Deathstalker Rebellion (64 page)

Some people volunteered to fight in the night. Small pa
trols of men and women from both sides for whom the need for vengeance and slaughter had not been burned away during the day. They crept out onto the pitch-black battlefield to fight and die in sudden, silent encounters in the night. Back in the trenches and the tunnels, most got what sleep they could in the stifling heat. The second day of summer came, and the temperature rose still further, a killing heat for all but the strongest. And still both sides came roaring up out of their trenches when the whistles blew. There was killing to be done.

Then it was Autumn, and the temperature dropped like a stone. The whistles blew, and men and women went up and over the top to fight again. The jagged metal killing field was already dark crimson from the splashed blood and offal of the previous day’s battle, baked onto the metal by the merciless summer sun. Gale force winds arose, blowing suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to pick up a man and carry him away. Both sides wore weights on their belts and in their boots to hold them down. The winds picked up scattered metal fragments from miles around and swept them on at blinding speed. Razorstorms that could strip unprotected flesh down to the bone in seconds. Both sides wore armor, which slowed them down even more. Battles became slow, farcical affairs, but blood still spilled, and neither the wounded nor the dead saw the joke.

And finally, winter came again: snow and ice and blizzards and the killing cold. The security forces wore special thermal suits. The rebels didn’t need them. Neither did Random and Ruby. They’d adapted. Both sides wore thick goggles, to keep the driving snow out of their eyes. No-man’s-land became a blinding white glare of snow and ice, in which small groups of armed men and women moved slowly, silently together, straining their eyes against the storm for signs of the enemy. Blood spattered the snow, red on white, and fighters crashed to the ground and did not move again. Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought on, going out again and again, whatever the weather, or which shift it was. The Rejects roared their names as battle cries and followed them into battle whatever the odds. The cold seared their lungs and chilled the blood in their veins, but their rage was hotter than any cold the winter could throw at them. Two days passed and winter gave way to spring, and
it all began again. And that was how the years passed on Technos III.

Through it all, the weather and the hate and the killing, only one side pressed forward. Step by step, yard by yard, the Rejects drove the Wolfe security forces back, pushing no-man’s-land closer and closer to the factory complex, as trench after trench fell and was occupied by the rebels. Jack Random and Ruby Journey were everywhere, inspiring the Rejects to new heights of courage and ferocity, and scaring the hell out of even hardened Wolfe mercenaries, and neither the weather nor the enemy could touch them or slow them down. The name of the legendary professional rebel was voiced frequently on both sides now, and that of his deadly new companion; the old legend and the new, who could not be stopped or turned aside. And down in the rebel tunnels, Alexander Storm, who had once been a not-so-minor legend in his own right, worked constantly, tirelessly, plotting strategies with the rebel council, organizing raids and advances, and keeping the tunnels clear of ravenous life-forms that didn’t know there was a war going on. And in the few moments he had to himself, he tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he was old, and his longtime friend and companion Jack wasn’t, any longer.

Out in no-man’s-land, Jack Random felt fitter and stronger than ever, and his sword arm never seemed to tire. He felt like himself again, the legendary hero at whose name the Iron Throne itself had trembled. And if he looked a little younger than he had, only Ruby Journey noticed. And she kept it to herself. The Rejects roared their names and pressed forward, scenting victory.

And good men and women died, as well as bad, and the Sisters of Mercy did what they could for the wounded.

And the war went on.

Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe waited impatiently in what passed for the main reception hall of the factory complex. It was actually just a large storage area that wasn’t being used for anything else, but some brave soul had tried to brighten it up with a red carpet and a few flowers here and there. The carpet was just a little tatty, but the flowers bloomed brightly despite the complex’s artificially controlled environment. Not being fed or watered for days at a time, they were used to a much rougher life in the world outside.

Daniel scowled fiercely, tapping one foot impatiently and hugging himself to keep from flying apart. Things had not been going at all well for the Wolfes lately, and this particular meeting had the potential for a really major screwup. One badly chosen word, and if he was lucky he’d only be sent home in disgrace. Stephanie stood at his side, cool and calm and very controlled. If only because one of them had to be. By rights, Michel and Lily should have been there, too, to greet such an important new arrival, but Stephanie had decided very early on that they couldn’t be trusted to behave themselves. So she had their food drugged and locked them in their rooms, just in case. Officially, they were indisposed, which was true enough. And Cardinal Kassar’s presence had not been requested. He’d tried everything, up to and including not so veiled threats, to inveigle an invitation, but Stephanie had no intention of being upstaged. This was a Wolfe affair, and the new arrival was their guest. Kassar could meet him later. Much later.

The only two people she hadn’t been able to keep out were Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn. The Empress had personally let it be known that she wanted the new arrival’s reception carried live on holovision, and though she hadn’t deigned to explain why, what Lionstone wanted, Lionstone got—if you were fond of breathing. So Toby and Flynn set up their lights and faded as far into the background as they could, trying hard not to be noticed. This was one show they were determined not to be thrown out of. It wasn’t every day you got a chance to film the legendary Half A Man himself, in what remained of his flesh.

There weren’t many in the Empire who didn’t know the cruel and terrible history of Half A Man. Just over two hundred years ago, he’d had a far too close encounter with a species of alien still not identified or reencountered. He’d been abducted right out of the command chair of his own starcruiser, the
Beowulf
, disappearing in full view of his bridge crew. There’d been no warning, no trace of alien ship or presence. He was just there one minute and gone the next.

The aliens held on to him for three years, performing experiments on him that he remembered only partially, in his worst nightmares. Mostly, he remembered screaming. Then they sent him back, dropping him out of nowhere onto the bridge of the
Beowulf
, even though the ship was halfway across the Empire from where it had been. And that was
when the nightmare really began. The aliens sent only half of him back. The left half. He’d been split right down the middle, from scalp to crotch, his right half replaced by an energy construct of roughly human shape.

The then Emperor had him examined by the finest scientists and medics of that time, but none of them came up with any explanation worth a damn. They couldn’t even agree on why he was still alive, never mind what had happened to him. His right half was now composed of an energy field that had all the properties of matter, but was still clearly energy, though of a form the Empire had never encountered before. The whole Empire was placed on Red Alert for over a year, in case the aliens showed up again. But they didn’t, and eventually everyone stood down from Red Alert and calmed down a little. Half A Man, as he’d been named almost immediately by the tabloid news channels, became a main adviser to the Emperor on alien matters and continued to hold that position as years passed, Emperors died, and his human half grew no older by a day. Now, as then, he was largely responsible for setting alien policy within the Empire, and if anyone felt like arguing with him, all it took was one close look at what aliens had done to him to change their minds.

Half A Man was also responsible for the creation of the Investigators. He felt the Empire needed a body of men and women specialty qualified to deal with any and all alien threats. He trained them all personally, then and now, in the best ways to understand, control, and kill aliens. The Investigators worshiped him. Which had been known to make the various occupants of the Iron Throne just a little uneasy, down the years. There was no denying the Investigators were necessary and highly proficient at their job, but if they were ever to band together, possibly under Half A Man, it was doubtful if there was a force anywhere within the Empire that could stand against them. Luckily for all concerned, Investigators were by nature a solitary breed who did not care for each other’s company. The only thing they had in common was Half A Man. They’d die for Half A Man. Or kill for him. Which was why he’d come to Technos III.

Toby Shreck was fascinated by the man, and so was Flynn, though both of them tried hard not to show it. Half A Man had displayed no fondness for publicity after his return, particularly after the way the tabloids hounded him,
and he’d shunned the media spotlight for decades, rarely appearing in public except when ordered to by the Emperor of the day. As a result, coverage of the man tended to be few and far between, and any reporter with new footage could practically name his own price. The reception itself would be going out live, but Toby had no doubt he could sneak some extra footage afterward. Maybe even get an interview. If Half A Man didn’t kill him on the spot just for asking. There were rumors.

Everyone’s head turned as they heard a particular sound approaching down the corridor outside the reception hall. The sound of one foot tapping on the metal floor. They all drew themselves up to look their best and unconsciously braced themselves. The door swung open, and Half A Man came in. Toby’s first thought was
That’s not so bad. I can handle that.
He hadn’t been sure how he’d react to such an awful sight in the flesh, so to speak. But the human half looked human enough, and the glowing spitting energy half was just energy.

The human half was a little over six feet tall, in good shape, and conservatively dressed. The half a face was subtly disturbing, but the hair was a common enough dark brown, as was the single eye, and the half a mouth was set and firm. Toby couldn’t read any emotion in the mouth or the eye. There wasn’t enough information in half a face. He couldn’t even decide if it had once been handsome or not. The energy half was entirely human in space, though it spat and crackled constantly. But Toby had a sick feeling it wasn’t even close to the same shape as the human half. It had no particular color, or perhaps it was all colors. And it wasn’t just its brightness that made it hard to look at.

Toby tore his gaze away from Half A Man, and checked quickly that all his lights were working and in the right place. He and Flynn had had to guess at the exposures. He glanced at Flynn and was relieved to see the camera on his shoulder was already silently capturing everything. Billions of people were watching this meeting live, in this sector alone, and if he didn’t screw this up completely, Toby Shreck could finally be on his way to being accepted as a real reporter.

The two Wolfes stepped forward to officially greet Half A Man, then stopped as three newcomers stepped silently through the open door, wearing the formal blue and silver
cloaks of the Investigator. Stephanie and Daniel gaped openly. Toby’s blood ran cold. Three Investigators together in the same room? This was unheard of. No one had said anything about this. Toby glared at Flynn to make sure he kept filming. There was an even bigger story here than he’d thought.

“Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe,” said Half A Man in a perfectly normal voice, “allow me to present my three companions; they are the Investigators Edge, Barr, and Shoal.”

Each Investigator bowed briefly as they were named. Edge was a tall, slender man well into his fifties. His long face came to a sharp point at his chin, and his eyes were too wide and too bright. His slight scowl was openly contemptuous. Barr stood like a soldier, every muscle to attention, short and square like a bulldog. He was clearly into his sixties, with close-cropped gunmetal hair. He looked like he was just waiting for an order to kill somebody. Shoal was the youngest, a medium height, compact woman in her late forties, with dark spiky hair and a cool gaze. Toby thought he saw a smile lurking in one corner of her generous mouth, but since she was an Investigator, he was probably wrong. It was common knowledge Investigators smiled only when they were killing. Preferably whole alien species. Slowly. And then Edge spotted the holocamera, and everything went to hell in a hurry.

“Turn that bloody thing off,” said Edge, a sword already in his hand. He advanced on Flynn, who backed quickly away, still filming. Flynn had worked in combat zones and knew the first rule of reporting was to keep filming, no matter what. Edge loomed over him, sword ready for a killing thrust. “I said turn it off! No one films me. No one.”

Toby stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. “It’s on the Empress’s orders. She wants a complete record …”

Edge spun around with blinding speed and hit Toby across the face with the back of his hand. Toby hit the floor hard and fought to clear his head. Blood poured down over his mouth from one nostril, and he spat it away. He got one knee under him and then had to stop as his head swam sickly. Flynn had backed up against a wall and couldn’t retreat any farther. He was still filming. Toby struggled to find the words that would defuse the situation. There had to be something he could say. He always knew what to say.

“Leave the man alone, Edge,” said Barr, his voice thick
and slightly slurred. “We obey the Empress’s commands—in all things.”

“Shut up, you sycophant,” said Edge, not looking around. He had his sword pointed at Flynn’s throat. “Throw that camera down and smash it, boy. I want to hear it crunch under your heel.”

Flynn tried to say
Go to hell
, but couldn’t get the words out of his throat. You didn’t talk like that to Investigators—particularly those with a killing madness in their eyes. But he still wouldn’t surrender his camera. Edge smiled suddenly, and Flynn’s blood ran cold.