'Shut up and listen,' said his AI. 'You're in a lot of trouble, Owen. You've been outlawed, and there's a hell of a price on your head.'
'I know.'
'So does your head of security. He's on his way to you right now, with as many guards as he could muster, with the explicit intention of separating your head from your shoulders. You never did pay him enough. You've got to get out of there, now.'
'Cathy just tried to murder me. I had to kill her.'
'I'm sorry, Owen, but we don't have time for this. Everyone in the Standing is probably heading for you with murder on their mind. You don't have any friends here anymore. Use the hidden exit, make your way through the secret passages and get to your private flyer. By the time you've done that, I should have a clearer picture of what's going on, and just possibly I'll have worked out what you should do next.'
Owen padded over to the bedroom door, opened it slightly and peered out into the corridor. There was no one there, but he thought he could hear someone in the distance, drawing closer. He shut the door and locked it, and then walked back to pick up his clothes. He dressed quickly, ignoring the blood on his shirt and skin. Whatever happened, he was damned if he was going to face it naked.
'Oz, why have I been outlawed? It doesn't make sense. I left the court and came here precisely because I wanted to avoid getting involved in the kind of intrigues that get you outlawed. I'm no danger to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone to get on with my histories.'
'The court didn't give any specific reason, but then, it doesn't have to. The word of the Empress is law. I suppose, as a Deathstalker, your name could be useful to any number of factions, in and out of the court. As I understand it, the Empress took a personal interest in you. And you know what that usually means…'
'Yeah. The last time she took a personal interest in someone, his remains ended up being sent to seventeen different planets simultaneously, as an example not to make waves. All right, I'm dressed. Open the stairway.'
The holo of the original Deathstalker swung sideways, revealing a narrow passageway. A light appeared deep in the tunnel. Like all good castles, the Deathstalker Standing had several secret doors and hidden runnels. Partly out of tradition, but mostly because the Deathstalkers had always felt it a good idea to have an ace or two hidden up their sleeves. Even Owen's head of security didn't know about these tunnels. Owen pulled on his best cloak and buckled on his sword, picked up Cathy's disrupter, and plunged into the narrow opening. The holo swung shut behind him.
He was still having trouble believing this was all really happening. One minute life was good and full and everything made sense, and the next up was down, in was out, and people he'd known for years were trying to kill him. The last time he'd felt like this was when they'd brought him the news that his father was dead. Cut down in the street as an enemy of the Empire. No one ever said why, or what he'd done, and it wasn't safe to ask. Owen hadn't really been surprised. His father had been plotting and intriguing with this faction or that all of Owen's life.
Only it turned out he wasn't as clever as he'd thought, and Owen became the Deathstalker when he was sixteen. He'd tried to mourn his father, but he'd hardly known the man. They never spent much time together. His father was always off on some new scheme, chasing money or influence or fame. He wasn't noticeably successful. Owen's mother died when he was still too young to remember her, so most of his life had been spent under the governship of a series of guardians, tutors, and friends of the Family. His only real friend, certainly the only one he ever trusted, was the Family AI, Ozymandius.
He'd been very fond of Cathy, but he never trusted her. It surprised him that her death hurt him so much.
All his father's warrior training and skill in politics hadn't been enough to save him, and Owen had drawn a lesson from that. He'd never been much interested in current politics, so he'd found it easy enough to turn away the various cabals that came sniffing around him once he inherited the title. He made it clear he was only interested in his histories and did his best to present an image of himself as dull, hopelessly studious, and completely self- involved. He dismissed his weapons master, turned his back on the court and its politics, and bought the Lordship of Virimonde, way out on the Rim, a carefully safe distance from the Empress and her people. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes his father made.
Only somehow it had all gone wrong anyway.
He kept turning it over and over in his mind as he quickly made his way down the passage. Lights turned themselves on before him and turned themselves off after him, so that he moved in a constant pool of light through the darkness. He couldn't have been outlawed for no reason. It had to be some kind of ghastly mistake. If he could just get in touch with the right people, find out what had gone wrong and explain everything, then maybe they'd put things right again, and he could have his life back. But to do that, he had to avoid his enemies and stay alive. Which was easier said than done. Maybe he'd be better off heading for the Standing's communications center. He could barricade himself in, call for help and hope he found a sympathetic ear. Anything was better than just running blindly.
'Oz, what's the state of communications at the moment?'
'Pretty bad. All the main comm channels have been jammed. Local channels are okay, but I don't know for how long. Either way, it's clear you're not going to be allowed to plead your case. The more I look into this, the more convinced I am this was all set up at the highest levels. Hold it; the local channels just went down. All of them. I can keep this private channel open for a while, but I can't guarantee how long. In fact, there's not much I can guarantee anymore, except that you have to keep moving. Your head of security has burst into your bedroom with his people. They're all armed, some with energy weapons. He's found Cathy's body. Now they're tearing the place apart, looking for a hidden exit. They're being very thorough, but they seem to have forgotten my sensors. The head of security is not pleased at your absence. People can probably hear him being not pleased some distance away.'
'You can tell me all this later,' Owen cut in. 'What are the chances of his finding the hidden exit?'
'Not good. They're really not very bright, and I'm scrambling the sensor equipment they brought with them. I told you, you should have let me choose your security people. This bunch hasn't got a clue, and they're getting nowhere fast. I feel like shouting out 'Hot!' and 'Cold!' just to encourage them.'
'Don't you dare.'
'Spoilsport.'
Owen shook his head. 'If I ever find out who programmed that sense of humor into you, I'll have him strung up by his giblets. Could we please concentrate on the matter in hand?'
'Of course, Owen. Do you still have the Deathstalker ring?'
'Of course I've still got it. It'd take half a tub of grease to get the damn thing off my finger. Why?'
'I've just discovered a file hidden deep within my memories, designed only to reveal itself in the event of your being outlawed. Someone was thinking ahead, though his motives remain unclear at this time. Apparently the ring is very important. It's a key of some kind. According to the file, you're supposed to take it to Mistworld, where you will find help waiting for you.'
'Is that all?' said Owen, after a while.
'I'm afraid so. However, I feel I should point out that if there's one hidden file in my memories, there may well be more with further information, presumably to be triggered by future events.'
'This has my father's fingerprints all over it,' said Owen disgustedly. 'Even after he's dead, he's still trying to run my life. Him and his bloody intrigues. Mistworld, for God's sake! The outlaw planet. Place is full of criminals and murderers, and the living conditions are barbaric. I wouldn't live there if you paid me. No, Oz; wherever I'm going, I'm not going there. I know what he wants. When he was killed, I was supposed to take his ring and swear vengeance, just like in all those operas he loved so much. Well, to hell with him. I wouldn't let him dictate my life while he was alive, and I'm not about to start now. If he wanted to risk being killed tor his squalid little political maneuverings, that was up to him, but I have better things to do with my life. And not being killed is right at the head of them.'
'I'm sure your father only had your best interests at heart,' said the AI.
'You're only saying that because he had it programmed into you. He never understood me. Never even tried. He never understood that I never wanted to be a warrior.'
He hurried on for a while in silence. He had nothing left to say, and besides, he needed his breath for running.
