Deathstalker Return (5 page)

“That’s it,” said Lewis. “No more arguments. I’m turning this ship around right now. We are going back to Logres. The Paragons have to be warned.”

“No!” Jesamine said immediately, grabbing at Lewis’s arm as he reached for the control panels. “Stop and think for a minute, Lewis. Please. Even if we did go back, who’d listen to us? Who’d believe us? That’s if they didn’t just shoot us all on sight. You can bet good money that Finn has absolutely no intention of allowing any of us our day in court. We know too much about him. We can’t put our heads back in the lion’s mouth, Lewis. Our mission is more important. It has to come first.”

“Some mission,” said Lewis, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew she was right. “Even supposing we can track down whatever survivors remain from the age of heroes, who’s to say they’ll be in any shape to help us, after all this time?”

“They might hold the key to finding Owen,” said Jesamine. “Or maybe even the missing Hazel d’Ark. They have to help us. We need them now more than ever, to stop the coming Terror as well as Finn bloody Durandal!”

Lewis said nothing, remembering the dry gray words he’d heard on the Dust Plains of Memory. Owen was dead. He died long ago, in a dirty back alley on Mistworld. Except . . . he had been seen alive, in the future. Lewis still wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not.

“So,” he said, to avoid having to say anything else, “where are we going first? What planet do we choose as our destination? We’re going to have to drop into hyper soon; the longer we stay in normal space, the better the odds are some pursuit ship will bump into us by accident.”

“There’s not many places we can go,” said Brett, “in this depressingly honest Empire.”

“There’s always your homeworld, Virimonde,” Jesamine said tentatively to Lewis. “I mean, surely they wouldn’t believe the lies Finn’s been spreading about you?”

“My family won’t,” said Lewis. “But Virimonde is a poor world, and poorly defended. Even if my Clan could persuade the planetary council to harbor us, they couldn’t hope to hold out against an Imperial punitive strike force. And you can bet there are elements there who would betray our presence to the Empire—for money or patronage, or just because they believed it was the right thing to do.”

“He’s right,” said Brett. “There are scumbags everywhere these days.”

“I say we go straight to Haden,” said Saturday. “To the Madness Maze. You are a Deathstalker, Lewis. Your fate is inevitably linked to the Maze. Even on Shard we know the story of the Owen, and his journey through the Madness Maze. How it made him so much more than human. If we were to all go through the Maze, what mighty beings might we become? We could take on the whole Empire, and bring it to its knees in a sea of blood and offal!”

“I like him,” said Rose.

“I wonder if I overlooked anything in the medicine cabinet . . .” said Brett.

“Excuse me!” Jesamine said loudly. “Hello! Sanity calling! This is really not a good idea, people. There’s a reason why it’s called the Madness Maze, and an even better reason why no one’s been allowed into it for so long. Do I really have to remind everyone here that the last
ten thousand
people to enter the Maze lost their minds and their lives? Every single one of them died screaming. I wouldn’t go into the Maze if I was completely desperate. Hell, I am completely desperate, and I’m still not going anywhere near it!
No,
people, the Maze is what we do when we’ve tried everything else, including prayer and closing our eyes and hoping it’s all been a nasty dream. Next.”

“Can I put in a bid for Mistworld?” said Brett. “Always a good bet when you’re on the lam. Still fairly independant from the rest of the Empire, and proud of it. A whole planet of rogues, individual thinkers, and complete head cases. Even Finn would think twice about trying to take Mistworld by force. And the stack of alien porn we’re carrying will sell for major credits in Mistport. More than enough to buy us a proper ship, with room to move around in and a decent weapons system. Probably with enough left over to hire a reasonably sized corps of mercenaries. Mistworld has the best connections in the Empire—assuming Emma Steel didn’t shut them all down before she left.”

“Not a bad plan,” said Jesamine. “And tempting. But I have played on Mistworld, and I am here to tell you it is the arse end of the Empire. No civilized comforts, colder than a witch’s tit, and more bounty hunters per square mile than any other planet in the Empire. You saw the broadcast; we’re wanted dead or alive, with a hell of a price on our heads. They’d be queuing up to take a crack at us on Mistworld.”

“Exactly,” said Lewis. “I’d rank it just ahead of Haden, but only just.”

Brett sulked. He’d already worked out a really clever plan for selling the alien porn in Mistport and then disappearing with all the money the moment the others turned their backs. He had his own ideas about the future, and they very definitely didn’t include being a hero. Or Rose Constantine. A thought struck him. He might have been voted down, but he still had a secret ace up his sleeve. When Finn made Brett drink the esper drug, he acquired rudimentary telepathy, and a limited but useful ability to compel other minds to do his will. He didn’t use it much because it gave him killer headaches, but needs must when the devil vomits on your shoes. Very cautiously, he reached out to the minds around him, threading his compulsion delicately into their thoughts.

“Mistworld . . .” Jesamine said dreamily.

Lewis frowned. “The place does have strong connections to Owen and Hazel . . .”

“Did anyone just hear something?” said Rose.

Saturday turned his great head and looked straight at Brett. The con man quickly shut down his probe, and pulled his strongest mental shields into position. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised Rose picked up something, their minds had touched once, but Saturday . . . Did the reptiloid have some kind of esp too? Brett shuddered internally. As if the bloody lizard wasn’t dangerous enough already . . . Brett hunkered down behind his shields and put on his most innocent expression. Rose was looking at him thoughtfully. Brett could feel cold beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“No, forget Mistworld,” said Lewis. “Bad idea.”

“It seems obvious to me that we should go to Lachrymae Christi first,” said Jesamine. “It’s the one world where we can be sure of finding a living hero from the Great Rebellion. Tobias Moon is still there, even if no one has seen him in the flesh for ages. The last surviving Hadenman . . . Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet a Hadenman. They made such great villains in those old drama serials, fighting Julian Skye and all those other vid heroes. If anyone knows what happened to Owen, and Hazel, it’s got to be Tobias Moon.”

“Good try,” said Lewis. “But according to all the legends, even the apocrypha, Moon was the only one of the great heroes who never went to face the Recreated. He wasn’t there when Owen and Hazel disappeared. There’s no doubt he knows many things now lost to history, things that might well prove useful to us, but like you said, no one’s set eyes on him in over a century. And the people on Lachrymae Christi are said to guard his privacy very jealously. We’d have a hard time getting to him, and no guarantee he’d be in any condition to give us helpful answers even if we did. No, I think there’s someone else who’s even better qualified to tell us what we need to know.”

“God, you’re long-winded sometimes,” said Jesamine. “Just say where you think we ought to go next!”

“I don’t care where we go,” said Rose. “Just as long as I get to kill someone soon.”

“We go to Unseeli,” said Lewis. “Because that’s where we’ll find the man called Carrion.”

Everyone looked at him. Jesamine nodded slowly. Brett put up his hand, like a child in class.

“Excuse me? Do you think that perhaps you could let the rest of us in on this? Who the hell is Carrion? I have to say, the name alone doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. And as for Unseeli—we are talking about the Ashrai here, aren’t we? The alien species noted for killing anyone who tries to land on their planet uninvited, and there are no invitations? The only alien species in the Empire to tell the Empire to go to Hell and make it stick? That Unseeli?
Am I the only sane person here?
”

“Carrion was a friend of Captain John Silence,” Lewis said calmly. “He was there with the captain when the heroes faced the Recreated, out on the Rim. He went through the Madness Maze with the captain. He is the only great hero never to make it into the official legends. And it seems to me that someone like that might well know all kinds of things that also never made it into the official legends.”

“Carrion. Carrion . . .” Brett said thoughtfully. “You know, I think I have heard that name before. In the apocrypha . . . No, it was from a really old data crystal some alien was trying to sell in the Rookery. I never saw the contents myself, but Nikki did. Yes . . . Carrion. The human Ashrai. The only man ever to fly with the Ashrai. Hero, villian . . . monster. That Carrion?”

“Sounds about right,” said Lewis.

“The Ashrai,” Jesamine said dreamily. “Owen’s dragons. I’ve always wanted to meet Owen’s dragons. Oh, Lewis, darling, we have to go to Unseeli!”

“Give me one good reason why they’d listen to us, when they blow up everyone else?” said Brett.

“Because I’m a Deathstalker,” said Lewis.

And so it was decided. Lewis couldn’t help feeling that he ought to be taking charge more, like his ancestor Owen always had, but this didn’t seem to be that sort of group. He had no real authority over any of them. And yet still he felt responsible for the ragtag bunch of companions he’d somehow acquired. And his own motives for this quest were confused enough, without getting into theirs. On the one hand he wanted to find Owen, so that his glorious ancestor could lead Humanity against the Terror, but on the other hand he desperately wanted to clear his name and Jesamine’s. Lewis . . . wanted his life back. The way it used to be.

In the end, he had to do this thing. This impossible quest to find Owen Deathstalker, who might or might not be dead. Because it was the right thing to do; because he had no choice. Because he was a Deathstalker, and the Empire had to be saved—as much from itself as from the coming Terror. And yet . . . he wished he felt more like a leader. Like a hero. He wished he was more certain over what to do for the best, instead of just stumbling from one crisis to another, with only the vaguest of intentions and plans. He wished above all that he was more like the blessed Owen, who had always known what to do. Because he was a real hero.

 

 

The
Hereward
dropped into hyperspace without being challenged by any other vessel, and headed for the Ashrai world, Unseeli. The trip took some time, even with an H-class stardrive, and the stores of food and water depleted steadily despite strict recycling and rationing. If they couldn’t make up the difference on Unseeli, they’d be eating their shoes by the time they reached their next destination. Brett had already begun making pointed comments about Saturday, when the reptiloid wasn’t around, mostly about the size of his drumsticks and how much luggage could be made out of the reptiloid’s hide. Lewis would have been concerned about the situation if he hadn’t been more concerned about what they were going to find on Unseeli.

Information about the Ashrai world was very limited. No human or alien ship had been allowed to land on the planet in two hundred years. There was no official quarantine, because none was needed. You entered Unseeli space entirely at your own risk, and if you got too close to the planet, the Ashrai destroyed your ship. No one seemed too sure about how they did this, because no one ever came back to tell. Long range scanners didn’t operate in Unseeli space, and no one knew why. Most people had enough sense to leave the Ashrai alone. Lewis had a good reason for going there, but no doubt others had thought the same, and it hadn’t saved them.

Lewis knew the stories of Owen Deathstalker and his dragons. He’d seen the big operatic production that Jesamine starred in. According to certain entirely unofficial legends, Owen had led an army of wise and powerful dragons against the Recreated. These huge and wonderful creatures had flown unprotected through the cold inimical depths of space, tearing the Recreated apart with vicious fang and claw. They were magnificent, and they sang a song so beautiful it touched the soul of all who heard it. According to those legends, Owen lay sleeping in a great tomb, surrounded by his sleeping dragons, waiting to be called back in the hour of the Empire’s greatest need.

Could Owen be sleeping somewhere on Unseeli? Was that why the Ashrai guarded it so jealously?

Except according to the Dust Plains of Memory, it was Carrion and not Owen who’d flown with the dragons, who were really the Ashrai. Lewis had to wonder what else the story might have got wrong, and whether his Deathstalker name really did have the currency with the Ashrai that he hoped.

The
Hereward
dropped out of hyperspace at a very respectable distance, and approached Unseeli slowly and cautiously, sending very respectful messages ahead of them. There was no reply, but they achieved high orbit unmolested, and Lewis started breathing again. It had been so long since anything had gone right in his life that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Rose hauled Brett out from under his chair, while Jesamine checked the ship’s sensors, just on the off chance, but they weren’t operating. Diagnostics said there was nothing wrong with the systems; they just weren’t picking up anything. Lewis called up what little was known about Unseeli and put it on the main viewscreen so they could all study it. He interpreted the data aloud, as much to hear himself think as anything.

“Conditions are tolerable for human life,” he said. “Which is just as well, as we don’t have any hard suits or full body force shields. Air is breathable, though there’s some unusual trace elements, and the temperature is . . . well, hot and sweaty, basically. Gravity’s a bit heavier than we’re used to, but not by much . . . which is odd, given the sheer size of the planet. It ought to be a lot heavier . . . still, that’s Unseeli for you. Never what you expect. As you can see, there’s only the one continent, and no oceans. No freestanding water at all, that I can see. And the metallic forest stretches from pole to pole . . . damn, some of those metal trees are so tall they actually pierce the upper layers of the atmosphere! I’ve never seen anything like this . . .”