Deathstalker Honor (3 page)

“He fought beside us. He was a hero of the rebellion, just like us. And Valentine wiped out his whole Family. It doesn’t feel right, keeping this from him.”

“Owen, we hardly know the man. You’re the one who wants to bring Valentine in alive. If the Campbell were here . . .”

“Yes, I know. But if we’re keeping secrets from people who are supposed to be our comrades, what might they be keeping from us?”

“Hell,” said Hazel lightly. “Everyone’s got secrets.”

She realized how that sounded only after she’d said it, and she held her breath a moment before Owen grunted and turned away to study the sensor readings on the main display screen. Hazel let her breath out slowly, so Owen wouldn’t hear it, and tried to relax. There were still things she was keeping from Owen, partly because she didn’t want him getting upset, and partly because she still believed in keeping her own business to herself. Ever since she’d first passed through the Madness Maze on the Wolfling World and been changed forever, she’d been having problems with dreams. To begin with, they had been just disturbing images, but more and more these days the dreams persisted into her waking world, and she couldn’t push aside the thought that they meant something. Something important. She was dreaming every night now, clear and distinct, and she couldn’t tell if she was seeing the past or the future. It was as though Time was unraveling in her head, in the darkest hours of the night, when her defenses were at their weakest. Something in her mind was showing her things, and wouldn’t let her look away.

While on Mistworld, she’d dreamed of the Empire invasion hours before it actually happened.

Last night there had been three dreams, one after the other. First she dreamed of the Blood Runners, the evil inhabitants of the dark Obeah worlds, far out on the Rim where no one ever went, who’d once tried to kidnap her for their never ending experiments into the nature of suffering and existence. Owen had saved her then, reaching out with his mind across countless light-years to strike down their leader. In her dream, they looked at her with knowing, cruel eyes, watching and waiting with horrid patience. They held something in their hands. Something sharp.

Then she dreamed of Owen’s Family Standing, on Virimonde. She’d walked the empty stone corridors with easy familiarity, though she’d never been there before. It was bitter cold, the cold of the grave, and blood trickled down the walls, staining the ancient tapestries and exquisite carpets. There was someone waiting around the next corner, and far down below, something awful.

And finally she dreamed she stood alone on the bridge of
Sunstrider II
while all hell broke out around her. There were ships attacking from every side, ships beyond counting, overwhelming her defenses even as she fought frantically to hold them back. All the alarms were sounding, and the
Sunstrider II
’s guns fired again and again. There was no sign of Owen anywhere.

Past, present, and future. Maybe. But were they predictions or just warnings? Did they mean she had a chance to change things, rewrite history, defy destiny? Or was she just going crazy, like everyone else around her?

There had been a time when the forbidden drug Blood had helped her cope with many things, including the dreams, but she’d moved beyond that. She’d been so physically transformed from what she used to be she doubted Blood would even be able to make a dent in her body chemistry these days. Besides, Blood was heavily addictive, and she was damned if anything or anyone was ever going to have control over her again, including her own weaknesses.

“What do you suppose Valentine and his cronies are up to down there?” she said suddenly, determined to distract herself.

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Owen, still studying the data scrolling past him on the viewscreen. The data was moving far too fast for normal eyes to follow, but neither of them mentioned it. They were used to small changes like that. “He’s reinforced the Standing’s shields. I’m not picking up anything useful. Which is in itself significant. He shouldn’t have access to anything strong enough to keep out Hadenman-designed sensors. So who’s been supplying him with tech?”

“We’ll have to ask him,” said Hazel. “When we get down there.”

“Too many questions,” said Owen, finally shutting down the viewscreen. “Too many unknowns. Why did he return here? Why did he take over my old home? What did he hope to achieve here that was so important he was willing to risk me coming after him?”

“He’s here for a specific purpose,” said Hazel. “Has to be, or he couldn’t have persuaded so many people to come here with him. And somebody must have paid for all that fancy equipment he’s supposed to have with him. If you ask me, it’s something to do with drugs. Everything with Valentine turns out to be something to do with drugs.”

“Or revenge. He’s a Wolfe, after all. And Oz says his security systems are advanced far beyond anything he should have access to.”

Hazel looked at him sharply. “You’re still hearing voices, aren’t you?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t put it like that. And it’s only one voice.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me? At this rate you’ll be saying you only overthrew the Empire because the Devil told you to. That’s going to go down really well with the general populace.”

“It’s just my old AI!”

“Then why can’t I hear it on my comm system? Why can’t anyone else hear it? And you were very definite you’d killed the bloody thing after it betrayed us on the Wolfling World.”

“I thought it was dead. But I’m not as sure about a lot of things as I used to be. After all, you and I have been through a lot of things that should have killed us. Haven’t we?”

Hazel had no quick answer to that. So they stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment, until they were suddenly interrupted by all the yacht’s warning sirens going off at once, the floor rocking under their feet as something really powerful hit the ship like a hammer.

“Oz!” yelled Owen. “What the hell’s going on?”

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” said the AI calmly. “Valentine’s security systems have finally broken through our cloaking shields, and the armed satellites are currently throwing everything they’ve got at us. Which is actually quite considerable. Main shields are holding. For the moment. Do I have your permission to return fire?”

“Of course you bloody do! Blow the nearest satellites out of the sky and then get us dirtside as fast as you can.”

“Landing coordinates?”

“Not too far from the Standing. Walking distance.”

“About time you got some healthy exercise,” said the AI approvingly. “You’ve been putting on weight.”

“Well?” said Hazel. “What’s happening?”

“Valentine knows we’re here. And the voice in my head now thinks it’s my mother. I’m bringing the ship down fast. Grab onto something and pray for a soft landing.”

“Hell with that,” said Hazel. “I want to get some shots of my own in first.”

“Why bother? The ship’s fire computers are perfectly capable—”

“God, you’re a wimp sometimes, Deathstalker. It’s the principle of the thing.”

And off she went, up to the bridge to plug herself into the fire systems. Owen let her go. That was Hazel for you. Never happier than with a gun of some kind in her hand, causing destruction and devastation and ruining someone’s day. He strapped himself into his chair and waited patiently. At least the
Sunstrider II
had decent guns. The original
Sunstrider
had spent most of its short life being chased from one world to another, often shot up and on fire, until it finally crash-landed in the deadly jungles of Shandrakor. When Owen had the new yacht built around the salvaged engines of the old, he had insisted the Hadenmen install as many state-of-the-art weapon systems as the craft could hold. He didn’t like having to run. It wasn’t in his nature.

And then the ship lurched again, as something really nasty slammed through the energy shields and impacted on the reinforced hull. The lights flickered briefly, and Owen tensed, waiting for the shrill warning of a hull breach. It didn’t come, but Owen decided his proper place was on the bridge, after all. Defense computers could do only so much. He ran all the way, but still had enough breath left when he got there to demand of Hazel what the hell was going on.

“Damned if I know, Deathstalker,” said Hazel briskly, eyes fixed on the control panels before her. “I’ve never encountered firepower like this. At least, not from any human tech.”

Owen dropped into the seat beside her and quickly studied the tactical displays. Main shields were still holding, but they were taking a hell of a battering. There was some damage to the outer hull, mostly superficial. The Hadenmen knew how to build a ship. “This shouldn’t be happening,” he said finally. “The Hadenmen assured me we could stand off everything up to and including an Empire starcruiser.”

“Should have got it in writing, stud,” said Hazel, smiling briefly as one of Valentine’s satellites exploded under her guns. “Maybe Valentine made a deal with the Hadenmen too. Or he’s been talking to Shub. Or even the aliens. Selling out all Humanity for simple personal gain is exactly the kind of thing you’d expect from Valentine Wolfe. Either way, we are in over our heads and sinking fast. Suggestions of a practical nature are urgently invited. Also prayers.”

“To hell with trying to fight it out,” said Owen. “Throw as much power as you can into the shields and get us down fast, Oz. Hopefully the satellites are only programmed to hit things in a predetermined area. Once we’ve dropped below their response level, they should leave us alone. And then let us all hope Valentine hasn’t also invested in some ground defenses.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Hazel. “Can I make the landing?”

“No,” said Owen firmly. “Let Oz do it. I’ve seen your landings, Hazel.”

“Spoilsport.”

The
Sunstrider II
plunged screaming through the atmosphere, wreathed in flames, until finally it fell out of range of the satellites, and the attack cut off. Owen and Hazel braced themselves for ground responses, but there were none. Apparently Valentine had expected his souped-up satellites to be all that was needed to discourage visitors. With any other ship he’d probably have been right. Oz finally eased off the steep descent and searched out a landing spot not too far from the Standing. Owen allowed himself to relax a little.

“It would seem Valentine has powerful new allies,” he said thoughtfully. “I wonder what other surprises he has in store for us.”

“Something nasty, no doubt,” said Hazel. “Knowing Valentine. But we can handle it.”

“Don’t get cocky,” said Owen. “Valentine hasn’t survived this long by leaving anything to chance. He must have known I’d be coming after him once he set up shop here. He must have made . . . preparations.”

“There’s nothing he can throw at us that we can’t throw right back at him,” said Hazel calmly. “I could have handled those satellites eventually, if you hadn’t chickened out. Nothing can harm us anymore, Owen. Not after all we’ve been through.”

“Cocky,” said Owen. “Definitely cocky. It’ll all end in tears—”

He would have said more, but navigation chimed discreetly, alerting him that the
Sunstrider II
was coming in for a touch down. Owen and Hazel studied the short- and long-range sensor displays carefully, but the ship landed without incident. Oz made them wait while he ran through his landing checklist.

“Air quality, tolerable. Cold for the time of year, but within acceptable limits. No life signs. All right, it’s now officially safe to disembark. For old times’ sake, I’ve put down at the exact spot where Hazel first encountered you, Owen. Just call me a silly old sentimentalist.”

“Shut up, Oz.”

They made their way down to the airlock, and then Owen waited patiently while Hazel weighed herself down with a few more guns and ammunition belts. For all her claims of invulnerability, she still never felt really comfortable about going out in public unless she was carrying more guns than the average armed patrol group. Owen leaned against the steel bulkhead and remembered how things had been the first time he’d met Hazel d’Ark.

He’d been on the run from his own security guards, badly wounded, fleeing desperately in a damaged flyer. They’d shot him down only a few miles from his Standing. He’d staggered away from the burning wreckage, bleeding profusely, and set his back against a nearby tree, to hold him up while he made his last stand.

And then Hazel had appeared out of nowhere to save him from his enemies, cutting them down like a glorious if somewhat shop-soiled valkyrie, and together they’d fled Virimonde in the first
Sunstrider
. Owen had never been back since. He’d always meant to, but the rebellion never gave him time. He’d spent his childhood on a dozen different planets, as his father darted around the Empire pursuing his endless intrigues. But Virimonde had been his and his alone, his haven from a Family and a warrior’s destiny he’d never wanted. The only place he’d ever thought of as home.

“Come on, stud, let’s get this show on the road. I haven’t killed anyone in hours, and I’m starting to get twitchy.”

And then there was Hazel, large as life and twice as dangerous, carrying enough guns to start her own war. Owen had to smile.

“What’s so funny?” she said suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that according to Oz, we’ve touched down at the exact spot where you and I first met.”

“You always were too nostalgic for your own good, Deathstalker. Crack that airlock and let’s get our feet dirty. I didn’t come all this way just to stand around.”

“You don’t have a single sentimental bone in your body, do you, Hazel?”

“For which I thank the good Lord daily. Sentiment just gets in the way of getting the job done.”

Owen sighed and opened the airlock. The planet’s air wafted in, and he took a deep breath, expecting the old, familiar scents of grass and earth and growing things. Instead he coughed harshly as his lungs were filled with hot, dry air choked with dust. Owen and Hazel looked at each other, and then Owen stepped cautiously out onto the planet he had once owned. The sky was dark and overcast, the light gray and lifeless. Where once there had been green fields and the rich foliage of rambling woods, now there was only churned-up mud for as far as he could see in any direction. No fields or crops or low stone boundary walls, just the mud, dark and gritty with trodden-in ashes.