Deathstalker War

by Green, Simon R.

  “So we’ve heard,” said Half A Man. He stopped a few yards short of them, and his half mouth moved in something that might have been a smile. “Know what this is?”

  And he held up in his human hand a small metal box with a red button on it. Owen, Hazel and Giles just had time to recognize it as a mindbomb, and then Half A Man pressed the button. The tech in the box stimulated the esper brain tissues, and a psionic signal leaped out, falling across the three rebels like a thunderstorm in their heads. Owen and Hazel and Giles rocked on their feet, hands pressed to their heads, trying to force the hideous howl out of their thoughts. Owen staggered back a step, his eyes bulging, his thoughts slow and churning and not entirely his own. Bright lights flared around him, and there were mad voices in his ears. There was something walking up and down in his head and it wasn’t he. Pain and weakness chewed through his body, but even through ail that was happening to him, Owen could still hear Half A Man talking.

  “Interesting. We weren’t sure what effect the mindbomb would have on you, since we were fairly sure that whatever you are, you aren’t actually espers, but the odds seemed good that it would mess you up nicely. My own unique nature makes me immune, of course. There’s really no point in struggling. This particular mindbomb has been augmented far beyond its usual strength and range, just for you. If you were normal mortals, your brains would be leaking out your ears by now. But don’t worry. Just hold still for a moment, and I’ll put you out of your misery.”

  Owen had dropped his gun. His hands felt like they belonged to someone else. He only knew he still had hold of his sword because when he looked down he could see it in his white-knuckled grip. Giles was on his knees beside him, twitching and trembling as his nerves fired at random, his eyes wide and unseeing. Hazel lay on her back on the platform, her mouth stretched in a feral grimace of helpless pain and rage, her empty hands clenching and unclenching. They were fighting the mindbomb’s influence and getting nowhere, so Owen decided to stop fighting. He withdrew deep inside himself, and shut down all his Maze-given gifts. They were no use to him now. They had become the means whereby the mindbomb was able to torment him.

  It was hard, deliberately blinding and deafening himself as Half A Man advanced on him with deadly intent, but somehow he knew his only real defense lay inside him, not outside. The mindbomb was designed to work on humans, but though he wasn’t an esper, he wasn’t human anymore either. And if his thoughts were still human, it was only because he chose so. There were other ways of thinking, and even as that idea came to him, he seemed to see another direction he could move in, another form of thought, above and beyond human limitations. So he went that way, in a direction that was more than a direction, and suddenly his mind was clear again. He opened his eyes to find Half A Man looming over him, sword in hand, mindbomb hanging from his belt. And it was the easiest thing in the world for Owen to lash out with his sword and cut through the cord holding the mindbomb to the belt. The small steel box fell clattering to the platform, and Owen crushed it with one blow of his golden fist.

  In a moment the mindbomb’s influence was gone, and Owen was himself again. Half A Man retreated quickly to a safe distance, surprise and shock clear in his half face. Hazel and Giles came back to themselves and scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads confusedly. And that part of Owen’s mind that had come briefly alive when he needed it shut itself down again, now that it was no longer needed. On some deep basic level Owen knew he couldn’t continue to think that way and still be himself, so he deliberately turned away from a direction that was already fading from his memory. He was Owen again, and only Owen, and that was enough. He smiled at the warily watching Half A Man, and the humor in that smile was very dark. Half A Man lifted his sword slightly.

  “I’m impressed, Deathstalker,” he said evenly. “But not really surprised. They told me their new and improved mindbomb would fry your minds, but I was never convinced. Not after all the things you’ve done. You’re becoming a legend, just like me. You won’t like it. People will make up stories and songs about you, and worship your image on the viewscreen, but they’ll never get near the real truth of who you are. They’ll make a giant out of you, and then be ever so upset when you let them down by being only human. Still, not to worry. I’ll see your story ends here, then you’ll never have to hear the lies they’ll tell in your name.”

  “You died a long time ago,” said Owen, moving calmly forward. “Time for you to lie down and admit it.”

  “I can’t die,” said Half A Man. “My alien half won’t let me. Come to me, Deathstalker, and I’ll make it quick.”

  “Shut up and fight,” said Owen.

  They came together, and their swords clashed and flew apart in a shower of sparks. Half A Man moved and struck with several lifetimes’ speed and experience, never still, endlessly circling around his opponent, pressing Owen’s skills to the limit. Owen moved with him, limiting himself to purely defensive moves as he studied his opponent’s style, moving round and round in slow, cautious circles, searching out Half A Man’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It didn’t take Owen long to realize that Half A Man didn’t have any. The energy half supplied him with endless strength and speed, so he never grew tired, and he knew more about swordsmanship than Owen ever would. Owen boosted, becoming immediately faster and stronger, and launched his own attack. Half A Man sped right up with him, and calmly stood off everything Owen could throw at him. Strength burned in Owen’s arms, and he sped up again, pushing his boost to the limits. His sword moved so fast it was only a blur. And for the first time, Half A Man fell back a step.

  Owen pressed the attack, cutting at Half A Man’s defending sword like a woodsman attacking a stubborn tree. In that moment, Half A Man represented to him everything he hated about the Empire, and he laughed aloud as he threw himself at his enemy. Half A Man had stopped smiling, but held his ground and would not retreat another step. And it occurred to Owen that whereas Half A Man’s great strength and speed came from the endless store of his energy half, Owen’s boost was of strictly limited duration. Which meant, if he didn’t find a way to finish this fight soon, the odds were he wouldn’t be finishing it at all. So he put all his strength and speed into one attack, a hammering blow with all his Maze-given talents behind it that slammed right past Half A Man’s defense, and crashed down on his human skull.

  For a long moment Owen’s sword seemed to hesitate, as though frustrated by some unseen energy barrier, and then all the Maze’s gifts and strengths concentrated themselves in Owen’s blow, a more-than-human impetus that would not be denied, and the sword crashed on. The great and heavy blade cut down through Half A Man’s human face, right next to the energy’s dividing line, and then carried on down, cutting the human half away from the energy until the crimson blade erupted from the groin in a rush of blood and guts. Owen staggered backwards as his sword came free, all his strength and speed disappearing as he dropped out of boost. Hazel and Giles caught him and kept him from falling. And together they watched as Half A Man’s human half fell to lie thrashing and bleeding to death on the platform. The energy half still stood where it was, motionless.

  “How the hell did you do that?” said Hazel.

  “Damned if I know,” said Owen.

  They moved forward to stand over the twitching human half, giving the energy half a wide berth. The human half was dying by inches, but it was dying. Guts and organs had fallen out of the huge wound down its side, and blood streamed across the platform, welled over the edge, and dripped onto the tracks below. Owen watched the half man die with divided feelings. Half A Man had been his enemy, opposed to everything Owen now believed in, but it was hard not to see in him a man shaped by implacable outside forces into a legend he had never chosen for himself. Owen could understand that. It was the story of his life, too. He knelt down beside the half body, and took the trembling hand in his. The eye in the half head had sunk right back in the socket, but it rolled slowly over to look up at Owen. Half A Man tried desper
ately to say something, but couldn’t make his mouth work. Owen leaned over him, but his enemy was already dead. Owen gently pulled his hand free from the dead grip and got to his feet.

  “What do you suppose he would have said?” murmured Hazel.

  “Damn you to hell, probably,” said Owen. “He always was single-minded, for a man with only half a brain.”

  Giles clapped Owen on the shoulder, making him jump. “Well done, kinsman. You fought a good fight, for an historian.”

  “I could have used some help,” said Owen. “Why didn’t you two join in?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t allow that,” said Giles. “It wouldn’t have been sporting.”

  “Stuff sport,” said Owen. “This is war.”

  “And war is the greatest sport of all,” said Giles. “You’re an historian. You should know that.”

  “It’s only sport to the victors,” said Owen. “Not to the victims and the orphaned and all the poor bastards dragged into it against their will.”

  “Uh, guys,” said Hazel. “I think we have a problem . . .”

  They both looked round to follow her pointing hand. The sundered energy half was still standing where they’d left it, but its shape was slowly changing. The coruscating energy pulsed and flowed, pushing at the boundaries of its form. It was becoming something else, something different, no longer bound or dictated by its human half. The slowly changing shape grew more disturbing as it became more distinct, until Owen had to fight not to look away. It was becoming alien, and more than alien. It had width and breadth and depth, and other dimensions, too. Owen couldn’t see so much as sense them, and they made his head hurt. Hazel fired her disrupter at it, and the energy beam bounced harmlessly away. The energy shape burned horribly brightly, like a hole cut in reality through which some malign god’s light was shining. And then it was gone, and the memory of it faded thankfully from Owen’s mind like a nightmare best not remembered. Owen let his breath out in a long shuddering sigh, and only then discovered that Hazel was gripping his arm so hard it hurt. She let go as soon as he saw it and pulled her composure briskly about herself again.

  “Well, that was different,” she said, just a little breathlessly. “Anyone here have any ideas as to what the hell that was? Or what it was becoming?”

  “A problem for the future,” said Owen. “As I have a horrible feeling it’ll be back someday, along with the aliens that created it. We may only have traded one threat for another.”

  “Let them come,” said Giles. “Let them all come. They’ll be no match for the Empire we shall create. Now let’s go. We don’t want to keep the Empress waiting.”

  He strode off down the platform, and Owen and Hazel fell in after him. Hazel looked at Owen.

  “I hate it when he gets all confident like that. It’s just asking for trouble.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Owen. “But at least as long as he’s in front of us, I don’t have to worry about what he might be doing.”

  “And when the shooting starts, we can hide behind him,” said Hazel. “He’s wide enough.”

  “I can hear every word you’re saying,” said Giles calmly. “And I don’t find it in the least amusing.”

  “Tough,” said Hazel. “Serves you right for eavesdropping. And get a move on, or I’ll kick your ankles.”

  “I wonder if it’s too late to go back to the rebel leaders, and ask for some new companions,” Owen said wistfully.

  They came flying out of the scarlet sun on the early-morning skies, a vast armada of fast-flying gravity sleds. There were thousands of them, blackening the sky, one-man sleds with souped-up engines for more speed, armed to the teeth with bolted-down energy guns and heavy projectile weapons, with long ribbons of bullets. They came in low, well below the usual sensor levels, and were over the Parade of the Endless and heading for the pastel Towers of the Families before any of the Clans even knew they were coming. They whipped between the tall buildings of the city, rising and falling on the thermals, flashing by too fast for the automated weapons systems to draw a bead on them. Thousands of sleds shot across the city, manned by rebels, espers, clones, anyone with a raging need for justice in their hearts, and a willingness to fly into Hell itself for a chance at bringing down the Families.

  They swept over the struggling crowds in the streets below, ignoring the fighting. That wasn’t their mission. An occasional weapon fired up at them from the heaving masses below, but the sleds were small, evasive targets, hard to hit. The Empire’s huge gravity barges tried to block their way, hovering in place like floating battle stations, but there were only a few of them, and the sleds just soared over and around them, come and gone in seconds, too unpredictable for the barges’ computerized firing systems. No one had ever thought to use one-man sleds like this before. Until Jack Random did. They filled the skies, thundering along, with the sun at their back, heading for the Towers, an army of retribution flying on wings of fury.

  Jack Random, Ruby Journey, and Alexander Storm led the way, flying side by side. They’d lowered the sleds’ force shields for more speed, and the wind of their passing whipped at their faces, driving tears from their eyes. The early-morning chill cut right through them, despite the heating units in their outfits, but they ignored it, intent on what was to come. Storm felt it the worst in his old bones, but he just clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering, and concentrated on keeping up with the others. He wasn’t going to be left behind.

  Random looked down at the Parade of the Endless flashing by below him, and found it hard to believe that after all the many years and all the many battles, he’d finally brought his crusade home to Golgotha. To the Families who ran and ruined everything in the name of profit and privilege. They outlawed him and banished him, did their best to break and kill him, but now here he was, back to present them with the bill. And payback was going to be a real bitch.

  He laughed aloud, the wind whipping the sound away almost before he heard it. The Empire was going to fall today, and he was going to help bring it down. And when he had it on its knees and begging for mercy, he’d spit in its eye and kick it in the teeth. He worked the sled’s throttle mercilessly, trying to force out even more speed, but the sled was already exceeding its safety limits. Random could see the first of the Towers in the distance, and he couldn’t wait to get to them. The Clans had to know he was coming by now. They’d have set up their defenses, adjusted their computer aiming systems to compensate for the sleds’ speed and maneuverability. They’d be waiting for him. And he didn’t give a damn. This was judgment day, and he was bringing down the hammer. It was almost enough to make a man believe in religion. He grinned harshly, the wind forcing his lips back into a wolf’s snarl. It was a good day for someone else to die.

  He looked across at Ruby Journey. In her black leathers and white furs, standing rock-steady on her bucking sled, face grim and implacable, she looked like some dark Valkyrie out of legend, come to take the dead heroes to Valhalla, whether they wanted to go or not. Her sled was loaded down with weapons of all kinds, right up to the last ounce of weight that wouldn’t interfere with her speed. Everything from energy guns to grenades to throwing knives. Ruby liked to be prepared. She looked around, caught his eye on her, and grinned at him. She was on her way to a lifetime best in looting and mayhem, or quite possibly her own death, and she’d never looked happier.

  Random smiled back at her, then turned to look at Storm, flying on his other side. The canny old warrior had strapped himself securely onto his sled, but even so he still seemed to shake and shudder with every sudden movement of his craft. His long mane of white hair flew out behind him as he stared unflinchingly into the rushing wind. He was too old for this kind of mission, and everyone knew it, including him, but he’d insisted on coming along, and Random hadn’t had the heart to say no. He understood Storm’s need to be in at the kill after giving so much of his life to the struggle against the Empire. So he’d put the old man right next to him, where he could keep an eye on hi
m, and just hoped Storm could keep up. Hopefully the old warrior’s reflexes would keep him alive long enough to reach the Towers. A lot of people weren’t going to make it. There were bound to be heavy losses once the armada hit the Towers’ main defenses. Everyone in the armada knew that. But they’d all volunteered anyway. They knew the one-man sleds were the only force fast enough, mobile enough, and versatile enough to get past the defenses and into the Towers. Where the Families thought they were so safe.

  Ground forces would have had to struggle for days against the heavily manned and armed Towers, fighting their way up floor by floor to reach the Families barricaded in their heavily defended top floor. Losses on both sides would have been enormous, with no guarantee that the Families wouldn’t just abandon their Towers and flee elsewhere before they could be captured. Gravity barges had guns strong enough to blast a way in, but they were too slow, too unwieldy. The Towers’ superior firepower would have blown them out of the sky before they could get close enough to do any real damage. Espers were helpless in the face of so many known esp-blockers. Which was why the Clans had retired to the Towers—the one place where they felt really safe—at the first sign of real trouble.

  Random was here to teach them different. He’d thought about this plan for years, in the trenches and foxholes of endless battles on endless worlds, dreaming of what he’d do when he finally brought the war home to home-world. He’d thought of every problem, refined every detail, and now here he was, living his dream. Do or die. Death or glory. And he couldn’t have been happier either.

  Gravity barges lifted off from the Towers’ private landing fields and launched themselves into the sky to meet the armada. They were great lumbering ships, with heavy armor and superior firepower, but the sleds were upon them in seconds, and ran rings around them. They snapped back and forth, whipping around the slow-moving barges, too small and too fast for the larger ships’ tracking computers. They’d been programmed for vessels their own size, or stationary targets. The sleds shot past them, more and more all the time, so the barges opened fire anyway, disrupter cannon blazing from the huge vessels’ sides, aimed at what seemed like the greatest concentrations of sleds.