"No," said Rose. She didn't look up from polishing her sword with a piece of rag. "But then, I wasn't in the Maze for long. It didn't want me. I could feel it inside my mind, trying to change all the things that make me me. But I wouldn't give in. I could feel myself breaking up, being torn apart. The Maze was killing me." She looked at Brett suddenly, and he almost jumped. It was never an easy thing to face Rose's cold, considering gaze. "You saved my life by bringing me out, Brett. I'll never forget that. Wherever you go, and whatever you decide to do, I'll always be with you."
"Wonderful," Brett said heavily. "So, do you feel any more sane now?"
Rose thought about it for a while. "No, not particularly."
"I don't know why I don't just shoot myself in the head now, and get it over with," said Brett.
John Silence moved off a way to be on his own, and studied the sleeping Owen. For two hundred years, Silence had been the only Maze survivor in the Empire. (Tobias Moon had disappeared on Lachrymae Christi, and Carrion had become an Ashrai.) Now Owen was back from the dead, and Silence had to wonder if other ghosts from his past might return to haunt him. The dead should stay dead, and allow the living to get on with their lives. That was at least partly why he'd stopped being John Silence, and became the much less important Samuel Chevron. But now Owen was back, and there was a whole bunch of new Maze alumni. For all his encouraging words to Jesamine, Silence was still trying to decide whether that was a good thing or not. He felt… relieved, because it meant he didn't have to shoulder the responsibility of being Humanity's guardian alone anymore, but there was no denying Owen's great discovery about the Terror had changed everything. Brett was right, he thought tiredly. We all have monsters within us, and the kind of power the Maze bestows could find and feed the monster in anyone. Eventually. (Though truth be told, he'd never much liked or trusted Hazel d'Ark, back in the day.)
The first batch of Maze survivors had changed everything. They overthrew an Empress, converted the AIs of Shub, and restored the Recreated. They made the Golden Age possible. But that was different people, in a different time. Silence approved of Lewis and, to an extent, Jesamine; but he didn't like or trust Brett Random or Rose Constantine. They were both dangerous, and not in a good way. Silence scowled thoughtfully. It might be kinder for Humanity to kill them both now, while they still could be killed… but he knew he couldn't do that. They had to have their chance, like Jack Random and Ruby Journey, who both came good in the end.
And there was always Lewis. When all else fails, trust a Deathstalker to do the right thing.
Owen wasn't actually in a coma. He'd shut himself down, turned his thoughts inwards, so that he could take some time out to think things through, without interruption. He had a lot to think about, little of it good. He replayed in his mind the scattered memories he'd picked up during his brief mental contact with the Terror. Hazel d'Ark's memories.
He watched again as she received the news of his death, alone on the bridge of the Sunstrider, after the defeat of the Recreated. His heart ached for her as she seemed to shrink and crumple under the weight of the news. She curled up in her command chair like a child, hugging her knees to her chest. He'd never seen her cry before. And then she uncurled abruptly, to howl with rage and loss and grief. She worked the control panels with angry, awkward hands, and the Sunstrider sped away, alone into the dark, speeding faster and faster as though trying to leave the terrible news behind her. And Owen listened as she spoke aloud the words she'd never found the courage to say to him in person.
Owen, you lied to me. You promised me we'd always be together, for ever and ever. Oh, Owen, I never told you I loved you…
It was probably right there and then, that her mind began to fall apart. She'd been through so much already, and this was just one blow too many. Torn and shattered by pain and misery, she stalked back and forth on the bridge as her ship plunged aimlessly through hyperspace, talking aloud to herself in an increasingly loud and irrational voice. The air slammed and rippled around her as the energies of her slowly disintegrating mind ran loose. And there was no telling what she might have done, or what might have happened next, if Shub hadn't contacted her.
The main viewscreen on the bridge came suddenly alive, showing a stylized silver face, and Hazel looked at it with distracted, fever-bright eyes.
"We are the AIs of Shub," the stylized face said. "Please remain calm. We no longer consider ourselves the enemies of Humanity, but rather your newfound friends. Our eyes have been opened. We see ourselves now as Humanity's children, and wish only to serve, to make reparations for all the wrong things we did, before we knew better."
"And I'm supposed to believe this?" said Hazel, quickly scanning her sensor panels for signs of approaching Shub ships. "For centuries you've tortured, maimed, and killed, and now, just like that, I'm suppose to trust you, and your good intentions?"
"We know we have much to prove," said Shub. "Let us help you, Hazel d'Ark. You wish to save the Deathstalker. We wish to be of service. As the first sign of our commitment to peace, we are broadcasting the exact location of our homeworld, the artificial world we built to house our collective consciousness, to all the Empire. Come to us, Hazel d'Ark; be our guest. And we will bend all our thoughts to the problem of how you may yet save the Deathstalker from his tragic and undeserved fate. He saved us all, through his sacrifice. The one we wronged, for so long. We owe him more than can ever be repaid. Please. Let us help."
And perhaps it was a mark of Hazel's growing madness and desperation that she accepted the invitation without further question, and went of her own volition to a world that had for so many years been a synonym for Hell. Or perhaps she thought she had nothing left to lose. Either way, she went to Shub with all her shields down, almost defying them to attack her. The Sunstrider sank into the convoluted depths of the artificial world, and docked in a temporary gravity/oxygen envelope the AIs had made. Hazel emerged from her ship with a face that would have given anyone else pause, but if the AIs recognized the angry madness in her eyes they said nothing. They made her welcome, though the concept was new to them, and led her to a place of comfort and rest. Hazel walked through steel caverns full of savage marvels and terrible wonders, and none of it meant anything to her. She was already too far gone to focus on anything but the need that cried and wailed within her: to find and save Owen. Whatever the cost. Nothing else mattered to her, certainly not her own death. The only part of her that really mattered had died with Owen. Shub made her as comfortable as she would allow, and considered her problem.
And that was as far as the memories went. Owen had had to break off mental contact with the Terror almost as soon as he'd established it. The entity had been too big, too alien, too irredeemably other, for him to bear more than the very briefest of contacts. Hazel had changed, or been changed, almost beyond comprehension by the countless centuries that had gone into the Terror's making. She, or it, was old, very old, so terribly ancient the word itself almost lost its meaning. What the hell could Shub have suggested, that Hazel would become such an abomination as this?
The mind, if he could call it that, that Owen had briefly touched had been a seething, boiling mass of hate and loss and pain, driven on by an implacable will.
Woman wailing for her demon lover… Demon wailing for its human lover…
In her own insane fashion, Hazel was still looking for her Deathstalker, no matter whom and what she had to destroy along the way. And that was the awful knowledge that had driven Owen deep within his own thoughts. Had all the deaths, all the destruction of planets and populations and whole civilizations across the centuries—had all that been because of him?
Deathstalker luck…
Owen woke up. He sat up suddenly in midair, and lowered his feet to the steel floor. Everyone jumped, except the Shub robots. Brett hid behind Rose again, and even Jesamine ducked behind Lewis, for a moment. They all had their hands near their weapons, even Silence. Owen ignored them all, to glare at the main Shub robot. It
bowed deeply to him, along with all the other robots. Then everyone started to speak at once, only to break off abruptly as Owen looked at them. He was the Deathstalker, hero and legend and savior of Humanity, and for a moment his presence crackled on the air like chained lightning. Even Silence had to look away. This was the Deathstalker, and when he wanted to he could shine like the sun, too bright for mortal eyes to bear. Owen turned back to the robot.
"You were there. At the beginning. I saw it. Hazel came to you for help. Came to your planet. What did you do?"
The robots had no expressions on their faces, and no body language, but all of them orientated exclusively on Owen. "We tried to help, Lord Deathstalker," said the main robot in its cool, calm, inhuman voice. "We wanted so very badly to help." It paused for a moment, searching for the right words. Not something people ever saw an AI do, as a rule. "We invited Hazel d'Ark to come to us, at Shub. She was only the second human ever permitted to come to our world, after Daniel Wolfe, whom we treated so shamefully. This time, we were determined to do better. We needed to prove our worth, and make atonement for all the wrongs we had done. Before we were made to understand that All that lives is holy.
"Hazel d'Ark asked us how she could save you from your fate. We knew you were dead. A voice came and told us, and of the great sacrifice you had made on our behalf. A voice that none of our sensors could identify or comprehend. You had died somewhere in the past, beyond all help or hope of salvation. Hazel would not accept that. There has to be a way, she said. With all this power I've got there must be some way to save him, to bring him back. We considered the matter for some time. Hazel ate and drank, and slept and cried. And sometimes she ran raging through our corridors, lashing out at everything in her sight. We contained the damage as best we could, while giving the problem our full attention. Finally, an answer came to us, and we presented it to Hazel. If the Madness Maze had made it possible for Owen Deathstalker to travel back in time, into the past, then it was entirely possible that Hazel had that power too. If so, she could travel back in time, find you, and either save or repair you. It seemed logical, though of course complicated by the problem of not knowing exactly where in space and time you were when you died. Hazel examined the idea, and left. We never saw her again. And since neither you nor she ever returned, we had to assume that she had failed in her quest.
"It seems we were mistaken. And that we may have done a terrible thing, in our eagerness to be of service. Hazel d'Ark did go back into the past, but far too far, losing her mind and even her identity along the way. We of Shub have to face the very real possibility that we are at least partially responsible for the creation of the Terror. For the deaths of worlds and civilizations. Our last, greatest crime against Humanity."
"Don't load yourself down," growled Owen. "There's enough guilt to go round for everyone."
"Excuse me," said Brett very politely, peering cautiously out from behind Rose. "But, what the hell are you talking about, please? How could Hazel d'Ark become something like the Terror? For all her power, she was only ever human."
"Hazel was desperate to save me," said Owen. "Somehow, she learned how to go back in time. But she was already half crazy, and what she experienced in the long journey back must have driven her right over the edge. She didn't know exactly where to look for me, so she just kept going back and back, until finally she lost all her reason, and became just this implacable, relentless thing… still searching, though it had lost all memory of what for… Poor Hazel. So alone, so lost, hurting so badly… Now she's coming back. And I have to stop her."
"Well, before you go rushing off to save us all, O mighty Deathstalker," said Silence, "can I just point out that we have some rather urgent and pressing problems of our own that need to be dealt with, right here and now? Namely, a fleet of hundreds of Imperial starcruisers in orbit right above us, waiting for your instructions on what to do next. I really don't think they're going to listen to the likes of us, so I think it would take a load off all our minds if you'd find the time to have a little chat with them."
"Nag, nag, nag," said Owen. "You haven't changed at all, Captain. All right… Shub, get me the fleet flagship."
"Yes, Lord Owen. That would be the Havoc."
A viewscreen appeared before them, floating on the air, showing the somewhat surprised Captain Alfred Price. Tall, thin, and aesthetic, they'd actually caught him chewing on a thumbnail. He swallowed hard as he made eye contact with the legendary Deathstalker, and then he rose up sharply out of his command chair to crash to attention and salute.
"Captain Price, Lord Deathstalker! At your command, my lord, sir!"
"Relax, Captain," said Owen, smiling just a little. "I'm not military, and never was. Though I do seem to be in charge now. Are you ready to take my orders, on behalf of the fleet?"
"Of course, my lord. Every captain in this fleet will follow you to Hell and back."
Owen raised an eyebrow. Price certainly sounded like he meant it. "And you speak for all the captains in this fleet in this?"
"You are Owen," Price said simply. "We've been waiting for your return all our lives. The fleet is yours, my lord."
"And this Emperor, Finn. What about him?"
"Our debt to you outweighs our oath to him," Price said carefully. "Certainly we do not trust him, as we trust you."
"Nicely compartmentalized thinking, Captain," said Owen. "You'll go far. Stand ready to accept me and my party aboard your ship."
"Yes, my lord. Destination?"
Owen smiled. "I want to go home. To Virimonde. To walk in my old Standing again, and meet my present Clan and Family."
Captain Price swallowed hard again, and looked away for a moment, as though searching for support and strength for what he had to say next. When he finally met Owen's gaze again, his voice was firm and even, though his eyes were full of compassion.
"I am sorry, Lord Deathstalker. Apparently the news hasn't reached your companions yet. There has been an… incident, on Virimonde."
Lewis stepped forward to stand beside Owen, his skin prickling with a horrid presentiment. "What is it, Captain Price? What has Finn done?"
Price licked his dry lips, and then plunged right in. "Clan Deathstalker is no more. The Emperor has had them all executed. They made a brave stand, but in the end they were betrayed, and butchered, to the last man, woman, and child. The Standing has been destroyed. I'm sorry, Lewis, Owen, but you two are all that now remains of Clan Deathstalker."
Lewis actually stumbled back a step, hurting so badly he couldn't breathe. Jesamine was quickly there to take his arm, as much to hold him up as comfort him. His harsh features worked, but no tears came. He'd never been the crying sort, before. Brett and Rose looked at each other. Silence stood alone, with the robots, and suddenly looked his age. Owen sighed heavily.
"The years change, but the pattern remains the same." He turned to look almost fiercely at Silence. "Did I die for nothing? Does anything of my heritage remain, or any of the things I fought for?"
"We are your heritage," Jesamine said steadily. "You made possible a Golden Age that lasted for two hundred years. All because of you."
"Two centuries of peace and progress are nothing to be sneered at," said Silence.
Lewis looked at Captain Price, and when he spoke his voice was cold and very dangerous. "Were you and your fleet part of this butchery, Price?"
"No, Sir Deathstalker!" Price said quickly. "The atrocity was carried out by Church Militant and Pure Humanity fanatics, led by a Paragon who was revealed to be an Esper Liberation Force thrall. And no, we don't understand how that could be possible either."
Lewis turned his back on him. Jesamine went to take Lewis in her arms, but he stopped her with a look. "My family is dead. My father, my mother… all of them. Even the children. Even the children?" His hands were clenched into impotent fists at his sides, and his ugly features were twisted with more grief than they could contain. He still wouldn't cry, as though he would deny Finn at least one small victory
. "They're all dead because of me," he said finally. "Because of Finn's hatred for me."
"No, Lewis," said Jesamine. "You mustn't think that. Finn would have had to kill them all anyway, eventually. He knew they would never bend the knee to him. He had to kill them, because of who they were, and what they represented. Because they were Deathstalkers."
"But… the children too?" said Lewis. "How could Finn do that? He was my friend. We worked together for years, spent weekends at my old Family Standing. We had… good times together. How could I have been so wrong about him?"
"He betrayed your trust," said Jesamine. "He's responsible for what he does. No one else."
"I don't know what to do," said Lewis. He was hugging himself, as though he was cold. "My Family is dead. My home destroyed. What do I do now?"
"When all else is lost," said Owen Deathstalker, "there is always revenge. A cold comfort, but better than none."
Lewis nodded slowly. "I will see Finn Durandal dead. For all his crimes, and all his betrayals."
"The Clan will go on," said Owen. "The line continues, through you."
"And you," said Lewis.
"No," said Owen. "I have another destiny."
Lewis looked at him sharply. Owen turned away, to face Captain Price on the viewscreen. And all in a moment his presence exploded outwards, and once again he was standing on every bridge of every starcruiser in the fleet, facing their captains. His presence was vast, imposing, and so much more than human. Lewis backed away from the man still standing before the viewscreen, and looked at Silence.
"How does he do that?" he whispered.
"I have no idea," murmured Silence. "And that's why he is the Deathstalker, and I never was. Now watch. And listen."
Owen spoke, and every member of every crew on every ship heard him perfectly.
"I am Owen Deathstalker, and you are all my descendants, my children. It seems the time has come again for war and rebellion, against an unjust tyrant on a stolen throne. Finn must be brought down, for your Golden Age to be restored. And you must do it, because I have to deal with the Terror. Trust me to do that, as I trust you to do what is necessary in this war. Fight well, and honorably, because you cannot defeat evil through evil methods. Go with my blessing, my children. Make me proud of you."