King's Sacrifice Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dixter closed his mouth on
die remonstrance he had been about to utter. He signaled Tusk to
contain himself for the moment, rose to his feet, and led the way to
the center of the room, which was empty and as quiet as the center of
the comm could ever be.
    Backed by die
low buzzing hum of countless voices and the frequent bleeps of
computers, Tusk launched into his grievances. Dixter listened
patiently, his eyes fixed on the young soldier who'd become dear as a
son to him, with only an occasional straying glance toward the door
or to the operator waiting for Sagan's call.
    "If die
lady were here, she'd put a stop to about three fourths of the stuff
that's goto' on. She'd take the kid to hand and help him understand
what's happening instead of trying to bully him and telling him 'do
this' and 'don't do that' and 'don't ask questions, just do as you're
told.' But, no! Right when things start gettin' tough, she runs out."
    A dark line,
appearing between Dixter's brows, and a glint to the usually mild
eyes halted Tusk a moment. But he'd gone too far to quit now, the
damage had been done. He had to continue, try to explain himself.
    "It wasn't
like she was captured or carried off or Lord Sagan did away with her
or anything. She left of her own free will! I know, sir. I was there,
on base, the morning after the army took over Snaga Ohme's place. I
was with Lord Sagan when he returned and they brought him word that
the lady'd taken a spaceplane and beat it. I saw him, I saw his
face."
    Tusk paused,
frowning. "He was mad. Hell, mad isn't the word." He shook
his head. "I'm not sure there is a word for what he was. I'd
swear I saw steel walls start to melt and drip all over the floor.
And what does he do? Turn out the guard? Send out patrols?"
    "Tusk-"
Dixter tried to break in.
    "Nothin'!"
Tusk was past listening. "Not a goddam thing. In one second he
goes cold as he was kot and says, 'Very well, my lady, maybe it's
better this way,' or words to that effect."
    Tusk, if I—"
    "And now,
it's been six months. All hell's breaking loose. Two actors battling
for the same role. The kid got it and now he's out on center stage,
putting on a show for an audience that's come mainly to see this play
turn into a tragedy, then they can all have a good cry and go home.
And meanwhile, Sagan's working backstage to bring down the curtain on
the first act. And when it comes up again, guess who's gonna try to
step in and take the lead! And my lady's off somewhere, doing God
knows what. And as for how she treated you, sir—"
    "Tusk,
that's enough." Dixter's voice was whip-sharp, the voice of the
old desert-days HQ. It flicked across Tusk, brought him to his
senses. He lowered his head, stared at his boots.
    "I'm sorry,
sir. I know how much you think of her and I didn't mean to get into
that. It's none of my business. ..."
    "Damn
right, it isn't," Dixter said coldly.
    Tusk lifted his
head, defiance in his tone. "But I've seen what it's done to
you, sir. You can't blame me for being upset."
    Dixter glowered
at the mercenary in grim and furious silence, but was obviously
finding it difficult to be angry with someone whose only fault was
that he cared.
    Tusk saw the
anger seep out, like blood from a wound, saw it replaced by pain and
deep sorrow, and felt far worse than before. He knew, then, that much
of what he'd said John Dixter must have been thinking; the man
wouldn't have been human otherwise. Somehow or other, he'd come to
terms with it. Because he loved her.
    "Go ahead,
sir," Tusk said. "Kick me. Kick me good and hard. Or, if
you'll excuse me, I'll just go into a corner and kick myself—"
    "That won't
be necessary," Dixter said, one corner of his mouth twitching.
He paused, grave, indecisive, then sighed, made up his mind. "Son
. . ."He clasped a hand on Tusk's shoulder. "I—"
    The operator
looked in their direction. "Lord Sagan in five minutes, sir."
    Dixter did not
even glance over. "Inform His Majesty."
    "Yes,