Deathstalker

another drink from his flask. He pulled a face and screwed the cap back on tight. 'I can remember when I wouldn't have used booze like this to clean my boots with. Amazing what you can get used to when you've no choice. I can remember when I drank only the finest vintages, the fiercest brandies, sparkling champagnes… Of course, that was when I was somebody. When it mattered who I was.'

'Are you saying you really are Jack Ransom?' said Owen, not even trying to hide his skepticism.

'I used to be. Now I'm Jobe Ironhand. Named myself after an old friend of mine. He died a long time ago, without any heir to carry on the name, so I thought he wouldn't mind if I used it. You have to be respectful of the dead. There's enough ghosts plaguing me already without adding more.' He stopped and looked up at Moon. 'I don't remember you. I've led too many armies, too many campaigns. Cold Rock was a bad one, though. In the end, most of my people were wiped out by Imperial attack ships, and I only escaped by running for my life. I did a lot of running at the end, but they still caught me.'

He stopped again, his eyes lost in yesterday. Owen leaned forward. 'They caught you? What happened?'

'They broke me,' said the man who used to be Jack Random. 'Torture, drugs, mind techs, espers… anyone'll break if you hit them hard enough and long enough. And I was so very tired by then anyway…'

'So how did you escape?' said Hazel.

'I didn't. The Empire was getting ready for a major show trial to show off my supposed change of heart. Stand me up in front of the holo cameras and have me denounce all my old friends and beliefs. You know the sort of thing. I would have done it, too. They'd broken me. Luckily some friends in the clone underground who hadn't given up on me broke into my holding cell and sprang me. They shouldn't have done it. Too many good men and women died that day just to rescue a defeated old man with no strength or ideals left. They got me on a ship under an assumed name, and eventually I ended up here, where everyone runs when there's no place left to go. So if you've come looking for the great warrior, the legendary professional rebel, you're wasting your time. He died years ago in the torture cells under the Imperial Palace on Golgotha.

'Look at me. I'm forty-seven and I look twice that. My hands shake most of the time because my body still remembers what was done to it in the cells, and my memories are a mess. The mind techs really did a job on me. So go look somewhere else for your savior or leader, or whatever the hell you think you need. I'm not who you want, and even if I was, I'd be no use to you.'

'Do you have any evidence of who you are?' said Owen. 'Any old trophies or mementos from your past?'

'No. Move fast, travel light, that was always my way. And I don't care whether you believe me or not. Do us all a favor and leave me in peace.'

Owen looked at the man before him and felt an almost childish disappointment. His father had brought him up on stories of the great rebel Jack Random. When Owen was older, he'd started his career as a historian by searching out the truth on Random, only to find the truth was even more impressive than the legend. Random had done pretty much everything they said he had, and more besides. He'd fought the Empire on a hundred worlds, winning some, losing more, never giving up. Of all his father's dubious friends and associates, Jack Random was the only one Owen had ever respected.

'Do you remember my father?' he said suddenly. 'My name is Owen Deathstalker.'

'Yes. I remember him. Good fighter, and a cunning intriguer.' Random looked at him steadily. 'Since you're here, I gather he'd dead now?'

'Yes. Killed in the streets, cut down as a traitor. I'm the Deathstalker now. Or at least, until the Empire catches up with me. I'm outlawed, my name and possessions stripped from me.'

Random looked at him thoughtfully. 'Do you have your father's ring? He always said it was important, though he never got around to explaining why. He never was very big on explanations, your father.'

'I've got the ring. As far as I can tell, it's just a ring.'

He showed it to Random, who looked at it for a moment and then sat back on his cot. His fingers played with the cap on his flask, but he didn't take another drink.

'I'm sorry to hear of your father's death. I've lost a lot of friends down the years, but it never gets any easier. You look a lot like him, you know. Do you have any actual plans, or are you just running?'

'I've got plans, yes,' said Owen, just a little defensively. 'Do you want to be a part of them?'

'No. But I don't really think I've any choice in the matter. If you could find me, so could others. I'm not worth much anymore, Deathstalker. But what there is left of me is yours.'

'Can I have a word with you a moment, Owen?' said Hazel, taking his arm in a very firm grip. He winced as she all but dragged him to his feet and out into the corridor. He jerked his arm free and carefully shut the door behind him.

'Are you crazy?' said Hazel. 'We can't burden ourselves with a wreck like that! He's bound to slow us down. We can't even be sure he is who he says he is!'

'Doesn't really matter who he is,' said Owen. 'Just his name will attract people to our cause. People will fight and die for Jack Random when they wouldn't lift a hand for you or me.'

'But he's a janitor!'

'So what? Really, Hazel, if anyone's going to be a snob here, it should be me. And I don't think you're in any position to throw stones, considering your previous occupation in Mistport.'

Hazel frowned. 'What are you talking about?'

'Well, as I understand from Cyder's comments, you were a… lady of the evening.'

'Lady of the… I ought to tear your head off and piss down your neck! I was never a whore!'

'Then what were you?'

'If you must know, I was a ladies' maid!' Hazel realized she was shouting and lowered her voice again. Two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks. 'And you needn't look at me like that. It's a perfectly respectable profession. And work was scarce just then.'

'So… why did you give it up?'

'Lady of the house told me to sweep out the corners once too often. I smacked her in the mouth, stole some of the silver and left before they could call the watch. Satisfied now?'

'Eminently. It's always good to have a profession to fall back on. If times get hard, I'm sure I can always find you a position on my staff.'

'I'd rather die,' said Hazel. 'No, I'd rather kill you.'

'Ironhand!' They both looked round to see the giant form of Tom Sefka pounding down the corridor toward them. They fell back automatically as he stopped and hammered on the janitor's door. 'Ironhand, get your worthless ass out here! I've got half a dozen regulars waiting to use the showers, and you still haven't cleaned them out. Either you get your ass in gear right now, or you're fired!'

He turned and looked at Owen and Hazel. 'And you needn't think you're going anywhere, either. Word finally got here as to who you are, Deathstalker. If I'd known who you were, I'd never have let you in. Last thing I need is a bunch of bounty hunters in here getting blood all over the place. You even try and draw your gun or your sword, and I'll rip your arm out of your socket. Price on your head will make me rich, Deathstalker. You're mine, and your companions. Unless you think you can take me?'

He flexed his muscles meaningfully. Owen thought about it. He was tired, and still healing, and Sefka really was a hell of a size. On the other hand, if he could draw his gun before Sefka could get his hands on him… Sefka looked like he could move pretty fast for a big man. Hazel would probably avenge his death, but he didn't find the thought all that comforting.

He was still trying to come up with an answer when the door opened, and Random stepped out into the corridor. He walked right up to Sefka, holding the big man's eyes with his, and reached out and took Sefka's genitals in a death grip. He piled on the pressure, grinning nastily all the while, and all the color went out of Sefka's face as he sank to his knees. Random gave him one last white-knuckled squeeze, which brought tears to Owen's eyes, released his hold, reached back into his room and brought out his mop. Sefka raised his head just in time to see the long wooden handle coming for him at incredible speed. If the mop had been a sword, Sefka's head would have gone bouncing down the corridor. As it was, the wood connected with his temple with a very solid-sounding thud, and the big man fell unconscious to the floor. It was probably a relief, thought Owen. Random lowered his mop and leaned on it as though it was a sword.

'Just for the record, I quit.' He tossed the mop back into his room, just missing Tobias Moon as the Hadenman joined them in the corridor. Random looked at the fallen man and smiled unpleasantly. It was an expression his face seemed to fall into easily. 'Good to know I haven't entirely lost my touch. Now let's get out of