Deathstalker Honor d-4

by Simon R. Green

  "True," said Moon.

  "Oh, shut up," said Owen. "I've got enough problems to think about."

  "I think a new one may be heading our way," said Hazel quietly. "Take a look at what just showed up."

  They all looked, with varying degrees of disbelief, as a skeletally thin creature lurched toward them. Well over six and a half feet tall, the newcomer wore a long black dress of tatters, belted around an impossibly thin waist to support a sword on one bony hip and a gun on the other. She wore lace-up boots, long green evening gloves with holes, and a battered witch's hat with long purple streamers flying from the top. Her face was covered with white pancake makeup, pointed up by two bright red cheeks, and metallic green lipstick and eye shadow. She moved with an uneven, determined gait, her legs barely bending, as though the knees didn't work properly. She looked a lot like a marionette who'd cut her own strings, done something very nasty to the puppeteer, and then gone out into the world to do as much damage as possible before someone finally stopped her.

  Owen let his hand drift casually down to the gun at his side. The black-clad witch lurched to a halt before him, waited a moment to make sure all her parts had caught up with her, and then glowered at Owen in what she clearly thought was a friendly fashion.

  "Welcome to Hell, Deathstalker. I'm Sister Marion. Bea's second in command. I run the place while she's busy being saintly. I was going to be a Saint too when I was younger, but it turned out I didn't have the right attitude. So they made me a Sister of Glory, and sent me out to kick righteous ass on the kind of missions the Church doesn't like to talk about in public. Then I caught leprosy, and they sent me here. Bastards. Still, a nun serves God wherever she's sent, and God knows this bunch needs all the help it can get. You can say hello now."

  "Hello, Sister Marion," said Owen, doing his best to appear entirely unperturbed. "That's a very striking outfit you're wearing."

  The nun stretched her green mouth in a disturbing smile that showed far too many teeth. "I dress like this to mess with people's heads. And the makeup and gloves help hide the skin lesions. People here will tell you I'm an eccentric. Or a loony tune. Don't listen to them. We all have our own ways of dealing with our condition. Mine is just a little more dramatic than most. Now get your asses in gear and follow me. Bea's got dinner waiting, and there are things we need to discuss."

  She turned around sharply, swayed for a moment, and then marched stiff-leggedly off without looking to see if anyone was following. Lepers scattered to get out of her way as she strode on, as implacable as a force of nature and twice as dangerous.

  "So that's a Sister of Glory," said Moon.

  "Yeah," said Hazel. "I don't know what the Hadenmen'll make of her, but she scares the crap out of me. Did you notice she didn't blink once the whole time she was talking to us? That nun is in serious need of psychotherapy. And possibly a hole in her head to let the devils out."

  "You don't get invited to be a Sister of Glory because of your even temperament," said Owen. "Personally, I think she's the most encouraging thing I've seen since I got here. Just pull her pin, throw her at the enemy, and stand well back."

  "I just hope we can defuse her afterward," said Hazel. "That is a very dangerous person."

  "You should know," said Owen.

  They set off after Sister Marion, and followed her back to the main building, maintaining a respectful distance at all times. They picked up Bonnie and Midnight along the way. Bonnie admired Sister Marion's dress sense. Midnight managed a frosty greeting. A small crowd of colonists tried to follow them into the main building, not wanting to miss anything. The Sister explained it was a private meeting. One colonist made the mistake of objecting too loudly, and just a little too rudely, and Sister Marion head-butted him in the face. The other colonists discovered they had pressing business elsewhere and managed a semi-dignified retreat. Sister Marion led her guests inside, leaving the unconscious colonist to lie in the street outside until he remembered his manners. Or at least his name.

  To no one's surprise, the meal turned out to be mostly vegetables, spiced up with flavored protein cubes and bottles of a vicious-looking blue wine distilled from local produce. Owen didn't recognize anything on his plate, which given his previous experiments at finding something edible in the jungle reassured him somewhat. He made polite noises to Mother Beatrice and crunched his way determinedly through one unpleasant surprise after another, then washed everything down with lots of wine, which turned out to be fierce but surprisingly palatable. Everyone drank a lot of it, except Moon. Mother Beatrice in particular put the stuff away as though it were water. No one said anything, after a few guarded glares from Sister Marion. Presumably being a Saint was hard on the nerves. Owen watched Sister Marion stab her food with knife and fork as though it might try to escape at any moment, and cleaned his plate with a sense of accomplishment, hoping against hope for a decent dessert. Unfortunately, he must have overdone the polite appreciative noises, because Mother Beatrice immediately served him a second helping. Owen smiled bravely down at his heaped plate, chewed his way slowly through something very like scarlet seaweed, and listened to Mother Beatrice talk about the planet's history so he wouldn't have to think about what he was eating.

  The Mission had originally been nothing more than a very basic hospital and graveyard, in a clearing cut from the jungle with energy weapons and flamethrowers. It had to be renewed daily, or the jungle crept back. There was a landing pad just big enough for one ship to land and take off. A lot of the colonists had died at first. The shock of the disease, the diagnosis, and being dumped on Lachrymae Christi was simply too much for many people, and they just lay down and died.

  The lepers had to bury their own dead. No one but them ever touched foot on the leper planet. The graveyard quickly became overcrowded, so the colonists let the jungle take it back. The plants consumed the bodies overnight, so no one had to watch. There were still headstones, with names and dates. For the comfort of the living, not the dead. Rows and rows of markers, with no room to walk between them. It didn't matter.

  Everyone knew Lachrymae Christi was where lepers went to die.

  Mother Beatrice changed all that. Weary of the compromises and politics that were already creeping into her new Church, she made it her business to discover people who had a taste and a talent for such work, and happily handed it over to them, so she could get back to what she considered real work for a nun. And so she went to Lachrymae Christi, to give hope to the hopeless, because no one else would.

  It never occurred to her that she was doing something very brave, or noble, or even self-sacrificing, risking her life in a place no one cared about, for people Humanity had discarded. She went because she thought she was needed, because she thought she could do some good.

  Because she was Saint Bea.

  The lepers took heart from her quiet determination not to be beaten by circumstances, or to give in to despair. She gave them back pride in themselves, and encouraged them to make as much of their lives as they could, while they still could. And she never once pushed her religion on them. To those who asked why God had allowed such a horrible thing to happen to them, she said, God has a plan for all of us. And to those who said they didn't believe in God, she just smiled and said, That's all right. He believes in you.

  The lepers worked hard because she worked harder, and believed in themselves because she believed in them. They became a colony in truth at last, establishing small settlements farther and farther out in the jungle. It was a basic kind of life, but better by far than they'd had any right to expect. Everything was going so well. Until the Hadenmen came to Lachrymae Christi.

  Owen got some of this from Mother Beatrice's words, and some from Sister Marion's acid interventions, and some he'd known already from talking with the colonists. It fitted with what he'd previously heard of the Saint of Technos III. He studied her unobtrusively while he was eating, looking for some kind of halo, or a sense of self-righteousness, but Mother Beatrice came across a
s reassuringly normal and level-headed. But there was still something about her, something… focused. Owen wondered idly if that was how people saw him sometimes. He realized Sister Marion was snapping at Mother Beatrice, and paid attention. The Sister didn't take any nonsense from anyone, not even Saint Bea.

  "If you don't ease up on your workload, you'll end up in one of your own infirmary beds," said Sister Marion angrily. She hadn't taken her witch's hat off for dinner, and the long plumes bobbed emphatically as she glared at Mother Beatrice. "You work harder than anyone else, and you don't get nearly enough sleep. You're no good to anyone dead on your feet from exhaustion. And you needn't think I'm going to take over as head nurse. I can cope with the bandages and bedpans, but I'm no good at talking to them, or holding hands and mopping brows, and all that nonsense. That's your department."

  "Hush, Marion," said Mother Beatrice affectionately. "After my time on Technos III, this is a picnic. Besides, I've never needed much sleep."

  Sister Marion glowered at her, unconvinced. This was an argument they'd clearly had many times before, and would again.

  "We need to know more about the Hadenman attacks," said Owen, pushing away his plate. It was still more than half full, so Hazel immediately transferred its contents to her own plate. Owen wasn't surprised. Hazel would eat anything if she was hungry enough. He concentrated on Beatrice. "How long is it between each attack? Normally?"

  "Sometimes days, sometimes hours," said Mother Beatrice. She sounded suddenly tired. "The Hadenmen first came just over a month ago. There was no warning. No ultimatums. We were completely unprepared. The first we knew was when some of the outer settlements stopped answering our calls. Then the first refugees arrived, bringing tales of death and destruction. The few who'd tried to surrender were cut down without mercy. We lost a lot of people, until I gave the order for the outer settlements to be abandoned. Then the Hadenmen came here. We've strengthened our fortifications, and everyone here has learned to use a weapon. The Sisters of Glory have proved excellent teachers. And then there's Colonel William Hand, and Otto. You'll meet them later."

  "Much later, if you've got any sense," said Sister Marion.

  "They're good fighters," said Mother Beatrice reprovingly.

  "They're complete bloody psychopaths!"

  "Takes one to know one, dear. And these days their… attitude is somewhat of an advantage." Mother Beatrice frowned down at her hands, clasped together on the table before her. "Every time the Hadenmen come, we lose more people. My people are brave enough, and they fight well, but lepers have their limitations as warriors. Even the smallest wound can turn deadly very quickly. It's the rain and the ever present moisture. Everything rots. Everything."

  "How long has it been since the last attack?" said Moon in his buzzing, inhuman voice.

  "Three days," said Sister Marion, pruning her green fingernails with her dinner knife. "They could come anytime." She looked up and fixed Moon with her bright, cold eyes. "Ready for a little action, Hadenman?"

  "Call me Moon. And yes, I will fight. To protect my friends. Isn't that why anyone fights?"

  There was a moment of silence that might have become uncomfortable, but it was interrupted by a polite knock at the door. Sister Marion went to answer it, and then came back to murmur in Mother Beatrice's ear. She rose to her feet.

  "You'll have to excuse us. We're needed at the infirmary. Make yourselves at home. We'll talk more later."

  The room seemed very quiet after the Sister of Glory and the Saint left. Everyone looked at each other, except Hazel, who was mopping up the last traces of anything edible from her plate. Everyone else regarded her with varying shades of disgust and amusement. She glanced up and saw them looking at her.

  "What?"

  "I'm impressed," said Owen. "Really. I couldn't eat more of that stuff if you put a gun to my head."

  "I'm hungry! And you'd better learn to get used to it; we could be here a long time."

  "Parliament will send a ship as soon as they learn we're stranded here," said Owen. "We're too valuable to the war effort to be abandoned."

  Hazel shrugged. "On the other hand, we've made a lot of enemies in our time. Enemies who might be quite happy to see us sidelined. Face it, Owen, we're not getting off this planet anytime soon."

  He shook his head angrily. "One thing at a time. Let's deal with the Hadenmen first. Moon, any ideas on how we can turn the odds more in our favor?"

  Moon frowned. "We have no way of knowing where the Hadenman forces are, or how large they are. We don't know what they want, or how big a force they're prepared to field to get it. I will think on the matter further. Now, if you will excuse me, I need some time alone." He got to his feet.

  "I don't think that's such a good idea, Moon," said Owen. "Lots of people here have no reason to love the Hadenmen."

  "I'll be fine, Owen. I don't need a nursemaid." He headed for the door, not looking back. "Don't wait up for me."

  "Watch your back!" said Owen, and then the door closed and the Hadenman was gone.

  Bonnie and Midnight got to their feet. "Getting late," said Bonnie. "Time for one last stroll before bed. These lepers are fascinating."

  "And I want to check out the fortifications, look for weak spots," said Midnight. "See you in the morning."

  And they left too. Owen looked at Hazel. "Was it something I said?"

  "For once, no. I think everyone just needs some time to themselves, Owen. For all Saint Bea's upbeat attitude, this is still at heart a grim and depressing place. People came here to die, and just when they thought they'd made a life for themselves against all the odds, along came the Hadenmen to put the boot in. I've got a bad feeling about this place, Owen. We've cheated death many times, one way or another, but this is the place where death always wins. Maybe we've finally come to the one place that no one escapes from. I'm going to go and get some sleep, on a real bed with warm, dry blankets, and try not to dream. You should get some sleep too. We're going to need all our strength when the Hadenmen return." She got to her feet and looked around the empty room. "We should never have come here, Owen. Something bad is going to happen."

  She left the room without looking back, not bothering to shut the door behind her. Owen leaned back in his chair and stretched tiredly. But he wasn't ready to sleep yet. Not while he was still trying to work out what the hell to do. From what he'd seen of the Mission so far, it was going to be hell to defend. Wooden walls, wooden buildings, wooden roof. The constant rain would help to suppress fires, but if the Hadenmen had access to the right accelerants, they could set fires no rain would be able to put out. Maybe that was what they'd gone to get.

  The lepers seemed willing enough to fight, but they were still basically only invalid civilians with limited training. One on one they wouldn't stand a chance. The augmented men were designed and constructed to be efficient, merciless killers. They had internal armor, steelmesh under their skin, servomotors in their muscles, inhuman speed, and built-in disrupters. It was a wonder that the Mission hadn't fallen already. But then, a man always fought hardest when defending his home. And when he knew there was nowhere else to go.

  Owen got to his feet. Hazel was right. The place stank of death. He walked slowly over to the door, still too restless to sleep. An impulse made him pull his cloak around him, and bring his hood well forward so the shadow hid his face. Perhaps if he walked among the lepers as one of them, they would speak freely in front of him, and he could learn more of the truth of the situation. He needed the truth. He couldn't make plans in the dark.

  He made his way slowly through the narrow streets and alleys of the Mission. Despite the dark and the late hour, there were people everywhere. It seemed Owen wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. He moved unhurriedly along, going nowhere in particular, being as careful as everyone else not to bump into anyone. The never ending rain drummed loudly on the wooden roof overhead. Indoors, you learned to tune out the sound, but now it was like an endless drumroll, foreshadowing the action
to come. Owen found himself looking out over the compound, the only large open space inside the Mission. Torches blazed at regular intervals, casting pools of gold and amber light, surrounded by shifting shadows. People stood or sat in small groups—eating, drinking, preparing weapons, or just talking quietly. No one noticed one more cloaked and hooded figure as Owen moved to join the crowd.

  He found Sister Marion and another Sister of Glory holding an impromptu class on the best ways to set booby-traps and pitfalls for use in case the Hadenmen ever got past the outer wall. The two Sisters passed a bottle of the local wine back and forth as they lectured the attentive group before them. Sister Kathleen looked more like what Owen thought of as a nun, in sweeping black robes and traditional starched wimple, but she too wore a sword on one hip and a disrupter on the other. She was a strapping woman of average height, with a man's large, bony hands. She all but crackled with nervous energy, stalking back and forth like a trapped animal, her hand stabbing out to point at her audience when she wanted to emphasize something. She had the word love tattooed on both sets of knuckles. She had a long, horsey face, a wide mouth full of protruding teeth, and a voice like an angel. Owen could have listened to her for hours. Sister Marion stood beside her like a ghastly scarecrow, interjecting the odd word or comment whenever she felt the need.

  "Caltrops," said Sister Kathleen cheerfully, holding up two nails twisted together. "However you drop them, they always land point up. And even a Hadenman won't get far with three inches of steel rammed through the sole of his foot. Don't forget to dip the points in fresh dung before you drop them; that'll make the wounds fester. Every little bit helps. Now, you've all seen the deadfalls we've arranged. Memorize where the triggers are so you won't set one off accidentally. Same with the spiked pits and the land mines we've improvised. And don't forget: never hit a Hadenman when he's down; put the boot in, it's safer. And if you're down, go for his hamstrings and cripple the bastard. A Hadenman may have the edge in strength and speed, but no one's ever matched a human for sheer dirty fighting."