Everyone looked at everyone else again. Then they all looked at Tusk.

Tusk mopped his forehead with his sleeve. "You've heard of the space-rotation bomb?"

They all nodded.

"Did you know it's aboard?"

Nobody said anything.

"Yeah," he went on, with another nervous laugh, "it's on board all right. And tomorrow morning, sometime around breakfast, it's going to go off."

The silence was so intense Tusk could have sworn he heard the ice in his drink melt. "Makes sense, when you stop to think about it. Takes care of the dark-matter creatures. And the king. And those of us who know the truth about Bidaldi."

"Usurper," Cynthia corrected automatically. "I don't believe it," she said flatly.

"How did you hear this, Tusca?" Dhure asked coolly. "Lord Sagan tell you?"

Tusk snorted. "Sagan wouldn't tell me the password to get into hell. Not that I'm likely to need it. I figure I'm a shoo-in. I'm his flunky. About to be his ex-flunky. Let's just say"-the mercenary slid the glass back and forth over the table-"that I overheard something I shouldn't have."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Me?" Tusk raised his head. "I'm gettin' the hell out of here. I was on my way to my plane, in fact, when I thought . . . Well, you guys have treated me okay. So I figured I'd give you the tip-off. And now"-Tusk breathed a sigh-"I'm outta here. Adios. It's been fun."

He stood up.

"You're not going anywhere, Tusca." Perrin said quietly.

Tusk put his hand on the lasgun. "Don't try stopping me-" "Not me. The order just went out. All planes are grounded. No one leaves without His Highness's permission."

Tusk sat back down. "That does it, then. The tomb's sealed. What's the reason?"

"Security. With the Usurper on board. Lord Sagan's orders."

That bastard! Tusk thought. So this is how much he trusts me. Or maybe this is all part of the scheme. This is how he gets to be king. Double-crosses all of us.

Tusk's hand went nervously to the tiny device he wore embedded in his left wrist. A "bloodlink," Sagan had termed it, a communications device that drew its energy from Tusk's own body. He was, after all, half Blood Royal. The device was crude, but then-as Sagan had put it-so was Tusk.

I could ask. . . . Tusk was tempted. I could find out . . . not that he'd tell me. And what would I gain? I'm still trapped on this mother death ship!

"You can't be right," Cynthia said suddenly, startling Tusk. He wondered for a minute how she'd known what he was thinking about. But she was puzzling out her own loyalties, it seemed. "Flaim Starfire gave those orders. He's on board this ship himself. He wouldn't blow himself up!"

"You bet he won't," Tusk growled. "He'll be on the first plane off this crate. That's the plan. You watch. This is how'll it'll play. First, the fleet'll get orders to hit hyperspace. Then His Highness'll leave, catch the last ship out. And we're left behind on our lonesome, with that damn bomb ticking our lives away."

Tusk saw them exchange glances again. His gaze fixed morosely on his glass of watery rum and cola. He had them on the hook. All he had to do was reel them in. But sometimes that was the toughest part.

"I got an idea," he said.

Again, silence. Again, the eyes.

"The king-I mean the .. . uh ... Usurper-knows how to disarm the bomb. When His Highness and the fleet are gone, we free Dion, let him disarm it. And we take over the ship."

"But that would be mutiny," Cynthia protested. "We'd be traitors."

"If the bomb is set to go off like Tusk says," Dhure pointed out "then we're the ones who've been betrayed."

Cynthia's face hardened.

Tusk had the feeling it was time to leave, let them flop and wriggle on the hook for a while. If he stayed longer-in his "unnerved" state-it might start to look phony. Besides, suddenly he wanted very much to be out of that room. The bar was starting to seem extremely small.

"Where are you going?" Perrin asked as Tusk stood up.

"Beats me," Tusk said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe back to my plane. Maybe wait till morning, try to make a break for it. If you guys aren't in this with me ..."

He looked around. Cynthia was defiant. Perrin wouldn't meet his eyes. Dhure only shook his head, but whether he meant no, he wasn't in this, or yes, he was, but he had to convince the other two, Tusk couldn't decide.

Figuring he'd done all he could-and far more than he'd expected-he said "Be seein ya" and left.

He kept walking until he was far enough away from the lounge that none of the three were likely to find him. He had no clear idea where he was going, though he knew well enough where he wasn't-his quarters or his spaceplane. If the three decided against him, turned him in as a traitor, those would be the first places the guards would search.

Rounding a corner, Tusk looked up and stiffened. Two guards stood at the end of the corridor in front of a sealed door.

"So that's what you had in mind," he said, meaning himself.

Dion's prison cell.

The guards hadn't noticed him yet. Tusk ducked down an adjacent corridor, flattened himself against the bulkheads. Did Dion know what was going on? Had he any idea? Had Sagan told him?

"No," Tusk answered that question quickly enough. "Of course not." He looked at his watch-0300 hours. He didn't have much time.

Dion should know. He had a right to know. He needed to be prepared. Surely it couldn't make any difference now. Flaim probably wasn't going to be wanting to try out his bloodsword technique any time soon.

"And besides," Tusk said somberly, admitting the real reason, "if anything does go wrong, I don't want him to die thinkin he's alone."

Emerging from the corridor, he strode rapidly down the hall toward the king's cell.

The guards knew Tusk by sight from the alcazar. One, in fact, had assisted the mercenary back to his room the night he'd been "drunk."

Tusk grinned, to show they were all friends.

"You sober tonight?" the guard asked.

"Yeah. I'm on duty." Tusk grimaced; then he looked at them expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You're supposed to let me inside there."

"Sorry, friend. Orders are: No visitors."

Tusk shook his head, swore. "Now, goddam it. Talk about inefficient. . . . They were supposed to let you guys know. Lord Sagan sent me. Word is that the Usurper's escaped."

One of the guards laughed. The other shook his head. "Hell, I think you are drunk. Unless he's turned himself invisible and can walk through a nullgrav steel door, he's still in that room where I left him an hour ago. Safely tucked in bed."

"He's Blood Royal," Tusk returned grimly. "In case you've forgotten. Those goddamn genetic wonders can do tricky things." He relaxed, once more on their side. "Look, I believe you, but Lord Sagan's got this idea in his head and I won't have any peace myself tonight unless I can go back and tell his lordship that, yeah, I saw the king-I mean the Usurper-and he's sleepin' like a babe.

"What'll it hurt? You open the door, let me walk in, have a few words with him to make sure it is him. You'll have me locked in there."

He pointed to the commlink. "Lord Sagan's order'll be comin' over in a minute." Tusk paused, frowned. "Or maybe you're questioning his lordship's-"

"No, no," said the guard, looking tense. "Like you said, you'll be locked in there. I guess it couldn't do any harm. Give me your lasgun, though."

Tusk unbuckled it, handed it over. To do otherwise would seem suspicious. He even submitted to being scanned and hand searched. Not finding any other weapons, the guards passed him through, unlocking the door by a series of complicated code commands they took care Tusk couldn't see.

The room was dark. Dion was lying in bed, eyes closed. Light from the corridor illuminated his face and Tusk had a sudden memory of the first night Dion had spent aboard the Scimitar. Tusk remembered seeing him lying in the hammock in exactly the same position. One arm over his forehead, the flaming red-gold hair spilling out from beneath it. His breath-ing was deep and even. He was sleeping soundly, without worry, without fear. It seemed a shame to wake him.

The room went all blurry. Tusk blinked his eyes.

"Shut the door," he said, voice harsh.

"Not too long," the guard responded. Then he added, "It sure as hell looks like him."

"Yeah, well, it would, wouldn't it?" Tusk snapped.

He hit the controls himself, left the guard to figure that one out.

Dim light from stars and one of Vallombrosa's moons lit his way. Dion's hair, in the starlight, was the dark crimson of fresh blood. Tusk stood beside the bed. His mouth was dry. He wondered suddenly what the hell he was going to say.

Reaching out his hand, he started to shake Dion's shoulder.

"Yes, Tusk. What is it?"

"You're awake," Tusk said inanely.

Dion sighed, sat up, shook his hair out of his face. "1 heard you come in. I was dozing, I guess. I wasn't sure if it was you or part of a dream I was having. What is it? What do you want?"

When he'd first spoken, Dion had sounded like his old self. Like nothing had happened between them. But now, with the questions, his voice was cold, suspicious. The blue eyes glinted, white starlight reflecting off diamond-hard edges.

"I don't have much time." Tusk was having trouble breathing. "Look, kid, I got to tell you-"

The door whipped open. Light flared. Half-blinded, Tusk slid around, his hand going instinctively for his lasgun seconds before he recalled that he wasn't wearing it and that reaching for it would look all wrong. He shifted the move to bring his hand to his eyes, squinting and peering.

"What the-"

"Is that the Usurper?" the guard asked. He didn't sound sarcastic. Coming up behind him were six more guards. All had beam rifles. Three were pointed at Dion. Three were pointed at Tusk.

"Yeah, it's him," Tusk answered. He started to edge his way out the door. "Guess I'll be heading back to make my report-"

"Don't move," said the guard. To Dion. "Get dressed."

"Why?" Dion asked calmly.

"Prince Starfire wants to see you. Be quick about it."

"Do you mind if I have some privacy?" Dion asked coldly.

The guard considered it, then shook his head. "You"-he ordered Tusk-"out."

"Not until I hear from Lord Sagan," Tusk said. Leaning against a bulkhead, he crossed his arms over his chest, made it clear he wasn't moving.

The guard wasn't likely to shoot one of Sagan's henchmen, at least not without orders from someone higher up. The guard shut the door, left Tusk and Dion alone.

Dion dressed with exemplary care. Tusk, attempting to look put upon and disgruntled, wondered morosely how Dion had managed to keep the black uniform clean and pressed. He even added the purple sash, the lion's-head pin, and other royal accoutrements that had been, previous to this, stored away in a borrowed box.

He knows, Tusk realized suddenly. He knows.

Dion moved over to Tusk. Hand on his arm, he put his mouth to Tusk's ear. "The room is bugged. What were you going to tell me?"

"Good-bye," Tusk said quietly.

Chapter Five.

Surely some revelation is at hand . . .

William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming"

"Why have you brought him?" Flaim demanded of the guards, staring at Tusk. "I didn't send for this man."

The captain looked to Garth Pantha.

"I did, Your Highness," Pantha said quietly. "He obtained entry to your cousin's room, saying something to the effect that Lord Sagan was fearful your cousin had escaped. The guard on duty let him in, but reported the matter to his superior, who reported it to me, shortly after I arrived back on board. I didn't like the sound of it. I believe we should hear his story."

"Very good, Captain. That will be all." Flaim waited until the guards had gone, then looked at Tusk intently. "Lord Sagan thought my cousin had escaped?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes, Your Highness," Tusk stammered.

The mercenary would have given his Scimitar, with his right arm thrown in for good measure, to know if Cynthia had talked, maybe told Pantha. Tusk had to keep shoveling, however, even if what he was pitching turned out to be dirt from his own grave.

"You know how Lord Sagan gets," Tusk continued. "Well, maybe you don't. Paranoid's a good word for it. Comes up with these wild ideas. Dreams em, he says. He had a dream that he saw the kid, that is the king, here-or rather the Usurper- walk smack through a locked door. Now, he figures that, being Blood Royal, the kid, that is the king, I mean the Usurper, just might be able to-"

"That will do," Flaim interrupted coolly. "I will ask Lord Sagan when he arrives what he 'figured.' "