the assembled
guests until it came to rest between Tusk and Nola.

Standing in the
center of the spaceplane's living quarters; Tusk slightly hunched
over to keep from striking his head on a long length of tubing, the
bride and groom held fast to each other's hands, looked at each other
as if no one else existed but the two of them.

XJ gave a
preparatory bleep, to make certain he had everyone's attention.

"It's been
suggested, by General Dixter, that in lieu of the usual
we-gather-here-together crap, that each of us says something that
sounds halfway intelligent, which'll be a strain for most of you,
particularly Tusk, but do the best you can. I'll begin. First, I'd
like to say that I'm truly grateful to her ladyship for suggesting
that we hold the wedding on board here. It's the first time Tusk's
cleaned the place in the seven years we've been together. And if
we're lucky, no one'll notice that pair of shorts hanging over the
shower nozzle.

"Next I
want to express my gratitude to Nola Rian for agreeing to marry this
slob and hopefully end the steady stream of bimbos we've had tramping
through here for the last—"