Deathstalker Honor

There was so much he'd wanted, needed, to say. He hadn't wanted to believe that all his people were dead.

'What's the matter?' said Hazel. 'Is there a problem?'

'No,' said Owen. 'I was just thinking. About the way things used to be here.'

'Don't,' said Hazel. 'That's always been your problem, Deathstalker. Always living in the past.'

'I understand the past,' said Owen. 'Things were simpler then. I understood my world and my Empire and my place in it. Or I thought I did. Since then I've seen the destruction of everything I ever believed in, lost everything I ever cared for, and now to top it all, I find I can't go home again. Because Valentine Wolfe burned it all down and pissed on the ashes. Virimonde is dead.'

'We can't know that for sure till we get down there and check for ourselves,' said Hazel. 'Reports can be exaggerated; sensors can be mistaken. It's a big world, Owen. He can't have killed everything.'

'And if he has? If he's done everything he's supposed to have done?'

'Then we cut his black heart out, throw it on the ground, and stamp on it. And the same for everyone with him.'

Owen had to smile slightly. 'Life's always been so simple for you, hasn't it. Hazel? Good guys and bad guys, and a direct, forceful answer to every problem. But you heard the man at the briefing. There are still powers that be who want Valentine brought back alive for a show trial. If only because they could sell holo rights for a small fortune.'

'I keep up with things,' said Hazel. 'And for every faction that wants the Wolfe brought back alive, I'll bet I can name ten who'd very much rather he came back with flies buzzing around him. Not least the clone and esper undergrounds. If word ever gets out that Valentine Wolfe had once been an active part and supporter of the undergrounds, they'd lose what little public support and popularity they have. And on top of that, there are any number of people who struck questionable deals with him in the past, and don't want it coming out now they've re- created themselves as pure-hearted supporters of the rebellion.'

'And that's why we're going to bring the bastard back alive,' Owen said firmly. 'Not necessarily in one piece, but definitely alive. I'm no man's puppet, and no organization's either. I need to send a signal that no one pressures me. And I won't kill him just because I want to.'

'You and your damned conscience,' said Hazel. 'All right, so we try to take him alive. What about his supporters?'

'Massacre the lot, for all I care.'

'Now you're talking,' said Hazel.

Owen leaned back in his chair, interlocked his fingers before him, and stared at them thoughtfully. 'He wasn't always a monster, you know. Valentine. We were children together, moved in the same circles, went to the same parties. He seemed quite… normal then. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign then of the psychopath he became. Just another kid, perhaps a little quieter than most. Much like me. We were never actually friends, but I can remember good times we had together. And then we went our different ways, to be trained as a Wolfe and a Deathstalker, and I didn't see him again for years. And sometimes I find myself wondering how two such similar children became such different adults.'

'People change,' said Hazel. 'Whether they want to or not. Life writes our scripts, and we just get to ad lib now and again.'

Owen looked at her. 'Why, Hazel, that was almost profound.'

'Don't you patronize me, Deathstalker. I have a mind. I have read the occasional book in my time. When there was nothing else to do. I just meant that even while we're busy changing the universe, it's busy changing us. Look at you; you're not the person you used to be, even a few years ago. Thank God. The Owen Deathstalker I saved from certain death down below is a very different man from the official hero who toppled an empire.'

'I know,' said Owen. 'That bothers me.'

'Don't worry about it,' said Hazel. 'He really was a stuck-up little prig.'

Owen raised an eyebrow. 'Then why did you stick with him?'

Hazel smiled. 'I thought I saw potential in him.'

Owen's mouth twitched. 'I thought much the same about you.' And then he frowned again.

'Oh, hell, Owen, now what? I swear, you know more ways to depress yourself than anyone I've ever met.'

'I was just thinking about Finlay Campbell. We should have included him on this trip.'

'We've been through this, Owen. The man is obsessed. He's sworn a vendetta against Valentine. Sworn to kill the man, on his blood and on his honor. If we're to keep our options open down there, we can't afford to have the Campbell anywhere near us. He's always been… erratic. They tried using him as a bounty hunter, but he always brought them back dead. Sometimes in pieces. Last I heard, his girlfriend, Evangeline, was trying to get him interested in politics. God help Parliament, that's all I have to say.'

'He fought beside us. He was a hero of the rebellion, just like us. And Valentine wiped out his whole Family. It doesn't feel right, keeping this from him.'

'Owen, we hardly know the man. You're the one who wants to bring Valentine in alive. If the Campbell were here…'

'Yes, I know. But if we're keeping secrets from people who are supposed to be our comrades, what might they be keeping from us?'

'Hell,' said Hazel lightly. 'Everyone's got secrets.'

She realized how that sounded only after she'd said it, and she held her breath a moment before Owen grunted and turned away to study the sensor readings on the main display screen. Hazel let her breath out slowly, so Owen wouldn't hear it, and tried to relax. There were still things she was keeping from Owen, partly because she didn't want him getting upset, and partly because she still believed in keeping her own business to herself. Ever since she'd first passed through the Madness Maze on the Wolfling World and been changed forever, she'd been having problems with dreams. To begin with, they had been just disturbing images, but more and more these days the dreams persisted into her waking world, and she couldn't push aside the thought that they meant something. Something important. She was dreaming every night now, clear and distinct, and she couldn't tell if she was seeing the past or the future. It was as though Time was unraveling in her head, in the darkest hours of the night, when her defenses were at their weakest. Something in her mind was showing her things, and wouldn't let her look away.

While on Mistworld, she'd dreamed of the Empire invasion hours before it actually happened.

Last night there had been three dreams, one after the other. First she dreamed of the Blood Runners, the evil inhabitants of the dark Obeah worlds, far out on the Rim where no one ever went, who'd once tried to kidnap her for their never ending experiments into the nature of suffering and existence. Owen had saved her then, reaching out with his mind across countless light-years to strike down their leader. In her dream, they looked at her with knowing, cruel eyes, watching and waiting with horrid patience. They held something in their hands. Something sharp.

Then she dreamed of Owen's Family Standing, on Virimonde. She'd walked the empty stone corridors with easy familiarity, though she'd never been there before. It was bitter cold, the cold of the grave, and blood trickled down the walls, staining the ancient tapestries and exquisite carpets. There was someone waiting around the next corner, and far down below, something awful.

And finally she dreamed she stood alone on the bridge of Sunstrider II while all hell broke out around her. There were ships attacking from every side, ships beyond counting, overwhelming her defenses even as she fought frantically to hold them back. All the alarms were sounding, and the Sunstrider II's guns fired again and again. There was no sign of Owen anywhere.

Past, present, and future. Maybe. But were they predictions or just warnings? Did they mean she had a chance to change things, rewrite history, defy destiny? Or was she just going crazy, like everyone else around her?

There had been a time when the forbidden drug Blood had helped her cope with many things, including the dreams, but she'd moved beyond that. She'd been so physically transformed from what she used to be she doubted Blood would even be able to make a dent in her body chemistry these days.

Besides, Blood was heavily addictive, and she was damned if anything or anyone was ever going to have control over her again, including her own weaknesses.

'What do you suppose Valentine and his cronies are up to down there?' she said suddenly, determined to