Deathstalker War

too evenly balanced.

Stalemate.

Standing close together, forgotten in the crash of energies, Owen and Hazel found themselves suddenly revitalized. Something within them was feeding off the psionic energies running loose in the ship. They felt strong and well again, and their chains cracked and fell apart, broken links clattering and rolling away across the floor. Owen turned on Razor, but he had already left. Hazel looked at Captain Bartok, but he was standing still and helpless, frozen in place like a statue. Someone didn't want him interfering.

Owen's and Hazel's minds reached out, drawn by some instinct to another level of reality, and there they saw the struggle between Legion and the Mater Mundi. Two great armies of massed will faced each other, locked in a combat from which only one could emerge whole and sane. Legion was clearly the smaller of the two, but it had no limits and no restraints, while the Mater Mundi was focused through Typhoid Mary, who had sworn a solemn oath never to kill again. Owen and Hazel concentrated. In the background, unnoticed by either side, there were voices screaming for release. The thousands of dead espers whose brains made up the body of Legion, controlled by Wormboy's worms. Owen moved closer.

You have to break free, he said in a voice that was not a voice. The Empire is using you to kill your own kind.

We know, said a crowd of whispering voices. But there's nothing we can do. The worms are in our brains. The technology of Legion gives them power over us. Free us!

We can't, said Hazel. You're already dead. They cut out your brains and threw away your bodies. You're the ghosts in the machine.

There were screams and howls of despair, and the crying of thousands of souls who no longer had eyes to cry with. What can we do? What can we do?

There's only one thing left to you, said Owen Deathstalker. You have to finish dying. Legion will never let you go, never let you know peace. You heard what it said. It wants to kill all that lives, or make it part of itself. Think of the millions of minds, trapped and suffering in Legion's grasp, like you.

We don't want to die!

No one does, said Hazel. But sometimes you have no choice, if everything you ever lived for is to have any meaning.

Nothing can stop you, said Owen. But do you really want an eternity as Legion's slaves? Stop fighting to live. Let yourselves die. And let Legion die with you.

Perhaps in that moment the thousands of esper brains remembered who they used to be, the things they believed in, and fought for. Things they would have died for, given the chance. Perhaps they were tired of their mental slavery and just wanted to rest at last. And perhaps in that moment they were brave men and women again, determined to do the right thing. But whatever the reason, the brains that made up Legion gave up their hold on life and let themselves die. There was a great outpouring of light on the mental plane, as thousands of men and women broke free and went to their reward at last. And left behind, broken and helpless, nothing but a dark cancerous mass, writhing and squirming—Wormboy's worms. The Mater Mundi stepped on them, and they died screaming.

On the bridge of the Defiant, Investigator Razor watched Legion die. Every piece of monitoring equipment showed the creature's life signs dropping to zero. For no obvious reason, the huge mass in the glass tank had given up the ghost. Deathstalker. Damn him. Razor turned to his other consoles. Half the bridge tech wasn't working, and what was brought him nothing but bad news. Most of his bridge crew were catatonic, and the rest might as well be. He grabbed the Second in Command by the shoulder and shook him until some sense came back into his eyes.

'In Captain Bartok's absence, I am assuming authority on this ship,' Razor said slowly and clearly. 'I want every armed man down in Legion's hold. Kill everything you find there.'

'We already tried that, sir,' said the Second. 'No one can get anywhere near the hold. Something's… preventing us.'

Razor thought hard. Around him, the bridge crew began to stir and return to their senses. With Legion dead, it wouldn't be long before Mistport's surviving espers suddenly found they had their powers back. And then there'd be hell to pay. They'd wipe out the forces on the ground, and then turn their attention to the Defiant.

'Power up all the systems,' Razor said flatly. 'Prepare to scorch Mistport.'

'Sir?' said the Second in Command. 'Our people are still down there, sir.'

'With Legion down, they're as good as dead anyway. Our orders were to bring Mistworld back into the Empire. If I have to turn it into a single great funeral pyre to do so, then that's what I'll do. Bring all the disrupter cannon on-line. On my command, commence firing. And don't stop while there's one speck of life left on that miserable planet.'

And that was when the lights went out. There was a long moment of utter darkness, and then the emergency systems came back on, bathing the bridge in a crimson glow. The Second checked his instruments. When he looked up, his eyes were scared.

'All main systems are down, sir. Practically everything except basic life support. Some… unknown force shut them down. We're helpless, sir.'

Investigator Razor sat down in the command chair and wondered how he was going to explain this to the Empress.

In the auditorium holding Legion's tank, all was still and quiet. Both Legion and the Mater Mundi were gone, their overwhelming presence absent The great fleshy mass had sunk to the bottom of its tank. Owen and Hazel stood together, getting used to being back in their own head again. Typhoid Mary, only herself again, bent over Captain Bartok, who was sitting on the floor, staring at nothing.

'Don't bother,' said Owen. 'I already checked. There's no one home. Whatever he saw here, his mind couldn't handle it.'

'Damn,' said Hazel. 'I was looking forward to killing him.'

'The killing's over,' said Mary, straightening up. 'Let's go home.'

'Sounds good to me,' said Owen. 'Let's see if we can requisition an escape pod. I doubt anybody will be in the mood to say no to us.'

They left the auditorium. Captain Bartok sat very still, staring with empty eyes at the dead mass in the tank.

Afterward, what was left of Mistport celebrated. Those few marines who didn't run back to their pinnaces fast enough were hunted down and killed. No one was in the mood to take prisoners. The dead were piled to one side, to be disposed of later. Rescue squads formed themselves and set about digging in collapsed buildings, in search of survivors. Mistport had come through again. There was a hell of a lot of rebuilding to be done, but the bulk of the city had survived. It took a lot to kill Mistworlders. If only because if you could survive Mistport, you could handle pretty much anything else the universe could throw at you.

What remained of the Council was working at the esper union's hall, coordinating relief work and making sure the espers' psionic screen stayed in place until the Defiant was safely gone. No point in taking chances. Everyone else in the hall was partying like there was no tomorrow. Probably because so many of them hadn't expected to live to see tomorrow anyway. Esper chatter filled the great room, almost loud enough to be heard by non-espers. A couple of show-offs were dancing on the ceiling. None of the non-espers felt slighted or threatened. For the moment at least, victory had brought everyone together.

Young Jack Random was the man of the hour. Everyone wanted to be next to him, to slap him on the back, pour him another drink. He was only too happy to describe his part in the defense of the city, and the people around him wouldn't let him be modest about it. Everyone had some tale to tell of the legendary professional rebel's courage and daring exploits.

Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d'Ark sat in a corner of the hall, drinking a reasonably good vintage wine and dubiously studying a collection of party snacks. Their greater abilities had disappeared along with the Mater Mundi, and they were both feeling very human again. Their wounds had healed, and the bone-deep weariness had gone, but they both felt they needed some time to come to terms with the more than human things they'd done. Their