Deathstalker Rebellion (65 page)

“Leave him alone,” said Shoal. Her voice was calm and quietly amused. “His kind are like rats. Kill one, and they’ll all come swarming around. You heard the man. This is the Empress’s idea. You really want to be dragged before her in chains, to explain why you disobeyed a direct order?”

“What can she do to me?” said Edge. “You know why we’re here. Too old or too frail to be trusted in the field anymore, but too dangerous to be allowed to run loose. We’re not allowed to work for the Clans anymore. We were doing too good a job. She’s frightened of us. Of what we might do. I spent all my life in her service, and for what? To end up on this shitball as local enforcers. She wants this event covered? I’ll give the precious viewers something to watch they won’t forget in a hurry.”

He drew back his sword for a thrust that would take Flynn low in the belly. Flynn couldn’t move. Toby surged dizzily to his feet, blood spilling down his chin from his smashed nose. He was probably just going to die along with Flynn, but he couldn’t just stand by and watch his cameraman being killed. And then Shoal stepped forward and hit Edge professionally on the back of the neck. Edge slumped forward onto his knees, the sword dropping from his suddenly limp finger. Barr looked shocked, but said nothing. Shoal smiled down at the dazed figure before her.

“Do as you’re told, Edge, or I’ll put a muzzle on you.”

“Nicely handled, Shoal,” said Half A Man. He nodded to Daniel and Stephanie. “My apologies. Edge has his good qualities, but diplomacy isn’t one of them. I’ll keep him on a short leash in the future. I suggest we bring this meeting to a close. We’ve already given the viewing public plenty to gossip about, and I’m eager to begin my work here. Are the files ready?”

“Everything you requested,” said Stephanie. “Maps, histories, troop details.”

“Might I inquire on behalf of the viewing public, just what your purpose here is, sir?” said Toby.

Half A Man turned his single eye to look at Toby, who was now standing more or less steadily with a handkerchief pressed to his swelling mouth and nose. Half A Man smiled with his half a mouth. “Persistent type, aren’t you? Surely, you must have realized by now that asking the wrong questions here can be hazardous to your health?”

“All part of the job, sir,” said Toby, lowering the handkerchief so his words could be heard clearly and ignoring the blood that still dripped from his chin. “Would you care to make a comment at this time?”

“Not really,” said Half A Man. “But after my associate’s outburst, I suppose I’d better.” He turned a little to face Flynn’s camera directly. His energy half spat and sputtered, and Flynn had to quickly crank down the camera’s light sensitivity. Half A Man half smiled for the viewers. “The Empress has decided that those Investigators who are no longer able to give one hundred percent in the field, either through age or injury, will no longer be allowed to retire to work for individual Clans. The privilege was being abused. In future, such Investigators will be trained to work together with armed forces in especially dangerous trouble spots, where their knowledge and experience will be invaluable. This is to be a pilot scheme, to be observed and studied for its successes and limitations. As trainer of all Investigators, I volunteered to oversee the operation. And that is all I have to say. Except that in future, I expect all news teams to keep a respectful distance. For their own safety.” He turned back to Stephanie and Daniel. “I’m finished here. Take me to your war room. Shoal, Barr, bring Edge.”

And as quickly as that, they all filed out and were gone, Edge staggering along between Shoal and Barr. Toby and Flynn waited until the door had closed securely behind them and then relaxed with explosive sighs of relief. Flynn turned off the camera and concentrated on breathing deeply. Toby dabbed gingerly with his handkerchief at his tender mouth and nose, both of which felt as though they’d swollen to double their proper size.

“Did you get all that, Flynn? Tell me you got all that.”

“Every damn second,” said the cameraman. “Even though
I nearly had an unpleasant incident in my underwear doing it. I really thought he was going to kill me.”

“Of course he was. He’s an Investigator. Luckily, we were going out live, and the others were sharp enough to know what that meant. The whole point of this new scheme is to show that aging Investigators can still be controlled and employed in useful ways. Half A Man couldn’t afford to have Edge going berserk in front of billions of viewers before the scheme had even properly begun. Did you pick up on what he said about the Clans? No more Investigators to work as enforcers and assassins for the Families. Her Imperial Majesty would appear to be getting concerned about the growing power and influence of certain prominent Houses. Naming no names, of course. But you can bet it’s no accident the pilot scheme is taking place on a Wolfe planet.”

“Of course,” said Flynn. “Makes you wonder what’ll happen to those Investigators who can’t hack it as part of a team. They’ve always been trained to act as individuals. Hell, I’ve heard of Investigators who overruled Captains on their own stars hips. I can’t see Lionstone allowing them to just retire. Or an Investigator happy to spend the rest of his days sitting by the fire bouncing his grandchildren on his knee.”

“Good point,” said Toby, looking sadly at the bloodstained mess that had once been a perfectly good handkerchief. “I get a strong feeling it’ll be a case of learn to fit in, or else. As in, die with your boots on or under an executioner’s warrant. I wonder how that’s going to go down with the other Investigators.”

“They’ll probably approve. They’re a cold bunch of bastards when all’s said and done. Not many survive to reach retirement age anyway. It’s that kind of job. Probably prefer to die fighting, given the chance.”

“Or they might just prefer to take somebody with them,” said Toby. “Maybe even a lot of somebodies. In future, I think we’ll keep a very respectful distance from Investigator Edge.”

“Damn right,” said Flynn. He looked at Toby thoughtfully. “I saw you trying to get up and help me. Were you worried about losing me or your only cameraman?”

“To be honest,” said Toby, “I was mostly worried that if you got killed, they’d find out about the lacy underwear
you’ve got on under your clothes. I mean, I have my reputation to think of.”

When the meeting in the war room was finally over, the Wolfes invited Half A Man and the three Investigators to join them for a meal and several drinks; but they all declined, more or less politely. Investigators weren’t social creatures, and Half A Man hated being stared at. For a long time he hoped that eventually he’d get used to it, but he never did. And the Wolfes weren’t even subtle about it, for all their smiles and pleasant words. So Half A Man saw each of his Investigators to their separate quarters, had a few private but very emphatic words with Edge, and then allowed himself to be shown to his own quarters.

The flunky they’d assigned to escort him to his quarters kept a lot of distance between himself and his charge, and didn’t hang around for a tip. Half A Man looked around the single room. All the necessities, and even a few luxuries. More than he’d been supplied with on the ship that brought him here in such a hurry. Not that he gave much of a damn. He was here to work, not lounge around.

He sat down on the single chair, turned off the massage function, and pulled it up to the writing table. He activated the built-in viewscreen, accessed the complex’s computers, and called up the local troop records. Mercenaries from a hundred worlds, under a dozen company commanders, with Wolfe security people as overall supervisors. The mercenaries had mostly good records before they came to Technos III. Their battles with the local rebels, the Rejects, made interesting but depressing reading. Neither side could be said to have an overall advantage, but just by refusing to be beaten for so long, the rebels were winning. The reason was obvious. It was the Rejects’ world, and they worked with it, while the Wolfe troops needed temperature-control suits, armor, and re-breathers just to cope with the changing weather. What technical advantages the Wolfe troops had were pretty much wiped out by the weather, and both sides knew it.

The Wolfes had lost a lot of men fighting the rebels. There were no figures for the Reject dead, but Half A Man doubted they were anywhere near as high. The few captured Rejects never talked. They died under interrogation when they couldn’t manage to kill themselves first. And on top of
all that, it appeared the rebels now had new leaders, recently arrived from offworld. No less than the legendary Jack Random himself, the professional rebel, if the Wolfes’ reports were to be believed. Half A Man had followed Random’s career down the years. He’d always known that someday they were fated to meet. The two great legends of modern times. He frowned slightly. The last he’d heard, Random had been a broken old man. These reports spoke of a younger man, a powerful fighter. Perhaps some newcomer had taken up the old name. He sighed and shut down the screen. As if he didn’t have enough problems in his life. Including, most especially, the three Investigators the Empress had placed under his command.

He’d always known Edge was going to be a problem. The man was a psychotic killer, violent and insubordinate. In any other occupation these would have been serious drawbacks, but in an Investigator they were a positive bonus. Up till now, his surly behavior and occasional regrettable incidents had been tolerated because he never failed to get the job done, one way or another. But now he was getting older and slower, and the job was sometimes too much for him, though he’d never admit it. He showed less and less self-control, and clearly enjoyed the blood he spilled during his violent outbursts. You could never tell what would set him off. He had no friends, and his enemies daren’t touch an Investigator.

He didn’t respond to reason, kindness, or military discipline. To control him in the field, you had to prove you were the better man and keep on proving it, by brute force if necessary. In a working Investigator such qualities could be condoned, even encouraged on occasion, but in a man close to enforced retirement, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him. It helped that Edge was somewhat intimidated by Half A Man’s legend, but then, most people were.

Barr was the other end of the spectrum. A military man through and through, gung ho and eager for battle, dedicated to the Empire and its Empress. A dangerous fighter with any weapon, he was never happier than in the midst of action, probably because he had no social skills whatsoever. He didn’t like people. Luckily, he liked aliens even less. He was here on Technos III because he’d been ordered here, and he’d fight and kill and if need be die to carry out those or
ders. Or at least, he always had in the past. Now that his Empress had apparently lost faith in him and was contemplating retiring him from the field, he might start feeling differently about things. He wasn’t stupid, just single-minded. He wouldn’t retire from action. He had nothing to retire to. He’d bear watching.

Shoal was a whole different kind of problem. Sharp, bright, and terrifyingly efficient, Shoal was one of the top ten Investigators in the field at the moment, and she knew it. She was dying slowly of a rare degenerative nerve disease. There was no cure except for regeneration, and that was available only to the aristocracy. If she’d been young and in her prime, Half A Man might have been able to get her an exception, as a personal favor to him. But even before the disease took hold, there’d been talk she was getting older, slowing down. The Investigator’s life was a hard and brutal one. She wasn’t bitter. She was a good soldier. For the moment her faculties were still clear, and her experience would be invaluable. He could rely on her—probably.

Half A Man pushed his chair away from the table, stood up, and moved over to the bed. He lay down on it without bothering to pull back the bedclothes. He didn’t sleep anymore. Hadn’t since the aliens worked on him. But he still made a point of resting a few hours every night so he could dream. Sometimes in his dreams he remembered some of the things they’d done to him, and then he woke screaming. But he needed to dream. He had to remember exactly what had been done to him. All of it, no matter how bad it got. Because the real horror was that the change they’d worked in him wasn’t over yet. Every year the energy construct that made up the right half of his body grew a little larger, by eating up a little more of his human half. Only a very little. But it was an ongoing process that showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. Eventually, all his humanity would be gone, and he had no idea at all who or what he might be then.

It also seemed to him more and more that the energy half of his body was slowly changing shape, becoming gradually less human and more something else. Something alien. He had no memory of what the aliens who changed him looked like, except briefly in his nightmares, but he found the hints in his changing energy half disquieting and disturbing. But even worse than that, he was beginning to worry that the en
ergy half might have its own subordinate intelligence, its own secret thoughts, and just possibly its own hidden agenda. It was vital he hang on grimly to what was left of his humanity and his mind, for fear of what might replace it.

Which was one of the few reasons he had to be glad he was here on Technos III. It would be good to be back in the field again. Mostly he ran a desk these days, but the Empress had wanted results on Technos HI fast, and he grabbed the chance with both hands. Things were so much simpler in battle. It always felt good to be killing the Empire’s enemies. According to all the reports, the Rejects and their new leader, whoever he really was, would make a good enemy. They were clever, cunning, and brave fighters. A real challenge for once. He’d enjoy killing them. And just maybe he could use the occasion to teach Edge, Barr, and Shoal to be part of an armed fighting force. Why not? He’d taught them how to be Investigators in the first place.

Toby Shreck had charmed, persuaded, and bullied various factory personnel into letting him use part of the complex’s communications center as a mixing room for the broadcast he had to put together for the next day. He had a hell of a lot of footage, courtesy of the redoubtable Flynn, who was probably currently relaxing in his quarters in a nice little twin set and pearls, hopefully behind a locked door, leaving Toby to do all the hard word of choosing which precious moments of recorded history would make it into the final mix. Toby glared at the viewscreens and control panels before him, poured himself another stiff drink, used it to wash down a couple of uppers, and stuck his cigar back in his mouth. Two in the morning, wired out of his skull, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts could follow. That was how you got your best work done. If you were Toby Shreck on a tight deadline.