Free The Lost King by Margaret Weis Page B

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    "Damnation!"
Tusk swore.
    A screen on the
instrument panel had come to life, even as everything around the boy
had seemed to die.
    "I knew Sagan made
improvements since we left, XJ, but— Damn!" Tusk swore
again. "How the hell did he get his ships deployed this fast?"
    "What do you mean?
What's wrong?" Dion sounded strange to himself, as if his own
voice had been left down below with the rest of his life.
    "Warlord's got the
blockade going already. Blasted place is crawling with planes!"
    "Told you so!"
XJ said in gloomy satisfaction.
    "No you didn't, so
don't start—"
    "I have it on
file!" the computer returned smugly. "Scimitar closing,
Mach thirty—"
    "I see it."
    "Where's the gun
turret?" Dion asked eagerly. "I can shoot!"
    It was a lie, but he
wanted to kill something, anything. He wanted to end the hurt, the
anger, the fear. Blow it up in a fiery ball that would take him, too.
    The computer's lights
flashed wildly.
    "Calm down, XJ!"
Tusk ordered. "Thanks for the offer, kid, but . . . uh . . .
that gun's kinda complicated equipment and . . . well ... to be
honest, I'd rather face ten of those characters out there than have
one amateur sitting above me with an itchy trigger finger. I mean,
you shoot your foot up there and we're nothing but a gleam in
someone's eye—and that only for about ten seconds."
    "Besides," XJ
added, "not even Tusk is dumb enough to try to fight his way out
of this one. Are you?"
    From the irresolute
expression on Tusk's face, Dion thought that the question might be
debatable, but the mercenary glanced at the computer screen and
grunted.
    "Ten seconds and
he'll be in range . . . and so will we," the computer reported.
    A slow smile spread
over Tusk's lips. "The drunken pilot!"
    The computer's lights
flickered in derision. "That old trick? What is this—a
nostalgia trip?"
    "We got nothing to
lose. I've flown blockade duty, so have you. No matter how sharp they
look there's bound to be the normal amount of confusion."
    "I want to go on
record that I am opposed—"
    "Go on record as
any damn thing you like, just do what you're supposed to. There must
be a Lane around here—"
    "There is. Come to
this heading—"
    A series of number
appeared on the computer screen.
    "What—"
    "Keep your mouth
shut, kid," Tusk said, his slender fingers flying over buttons.
XJ hummed to itself industriously.
    "Military
channel?" Tusk asked, glancing up to see the other Scimitar
closing fast.
    "Open. This is the
latest code update. Cost us a bundle. It better be right—"
    The commlink crackled,
announcing that the other pilot was about to contact them.
    "Halt and iden—"
Tusk began, a split second ahead of the other Scimitar pilot.
    "Halt and—"
    "—tify your
shelf." Tusk slurred.
    "—identify
yourself," echoed the pilot, sounding slightly confused. "I
repeat, Scimitar. Identify yourself."
    "I asked you
first," Tusk roared belligerently.
    "What's your
number, Scimitar? I can't read your markings—"
    "I can't see
yoursh either." Tusk belched. "They're all kinda fuzzy."
    "Give the
password."
    "Yeah, you'd like
that, wouldn't you?" Tusk sneered. "Sell that for a couple
thousand gold eagles on the smuggler's market."
    "Who's your
commanding officer, mister?"
    "A sonuvabitch.
Whose yours?"
    "Excuse me, sir—"
XJ cut in.
    "Stay out of
this!" Tusk smacked the computer on the side of its box.
    "You enjoyed
that!" XJ stated accusingly in an undertone. "Excuse me,
sir!" The computer turned up its audio so that it could be heard
clearly by the other pilot. "Scimitar out there! Don't shoot!"
    "Who are you?"
    "Shipboard
computer, sir. I hereby report my pilot unfit for duty."
    "You filthy—"
Tusk mumbled obscenities.
    "I tried to alert
the deck crew before we took off," XJ continued in injured
tones, shouting to be heard over Tusk's swearing. "But they
refused to listen to a mere computer. This isn't the first time this
has happened.