Deathstalker Rebellion (44 page)

“Yes,” said Random. “I’m sorry, Owen.”

David smiled smugly at Owen. “All traces of your brief reign have been removed. Soon, no one will remember you were ever Lord. It isn’t as though you made much of an impact on the place. Hidden away in your Standing, writing histories no one ever read. I, on the other hand, have great plans for Virimonde. I’ll make the name Deathstalker great again.”

Owen seethed silently. The thought of this young usurper living in his Standing, sleeping in his bed, and drinking the best wines from his cellar drove him almost to apoplexy, but somehow he kept his peace. Much as he hated to admit it, Random was right. The rebellion had to take preference over a personal quarrel. He was still searching for something diplomatic to say when Giles stepped forward, fixing David with an implacable stare.

“The Deathstalker name has always been great, boy. You just have to live up to the rest of us. If you want to prove yourself, do it on the field of battle, as Deathstalkers always have. In the meantime, you and Owen make peace. You’re Family. You’re bound together by blood and honor and nine hundred years of tradition. You’re both my children, in every way that matters, and I won’t have you at daggers drawn. Now, make your peace or I’ll bang your heads together.”

Owen had to smile. The original Deathstalker had a way of getting to the heart of things. Family was more important than politics, and always would be. Causes come and go, politics mutate and evolve, but the Family goes on. He nodded ***.

“I don’t want to see you dead, David. I doubt very much we’re ever going to like each other, but you’re still Family. Just remember that although you currently have everything I had, the Iron Bitch can take it away from you in a moment, just like she took it from me. Watch your back. And watch your own security people, too. They were the first to turn on
me when I was outlawed. See me afterward, and I’ll tell you about a way out they don’t know about.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said David. “I’ll bear it in mind.” He looked back at Jack Random. “Kit SummerIsle and I represent a great many others of our generation: younger sons who’ll never inherit and are … impatient with the way things are. Many of them have made careers in the army and the fleet, and they might just throw in their lot with the rebellion if they were offered the right incentives.”

“Talk to them,” said Random. “But be careful what you promise. None of us can look too far into the future at this point.”

And then he broke off as a group of six men moved purposefully through the crowd toward him, their hologram signals so strong they forced all others aside. People cursed and spluttered, but the six men ignored them. They were tall and willowy, albinos with milk-white skin and hair and bloodred eyes. They wore long robes of swirling colors, and their faces had been savagely ritually scarred. Everyone knew who they were, who they had to be. The Blood Runners were infamous in deed and legend. They were based in the Obeah systems, a small group of planets out on the Rim, united by a dark and ancient religion based on blood and suffering and possession by deceased ancestors. Murderous fanatics, and proud of it. They were branded as heretics by the established Church long ago, but no one did anything about it. The Blood Runners had a hand in every dirty and illegal trade in the Empire, and their reach was very long. They dealt in everything from Wampyr Blood to clonelegging to slavery, and bowed their pale heads to no one. They came to a halt before Random, who studied them thoughtfully.

“Wonderful,” he said finally. “More complications. What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t on the guest list. Hell, you people aren’t on anybody’s guest list. If you turned up at a funeral, the corpse would walk out on you. In case I’m not hinting strongly enough, get the hell out of here, before we have to have the place fumigated. The rebellion will never be so badly off that we’ll turn to you for support.”

“Harsh words from a tired old man,” said the leader of the Obeah delegation. “I am Scour; I speak for the Blood Runners. We are a people of one race and one religion, with roots far older than your revered Empire Families. We are
proud and honorable, according to our traditions, and we have never bent the knee to Lionstone, or any who preceded her. We come to offer our support to the rebellion. We are wealthy. You are welcome to take what you need.”

Random licked his lips. His mouth was very dry. Scour’s voice was a harsh whisper, full of age and pain, like the dusky breath of an ancient mummy. Random remembered some of the uncanny things he’d heard about the Blood Runners, and suddenly they didn’t seem nearly so unlikely. He didn’t want their help. Didn’t want anything from them. But the rebellion needed backers.

“I take it there’s a price for your support,” he said finally. “What did you have in mind?”

“To be left alone. We have our own ways, which have endured for centuries beyond counting, and we have no wish to change. Lionstone’s new measures threaten our independence. In return for the gifts we offer, we require only to be left in peace. Disapprove if you must, but do it from a distance.”

“What’s the catch?” said Random.

“There is one other thing,” said Scour. “A matter of honor. One of your people owes us a debt.” The Blood Runners all turned their dead-white faces to stare at Hazel d’Ark. Scour took one step toward her. “You are the only survivor of the starship
Shard.
The Captain of that vessel made a pact with us. Promises were made and help provided in return for future payment. The Captain and the rest of the crew are dead. As the only survivor, the debt is now yours, Hazel d’Ark, and it is past time for repayment.” He looked back at Random. “We require you to hand this woman over to us.”

“Don’t waste your time,” said Hazel. “Whatever price Captain Markee agreed to, I wasn’t consulted, and I didn’t agree to it. Besides, I couldn’t pay it. I’m broke.”

“We don’t want money,” said Scour. “Your Captain made an agreement with us. The
Shard
was to provide us with fresh bodies; a percentage of those acquired during your work as cloneleggers. We always have a need for fresh bodies. Our customs and researches tend to use them up quite quickly. We cannot overlook the debt. That would be dishonorable. So we must have our pound of flesh. You will come with us, Hazel d’Ark, and we will make good use of you. While you last.”

“Like hell you will,” said Owen, and his voice cracked across the silence, cold and hard and very deadly. “Hazel’s my friend; no one threatens her while I’m here.”

“Thank you, Owen,” said Hazel, “but I can speak for myself.” She glared at the Blood Runners. “Your deal was with Markee, and he’s dead. You never made any deal with me, so I don’t owe you squat. You’re not getting your hands on me. I’ve heard about people who end up in your laboratories. They end up begging for death to stop the pain.”

“What is pain,” said Scour, “when the goal is knowledge? We are unlocking the secrets of life and death. You should be honored to assist us.”

“Take your honor and stick it,” said Hazel. “You’re not cutting me up an inch at a time.”

“Yes we will,” said Scour. “It has been agreed. It is immutable, fixed, inevitable.”

“Crazy as well as ugly,” said Owen. “Get out of my sight. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Wait just a minute,” said Gregor Shreck. “These people have offered us unlimited financial support. What’s one life, compared to that?”

“Right,” said Kit SummerIsle. “I mean, she’s only a clonelegger, after all. Every time one of them dies, the Empire smells a little better.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd. Owen looked to Jack Random for support, but he was chewing his lower lip and scowling thoughtfully. Owen’s hand dropped to the gun at his side and then made himself relax. The Blood Runners were just hoio images. They were no threat.

“Hazel isn’t going anywhere,” he said flatly, glaring at the crowd. “Anyone who feels otherwise is welcome to come here in person, and I will send him on to join his ancestors. Form a queue, no shoving.”

“I have to agree with Owen,” said Random. “We are not the Empire. We don’t sacrifice individuals for someone else’s good.”

Scour stepped forward, his crimson eyes fixed on Hazel’s. “Then we will take her. You cannot escape, d’Ark. We have a teleport fix on you. You will come with us now. And we will take such pleasures from the mysteries of your flesh.”

A silver shimmering appeared in the air around Hazel, spitting static. Hazel tried to run, but the energy field
hemmed her in, like an insect in a killing jar. Ruby Journey tried using her holo-breaker on the Blood Runners, but it didn’t work. Hazel looked despairingly at Owen as he tried to get to her and couldn’t. He hammered on the shimmering air with his fists, ignoring the pain as the energy field burned his human hand, but it made no difference. He still kept trying, until the field grew strong enough to throw him back. He glared across at the Blood Runners, who ignored him, their eyes fixed on Hazel. He knew they could have taken her by now. They just wanted to make a point.

There was nothing he could do, but he had to do something.
Something.
He turned back to Hazel, already almost lost in the shimmering field, and suddenly will and need slammed together in his mind and awakened something dark and terrible down in the undermind, the back brain, that part of him changed and strengthened by his time in the Madness Maze. Power blazed up in him, crackling in the air around him like fettered lightning, bent to his will, and he became more than human as he took his aspect upon him. His presence was suddenly overpowering, his very reality magnified and concentrated into something so perfect it was almost inhuman. Everyone in the Hall stared at him, unable to look away, their eyes held with the fascination of a moth for a lamp, and he was burning so very brightly.

He stepped forward, sank his hands into the shimmering teleport field, and ripped it apart. It collapsed instantly, and Hazel staggered toward him on unsteady legs. He took her in his arms for a moment and then gently pushed her away, handing her over to Random. He wasn’t finished yet. He turned to face the Blood Runners, his face cold and hard, and they stared back at him, contemptuous and defiant.

“You think you’re safe, don’t you?” Owen said quietly. “You’re light-years away, at the other end of the Rim. But I can reach you wherever you are.”

He reached out in a way that was new to him, but was so obvious now the power was awake in him, and his anger fell upon Scour. The Blood Runner screamed once as blood erupted from his mouth and nose and ears and eyes, and then he exploded, spattering those around him with blood and shredded flesh. Owen Deathstalker smiled at their shocked and bloody faces, and then he turned and stared grimly out at the crowd that had been ready to sacrifice Hazel for their greater good. They shivered under his gaze, but still couldn’t
look away. Owen could feel the power surging within him, demanding to be used, but he clamped down on it hard. He didn’t understand it yet, and he had a strong suspicion it just might have an agenda of its own. He concentrated, let the power sink back into the undermind, into the back brain, and became just a man again. Hazel pushed herself away from Random, and moved uncertainly toward Owen. Her face was composed, but her hands were trembling slightly.

“Thanks, Owen. I owe you one. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I,” said Owen. “I think the Maze changed us more than we’re willing to admit. The power’s in you, too. You could have saved yourself.”

“Next time I will. We’re going to have to study what we’re becoming, Owen. What we’re capable of.”

“Talk later,” said Random. “We don’t want to freak out our prospective new friends. I think it’s better if they find out about us a little bit at a time.” He turned to look at the remaining Blood Runners. “And you can get the hell out of here, like I told you. We’re fighting this rebellion to put an end to practices like yours.”

“We will have her,” said one of the Runners. “If not now, later.”

“No you won’t,” said Owen. “If I ever clap eyes on you again, you’re history. Now, go back to whatever cesspit you crawled out of, and don’t try to get in touch with us again until you’re prepared to act civilized.”

The Blood Runners stared at him for a long moment, and then they were gone. There was a general sigh of relief from all present, followed by a low rumble of conversation in the crowd. Just a sighting of Blood Runners was rare enough, without seeing them get their ass kicked so convincingly. A number of people looked admiringly at Owen, but he couldn’t help noticing there were just as many who seemed disturbed, even scared, by the power he’d wielded. Owen understood. It scared him, too. As the power within him grew, would he become more than human, or less? He looked around as Jack Random finally called everyone’s attention back to him, and the crowd fell silent again.

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Random said dryly. “We can continue this meeting through the usual channels over the next few days. We’ll meet again when we have something more concrete to discuss. Unless
there is still some urgent piece of business that absolutely must be dealt with now …”

“There is,” said a deep, authoritative voice from the crowd, and once again people fell back as a tall, commanding figure strode forward to stand before Random. He was a head taller than anyone else present, well-muscled and devilishly handsome. His long dark hair fell to his broad shoulders, and he wore silver battle armor chased with gold as though he’d been born to it. He radiated strength and confidence, and wisdom and compassion showed clearly in his striking features He held himself like a warrior, and his charisma outshone the overhead lights. Owen distrusted him on sight. No one had a right to look that good.

“And who the hell are you?” he said, not bothering how it sounded.

“I’m Jack Random,” said the newcomer. “The
real
Jack Random.”

The crowd erupted into a deafening babble as everyone tried to talk at once. Random’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he looked like nothing more than a tired old man who’d had one shock too many. He pulled himself together quickly, but a lot of people had seen the lapse. Ruby Journey moved in protectively close beside Random, but his old friend Alexander Storm stayed where he was, openly stunned. The newcomer stood before his namesake, arms folded across his great chest, his gaze level and challenging. Owen and Hazel looked at each other, but neither could think of anything to say for the life of them. Ruby Journey glared at the newcomer, one hand resting instinctively on her holstered gun.