Free The Lost King by Margaret Weis Page A

"Real nasty types. Scary bastards. And one hasn't been
seen in this galaxy in eighteen years. Just an excuse, kid. The
Warlord always used it when we needed to put some planet's government
back on the straight and narrow. Frightens the whatever out of the
populace."
    "In case your
government should require your services," the official voice
continued, "all pilots of private spacecraft are hereby ordered
to report immediately to the nearest command post with identification
papers—"
    "Yeah, yeah!"
Tusk flicked a switch. "We see the picture. Shut that twerp off,
XJ, and let's get out of here before they get organized. You got a
fix on the Warlord's flagship?"
    "Yes."
Coordinates flashed across the computer screen. "You think you
can avoid something that big?"
    Scowling, Tusk read the
coordinates, made adjustments accordingly, and barked instructions to
the computer, who barked right back. Both were absorbed in their
work, leaving Dion unnoticed, for which the boy was grateful.
    Sitting back in his
chair, he had time to think about what had happened, and almost
instantly he regretted it. Memory returned, beating at him with dark
wings. Closing his eyes, he heard the voices, the conversation. He
saw the swords flash, silver and golden, he saw the flow of dark
blood, Platus's body sag to the floor.
    Anger stirred in Dion.
How could you do this to me? he demanded of Platus silently, tears
stinging his eyelids. How could you die? How could you leave me like
this, not knowing? Why? Why? His fists clenched. Bitter bile flooded
his mouth, he thought he might be sick.
    Pride made him swallow
the hot liquid and choke back the tears sliding down his throat. His
fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, and he opened his eyes.
He would forget everything, concentrate on the danger they were
facing. Tusk's words came back to him. A man just gave up his life
for you. You gonna make that mean something ?
    It was suddenly very
important to Dion to escape.
    "Will they try to
stop us?" He tried to speak casually.
    "I don't think
they'll line up and give us a rousing huzzah as we leave. You ready,
XJ?"
    "Beginning system
check."
    "What will they do
to us? Shoot us down?" Dion persisted.
    "Well, now, that
depends," Tusk said, glancing at the boy. "That's why I
asked you if you had any clue what the Warlord wants with you. Might
make a big difference."
    "How?"
    "Obvious, kid. If
he wants you dead they'll shoot us down. If he doesn't, they'll try
to capture us alive. I really hope, kid," Tusk added fervently,
"that you got some sort of sentimental value!"
    "System check
complete," XJ reported.
    "And?"
    "Ignorance is—"
    "Oh, stow it!
Start launch sequence. You all set, kid?"
    The deck began to
vibrate beneath Dion's feet Then everything was vibrating—the
chair, his teeth. . . . Blood spilling over silver armor. . . . The
garden trampled, its neat, orderly rows destroyed. What would grow,
now, without care and nurturing? Left on its own . . .
    "And go!"
    The breath expelled
itself from Dion's body; the force of lift-off pushed him back into
the seat, pulled his skin tight across his bones, forced his lips
into an unnatural grimace. Looking at himself in the reflection in
the steelglass opposite, he saw his face grinning like a skull. For
an instant he couldn't breathe and he began to panic, fearing
suffocation.
    The frightening
sensation was over in an instant. The lights of the city fell away
from him with dizzying swiftness. Everything was falling away from
him, too fast . . . too fast . . .
    The garden, the house
...
    Falling out from under
him.
    The city, the world . .
.
    He wanted to reach out,
grab hold, hang on. But there was nothing to hold on to. He was
caught, held, immobilized in fate's grasp ... in the Scimitar's seat
... by the strong, uncaring grip of the security arms.
    And then all life was
gone. He stared into black, vast space, its stars shining bright and
cold as the star Platus wore around his neck. . .