Deathstalker (9 page)

Owen winced, but managed a polite smile. “I’m so glad you approve. Right now, I suggest we move into the next room. There’s a certain little device there that will do us both a power of good.”

Hazel looked at him suspiciously. “This wouldn’t involve a bed, would it?”

Owen laughed briefly. “Thanks for the interest, but no. I don’t think either of us are in any condition for that. Please, step this way.”

Hazel emptied her glass, let it drop onto the carpet, and struggled up out of her chair. Owen knew better than to offer her any help. It took her a while, but eventually she was back on her feet and swaying only slightly. In the sharp unforgiving light of the yacht’s main quarters, she looked worse than ever. Her clothes were scorched and tattered, and her burns were deep and disfiguring. Her hands were charred claws. He offered her his arm, and she took it as though she was doing him a favor. He led the way into the next compartment; a small, compact room dominated by a long steel cylinder, eight feet long and three wide. Hazel studied it warily. It looked disturbingly like a body bank.

“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

“Cell regenerator,” said Owen smugly. “Promotes rapid healing in minor injuries, and major ones, too, if you’ve got the time to spare. Works on the same principles used for cloning human tissues. Strictly forbidden for any but those of noble birth on pain of a very unpleasant death. Still, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. You want to go first?”

“After you,” said Hazel very politely, and Owen grinned. He activated the necessary systems through his implant, and the cylinder split apart, revealing a surprisingly comfortable-looking interior. Owen climbed in, gave Hazel a reassuring smile, and lay back with a sigh as the cylinder closed itself over him. After that, it got very still and very quiet. Hazel looked about her. She had to keep fighting down an urge to sneak back into the other room, pick out the smaller valuable items and stuff them into her pockets. She had a strong feeling that would be a bad idea. Partly because it would have been a betrayal of Owen’s trust, but mainly because she had an extremely strong feeling that she was being watched. She leaned against the cylinder to steady herself, cleared her throat and raised her voice.

“Is there an AI on board this yacht?”

“Yes, miss,” said the AI through an overhead speaker. “I am Ozymandius, at your service. How may I help you?”

“Tell me about Owen Deathstalker.”

“Head of the Deathstalker Clan, and Lord of Virimonde, until his outlawing. A good man, within his limitations. You can trust him to do what he feels is right.”

“That’s rather vague.”

“That’s Owen for you. He’s never been a very positive person. Something of an underachiever, in fact. I have hopes the current emergency will bring out the best in him. If he doesn’t get horribly killed first.”

Hazel was about to say something rather cutting when the cylinder suddenly started to open, and she had to stand up quickly to avoid being thrown off. The sudden movement made her feel giddy for a moment, but she had it back under control before Owen could notice. He stood before her and struck a jaunty pose, and she had to admit he was looking a hell of a lot better. His injuries had healed with no trace of scars, and he had a new confidence in his bearing. Even his clothes had been cleaned and repaired. He smiled cheerfully at her reaction.

“I told you; this yacht has everything you can think of, and a few things you never dreamed of. Climb in, and the machine’ll take care of you, too.”

Hazel wasn’t at all sure she liked the way he’d put that, but she didn’t really have any choice, and she knew it. The shock that had protected her from the worst of her burns had worn off long ago. Every movement was agony now, and she was hovering on the edge of total exhaustion. She couldn’t argue anymore, and anyway, sooner or later she was going to have to trust the Deathstalker. Even if he was a Lord. She nodded stiffly to Owen and stepped clumsily into the cylinder. She lay down and gave herself up to fate with something like relief. She shut her eyes as the cylinder closed over her.

“Do you want me to make any changes in the young lady?” said the AI diffidently.

Owen frowned. “How do you mean changes?”

“Well, there are several programs I can run while she’s in the cylinder that would make her more … tractable. Programs to make her loyal to you, for example, and prevent her from raising any weapon against you. They’re quite safe and would do her no lasting damage. It’s simply a matter of security, Owen. She is an outlaw, after all.”

“So am I,” said Owen. “You leave her mind alone. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Owen. As you wish.”

Owen wasn’t sure why he was so angry. The computer was programmed to look after his best interests. It was just doing its job. But Hazel had risked her life to save his for no profit that he could see. No one had ever done that for him before who didn’t have to, and he wasn’t sure yet how he felt about that. Until he was sure, Hazel d’Ark was under his protection. Even from himself, if necessary.

“Anything new on the sensors?” he said finally.

“Nothing so far. Your plunging into a lake has confused the hell out of them. I’m picking up all kinds of unprotected transmissions. Some think it was desperation, others are suggesting suicide. Right now they’re arguing about whether to wait for you to reemerge, or go in after you.”

“Let me know when they make up their minds.” Owen stretched slowly. The cylinder had repaired all his physical hurts, but he was still mentally exhausted. “I still can’t believe everything fell apart so
fast
. I seem to have gone
through the only experience left for the man who has everything: losing it all. This has to be some kind of ghastly mistake. I’ve done nothing to be outlawed for.”

“Perhaps,” said the AI, “if you were to surrender yourself, and offer to hand over Miss d’Ark as a sign of good faith …”

“No. I don’t want to hear that kind of idea from you again. Besides, I already thought of that, and it wouldn’t work. They’d just take her and kill me anyway. Is the ship ready to go yet?”

“Yes, Owen. Ready for takeoff.”

The cylinder opened, and Hazel emerged like a rather bedraggled butterfly from its cocoon. Her overalls had been repaired and looked cleaner than Owen would have thought possible. She allowed Owen to help her out, studying her now flawless skin with awe. “I know people who would pay a medium-sized fortune for access to something like this.”

“If we find ourselves dangerously short of money, perhaps you can set up a deal,” said Owen, smiling. “Now, if you’d like to join me in the main compartment, I think it’s time we got the hell out of here. Once we’re up and moving, there’s nothing on this planet that can catch us. Oz, take us up, and don’t stop for anything till we’re in orbit.”

“Yes, Owen.”

“Then where?” said Hazel, following him back into the first compartment.

Owen shrugged. “I was hoping you’d have some ideas. I’m new to the outlaw business. Where can we go where we’ll be safe from the kind of people who’ll be coming after me? And before you say anything, no, I am not interested in joining up with any rebel groups against the Empire. I am still loyal to the Iron Throne and the Empire, if not the Empress.”

“Nicely rationalized,” said Ozymandius.

“There’s only one place we can go,” said Hazel. “Mistworld, the rebel planet. But it’s a one-way trip. You’ll be safe enough there, but no one ever leaves Mistworld.”

“Mistworld. I might have known.” Hazel looked at Owen inquiringly, and he shook his head. “Don’t ask. Very well, for want of anywhere better to go, Mistworld it is. Set the coordinates, Oz. Let me know when we’re ready to make the hyper jump.”

“Yes, Owen. We are now in orbit.”

“What, already?” said Hazel. “I didn’t even know we’d taken off.”

“I told you this yacht was special,” said Owen smugly. “Oz, show us what’s happening on the main viewscreen.”

One of the walls became a viewscreen, showing Virimonde far below, and an Imperial starcruiser heading straight for them. Even as they watched, a second starcruiser dropped out of hyperspace behind the first.

“Two starcruisers?” said Owen, staring at the screen in disbelief. “They sent
two
bloody starcruisers to get me? Cut me some slack, dammit.”

“There is a possibility this might be something to do with me,” said Hazel reluctantly. “My previous ship rammed a starcruiser just after I got away in the escape pod. Presumably they got a distress call out as they went down.”

“Thanks a whole bunch,” said Owen. “Any other nasty little surprises you’ve been keeping from me? No, tell me later. Oz, shields up and go hyper the moment the power levels are steady. I don’t know why they’re not firing already. …”

“Presumably they’re being extra cautious, after already losing one ship,” said the AI. “It’s not something that happens all that often. They’re trying to contact us. Should I talk to them?”

“It couldn’t hurt. Lie a lot.”

“There’s no way this ship can stand up to that kind of firepower,” said Hazel. “And there’s no way we can get out of here before they open fire.”

“Not necessarily,” said Owen. “This ship has a new kind of hyperdrive. Very powerful, very fast.”

“Why do I get this strong feeling that there’s a
but
hanging on the end of that?”

“But, it’s rather … untested. No one’s had a chance to use it much yet, and there’s always the chance they haven’t got all the bugs out. I always intended to take her on a long shakedown run, but what with one thing and another, I never found the time. And then circumstances rather caught up with me.”

“Great,” said Hazel. “Just great. If I had anything left in my stomach, I think I’d be sick.”

“All systems are ready, Owen,” said the AI. “Or as ready as they’re ever going to be. Power’s up and all tests are positive. I’m lying my head off to both starcruisers, but I don’t
think they’re in a listening mood. Both are now in firing range. It’s time to go, Owen. There’s nothing left to hold us here.”

The viewscreen filled with light as both starcruisers opened fire on the
Sunstrider
. Owen and Hazel winced instinctively.

“Take us out of here, Oz,” said Owen. “We’re going to Mistworld.”

“And the good God grant us luck,” said Hazel. “Because we’re going to need it.”

The
Sunstrider
dropped into hyperspace and was gone, and the starcruisers were left to orbit Virimonde alone.

The Imperial Palace lay deep in the rotten heart of Golgotha, homeworld of the Empire: the concentration of power, and of destiny. It lay hidden away, far below the surface, drawing its power from a geothermal tap; sunk so deep even a scorching by the entire Fleet couldn’t touch it. Up above, the delicate towers and pastel cities of the elite, the noble and the moneyed. Down below, like a cancer in a rose, a massive steel bunker a mile and a half wide, the home and fortress of Her Imperial Majesty, Lionstone XIV. And within that bunker, behind the many layers of cutting-edge technology, a court of gleaming steel and brass where the whole Empire came to pay homage to its ruler. The personification of honor and duty, law and justice, whose whisper was louder than thunder, and more far reaching.

Lionstone XIV, the perfect and divine, the worshipped and adored. Also known as the Iron Bitch.

Her private chambers comprised the heart of the bunker, surrounded by layers of guards and protection, some of which never slept. The Empress had many enemies, and she liked it that way. Love passed and honor changed, but fear remained constant. Lionstone was the latest in a long line of rulers, and she had no intention of being the last. Her private chambers, where she only had to be herself, were bedecked with silks and flowers of a hundred vivid hues from a hundred different worlds. The air was perfumed with subtle and gorgeous scents that were also quite deadly, unless you’d been immunized to them.

In the midst of it all, Lionstone sat at her toilet before a
full-length mirror, attended by her surgically-altered maids in waiting. They moved about her with silent grace, like so many butterflies, dressing her in the armor and furs necessary for a formal appearance at court. Lionstone scowled at her reflection in the mirror. She had power over many things, but tradition wasn’t one of them. So she suffered her maids to wrap her in the colors and robes of office, hitting and slapping the young women when they got in the way or as the mood took her, and studied her perfect face in the mirror.

Lionstone XIV was tall and slender, towering over her maids by a good head and more. Her face was fashionably pale, but with none of the usual splashes of color that fashion dictated. She had little taste, and less discrimination, and didn’t give a damn. She had no time for the wild colors and wilder trappings that engaged the attention of so many of her court, or anything else that might distract from the impact of who she was. She had long, sharp-edged features, with a wide slash of a mouth and brilliant blue eyes, topped by masses of pale blond hair piled up on top of her head. Her back was straight, her head erect, and her gaze could chill at a hundred yards. She was beautiful. Everyone said so.