Deathstalker Honor

  "Hell, he and the bitch have probably already landed by now. I'm not as well connected as I used to be. Word takes longer to reach me these days."

  "The Deathstalker can't be here," said the Kartakis. "The security systems would have taken out his ship. Or the sensors would have warned us—"

  "Don't be silly," said Valentine. "This is Owen Deathstalker we're talking about." He looked back at the Shreck. "You are still otherwise on top of things at your end?"

  "Of course. You supply the product, I've got people set up to move it." Gregor scowled unhappily. "Never thought I'd end up a drug runner at my time of life."

  "I'd have thought it was an occupation you were ideally suited for," said the Silvestri, idly paring his fingernails with the edge of one of his knives. "But then, everyone rises to their true level eventually."

  "At least I'm not a fugitive from what passes for justice these days," snapped Gregor. "I still have my Tower and my people."

  "But you're not a Lord anymore," said the Romanov, in between sucking chicken grease off his fingers. "We haven't allowed Blue Block and that traitor Random to strip our rightful heritage from us."

  "And we will be Lords again," said the Kartakis flatly. "Even if we have to kill everyone else in the Empire who says otherwise."

  "Big talk from a little man," said Gregor, secure in the knowledge that the Kartakis was light-years away. "We tried fighting. We lost. Our only hope now is the Wolfe's plan. And God help us all if it goes wrong."

  "If it goes right, I'll make gods of you all," said Valentine calmly. "We will return in glory and know power beyond that even Lionstone wielded. But that's the future. Tell me of the present, Gregor. How goes the cabal?"

  "Growing all the time," said Gregor. "No one's willing to come out in public, but more and more aristocrats and politicians are supplying people and money to help expedite your plan. No telling how many of them will actually stand up and fight when the time comes, but I'll settle for them just abstaining at the right moment. The rebels and their pet Parliament may think they're running things, but their precious new regime is built on sand."

  "And the sands of time are running out for all of them," said Valentine. "How I do love a good metaphor. Now, be a good boy, Gregor, and make yourself scarce. I must think. I have to prepare a suitable welcome for dear Owen and the redoubtable Hazel d'Ark."

  "Watch yourself," said Gregor. "They aren't human anymore. If they ever were. They'll take a lot of killing."

  "If it was easy," said Valentine, "there'd be no fun in it, would there? Goodbye, Gregor." He shut down the viewscreen.

  "Let them come," said the Silvestri. "We can handle them."

  "We can," said the Kartakis. "I'm not so sure about you."

  Carlos Silvestri flushed pinkly, a knife in each hand. "I can hold up my end."

  "Relax," said the Romanov, rooting through the remains of his dinner in case he'd missed anything. "With all the guards and security we've set up here, we could hold off an entire army till they starved to death."

  "Anyone else maybe," said the Silvestri. "But this is the Deathstalker and the d'Ark woman. I've heard stories about them, of the things they did during the street fighting on Golgotha. Someone said they died and brought themselves back to life."

  "Stories," said Athos Kartakis. "There are always stories."

  "In this case they might just be true," said Valentine. "But not to worry, dear comrades. Let them come how they will. They'll find nothing here but death." He laughed softly at his little joke. The others didn't look too appreciative of his humor, but then, they rarely did. Valentine's sense of humor had changed and evolved along with his alchemical transformation, and wasn't to everyone's taste anymore. He sighed, and got to his feet, the signal that dinner was officially over. He dabbed daintily at his scarlet lips with a napkin and started toward the door. The three aristocrats made varying sounds of alarm despite themselves. Valentine took his time turning back to face them.

  "Yes, dear friends? Was there something else?"

  "The drug," said the Kartakis stonily. "We need the drug."

  "Of course," said Valentine. "What was I thinking? It's time for your daily dose, isn't it? How very forgetful of me."

  He strolled back to the table and took a small phial of pills from his pocket. The three men who had once been Lords and masters of their destiny looked at the phial and tried not to appear too desperate. Valentine was quite capable of dragging out his little game for ages if he felt like it. He could make them do anything, anything at all, at this time of the day, and they all knew it.

  The esper drug had originally been discovered by a small group of scientists looking for something else. To their surprise, they found they had created a drug that could give everyone who took it regularly a small but real gift for telepathy. The original Lord High Dram, the Widowmaker, had seized control of the drug and the scientists, and put it to his own use, but his plans, like his imagination, were somewhat limited. After his death Valentine took control of the drug and the single laboratory that produced it. There was of course a catch or two. First, the drug was highly addictive. Once you'd started taking it, you had to continue for the rest of your life, or die horribly. And second, a small percentage of the people who took it died immediately. Valentine had weighed the pros and cons, but not for long. It was only a drug, after all, and Valentine had never believed in letting a chemical get the better of him.

  The three ex-Lords had also taken the drug and survived. It had been the Wolfe's condition for allowing them to join him in mass-producing the drug. A drug that could be used as a weapon to undermine and then control first the Parliament and then the rest of the civilized worlds. For whoever owned and controlled production of such an endlessly addictive drug would have complete and utter control over everyone who took it, for as long as they lived. And for those few who might try to hold out against it, it would be easy enough to slip them the drug unnoticed. Everyone has to eat and drink, and one dose was all it would take.

  Valentine had always believed the simplest plans were the best.

  So he handed out the precious pills, and the Silvestri and the Romanov and the Kartakis swallowed them down, and everyone was reminded of just who was in charge of things in the old Deathstalker Standing. Valentine had the grace not to smile triumphantly at them. They would have liked to kill him for the secret, and regain control of their lives, but they didn't dare. They knew that if he died, they would die too, and however badly he died, they'd die worse.

  "I trust you enjoyed the dinner," he said smoothly. "Something a little different today."

  The three aristocrats looked suspiciously at the dinner table, trying to remember if anything had seemed out of the ordinary.

  "No, no," said Valentine, correctly interpreting their expressions. "I wouldn't waste any of my special concoctions on such an unappreciative audience. Rather, I thought we might all enjoy a taste of the last real produce exported from the food planet of Virimonde."

  For a long moment none of them got it. There was no food left on the planet anymore. Everyone knew that. And then the Silvestri's eyes widened, and he put a hand to his mouth as all the color drained from his face. "The dead… the people of Virimonde… we've been eating…"

  "Yes, you have," said Valentine. "And with such good appetite too. Ah, me; so many taboos, so little time. Enjoy the after-dinner mints, gentlemen."

  With a cheery smile and a modest inclination of the head, Valentine Wolfe left to plan the surprises he had in mind for Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d'Ark.

  The great Deathstalker castle had been built on a huge promontory of solid granite. From the front and the two sides, open plains stretched away in all directions. To the rear there was a solid drop of hundreds of feet, ending in nasty, jagged rocks lashed by a vicious incoming tide. Which made the Standing both extremely easy to defend and very hard to sneak into. Perfect security thinking. Though that wasn't why Owen had chosen to put his Standing there. He just liked the vi
ew.

  Of course, he'd never expected to have to break into his own Standing, so when he and Hazel finally came in sight of his old home, they had to stop and do some hard thinking. A frontal or side approach was out of the question; their special nature might make them invisible to the castle's sensors, but they were still perfectly visible to the naked eye. And Owen didn't share Hazel's faith in their invulnerability. So after a certain amount of argument, they finally decided the only practical way was around the back. It meant retreating back some of the way they'd already come, and a slow descent down to the wave-lashed shore at the foot of the great promontory, but eventually they stood together amid the flying spray, looking up at hundreds of feet of bare granite wall.

  "There used to be birds here," said Owen quietly. "Or things very like birds. Soaring and wheeling on the wind, crying out in the saddest voices you ever heard. And now they're all gone. They even killed the damned birds."

  "Just another reason to take revenge," said Hazel. "Nothing like a little stoked rage to warm a body on a long, cold climb."

  "It's very cold here," said Owen. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again."

  He started up the dark granite wall, climbing slowly and carefully, and after a moment Hazel followed him. The wind rushed around them, trying to pluck them from the sheer rock face, but couldn't budge them, so it just settled for blowing tears from their eyes. Owen concentrated on the wall before him, moving confidently from one foot and hand hold to another.

  After the first hundred feet, he decided very firmly that he wasn't going to look down again till he was safely inside the castle. Great views aside, he'd never been fond of heights. And yet he moved increasingly easily up the bare rock face, his hands and feet instinctively finding holds and supports he would have sworn weren't there till he needed them. Not for the first time, it was as though his body knew how to do something without having to be told. Owen brooded over that as he climbed. He'd become able to do all kinds of things that he never could before, since he passed through the Madness Maze, and emerged so much more than he had been. The talents came and went, and he couldn't always be sure they'd be there when he needed them. And even after all this time he was no nearer understanding their nature. He looked across at Hazel, skittering calmly up the smooth granite surface like an insect on a pane of glass, and had to look away. He really hoped he didn't look like that. He made himself look again, and found Hazel looking back at him.

  "I know what you're thinking," she said easily.

  "Wouldn't be the first time," said Owen. "I assume you had no prior knowledge of rock climbing before today either?"

  "Got it in one. It's as though my hands and feet know where to go without me looking, as if they've always known. Spooky. I wonder what else we could do if we just put our minds to it. I've always dreamed of flying…"

  "I wouldn't try that out just now," said Owen. "Those rocks below look to be particularly unforgiving."

  "Good point."

  They climbed some more in silence. Owen couldn't help noticing that neither of them were even breathing hard.

  "Do you ever think about the things we can do?" he said finally. "What we're becoming? We're not espers. I had a number of major players from the esper underground scan me, at my request. They had no idea at all how I'm able to do the things I do."

  "I try not to think about it too much," said Hazel. "We were given gifts. Gifts that have kept us alive in situations where anyone else would have perished horribly. They helped us overthrow the Empire. Why look such a gift horse in the mouth?"

  "Just because something has a leg at each corner and eats hay, it doesn't necessarily mean it's a horse. Espers, for all their powers, are still human. That's one of the reasons we fought the rebellion. But we were changed by an alien device. Who knows what it was really intended to do, what it was supposed to produce?"

  "Transfiguration," said Hazel slowly. "It made us… better than we were. That was its function. I remember that much."

  "But what do we mean by better? A human definition or an alien one?"

  "Why the hell are you asking me? You're the brains in this partnership. I just hit things."

  Owen sighed. "Because I'm tired of asking myself questions that I can't answer. Or else coming up with answers that are just too damned disturbing. Our only hope of enlightenment was the Maze itself, and the Maze is gone. Destroyed. And with it went all our hopes of discovering exactly what was done to us and why."

  "So why torment yourself?" said Hazel, stopping to look at him as she realized he'd stopped climbing.

  "Because I'm scared of what I might be becoming," said Owen. "I'm scared I might be losing my Humanity. Leaving it behind. Have you ever thought we might end up as distant from ordinary men and women as the Hadenmen or the Wampyr or the AIs from Shub? That we might become so… alien that we might forget who and what we used to be?"

  "Stop it, Owen," said Hazel sharply. "You're just spooking yourself. I don't feel any different from the person I used to be. I still believe in the same things, want the same things, hate the same things. I'm still me. My abilities just make it that much easier for me to achieve the things I want."

  She started climbing again, and after a moment Owen followed her. "I think it's subtler than that," he said finally. "One small change might not mean much, but put enough of them together… I mean, we don't even have the first idea of how our powers work. Why they come and go the way they do. Sometimes we're just fighters with an edge, and other times we're all but gods. We're not in control of our powers. They control us."

  "Look," said Hazel. "If you're trying to spook me now, you're succeeding, so cut it out. Our condition didn't exactly come with a user's manual, so all we can hope to do is learn by doing."

  "It's dangerous to use any new weapon without checking out the small print. There could be side effects we haven't noticed yet. Maybe we're using up our lives. Burning up all our years to come. The energy that powers our abilities has to come from somewhere. The candle that burns twice as brightly burns half as long. And we have burned brighter than suns."

  "God, you're in a morbid mood today. I feel fine. I feel better than fine. Maybe we'll live forever."

  "And another thing, why did we all come out of the Maze with different abilities?"

  "Why not?" said Hazel reasonably. "We were all different people."

  "Yes, but… some of what we do is similar to esp. Jack and Ruby are firestarters, and Giles could teleport. I've got something like psychokinesis. But how the hell do you do what you do? What are these different versions of yourself that you're able to summon up during a fight?"

  "Damned if I know," said Hazel. "I just call, and they come. None of them ever stuck around long enough afterward to answer questions. Giles thought they were other versions of me from different time tracks—people I might have become if things had gone differently."

  "Yeah, but time tracks are just a theory," said Owen. "No one's ever been able to prove the existence of different dimensions, let alone make contact with them. Maybe the other yous are just products of your imagination, made real by the power within you."

  "No way," said Hazel firmly. "I've seen some of these other mes. I don't have that good an imagination."

  "Yes, but…"

  "Owen, I don't know! And this is not the time or the place to be having a discussion. Now, stop asking questions and get your ass in gear, or I'll get behind you and kick your butt all the way up."

  Owen considered this. "You would, wouldn't you?"

  "Damn right. Now, shift it."

  They climbed the rest of the way in silence, eventually coming to the great circular opening in the granite wall that led to the massive caves burrowed out under the Standing. Owen used to keep his personal flyers and other vehicles there when he was in residence. It made sense to assume that Valentine and his cronies had docked their ships in the caves too, which meant the opening would still be clear. And Owen knew of a secret passage that led directly from the ma
in cave to the master bedroom.

  "A secret passage?" Hazel had said.

  "Oh, yes. I used it to escape from the castle when my people first turned on me."

  "And no one but you knows about it?"

  "It's a Family secret. The only other person I ever told was David, and he's dead now."

  They moved silently up to the lip of the opening and clung to the cold stone, still as limpets, as they listened for any sign that their presence had been noted. After a while Owen gestured to Hazel that he was going to move up over the ledge and into the cave opening. She nodded, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. Theoretically, there could be any number of armed guards present, looking after the parked ships, but it didn't seem likely. By any normal standards, the caves were unreachable. Unfortunately for Valentine, Owen and Hazel hadn't been in hailing distance of normal for some time now. Owen took a firm grip on the granite ledge, and hauled himself up and over and into the cave in one swift, fluid motion. He was up on his feet in a second, disrupter in hand, searching for a target, but all was quiet. Four luxurious yachts stood together, powered down, along with a handful of single-man flyers, but otherwise the place was deserted. Not a guard in sight. Owen padded stealthily forward, ears pricked for the slightest sound, but all he could hear was his own breathing. He lowered his gun and breathed a little more easily.

  "All clear, Hazel."

  She was with him in a moment, hurrying across the ceramic floor to stand beside him, projectile gun in one hand, grenade in the other. She glared suspiciously about her. "There ought to be someone here. It doesn't make sense to leave expensive ships like these just standing around unguarded."

  "Who's going to steal them?" said Owen reasonably. "Valentine and his private army are the only people here."

  "What about security cameras?"

  "Oz still has secret access codes for all the castle's security computers. Right now he's editing their signals so we don't appear. This was all covered in the planning sessions. Hazel. I do wish you'd attend the briefings."

  "What, and do you out of the fun of explaining everything to me? You'd never forgive me." She turned slowly around in a circle, checking the corners and shadows. "I still don't like this. It's too easy. If I was as guilty of as many nasty things as Valentine, I'd want all my exits and entrances thoroughly guarded."