Deathstalker (30 page)

“I am not impressed,” said Hazel.

“Give it a chance,” said Owen automatically. “This is only the exterior. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to judge a place by its exterior?”

“She also told me to avoid outlaws, aristos and sucker joints. Can’t say I’m doing too well on any of them. You really think we’re going to find Jack Random in a dump like this? I mean, I’d heard he was down on his luck, but can you really see the legendary professional rebel running a cheap ripoff joint like this?”

“It’s probably a cover,” said Owen stubbornly. “Who’d think to look for him here?”

“He has a point,” said Moon in his harsh, buzzing voice, and they both jumped slightly. “I wouldn’t be seen dismantled in a place like this.”

“The Abraxus people said we’d find him here,” said Owen. “And I really don’t feel like going back and arguing with them about it. I’m going in. Watch my back, keep your eyes open and your hands off the silver.”

He strode up to the door and gave the bell chain a firm tug. He sensed as much as heard the others fall in behind him and smiled slightly. They just needed to be reminded who was in charge now and again. The door swung open, and Owen put on his best supercilious look. When in doubt, treat people like shit. Nine times out of ten they’ll immediately assume you’re a very superior person, probably there to investigate whatever scam they’re running. In Owen’s experience, most people had a scam of one kind or another running at any given time. He tried not to think about the other percentage. That was, after all, why he wore a sword.

The door swung back to reveal a tall, graceful, living goddess wearing a wide smile and a very skimpy outfit comprised mostly of black lace. She was also extremely muscular. Her arms and thighs bulged intimidatingly, and somehow Owen knew she did more sit-ups before breakfast each day than he managed in a month.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Owen could think of several, one of which would almost certainly put his back out, but he made himself concentrate on the matter in hand. “We need to see the manager,” he said in what he hoped was a firm, commanding voice.

“Of course,” said the goddess, still smiling widely. “Do come in.”

She stood back to let them enter. Owen strode confidently past her, but almost lost it when she took a sudden deep breath just as he drew level and her magnificent chest practically flew into his face. He moved quickly on into the reception area and took a few quiet deep breaths of his own. Behind him, he heard Hazel give one of her familiar sniffs of disapproval. The Hadenman remained quiet. Presumably he was above or beyond such things. The door shut behind them with a worryingly final sound, and then the goddess
was with them again. She favored them all with another of her dazzling smiles and struck a casual pose that just happened to show off most of her muscles in high definition.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she suggested winningly. “I’ll go tell the manager you’re here.”

She turned and left in a single smooth motion and disappeared out the far door before Owen could get his breath back. He looked at Tobias Moon.

“What a warm and understanding chest that girl had.”

“Nice deltoids,” said the Hadenman.

“When you two have finished drooling,” said Hazel icily, “you might care to notice that she locked the front door behind us. If she’s recognized you …”

“Relax,” said Moon. “I’m with you now.”

Hazel gave him a withering stare. “How are your batteries holding up?”

“I have more than enough power in my systems to deal with any problems we may encounter.”

Hazel sniffed. “If you’re so powerful and dangerous, how did you end up here?”

“I trusted the wrong people,” said Moon, and there was something in his inhuman voice that kept her from continuing.

Owen looked around at the reception area. It seemed the safest thing to do. Even standing still and silent, there was something very disturbing about the Hadenman. Owen had now been in his company for nearly an hour and was no nearer feeling at ease. It was as though there was something within Moon that was always poised to strike, ready to kill at a moment’s notice. Owen decided he wasn’t going to think about that for a while and concentrated on the reception area.

He was tempted to sneer, but settled for a condescending smile. The Olympus’ idea of fashion was at least twenty years out of date, and the furniture had clearly been designed by someone more interested in style than comfort. Not that he knew much about style, either. Owen decided against sitting down. He had a feeling one of those chairs could do terrible things to your lower back. Not unlike the goddess at the door. …

His thoughts had just started to drift again when the door at the far end of reception swung open and a giant walked in. Owen realized after a moment that the newcomer wasn’t
really that tall, no more than six foot six at the most, but his great slabs of muscle made him seem much bigger. He was incredibly well developed, with muscles in places Owen wasn’t sure he even had places. The man looked like he’d been lifting weights since he was a baby, and from the way his muscles flexed and swelled as he walked, Owen was surprised he could move around without pulling something painful. The giant came to a stop before them and gave them all a brief, impersonal smile. Owen was surprised again to realize the man was quite handsome. It just wasn’t the first thing that got your attention, mainly because the giant was wearing only a pair of tight-fitting trousers, the better to show off his highly developed muscles. Among other things. Owen couldn’t help noticing that Hazel was staring at the giant with undisguised fascination, all but devouring him with her eyes. Owen sniffed. There were more important things than muscles.

He coughed politely to get the giant’s attention, and the huge man came to a halt before him. Owen felt like he was standing in a hole.

“I’m Tom Sefka,” said the giant, in a voice so low it almost trembled in Owen’s bones. “Manager and owner of the Olympus health spa. I’m assuming this is something important. Delia doesn’t usually disturb me for anything less, but the Hadenman impressed her.” He looked Moon over thoughtfully. “If you’re looking to make some quick money, I’ve got several regulars who’d pay good money to take on an augmented man in the ring.”

“Thanks,” said Moon, “but I tend to break things when I play.”

Sefka blinked at the inhuman voice, then turned back to Owen. “So what can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for Jobe Ironhand,” said Hazel, just a little breathlessly. “It’s really important that we talk to him.”

Sefka frowned. “You had me called away from my work just for that? What the hell do you want with him?”

“We rather assumed he was the owner or business partner,” said Owen, and Sefka smiled unpleasantly.

“Hardly. You want Jobe, he’s out back doing his chores. You can talk to him if you want, but don’t keep him from his work. Come and see me when you’re finished. You all look like you could use a little weight on your frames in the right places.”

Owen frowned. “Won’t Ironhand mind us just walking in on him?”

“It’s not his place to mind,” said Sefka. “He’s only the janitor, after all. You’ll find him through that door, second on the right and down the corridor. When you’re finished with him, tell him the shower floors still need cleaning.”

He nodded to them all briefly and turned and left, disappearing through the far door. Owen was a little surprised the floor didn’t shake beneath him when he moved. Hazel watched Sefka go with hungry eyes. Owen felt a little irritated. Sefka wasn’t that special. Probably had muscles where his brains should be.

“Maybe we should see him afterward,” said Hazel. “I’d just love to put my body in his hands.”

“If you could control your animal lusts for a moment,” Owen said icily, “we really ought to find this Jobe and sort out what’s going on here. The Abraxus must have got it wrong. Perhaps Random is someone else here at the spa.”

“Give me an hour alone with that body, and I’d show him some animal lusts he’d never forget,” said Hazel.

“Muscles aren’t everything,” said Moon.

“How true,” said Hazel. “It’s not just his muscles I’m interested in.”

“I wonder if this place has cold showers,” said Owen.

“Let’s go find Jobe Ironhand,” said Moon diplomatically. “Maybe then we’ll find out what a living legend is doing working as a janitor.”

“It’s regular work,” said Hazel. “Maybe the pay’s good.”

Moon looked around him. “It would have to be.”

Hazel shrugged. “Even a professional rebel probably has to turn his hand to some honest work now and again to put food on the table between rebellions.”

“He must be working undercover,” Owen decided. “Staying out of sight while Imperial agents are searching for him. It makes sense.”

He set off for the far door without waiting for the others to agree with him. The door led into a tiled corridor which branched in difference directions according to whether you wanted the signposted weights room, the steam room, or the showers. Owen took the second turning on the right, as directed. According to the handwritten sign on the wall it led to the locker rooms. Owen led the way at a brisk walk and tried not to think about the implications of what he’d been
told. Jack Random,
the
Jack Random, working as a janitor in a place like this? It had to be a mistake, or a cover, or … something.

The locker room looked like any other locker room, bare and functional, with a smell of perspiration and liniment. Most of the lockers stood open and empty, suggesting that the spa was going through a quiet time. As they moved further into the room, the air thickened with the scent of cheap disinfectant. The door at the far end opened, and a man entered carrying a mop and bucket. He was about five foot six and looked to be in his late sixties, with a lined face and thinning gray hair. He wore baggy overalls that looked as though they’d been made for someone rather larger, and he looked like he’d missed more than his fair share of meals lately. His hands were trembling, and his face had a pale, unhealthy look.

A wave of relief passed through Owen. Whoever this was, he clearly wasn’t Jack Random. This half-pint in saggy overalls probably wouldn’t even know which end of a sword to stab you with. Presumably a spa this size needed more than one janitor, and this was the other one. The janitor stared blankly at Owen and his companions, his watery eyes straining against the gloom.

“What are you doing back here? Locker room’s closed.”

“Sorry to bother you,” said Owen graciously. “We’re looking for Jobe Ironhand. Do you know where we might find him?”

The janitor blinked at him. “That’s me. I’m Jobe Ironhand. What can I do for you?”

Hazel looked at Moon. “Didn’t you just know he was going to say that?”

Owen felt his jaw dropping and closed his mouth with a snap. There had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be Random. The age was all wrong, for a start. Jack Random was a professional warrior, respected on a hundred worlds. This broken down old wreck barely had the strength to hold onto his bucket and mop. It couldn’t be him.

“This can’t be him,” said Hazel. “I mean … look at him.”

“For once, I agree with you,” Owen said heavily. “Someone’s been leading us astray. Let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you wanted Jack Random,” said Tobias Moon. “This is him.”

Owen and Hazel looked at the Hadenman. “What makes you think that?” said Hazel.

“I fought beside him in the rebellion on Cold Rock. A few augmented men had joined his army for the experience, and I was one of them. I saw Random several times at staff meetings, and I never forget a face.”

Hazel looked back at the janitor. “This bag of bones faced down the Imperial High Guard on Cold Rock? Give me a break.”

“Oh, hell,” said the janitor. “You’d better come with me.”

They all looked at him, startled. His voice had … changed. He put his bucket and mop down, and produced a battered silver flask from a pocket in his overalls. He rescrewed the cap with some difficulty and took a long drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed jerkily in his scrawny unshaven neck. He lowered the flask, sighed deeply and carefully refastened the cap. His hands didn’t seem to be shaking nearly as much now, and his gaze was sharp and direct. He looked Owen and Hazel over, and then he turned away and disappeared back through the far door, leaving the others to hurry after him.

He wandered down the corridor without looking back to see if they were following and pushed open a door almost hidden in shadows. He stood back and gestured for the three of them to enter. They did so, just a little diffidently, and found themselves in a boiler room that had also been pressed into service as living quarters. Apart from the boiler, most of the space was taken up with a long cot covered with dishevelled blankets. Ironhand sank down onto it with a relieved sigh. Owen looked around for a chair, but there wasn’t any.

“Shut the door and sit down,” the janitor said testily. “You make the room look untidy.”

Owen shut the door and sat on the floor, drawing his legs awkwardly up beneath him. Hazel sank easily into a full lotus beside him. Moon stayed standing at parade rest. Owen looked hard at the janitor, trying hard to see some sign of the legendary warrior in this beaten down little man. The janitor looked back at him with a surprisingly steady gaze, and Owen slowly discerned that the man sitting opposite him didn’t look nearly as unimpressive as he had before. His back was straight and his hands had stopped shaking, and there was a new strength in his unshaven face.

“I thought I’d hidden myself pretty well,” he said grimly. “Suppose you start by telling me who gave you my name?”

“The Abraxus Information Center,” said Owen, and the janitor grunted irritably.

“Those damn telepaths get everywhere. Looks like I’m going to have to move again. Can’t say I’ll be sorry to go. The place is a dump, and the work stinks. They charge me rent for this room, you know. You wouldn’t think they’d have the nerve, would you? Still, I’ve stayed in worse in my time. Spent most of my adult life on the run, one way or another, and people can always tell when the pressure’s on you. That’s when accomodation suddenly gets scarce, friends turn their back on you and the price of everything goes through the roof.” He broke off to take another drink from his flask. He pulled a face and screwed the cap back on tight. “I can remember when I wouldn’t have used booze like this to clean my boots with. Amazing what you can get used to when you’ve no choice. I can remember when I drank only the finest vintages, the fiercest brandies, sparkling champagnes. … Of course, that was when I was somebody. When it mattered who I was.”