Deathstalker d-1 Read online

  "Great. Just what I needed; something else to worry about. Look, can you access the flyer's sensors through my implant and see through those?"

  "It'll be risky. The codebreakers could follow me to you."

  "Do it. I need to know how many men I'm facing and how many of them have energy weapons."

  "All right, I'm in. Three men. One disrupter. They've all got swords. They've taken cover behind the flyer."

  "Damn," said Owen. "Who the hell are they?"

  "More of your security people. I can give you their names if you want."

  "Wouldn't know them if you did. Not my province. As long as the head of security did a good job, I didn't interfere."

  "Well, in the future, assuming we have one, I suggest you take the time to make a few friends among your security people. Never know when it might come in handy."

  Owen growled something in response, but he wasn't really listening. The fact was, in a moment he was going to have to take on three armed men, one of them with an energy weapon, and he couldn't put it off much longer. A hand disrupter only took two minutes to recharge between each shot, which meant he was running out of time fast. He had to make his move while the gun was still useless. Three to one odds weren't that bad. Not for someone with his training. But that was all he'd had: training. He'd never had to face these kind of odds for real before. And he'd let himself get out of shape. He'd been so sure he was safe here… He pushed the thought to one side and unconsciously sucked in his gut. He was going to have to be a fighter after all, despite all the promises he'd made to himself after his father's death. He was going to have to be a Deathstalker, and all that that meant.

  He drew in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out. A slow, purposeful calm crept over him. He smiled briefly, acknowledging the irony, and then spoke the activation word boost. Blood thundered through his head and his heart raced. The buried subliminals kicked in, flooding his system with adrenaline and endorphins, and other serums from specially gengineered glands. His muscles swelled and his senses blossomed. He was stronger, faster, more efficient in every way. His thoughts were sharp and lightning fast. For as long as the boost lasted, he would be more than human; more than merely human. He couldn't maintain it for a long, or it would burn him out. But he could stand it long enough to do what he had to do.

  He burst out of the tunnel entrance again, moving too quickly for the human eye to follow, raised his disrupter and shot the man holding a gun through the chest while he was still reacting to Owen's sudden appearance. The energy beam punched right through the security man's chest and threw him aside. The energy gun flew from his hand, out of reach of the others. Owen was upon them both before the first man hit the ground. They seemed to be moving in slow motion to him, every second an age. Their swords rose nightmarishly slowly, and then he was among them, inhumanly fast and strong, supercharged almost beyond the ability of the human frame to bear. His sword ripped through one man's throat, half severing the head from the body, and then leapt on to plunge into the third man's chest. And as quickly as that, it was all over.

  Owen snapped out of boost and almost fell as all the accumulated stress hit him at once. He'd been using controlled hysterical strength, though not all of it. Using the muscles to their full extent would tear them clean away from the bones. His abused heart was hammering painfully fast in his chest, his breathing was quick and strained, and he was soaked with sweat. He shook uncontrollably as the chemical stew he'd pumped into his system slowly began to disperse. Just the shock alone would have killed an ordinary man, but he was far more than that. He was a Deathstalker, and the boost was the real Deathstalker inheritance.

  The shaking died away, and he smiled tremulously. Damn, he felt good. He shook his head slowly, forcing down the euphoria. It wasn't real; just a side effect of the endorphins still in his blood. This was the Deathstalker secret; what made his Family such perfect fighting machines. The constant temptation that had to be faced and mastered. A rush greater than any single drug could ever provide; a potential addiction stronger than any will could deny. This was the key to Deathstalker training, backed up by subliminal commands deep within the subconscious mind: only to use the boost when you had to. Owen had never really been tempted. The few times he'd used it before, under strictly controlled conditions, it had scared the crap out of him. It pushed aside the mind, brought out the beast that lurks in every man, and made him like it. Made him just the kind of man he'd always sworn he'd rather die than become.

  He pushed the thought aside and sheathed his blood-smeared sword without bothering to clean it. He'd pay a price for the boost later, but he couldn't let himself collapse and sleep until he was safely away from here. If anywhere was safe for him now. And assuming he didn't have to use the boost again.

  A memory came to him, reinforced by the last of the chemicals still moving sluggishly in his blood. He was fourteen years old, and his father was beating the shit out of him in a training session to force him to use the boost, to become an adult Deathstalker. It took a lot of beatings before he finally learned how to summon the boost.

  Thanks a lot, Dad.

  "Oz, any sign of more of these idiots?"

  "No, Owen. According to the flyer's admittedly somewhat limited sensors, there are no other life signs in the immediate vicinity. There aren't that many people who know about your outlawing so far, and they have a lot of ground to cover. But there is no knowing when they might discover your escape route and follow you down here. May I earnestly suggest that you power up the flyer and get the hell out of here? Both your options and mine are shrinking fast. I'm having to use more and more of my systems to defend myself against the Imperial codebreakers. My mind is under threat. If you don't download me soon, I will be unable to assist you further."

  "All right, leave off the emotional blackmail. I'll see what I can do once I get to my private yacht. The Sunstrider has more than enough system capacity to hold you." Owen smiled suddenly. "And they said I was crazy to pay that much money for a yacht. I'll show them. The Sunstrider's got options built into her that most people have never even dreamed of."

  "The yacht was a wise choice in retrospect," said Ozymandius. "I have always admired your Family's capacity for practical paranoia."

  Owen laughed breathlessly and threw open the canopy of his private flyer. It wasn't much to look at; just a long slender cabin with wings and a small motor. Top speed of a hundred, if the wind was with you, and the energy crystals only lasted about a week between rechargings, but it was useful for getting around his estates, so he'd kept it handy. He'd never seriously considered it as an emergency route, but he'd felt more secure knowing it was there, and he wasn't reliant on anybody else for transport. He slipped into the pilot's seat and pulled the canopy shut. It only took a few seconds to power up the craft, then he lifted it carefully off its dais and flew it out of the caverns and into the bright morning sunlight.

  The canopy darkened automatically to keep out the sunlight, but it still seemed painfully bright. He headed north, pushing the speed to maximum as fast as he dared. Virimonde looked cool and green and calm and peaceful. It didn't seem possible that his life could be threatened in such a perfect world. The great grasslands rolled away in one direction, fields of waving com in the other, both stretching as far as the eye could see. Low stone walls crisscrossed here and there, and people worked unhurriedly in the fields as though this was just another day. The bitter thought, It isn't fair, flashed through his mind and was gone. He didn't have the time for self-pity. Owen tore his gaze away from his people and accessed the flight computers through his comm implant. All systems were responding normally, and the energy levels looks sufficient to get him to where he'd hidden the Sunstrider. If nothing went wrong. The flyer had no weapons systems and no energy shields. A disrupter blast would rip through the cabin like a knife through paper. Owen felt suddenly vulnerable, alone in a flimsy craft, and he shuddered for a long moment before he could bring himself back under control again.
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  The flyer's sensors suddenly murmured in his ear, informing him that there were two other flyers on his tail. They were only a few minutes behind him, and slowly but steadily they were closing the gap. Owen swore feelingly. He should never have authorized the extra flyers for his security people. He tried for more speed, but the low energy levels made the craft sluggish. It only took a quick calculation to show Owen the other flyers would catch him up long before he could reach Sunstrider and safety.

  "Oz, you still with me?"

  "There's no need to shout, Owen. I'm not deaf."

  "Then take over the flyer's controls. Your reflexes are a lot faster than mine."

  "Yes, Owen." The flyer lurched suddenly to one side and then back again, rising and falling at unexpected intervals. "Evasive maneuvers," the AI explained.

  "Next time," said Owen, trying hard to hang onto his seat and his stomach's contents, "a little warning would be appreciated."

  "Of course, Owen. I feel I should also warn you that according to this flyer's long-range sensors, there are at least three energy weapons on the flyers behind us. It will only take one hit in the wrong place to force us down."

  "I had worked that much out for myself, thank you. Any other good news you want to share with me?"

  "Again according to the long range sensors, there are three more craft heading in pursuit. Too far off yet to identify the craft, but their speed implies they are much more powerful than the flyers, and they're closing fast."

  Some days, Owen thought, things wouldn't go right if you paid them.

  The flyer lurched suddenly as a disrupter beam tore through the left wing. The whole craft shuddered painfully, and its speed began to drop. It threw itself about the sky as the AI ran through every emergency maneuver the flyer was still capable of, but the damage had been done. Speed was down, altitude was falling, and the pursuing ships were drawing steadily nearer.

  "You'll have to take control, Owen," said the AI suddenly. "I'm under increasing attack, and I can't spare any more of myself to help you. You can contract me again if you reach Sunstrider. If not, I have enjoyed our relationship. Goodbye."

  "Oz! Ozymandius! Talk to me, damn you!" Owen waited, but there was no response. "Shit! Boost!"

  He didn't like to think what boosting again was going to do to him so soon after the last time, but it couldn't be helped. He needed the extra speed and reflexes it would give him. Blood hammered in his head, and new strength flooded through him. The flyer shuddered again as a second energy beam hit it from behind. The motor lost its high confident tone and began to stutter. The nose dipped, and the flyer headed for the ground. To Owen it all seemed to be happening in remorseless slow motion, but even though his hands were incredibly fast and sure on the controls, all he could do was guide the descent, not stop it He was still a long way short of his destination, and for the first time Owen realized he probably wasn't going to escape after all.

  The ground rose slowly up before him, and he aimed for an open patch of tilled ground next to a line of windbreak trees. His hands clutched at the controls with such strength that he bent them out of shape, and the flyer began to sluggishly respond. Then another energy beam hit him from behind, and all the lights on his control panels went out. The flyer dropped like a stone, the motor silent, and the ground came rushing up. The left wing hit first, spinning the flyer around. The impact slammed Owen forward against the restraining straps with brutal force, driving the air from his lungs.

  For a moment he hung there, dazed and helpless, and then the boost jerked him awake. The flyer had dug its nose into the ground, and he was hanging over the spider-webbed canopy. He hit the strap release and lashed out with his fist as he fell forward against the canopy. Part of it shattered and fell outward, but there still wasn't enough space for him to crawl past the jagged stumps of glass thrusting out from the canopy surround. There was smoke in the cabin, and behind him he could hear the crackling of flames. He took firm hold of the edges of the canopy, breaking away some of the glass and ignoring fragments that still bit into his hands, and slowly he forced the metal rim outward. The solid steel groaned as it yielded reluctantly to his boosted strength. Blood slithered down his hands. Smoke filled the cabin, tearing at his lungs. He bent away the steel edges and finally forced his way through the jagged glass and out.

  He dropped bonelessly to the ground and lay still on the broken earth for a moment, before the boost forced him to his feet again. Flames roared in the cabin of the flyer, and thick black smoke billowed up into the sky like a marker. The pursuing craft couldn't miss him now if they tried. He'd landed just a few feet short of the windbreak trees, and empty fields stretched out around him. He had no idea where he was, and the only maps were burning inside the flyer. He tried his implant again, but the AI was still silent. The boost moved in him like liquid fire, trembling in his supercharged muscles, and he felt as though he had all the time in the world to do whatever might be necessary. He checked his hands dispassionately. They weren't too badly damaged, and the smaller cuts were already sealing themselves. He felt no pain in his hands or anywhere else, and wouldn't till he came out of boost. At which point his aggrieved body would have a hell of a lot more to worry about than a few cuts and bruises. The human body wasn't meant to work at this kind of level for this long.

  He looked up and saw two flyers falling unhurriedly out of the bright sky toward him. Three more craft hung in the distance like high-flying kites. Owen drew his sword with one hand and his disrupter with the other and headed for the trees. He wanted something he could put his back against. He might not be a warrior like his father, but he was still a Deathstalker, and he would show his enemies what that meant. Whoever the enemy was. Probably more of his own security people, the ungrateful bastards. He set his back against a wide tree trunk and leaned against it for support. They might come at him from the front and sides now, but not from behind. Good to have something you could rely on in an uncertain world.

  The more he looked at his injuries, the more serious they seemed, so he stopped looking at them. The boost was screening him from the pain and shock, but it was also burning up dangerous reserves of strength. It couldn't maintain him much longer, especially if he had to fight for his life. He glared up at the sky, at the craft hovering overhead like vultures. The two flyers landed a respectful distance from his burning craft, and guards spilled out onto the tilled field. Owen counted fourteen and nodded, satisfied. He was glad to see they were taking him seriously. Anything less would have been an insult.

  The three other craft dropped unhurriedly out of the sky. Owen tried to focus his drifting thoughts. There were bound to be more guards in the other craft, some with energy guns. In the end it didn't matter how fast or how strong the boost made him; there were just too many enemies to fight. And even if by some boost-inspired miracle he could beat them all, staying boosted for so long would kill him anyway. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. And maybe that was the real legacy of the Deathstalkers.

  It occurred to Owen that he was going to die here, lost and alone and abandoned by all those he trusted, but the thought didn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would. He'd lost everything that mattered and a few that didn't: title, money, position, even people. I was fond of you, Cathy. Even if he could somehow find a way to survive this ambush, and what he was doing to himself with the boost, the only future he'd have was as an outlaw and renegade, with every man's hand turned against him. Dear God, I've killed Cathy.

  Owen felt suddenly tired, despite the boost. It wasn't that he wanted to die; he just didn't see the point in going on.

  Everything he valued had been taken from him by people far beyond his reach. Revenge seemed unlikely, and even pointless now. It wouldn't bring back what he'd lost. If he was going to die, he thought he'd rather go out in a dignified way, not fighting and squealing like a pig in an abattoir.

  He cut off the boost and almost fell as his wounds burst open again. Blood poured down his body, and his legs tremb
led so much he could hardly stand. He used the last of his strength to put away his sword and disrupter. He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of a struggle. The men who used to be his guards advanced purposefully, weapons at the ready. Owen wrapped himself in what was left of his pride and dignity and fought to keep his head up.

  And then a ship came crashing down out of nowhere, and everything changed. The guards scattered, crying out in shock and alarm as they tried to run every way at once. The gleaming steel craft blocked out the sun as it roared down and then slammed into the broken earth and sat there, large and ugly and immovable. Owen would have run too, but his legs weren't listening to him. He looked blankly at the squat, squarish ship before him: a simple steel container without identification or markings. Which was of course strictly illegal. He slowly realized it wasn't any kind of flyer, but rather some kind of escape pod from a larger craft. A hatch swung open, and a steel ramp slammed down. A slim figure appeared in the hatchway. Owen took a moment to register that it was a. woman, and another to realize that she was almost the same age as him and in almost as bad condition. She was burned, her flesh and her clothes blackened and scorched. He thought she might have been pretty if her face hadn't been white and splotchy from pain and shock. She was also carrying the biggest and ugliest handgun he'd ever seen. She glared at him and gestured at the interior of her ship.

  "Move, you idiot! Those bastards will be back any moment, and I for one don't plan to be here when they get their act together and start shooting. Shift your ass and get in here!"

  Owen lurched forward. He didn't know who she was, or what she wanted with him, and he didn't care. A moment before he'd been ready to die, but now he'd found hope again, and he wanted to live. He could recognize destiny when it came calling. He could take a hint. He stumbled up the ramp, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and she yanked it up the moment he was clear and slammed the hatch shut. There were two sets of crash webbing just inside, and Owen sank gratefully into one as the woman threw herself into the other and jabbed frantically at the control panels. The ship lurched under him, engines roared, then they were up and off and moving. Owen let the webbing support him and studied his rescuer thoughtfully. The most obvious guess was that she wanted the reward on his head and didn't feel like sharing, but somehow he didn't think so. He supposed he should cautiously draw her out with clever questions and gradually determine what she wanted with him, but he didn't have the strength or the patience. So, when ail else fails, be direct. He cleared his throat painfully.