Deathstalker Honor (50 page)

“All right, Gregor,” she said breathlessly, fighting to keep her voice from shaking as sweat rolled down her face. “We’re going for a little walk now.”

“Outside?” said Gregor. He seemed to recognize where he was for the first time, and panic shot through him. “No. Not outside. Not out of my Tower! No!”

And with a burst of strength fueled by manic fear, he threw off her hold, ducked away from the knife at his throat, and stumbled toward the safety of his guards, who dived as one for their guns. Evangeline considered throwing her knife at Gregor’s fat back, decided she didn’t have time, and bolted through the open main door. She sprinted across the open ground to where she’d parked the gravity sled. Her bare back crawled in anticipation of the energy beams she’d probably never even have time to feel. And then behind her she heard Gregor screaming for them to take her alive, and her heart jumped. She had a chance, after all.

She forced herself to run faster, bare feet pounding painfully on the harsh ground, the glass jars hammering against her back, the cool air rushing past her bare skin. People around stopped to look at her, but no one felt like interfering. Which was just as well. Evangeline had already decided quite coldly to cut down anyone who got between her and freedom. She’d gone through too much to be stopped now. Maybe there was some Shreck in her, after all. She could see the gravity sled now, still where she’d parked it, not too far away. She was beyond pain or tiredness now, buoyed up by hope.

Then the sled was suddenly right there before her, and she skidded to a halt, stopping just short of slamming into its side. She dumped the heads in their sheet into the back of the sled, and only then heard the running footsteps behind her. Reason said they had to have been there for some time, but she’d been too busy with her own desperate thoughts to hear them. She spun around, knife in hand. Three armored guards were almost upon her, more coming behind them. Evangeline’s mouth widened into a death’s-head grin she’d learned from Finlay, and went to meet the first three guards with her monofilament knife at the ready.

She had an advantage. They were under orders not to kill her; she had no such encumbrance. She cut off the head of the first guard with a casual flick of the wrist, the knife cutting through steel armor and flesh and bone as easily as air. The masked head tumbled almost slowly to the ground as she turned to the next guard and plunged the knife into his chest. He screamed shrilly inside his mask. While he was collapsing, she turned to the third guard. Blood was trickling down her bare flesh and had been spattered across her face, none of it hers. It felt warm in the cool air, almost comforting: the blood of her enemies. The third guard forgot or stopped caring about Gregor’s order to bring her back alive.

He drew his disrupter and aimed it point-blank at her bare chest. Evangeline lashed out with her knife and cut the gun in two. The guard turned to run, and she cut him down too, the monofilament edge slicing easily in and out again. The other guards skidded to a halt as she bent down and picked up one of the other guards’ disrupters. Gregor was still urging them on, screaming threats and promises and curses, but the situation had changed and the guards knew it. There were enough of them that they were bound to bring her eventually, but they all knew a hell of a lot of them would die doing it. And no bonuses or threats were worth that. So they hesitated, and as they did, Evangeline clambered aboard her gravity sled and took off, leaving them all behind. No one even shot at her.

She laughed shakily, not daring to relax just yet, but finally starting to hope the worst was over. She hadn’t been sure she could bring it off. Deep down she’d still thought of herself as the helpless victim, never really believing she could defeat Gregor. She’d gone because she had to, to rescue her friend, and because she was tired of being afraid. But she’d done it.

She was shaking from head to toe as reaction set in. She remembered fighting the guards and smiled disbelievingly. The underground had trained her, as it trained all its agents, but she’d never had occasion to use any of it in anger. Presumably her time with Finlay had affected her more than she’d realized.

Finlay. She was going home to Finlay now, and he’d be so proud of her. He’d take her in his arms and hold her tight, and the long nightmare of her past life would finally be over. It seemed to her that she’d forgotten something, something important, but she didn’t care. She was going home. The wind whipped coldly past her bare skin, and she giggled suddenly at the thought of what an awful sight she must present.

But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except being safe at home with Finlay, and her friend Penny, and her friend Wax. Maybe they’d have a party when she got back. And then, maybe she’d sleep for a week. Or two.

Valentine Wolfe, as always not entirely in his right mind, sat at his ease in a very comfortable chair on the bridge of his ship, the
Snark,
and orbited the planet Loki, fabled world of storms. He was studying the viewscreen before him as it displayed the endlessly changing atmosphere of the Rim world below. Glorious patterns revealed themselves to his dilated eyes, complex and fascinating, endlessly reforming, endlessly charming. He’d been watching the storms for some time, secure behind the finest cloaking device Shub could provide, invisible to all below. Valentine had never believed in hiding his dark light behind a bushel, but with so many people sworn to kill him on sight, he had no choice but to take all possible precautions.

He smiled dreamily. It wasn’t his fault if people couldn’t take a joke.

He’d been in high orbit for over an hour, waiting patiently for the summons he’d been promised. Somewhere beneath all the storms and dramatic weather systems that had made Loki infamous as the most unpleasant and disagreeable colonized world in the whole Empire, in one of Loki’s sturdy and permanently battened-down cities, traitors to the Empire were gathering, and wanted him to join them. They didn’t see themselves as traitors, of course. Traitors never did. Instead they hid behind words like patriotism, necessity, practicality. Valentine had never needed the comfort of euphemisms. He knew what he was, and gloried in it.

Beneath his present calm exterior, several very powerful psychotropic drugs were battling it out for dominance. The end result of decades of determined drug experimentation had left him with a system that could ignore doses strong enough to kill a normal man, or drive him utterly mad. So these days Valentine had taken to dosing himself with several substances at once, and letting them fight it out amongst themselves. It was a form of Russian roulette, the possibility of sudden death merely adding a taste of decadence that Valentine found utterly irresistible.

Everyone was after him. Everyone wanted to kill him. And Valentine couldn’t have been happier. He had forsworn Humanity and allied himself with Shub, and didn’t give a damn. He had always taken pride in being able to see all sides of an argument, sometimes simultaneously, while agreeing with none of them. All that mattered was the quest, the search for the ultimate high. And the chance to trample over absolutely everything and have all that lived bow down to him. He just wanted to be God. Was that so much to ask?

His contact with Shub, the planet the rogue AIs had made, had gone more easily than he’d thought. In return for being Shub’s agent in the worlds of men, a calm, emotionless voice had promised him new tech augmentations that would give him access to senses far beyond those of mere flesh, and eventually a direct comprehension of reality itself, unfiltered by human misconceptions. They’d given him a taste of this by enabling him to directly control the machines that had destroyed Virimonde, sinking his consciousness into the metal minds of robots and war machines as they dragged men and women down, tearing their fragile flesh with metal hands and grinding their bodies under metal wheels. It had been . . . exhilarating. But even Valentine knew there was a reason why the first taste is always free. He’d taken many drugs in his time, but had never allowed any of them to master him. His iron will was the only thing greater than his avaricious body chemistry. So he remained calm in the face of Shub’s temptations and requested more details. The voice asked him if he’d like to talk to someone who’d already gone before him.

Valentine raised an eyebrow. He’d always thought of himself as being a pioneer on the cutting edge of self-transformation. “And who might this person be?”

“Who do you think?” said a familiar female voice. “Who else but Lionstone?”

“Your Highness,” said Valentine courteously. “How delightful to hear from you again. I was under the impression you were dead.”

“Just my body. The AIs rescued my mind and brought me to Shub. I am metal now. I live in machines.”

“And what is that like, Your Highness? Can you describe it?”

“Of course. I am large, larger than possible while trapped in the confines of flesh. My thoughts move freely, into whatever shape I choose. And I can see so much more than I ever could before. The universe isn’t what you think it is, Valentine. It’s a wondrous place, complex and magnificent in ways beyond mere human comprehension. There are realms and dimensions, directions and possibilities, almost beyond number. Come on in, Valentine; the inhumanity’s wonderful.”

“It certainly sounds it,” Valentine said carefully. “But what about—how shall I put this—the more fleshly pleasures and appetites? How does it feel to have left them behind?”

“When I was a child, I played with childish things. I’ve moved on, Valentine. Pleasure has its base in the mind, not the body. I have lost nothing, and gained so very much. Just as you could. All you have to do is say good-bye to the past and embrace the future. The future is metal. Humanity was never more than just a step in the ladder that led to Shub, and it is no great tragedy that they should be replaced by something greater. Flesh decays and dies. We are forever.”

“ Immortality?” said Valentine.

“Why not?” said Lionstone.

“We have other voices you might care to listen to,” said the original voice. “We have your father, Jacob, here. Would you like to talk to him?”

“I don’t think so, thank you,” said Valentine. “We never had that much in common even when he was alive.”

“Then perhaps your brother, Daniel? He came to visit with us, and we gave him many gifts. He is our agent now, currently on his way back to Golgotha.”

“Oh, good,” said Valentine. “Dear Daniel. I’ll have to arrange a welcome for him.”

“No, you won’t,” said the voice. “Daniel is currently rather more important to us than you. Leave him alone. For the present.”

“As you wish,” Valentine said easily. “Retribution is no less satisfying for being delayed. At the risk of sounding greedy, my metal signors, what else can you offer me?”

“Protection from your enemies. A return to power in the new Empire we shall forge from the ashes of the old. What else could you possibly want?”

“I’ve always had a yearning to be Lord of Golgotha,” said Valentine.

“That’s taken,” said Lionstone. “How about Virimonde?”

Valentine smiled at the memory. The haggling continued for some time, but the end result was that Valentine was now an agent of Shub, the official Enemies of Humanity. His first mission on their behalf had been this trip to Loki, to make contact with a gathering of useful people also interested in making a deal with Shub. Though of course they came in the name of peace and security, requesting only an alliance against certain mutual dangers.

Valentine couldn’t land his ship on Loki without fear of detection, for all Shub’s cloaking fields, so it had been agreed that the ship would remain in high orbit while he attended the meeting as a hologram. The new rebels provided the coordinates, and at the approved time Valentine sent his image down to join the meeting.

Due to the never ending storms churning up the planet’s atmosphere, reception wasn’t everything it might have been, and Valentine’s holo image appeared as a crackling, sometimes translucent figure. Valentine approved. He prided himself on the dramatic range of his entrances.

He found himself in an anonymous back room, standing before a table around which four people were sitting. There was a fifth figure standing to one side, whom Valentine recognized immediately. He decided to concentrate on the four at the table first. He liked to know exactly who he was dealing with.

“Well, well,” he said calmly. “Here we all are, under one roof at last, with myself as always the ghost at the feast. What are we calling ourselves today; renegades, rebels, or, dare I say it, traitors to the Empire?”

“We’re no traitors,” said one of the men immediately. “We are merely practical men, doing what we must to survive. The fact that we’re prepared to deal with scum like you should show that.”

“How very rude,” Valentine murmured. “You have the advantage of me, sir. Perhaps you would be good enough to honor me with your name?”