Deathstalker

was still a Deathstalker, and he would show his enemies what that meant. Whoever the enemy was. Probably more of his own security people, the ungrateful bastards. He set his back against a wide tree trunk and leaned against it for support. They might come at him from the front and sides now, but not from behind. Good to have something you could rely on in an uncertain world.

The more he looked at his injuries, the more serious they seemed, so he stopped looking at them. The boost was screening him from the pain and shock, but it was also burning up dangerous reserves of strength. It couldn't maintain him much longer, especially if he had to fight for his life. He glared up at the sky, at the craft hovering overhead like vultures. The two flyers landed a respectful distance from his burning craft, and guards spilled out onto the tilled field. Owen counted fourteen and nodded, satisfied. He was glad to see they were taking him seriously. Anything less would have been an insult.

The three other craft dropped unhurriedly out of the sky. Owen tried to focus his drifting thoughts. There were bound to be more guards in the other craft, some with energy guns. In the end it didn't matter how fast or how strong the boost made him; there were just too many enemies to fight. And even if by some boost-inspired miracle he could beat them all, staying boosted for so long would kill him anyway. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. And maybe that was the real legacy of the Deathstalkers.

It occurred to Owen that he was going to die here, lost and alone and abandoned by all those he trusted, but the thought didn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would. He'd lost everything that mattered and a few that didn't: title, money, position, even people. I was fond of you, Cathy. Even if he could somehow find a way to survive this ambush, and what he was doing to himself with the boost, the only future he'd have was as an outlaw and renegade, with every man's hand turned against him. Dear God, I've killed Cathy.

Owen felt suddenly tired, despite the boost. It wasn't that he wanted to die; he just didn't see the point in going on.

Everything he valued had been taken from him by people far beyond his reach. Revenge seemed unlikely, and even pointless now. It wouldn't bring back what he'd lost. If he was going to die, he thought he'd rather go out in a dignified way, not fighting and squealing like a pig in an abattoir.

He cut off the boost and almost fell as his wounds burst open again. Blood poured down his body, and his legs trembled so much he could hardly stand. He used the last of his strength to put away his sword and disrupter. He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of a struggle. The men who used to be his guards advanced purposefully, weapons at the ready. Owen wrapped himself in what was left of his pride and dignity and fought to keep his head up.

And then a ship came crashing down out of nowhere, and everything changed. The guards scattered, crying out in shock and alarm as they tried to run every way at once. The gleaming steel craft blocked out the sun as it roared down and then slammed into the broken earth and sat there, large and ugly and immovable. Owen would have run too, but his legs weren't listening to him. He looked blankly at the squat, squarish ship before him: a simple steel container without identification or markings. Which was of course strictly illegal. He slowly realized it wasn't any kind of flyer, but rather some kind of escape pod from a larger craft. A hatch swung open, and a steel ramp slammed down. A slim figure appeared in the hatchway. Owen took a moment to register that it was a. woman, and another to realize that she was almost the same age as him and in almost as bad condition. She was burned, her flesh and her clothes blackened and scorched. He thought she might have been pretty if her face hadn't been white and splotchy from pain and shock. She was also carrying the biggest and ugliest handgun he'd ever seen. She glared at him and gestured at the interior of her ship.

'Move, you idiot! Those bastards will be back any moment, and I for one don't plan to be here when they get their act together and start shooting. Shift your ass and get in here!'

Owen lurched forward. He didn't know who she was, or what she wanted with him, and he didn't care. A moment before he'd been ready to die, but now he'd found hope again, and he wanted to live. He could recognize destiny when it came calling. He could take a hint. He stumbled up the ramp, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and she yanked it up the moment he was clear and slammed the hatch shut. There were two sets of crash webbing just inside, and Owen sank gratefully into one as the woman threw herself into the other and jabbed frantically at the control panels. The ship lurched under him, engines roared, then they were up and off and moving. Owen let the webbing support him and studied his rescuer thoughtfully. The most obvious guess was that she wanted the reward on his head and didn't feel like sharing, but somehow he didn't think so. He supposed he should cautiously draw her out with clever questions and gradually determine what she wanted with him, but he didn't have the strength or the patience. So, when ail else fails, be direct. He cleared his throat painfully.

'I'm Owen Deathstalker. Who are you, and why did you help me?'

His voice sounded weak and thin to him, but if his rescuer noticed, it didn't show in her answer. 'I'm Hazel d'Ark. How I got here's rather complicated. I rescued you because I didn't like the odds you were facing. I've always had a soft spot for the underdog. What did you do to get so many people mad at you?'

'I've been outlawed. There's a very attractive price on my head, if you think you can take it.'

'Relax, stud. I'm an outlaw, too. No way I could collect your price without getting topped myself. There's a lot of us about these days, but then, that's the Iron Bitch for you. Deathstalker. That name rings a bell.'

'I should hope so,' said Owen wryly. 'I used to be Lord of this planet.'

Hazel whistled. 'I'm impressed. I don't normally move in such high circles. Look, you got any ideas where I should point this tub? There are five ships right behind us and closing fast. I feel I should also point out this is a ship's escape pod, and my power cells are almost dead, so don't start getting ambitious. We've got maybe forty minutes of flight left, assuming I don't have to divert power to the energy shields.'

Owen hesitated. 'You still haven't explained why you risked your ship and yourself to rescue me.'

'Underdogs have to learn to look out for each other because no one else will. An outlaw needs all the friends he can get. You'll learn that, if you survive this mess. Life as an outlaw can be very enlightening.'

'All right. Head due north. There should be a large lake about ten miles from here, unless I'm even more lost than I thought I was. Tell me when we get there.'

He lay back in the crash webbing and fought to clear his thoughts. He had an ally now, and a second chance at escape. If she could just get him to the Sunstrider, he might yet live to get his revenge after all. The thought stirred new strength in him, and he took a second look at his surroundings. Apart from the crash webbing, the control panels, and the bulkheads, there wasn't much to look at. It was all pretty minimalist, but it seemed solid enough. Presumably there wasn't much point in wasting frills and fancies on an escape pod.

'It's been a long time since I traveled in anything this primitive,' he said finally. 'What does it run on: steam?'

'Any more smart remarks like that and you can get out and push,' said Hazel. 'Don't knock this tub. It's saving your ass and mine. Okay, forward sensors report a large body of water dead ahead. Rear sensors report a whole mess of people coming after us in everything that flies. You'd better have a plan to get us out of this, Deathstalker, because I am fast running out of options.'

'Relax,' said Owen. 'I have an ace up my sleeve and it's a beauty. In fact, she's waiting for us at the bottom of that lake.'

Hazel looked across at him sharply. 'Wait a minute; we're going diving?'

'You got it. My private yacht is sitting in its own little niche right at the bottom, hidden from everything but heavy-duty sensors. No one knows it's there but me. Had a feeling it might come in handy someday. Paranoia doesn't just run in my Family, it gallops. Part of the territory that comes with being a Lord. Drop this thing in the lake and head straight down. I'll contact the yacht, lower her shields and start powering her up. Your sensors will pick up the Sunstrider once you get close enough. Slip in next to her and fasten on to the outer airlock.

'She's special, my Sunstrider. Has all the power and facilities we'll need to make our escape, and then some. Once we're up and moving, nothing's going to catch us. Got her own hyperdrive, based on a new, more powerful design that was only recently discovered. Only a dozen ships fitted with it so far, and none of them anywhere near here. Cost a fortune, but I've always believed in going for the best. Take us down, please.'

Hazel shook her head, smiling. 'How the other three percent lives. Going down, Deathstalker. You'd better be right about this.'

'Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?'