Ghost Legion by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online Page B

owner-operators
comfortable, if not wealthy.
    But Link's idea of a sound investment was a hot tip on a horse in the
seventh. Tusk's notion of money management was to spend what he had
when he had it and to save it when he didn't. Nola could have handled
the accounting, but she was working full time, trying to raise a
toddler, and pregnant again. XJ-27 yammered and raved and ranted
about their bleak financial state, but unless the customer paid with
credit, the computer could rarely get its microchips on the money.
And most of their customers paid in cash, to leave no record of the
transaction.
    Some children are frightened by the bogeyman or ghosts or the monster
that lives in the closet. Young John was terrified of the dark and
ghoulish nemesis known in the Tusca household as the Collection
Agent.
    Reaching the dentist-office level of the Scimitar, Tusk slid his arms
out of the straps of the backpack child carrier lowered his son
silently and stealthily to the deck, and put his finger to his lips.
    "XJ," called Tusk, trying to sound nonchalant. "There
been any calls for me?"
    "One. It was— What's that?"
    "What's what?" Tusk asked innocently. Winking at his son,
the pilot walked over to the bar, began to clang bottles together
loudly. "We're low on scotch.. .."
    "Someone else is breathing," stated XJ irascibly. "And
I detect the distinct smell of wet diaper. You've brought that brat
of yours in here!"
    Young John sat on the deck, thumb in his mouth, waiting patiently to
make his move. The son of a starpilot and a former TRUC driver turned
guerrilla fighter, John Tusca knew the value of a diversion and was
waiting until the shooting started.
    Tusk was about to deny the charge, then changed his mind. "It's
only for an hour or so. Nola's got a doctor's appointment and we
couldn't get a sitter. And he's not wet. He's potty trained now. At
least most of the time. Who called?"
    "I'm not saying," the computer snapped. "This is not
Ding-dong School. Remove the little twerp and we'll discuss
business."
    "Damn it, XJ! My kid's not a 'twerp' or a 'brat.' He's my son—a
person, just like me—"
    "Now there's a recommendation!" XJ gave a mechanical
snort.
    "—and he needs to be treated with respect!" Tusk
finished loudly. "You're gonna give him an inferiority complex
or something, talking about him like that. Babies can understand a
lot more than we think they can. Now, who the devil called? Was it
important?"
    "Extremely. Urgent, in fact. And I admit the brat makes more
sense than you do, most of the time, but he doesn't belong on my
plane. He touches my buttons," XJ complained peevishly.
    "I'll touch your buttons!" Tusk stalked over to the railing
that separated the bridge from the plastileather-and-used-carpet
lounge area and peered down into the cockpit. "What do you mean, your plane? We're partners—you and me and Link And damn
it, XJ, if a client called and we miss a run because you're—"
    "A run?" XJ sputtered. "How're you going to make a run
with junior there? 'Sorry, folks, we can't make the jump to
lightspeed. It gives the baby hiccups. I was never so humiliated!
It's a wonder I didn't short out."
    "Would you forget that? He was real little then. Nola'll be back
any minute. Now, who called? Was it Lovason? He said he might have an
important drop to make later on in the week—" "No, it
was not Lovason. And why'd you have to go and get pregnant again
anyway? Jeez, don't you two ever do anything except—"
    This diversion was better than expected. Young John made his move.
Keeping low, so as not to draw fire, crawling on belly, elbows, and
knees, he made it all the way across the deck to one of the settees.
Then there came a lull in the firing. John pulled himself upright,
sat with his back against the settee, had his thumb in his mouth by
the time his father glanced around. "John, where— Oh,
there you are. Don't mess with that." John regarded his father
with the expression of