The Lost King Read Free Page A

which he'd described in graphic terms just
what the official could do with his computers. And it hadn't involved
plugging them in—at least not where one would normally plug one
in.
    "Now why would
anyone on this blasted rock steal computer parts?" the dock
foreman bellowed, raising his head to glare at the person whose
shadow fell across his clipboard.
    "They wouldn't,"
stated this person, although he appeared considerably astonished at
being thus addressed. "There's no market on this planet for
stolen computer parts."
    The dock foreman
regarded the stranger with more interest and less irritation.
    "You can see it. I
can see it. Why can't the friggin' government see it?" The dock
foreman shoved a large finger into the stranger's chest. "Drugs,
landcruisers, spacecraft parts—those get stolen so fast that
all you'll find left is the smell. But computer parts?" He
snorted.
    A captain of one of the
lumbering, elephantine freighters leaned over a railing and yelled
that he was six days behind schedule and what was the dock foreman
going to do about it.
    The dock foreman yelled
back that his men were working as fast as they could, remarking that
he (the captain) would wait his turn like everyone else. The dock
foreman then added what he (the captain) could do if he didn't feel
like waiting.
    The captain issue a
threat.
    The dock foreman made
an obscene gesture.
    The captain stomped
over the metal deck in a rage, and the dock foreman turned back to
discover that the shadow remained across his clipboard. Apparently
this stranger hadn't dropped by to commiserate about the government.
    "You still here?"
the dock foreman growled.
    "Yes, I am still
here," the man said in a mild voice.
    "Why?" the
dock foreman snapped, eyeing the stranger irritably.
    The man might have been
considered tall, but he was thin-boned and stooped and his
height—which must have been beyond the ordinary—was
considerably reduced. Long wispy hair straggled over his shoulders
and hung down his back. Probably in his late forties, he was dressed
in faded blue jeans and a blue denim work shirt and appeared at first
glance to be a down-and-outer looking for work. But those soft,
delicate hands had never done manual labor, the dock foreman noted
shrewdly. And there was something about the faded blue eyes—set
in a pale, careworn face—which suggested that the stranger's
quick appraisal of the computer parts theft had not been casual. This
man was accustomed to giving serious, respectful consideration to all
matters, and the dock foreman appreciated being taken seriously for
once.
    "Well, what do you
want?" he found himself asking grudgingly.
    "I am looking for
a man I was told worked here," the man said, speaking almost
shyly, as if he weren't used to talking to strange people. His voice
matched his hands—refined, delicate, with an off-planet accent.
"His name is Mendaharin Tusca."
    "You're in the
wrong place, mister!" The dock foreman laughed. "I ain't
got anyone working here with a silly-ass name like Men Da Ha Rin
Toosca!"
    The stranger seemed to
wilt. A flicker of desperation kindled the faded eyes.
    "Wait, please do
not go! This is quite urgent. Would there be anyone with a name
similar to that?"
    The dock foreman, who
had started to walk away, turned back. "Well, there's a guy
works for me calls himself Tusk. That's close, I guess. You can see
him. He's right over there. Black-skinned human." He jerked his
thumb in the direction of a group of men and aliens who were loading
crates onto a skid. "That him?"
    "I do not know."
The man sounded embarrassed. "It might be him. You see, I've
never met him before. Could I talk to, uh . . . Tusk ... for just a
few moments? The matter is serious, or I would not take him away from
his work."
    The dock foreman
scowled, then sighed and shook his head, wondering why he was even
wasting his time with this bum, much less calling off one of his men
to come chat with him. The stranger