Read Online The Lost King by Margaret Weis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Weis
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his smile broadening into a grin.
"C'mon. You'll see."
Back in familiar
territory once more, Tusk led Dion into the outskirts of the town,
the two keeping to back alleys and side streets. Rounding a corner,
they nearly walked into a hover-jeepload of marines being deployed at
one of the major intersections. Sirens wailed, red lights flashed.
Pulling Dion back into
an alley, Tusk whispered, "Watch!"
A local police squad
car pulled to a screeching stop only centimeters from the hoveijeep.
"Just what the
hell do you think you're doing?" the cop demanded, climbing out
of the squad car and confronting one of the marines.
"Warlord Derek
Sagan has declared martial law over this planet. This city is now
under our control." The centurion held out his hand. "I'll
need to see your identification."
"Identification?"
the cop repeated in disbelief. He yelled over his shoulder, "Charley,
call for some backup! Look, you!" The cop returned his attention
to the marine and drew his service revolver, an old projectile
weapon. Syrac Seven had entered the space age, but had not gone to
extremes. "I think you're the ones better fork over some I.D.
Stop that right there! Keep your hands where I can see 'em. Those're
real fancy clothes you're wearin'. I'd hate to blast a hole right
through the heart."
A gesture brought the
centurion's men to back him up.
"I am certain,
officer, that you recognize the insignia of Warlord Sagan."
"Warlord again.
You mean Citizen General Sagan, don't you?" The
policeman, seeing himself outnumbered, retreated behind the open door
of his squad car, but kept his gun trained on the soldiers, his
partner covering him. "We got rid of lords seventeen years ago.
And if he is here, he can just clear out. We run our own affairs on
Syrac Seven. Now drop those weapons."
"The cooperation
of the police has been requested." The centurion was well
trained; he was keeping his patience. "Contact your superior—"
"Dispatch reports
these guys are all over town!" the cop's partner yelled. They've
started a fight in one of the bars by the docks!"
Two more police cars,
sirens wailing, came roaring around the corner. The centurions looked
to their lieutenant, who was speaking into the commlink in his
helmet.
Catching hold of Dion's
arm, Tusk winked and pulled him down the alley. "See what I
mean? Keep walking, nobody's gonna notice us." He was trying
hard to ignore the pain of a stitch in his side.
"Will there be a
fight?" Dion asked.
They left the
altercation behind them. Pausing to catch his breath, Tusk leaned
against a graffiti-covered brick wall, keeping well out of the light
of a nearby street lamp.
"Hell, no. In an
hour, the police'll find out that there really is a Warlord on
this planet! Then the cops'll be crawling around, licking his boots.
But we got that hour. Tired?"
"No."
The boy's face,
reflecting the nearby light, was white. The long red-golden hair,
damp with perspiration, clung to his brow and his cheeks. Gray
smudges beneath the lids darkened the blue eyes. But the eyes
themselves glittered hard as glare ice.
"Well, I'm about
done for!" Tusk mopped sweat from his face. "And we still
gotta get our balls out of this sand trap. You play golf, kid?"
"Shouldn't we be
going?" Dion said coldly.
"Just a sec."
Bending over, hands on his knees, Tusk tried to ease the pain in his
side. With a groan, he straightened. "It's not very far. And I'm
not as young as I used to be—"
"How old are you?
Twenty?" Dion snapped, his gaze flitting up and down the dark
alley.
"Twenty-six. Black
skin doesn't age like that pasty white stuff of yours. But I thought
... I was in shape!" Tusk finally caught his breath. "Don't
tell XJ. He'll blame it on the jump-juice. Look, when we get to the
RV parking lot where the plane's stashed, we'll go in the back way.
Climb the fence. The Warlord probably won't have men there yet, but
that'll be one of the first places they'll search. With luck, we'll
be long gone by then."
Dion
"C'mon. You'll see."
Back in familiar
territory once more, Tusk led Dion into the outskirts of the town,
the two keeping to back alleys and side streets. Rounding a corner,
they nearly walked into a hover-jeepload of marines being deployed at
one of the major intersections. Sirens wailed, red lights flashed.
Pulling Dion back into
an alley, Tusk whispered, "Watch!"
A local police squad
car pulled to a screeching stop only centimeters from the hoveijeep.
"Just what the
hell do you think you're doing?" the cop demanded, climbing out
of the squad car and confronting one of the marines.
"Warlord Derek
Sagan has declared martial law over this planet. This city is now
under our control." The centurion held out his hand. "I'll
need to see your identification."
"Identification?"
the cop repeated in disbelief. He yelled over his shoulder, "Charley,
call for some backup! Look, you!" The cop returned his attention
to the marine and drew his service revolver, an old projectile
weapon. Syrac Seven had entered the space age, but had not gone to
extremes. "I think you're the ones better fork over some I.D.
Stop that right there! Keep your hands where I can see 'em. Those're
real fancy clothes you're wearin'. I'd hate to blast a hole right
through the heart."
A gesture brought the
centurion's men to back him up.
"I am certain,
officer, that you recognize the insignia of Warlord Sagan."
"Warlord again.
You mean Citizen General Sagan, don't you?" The
policeman, seeing himself outnumbered, retreated behind the open door
of his squad car, but kept his gun trained on the soldiers, his
partner covering him. "We got rid of lords seventeen years ago.
And if he is here, he can just clear out. We run our own affairs on
Syrac Seven. Now drop those weapons."
"The cooperation
of the police has been requested." The centurion was well
trained; he was keeping his patience. "Contact your superior—"
"Dispatch reports
these guys are all over town!" the cop's partner yelled. They've
started a fight in one of the bars by the docks!"
Two more police cars,
sirens wailing, came roaring around the corner. The centurions looked
to their lieutenant, who was speaking into the commlink in his
helmet.
Catching hold of Dion's
arm, Tusk winked and pulled him down the alley. "See what I
mean? Keep walking, nobody's gonna notice us." He was trying
hard to ignore the pain of a stitch in his side.
"Will there be a
fight?" Dion asked.
They left the
altercation behind them. Pausing to catch his breath, Tusk leaned
against a graffiti-covered brick wall, keeping well out of the light
of a nearby street lamp.
"Hell, no. In an
hour, the police'll find out that there really is a Warlord on
this planet! Then the cops'll be crawling around, licking his boots.
But we got that hour. Tired?"
"No."
The boy's face,
reflecting the nearby light, was white. The long red-golden hair,
damp with perspiration, clung to his brow and his cheeks. Gray
smudges beneath the lids darkened the blue eyes. But the eyes
themselves glittered hard as glare ice.
"Well, I'm about
done for!" Tusk mopped sweat from his face. "And we still
gotta get our balls out of this sand trap. You play golf, kid?"
"Shouldn't we be
going?" Dion said coldly.
"Just a sec."
Bending over, hands on his knees, Tusk tried to ease the pain in his
side. With a groan, he straightened. "It's not very far. And I'm
not as young as I used to be—"
"How old are you?
Twenty?" Dion snapped, his gaze flitting up and down the dark
alley.
"Twenty-six. Black
skin doesn't age like that pasty white stuff of yours. But I thought
... I was in shape!" Tusk finally caught his breath. "Don't
tell XJ. He'll blame it on the jump-juice. Look, when we get to the
RV parking lot where the plane's stashed, we'll go in the back way.
Climb the fence. The Warlord probably won't have men there yet, but
that'll be one of the first places they'll search. With luck, we'll
be long gone by then."
Dion
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