Deathstalker War (72 page)

“Diana?”

“Not anymore,” said Jenny. “That was somebody else.”

“I hardly recognized you. You look so . . . different.”

“It’s called growing up, Captain. Happens to everyone eventually.”

“You know this person?” said Lionstone, frowning.

“Of course he does,” said Frost. “This is his daughter, Diana Vertue. Ship’s esper on his last command.”

Silence looked at Frost. “You knew? How long have you known?”

“I recognized her face on a Security posting some months back.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me!”

“You weren’t ready to handle something like this. I’m not sure you’re ready now. And I didn’t want you distracted from your other responsibilities.”

Silence turned back to Jenny. “I’d heard you joined the underground. But what happened to you? To your voice? You look . . .”

“Like I’ve been through Hell? That’s because I have. This place doesn’t frighten me. I’ve seen the real thing. I’m not Diana Vertue anymore. She died screaming in the esper interrogation cells in Silo Nine. Also known as Wormboy Hell. I’m Jenny Psycho now. For now and always. But then, we’re both different people than we used to be, aren’t we, Father? You’ve changed, too. This close, I can feel the Maze’s energies working within you. How does it feel, Father, to know you’ve become the same kind of person you used to track down and kill?”

“Diana . . .”

“Jenny. I’m Jenny now.”

“All right, Jenny. I never knew they’d put you into Silo Nine. If I’d known, I’d have . . .”

“You’d have what? Smashed your way into one of the Empire’s most strongly guarded prisons to save me?”

“Yes,” said Silence simply. “If I’d known, I would have come for you.”

Jenny nodded slowly. “Yes. Maybe you would have at that. But you didn’t. On the planet Unseeli, you promised me you’d never let me be hurt again. You lied, Daddy.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“And now here we are, on different sides of the war, and all because of the Iron Bitch. How can you still defend her, after all she’s done? After all she had done to me?”

“She’s my Empress,” said Silence.

Lionstone jumped down from her Throne, stalked over to Silence, and slapped him hard on the face. His head rocked under the blow, but he held his ground. Lionstone stuck her face right in front of his, so close that when she spoke, her spittle sprayed his cheeks. “Traitor! Damned traitor! You hid your powers from me, you failed in every mission I gave you, and now I find your own daughter is one of my greatest enemies!”

“That’s all true,” Silence said steadily. “But you are still my Empress.”

Lionstone laughed in his face, and drew back her hand for another blow. And then she gasped, her eyes widening as an unseen force gripped her hand firmly and jerked it back. She tried to break free, and couldn’t. She looked across at Jenny Psycho, who was scowling at her.

“That’s enough of that, bitch. That’s my dad you’re messing with.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” said Silence. “But let her go, Jenny. Please.”

Jenny sniffed, released her hold, and gave the Empress a mental shove that sent her stumbling back toward her Throne. Lionstone quickly regained her balance and seated herself on her Throne again with defiant dignity. She was still the Empress, and she still had weapons she could use. She glared around her, and her gaze fell on Valentine Wolfe.

“Don’t look at me,” said Valentine. “I know a lost cause when I see one. I could fight for you, I suppose. I have drugs for that. But I really don’t see the point. The rebellion’s time has come. It would seem I jumped ship from the underground a little too early. So. I will withdraw to the sidelines and offer my services to whoever comes out on top. People like me are always useful.”

“You’re not fighting because you’re afraid your makeup would get smudged,” said Hazel.

Valentine smiled. “That too.”

“Do you really think you can be forgiven for what your war machines did on Virimonde?” said Owen. “For the slaughter and suffering and horror you brought to a helpless farming people?”

The Wolfe shrugged. “I was only obeying orders. Not an original excuse, I’ll admit, but then the old jokes are always the best. And I can be very loyal, for the right rewards. And I’m sure the underground leaders will recognize my worth. I know things, you see. Things the underground will need to know, if it’s to take control of the Empire without unnecessary suffering and destruction. Which is more important to you, Deathstalker, seeing me punished or rebuilding the Empire with the minimum of bloodshed? No, they’ll pardon me, no matter how much the rabble scream for my head. I’m just too valuable to waste. Not to worry, Deathstalker. You’ve still got Lionstone to kill. Enjoy yourself. Knock yourself out. It’s not every day you get to murder an Empress.”

“Execute,” said Owen.

Valentine smiled. “Don’t you just love euphemisms?”

Lionstone turned desperately on her Throne to her two bodyguards. “Razor! SummerIsle! Defend me!”

“No,” said Kit calmly. “I don’t think so. Because of you, David died on Virimonde. I only came back here for a chance to watch you die at close quarters. And do the job myself, if necessary. My David is dead. I’ll enjoy watching you die, Lionstone.”

Razor drew his sword and spun it around in a vicious sideways arc aimed at Kit’s neck. But for all his Investigator’s swiftness, he couldn’t catch the SummerIsle off guard. Kit’s sword was in just the right place to block the blow, as though he’d known all along what Razor was going to do. And maybe he had. He was Kid Death, after all. The two men sprang apart, and then circled each other warily, two practiced killers come together at last in a match that would finally decide which of them was better. Their swords slammed together, withdrew, and then spun through a dazzling series of cuts and parries. Razor was an Investigator, trained since childhood to be the perfect killing machine in the Empire’s interests. Kit SummerIsle, Kid Death, was a natural-born psychopath, with a genius for swordplay and slaughter, who had killed his whole Family just for the fun of it. Two men who had taken Death as their mistress, and knew nothing of quarter or mercy. And in the end talent won out over training, as Kit dared Razor into a corps a corps, smiled at him over the crossed swords, then stuck a dagger in Razor’s ribs with his other hand. Razor looked startled for a moment, as though he couldn’t believe it was happening, then he fell to his knees as the strength suddenly went out of his legs. Kit knelt down with him and pushed the dagger in a little deeper. Razor dropped his sword. He met Kid Death’s eyes unflinchingly and even managed a sneer.

“You only beat me because I’m old and slow, boy.”

“No,” said Kit. “I beat you because you still cared whether you lived or died. And I never have. Now shut up and die. I have business to be about.”

He pushed the dagger in one more inch, and the light went out of Razor’s eyes. He fell backwards and lay still. Kit waited a moment, to hear the last dying breath go out of his enemy, and then he smiled briefly, took back his dagger, and got to his feet. He nodded to Owen.

“The Empire killed David. Not me. He was the only friend I ever had. Guess I’m back in the rebellion again.”

“What makes you think we want a lunatic like you?” said Jenny.

Kit raised an eyebrow. “Hark who’s talking. No, they’ll take me back. You’ll always need someone like me. Someone to do the dirty jobs no one else wants to do. I don’t care. I’m a killer. I go where the killing is.”

One of Lionstone’s hands rose slowly to tangle its fingers in her hair, pulling loose long curls of pale blond strands. Her eyes were wild and staring, her mouth a flat thin line. “Will no one defend the Empress in her hour of need? Is there not one loyal subject left to me?”

“Hell,” said Dram. “I suppose there’s always me.” He strode forward and set himself between the Throne and the rebels. “I’ve always been yours, Lionstone, till death do us part. You gave me life. Gave me everything. And if my life’s been a little shorter than most, it sure as hell hasn’t been boring.” He grinned at Owen. “I had a great time on Virimonde, Deathstalker. Watching your peasants run before me, striking them down and trampling them underfoot. Stamping the spilt blood into the furrowed earth, and watching the towns burn in the early-morning light. I ate your world up and spit it out, Deathstalker, and loved every minute of it. I am Dram, the Widowmaker, the undefeated. And after I’ve killed you and your friends, I’ll lead the forces that will drive your rebellion back into the gutter, where it belongs. You never really stood a chance. You’re scum, the lowest of the low, the dirt under our boots. Step forward, Deathstalker, and I’ll cut your stupid head off and stick it on a pike.”

“Damn,” said Hazel. “He makes even longer speeches than you do, Owen.”

“Not to worry,” said Owen. “I’ll soon put a stop to that.”

“No,” said Giles Deathstalker, putting a staying hand on Owen’s arm as he started forward. “This one belongs to me.” He stepped forward, and Dram fell into a warrior’s crouch, sword at the ready. Giles shook his head. “Amateur. You’re not Dram, whoever you are. Dram was my son, and I trained him to be a far better swordsman than you’ll ever be. I killed him, on Haden. It was necessary. When I walked in here, and saw you standing by the Throne, I knew I’d have to do it again. Killing my son almost destroyed me, but I don’t think I’ll have any problem killing a clone.”

Dram looked at him strangely. “You’re my
father
? I never knew. Lionstone never told me. I never knew I had a Family. You mean I’m a Deathstalker, too?”

“No,” said Giles. “You’re just a clone.”

“Wait,” said Dram. “We have to talk about this.”

“No we don’t,” said Giles. “You’re not my son. You’re not even human. How dare you wear my son’s face?”

He aimed his disrupter and shot Dram right in the face. The energy blast tore the clone’s head off his body, which crumpled slowly to the floor. Lionstone looked at Giles, shocked. He smiled coldly at her. “What did you expect? Another duel? Another matter of honor, settled sword to sword? I’ve done that. This wasn’t anything as clean as a killing. Just exterminating some garbage that should never have existed in the first place.”

He turned away, put up a hand to stop Owen when he moved forward to comfort him, and walked a little away, to be by himself. Lionstone sat speechlessly on her Throne, looking at the headless corpse lying at her feet. Captain Silence and Investigator Frost looked at each other.

“Looks like it’s down to us, Investigator.”

“Not for the first time, Captain.”

Silence nodded to Lionstone. “We’ve been through a lot of changes, Your Majesty, whether we wanted them or not, but our loyalty has never been in question. And if we kept our powers to ourselves, it was only so we could serve you better. Come on, Frost, time to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat one more time.” He smiled at Owen and Hazel. “And we do have some unfinished business, you and I, don’t we?”

“Damn right,” said Hazel, sweeping her sword back and forth before her like a cat twitching its tail.

“Daddy . . .” said Jenny.

“I’m sorry,” said Silence. “But this is a matter of duty. And I’ve always known my duty.”

“Damn it, we don’t have time for all this posing,” said Ruby Journey. “If I wanted to watch fencing displays and grudge matches, I’d go to the Arena, so I could do it in a comfortable seat with a cold drink and a big bag of peanuts. We’re supposed to be fighting a rebellion here. This is just keeping us from the more important things. Like looting. Head up, Lionstone. Giles had the right idea.”

And she raised her disrupter and opened fire on the Empress. But even as Ruby was taking aim, Stelmach shouted something incoherent and threw himself between Ruby and the Empress. He took the energy blast high on the chest. It tore away his right arm and vaporized much of the upper right side of his chest, leaving him lying twitching and moaning at the foot of the Throne. Silence and Frost were quickly there at his side, but it was clear the Security Officer was dying. He put out his remaining hand to Silence, who took it firmly in his.

“All I ever wanted . . . was to serve,” said Valiant Stelmach. “To be loyal. To give my life for the Empress.”

“No one ever doubted your loyalty,” said Silence, but he was saying it to a dead man. He gently placed Stelmach’s hand on his chest and patted it twice, saying good-bye.

“Pity,” said Frost. “He was a good man, in his way.”

“I’m surprised you cared,” said Silence.

“I liked him,” said Frost. “He was a coward, a weakling, and probably harbored rebel sympathies, but he did his best to be brave and do the right thing anyway. It’s easy for us to be brave, with our training and abilities. All he had was guts. And a willingness to die for his Empress.”

“And now it’s our turn,” said Silence. He got to his feet, Frost beside him, and together they took up their places before the Throne. Silence smiled once at Jenny, then nodded to Owen. “Let’s do it, Deathstalker.”

Owen stepped up to face Silence, and Hazel moved forward to face Frost. Owen hefted his sword casually. “From what I’ve been hearing, Captain, you and the Investigator gained abilities similar to ours from the Madness Maze. Which means we could raise our powers, go head-to-head, reduce the Court to rubble, and kill everyone in it, and still end up in a stalemate. So what say we do this the honorable way. Just sword to sword. How does that sound to you?”

“Honorable,” said Silence. “And what I’d expect from a Deathstalker. Besides, we’ve always wanted to know which of us is better with a blade, haven’t we?”

“Damn right,” said Frost.

“Then let’s do it,” said Hazel. “One last fight, as humans. Before we forget how.”

And so they went forward to meet each other, the last great champions of Empire and rebellion, four good people whose differing beliefs could not be reconciled, only decided at the point of a sword. Owen and Silence circled each other slowly, their swords clashing lightly, tip to tip, as they studied each other’s style for openings and vulnerabilities. Hazel and Frost went straight at each other, hacking and cutting, slamming their blades together, fueled by a rivalry that was stronger than hate or rage.