Mistworld (Deathstalker Prelude)

by Green, Simon R.

  Donald sighed quietly and pulled his cloak tightly about him. The fog was thick and heavy, the snow had been falling for hours, and it was still barely morning. It was going to be a hard winter. Donald glanced at Madelaine Skye standing next to him, unrecognizable as usual in her thick fur cloak with the hood pulled well forward. She seemed calm enough, but Donald could tell from the set of her shoulders that her right hand was resting on her sword hilt. He wasn’t surprised. He’d heard the open rage in her voice on the few occasions she’d spoken of Dr. Vertue.

  “Well,” said Donald. “This is the place.”

  “Yes,” said Skye. “I know.”

  “You’ve been here before, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Donald waited a moment, and then sniffed when he realised Skye wasn’t going to say any more. He had a strong feeling there were things going on that Skye wasn’t telling him about. It didn’t really matter. If it was important, Skye would tell him eventually. Vertue was all that mattered now. Donald Royal looked at the closed door and felt a slow, cold anger build within him. Leon Vertue knew how and why Jamie had died, and one way or another Donald was going to learn the truth. He glanced quickly at Madelaine Skye.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  Donald stepped forward and tried the door. It wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open and moved cautiously forward into a quietly tasteful lamplit hall. Skye stepped quickly in behind him and pushed the door shut. It felt good to be in out of the cold. Donald pushed back his hood and beat the snow from his cloak as he looked about him. The short, narrow hall was completely empty, and ended at the only other door. Donald started towards it, Skye at his side. He took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. He flexed his hands slowly. Gloves just got in the way when you used a sword. He checked the walls unobtrusively as he passed. He couldn’t see any security cameras, but he assumed they were being monitored. Both the walls were covered with ostentatiously expensive paintings and tapestries. Donald smiled suddenly as he recognised a forgery. He knew it was a fake, because he owned the original. His smile slowly faded. At least, he’d always assumed he owned the original. He arrived at the end door in a thoroughly foul state of mind, and scowled fiercely when the door handle wouldn’t turn under his hand. He hammered on the ironwood door with his fist and waited impatiently. There was a hiss of static from a small comm unit set into the door frame.

  “Dr. Vertue thanks you for calling, but regrets to announce that he is unavailable today. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.”

  “Get that recording off the line and talk to me,” growled Donald. “Or so help me I’ll call in a company of the Watch and have them turn this door into kindling. I am Councillor Donald Royal, and I have business with Dr. Vertue.”

  There was a pause, and then a hesitant female voice issued from the comm unit. “I’m sorry, Councillor, but the doctor left strict instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed for any reason.”

  “Your boss is already in trouble,” said Donald coldly. “Unless you want to join him, I suggest you open this damned door. Now.”

  The door hummed quietly to itself, and then swung smoothly open. Donald smiled grimly, and stalked forward into the doctor’s reception area. So much for the first line of defence. A gorgeous redhead was rising nervously from behind a huge steel-and-plastic desk. Donald nodded briskly to her, and glanced about him. There was no sign of Vertue. Highly polished ironwood wall panels gleamed richly under the overhead lightsphere, and the carpet was thick enough to hide a good-sized snake. Any other time Donald might have been impressed, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. He had other things on his mind.

  “Vertue,” he said bluntly. “Where is he?”

  The secretary tore her eyes away from the bulky, fur-wrapped figure of Madelaine Skye, and glanced quickly at the closed door to the right before answering Donald. “I’m afraid you can’t see him just at the moment, Councillor; he’s in conference. He was most emphatic that he wasn’t to be disturbed. If you’d care to wait…”

  “He’ll see us,” said Donald, and headed for the right-hand door.

  “I’m sorry, Councillor,” said the secretary, and something in her voice made Donald stop and look back. The secretary had a disrupter in her hand, pointed carefully midway between him and Skye. Donald stood very still. The secretary had them both covered, and he had no doubt she’d use the gun if she felt at all threatened. He thought about the throwing knife in the top of his right boot, and then thought better of it. He needed a distraction.…

  The secretary looked quickly from Donald to Skye, frowning thoughtfully. “If you really had a company of the Watch, you’d have brought them in with you. And if you don’t have the Watch’s backing, that means you don’t have a warrant. So I can throw you both out any time I feel like it. But you wouldn’t have come on this strong if you didn’t have something you thought you could hurt us with. I don’t think I can afford to take any chances with you, Councillor. Or your mysterious friend. Unbuckle your sword belt, Councillor. Slowly, and very carefully. And you, in the furs; push back that hood and let me take a look at you. I’m sure I know you from somewhere.”

  Donald fumbled at his sword belt, taking his time about it without being too obvious. The secretary seemed more interested in Skye than she was in him. If he timed it just right… He knelt carefully down and dropped his scabbard onto the floor. The secretary’s eyes flickered from Skye to him and back again. Skye slowly lifted her hands, and then jerked her hood back to show her face. The secretary’s eyes widened with horror, and her gun hand started to shake.

  “You can’t be. You can’t be! I saw your body in the tank!”

  Donald pulled the knife from his boot and threw it underhand, putting all his strength behind it. The knife slammed into the secretary’s shoulder, spinning her round. The disrupter fired, discharging its energy harmlessly into the ceiling. Skye stepped quickly forward, sword in hand. The long blade flashed once, and the secretary fell limply to the floor. Skye knelt beside her to be sure she was dead, and then sheathed her sword. Donald picked up his sword belt and buckled it on again.

  “Nice throw,” said Skye.

  “Thanks. Why did she spook like that when she saw your face? And what did she mean…”

  “I’ll explain later. Come and take a look at this.”

  Donald sniffed, and moved behind the desk to crouch down beside Skye. His knees protested loudly, but he ignored them. Skye gestured for him to study the secretary’s face. He did so, frowning, and then reached out to gently touch the flawless skin with his fingertips. It was just a little bit too taut, and he could feel the telltale little scars behind her ears and under her chin. Somewhere along the line, the redhead had undergone extensive skin grafting in order to retain her stunning good looks. Donald wondered briefly what had happened to the woman who’d donated the skin, and then he grimaced as he realised he already knew the answer. He took a firm hold on the hilt of his throwing knife, and pulled it out of the secretary’s shoulder. He wiped the blade clean on her blouse and slipped the knife back into his boot. He had a strong feeling he might need the knife again before the morning was over.

  He rose awkwardly to his feet, wincing as his knees protested again. There were days when he wondered just whose side his body was on. Skye moved over to the right-hand door and tried the handle. It was locked. Donald reached into his pocket for his lockpicks.

  “Don’t waste your time, Donald,” said Skye. “It’s an electronic lock. Vertue thinks of everything.” She scowled thoughtfully at the tiny security camera built into the door frame. “We can’t afford to waste any more time. We’ve probably set off all kinds of alarms, and there’s no telling how long they’ve been watching us. Try the desk; maybe there’s a hidden switch or something.”

  Donald nodded, and searched the desk drawers one by one. It didn’t take him long to find a simple remote control unit, hidden in an e
mpty candy box. He tried the various buttons at random, and after he’d turned the lights on and off a few times, the right-hand door hummed loudly and swung open revealing a long, narrow passage. Donald tucked the remote into his pocket, and moved quickly over to stand beside Skye. He noticed she’d pulled her hood forward to cover her face again, but he decided not to say anything. She’d tell him when she was ready.

  The corridor stretched away a good thirty feet and more before turning a sharp corner. Lightspheres had been set into the ceiling at regular intervals, but only one was working. There was a strong smell of antiseptic. Skye moved slowly forward into the corridor, and Donald followed her. He couldn’t see any security cameras, but he knew they were there. Their footsteps were eerily loud on the quiet, echoing hollowly back from the bare, featureless walls. There was a quiet rasp of steel on leather as Madelaine Skye drew her sword. Donald couldn’t help noticing that her hand was shaking slightly.

  Leon Vertue glared at his master, standing calmly before him on the other side of the reclamation tank. He’d been shouting and blustering at the man for the best part of an hour, and little good it had done him. Nothing that Vertue could say seemed to have any effect on Count Stefan Bloodhawk. I should never have got involved with the Empire, thought Vertue sourly. Once they get their claws into you, you’re theirs for life. He fought hard to hold on to his temper. Mistport was going to hell in a handcart, Blackjack was dead, Investigator Topaz was on his trail, and now some damned fool had let Hob hounds into the city. One way or another, his life here was finished; he had to get off Mistworld and start again somewhere else. It didn’t matter where. There was always a demand for body banks. What did matter was how much of his stock and equipment he could take with him. He had to take some of it, and it was up to the Bloodhawk to help him. The Empire owed him that much. Vertue glared at the Bloodhawk, who stared calmly back at him.

  “You’ve got to get me out of here!” snapped Vertue. “While you’ve been hiding safe and sound in the outer settlements, that damned esper of yours has gone crazy; she’s been mindblasting everything that moves! I don’t know what happened between her and Royal, but that rotten bitch of yours has been out of control ever since she got here. You never told me she was so powerful! She’ll destroy the whole city before she’s through.”

  “Do stop whining, my dear doctor; it doesn’t become you in the least.” The Bloodhawk brushed an invisible fleck of dust from his sleeve. “The lady in question is not out of control; she’s doing exactly what she was supposed to. She did make her start a little earlier than was intended, I’ll admit, but that was your fault. You should have told me this Jamie Royal was unreliable.”

  “I had no way of knowing that! All the signs were that Blackjack had him thoroughly terrorized. I still don’t know why Jamie disobeyed his orders.”

  “Why isn’t important. The fact remains that he led Mary straight to another esper. No wonder her programming took over.”

  Vertue shook his head angrily. “That’s all irrelevant now! Blackjack’s dead, and too many people are starting to tie me in to what’s been happening. It’s only a matter of time before one or all of them come after me. You should have let me kill Topaz, as I wanted.”

  “No. Once the initial attempt had failed, we couldn’t afford to draw attention to her. Someone might have realised she was dangerous to our scheme because she was a Siren. Like our dear Mary.”

  “Look, you got me into this mess, Bloodhawk; it’s up to you to get me out.”

  “Or?”

  “Or I’ll go straight to what’s left of the Council, and turn myself in.”

  “They’d lock you up and throw away the key.”

  “At least I’d still be alive.”

  “Just another rat deserting the sinking ship,” said the Bloodhawk sadly. “My dear Leon, you must know I can’t possibly allow you to upset my plans. Not at this stage.”

  “And just how do you plan to stop me?” Vertue stepped back from the reclamation tank, grinning wolfishly. The Bloodhawk raised an eyebrow at the disrupter in Vertue’s hand, but said nothing. “You’ve got a ship somewhere,” said Vertue tightly. “A private ship. You’re going to help me transfer my equipment to that ship, and then we’re both going to take a little trip off-planet. As soon as we reach the nearest starport, we both go our separate ways. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t hold a gun on me forever,” said the Bloodhawk.

  “I can give it a bloody good try,” smiled Vertue. “Now let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time talking.”

  “More than enough,” said Donald Royal.

  Vertue and the Bloodhawk spun round to find Donald standing in the doorway, leaning lazily against the door-jamb, a throwing knife poised in his hand. Skye stood beside him, sword in hand, anonymous as always in her furs.

  “Your security really is appalling, Vertue,” said Donald mildly. “Now put down that gun. You even try pointing it in my direction, and I’ll put this nasty little dagger right through your left eyeball.”

  Vertue stared at him, clearly weighing his chances, and then carefully put the gun down on the closed lid of the reclamation unit. Donald nodded his thanks, and walked unhurriedly forward into the vast chamber. He glanced quickly about him, taking in the great walls of shining crystal and the bulky reclamation tanks that took up most of the chamber. The air was freezing cold, and the stench of cheap disinfectant was almost overpowering. Skye moved silently at Donald’s side, her eyes fixed on Leon Vertue. Donald finally came to a stop before Vertue and the Bloodhawk, carefully keeping a few yards distance between them. Donald stared steadily at the Bloodhawk.

  “I thought Vertue didn’t have the brains or the guts to pull something like this,” he said quietly. “And I always thought you were too good to be true. How long have you been a traitor, Bloodhawk? How long have we had an Imperial agent sitting at the heart of our Council?”

  “Almost from the beginning,” said the Bloodhawk calmly. “As soon as I saw Mistport, I knew I’d made a dreadful mistake in coming here. Such a pitiful, squalid little place. Totally uncivilised. It quickly occurred to me that since… what I’d done hadn’t really been all that bad, the Empire might possibly be interested in reacquiring my loyalty. After all, I could do a lot for them. For the right price. It wasn’t difficult, making contact, even then, and the Empire wasn’t slow to see my potential. I’ve done rather well, over the years. There’s even been some talk the Empire might give me a medal for my services.”

  “No one gives medals to traitors,” said Donald. “Not even the Empire.”

  The Bloodhawk shrugged, unperturbed. “Be that as it may, with the Empire’s help it wasn’t difficult to get myself elected Councillor. And after that…”

  “Yes,” said Donald. “It all starts to make sense now. No wonder we were never able to keep anything secret from the Empire.”

  “Quite,” said the Bloodhawk. “You know, you really should be surrendering to me. When all is said and done, I hold all your lives in my hands.”

  “Run that by me again,” said Donald. “I think I missed something.”

  The Bloodhawk smiled. “My dear Donald, even as we speak the Imperial Fleet is gathering above our heads.”

  “What?” Vertue looked sharply at the Bloodhawk. “You never said anything about the Fleet coming here. You never said anything about the Fleet!”

  “Do be quiet, Leon. It wasn’t necessary for you to know. Now, Donald, within a matter of hours, the Fleet will move in and scorch the planet lifeless. Just like Tannim. Your only hope for survival is to surrender to me and throw yourselves on my mercy. I know what you’re going to say, Donald, but I’m afraid you’re wrong. Very soon now, every esper in Mistport will be dead, and without the psionic shield, Mistworld will be defenceless.”

  “The disrupter cannon… “

  “Are out of commission, along with the force shields, thanks to a little discreet sabotage. By now Port Director Steel should be discovering that his
precious computers aren’t listening to him anymore. It’s really quite amazing what you can do with one carefully programmed memory crystal in just the right place. You do remember how I convinced the Council that the defence computers needed a new memory crystal?”

  Donald looked at him for a long moment. “How long have you been planning all this?”

  “Years,” said the Bloodhawk. “Allowing for a few small hiccups, I don’t think things have gone too badly.”

  “Who are you?” said Leon Vertue suddenly, glaring at the silent, hooded figure standing beside Donald Royal. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

  “You know who I am.” She pushed back her hood, and Vertue’s face went white, his eyes wide and staring like those of a trapped animal. “You and I have a debt to settle, Vertue.”

  “You’re dead!” said Vertue loudly. “Blackjack killed you, and I put you into the reclamation tank myself! I saw you torn apart by the blades and the saws!”

  “No,” said Madelaine Skye softly. “Unfortunately, your mercenary got it wrong. He arrived while I was out. The only woman in my office was my sister, Jessica. She’d come to pay me a surprise visit. I’m told she looked a lot like me. Your man cut her down in cold blood, and then brought her back here to you and your reclamation tanks. You used my death to force Jamie to work for you. The poor lamb never was very brave without me to back him up.

  “I found out what had happened soon enough, and decided to stay dead until I could find out what was going on. I knew there had to be somebody behind Vertue, and the whole thing had the Empire’s smell about it. I couldn’t even tell Jamie I was alive. I needed to be sure just whose side he was on. By the time I was sure, it was too late. He was dead. I never even had a chance to tell him I loved him.”

  “You can’t blame me for his death,” said Vertue quickly. “It was the Bloodhawk’s idea. He gave the order; I just passed it on to Blackjack.”