Deathstalker War d-3

by Simon R. Green

"In Captain Bartok's absence, I am assuming authority on this ship," Razor said slowly and clearly. "I want every armed man down in Legion's hold. Kill everything you find there."

  "We already tried that, sir," said the Second. "No one can get anywhere near the hold. Something's… preventing us."

  Razor thought hard. Around him, the bridge crew began to stir and return to their senses. With Legion dead, it wouldn't be long before Mistport's surviving espers suddenly found they had their powers back. And then there'd be hell to pay. They'd wipe out the forces on the ground, and then turn their attention to the Defiant.

  "Power up all the systems," Razor said flatly. "Prepare to scorch Mistport."

  "Sir?" said the Second in Command. "Our people are still down there, sir."

  "With Legion down, they're as good as dead anyway. Our orders were to bring Mistworld back into the Empire. If I have to turn it into a single great funeral pyre to do so, then that's what I'll do. Bring all the disrupter cannon on-line. On my command, commence firing. And don't stop while there's one speck of life left on that miserable planet."

  And that was when the lights went out. There was a long moment of utter darkness, and then the emergency systems came back on, bathing the bridge in a crimson glow. The Second checked his instruments. When he looked up, his eyes were scared.

  "All main systems are down, sir. Practically everything except basic life support. Some… unknown force shut them down. We're helpless, sir."

  Investigator Razor sat down in the command chair and wondered how he was going to explain this to the Empress.

  In the auditorium holding Legion's tank, all was still and quiet. Both Legion and the Mater Mundi were gone, their overwhelming presence absent The great fleshy mass had sunk to the bottom of its tank. Owen and Hazel stood together, getting used to being back in their own head again. Typhoid Mary, only herself again, bent over Captain Bartok, who was sitting on the floor, staring at nothing.

  "Don't bother," said Owen. "I already checked. There's no one home. Whatever he saw here, his mind couldn't handle it."

  "Damn," said Hazel. "I was looking forward to killing him."

  "The killing's over," said Mary, straightening up. "Let's go home."

  "Sounds good to me," said Owen. "Let's see if we can requisition an escape pod. I doubt anybody will be in the mood to say no to us."

  They left the auditorium. Captain Bartok sat very still, staring with empty eyes at the dead mass in the tank.

  Afterward, what was left of Mistport celebrated. Those few marines who didn't run back to their pinnaces fast enough were hunted down and killed. No one was in the mood to take prisoners. The dead were piled to one side, to be disposed of later. Rescue squads formed themselves and set about digging in collapsed buildings, in search of survivors. Mistport had come through again. There was a hell of a lot of rebuilding to be done, but the bulk of the city had survived. It took a lot to kill Mistworlders. If only because if you could survive Mistport, you could handle pretty much anything else the universe could throw at you.

  What remained of the Council was working at the esper union's hall, coordinating relief work and making sure the espers' psionic screen stayed in place until the Defiant was safely gone. No point in taking chances. Everyone else in the hall was partying like there was no tomorrow. Probably because so many of them hadn't expected to live to see tomorrow anyway. Esper chatter filled the great room, almost loud enough to be heard by non-espers. A couple of show-offs were dancing on the ceiling. None of the non-espers felt slighted or threatened. For the moment at least, victory had brought everyone together.

  Young Jack Random was the man of the hour. Everyone wanted to be next to him, to slap him on the back, pour him another drink. He was only too happy to describe his part in the defense of the city, and the people around him wouldn't let him be modest about it. Everyone had some tale to tell of the legendary professional rebel's courage and daring exploits.

  Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d'Ark sat in a corner of the hall, drinking a reasonably good vintage wine and dubiously studying a collection of party snacks. Their greater abilities had disappeared along with the Mater Mundi, and they were both feeling very human again. Their wounds had healed, and the bone-deep weariness had gone, but they both felt they needed some time to come to terms with the more than human things they'd done. Their exploits fighting in the streets hadn't gone unnoticed, and some people made a point of seeking them out to reminisce and congratulate them, but on the whole most people preferred to idolize the larger-than-life Jack Random.

  At Random's side stood Donald Royal, his ancient frame full of new life and good wine, revitalized by battle and feeling like a new man again. He'd been a great hero in his younger days, and had never been really happy leading a peaceful life. Now he felt like himself again, full of piss and vinegar, and if he was almost certain to pay dearly for that feeling tomorrow, well, he'd think about that tomorrow. People roared his name along with Jack Random's and toasted him like the warrior of old. Random put an arm across his shoulders and wouldn't be separated from him. Madelaine Skye stuck close, too, and tried to tell herself it wasn't just jealousy that made her distrust the legendary professional rebel.

  Over by the bar, Cat and Cyder were making serious inroads into the champagne. They always believed in indulging in the best, especially when someone else was footing the bill. As the level in the third bottle dropped, Cyder became increasingly philosophical about the loss of her tavern.

  "We'll build another Blackthorn," she said to Cat, with only the faintest slur in her speech. "We can live off the insurance money for a while, and I'll set up some easy burglaries for you. Bound to be lots of good stuff lying around relatively unguarded, after all this. The old team rides again. What the hell; maybe you and I were never meant to be respectable."

  John Silver came over to pay his respects to Owen and Hazel. He was wrapped in so many bandages he could only bend in certain directions, but he seemed cheerful enough. Owen decided to be diplomatic, and excused himself for a moment, so Silver and Hazel could talk in private. After Owen had moved away, they stood in silence for a while, meeting each other's gaze steadily.

  "I don't suppose there's any way I could persuade you to stay in Mistport?" said Silver.

  "No. I go where the rebellion takes me, and it's all over here."

  "You need a little Blood, to take with you? I could always…"

  "No thanks. I don't need it anymore."

  "I thought not. You don't need me, either."

  "It was good seeing you again, John, but you're my past. I've moved on since then, and where I've gone you can't follow. What will you do now?"

  "Help rebuild the starport. If we can."

  "The Golgotha underground will supply you with whatever high-tech you need." She sipped her wine to indicate she was about to change the subject. "You don't know what happened to Chance and his kids, do you?"

  "Oh, they'll come through all right," said Silver easily. "His kind always do. The esper union is looking after the children, here in the Hall somewhere. I think the powers that be are feeling a bit guilty about abandoning them to someone like Chance, just because they didn't want to be bothered with children who reminded them of the dark side of esp." He looked round. "Owen's coming back. I'd better make myself scarce. Look after yourself. Hazel."

  "You too, John. From what I hear, you were quite the hero, out fighting in the streets."

  Silver grinned. "Yeah. I don't know what came over me."

  He gave her a bow and a wink, and moved off into the party.

  Not that far away, Investigator Topaz and Typhoid Mary were talking quietly. Neither of them cared much for parties, as a rule, but after the death of so many people; they both felt a need for the comfort of a crowd. When the thousands of minds in Legion died, they had felt each one through the Mater Mundi's link, and some of Death's cold hand had brushed against their souls. So they came to the union esper hall, to warm themselves in the presence of friends
.

  "I still don't know if I did the right thing," said Mary, looking down into her wineglass.

  "Of course you did," Topaz said briskly. "Anyone who died on the Defiant needed to die, whether they were innocent minds trapped in Legion, or Imperial butchers come to kill us all. I'm more interested in the Mater Mundi. What did it feel like, being the focus?"

  Mary frowned. "I'm not sure. I'm already beginning to forget it. I think my mind is protecting me from things I'm not ready to deal with. I felt… larger, more real, somehow. As though the whole of my life was a dream, from which I awoke for a short while. Part of me wants it again, but the rest of me is scared shitless at the very thought. That business with the control words worries me as well. The Mater Mundi contact wiped out the controls Razor activated, but who knows what else the mind techs might have planted deep within me?"

  "Worry about it when it happens," said Topaz. "After the way the Empire got its ass kicked here today, I think we can safely assume it'll be some time before we have to worry about Imperial agents again. And you're a lot stronger than you used to be. When you focused the Mater Mundi, it changed you. Your mind is more powerful now. I can feel it. When I look at you with my mind, it's like staring into the sun."

  "I know," said Mary. "That's something else that worries me."

  "Hell," said Topaz. "You wouldn't be happy if you didn't have something to worry about. It's in your nature."

  "True," said Typhoid Mary.

  Jenny Psycho watched them talk together, from a safe distance, but felt more numb than jealous. She still couldn't get over the fact that the Mater Mundi had chosen to manifest through someone else this time, not her. She'd called for help in the streets of Mistport, and the Mother had ignored her. She was slowly beginning to realize that she'd have to find a new purpose in life, that she wasn't who she'd thought she was.

  Councillor McVey cornered Gideon Steel, who was sulking quietly by the punch bowl. The Port Director was rather upset that he didn't have a starport to be Director of anymore.

  "Snap out of it, Steel," said McVey. "With Magnus and Barron dead, Castle out of his mind with grief, and Donald Royal telling anyone who'll listen that it's his destiny to fight alongside Jack Random, wherever he goes, that only leaves you and me as city Councillors. And there's a hell of a lot of work to be done in putting this city back together. I can't do it on my own, Gideon."

  Steel sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right. But I was happy being Port Director. It was the only job I was ever any good at."

  "It was the only job where you could syphon off a lot of money on the side."

  Steel looked at McVey. "You knew?"

  "Of course."

  "Then why didn't you say anything?"

  "Because you were a good Port Director. It's a hard job, and no one else on the Council wanted it. So, are you going to help me rebuild Mistport? Think of all the work and construction contracts you'll be in charge of. A man with his wits about him would be in a position to steal himself a fortune."

  "You talked me into it," said Steel. "When do we start?"

  Back on the other side of the room, Neeson the banker had come to pay his respects to Owen Deathstalker. He looked battered and tired, but surprisingly happy.

  "You look like you've been in the wars," said Owen.

  "Damn right," said Neeson. "Most fun I've had in years. I started out as a mercenary, you know. This sword for hire, and all that. Your father brought me into the business world. Said someone with my instincts would go far in banking. And how right he was. Anyway, I came to tell you that my associates and I have decided to reactivate and maintain the old Deathstalker information network."

  "How very public-spirited of you," said Hazel. "What brought that on?"

  "Well, partly because of the gentleman standing at your side, partly because everyone on Mistworld is now part of the great rebellion, whether we want it or not, and partly because we all feel more alive now than we have in a long time. Business has its own rewards, but it's not exactly exciting, you know. It's a poor life when you're reduced to getting cheap thrills from foreclosing on someone's mortgage. No, being a rebel sounds much more fun. See you around, Deathstalker."

  He nodded briskly to Owen and Hazel, and wandered off in search of food and wine and someone else to whom he could boast about his transformation. There's no one more enthusiastic than a middle-aged convert. He was replaced by the journalist Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn. Their press credentials had saved them from the general slaughter of the invading forces, but now they were stranded on Mistworld until they could beg, borrow, or steal passage off.

  "Hi there," said Toby. "Mind if we join you? We've brought our own bottle."

  "Now there speaks a civilized man," said Owen. "I understand you're interested in coming along with us desperate rebel types when we leave?"

  "Damn right," said Toby. "You people are where the story is. Besides, we asked everybody else, and they all said no."

  "Fair enough," said Owen. "If you're looking for a good story, some of my associates are planning an expedition to a planet called Haceldama. I'll put you in contact with them. In the meantime, why aren't you interviewing Jack Random? He's the official hero of the hour."

  Toby and Flynn looked at each other, and then Toby leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Are you sure that is Jack Random?"

  Owen and Hazel kept their faces blank, but they leaned forward and lowered their voices, too. "What makes you think that he isn't?" said Hazel.

  "Because we saw him leading a rebellion on Technos III, just a few weeks ago," said Toby. "And he looked… different. Older."

  "Much older," said Flynn. "I've got it all on tape. And my camera never lies."

  "Lots of people have claimed to be Jack Random, down the years," Owen said neutrally. "Let's just say this one seems more convincing than most."

  Toby glanced back at Random, still surrounded by well-wishers and devoted disciples. "Doesn't it bother you, that he's getting all the glory? You two did just as much as he. Flynn got most of it on tape."

  Hazel shrugged. "Last thing I need is being bothered by autograph hunters. Let him be the hero, if that's what he wants. I was never very comfortable with the role anyway."

  "Heads up," said Owen. "I think he's going to say something."

  The speech that followed was a triumph. Short, sharp, lucid, and witty. A professional speechwriter couldn't have done better. Young Jack Random stirred the crowd's blood with praises for their deeds in protecting their city, and with promises of more battles against injustice to come. On to Golgotha! he cried, and everyone cheered and applauded. Owen and Hazel applauded, too, so as not to seem small, but neither of them was swayed by his words. He was still just too good to be true, for them.

  But, all things considered, Owen felt basically upbeat. Things seemed to be going his way for once. The Imperial invasion had been defeated, Mistport had been saved, his own mission was apparently a great success, and he'd faced the prophecy of his own death and survived after all. Not that he'd ever really believed in it, but it was good to put it behind him. It was like having a new lease on life; and life was very good just then.

  He and Hazel stood together and watched the crowd cheer itself hoarse for Jack Random, and were quietly content.

  CHAPTER TWO

  INNOCENCE LOST

  They called it Shannon's World, because it was his dream, his vision. He all but bankrupted himself bringing it into existence, but the result was a pleasure world like no other, reserved only for the very rich, the extremely well connected, and the strictly aristocratic. Its location was a secret known only to the glamorous few, and for those inquisitive others who bribed or bullied their way to Shannon's World uninvited, state-of-the-art security and weapons systems waited to blow them out of this world and into the next. Shannon's World, where mountains sang to each other, fantasies and dreams became real, and the whole world was alive. A pleasure planet unlike any other, where even the weariest of souls
could find rest and comfort and contentment.

  And then the awful thing happened.

  Afterward, Shannon's World cut itself off from the Empire, refusing to acknowledge any form of contact. Visitors were destroyed while still in orbit, no matter whom they represented. The Empress sent a ship. It never came back. She sent a starcruiser, which managed to land a full brigade of marines. Something killed them. So she tried a series of covert Security teams. Only one man returned from what had been the foremost pleasure planet in the Empire. He came back soaked in many people's blood, quite mad, his mind destroyed by what he'd seen, and died soon after, mostly because he wanted to. He renamed the planet Haceldama, the Field of Blood.

  The Empress put the planet under Quarantine, stationed a starcruiser in far orbit to make sure whatever was down there didn't get out, and then turned her attention to other things. Thanks to the traitor Deathstalker and his growing rebellion, she had far more pressing worries than a pleasure planet gone bad. And so things might have remained, if the most important strategic and military mind in the Empire, one Vincent Harker, hadn't crash-landed on what used to be Shannon's World. In his head was information vital to both the Empire and the rebellion. The Empress sent down a company of her elite battle troops to recover him. They never reported back. Now, it was the rebels' turn.

  In a hastily converted cargo ship called the Wild Rose, a small group of rebels watched the sensor panels closely, and hoped the new Hadenman cloaking system was everything it was supposed to be. The planet's defenses were powerful enough to batter down any force shield generated by anything less than a full starcruiser, and the cargo ship's shields were strictly rudimentary. Either the Hadenman device fooled the orbiting satellites, or the rebels wouldn't live long enough to know they were dead. The device squatted behind them, roughly bolted to the deck, all sharp edges and unexpected angles, with strange lights that came and went for no apparent reason. The rebels preferred not to look at it. The shape of the device hurt their eyes. They kept their gaze fixed on the sensor panels and the main viewscreen, watching the planet grow slowly beneath them, cool and blue and utterly enigmatic.