Deathstalker Coda

by Simon R. Green

  The hounds looked up as they heard their names, and Giles petted their heads till they settled again.

  "Out hunting?" said Owen. "What are you after?"

  Giles grinned again. "Anything that moves, really. We're not fussy. We just love to hunt. We catch enough for good eating, and let the rest go. What are you doing here, Owen?"

  Owen grinned. "Following a trail. Just like you."

  Owen and the boy Giles sat down by the side of the trail, and talked together for a while, enjoying each other's company. Owen found the boy easy and engaging, and the boy was eager for news of other worlds. The dogs settled down at their feet, yawning and scratching themselves as they waited patiently to get back to the real business of the hunt.

  "Don't you have a Clan name, Owen?" said Giles, after a while. "Family is important. The VomAchts rule in Hadrian City."

  "Of course. I am Owen, head of Clan Deathstalker."

  "Damn! Now that's a Clan name! Deathstalker…"The boy said it several times, savoring the length of the name. "I'd love a name like that. A warrior's name. Where do you come from?"

  "Most recently, I was at Ethur's court, on Heartworld. I had an audience with the Emperor."

  Giles spat on the ground and said a rude word, and the dogs stirred uneasily at the sudden anger in the boy's voice. "He's not our Emperor anymore. We broke away. This is our world now, though the Clans are still arguing over what to call it. We don't miss Ethur, or his Empire. They never did anything for us." He frowned heavily, sticking out his lower lip. "Too many freaks and mutants in the Empire these days; that's what Da says. It was supposed to be a human Empire."

  "What do you want to be, when you grow up?" said Owen.

  "A warrior, of course! Like my father. I don't get to see him much; he is often away, needed in the wars. Fighting to keep our city safe. I wish he had more time for me. I know, it's selfish, but… When I am grown to a warrior's age, I will fight for our city too. I will make him proud of me. Make him take notice."

  The boy's brooding face belied his steadfast words, and Owen decided to change the subject.

  "Giles, have you seen anything… strange, recently? Anything unusual? Probably right around here."

  "Yes!" Giles said immediately. "A couple of months back. I saw an angel, right here, in the woods!" He looked at Owen carefully, to be sure his new friend wouldn't laugh at him, and then reassured by what he saw in Owen's face, he continued. "At first, I could only feel her presence, watching me. Then she became a bright light, shining down on me, and finally a glowing woman. Very pretty, with red hair. She didn't have wings or a halo, but I knew she had to be an angel. I could feel the power in her. You believe me, don't you, Owen?"

  "Yes," said Owen. "I do."

  "No one else does." Giles shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I know what I saw."

  "Did the angel… say anything to you?"

  "No… I thought she was going to, but in the end she just looked at me, and vanished. Why would an angel reveal herself to me? I'm not anyone special. Perhaps it was a portent, to show that I have a great destiny ahead of me!"

  "Perhaps you have," said Owen. "I knew a Giles once. He was a great warrior. Good luck with your hunt, Giles. I have to be going now."

  And he vanished, right in front of Giles, enjoying the look of surprise on the boy's face. Once again Owen let go of his hold on time, and the galaxy spun around him as he plunged back into the past again, following Hazel. He had a long way to go, and even longer before he could allow himself to rest.

  Back in the woods, the boy who would one day become Giles Deathstalker shrugged easily, accepting the miraculous the way children do, and then he was off on the hunt again, running with a happy heart through the shadowed woods with his beloved dogs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  *

  HERE BE MONSTERS

  Usher II was a mistake. A planet that should never have happened, a miserable lump of rock hanging out in a bad neighborhood. To be exact, it hung right in the middle between two suns, held in place by an unlikely combination of gravity and other badly misunderstood forces. It did not revolve, or orbit, or do anything else particularly interesting. Made up almost entirely of rock and crystal, it had no ecosystem, and never would. Life had been given up as a bad idea long ago, and so it would have stayed, until the Empire found it and discovered its peculiar electromagnetic conditions made it the perfect place to assemble stardrive engines. And so hundreds of scientific bases and factories were built all over Usher II, protected by some of the most powerful force shields ever created. People lived on Usher II now, but never for long. It was just too damned depressing a place to stay for long. The double suns burned fiercely, constantly, like two great glaring eyes, and there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Turnover among the scientists and the families was high, despite every incentive the Empire could come up with, but as long as the stardrives kept rolling off the line, no one cared. Usher II was still a place to get rich in a hurry, doing work no one else wanted to do.

  (Usher I was more of a moon than a planet. It rushed around the two suns in a figure-eight orbit that made no sense whatsoever, a pockmarked piece of rock with no discernable worth or qualities.)

  And now two Imperial starcruisers had come to Usher II, the Heritage and the Hook, hanging way back from the binary suns, studying Usher II from what they fervently hoped was a safe distance. The Terror was coming, and they were there to witness the death of a world. The cities and bases should have been evacuated long ago, but the stardrive factories were far too important to be just abandoned, and so scientists' families were held hostage to keep the factories working until the very last moment. Now that moment had come, and everywhere civilian ships were rising from Usher II in their thousands, in one last desperate bid for escape. In the cities, riots had broken out, as the remaining population discovered there weren't enough ships to go round, and they weren't going anywhere. The Emperor Finn had given orders that all deserting civilian ships should be shot down, to encourage everyone else to keep working, but neither the Heritage nor the Hook had the heart to obey such orders. It was too late for things like that now. Anyone could see that.

  Captain Ariadne Vardalos sat stiffly in her command chair on the bridge of the Heritage, and watched the fleeing ships and the riots and the death songs of a population. There was nothing she could do. She had her orders. The Heritage was not there to help, or even offer comfort; her only mission was to strike a blow at the Terror, and hopefully survive long enough to observe the results. Sitting alone in the starship's cargo bay was an alien tech-derived superweapon that might or might not be the key to stopping the Terror's herald in its tracks. The herald always came first. The Heritage's sensors had already picked it up, heading slowly but inexorably towards Usher II and its two suns.

  Captain Vardalos was a medium-height, rangy woman with olive skin and long dark ringlets surrounding a thoughtful face. She'd been a starship captain for forty years, and never wanted anything else. She was a member of Pure Humanity and Church Militant, because you had to be these days if you wanted to be a fleet officer under Emperor Finn, but she really didn't give much of a damn. She was loyal to the Empire, and the Emperor, because that was part of the job. You had to believe in the chain of command in the military, or everything just went to hell.

  Standing at her side, sniffing and occasionally sucking at her teeth in that irritating way she had, was her second-in-command, Marcella Fortuna. A tall gangling blonde with cool blue eyes and a vague smile, a sloppy manner, and the kind of quiet determination that could wear down mountains. Reliable, but not noted for original thinking, Fortuna had been a second for forty years because no one in their right mind would ever make her a captain. Vardalos and Fortuna had served together for longer than either of them cared to remember. They made a good team. Even on jobs they had no stomach for.

  "Move us in a little closer," said Vardalos. "I want to be able to look the herald over thoroughly before we launch our supposed superweapo
n."

  "Are you sure that's really wise, Captain?" said Fortuna. "Something quite appallingly nasty is due to happen to Usher II anytime now, and we don't want it happening to us, do we?"

  "Don't fill your trousers just yet, Second. The herald's never been known to attack anything. Bloody thing doesn't have to; by all accounts it's indestructible. We've got some time to play with yet, as long as we're careful."

  "And the departing civilian ships, Captain? We do have quite explicit instructions…"

  "Officially, we can't spare the energy it would take to deal with them. Unofficially, I didn't join the fleet to shoot civilians in the back while they were running away. You have any problems with that, Second?"

  "No, Captain. I just wanted to be sure you had your justifications thought out properly. And I think I'll edit this conversation from the bridge log, on the way back. Just in case. You never know who might have access to it, these days."

  "It's becoming that sort of a fleet, isn't it?" Vardalos sighed heavily. "Still, emperors come and go, but the fleet goes on. We follow our duty and weather the storms, because someone has to provide continuity. Someone has to be around, to clear up the messes the politicians make."

  "Who are you trying to persuade, Captain?" said Fortuna. "Me, or you?"

  "Oh, hush, Second. This ship's loyal, and as long as I'm captain it will stay loyal. Finn may not have turned out to be the Emperor he promised he'd be, but everyone else has either run away or been proved false. You have to believe in someone. We have too many enemies at our throat to go soft. The ELFs, the aliens, the Terror… Maybe we need an Iron Man on the throne, in times like these. So suck it in and shoulder the weight, Second, because that's part of the job too. Communications, get me the captain of the Hook."

  "Aye, Captain."

  Captain Carter Randolph appeared on the bridge's main viewscreen, scowling fiercely. Vandalos knew better than to take it personally. Randolph was the oldest serving captain in the fleet, and by far the most experienced. His actual age was said to be classified, but he had to be at least a hundred and thirty. He'd been a large man once, but his great frame was stooped and shriveled now, collapsing in on itself. Sharp gray eyes dominated his heavily lined face, under a shock of silver-gray hair. His habitual glower softened a little as he took in Vardalos.

  "Ariadne! About time you got here. We've been hanging around this arse end of the universe for over an hour. Don't suppose there's been any change in our orders?"

  "No, Captain Randolph. Nothing's changed. My job is still to deliver the alien superweapon, and hang around just long enough to see if it works. And your job is still to throw away your life for nothing."

  "Not for nothing. For my faith, and my duty. Everyone on this ship is a volunteer, very definitely including me. If your weapon doesn't stop the herald, we get to stay and wait for the Terror, and the destruction of Usher II. We'll broadcast data for as long as our instruments hold out. The Empire needs new information on the Terror."

  "I've never believed in suicide missions," Vardalos said, meeting Randolph's gaze squarely.

  "We gave up our lives when we joined the service," said Randolph. "You can't say it was hidden in the small print. We fight and sometimes die, so that the Empire might live. It all comes down to faith. Some of us believe there's a better place, waiting for us."

  "And some of us need our heads examined," growled his second-in-command, Avi Habib. "Go ahead. Hang about and make faces at the Terror. See what good it does anyone. God, it's lonely being the voice of reason on this ship."

  Habib had been Randolph's second and partner for most of their long lives. Dark-skinned, bald, and blocky, the second was always there at his captain's side, ready to stand between him and all danger. Inseparable and unbeatable, their accomplishments were the stuff of legend. Which was quite probably why Finn had made sure they were given the opportunity to volunteer for this mission.

  Randolph growled at his second. "Quiet, you unbeliever. You should have embraced the Church Militant, like I did. Gives you a marvelous sense of certainty."

  "There's nothing wrong with my faith, thank you very much, and I don't need it upgraded by a bunch of loudmouths with no dress sense. And the only certainty on this miserable mission is that we're all going to die horrible deaths. Try brandishing a crucifix at the Terror, and see how far it gets you. You'll be calling for an exorcist next."

  "You didn't even read those pamphlets I gave you, did you?"

  "Oh, aye, I read them all right. Packed full of useful information, they were. Like, blessed are the meek, because they don't expect to get much out of life anyway. And, the Lord gives and the Lord takes away, and sometimes he adds on interest just to make sure you're paying attention. The Church Militant… bunch of bloody zealots. Not a handful of brain cells between them. You wait, the good Lord'll come back down among us, and he is going to be sorely pissed. And I'll lay you odds that the Church Militant will be first in line for a good kicking."

  Randolph had to laugh. "It's a good job for you there isn't an Inquisition."

  "Oh, I've no doubt Finn'll get around to it," growled Habib.

  "It's not too late for you to leave," Randolph said quietly. "There's still time for you to transfer to the Heritage, if you want."

  "And leave you on your own? You'd be lost without me, and you know it. And anyway, this mission matters. Even I know that. It's the only way to get new information on the Terror."

  "You don't have to die, to carry out your mission," said Vardalos.

  "Yes we do," said Randolph. "We have to get in close, and keep transmitting to the last possible moment. The Hook's been outfitted with the strongest sensors we've ever had. I'm going to steer this ship right down the Terror's throat, and transmit data back every foot of the way. There's only a skeleton crew on board, and each and every one of us knew exactly what we were volunteering for."

  "Skeleton crew," sniffed Habib. "Bloody apt term, that."

  "Have faith, Second."

  "Oh, I do. I am entirely convinced the Terror will chew us up and spit us out without even noticing we're there. This is the bloody Terror we're talking about! Devourer of galaxies and civilizations! Am I the only sane voice around here?"

  "Ignore him," Randolph said to Vardalos. "I think he's been cutting back on his medication again. Don't worry about us; we'll get the job done. Our faith will sustain us. Even a nasty old heretic like Avi."

  "Even in the face of the Terror?" said Vardalos.

  "Of course," said Randolph. "We know what it is, really. It is the enemy. The old Beast, from Revelation. When is faith more necessary than when going face-to-face with the enemy?"

  "I was given the chance to volunteer for your mission," said Vardalos. "I didn't."

  "I should hope not," said Randolph. "You're young. Still got most of your life ahead of you. This is a mission for those… with little left to lose. I'm just glad I'm going out doing something that matters."

  "There is that," said Habib. "We'd have hated being retired."

  "The Lord sends us out, and He calls us all home."

  "Aye, well, he'd better have a bloody cup of tea waiting."

  "Be quiet, you heathen," Randolph said kindly. He looked searchingly at Vardalos. "I take it you have heard the latest rumors? That a whole fleet's gone rogue at Haden?"

  "Yes," said Vardalos. "They say… they say Owen has returned. The blessed Deathstalker himself, back to lead us against the Terror, just like all the old legends always said he would. I wish I could believe it… but it doesn't sound very likely, does it?"

  "Hell, no!" Randolph said grimly. "It's just a dirty Shub trick. The tech they've got, they can make people believe anything. Always knew we couldn't trust those soulless robots. I lost all my grandparents to Shub, back when they were still the official enemies of Humanity. No, if the blessed Owen really had returned, we'd all know about it. He wouldn't sneak back on some backwater planet; he'd appear on Logres, working miracles. And if he didn't want Finn on the
throne, he'd kick him right off it. No… it's a nice dream, Ariadne, but that's all it is. Enough chat now. Our brand-new sensors say we can expect the herald to show up pretty soon now. Talk to you later, Heritage. This is Hook, signing off."

  And after that, there was nothing left but to wait. The comm center became overloaded with pleading messages from civilians in the domed cities on Usher II. No one knew how many people were trapped down there, but it had to be in the millions. There was nothing Heritage or Hook could do for them. They were both under strict instructions to do nothing that might endanger their missions. In the end, Captain Vardalos just stopped listening. Faith and loyalty were all very well, but in the end it always came down to the heavy weight of duty.

  She summoned up an image of the cargo bay on her private viewscreen. The only thing in the cavernous hold was the alien superweapon, and its foul poisonous presence seemed to fill the steel chamber. The weapon had been reverse engineered from seized alien technology, and it looked it. If the device did everything the human scientists claimed it would, it should be able to transform one of Usher IPs binary suns into a supernova, and then channel all the terrible energies into a single vicious strike against the herald. Nothing material should be able to survive that; not even something that incubated in suns. And without the herald to prepare its targets, the Terror might not be able to feed…

  Vardalos didn't trust the weapon. She didn't trust it to do what it was supposed to do, and she didn't trust it not to have some nasty alien surprises up its sleeve. Just looking at it made her feel uneasy. She scowled at the thing in her cargo bay, squatting on the steel floor like a malignant toad. It was big and blocky, but apart from that no one could be sure of its shape or nature. Its edges were blurred, as though it had too many angles for human eyes to focus on. No one liked to be near it. It upset people. The technicians who brought it on board wore armored hard suits, so they wouldn't have to actually touch it. Vardalos would be glad when she could dump the horrid thing, and be rid of it. But until then, she had her orders.