Deathstalker

CHAPTER FIVE

Friends, Enemies and Fillies

Mistworld was the rebel planet. The only rebel planet in the whole of the Empire. A world made by renegades and traitors, insurgents and troublemakers. When you'd been everywhere else and found no safe haven, there was always Mistworld. Outlaws, rogue espers, criminals, trash and scum all ended up on the planet of eternal winter. The world they'd built wasn't particularly pretty or civilized, but it was free, and every man, woman and child on Mistworld would fight to the death to keep it that way. Schemes for rebellion against the Empire came and went without accomplishing much, because the rebels were only safe as long as they stayed on Mistworld, protected by a powerful psionic screen that was the equal of anything the Empire could send against it The only city, Mistport, seethed with plots and plans and spies, not least from the Empire, who liked to know what was going on. And to this last refuge, this last chance, this last roll of the loaded dice came Hazel d'Ark and Owen Deathstalker, the ex- clonelegger and the outlawed Lord, to start a rebellion that would spread far beyond the world that birthed it.

The Sunstrider howled out of hyperspace like a bullet shot from a gun, and then slowed reluctantly into high orbit around Mistworld. Its shields snapped on again, and the sensor spikes shimmered, but there was no trace anywhere of the two starcruisers that had been attacking it. In the luxurious main cabin, Owen sank back in his chair with a sigh, and Hazel blinked respectfully.

'I'm impressed,' she said finally. 'We made it all the way here, across half the damn Empire, in just one jump. It normally takes at least seven, and only then if you've got a shit hot navigator. How much power did we just burn up?'

'Hardly any,' said Owen smugly. 'I told you, this is a whole new kind of stardrive. It's going to make everything else obsolete.'

'How does it work?' said Hazel.

Owen shrugged. 'I don't know. I just bought the ship; I didn't design it. I had my AI scan the manual so it could fly the thing, but I've only flipped through it. I'm not really very technically minded. I've always had people to do that sort of thing for me.'

Hazel sniffed. 'That's one attitude you'll have to lose, aristo. An outlaw can't afford to rely on anyone but themselves.'

'You should know,' said Owen easily. 'All right, what's our next step?'

'We ask very politely for landing permission. Once we're dirtside, we're protected by the planet's espers, but out here we're a sitting duck for the first Imperial ship to come along. It won't take them long to come here looking for us, and while this ship might be fast, it's got no heavy-duty weapons systems at all.'

'Well, no,' said Owen. 'It's a pleasure yacht, not a warship.'

'Next time, look a little further in the catalogue. I'll contact Mistport. It's the only starport on Mistworld. In fact, it's their only city. It's not what you'd call a densely populated world, and once you've lived there for a while you'll know why. Desolate bloody place, all snow and ice and fog. I just hope I can pull a few strings, call in some old favors. It's been a while since I was last here, and I'm not sure if I've got any friends left in Mistport.'

She was silent for a long moment, frowning, and Owen studied her thoughtfully. She fascinated him, if only because he'd never met anyone like her before. He'd grown up believing the only good rebel was a dead rebel, and now he was one. His life had changed completely, and he was going to have to understand Hazel and her world if he was to survive in it.

'What brought you here before?' he said casually.

Hazel started, jerked out of her thoughts, then shrugged self-consciously. 'I spent some time here recovering after my stint as a mercenary on Loki, during the succession wars. As usual, with my native wit and massive experience, I had no trouble picking the losing side to sign on with. We got our ass kicked good, my side scattered to the winds, and I ended up here because it was the only place my enemies wouldn't come looking for me. As it turned out, I was wrong about that, too, but that's another story.'

'What are we going to do once we've landed?' said Owen. 'A hell of a lot of people are going to be looking for me, and the price on my head would tempt a sainted nun.'

'What's this we bit?' said Hazel. 'I hauled your ass out of the line of fire because I couldn't just stand by and watch you die, but I haven't adopted you. In fact, if I'd known your were an aristo, I'd probably have joined in the shooting myself. As it is, once we are safely down, I am going my way and you can go yours. The last thing I need is a know-nothing tenderfoot like you slowing me down and attracting attention. I have my life to rebuild, and that's going to be hard enough without carrying a passenger.'

'I am quite capable of looking after myself,' said Owen hotly. 'I have been trained as a warrior by some of the finest tutors in the Empire!'

'Judging by what I've seen, you should ask for your money back. You're a liability, Owen, and I've got my own problems. You'll do all right. Selling this ship should make you one of the wealthiest people on Mistworld, if you don't let yourself get fleeced.'

'Sell Sunstrider! Are you out of your mind? She's my only chance for getting off this planet!'

'Owen, you're not going anywhere. This is the end of the line for people like us. Mistworld is the only planet where you can hope to survive. Anywhere else, they'll cut your head off the moment you raise it to look around. You aren't going to find it easy here, but at least you'll have a fighting chance. And that's the best you can ever hope for as an outlaw.'

Owen thought hard. Much as he hated to admit it, he needed Hazel d'Ark. She was loud, overbearing and definitely common, but she understood this new world of outlaws, and as yet he didn't.

'You can't just abandon me,' he said plaintively. 'You have contacts here; I don't know anyone. You can't just walk off and leave me to the wolves.'

'Watch me,' said Hazel. 'I don't owe you anything, aristo. If I'd known you were going to cling on like this, I'd have shot you myself.'

All right, thought Owen, so much for appealing to her better nature. She is an outlaw, after all.

'How about this: I'll hire you as my bodyguard till I learn the ropes. Name your own price.'

Hazel looked at him thoughtfully. 'And just what were you planning to pay me with?'

'As you just pointed out, selling the Sunstrider will make me extremely rich. If the right person was there to oversee the deal.'

'Ten percent,' said Hazel flatly. 'I get my money right off the top, and you don't get to make any conditions. You also don't get to whine, complain or ask impertinent questions. I'll stick with you till you're established, but then I'm off. You're too tempting a target, Deathstalker. I feel nervous just standing next to you.'

Owen seethed inwardly. He had a strong suspicion that ten percent of what the Sunstrider would bring would be enough to set up a dozen men for life, but it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter. He couldn't command her as a Lord, or beg her as a friend, so that just left money.

'All right,' he said tightly. 'You've got a deal.'

He put out his hand for her to shake, but she just looked at it. 'Forget the handshake, Deathstalker. We've no reason to trust each other. All you need to know is that if you try to cross or cheat me, I'll cut you up into bite-sized chunks, and to hell with all your fancy training. Now let me think.'

She stood there for a long moment frowning, concentrating. Owen lowered his hand and let it rest on his belt near his sword. With anyone else, he would have challenged them to a duel for such an insult, but Hazel was different. He had a feeling he could come to respect her. If he didn't kill her first. She sniffed suddenly, as though coming to a decision she wasn't particularly pleased with, and fixed Owen with her sardonic gaze again.

'Assuming the few friends I made last time I was here are still around, and still feeling friendly, I should be able to talk our way past quarantine. We can't afford to hang around long enough to be recognized. Unfortunately, we can't afford to rely on my old contacts. Lifespans tend to be rather short on Mistworld. If the people don't kill