Free King's Test by Margaret Weis Page A

her flight suit and headed immediately, at a
run, for the hangar where Sagan's shuttle was kept.
    Arriving there,
she remembered just in time that she was supposed to be injured and
stopped outside the entrance to the hangar to get into her role. Of
course, once she got onto the shuttle, there'd be the problem of the
medics wanting to examine her.
    "One worry
at a time." Maigrey was just about to press her hand over the
bloodstained rip and stagger forward when the door shot open.
    In front of her
stood Sagan's own personal sleek white spaceplane. The plane he would
use to leave the ship.
    Maigrey recoiled
back into the shadows. This is the last place ! need to lie! she
thought wildly. The Warlord could arrive at any moment. But how the
hell else can I get oft?
    A heavy hand
grasped her by the shoulder.
    Maigrey's breath
stopped. It's not Sagan! her mind reassured her. She would have
sensed his presence. But it took her heart a moment to catch up with
her brain’s logic. She stared through her helmet at the hand,
its fingers scraping roughly against her neck.
    The hand was
large, clean, too clean for a man on board a fighting ship.
    "Rogers!"
came a voice from the general proximity of the hand.
    Maigrey turned
to face the man, jerking free of the hands grip in the same movement.
The hand’s owner was like his appendage—large and too
neat, too clean. His uniform had a small smudge of soot on one
sleeve; otherwise it was spotless, not even wrinkled. Whatever hole
he'd found to hide in must be a good one.
    "Major,"
she said, remembering in time that—according to the insignia on
the uniform—she was a captain, and saluting. The helmet's face
shield, though clear, would distort her features; the dirt and blood
she'd smeared on her skin would help make recognition difficult,
especially in the semi-darkness.
    But the man's
eyes narrowed, he leaned forward, stared at her closely. "You're
not Rogers!'
    "So, what
if I'm not?" she returned, facing him down. "You don't
really give a damn who I am, do you?'
    The major
grinned, glanced significantly at the blood on the front of her
flight suit. "Maybe I don't. Are you even a pilot?'
    She could either
kill him or go along with him. One jab to the throat, it would be all
over, and Maigrey had the distinct impression that no one would miss
this bastard. She was wondering what his scheme was when she saw
another person move out of the shadows. A young man, clad in a flight
suit. Suddenly, Maigrey knew what was going on.
    "Yes, I'm a
pilot." Fortunately her voice was low for a woman's and further
distorted through the helmet mike. "And I need to get off this
ship. "
    The major
grinned unpleasantly. "Yeah. I thought so. It'll cost you.'
    "I left my
wallet in my other pants."
    "Then you
and your other pants can stay here and fry. I ain't runnin' a
charity. Hey, what's this?"
    He reached
inside her flightsuit. caught hold of the star-jewel. glittering
brightly on its chain. The major's eyes widened. "What the hell
is it? A diamond? I never saw one that big'"
    Grinning at her,
he grasped hold of the jewel's silver chain and twisted. The catch
gave, the chain slid from around her neck, the starjewel gleamed in
his hand. "You just bought your way off this bomb."
    Maigrey said
nothing, made no protest. She couldn't, her breath was gone—not
through concern over the jewel's loss. She wasn't worried about it. A
starjewel, taken by force, has a way of returning to its owner. It
was her plan, now suddenly complete, flawless, perfect and brilliant
as the jewel itself, that stole away her breath.
    You just
bought your way . . . bomb.
    The major tossed
the starjewel in the air, closed his fist over it, and stuffed it in
his shirt pocket. "Let's get a move on, then. Follow me."
    The ship was
quiet, except for the muffled sound of an occasional explosion. Time
was ticking by. The officer hastened onto the hangar deck, Maigrey
and the young pilot running after him. They were