He could feel Hazel crowding close behind him. He didn't look back to make sure. He didn't need to. All of those who'd passed through the Madness Maze were linked to each other now, in some deep fundamental way that none of them understood yet, but none of them doubted. It was a kind of low-level esp, an unquestioning certainty as to where the others were at any given moment. They couldn't read each other's thoughts, for which Owen for one was very grateful, but as Hazel had already proved, whatever gifts or talents one possessed, the others now had, too, as though they'd always had them. Owen could feel Hazel's presence at his back. It felt reassuring. He whipped around a tower, so close he could have reached out and trailed his fingertips across the windows flashing past, and then, right before him, dead bang where it was supposed to be, was the Tax and Tithe Headquarters, in Tower Chojiro. Owen grinned fiercely and opened his secure comm channel again.
"Almost there, so brace yourself. And, Hazel, don't use the boost unless you have to. There are things about it you don't know. It's… unwise to use it too often."
"Nag, nag. You always were a bit of an old woman, Deathstalker."
Owen decided he wasn't going to answer that one, either, and made himself concentrate on Tower Chojiro as it loomed up before him. He cut his power and slowed steadily, but kept the force shield up. The sled's built-in cloaking device was supposed to be keeping him invisible, as far as the tower's sensors were concerned, but he didn't feel like taking chances now he'd got this close to the objective. Tower Chojiro was the tallest and ugliest of the immediate towers, a gleaming monument of glass and steel, the Clan colors and signals clearly marked. It was also undoubtably bristling with hidden weapons and other nasty surprises. The Hadenmen had assured Owen on more than one occasion that his and Hazel's sleds had been carefully adjusted so that they would slip past the tower's defenses unmolested. But of necessity, there had been no way to test this in advance.
Owen shrugged mentally. It was a bit late to be worried now. Either it would work, or he and Hazel would end up spread across the tower's energy fields like flies on a windscreen, and the rebellion would have to start somewhere else. Oddly, Owen discovered that he didn't feel particularly nervous. The Hadenmen had assured him their devices would work, and he had no reason to distrust them. Not over that, anyway. Everything else, maybe. He took a firm hold on the controls, braced himself, and headed the sled straight for the top floor of the tower. The windows came flying toward him at incredible speed. Owen just had time to realize he must have passed safely through the tower's force shields before the sled slammed through the toughened steelglass window, as though it wasn't there.
The gravity sled screeched to a halt some twenty feet past the shattered window, and its force shield snapped off. Owen released his death grip from the controls and stepped down, just a little shakily. He looked quickly about him but the top floor of Tower Chojiro was deserted, just as it was supposed to be. There was a little furniture scattered here and there on the thick carpeting, all of it designed within an inch of its life, and just the occasional small painting on the walls. Originals, of course. Clan Chojiro were famed for their minimalist approach. Owen hoped it applied to their interior security systems as well, but he rather doubted it. His and Hazel's entrance had to have set off all kinds of alarms, and since the interior weaponry hadn't finished them off any more than the exterior force shields, the odds were that a large number of heavily armed men were currently on their way up to find out why. Of course, they'd have to start at the bottom and work their way up floor by floor, to make sure everything was secure. Which should take them some time. More than enough for him to deal with the computers and leave. Theoretically. He drew his disrupter and activated the force shield on his wrist. The oblong of glowing force formed instantly on his arm, its familiar low hum distinctly comforting. Hazel moved in beside him, a gun in each hand.
"Tax and Tithe is four floors down, right? Elevator or stairs?"
"Stairs, of course. The elevators can be overridden by the tower's central computers. Didn't you attend any of the briefings?"
"I leave all the heavy thinking to you, stud. Just find me something I can shoot at, and I'll be happy."
Owen decided there was nothing to be gained in answering that, and led the way out of the empty room and on to the stairwell. It was well posted and exactly where it was supposed to be, which cheered Owen up a bit. At least the intelligence reports seemed to be accurate. The stairwell was narrow, brightly lit, and looked as though it had last been whitewashed sometime in the previous century. After all, who used stairs anymore, except in emergencies? It was all deathly quiet, apart from the racket Owen and Hazel made clattering down the bare steel steps. No doubt the tower defenses were sounding all kinds of alarms, but that would be on the tower's private security channel, and Owen didn't have the time to search out which particular channel they were using that day. No doubt security changed it regularly. He would have. Hazel checked the lock at the bottom of the stairs, a simple combination mechanism, and sniffed disparagingly.
"This wouldn't stop a ten-year-old on Mistworld. I'll have it open in a few minutes."
"No," said Owen. "Let me try." He bent over the lock, studied it carefully, and then entered a short series of numbers. The lock clicked open. Owen straightened up and smiled at Hazel. "You got the boost from me; I got breaking and entering from you. Somewhat improved by the Maze's changes. Wonder what else we've got that we don't know about?"
"This is getting spooky," said Hazel. "At this rate, we'll end up with more augmentations than a Hadenman."
"Now, that is a disturbing thought. But it'll have to wait. When I open this door, everyone in the room beyond is a target. We don't have the time to deal with prisoners."
"Suits me," said Hazel. "Never did like tax collectors."
Owen put his shoulder to the heavy steel door, and it swung open inward with surprising speed. Five technicians looked up, startled, and barely had the time to draw breath to cry out before Hazel picked them all off with separate shots from her projectile weapon. Owen quickly swung the door shut behind them, and everything was quiet in the computer room. He was glad he hadn't had to use his disrupter to back Hazel up. Using an energy weapon in a confined space full of delicate equipment was rarely a good idea. He holstered his gun and leaned over the nearest body to make sure it was dead. He grimaced in spite of himself. Projectile weapons got the job done, but they were extremely messy. There was blood all over the floor and holes in the bodies big enough to stick his fist into. Disrupters tended to be much neater and cauterized their own wounds.
"Marvelous weapons," Hazel said happily, studying the wounds she'd made. "Don't you just love them?"
"Check they're all dead," said Owen flatly. "I don't want any surprises while we're working."
"Oh, sure," said Hazel. "You have a bash at the machines, and I'll guard your back. What I know about reprogramming computers could be engraved on my left thumbnail."
"It shouldn't be that complicated," Owen said hopefully, studying the terminals before him. "Jack Random and the Hadenmen worked out the programming between them. All I have to do is load the discs and let them run. If you'd like to cross your fingers at this point, feel free to do so."
He pulled up a chair and sat down before the massive bank of computers that covered the whole wall before him. Together with the machinery scattered throughout the room, these computers were responsible for setting and collecting the many taxes of the entire Empire. Trillions of credits came and went at these computers' commands every day. Decisions made here could be questioned by no one lower than the Empress Lionstone herself. That the Church of Christ the Warrior, quite possible the most paranoid religion of the time, trusted these computers to run its Tithing system as well, spoke volumes for the machinery's efficiency and security. They distributed the wealth of the Empire, with contributions from the lowest to the highest. Even the Families paid taxes through their business interests. It took a lot of money to run the Empi
re and keep Lionstone in the manner to which she'd become accustomed. Everyone trusted the computers implicitly. Of course, they'd never come up against Hadenman technology before. Few had. Owen grinned broadly. The entire financial base of the Empire ran through this room, and he, a despised outlaw, was about to bring it all crashing down in ruins.
He entered the necessary codes, removed the package of software discs from his hidden pocket, and slotted them into place. He paused, just to savor the moment, and then hit the final entry key. Nothing obvious happened. The machines hummed on as before. But deep within the database, changes were being made. First, extremely large sums were being diverted from the Empire coffers into previously prepared rebel accounts. Billions of credits, soon to be chasing from one short-lived bolt-hole to another, until their provenance was hopelessly lost and confused. It seemed only fair and right to Owen that the Empire should fund its own destruction.
And once it had completed that little task, the program would then set about erasing or at the very least hopelessly scrambling every scrap of data in the computers. No record would remain of who paid what, or when. In short, utter chaos. There was no copy of the records anywhere else, for security reasons. Lionstone believed very firmly in centralization. Having things in one place made them easier to control. And who would ever have thought that the mighty Clan Chojiro's extensive security systems could be defeated by two lowly individuals on gravity sleds, backed by Hadenman technology?
So once the news got out—and it would get out eventually—whatever the Empire did, a great many lesser people would suddenly find they were a great deal better off than they had been, courtesy of the rebellion. The Empire, on the other hand, would not only find itself suddenly short of working funds, it would also have to spend even more credits and man hours just trying to put together a picture of how badly off they were. It would be years before Lionstone could raise taxes again. And while the Empire was so preoccupied, the rebellion could get on with more serious projects.
"How long is this going to take?" said Hazel.
Owen looked back at her and shrugged. "Beats me. I did ask, but since no one's ever done this before, no one knows for sure. Basically, we just hang around here till the computer spits out the discs, and that should be it. Let's just hope it doesn't take too long. Clan Chojiro's security forces are undoubtably following standard procedure and working their way up the tower floor by floor even as we speak. They'll stop to secure each floor as they go, but even so it won't be that long before they come hammering on our door. Hopefully, the discs will be finished, and the underground representative Stevie Blue will have already made contact with us. Otherwise, we are in deep shit."
"I love it when you talk technical," said Hazel. She stopped and frowned suddenly. "What's the password for Stevie Blue? I can never remember things like that."
Owen paused, frowning. "Now, I knew it, until you asked me. What the hell is it? Oh, well, it'll come back to me."
And then they both stopped and looked sharply at the closed metal door. They hadn't heard anything yet, but they both sensed something. Another gift from the Madness Maze. Owen moved quickly over to the door, eased it open a crack, and listened intently. From not all that far away came the sound of massed booted feet crashing on steel steps, drawing steadily closer. Owen let the door close silently and backed away from it.
"Company's coming," he said flatly, not looking at Hazel. "Lots of them. Either they're not bothering to secure every floor, the cheats, or there's a hell of a lot more of them than we were led to believe."
"I knew this was going too smoothly," said Hazel. "Well, let them come. I could use a little exercise."
"Not for the first time, you're missing the point," said Owen. "If the security forces are already this close, how is Stevie Blue supposed to make contact with us?"
"Tricky," Hazel agreed. "I suppose we'll just have to kill all the security people, won't we?"
Owen looked at her. "You've become altogether too cocky since we survived the Maze. We're a lot more than we used to be, but we're not unbeatable."
"Speak for yourself, Deathstalker. We're stronger, faster, and sharper than any damn security guards. We can take them. It doesn't matter how many of them there are. You worry too much, Owen."
He shook his head sadly. "Cocky. Definitely cocky. Unfortunately, since we can't leave here yet, we have no choice but to let them come to us. Try not to get yourself killed, Hazel. I'd hate to have to start training another partner."
Hazel glared at him. "First, we are not partners, and second, if there's any training going on here, I'm the one that's doing it. If it weren't for me, you'd have been killed a dozen times over. I'll do the fighting, you watch for those discs to reappear. Once they're out we are gone."
"And Stevie Blue?"
"Can save his own ass. Serves him right for being late."
The sound of approaching feet was very close now. Owen hefted her two guns and stood facing the closed door. Owen hauled the dead technicians to one side, so he and Hazel would have room to maneuver, if they needed it. He got blood on his hands and sleeves, and wiped them thoroughly on the front of his jacket. He didn't want his hands to be slippery if he had to use his sword. Feet crashed on the floor outside, and the door swung inward as three guards put their shoulders to it. They paused a moment in the doorway as they took in Owen and Hazel and the blood on the floor, and that moment was all Owen needed to aim his disrupter and fire. The energy beam blasted a hole right through the first guard's chest and took out the man standing behind him as well. Hazel got the other one, her disrupter beam neatly separating the man's head from his body. And that was when the rest of the guards came crashing in, convinced their opponents' energy weapons could be useless now for the next two minutes. Owen and Hazel ducked down behind their personal force shields, and energy beams ricocheted around the room. Various pieces of equipment exploded and burst into flames. The guards put away their exhausted guns and pressed forward with drawn swords. And that was when Hazel lowered her force shield and opened up with her projectile weapon.
Explosive bullets tore through the men in the room, ripping them apart and throwing their lifeless bodies aside. Blood flew in the air, and the roar of the gun was deafening in the confined space. The guards could get through the door only a half dozen at a time, and the projectile weapon cut them to shreds while they were still struggling to get into the room. It had been designed that way to make the room easier to defend against mass rebel attacks. The guards had no force shields—too expensive. They relied on numbers. And all too soon Hazel's gun ran out of bullets and fell silent. Hazel swore briefly and holstered the gun. The guards came crashing in again, and Owen and Hazel went to meet them with cold steel in their hands.
Swords rang on swords, but though the guards outnumbered the outlaws a dozen to one, it was still no contest. The guards were already confused and demoralized, with so many of them already dead, and Owen and Hazel both had the boost. Owen's smile stretched into a death's-head grin as blood roared in his veins and thundered in his head. His enemies seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he cut them down easily and gloried in their deaths. He'd always been fast when boosting, but the Maze had made him inhumanly fast. The guards fell quickly, butchered like so many helpless animals in the slaughterhouse. And then there were no more targets, only unmoving bodies on the bloody floor.
Owen checked that the room was empty—apart from him and Hazel and the lifeless bodies—peered out the door into the empty corridor, and then dropped out of boost. He shuddered helplessly as the reaction hit him. For a few fleeting moments he had been almost a god, and now he was only human again, and it hurt. His muscles ached from the strain he'd put them through, and his movements seemed unbearably slow and sluggish. He breathed deeply, concentrating as he'd been taught, and his senses quickly returned. The Deathstalker Family had spent generations perfecting the surge of strength and speed that was boost, but even so the human body could stand it only for short
periods. It burned up the nervous system with a remorseless appetite, and there was always a price to be paid afterward. And even above that, there was the terrible joy of the boost, wild and overpowering, more tempting and addictive than any drug could ever be. The boost: pride and curse of the Deathstalker Clan. And Hazel was caught up in it and burning so very, very brightly.
She hacked and cut at the dead bodies before her, laughing breathlessly, her face slick with sweat. Her eyes were wide and feral, fixed on some inner private Valhalla. Owen called to her, but she didn't hear him. He moved toward her and she spun on him, sword at the ready, her grin terribly eager. He sheathed his sword, switched off his shield, and held out his hands to her, so she could see they were empty. Her head cocked a little to one side as he spoke to her soothingly. He took another step closer, and she lunged forward, her sword flying toward his gut. Owen tapped his boost, just for a second. Just long enough for him to sidestep so that her sword flashed past him, missing his side by less than an inch. He clamped his arm down hard so that the sword was held in place and hugged Hazel to him. She fought him fiercely, and Owen knew he couldn't hold her for more than a few moments.
He held her blazing eyes with his and reached out to her through the mental link they shared, the Maze-given connection of the undermind. He couldn't reach her with words, or thoughts, only the simple truth of his presence, who and what he was, and how he felt about her. Her mind was bright and dazzling, darting like quicksilver, sharp and deadly.