Deathstalker Destiny (6 page)

“What did you just do?” said Owen.

“Activated Grendel yoke, drove it crazy with conflicting orders. Very stupid creature. It shut down now, till someone stupid enough to repair collar. Why you so surprised? I tell you, I am mighty and terrible wizard! Can cure cattle, poison wells, screw all day and chew gum at same time! I is going for little nap now. Bother me again and I turn your didgeridoos inside out and make your droopy bits explode in slow motion.”

He or she spun around, wobbled unsteadily on her or his feet for a moment, and then stomped off. Owen and the Captain looked at each other, and shrugged pretty much simultaneously.

“I wonder what Saint Bea could do with a controlled Grendel,” said Owen. “He’d make one hell of a worker ... Now, Captain, I am commandeering your ship. Feel free to protest as loudly as you want. It won’t make a blind bit of difference.” He reached forward and took the Captain’s gun. “Any other weapons I ought to know about? Bearing in mind I’ll shoot you on sight if I see anything of a remotely threatening nature in your hand.”

“Knife in the right boot,” said the Captain reluctantly. “And a cosh in the left.”

Owen relieved the Captain of these tools of his trade, and tucked them neatly about his own person. You never knew. “Right, Captain. Go break the bad news to your crew, get them off my ship, and then report to Mother Beatrice. I’m sure she can find something useful for you to do while you wait for the next supply ship.”

“You can’t do this, Deathstalker!”

“Really?” said Owen interestedly. “Who’s going to stop me? Now collect your crew and off you go to Saint Bea. Hop like a bunny. And don’t bother me again or I’ll set Vaughn on you.”

Captain Joy In The Lord Rottsteiner knew when he was caught between a rock and a sledgehammer. He went back inside what used to be his ship to take out some of his bad mood by shouting at his crew, and Owen left the landing pad in search of Tobias Moon. He had his ship, and nothing and no-one was going to be allowed to stand in the way of his getting offplanet.

Tobias Moon had left the recovered stardrive outside the Mission, wrapped in many layers of protective vegetation, just in case. He made his report to Mother Beatrice, and broke the news of Sister Marion’s death as gently as he was capable, then left her to her grief, and went looking for Owen. His legs had healed themselves on the way back. He considered how such an accelerated healing process might have saved Sister Marion, and felt the stirrings of a new emotion. He thought it might be guilt. Owen walked up to him while he was thinking about that.

“Good work, Moon! Any problems getting the drive out?”

“Some,” said Moon. “Sister Marion was killed.”

“Oh hell,” said Owen. “Damn. I liked her. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. But then, I never do. Friends and enemies die around me, but I go on. She was a good fighter. What am I going to tell Mother Beatrice?”

“I’ve already told her,” said Moon. “Does it ... does it ever disturb you, Owen, the way we use mere mortals, even let them die, to get what we want?”

“I’ve put my life on the line to save Humanity more times than I can count,” said Owen angrily. “And I never asked anyone to die for me. Sometimes ... bad things happen. That’s life.”

“You mean death. What do you want me to do with the drive, now it’s here?”

“There’s a courier ship on the landing pad,” said Owen, immediately all business again. “Rip its drive out, and put in the new stardrive. Shouldn’t be too difficult. It was designed to be easily transferred from one ship to another.”

“I’ll get right on it.” Moon looked unblinkingly at Owen. “You’re going after Hazel, aren’t you?”

“Of course. She needs me.”

“So does the Empire, from what I’ve been hearing. Apparently all hell’s breaking loose.”

“It always is! Don’t I have a right to a life of my own? To save the things that matter to me?”

“What about honor?”

“What about it?”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“No,” said Owen. “Perhaps I don’t. But I’m tired of being the hero for everyone else, for strangers I never met. The Empire can survive without me for a while. Do it good to stand on its own feet for once. Sometimes ... you have to follow your heart, and to hell with the consequences. That’s what being human is all about.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Moon. “It is a very difficult thing, being human. Sometimes.”

He went off to organize some way of transporting the drive to the landing pad. Luckily both were outside the Mission proper. Owen watched his friend go, and wouldn’t let himself consider whether he was being selfish. He’d never asked for anything before, for himself. And he’d lost and given up so much, to become the hero and warrior he never wanted to be; he was damned if he’d lose Hazel too.

He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and turned to find ex-Captain Rottsteiner bearing down on him, looking even more upset than before, if that was possible. Owen met him with a steady gaze, and Rottsteiner slowed to a halt at what he hoped was a safe distance.

“You can’t just leave me here, Deathstalker! Not with these ... people!”

“Watch me,” said Owen, entirely unmoved. “And by the way,
Moab’s Washpot
is a bloody silly name for a ship, so I’m renaming it
Sunstrider III.
I’d break a bottle of champagne over the hull to christen it, if we had any, but we don’t. And if we did, I wouldn’t waste good booze in such a fashion. And we can’t use the local stuff, because it would eat holes in the hull.”

“You can’t just leave me here!” shrieked Rottsteiner, seizing his chance as Owen paused for breath.

“Why not?” said Owen calmly. “Give me one good reason. Hell, give me one bad reason. Mother Beatrice can always use another pair of hands, so you’ll have plenty to occupy your time. Do you good to be genuinely useful for a change. Look on it as character building. Or not. See if I care. Now go away and stop bothering me, before I think of something amusing and horribly violent to do to you.”

Ex-Captain Rottsteiner went away, very quietly. Owen made his last rounds of the Mission, saying his good-byes and making sure the projects he’d started would continue without him. He was polite and even gracious, but the lepers could tell his attention was elsewhere. They understood. They knew he was just filling in time till his new ship was ready. It took Moon less than an hour to install the new stardrive, but to Owen it seemed like days. He smiled widely for the first time in two weeks when the Hadenman finally reappeared.

“Yes, it’s done,” said Moon heavily. “Yes, it will function perfectly, and no, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t take off whenever you feel like it. Have I missed anything?”

“I don’t think so,” said Owen. “Thanks, Moon. Try not to feel bad about me. I have to do this.”

“I know you do.” Moon hesitated. “I could come with you. Hazel is my friend.”

“You’re needed here,” said Owen firmly. “We can’t all go running out on our responsibilities. The people here need you to teach them how to link up with the Red Brain. And besides; what I’m doing has nothing to do with law, and everything with vengeance. I don’t want you involved in the things I may have to do.”

“Watch yourself, Owen,” said Moon. “You’re not the inhuman you used to be.”

“Yeah,” said Owen. “But they don’t know that.”

He put out a hand for Moon to shake, and then the Hadenman surprised Owen by sweeping him forward into a hug. It was clumsy, as though Moon understood the theory rather more than the practice, but it was well meant, and Owen hugged him back for a long moment. They finally stepped back, and looked each other in the eye. Neither of then wanted to say good-bye, so in the end they just nodded to each other, as though Owen were just stepping out for a while, and then they turned and walked off to follow their respective destinies.

They never saw each other again, except in dreams.

 

Hazel d‘Ark lay on her back, strapped down on a moving trolley as it trundled along endless stone corridors. The trolley ran fairly smoothly, but it was constantly being jerked this way and that as she was transported down one narrow passage after another. She felt deathly tired, and her body seemed weighed down by far more than the half dozen leather straps holding her in place. Her thoughts were slow and drifting, and it seemed to her that they had been for some time now. Headfirst, strapped down, the trolley carried her on into the gloom, and it was hard for her to care where or why.

Suddenly there were people moving around her, passing silently back and forth without looking at her. They were all tall willowy albinos with glaring bloodred eyes, wearing long robes of bright swirling colors, and their long bony faces were covered with vicious ritual scars, in wild jagged patterns. The patterns were different on every face, stylized as a clown’s makeup. The trolley slowed for a moment so two of the ghostly figures could talk over her helpless body. Their voices were harsh whispers, full of pain and rage and hunger, of endless unsated appetites, like the dusty breaths of ancient mummies. It slowly came to Hazel that she knew these people. They were the Blood Runners, an old, old culture, a separate branch of Humanity, isolated by its own wishes in the forbidden Obeah Systems. It was said they had a hand in every dirty and illegal trade in the Empire, and no one was strong enough to deny them their filthy tithe. It was further said, in quiet furtive whispers, that they traded in these things only to fund their never-ending experiments into suffering and death and immortality. To the Blood Runners, Humanity was nothing more than so many lab animals; specimens to be tested and destroyed and discarded as necessary.

No one raised any objections, even in the highest circles of Empire. No one dared. And Hazel d‘Ark had fallen into their hands. Fear moved through her like a slow poison, spurring her awake. Her thoughts began to clear, for the first time in what seemed like a long time. She remembered the Mission on Lachrymae Christi. Remembered Owen trying desperately to warn her, and then a shimmering silver energy screen closing in around her. The Blood Runners had snatched her away from Owen, and there’d been nothing either of them could do to prevent it. When the Blood Runners finally lowered the energy field, she fought them fiercely; but they did something to her, to her body and her mind, and for a long time now she had drifted in dark and uneasy dreams. She had some vague recollection of great white faces looming over her, saying she was no use to them without her powers. They would wait, till she was restored, and then begin their investigations. She tried to remember what these powers might be, or how she might use them against her captors, but thinking was still so hard. Sleep tugged at the corners of her mind, and it took all she had to fight it off.

The trolley took a sharp right turn into yet another stone corridor. Hazel had no idea how long she’d been moving, or where she might be going. She was afraid, but it was a vague, unfocused fear as yet. She made herself concentrate on her surroundings, focusing on them to help focus her mind. The ceiling above her was solid gray stone, pitted and darkened by untold ages. The walls on either side of her were built from massive blocks of the same gray stone, fitted neatly together without trace of mortar. Human arms projected from the walls, here and there, as though thrust through from the other side. They held up glazing torches in dull clay holders. The flames flickered constantly, as though troubled by subtle disturbances in the air. The arms never moved, and the fingers that curled around the clay holders were still as death.

It was cold in the corridor, and the air had an old, dusty smell. The only sounds were the quiet squeakings of the trolley wheels, and the occasional muttering of voices. Hazel tried to move against the straps holding her down, but they were too tight. She was helpless, and alone, and in the hands of her enemies.

The trolley finally lurched to a halt in a wide stone chamber. Without moving her head, she tried to take in as much of her new surroundings as possible. The walls and the low ceiling of the chamber had been constructed from the same gray stone, unrelieved by any adornments save the living torch holders. And then she caught her breath sharply as she saw a severed human head standing on a dull pewter pedestal. It was still alive, and aware. The skin had a normal hue, but the top half of the head and skull had been removed, sawed cleanly away above the eyebrows, so that the upper brain tissues were exposed, pale and glistening in the torchlight. Delicate metal filaments protruded from the naked tissues, with sparks of light coming and going at their tips. The mouth trembled slightly, as though always on the edge of speaking, and the eyes were sharp and clear and suffering and horribly sane.

“Don’t mind him,” said a dry, dusty voice behind her. “That’s just my oracle. A repository of information and deduction. Far superior to your computers.”

Hazel let her head roll slowly to one side, pretending to be weaker than she was. A Blood Runner was standing at her side, a vicious white specter in gaudy robes. And yet there was something familiar about the face, or perhaps rather the scars on the face ... Hazel suddenly remembered where she’d seen this Blood Runner before, and a cold hand gripped her heart like a fist.

“That’s right, Hazel d‘Ark. I came for you once before, in the old Standing of the Deathstalker, but you eluded me.”

“You’re dead! Owen killed you! I saw you die!”

“Blood Runners don’t stay dead,” said Scour, his face and voice calm and unmoved. “We’ve moved beyond that. We’ve lived for centuries, and death has no power over us anymore. We’re an old culture, Hazel; older than your Empire. It’s been a long time since we saw anything new. Anything like you ... dear Hazel. We’re going to learn so much from you.”

Hazel glared at him. “I don’t have a damned thing to say to you, Blood Runner. I don’t care what kind of a deal my old Captain made with you people when I served on the Shard, I don’t owe you anything!”