"Yes, Owen?"
"I understood that all Hadenmen were… desexed."
"Yes," said Moon. "All of the sexual parts are cut away when a human becomes a Hadenman."
"But you appear to have a full set of… well, everything."
"Yes," said Moon. "They grew back. Other changes are taking place in my body all the time. I believe it to be a part of the ongoing changes the Maze is working in me. Certain tech implants have disappeared, absorbed into my body. I don't seem to need them anymore. I have detected no lowering in my general efficiency. But I am becoming… more human."
And I've been worrying about the Maze making me less human, thought Owen.
Owen and Moon made their way to the common room, where the three women were already warming themselves before a roaring log fire. They were also wearing the basic gray clothes provided, complete with cloak and hood, though Hazel had lifted up the back of her skirt so she could warm her bare bottom before the fire. She grinned unconcernedly at Owen.
"I see you got the basic outfit too. Apparently gray is in this year."
"I hate it," said Bonnie. "What's the point of having tattoos and piercings if you can't show them off to everyone?"
"I think it's a vast improvement," said Midnight. "You've done things to your body I wouldn't to a dead dog."
"Prude!" snapped Bonnie.
"Pervert!"
"So?"
Owen gave Hazel a hard look. "All the alternates you could have called up, and you had to choose these two…"
"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, Owen Deathstalker. After all, you married one of them."
Luckily the door opened at that moment, and Mother Beatrice came in. Everyone immediately shut up and managed some kind of polite smile. Mother Beatrice laughed.
"Nothing like a nun entering a room to stop a conversation in its tracks. Don't worry, when you're Mother Confessor to a colony of lepers, there isn't much left that can shock you. I'm afraid those outfits are all the clothes we have to offer you. It's all the Empire provides. Still, the cloaks and hoods provide a useful purpose in hiding the ravages of the disease in its later terms. Most of the colonists remain largely unmarked, but they choose to wear the cloak and hood too, in a sign of solidarity. There are those who flaunt their deformities, but that's mostly just a plea for attention. Don't let them bother you." She looked at Moon for a long moment, and then turned to Owen. "You should have told me you were bringing a Hadenman with you. I have no objection to his presence, but my people have suffered much at the hands of the augmented men. I can't guarantee his safety."
"That's all right," said Hazel. "We'll guarantee his safety, by kicking the ass of anyone who even looks at him funny."
"This is Tobias Moon," said Owen. "He turned against his own people to side with Humanity."
"You mean he's a traitor."
"No, I mean he's a friend. We've been through a lot together. We all vouch for him. That should be enough."
"It's more than enough," said Mother Beatrice. She put out a hand to Moon, and he shook it gravely. "I'm sorry if I seemed a little cold, sir Moon. I've never met a Hadenman socially before."
"That's all right," said Moon generously. "I've never met a Saint before."
Mother Beatrice laughed briefly and shook her head. "You still haven't. No one's ever met a Saint when they're alive. It's more a posthumous award, bestowed by people who never met the real person." She looked at Hazel. "Speaking of reputations, I've heard a lot about you, Hazel d'Ark."
"You don't want to believe everything you see in the holos," said Hazel uncomfortably.
"Oh, I don't," Mother Beatrice assured her. "You should hear some of the things they've said about me. Last I heard, they were claiming I was feeding this entire colony on five protein cubes and five pints of distilled water. I wish. I'm no Saint; just a nun, going where I'm needed. Now, perhaps you'll be good enough to introduce your two friends, whom I confess are unfamiliar to me."
"Oh, sure," said Hazel. "The tall steroids case with a butcher's ax on her hip is Midnight Blue. The S and M freak is Bonnie Bedlam. They're… cousins of mine. Good fighters. Now, perhaps you'd be good enough to brief us on the current situation. I was given to understand things were pretty desperate here, but we traveled through miles of jungle to get here, and never saw a single Hadenman."
"They come and they go," said Mother Beatrice. "We don't know why. They started off attacking the outer settlements, but soon focused their attention here. We're the main communications center, the only starport, and the main distribution center. Whoever controls the Mission controls the fate of the colony. But the jungle and the weather make air attacks and ground travel impractical, so they have to come on foot. And though there are always more of them in every attack, so far we've held them off successfully. High-tech weaponry doesn't last long here; the rain gets into everything. So most of the fighting has been hand to hand, steel on steel."
"Even so," said Owen, "how has a simple wooden fort like this stood off a Hadenman army?"
"With increasing difficulty. The jungle is our protector. The Hadenmen have to get through it to get to us, and while the plant life here has always been somewhat aggressive, it really hates the augmented men. By the time they get to us, they're already exhausted and thinned out by what the jungle's put them through. And we do have a number of true warriors here. Some were marines before their condition was diagnosed. They've made good teachers. And we also have two Sisters of Glory."
"Bloody hell," said Hazel, deeply impressed. "I'd back two Sisters of Glory against an army of Hadenmen, no problem. I'd even give odds. How did they come to be here?"
"How do you think?" said Mother Beatrice, and Hazel had the grace to look a little embarrassed.
Owen saw Moon's puzzled frown. "They're something new. Appeared while you were still dead. The Sisters of Glory are nuns who used to be part of the old Church's Brotherhood of Steel, a semi-mystical order within an order, trained in all martial arts. The old Church used them as internal police, debt collectors, and for scaring the crap out of the ungodly. After Mother Beatrice reformed the Church, most of the Brotherhood were up on charges for atrocities, mass murder, and being massively politically incorrect. So the Mother Superior revamped the few survivors as the Sisters of Glory, and gave them a new mission in life: fight to put an end to fighting. Protect the weak and the needy. Die fighting that others might live. The last warriors in a pacifistic Church, the order tends to attract… extreme types."
"Very diplomatically put," said Mother Beatrice. "Actually, they're mostly homicidal headbangers with strong suicidal tendencies, and I just wanted a place I could put them all so I could keep an eye on them. To my surprise, they've turned out to be very good at what they do. Still a little too keen to martyr themselves for the cause, but I suppose that goes with the territory. Anyway, you'll meet them later."
"Oh, good," said Owen. "Two more homicidal women in my life. Just what I needed."
"What was that?" said Mother Beatrice. "Don't mumble, sir Deathstalker. It's a very annoying habit. Now then, we seem to be in a quiet phase at the moment, so why don't you all take a walk through our little community? It'll be good for their morale, and give you some idea of the kind of people you'll be fighting alongside. Don't be nervous of them. Bits of them won't fall off if you speak too loudly, and you can't catch it just by shaking hands. They're just people. I suggest splitting up into ones or twos; you'll be less… intimidating that way. It's not every day we get living legends walking among us. Be back here in an hour, and there'll be a hot meal ready. Now, be off with you. I have my rounds to make in the infirmary."
She gently but firmly shooed them all out of the common room, and shut the door behind them. Owen shook his head slowly.
"So that's Saint Bea. I was expecting one of the nuns who taught me as a child. All loud voices and stiff necks and a devil with the steel ruler."
"They probably went on to become Sisters of Glory," said Hazel.
"He just loves being in charge," said Hazel to Bonnie and Midnight, and they nodded knowingly.
"Let's get out of here before he starts making one of his speeches," said Midnight, and she and Bonnie went off to meet some lepers.
Owen looked haughtily at Hazel. "I have no idea what you were talking about."
Hazel grinned at Moon. "The trouble is, he probably doesn't. Lead the way, sir Deathstalker, oh savior of Humanity."
Owen sniffed loudly and set off. Hazel followed, grinning, and a rather mystified Moon brought up the rear.
Bonnie Bedlam freaked the lepers out. She loved sweeping back her clothes to flash people, and show off her many piercings and body modifications, and soon a small but fascinated crowd had formed around her. After a while Bonnie and some of the braver lepers began comparing mutilations and trying to one-up and gross each other out. There were shrieks and mock shocked gasps, and soon they were chatting away as though they'd known each other for years. The idea that someone would voluntarily cut and pierce and modify their own flesh fascinated the colonists. That Bonnie took pride in her differences from the norm just blew them away. It wasn't long before she had fervent disciples sitting at her feet, working out how to start some piercings of their own. All flesh is beautiful, said Bonnie firmly. Anything can be made sexy. A spirited argument arose as to whether it was better to pierce dead flesh or that which still had some feeling. Bonnie strongly recommended the latter, to get the full experience.
Midnight Blue stood quietly behind Bonnie, trying hard to be shocked in the face of the lepers' obvious enthusiasm. It had never occurred to them that their disfigurements didn't have to be ugly. The lepers revealed more and more of themselves as they grew more comfortable in Bonnie's presence. Midnight was horrified at what the disease had done to some of its victims, but fought to keep it out of her face. Missing fingers and toes were common, and many had eaten-away noses and ears. It was always the extremities that went first. Many had sores and open wounds that would not heal, sometimes bandaged, sometimes not. There were drugs that helped slow the symptoms, but there'd been no deliveries for some time. The Empire needed all its cargo ships for the war, and even a Saint's pleas had to take second place to the military.
Abandoned yet again, the lepers refused to give in. They watched themselves and watched each other, and tried to live as normal a life as possible as they fought to establish a self-sufficient colony. Children were being born for the first time, most of them free of the disease as yet. And for the first time there was hope. For the future, if not for themselves.
When things got too bad, there was the Mission infirmary. Not so much a hospital as a resting place before the end, when they were no longer capable of caring for themselves. Mother Superior Beatrice ran the infirmary. The lepers couldn't say enough about her. She gave them hope and faith, and a reason to live when it would have been so easy to just lie down and die. The lepers worshiped her, much to her discomfort. Among themselves they had declared her the patron Saint of lepers.
Eventually Bonnie moved on, word of her appearance moving ahead of her so that there were always people waiting to meet her. Many of the lepers were pathetically grateful that anyone had come to fight beside them. They'd been told they were the lowest of the low for so long that many had come to believe it. Bonnie blew that notion away on a cloud of raucous laughter. Midnight began adding the occasional dry comment, just to provide a balance, and found a ready audience for her sharp wit. It had been a long time since the lepers had had anything to laugh at. Bonnie and Midnight moved on through the small village of low buildings, smiling and chatting and making themselves known, until finally they had to beg for a little time for themselves. The lepers withdrew to a respectful distance, while Bonnie and Midnight pulled up their hoods and lowered their voices so they could talk privately.
"Oh, Jesus," said Midnight softly. "The poor bastards. How can you keep smiling like that? They're dying and they know it and they haven't given up. I think of the kind of guts that takes, and I feel like nothing in comparison."
"I smile and laugh to make them laugh, because the last thing they need is some outsider weeping buckets over them."
"They break my heart. It's so… unfair. These people had lives, futures, dreams… they had friends and families and loved ones. And now they have nothing but the disease that's killing them. And they still believe in God. If I were in their place, I'd curse Her name every day. They put me to shame."
"If you so much as sniffle, I'll slap you a good one," said Bonnie fiercely. "We have to be strong, for them."
"Strength through piercing," said Midnight. "A novel approach to psychotherapy."
"Whatever works. Their bodies have ruled their lives for so long, it's only fair they should get back some control over their flesh."
"They're strong people," said the warrior woman. "They'll make good fighters when the Hadenmen come again."
"Of course they will. But can we defend this place indefinitely?"
Midnight shrugged. "Depends on how many Hadenmen we have to fight off. Which in turn depends on how badly the Hadenmen want this planet. The Mission's walls are sturdy, the attackers have to come to us across an open clearing, and apparently we don't have to worry about large-scale weaponry. And there's the Sisters of Glory that Hazel was so impressed by. The situation could be a lot worse. Anyway, the question's redundant. We'll hold out because we have to. Because there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no starship to get us off-planet."
"And no reinforcements," said Bonnie. "There's just us."
"We don't stand a chance, do we?" said Midnight Blue. "Not a hope in hell," said Bonnie Bedlam.
At first Owen and Hazel had to walk on either side of Moon, with their hands hovering over their weapons, because once the lepers recognized a Hadenman, they either ran or tried to attack him. The atmosphere got very bad very quick, until Owen identified himself, and just like that the mood changed. People came running from all over to meet the legendary Deathstalker, and once he'd vouched for the Hadenman, things calmed down a lot. Everyone wanted to meet the great hero of the rebellion, and he warmed in the glow of appreciation, and was soon at his most charming and gracious. Hazel smiled determinedly in his shadow, and did her best to be polite. Owen kept his smile steady as he clasped hands that weren't always complete, and had a kind word for everyone. No one wanted to get close enough to Hazel to shake her hand. Soon the crowd around them had got so dense no one had room to move anymore, so Owen led the way to the compound before the main gate, and the crowd sat facing him in neat rows, filling the great open space.
Owen had never felt at ease in front of large audiences, but the hero worship was unnerving him even more, so he overcame his natural tendency for speech making and opted for a questions-and-answers session. After a little prompting, people began introducing themselves and asking questions, most of them so familiar to Owen that he could have answered them in his sleep. Soon the lepers became just another audience to him, a little better behaved than most, as he began telling them about his time in the rebellion, or at least the parts that were suitable for public consumption, with Hazel chiming in now and again with what she considered telling points. The lepers treated them both with great respect, and Owen and Hazel couldn't help but warm to them. It had never occurred to them that the lepers might be fans of theirs just like everyone else.
Eventually Owen ran out of things to say, and introduced Moon. The audience listened quietly as he talked of his adventures with Owen and Hazel. A voice from the audience asked if he considered himself a traitor to his people, and Moon thoug
ht for a moment before finally saying no, that his people were traitors to Humanity. He actually got a soft patter of applause for that.
Time went by quickly, and Owen was surprised when Oz murmured in his ear that his hour was nearly up. Owen wasn't sure what he'd expected from a colony of lepers—perhaps shambling, death-like figures clanging a bell and shouting, "Unclean! Unclean!" These quiet, warm, friendly people were a revelation to him. Previously, he'd seen his commitment to fight for them as a duty. Now he saw it as an honor. They'd been through so much, it didn't seem fair to him that they should have to face the Hadenmen as well.
He announced at last that he had to leave, and a roar of protest went up. He explained that Mother Beatrice had a meal prepared for them, and the mention of the Saint's name was all it took to clear the compound. Owen looked at Hazel.
"So, what do you think?"
"They'll fight," said Hazel. "But then I never doubted they would. Only hard-line fighters could survive in the face of all they have going against them, even before the Hadenmen. But God knows how long we can hold this place against an army. Moon?"
The augmented man frowned. "I confess I find it hard to understand what the Hadenmen are doing here anyway. The colonists don't have anything worth taking. There must be something else here, something we're missing."
"Keep thinking," said Owen. "If we knew what it was they wanted, maybe we could just give it to them. Or destroy it. Then maybe they'd go away and annoy someone else."
"I wouldn't bet on that," said Hazel. "Once the Hadenmen find out we're here, it might well motivate them to raze the whole Mission to the ground just to get us. We did, after all, destroy their plans for Brahmin II. And the Hadenmen have never been the most forgiving of people."
"True," said Moon.
"Oh, shut up," said Owen. "I've got enough problems to think about."
"I think a new one may be heading our way," said Hazel quietly. "Take a look at what just showed up."
They all looked, with varying degrees of disbelief, as a skeletally thin creature lurched toward them. Well over six and a half feet tall, the newcomer wore a long black dress of tatters, belted around an impossibly thin waist to support a sword on one bony hip and a gun on the other. She wore lace-up boots, long green evening gloves with holes, and a battered witch's hat with long purple streamers flying from the top. Her face was covered with white pancake makeup, pointed up by two bright red cheeks, and metallic green lipstick and eye shadow. She moved with an uneven, determined gait, her legs barely bending, as though the knees didn't work properly. She looked a lot like a marionette who'd cut her own strings, done something very nasty to the puppeteer, and then gone out into the world to do as much damage as possible before someone finally stopped her.
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