I can weep for him, Dion thought, but I can't grieve. As Maigrey said, all is as it should be. There is a rightness about it, a suitability. A fittingness, in the mind of God.

He knew it, though he couldn't explain how. It was as if a door had opened and he had been permitted a swift glance inside before it slammed shut again.

Cold fingers touched his hand; Kamil's hand closed over his. He drew her up, into the bubble, to sit beside him. There was a lightness about this, too. He couldn't grieve.

"She and Sagan are together again, aren't they?" Kamil said softly.

"Yes," answered Dion.

"As we will be together . . . someday," Kamil said.

"Someday," Dion held her hand fast.

" 'You have loved and been loved,'" Kamil said, almost to herself. "I understand now what he meant."

"We should be thankful," Dion said, his eyes on the stars. "What happened to them would have happened to us. We would have been torn apart by anger, fear, misunderstanding. We would have ended up hating each other. Hating ourselves. That won't happen to us now. When we say good-bye . .."

He faltered. Her hand pressed his, giving him courage.

He continued on steadily. "When we say good-bye, it will be with love and trust."

"Kid?" Tusk peered up at them from down below. "Sorry to interrupt, kid-I mean, Your Majesty. I guess I better get used to saying that. I've made contact with Her Majesty's ship. The queen's anxious to see you. The captain wants to know when you're planning to come aboard and should he lay in a course for Ceres or back to Minas Tares? And Dixter needs to talk to you about the Corasian attack."

Dion rose. "Her Majesty and I will be going to Ceres. We're going to give thanks. To both God and the Goddess."

"Sure thing, kid," Tusk said. "I mean, Your Maj- Oh, the hell with it. You know what I mean." He disappeared back down into the cockpit.

"Yes," said Dion softly. "I know what you mean."

He turned to Kamil. "Good-bye," he said, kissed her gently, and left.

"Good-bye," she told him, after he had gone.

Chapter Twelve.

Heaven's last, best gift . ..

John Milton, Paradise Lost "You'll come to visit us-Astarte and I. You and Nola and your family."

"Royal command?" Tusk grinned.

"Yes." Dion replied gravely. "Royal command."

"Sure, we'll come," Tusk said, and meant it.

"Often."

"Well, as often as we can. What with the business ..." He sighed, ran his hand through his tightly curled hair, cast a harried glance around the Scimitar. "Back to vacuum cleaner salesmen, I guess."

Dion smiled as if he knew a secret, started to say something, then shook his head. "Good-bye, Tusk."

The mercenary started to shake hands, but Dion clasped his friend in his arms.

Tusk patted Dion on the back. "Good-bye, kid. Good luck." He paused, then said awkwardly, "I wish ... I wish it all could have turned out different. . . ."

"All is as it was meant to be, Tusk," said Dion quietly.

"Yeah, I guess so." Tusk sounded dubious. Backing off, he wiped his nose, turned his head away.

Dion looked over at Kamil, who had been standing near him, silent, waiting. He reached out his hand. She took it. They held fast to each other for the length of a heartbeat.

She smiled at him, reassuring. "You better go," she said. "They're waiting for you."

Their hands parted.

Dion climbed swiftly up the ladder leading out of the Scimitar. At the top, he paused, took one last look around.

"Good-bye, XJ," he called.

There came a sort of a croak and a wheeze. The lights flickered and went out. The hatch whirred slowly open.

Standing in the darkness, Tusk heard the roar of the crowd on the flight deck of Flare, cheering the appearance of their king. When the lights came back on, Dion was gone.

"Well," said Tusk to himself with a sigh, a smile. "That's that."

The ceremonies were over. The crowds had dispersed. XJ was in a high state of indignation.

"I've never seen such a mob! It's .. . unmilitary. And some fool reporter actually had the nerve to sit his fat fanny down on my wing! He won't do that again soon. I sent about sixty volts through him."

Tusk grinned, shook his head. "We've got clearance. Lay in a course for the Academy. And then-home."

Kamil sat beside him in the co-pilot's chair. She was brisk and purposefully cheerful. "I've already got the course plotted, Tusk. I needed ... something to do." Her smile slipped a moment, but then it was back. "You're sure you don't mind taking me back to school? I know how eager you are to see your family-"

"No trouble at all, kid. It's on the way."

"Admiral Dixter on line," the computer reported.

The admiral's face appeared on the vidscreen.

"We got His Majesty safely delivered, sir," Tusk reported. "Any word on the Corasians?"

"We've arranged a welcome-to-the-galaxy party. A surprise party. I don't think they'll be bothering us for a long, long time."

"Good, good," Tusk said, nodding. "I ... I don't suppose, you've heard from Nola?" he asked wistfully.

Dixter's grim face relaxed in a smile. "As a matter of fact, I have. After you told me where you thought she might be hiding, I made contact with Marek. Nola's fine, other than being worried about you. Your son's fine. And speaking of Nola, . . . Tusk, this may not be the time to bring this up, but there's something I'd like you to think about.

"Three years ago, His Majesty offered you a commission in the Royal Navy. I know you turned it down, but I wish you'd reconsider. I could use an adjutant, Tusk. Someone I could trust. Someone His Majesty can trust. I'm not that many years away from retirement-"

"Whoah!" Tusk sat back, stared at the vidscreen in alarm, even terror.

"I don't mean you'd take over right away," Dixter said, smiling. "I expect to be around a while. Quite a while. Say at least another twenty years. But when I do leave, I'd feel better knowing you were the one who'd be sitting in my chair."

Tusk was in a state of shock. So was XJ apparently. For once, neither of them had anything to say.

"You don't have to give me your answer now, son," Dixter advised, seeing that Tusk was in no shape to talk anyway. "Discuss it with Nola. You'd have to move to Minas Tares, of course. But it's a beautiful city. Nola would like it here. And the children would have the very best educational opportunities. Like I said, think it over."

Tusk tugged on his left earlobe. The eight-pointed star earring was back, a gift from a grateful Astarte.

"I know this is gonna sound weird, sir. But, if I took it-and I'm not saying I am-but if I did, would there uh ... be a place somewhere for Link? He's a jerk and an ass and a blowhard, but he's a pretty good pilot and if he had somethin to occupy his mind other than cards and the juice, I think he might turn out okay."

"I believe we could find a place for Link," Dixter said gravely.

"Now, just a minute." XJ had also recovered. "Excuse me, sir, but you haven't mentioned the most important factor. How much does this job pay us? Are uniforms included? What about cleaning and pressing? And am I going to have to be reprogrammed for military protocol, because I-"

"You!" Tusk exploded. "Us? If I do take this, you're going into dry dock with the Scimitar and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll take you out in sixteen years when it's time to teach young John how to fly-"

"Dry dock!"

The lights on the ship went dark. Life support shut down.

"Dry dock," the computer repeated in ominous tones. "If you ever want to see any kind of a dock again, Men-da-ha-rin Toosca, you'll forget you ever said those two words in my hearing.

"As for commissioning you," the computer continued, seething, "it's obvious that the admiral's doing that simply in order to get me."

The lights came back on. The soft whir of life-support began again.

"I'm getting tired of this spaceplane anyway," XJ went on peevishly. "It's never been the same since you 'remodeled' it. I think I'd like a desk job. Yes, that would be a good place for me. Right on top of your desk, at your fingertips. Feel free anytime, Admiral, to step in and ask my advice. Tell His Majesty, too. I imagine you both will be coming to consult me frequently.

"As for you, Tusk, I'll answer your phone calls and screen your visitors. ..."

Tusk groaned, laid his head on his arms on the console.

"Excuse me, Admiral Dixter." Kamil was deferential, abashed at being in the presence of such a great man.

"You're Olefsky's daughter, aren't you?"

"Maigrey Kamil, sir," she said, relaxing, attracted by the warmth in his eyes, reassured by the sad, faint smile that touched his lips when she spoke her name. "I was wondering if you knew ... if you had any information. The cyborg, Xris, and the little empath . . . they were hurt on Ceres. . . ."

Dixter nodded. "I just passed this message on to His Majesty. Archbishop Fideles informs me that Xris is recovering. And the Little One has pulled through. Raoul bought lime-green toreador pants to celebrate."

"That's good," she said, smiling. "I'm glad. Give them both my best. And tell Xris that someday, I may take him up on his offer."

"I'll do that. Your father and mother send their love, by the way. They said to tell you they were both very proud of you. And Kamil," he added, "there's an opening in flight school for you-anytime you're ready."

Kamil flushed with astonishment, pleasure. "Truly, sir?"

"You come with the highest recommendation," the admiral said. "From His Majesty."

Kamil's eyes filled with tears. Mumbling something about leaving Tusk and Dixter to talk in private, she hastily left the cockpit, climbed the ladder leading up to the main cabin.

Once alone, she thought she was going to cry.

"No," she said, resolutely. "I won't. This is what I wanted."

All is as it was meant to be.

"I wish I could believe that," she said suddenly, with a sigh, a frown. "If I could ..."

That was odd. There was something on the bed, a bundle. She was positive it hadn't been there a moment before.

Her first impulse was to call Tusk.

She didn't, however. She drew near, cautious, wondering.

It was hard, angular, and had been wrapped neatly in the folds of an azure blue velvet cape.

Reverent, awed, Kamil gently lifted the soft blue fabric, drew it aside.

Shining, silver armor.

Epilogue.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

John Donne, Holy Sonnets The radiant being entered the halls of heaven with slow and solemn tread. The shining light of the Presence cast long shadows behind the two who stood in judgment. The awful majesty of heaven shone full upon them, but they did not flinch or lower their eyes before it.

They stood together, gold and silver. They stood tall, proud, defiant.

The radiant being sighed.

Ascending the throne of judgment, the being commanded, "My lord, come forward."