“I’m not going anywhere,” said David. “This is my home, the home of my ancestors, and I will go no farther. I’ll make my stand here. Now turn on the damn viewscreen.”
Kit shrugged and turned on the screen, and together the rebel Lords watched a montage of terrible scenes on the invaded world of Virimonde. Everywhere, buildings were burning. In villages, towns, cities. The dead lay piled in the fields like some dark, ugly crop. Long lines of refugees filed away into the countryside, carrying what was left of their homes and lives on their backs. There was still some resistance. The underground had been established here for many years. They had training and some weapons, but not enough to face experienced ground troops and Imperial war machines. But still the rebels fought on, outnumbered and outgunned, making the Empire forces pay for every foot of ground they gained. David watched his people fight and die, staining the ground they fought for with their own blood and that of their enemies. He saw Imperial marines marching through gutted villages, and massive war machines resting in the ruins of devastated cities, and finally he had to look away. Kit turned the viewscreen off.
“There’s only one thing I can do,” David said finally.
“Right,” said Kit. “Grab everything we can sell, and make a run for it. There’s bound to be someone we can bribe to get us offplanet. Then, I don’t know. Mistworld, maybe?”
“No,” said David. “I told you; I won’t run. I’m going to surrender.”
“What? Are you crazy? The best you could hope for would be a show trial and a swift execution. At least on Mistworld . . .”
“No! No. If I surrender, and tell the rebels to lay down their arms, the fighting will end. My people will be safe. Too many have died, Kit. Why prolong the agonies? All that matters now is to protect my people in the only way left to me.”
Kit glared at him. “When did you get so damn noble? They’re just peasants!”
“No,” said David. “They’re my peasants. The bond of duty and obligation that ties us together works both ways. I never really understood that before.” He smiled sadly. “It’s taken a long time, but I think I finally understand what it is, to be a Deathstalker. Turn the screen back on. See if you can raise someone in charge.”
Kit saw the determination in his friend’s face, and stopped arguing. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to raise the man in charge of the invasion. General Shaw Beckett on the Imperial starcruiser Elegance looked out of the screen at the two rebel Lords, and bowed formally.
“My Lord Deathstalker, my Lord SummerIsle, good to hear from you. Forgive my bluntness, David, but you don’t look too good.”
“I’m still here, General.” David kept his voice calm and even. “I wish to offer my surrender.”
“Very noble of you, David. I appreciate the gesture.” Beckett scowled unhappily. “Unfortunately, I have new orders from the Empress herself not to accept your surrender, on any terms. She wants you dead, David, and the rebellion crushed. My troops took holocameras down with them. People all over the Empire are watching the invasion of Virimonde live. The Empress intends for this to be an example. I’m sorry. I can offer some protection to your friend, the SummerIsle, if you wish. I have no direct orders for his death. I give you my word . . .”
“I’ll think about it,” said Kit.
The General nodded slowly. “Don’t think too long, my lord.”
David smiled tiredly at the General. “Then I don’t suppose we have anything left to say to each other, do we, Shaw? Destiny has shaped a path for both of us, and all we can do is follow them to their ends. Pardon me if I don’t wish you good luck.”
“Understood, my lord.” General Beckett saluted him. “Die well, Deathstalker.”
His face disappeared from the viewscreen and Kit shut it off. He looked at David. “Lie down again. Get some rest. You’ve got to think of a way out of this for us. You’re the brains in this partnership, remember?”
“He was right, Kit. You don’t have to stay here.”
“Yes I do.”
They smiled at each other. David put out a hand to Kit. The SummerIsle took it in both of his, and grasped it tightly. The Deathstalker’s hand was clammy, and cold as death. David lay back on the bed again, with Kit’s help. The whole of his side was soaked in blood now. Kit still held his hand. There was a commotion outside. Kit let go of David’s hand, and went over to look out the window. Outside the main gate, the Steward had returned with his men and a small army of Imperial troops, led by the Lord High Dram, and Captain Silence and Investigator Frost.
Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn ran down a narrow street, the buildings burning to either side like giant balefires under the blood-streaked sky. The air was thick with dirty black smoke and floating cinders, and so hot it burned their bare hands and faces. Flynn’s camera bobbed along above them, getting the best shots it could, and transmitting them live. High above, Imperial warships rained down destruction, energy beams from ranked disrupter cannon blowing buildings apart and collapsing streets. People were running everywhere, all with some kind of weapon in their hands. Toby had given up trying to keep track of where he was. One burning town looked much like another. And everywhere he went, he had to step over the dead. Men, women, and children lay in anonymous, blood-soaked bundles, cut down and hacked apart, or burning from the touch of an energy beam. Toby had never seen slaughter like it. Lionstone must have gone insane. This had gone far beyond punishment for rebellion, or an example to discourage others. Nothing could justify human butchery like this. It occurred to him now and again that he must be getting really good coverage. No one had ever filmed an invasion from this close before. He just hoped someone was watching. He wouldn’t put it past the Empire ships to jam all signals but their own. Toby scowled as he ran, despite his tiredness. He hated to think this was all for nothing.
He never saw the explosion that took out the building beside him. All he knew was that there was a sound like thunder, and then something picked him up and threw him down the street. He hit the cobbled ground hard, his clothes tearing, and then he tried to protect his head with his arms, as shattered brickwork came tumbling down around him. Bricks bounced off his back and arms and legs and he cried out, his voice lost in the roar of destruction around him. Finally it stopped, and Toby cautiously raised his head and looked about him. Half the street was in ruins. Flynn lay not far away, his camera hovering over him. The cameraman was half-buried under collapsed brickwork. Toby forced himself back onto his feet and staggered over to Flynn. His ears were ringing, his hands were trembling, and his legs felt like they belonged to someone else, but he fought it all back as he bent over Flynn. Oh God, don’t be dead, Flynn. Please don’t be dead. I didn’t bring you here to die. He found a pulse in Flynn’s neck and relaxed a little. He started pulling the bricks away, one at a time. There seemed to be no end to them.
He’d barely made a start when a company of Imperial marines came trotting down the street, guns at the ready. The Sergeant saw Toby and turned his gun in his direction. Toby stuck both his arms in the air.
“Don’t shoot! I’m a reporter, covering the invasion!”
The Sergeant sniffed disappointedly and gestured for his men to lower their guns and come to a stop. He glowered down at Toby. “What are you doing here? You people are supposed to have cleared this area by now.”
“My cameraman’s trapped here,” said Toby, cautiously lowering his hands. “Help me dig him out, and we’ll get the hell out of your way.”
“Anything to get you out of my hair. I don’t know why the Empress wanted you here in the first place.”
The Sergeant gestured to the nearest marines, and half a dozen of them helped Toby pull away the rest of the bricks covering Flynn. And only then did Toby discover that either the force of the explosion or the sharp edges of the broken bricks had ripped Flynn’s clothes apart, revealing for all to see the lacy black feminine underwear he wore beneath them. The stockings and garter belt were particularly fetching. The six marines
backed away quickly, while their friends made lewd jokes and unsavory comments. Toby thought fast.
“They’re his good-luck charms! They belonged to a female colleague of his, who he was very close to, and since she died, he wears them to remind him of her, and bring him good luck. Really. Lots of cameramen do it. It’s an old tradition among news crews.”
“Shut your face,” said the Sergeant. “And that goes for you men, too. There’s no way a freak like this could have qualified for the army news corp. Which means you two are here illegally. Probably rebels as well as degenerates.”
“Of course we’re not rebels! Look, I’m Toby Shreck! You must have seen my work!”
“I’ve seen it.” The Sergeant looked at his men. “Shoot them both.”
Toby stood frozen in a moment that seemed to last forever. He had nothing to defend himself with, and there was nowhere to run. Even if he could bring himself to abandon Flynn. He watched helplessly as the marines turned their guns on him, and all he could think was that he hoped the camera was getting a good view of this. And then his jaw dropped as the Sergeant and all his marines simultaneously burst into flames. The marines dropped their weapons and staggered back and froth, beating at the flames with their bare hands and screaming shrilly as the fires rose up to consume them. One by one they fell to the ground as the flames stole the oxygen from their lungs, and they lay kicking and twitching as their flesh blackened and cooked, their hair burning with a bright blue flame. And then two women with the same face stepped out of the shadows, and Toby realized what had happened. The Stevie Blues had come to the rescue again.
He grunted a quick thanks and bent over Flynn, who was dazedly trying to sit up. The Blues hauled him up onto his feet and hurried him down the street, with Toby sticking close behind them. Even in the chaos of a town on fire, people still had the sense to get out of the way of the Stevie Blues. They made good time, despite having to dodge roving companies of Imperial marines, hurrying down a series of narrow side streets that all looked the same to Toby, until finally they ended up before an anonymous door in a fairly untouched area. Stevie Three hammered on the door with her fist, and a sliding panel opened, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes. Stevie Three glared right back at them, and the panel slammed shut. There was the sound of locks turning and bolts being pulled back, and then the door opened, and the Stevies led Toby and Flynn inside. The door slammed shut behind them.
It wasn’t much more than a bolt-hole, really—a single wide room with boarded-up windows and only the one exit. Guns and rifles lay stacked along one wall, along with open cases of ammunition. A dozen heavily armed men and women were staring out through cracks in the boarded-up windows. They barely spared Toby and Flynn a glance. The air was thick and close, and smelled of sweat and tension. Stevie One had a muttered conversation with one of the rebels, while Stevie Three found a gun she liked and started loading it. Toby found a chair and helped Flynn onto it. The cameraman was looking better, but was increasingly distressed at the state of his clothes.
“I mean, these were my best lacy set,” he said bitterly. “I knew I shouldn’t have risked wearing them down here.”
“Damn right,” said Toby. “They very nearly got both of us killed.”
Flynn sniffed. “Marines have no fashion sense.” The camera perched on his shoulder seemed to nod agreement.
Toby turned to Stevie Three. “What is this place?”
“What’s left of a rebel cell, fairly low on the chain of command, which is probably why the troops haven’t found it yet. We’re using it as a check-in point, for rebels who got scattered when the invasion hit. We’re waiting for orders, but I don’t even know if there are any traces of the underground’s organization left in this town. We’ve been hit hard. Communications have gone to hell, and there are hardly any espers here. You’re lucky my sister and I were out looking for strays; we’d already decided it was the last run we were going to make. This town has fallen; it just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Have you got time for an interview?” said Toby. “Seeing as we’ve got nothing to do for the moment. There’s always the chance someone’s watching.”
He gestured to Flynn, who nodded that his camera was still running. He settled it comfortably on his shoulder, and the camera turned its glowing, unblinking eye on Stevie Three.
“Not much to tell,” the esper clone said quietly. “The invasion took us all by surprise. The chain of command among the rebels was shattered almost immediately. We have no idea how things are going in any of the main cities. Some of the rebels tried to surrender when they saw how bad things were going, but the Empire forces aren’t interested in taking prisoners. My sister and I did what we could to help, taking out some of the smaller war machines with our fire, preying on troops that got separated from the main forces, but there were just so many of them . . . We’re all tired. So many of us are dead. Our ammunition’s getting low. Maybe all that’s left to us is to die well. And take as many of the bastards with us as we can.”
“They’re here!” yelled Stevie One, glaring out one of the slits in the windows. Everyone pushed their guns through the cracks between the boards and opened fire on the advancing troops. The noise of so many projectile weapons firing in a confined space was deafening. Toby and Flynn clapped their hands to their ears. Smoke and the stench of cordite filled the air. And then an energy beam punched right through the solid wooden door, passing on through the body of the rebel standing guard behind it, before exiting through the far wall.
“War wagon!” yelled Stevie One. “It’s got disrupter cannon!”
And then energy beams were hitting the room from all directions. They came slamming through the walls, catching most of the rebels before they could drop to the floor for cover. The beams filled the room with blinding light, crisscrossing like some glaring luminous spider’s web. Most of the rebels were holed and blown apart in the first few seconds, their charred and scattered parts falling to lie twitching on the floor. One man’s head was blown clean away, and his body managed half a dozen faltering steps before another beam took its legs out, and it fell.
Toby tried to burrow into the stone floor, his hands over his head. He’d grabbed Flynn and hit the deck the moment Stevie One yelled her first warning. He wasn’t a fighter. The beams kept coming, riddling the walls with endless holes, filling the room with the stench of ionized air. A few people were crying out, in fear or shock or suffering, but that didn’t last long. Finally the beams stopped, and all was quiet, save for quiet creaking noises from the weakened walls. Early-morning light streamed through the hundreds of holes in the walls, diffused by the drifting smoke. Toby slowly lifted his head and looked around him. The dead were everywhere. Torn apart and broken, like so many dolls deserted by angry children who didn’t want to play anymore. Flynn was lying beside Toby, cradling his precious camera in his arms. He nodded to Toby to show he was okay, but made no move to get up. Stevie One and Stevie Three lay together, and only one of them was moving.
Stevie Three sat up slowly. Half her hair and half her face had been burned away from her head where an energy beam had touched her in passing, but otherwise she seemed unhurt. Stevie One had fared less well. She’d been hit several times, and her left arm had been shot away, the steaming wound roughly cauterized just above the elbow. Stevie Three cradled her in her arms. Stevie One groaned, and her eyes flickered open.
“Damn,” she said thickly. “I think the odds just got worse.”
“Shut up,” said Stevie Three. “Rest. Save your strength.”
“What for? It’s over, love. The Empire’s won.”
“It’s not over till we say it’s over,” said Stevie Three fiercely. “Don’t you dare die and leave me alone. We lived together and we’ll die together, and we’ll do it on our feet. Get up, damn you. Come on, love. One last spit in the Empress’s eye.”
Stevie One smiled. “Right.”
Stevie Three got them both on their feet, holding Stevie One up till her legs fi
rmed. They looked around for other survivors, and saw Toby and Flynn looking up at them. Stevie Three smiled.
“I might have known. Good men and women die, but reporters go on forever. Stay down, boys. This isn’t your fight.”
“What are you going to do?” said Toby.
Stevie Three looked at the door before her, and Toby knew she was seeing the enemy massed outside. When she spoke, her voice was almost calm, matter of fact. “Once there were four of us. Clones, sisters, lovers; a closer relationship than you can ever imagine. Two died, fighting the Empire that created them, and now it’s our turn. We’ve always known we were born to burn. All that’s left is one last gesture of defiance.”
“What are you going to do?” said Toby. “What can you do?”
“Die well,” said Stevie One, and Stevie Three nodded.
“Sometimes, that’s all there is.”
“No,” said Toby, his voice roughened by unfamiliar emotions. “There’s got to be another way. There’s always another way.”
“No,” said Stevie Three, almost kindly. “Not always. Every road comes to its end eventually. Get your camera ready. We’re going out.”
She hauled her sister over to the door, carefully undid the locks, and pulled back the bolts one by one. Flynn’s camera rose from his shoulder to get a better view. Stevie Three yanked the door open and slammed it back against the wall. The esper clones stood framed in the doorway a moment, looking out at the men and machines arrayed against them. From somewhere deep inside, Stevie One found the strength to stand alone. Stevie Three glanced back over her shoulder, and showed her teeth in a smile.
“See you in Hell, boys.”
She turned back to stare out the doorway, and both the Stevie Blues burst into flames. Bright blue fires burned around them, strengthening and consuming them as they focused all their last strength and rage into a final act of defiance. They ran forward, yelling their war cry, fire blazing from three outstretched hands to incinerate men and machines alike. The Imperial marines opened fire. Disrupter beams punched through the Stevie Blues again and again, shaking them like a dog shakes a rat. They fell together, and their flames went out, and there were no more Stevie Blues, anywhere at all.
Deathstalker War Page 44
