A viewscreen chimed, and Lionstone quietened Silence with a sharp wave of her hand. She activated the screen, and General Shaw Beckett appeared. He looked tired, beaten down. There was chaos on his ship’s bridge behind him, with people shouting and cursing and running back and forth. Alarm sirens were sounding. Beckett looked steadily out of the screen at Lionstone, and raised his voice to be sure his words could be heard clearly over the bedlam.
“Your Majesty, I have done my best to defend your Empire and yourself with all the powers at my command, but I regret to inform you that I have failed. The war in space is over. My fleet is scattered and destroyed, my ground forces have been overrun on all the worlds I can still get reports from, and I have nothing left to fight with. I can see no scheme or strategy that might enable me to overcome these reverses. Therefore, in order to save as many of my people as possible, in space and on the ground, I have contacted the rebel leaders and offered them my surrender.
“My advice to Your Majesty is to do the same, for the best possible concessions, while you still can. I will hand over control of the fleet to whatever authority replaces Your Majesty. I’m sorry, Lionstone, but I have my men to think of. There’s been enough death and suffering. Who knows; perhaps this was all for the best anyway. Good luck, Your Majesty. If we both survive, perhaps we’ll meet again in happier times.”
He signed off, and the viewscreen went blank while Lionstone was still drawing breath to scream abuse at him. She stared unseeingly about her for a long moment, beating on the arms of her Throne with her fists. The maids stirred uneasily below her, picking up on her mood. Finally her gaze fell on Silence and Frost, and she nodded slowly.
“I am surrounded by incompetents and traitors. But I still have you. My secret weapons. I place command of all my forces in your hands, Captain and Investigator. Defend the Empire. Slaughter the scum rioting in my streets. Don’t dare fail me.” And the rage boiled up in her again, and her voice rose in a frustrated scream. “Is there no one else to defend me from the rabble?”
“Well, there’s always me,” said Alexander Storm.
Everyone looked round, startled, as the old rebel came strolling unhurriedly through the horrors of Hell. Jack Random walked behind him, pulling along a heavily chained and restrained Ruby Journey by a leash around her neck. When she tried to slow down or pull back, Random just tightened the leash till she couldn’t breathe, and had no choice but to hurry and catch up. Alexander Storm came to a halt a respectful distance away from the maids, signaled Random to halt, and then bowed courteously to Lionstone and the others present.
“Your Majesty, honored guests; may I present my two prisoners, those most damnable rebels and traitors, Jack Random and Ruby Journey. Yours to do with as you wish.”
There was a long silence, and then the Empress Lionstone laughed and clapped her hands together girlishly. “You see, my friends? It’s not over till I say it’s over.”
Owen Deathstalker, his ancestor Giles, and Hazel d’Ark had arrived in the great antechamber that was the only access to Lionstone’s Court. A huge open chamber of gleaming steel and brass, with huge intricately carved pillars of gold and silver, it stretched away in all directions, vast and empty and echoing. Normally it would have been full of the movers and shakers of Empire, all waiting impatiently for the great steel doors to open, and their chance to gain the ear of the Empress. But now the great antechamber stood deserted and abandoned. Owen and Giles and Hazel stood before the closed double doors, and looked at them thoughtfully.
“Bound to be locked,” said Owen.
“Oh, bound to be,” said Hazel. “I take it you don’t have any codes for this?”
“Afraid not,” said Owen. “Don’t suppose you brought any explosives with you, by any chance?”
“Afraid not,” said Hazel. “Guess we’ll just have to smash our way through by brute force and ignorance.”
“Get on with it,” said Giles. “I’ve come a long way to be here, and I have much to do.”
Owen and Hazel exchanged a glance, but before they could say anything, there was a bright flash of light and Jenny Psycho, Toby Shreck, and Flynn appeared suddenly out of nowhere. Jenny surrounded herself with a psionic force shield, then dropped it a moment later as she realized no one was attacking her. Toby and Flynn checked to see that their camera was still with them and looked around with open mouths. Toby realized who was standing before him, and where he was, and gestured urgently for Flynn to start filming.
“What the hell are you doing here?” said Hazel, not all that welcomingly.
“The Mater Mundi wanted us here,” said Jenny Psycho. “Any problems, take it up with her. Apparently she wants the downfall of the Empress shown live throughout the Empire. Why she wants me here as well . . . isn’t yet clear to me. No doubt I’ll find out shortly. So, bring me up to date. What lies between us and the Court?”
“Well, basically, these doors,” said Owen. “Personally, I thought there’d be more security than this.”
He broke off and they all looked round as they heard the sound of approaching running feet. There seemed to be a hell of a lot of them. Those who had them drew swords and guns. Jenny gathered her power around her till it crackled on the air. Flynn sent his camera up to the ceiling, made sure it was pointing in the right direction, and then moved quickly to join Toby in hiding behind the others. He’d barely made it when a small army of Lionstone’s personal guards came charging into the antechamber, armed with drawn swords and personal force shields. Owen took a firm grip on his sword. There had to be at least two hundred of them. Hazel glared at him.
You had to open your big mouth.”
“Surrender!” yelled the officer in charge of the guards. “You’re massively outnumbered. You don’t stand a chance.”
Owen grinned at Giles. “He doesn’t know us very well, does he?”
“Finish them quickly,” said Giles. “Lionstone could be trying to distract us while she makes her escape.”
“Can I just point out, in an extremely nonthreatening way, that Flynn and I are very definitely noncombatants,” said Toby, from the rear.
“Kill them all,” snapped the guard officer, and led the way forward.
Jenny Psycho levitated into the air, spread her arms wide, and lightning blazed from her hands, striking down the first dozen guards. Hazel d’Ark shimmered, and suddenly there were a dozen of her. Hazels that might have been from other timestreams, all of them grinning nastily at the prospect of battle. Giles teleported back and forth among the guards, striking men down and disappearing again before he could be attacked. Owen smiled and shook his head. Show-offs. He hefted his sword, boosted, and went to meet the guards with death in his eyes. Two men and two women went to war against an army, and the numbers were no problem to them, no problem at all.
At first. The rebels cut their way through the guards with grim efficiency, and soon dead bodies lay everywhere, getting underfoot. The rebels killed and killed, but still the guards kept coming. Owen fought on, swinging his sword with both hands, and no one could stand against him. He was boosting, and strength and speed sang in his arms, but for every guard that fell, it seemed there were two more pressing forward to take his place. They swarmed around him, coming at him from all directions, and soon there wasn’t enough room to swing his sword anymore, and all he could do was cut and stab. Backed by his boosted strength and speed, such blows were still devastating and deadly, but with enemies at his back as well as his front he couldn’t relax for a moment. He fought on, spinning this way and that, holding his enemies at bay, knowing that if slowed down or hesitated even for a moment, he was a dead man.
Quick glances around suggested his friends weren’t doing any better. The Hazels had become separated, scattered the length of the antechamber, but still fighting furiously. Owen had to smile. It seemed that whatever reality the various Hazels came from, she was always a hell of a scrapper. One of the Hazels was forced back in his direction, and Owen was glad to see it was the
original. They moved quickly to fight back-to-back, and Owen was happy to have her there. They’d always made an excellent team.
He could see Giles fighting some distance away, roaring his ancient battle cries and bringing his huge long sword down like a hammer, guards surrounding him like attack dogs struggling to bring down a bear. He’d had to stop teleporting. There wasn’t enough space left among the fighters for him to teleport into. It seemed to Owen that there were even more guards now than when they’d started, for all the dead bodies cluttering up the floor. They must be bringing in reinforcements. The cheats. Jenny Psycho was still hanging in the air, wreathed in lightning, but didn’t seem to be lashing out with it anymore. This puzzled Owen till he saw the guards bringing in esp-blocker after esp-blocker, piling up the brains in their glass cases, trying to shut down Jenny’s amplified powers by sheer attrition.
And for the first time it occurred to Owen that just maybe this was as far as he was going to get. He’d come so far, fought his way through so many obstacles, but even he had his limitations. Even a boosted man couldn’t stand off a whole army. He remembered how it had all started, so long ago now, with him standing alone against a crowd of his own turncoat guards on Virimonde, outnumbered and about to die. Maybe he’d come full circle; only this time Hazel wasn’t going to be able to save him. She was as deep in trouble as he was. It seemed crazy to Owen that after all he’d been through, he was finally going to fall to a bunch of armed guards, just because there were so many of them. He reached inside himself, trying to find the power he’d used on Mistworld to bring a whole building down, but there was nothing there. Nothing came to answer his call, no matter how desperately he tried. And he had no idea why.
He was soaked in sweat now, and he had to keep blinking it out of his eyes as it ran down his face. He was breathing hard, and it seemed to him that he wasn’t quite as fast as he had been. Some of the guards’ blows were beginning to get through. Just a minor cut here and there, barely felt in his boosted condition, but a wound was a wound and blood was blood. Enough blood loss would slow him down, despite the boost. And the boost wouldn’t last forever. Beyond a certain point, the flame that burned so brightly would start to consume him. Just as it had on Mistworld. He cut and hacked and blocked blows from every direction. He was a Deathstalker, and guards fell dead and dying all around him. He could hear Hazel grunting and bumping against his back as she fought, so he knew she was still with him. But over on the other side of the antechamber, he saw another Hazel with dark skin and dreadlocks go down suddenly under a dozen hacking swords, and though he watched as long as he could, she didn’t rise again. Giles was backed up against a wall, cut in a dozen places, blood streaming down his face from a long cut on his temple. There was no sign of Jenny Psycho anywhere.
And then he heard Hazel cry out in shock and pain behind him, and her back slammed against his for a moment before she fell to her knees. Owen spun around, swinging his sword with all his strength, forcing the guards back. Hazel sat slumped at his feet, bent over a gut wound. She’d dropped her sword. She was trying to hold the great ragged wound together by wrapping her arms tightly around her, but blood was pouring out of her. There was already a great pool of it forming around her. Owen knew a death wound when he saw it. He tried to say her name, but couldn’t seem to get his breath. He dropped out of boost, and his sword arm fell. The guards rushed in. And all the rage and horror rose up in Owen, igniting his power once again, filling him with a blazing energy that would not be denied. He gave himself up to it, and it roared out of him like an unstoppable tide. The guards nearest him were consumed in a moment, like moths in a flame, and then more died screaming as the energy rushed on. The guards tried to turn and run, but it was upon them in seconds, destroying them all without quarter or mercy. In the space of a few seconds, every guard in the antechamber was dead, and only Giles and Jenny, Toby and Flynn and a handful of Hazels were left standing. Owen shut the power down, looked at all the dead, and didn’t give a damn.
He sank down beside Hazel, and took her gently in his arms. She laid her head against his chest, and he cradled her to him. She felt very light in his arms, as though she was already drifting away from him. He was quickly soaked in the blood leaking out of her, but he didn’t notice. He tried reaching for the power again, but there was no response. Whatever the Madness Maze had given him, it was a thing of death and destruction, and not healing. He could slay an army, but he couldn’t save the one person who mattered to him most. His chest was tight, and he couldn’t get his breath. Hazel lifted her head slowly, and tried to smile up at him. Her teeth were red with blood. Owen started to cry, great rasping sobs that shook his whole body. Hazel tried to say something to him, and then her breath went out of her in a series of shudders, and she lay dead in his arms. Owen held her close and rocked her like a sleeping child.
“I did it for you,” he tried to say past his tears. “I did it all for you, Hazel.”
He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t look up. He had nothing to say to anyone. And then someone with Hazel’s voice said his name. He stopped crying, a wild hope jumping in his heart, but it was only when the dead Hazel disappeared from his arms that he finally believed it. He made himself look up, and there was Hazel d’Ark standing over him. The real original, this time. He scrambled to his feet, and then just stood there and stared at her, afraid to touch her in case she disappeared, too. Finally she reached out and took him in her arms, and he hugged her fiercely to him, like a drowning man clinging to the only thing that could save him. They stood that way for a long time, both of them breathing hard.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Owen said finally. “I really thought I’d lost you.”
“It’s all right, Owen,” said Hazel. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”
After a while they let go and stepped back to look at each other. Owen wiped the last of the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Hazel smiled at him awkwardly. She looked around at the dead bodies heaped on the antechamber floor, and nodded, impressed.
“Way to go, aristo. Remind me never to get you angry at me.”
“Never happen,” said Owen, his voice still just a little unsteady. “Hazel, I . . .”
“I know. But we can talk about that later. Right now, we still have an Empire to overthrow.”
Owen shook his head. “It’s always business first with you, isn’t it, Hazel?”
Jenny and Giles came forward to join them. Jenny had been busy smashing the esp-blockers, and Giles had tied a handkerchief round his head to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t the cleanest of handkerchiefs, but Owen didn’t think he’d say anything. With the blood still drying on his face, the old warrior looked not unlike a pirate of old.
“Nice show, Deathstalker,” said Jenny briskly. “I’m impressed. Are you sure you’re not the Mater Mundi in disguise?”
“Positive,” said Owen. “Whatever I’m becoming, it’s not an esper. It’s . . . more than that.”
“Still, you did well, kinsman,” said Giles. “You were wasted as a scholar, boy.”
Toby and Flynn emerged from the alcove where they’d been hiding, and hurried over to join the others, Flynn’s camera tagging along behind them.
“We’re fine, too, just in case anybody cares,” said Toby, just a little hurt.
“Oh, we never worried about you,” said Hazel. “Everyone knows journalists are harder to kill than cockroaches.”
And then, by some unspoken agreement, they all turned and looked at the great steel double doors that led into Lionstone’s Court. It was very quiet in the antechamber, as though even the dead were waiting to see what would happen next.
“Do we knock?” said Hazel. “Or do we blast our way in?”
“I don’t think we need to knock,” said Giles. “Lionstone knows we’re here. She also knows she can’t keep us out.”
As if on cue, the doors swung slowly open, silent for all their massive size and weight. Bloodred light spilled o
ut into the antechamber, along with the stench of blood and brimstone. Owen and Hazel started forward, sword and gun in hand, and they all walked forward into Hell.
In Court, before the Iron Throne, Alexander Storm gave in to his need to strut a bit. His existence as an Imperial agent deep within the rebel structure had of necessity involved hiding who and what he really was, so now he took the opportunity to show off a little. The Empress was smiling down at him approvingly, and Dram and Valentine looked quite jealous. Razor and the SummerIsle stared coldly at him from their positions just behind the Throne, but Storm didn’t care about their opinions. Razor was an Investigator, the Kid was a psychopath. Silence and Frost and Stelmach didn’t matter either. They were renowned for failing the Empress, whereas he had succeeded brilliantly.
“I’ve been an Imperial agent ever since the rebels got their heads handed to them on Cold Rock,” he said proudly to his audience. “I saw Jack fall and be taken, and knew that was the end of any real hopes for the rebellion. And I’d fought for so very long, with nothing to show for it. So I surrendered and struck a deal. It wasn’t difficult. They were glad to have me. They recognized my worth. And all these years I’ve wormed my way deeper and deeper into the heart of the underground, trusted by one damn fool after another, sabotaging and undermining their operations pretty much at will. No one every suspected me. I was Alexander Storm, the great rebel hero, friend and companion to the legendary Jack Random.
“I was a bit worried when Jack turned up again, but the mind techs had done a good job on him. They saw to it he never remembered much of his time on Cold Rock, let alone my desertion and turning. He never even remembered how I helped the mind techs torture and condition him, to prove my loyalty to my new masters. So when he reappeared, and I finally had to meet him because putting it off any longer might have seemed suspicious. Well, it was all old friends together again, and he never saw past my smile to see the contempt in my eyes. After that, it was just a case of waiting for the best time to use the control words the mind techs had planted in Jack’s subconscious. And here he is now, standing before Your Majesty, harmless as a newborn kitten.”