"Sit down. Lower your head between your knees," Sagan instructed, still not bothering to look at her.

Kamil did as she was told, sinking down to sit on the deck. She rested her arms on her knees, her back bent, her head almost touching the deck. Surprisingly, she felt better.

Sagan switched on the commlink. "Put me through to Prince Starfire. Yes, it's urgent. Tell him the Olefsky girl has tried to escape."

Kamil was on her feet. "No! They'll take me back-"

Sagan flashed her a warning glance, raised a warding hand.

"Yes, Your Highness. I have her. The girl had help. The man who was supposed to be guarding her has disappeared. No, she hasn't told me who her accomplice was-so far. I will continue to interrogate her." A pause, listening. Then, "I think it best if she remains in my custody, Your Highness. At least until I discover who assisted her. I have moved her to a different cell block and doubled the guard. Very good, Your Highness. Has Pantha reported back?"

Sagan listened again. His expression grew dark, the eyes shadowed. His lips tightened until they were nothing more than a thin slash across his face. The shadow spread from him throughout the room.

"I see." Sagan spoke quietly. "The creatures told him that. What does he think?"

Again silence. His gaze abstracted, he stared into the shadows.

"I am afraid I must agree with him," the Warlord replied. "The creatures are no longer to be trusted They have become a distinct menace. We are all in danger. Is Pantha still in the alcazar?"

The Warlord's expression darkened still further, eyes narrowed. A flame flickered deep within. His voice betrayed no hint of his obvious disquiet. "Yes, I find that odd myself. But at least if the creatures are not around this ship, we are safe for the moment. When will Pantha return?"

He asked the question casually enough, but his hand clenched tightly as he waited for the answer. When it came, he relaxed, the fingers uncurled. He smiled, dark and mirthless. "Probably the wisest course, although I doubt if he will accomplish much by remaining on Vallombrosa longer. I am going to go make the rounds of the other ships in the fleet, place them on full-alert status. . . .

"I will endeavor to do so, Your Highness," he added after another pause, "and I appreciate the compliment, but if I am late, I suggest you proceed. Pantha's starjewel will arm the bomb as well as mine."

The transmission ended. Sagan stood in silence, staring at nothing, absorbed in his thoughts, which must have been terrible ones, to judge by his expression. Kamil was careful to keep quiet, not to disturb him, though she was frantic to know what was happening.

At last he seemed to reach some inner decision. His face hardened, became again unreadable. The fire in the eyes shut off, the source feeding it removed.

"Tell me, please?" Kamil ventured.

Sagan eyed her, shrugged. "Flaim's going to detonate the bomb tomorrow morning. Instead of dying while defending the galaxy from the Corasians, Dion will die defending it from the dark-matter creatures."

"But you're going to stop him!" Kamil said, excitement surging through her. "You and Tusk. You're going to take over the ship! You didn't betray Dion. You've done all this, risked all this for his sake. The Lady Maigrey knew. That's why she said what she said about love. I didn't understand-"

"What did she say?" Sagan asked abruptly.

Kamil hadn't meant to mention that. She flushed and stammered, embarrassed. "You-you're going to think I'm crazy. She wasn't real. How could she be real? I haven't slept in nights. And sleep deprivation causes hallucinations. They're very. ..."

He took a step toward her. "You saw her?"

"I ... I thought I did."

Kamil was too frightened to try to argue further. He was so intense, rigid; his eyes seized her, wrung her soul.

"What did she say?" He laid distinct emphasis on each word, as if he forged each out of steel, linked them together in an iron chain.

Her throat and mouth were dry. She swallowed again. The expression on his face, the look in his eyes were terrifying.

"She said, Love is the one part of us death cannot kill.' "

He closed his eyes and sighed. The sigh was deep and anguished, drawn up from some dark part of his being.

Kamil caught a glimpse of it on his face-savage and hopeless. Shuddering, appalled, she lowered her head, unable to look at him, his pain too intense for her to bear.

Only when she heard him moving purposefully about the cabin did she dare look again. He had gone into an adjoining room. The door slid shut behind him. Kamil waited, nervous, apprehensive. That look of his, that terrible look, like one past hope Suppose she'd been wrong; Maigrey had been wrong. Suppose he'd sent Tusk off to certain death. . . .

The Warlord returned. He was clad in a flight suit.

"Put your helmet back on," he ordered, lifting it and handing it to her.

She tried to, but her hands were shaking. She fumbled with the strap. He watched her impassively, made no move to assist.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Leave," he said.

"Leave the ship?" She stared, aghast "Leave Dion here to die! No! I won't come! I won't let you-"

"You have a choice, young woman," he interrupted, the chill in his voice effectively silencing her. "Either come with me now or I will kill you now. I dare not let you remain behind. Left on your own, you have the power to do too much mischief." He laid heavy, ironic emphasis on the words "on your own."

Kamil was in no doubt that he meant what he said. And although she was prepared to give her life for Dion, she wasn't quite ready to do so now.

"I'll go," she answered meekly.

"Keep silent. Follow my lead. Don't question anything I say or do." He handed her back the lasgun. "You know how to shoot that, I presume?"

Kamil stared at it, stared up at him. "Yes, my lord." Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

He nodded. "Switch it off stun. From now on, if you have to shoot, you will have to kill."

She did so. She could kill him now. He was unarmed. He had turned away from her; his hand was on the door control. Kamil raised the gun.

But she couldn't fire.

She had heard stories about the charismatic power of the Blood Royal. How they could subvert, charm, persuade. Did he hold her in thrall by some form of genetically engineered enchantment? Or perhaps it was just common sense, telling her that she was lost if she killed him now. Perhaps it was an unseen hand, laid on her own.

Perhaps it was die voice, soft, like music.

Kamil thrust the gun in the holster.

Sagan opened the door, propelled her out, one strong hand firm on her shoulder. The guards snapped to attention.

"The money will be transferred to your account," Sagan was saying. "If you take my advice, Lieutenant, you will not lend him any more. Tusca is an irresponsible drunkard, but he does have his uses. You are due to go on duty shortly, you said. There is a small service you can render me. I have a prisoner to transfer.

"The name is Olefsky, Maigrey Kamil. ..."

Chapter Four.

Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny Shall here inhabit . . .

William Shakespeare, Richard II, Act IV, Scene i "How do I get myself into these messes?" Tusk asked of no one in particular. "I was born under an unlucky star, as mother used to say. She was right. A goddam eight-pointed star."

He found and disposed of the inconvenient guard, who was still unconscious in Kamil's quarters. Tusk hoisted the man to his feet, dragged him out of the room and through the ship, expressing loudly what he thought about guys who couldn't hold their jump-juice.

The guard-restunned-was now taking a long nap in Tusk's shower stall.

Tusk continued commiserating with himself. "This whole damn end of the galaxy's about to blow sky high and I'm doing Mutiny on the Bounty. If I was smart, I'd say the hell with this, the hell with all of em, and fly my black ass off this floating time bomb."

The thought appealed to him and he toyed with it.

"Sagan says Dion won't go along with it," Tusk remarked to the door of the lift taking him to the officer's quarters. "Well, Kamil's got a point. One good clunk over the head would stop the arguing real quick. As for warships? What's a few dozen warships? Hell, the kid and I took on the whole Corasian galaxy."

Tusk luxuriated in this scheme for the few seconds it took the lift to whisk him upward.

What the hell? It passed the time.

He located Cynthia's room. She was out, but an electronic message flashing across the memo screen above the hand scanner advised all interested parties that Captain Zorn could be found in the officer's club.

Tusk had pumped himself up to make his presentation. Now he sighed like a deflated balloon. He'd have to delay their talk until he pried Cynthia out of the bar, steered her somewhere private. Fortunately, he knew how to manage that. He just hoped Nola would understand.

Arriving at the club, which looked like every other officer's club on board a naval vessel, Tusk peered around until he finally spotted Cynthia's blond head. She was sitting at a booth in the back of the club, practically hidden in a shadowy corner. Perrin and Dhure were with her.

"Figures!" Tusk muttered gloomily. "I suppose the prince himself'll come waltzin' in here next."

The three were deep in conversation, leaning over the table, their heads together. The music was loud, thumping through the metal deck.

Tusk was strongly tempted to take a detour to the bar for a quick one to help his nerves. He'd been trying to ignore the fact that his hands had started shaking the moment he'd walked off the lift. He glanced at the time.

No time. He continued heading for the table. Whatever it was these three were discussing, it must be serious. None of them heard him approach, or even noticed him until he was standing right in front of them.

"Hullo," he said.

He might have tossed a grenade into their midst. Cynthia jerked up, her startled face white against the dark leather of the high-backed booth. Perrin upset his glass, spilled his scotch. Only Dhure retained his accustomed calm. He nodded at Tusk.

"What can I do for you, Tusca?"

"Could I buy you all a drink?" He sat down, though no one had asked him to or particularly appeared to want him.

Cynthia and Perrin exchanged glances, and Tusk was suddenly struck by one of those flashes of insight that flares like lightning from the murky clouds of the subconscious. He had no idea what they'd been discussing, but he knew instinctively there was trouble and trouble might play into his hands if he was careful . . . very careful.

He took a seat next to Cynthia, gave his order to Dhure, who slid his card into the drink dispenser, punched in a rum and cola (a drink Tusk couldn't stand; he wouldn't be tempted to overindulge;. Dhure handed the drink over. Tusk drank a gulp, kept control of his facial muscles to avoid grimacing.

"So, what's up?" he asked, playing nervously with his glass. "You guys look kinda off center."

All three exchanged glances this time. Then Cynthia said cautiously, "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Tusk countered, taking another gulp that went down the wrong pipe.

They waited until he had finished half-strangling himself then Cynthia-after still another round of glances with her cohorts-shrugged. "You might as well know, I suppose. It'll be all over the ship by morning."

"Maybe and maybe not," Tusk said, beneath his breath, taking care that they all heard him.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

Tusk shook his head. "I'll tell you later. You first."

"You've heard already, then. About Bidaldi?"

Tusk stared "Bidaldi? No, what's Bidaldi got to do with anything?"

"It's been attacked," said Perrin, and for the first time since Tusk had met him, good old Don wasn't smiling. Tusk considered it a distinct improvement. "Pretty near wiped out, from the reports we've heard."

"Attacked?" Tusk was truly astounded. "Who attacked it? Not Corasians. The Bidaldi system's in the center of the galaxy-"

"The Ghost Legion," said Dhure.

Tusk blinked. "I get it. We went to war and nobody bothered to tell me."

"Not us," Cynthia said, lowering her voice, casting a cautious look over her shoulder. "The real Ghost Legion. The dark-matter creatures."

"Is the prince out of his goddam mind?"

"Keep your voice down," Dhure advised.

"His Highness didn't have anything to do with it!" Cynthia flared. 'The creatures acted on their own. He's as upset about it as anyone."

"Yeah. I'll bet he is," Tusk said. He lifted the drink, but his hand began to shake, so he was forced to set it back down- He was really putting himself into the part.

"Don't you dare-" Cynthia began angrily, but Dhure flashed her a look, and she subsided.

"What's wrong, Tusca?" Dhure asked with that maddening calm. "You look like you've heard some bad news yourself. Obviously not about Bidaldi."

"Naw, though it all fits now. All makes sense." Tusk twirled the glass around and around in the puddle of condensation that had collected beneath it. "I got to tell someone." He lifted his eyes, met theirs. "Though it could get me in a hell of a lot of trouble"

He laughed, a cracked laugh that he cut off quickly. "Yeah, as if I could be in more trouble. Or any of us could." He was silent a moment, considering, decided just to plunge ahead. "You got any idea what mission this ship's on?"

"We're going to stop a Corasian attack," began Dhure, apparently having elected himself spokesman.

"I mean the real mission," Tusk said.