Deathstalker War (2 page)

Owen and Hazel had gone looking for the legendary professional rebel, Jack Random, in the city of Mistport some time back. They’d found a broken old man, hiding from his past, and bullied him out of his hiding hole to fight again, because the rebellion needed the legend, if not the man. He’d fought beside them, and passed through the Madness Maze with them, and at the end he faced impossible odds against the Empire’s troops, and emerged victorious. Owen had believed in that man, and been proud to call him friend. The old man had just begun to reclaim his legend when this young giant of a man had burst onto the scene, claiming to be the real Jack Random, and now Owen didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Young Jack Random’s last campaign had been on the winter world of Vodyanoi IV, some two years earlier. As usual, he had made a lot of noise and raised an army of followers, only to get his ass kicked one more time when they came up against trained Imperial shock troops. His friends smuggled him out at the last moment, so he wasn’t around to see his followers slaughtered or imprisoned. His cause had failed, but he kept the legend alive.

Except the older Jack Random claimed that wasn’t he. According to him, his last campaign had been on Cold Rock, several years earlier, when his forces were ignominiously scattered, and he was taken captive by the Empire forces. He spent a long time in interrogation cells, tortured and brainwashed by the mind techs, until finally his friends were able to break him out and smuggle him to safety on Mistworld—where he gave up his name and his legend to become just another face in the crowd, hidden and safe from entreaties or responsibilities.

Except . . . Jack Random, the professional rebel, had been visibly active on several worlds during that time. So who was telling the truth and who was lying? Who was the Real Jack Random? The older Jack admitted that the mind techs had done a real number on him, during his months of captivity, messing with his thoughts and memories as they broke his spirit day by day. Maybe he just thought he’d been the famous professional rebel; a nobody molded by the Empire to be paraded as a broken man for propaganda purposes. As with so many other things, Owen wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. At least the older Jack was more or less the right age. The younger Jack looked to be no more than his late twenties, and in perfect shape. Surely his long years of rebellion should have left some mark on him, even allowing for his claimed extensive use of regeneration machines.

The underground hadn’t been able to make up its mind one way or the other. The old Jack claimed to have the experience, but the Young jack looked so much more convincing. So for the moment the underground accepted both Jacks, and sent them off on separate missions to prove themselves in action. Old Jack went to stir up trouble on the mining planet Technos III, and Owen and Hazel ended up with Young Jack on their team, despite their loud objections. Young Jack took it all with a good-natured smile, which made Owen trust him even less. Never trust a man who smiles too much, his father had always said. It’s not natural, not in this day and age. Hazel was even less impressed with the man than Owen, if that was possible, and had told Young Jack to his face that he was a liar and impostor. He just kept on smiling, and said he hoped he’d have the chance to prove himself to her. Hazel told him that if he laid one finger on her, she’d make him eat the finger. Young Jack chuckled good-naturedly, and said she was very pretty when she was angry, and Owen had to hold Hazel down until the red mist had gone from her eyes.

The other new arrival was the esper known as Jenny Psycho. She had forced her way onto the Mistworld team, on the grounds that a planet largely populated by runaway espers would want to meet the last person to manifest the uber-esper Mater Mundi, Our Mother Of All Souls, who had single-handedly made the great esper escape from Wormboy Hell possible. Jenny didn’t look like much, at first glance. She was short and blond, with a pale ghostly face dominated by sharp blue eyes. She had a wide mouth, and an unsettling smile that showed more teeth than humor. Her voice was harsh and unattractive, her throat damaged by constant screaming in the dark cells of Silo Nine.

Before the underground sent her into Wormboy Hell as their undercover agent, she’d been just another esper; but since the Mater Mundi touched her, Jenny Psycho had become a major esper power overnight. Her presence all but crackled on the air around her, an almost tangible effect on any company. Where once she’d been nothing but a minor telepath, now every esper ability was hers to call upon, something which was supposed to be impossible, though no one had even been stupid enough to say that to Jenny Psycho. Most people had enough sense not to get that close to her anyway.

She respected Owen and Hazel for the power they’d brought to the rebellion, but since her personality could change from the relatively sane Jenny to the actually disturbing Psycho in mid-sentence, they’d found it hard to get to know her. They tried to make allowances. She had, after all, volunteered to be sent into Silo Nine, and Wormboy Hell was enough to break anyone. It helped that she didn’t trust Young Jack either. Possibly because she didn’t like the competition for attention.

She paused for a moment in the doorway, to make sure everyone was looking at her, then flounced across the room to the only remaining empty chair and sank into it as if it were a throne. Young Jack Random stayed by the door, falling naturally into an heroic pose. Jenny ignored him magnificently. “How much longer till we get to Mistworld?” she said icily.

“Now don’t you start,” said Owen. “Even with the new drive, it still takes time to get from one side of the Empire to the other.”

“Actually, we’ve been in orbit around Mistworld for almost twenty minutes,” Ozymandius murmured in Owen’s ear.

“What?” said Owen, subvocalizing furiously. “Why didn’t the ship’s AI tell me?”

“You didn’t tell it to. It is, after all, nowhere near as complex as I.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me we’d arrived?”

“Who, me? I’m dead, remember? Far be it from me to put myself in where I’m not wanted.”

Owen fought down a need to sigh heavily and looked at his fellow team members. “Apparently we are currently in orbit over our destination. So far, no one is shooting at us. Hazel, you know these people better than the rest of us. Patch into the comm system and find out what exorbitant price they’re going to charge us for landing this time.”

She grunted unenthusiastically and got up out of her chair. It took her a while, and a certain amount of effort, because of the weight of all the guns she’d loaded herself down with. She made her way unhurriedly over to the comm panels and put in a call to Mistport Security. There was only one city and one starport on Mistworld, and that was Mistport. A wild and woolly place, and very definitely not somewhere you went without an invitation. As the Empire had found out, to its cost. As Hazel waited more or less patiently for someone to answer her, Owen looked around him, then stirred uncomfortably in his chair as he discovered that Jenny Psycho was studying him again. Her esp made her somewhat aware of the great changes that had taken place within Owen and Hazel, but it wasn’t enough to tell her what those changes were. She sensed that, in their own ways, Owen and Hazel were just as powerful as she was, and she didn’t seem able to make up her mind as to whether she should be frightened or awed or jealous. Owen had used that uncertainty to talk her into quietly probing Young Jack’s mind, to see what was in there. To their mutual surprise, it turned out that as far as Jenny’s esp was concerned, there was no one there. Which meant that either Jack had amazingly tough mental shields, or . . . So far they hadn’t been able to come up with an or they liked. Owen looked away from Jenny’s burning gaze. As if he didn’t have enough things to worry about.

“Hello,
Sunstrider II
,” said a tired voice from the comm panels. “This is John Silver, head of starport Security. Don’t adjust your equipment, we’ve lost visual again. When I find the pirate that sold us these systems, I’m going to tie his legs in a square knot. Welcome back, Hazel. Don’t steal anything big and try not to kill anyone important this time. You can put your ship down anywhere you fancy; there’s hardly anything on the pads. Not a lot of traffic comes our way these days.”

“Understood,” said Hazel. “Cheer up, John, we’ve got a cargo bay crammed to the ceiling with really nice surprises for you; namely, more projectile weapons, ammo, and explosives than you can shake a really big stick at. Just the thing for expressing your displeasure with Imperial spies and troublemakers.”

“You always bring the nicest presents, Hazel. Now pardon me if I leave you all to your own devices. As head of Security, or what’s left of it, I’m being run ragged at the moment. The precogs have been going crazy the last few days, insisting Something Bad is in the air. We can’t get any details out of them that make sense, but either way I don’t have the time to waste on a single ship, no matter how friendly.”

“In case he’s forgotten,” said Owen, “remind him we’re not just outlaws on the run this time. We represent the Golgotha underground.”

“I heard that,” said Silver. “Might have known you’d be aboard, Deathstalker. We haven’t forgotten the mess you made on your last visit. Someone will meet you once you’re down, but don’t expect a brass band or the key to the city. We had to pawn the instruments and the key never did work anyway. Have a nice stay. Don’t start anything. Now clear the channel so I can concentrate.”

“Is that a typical Mistworld welcome?” asked Jenny Psycho, after a moment.

“Pretty much,” said Hazel. “They’ve raised paranoia to a fine art in Mistport. With good reason. The Empire has a long history of sneaking in dirty tricks to try and undermine or destroy the starport. It wasn’t that long ago they started an esper plague here, using a disguised vector called Typhoid Mary. A lot of people died before Security finally tracked her down. They’re still recovering.”

“They’ve been through a lot,” said Young Jack. “We’ll just have to convince them of the importance of our various missions here. We must have Mistworld on our side if we’re to win the rebellion. Their espers will be an invaluable asset.”

“Glad someone’s keeping an eye on the big picture,” said Owen. “But I would go easy on the exposition when you get down there. Mistworlders aren’t big on speeches.”

“You should know,” said Hazel.

The landing pads were practically deserted, with only a handful of smugglers’ ships, huddled together at one end of the field as though for comfort. The
Sunstrider II
settled comfortably onto the pad set aside, marked by flaring oil lamps. The tall steelglass control tower was the only sign of high tech at the starport, its bright electric lights blazing through the thick, swirling mists. Owen had the ship’s computers shut down everything except the security systems, then led the way out of the ship and onto the landing field.

The cold cut at them like a knife as they filed out of the airlock, searing their exposed faces and burning in their lungs as they all huddled in the thick furs the ship had provided. Owen beat his gloved hands together and glared about him. He’d forgotten how much he hated this place. And not just for the cold.

The mists were at their thickest, in the early hours of the morning before the rising of Mistworld’s pale sun. Beyond the control tower, the lights of the city showed only dimly through the shifting grey walls of fog. Young Jack Random looked calmly about him. He didn’t even have the decency to shiver like the rest of them.

“The old place hasn’t changed a bit. Colder than a witch’s tit and even less inviting.”

“And when were you last here?” said Hazel, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

“I’ve been here several times, down the years,” Random said easily. “In fact, I started out here, some twenty years ago, trying to raise troops for a rebellion on Lyonesse. I found a few brave souls to join me, but that was all. They didn’t know me then. Hopefully I’ll do rather better this time.”

“Heads up,” said Jenny Psycho. “Someone’s coming. Three people. One’s an esper, but his mind is closed to me.”

“Stay out of the other people’s heads as well,” said Hazel sharply. “This is an esper city, and they take their mental privacy very seriously. You upset the powers that be here, and we’ll be taking what’s left of you home in a straightjacket. From this point on, you use your esp by invitation only. Got it?”

Jenny Psycho shrugged. “I can’t help it if their minds are shouting at me all the time. And the powers that be here had better watch out for themselves. I have been transformed by the Mater Mundi, and there isn’t a mind in this city that’s my equal.”

“That settles it,” said Hazel. “From now on, you stay well clear of the rest of us. That way whenever it happens, whatever horrible thing it turns out to be, we’ll all be a safe distance away. Hiding.”

They were saved Jenny’s acid reply by the sudden emergence of three figures from the shifting mists. There was no warning. One moment there was only the fog, and then two men and a woman came striding out of the mists toward them. Owen found that quietly disturbing. Usually his new powers gave him advance warning of things like that. Why, dammit, did it work sometimes and not others? He found his hand had dropped automatically to the sword at his side and quickly moved it away again. He recognized two of the newcomers from files he’d been shown at his last briefing. Port Director Gideon Steel was a short fat man with calm, thoughtful eyes and a disturbingly cynical smile. He dressed well, if a trifle sloppily, as some of his furs looked distinctly mangy. He was supposed to be in his mid-forties, but he looked ten years older. Trying to run Mistport will do that to you.

The woman beside him was much more impressive, and not a little intimidating. Despite the bitter cold she wore no furs, only the formal uniform of an Investigator. Owen could feel Hazel tensing beside him and prayed she’d have enough sense not to start anything. Investigator Topaz was medium height, slim, handsome, and her gaze was colder than the mists could ever be. Her close-cropped dark hair gave her classical features a calm, aesthetic air, but her ice-blue eyes were killer’s eyes. Just looking at her made Owen want to back away slowly and very carefully, doing absolutely nothing that might upset her. He knew about Investigator Topaz. Everyone did. She was a Siren, the only esper ever to be made an Investigator. When she decided to leave the Empire and head for Mistworld, the Empress sent a whole company of Guards after her. Five hundred men. Topaz killed them all with a single song, her voice and esp combining into a deadly force that could not be stopped or turned aside.