Owen, Hazel, Jack, and Ruby were united in their horror of the Pandora’s box of troubles they’d opened, but couldn’t decide what to do about it. Random rushed from one meeting to another, desperately trying to keep a lid on things. It helped that most people were at least willing to listen to him. Everyone respected the legendary Jack Random. Even if they hated his guts. He spent the rest of his time trying to rebuild the very armed forces he’d just finished fighting, in case of attacks by the Empire’s many enemies. The rogue AIs of Shub, the reborn Hadenmen, and any number of potential alien threats were all quite capable of launching an attack upon an Empire distracted by internal divisions.
Ruby Journey meanwhile took every opportunity to loot anyone weaker than her, including several corporations, and lost no time in setting herself up in the kind of luxury she’d always wanted to become accustomed to. She had no interest in politics. If you couldn’t hit or rob something, Ruby was mostly lost for an alternative. So she stayed out of the ongoing negotiations, and everyone else heaved a great sigh of relief.
And Owen and Hazel had become bounty hunters, tracking down escaped war criminals. Officially, they were supposed to bring the villains back to face public trial, but privately it had been agreed on all sides it would be better if certain parties were killed while trying to escape. Owen and Hazel had nodded solemnly when this was explained to them, and decided they’d make up their own minds on the subject, as and when necessary. If there was ever to be any hope of stability in the new order Jack was trying to hammer together, the truly evil had to be punished, and seen to be punished. People like Valentine Wolfe, for example, despised right hand of the Empress and butcher of Virimonde. You couldn’t send just anybody after a dangerous and subtle villain like the Wolfe, so that was where Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d’Ark came in. They were, after all, the most dangerous people the Empire had ever seen.
All Owen had ever really wanted was his old life back, but almost from the moment the rebellion was officially declared triumphant, it seemed to him that everyone and his brother had begun fighting for a chance to grab a piece of the legendary Deathstalker hero. Every political party wanted him as its figurehead. Every cause sent representatives requiring he attach his name and his blade to their demands. Sometimes they even fought duels outside his quarters over who got to speak to him first.
Then there were the holo news networks wanting endless interviews, and agents wanting to buy exclusive rights to his life story. They all wanted pictures and quotes and answers to increasingly personal questions. Not to mention product endorsements and book deals and merchandising rights. Hell, one company even wanted to manufacture a line of action figures based on him and Hazel and Jack and Ruby. Owen just wanted to be left alone, and said so increasingly loudly, but no one listened. So in the end he had fled Golgotha on the
Sunstrider II,
on what turned out to be the first of many missions as a glorified bounty hunter, licensed and paid by Parliament to clear up the Empire’s more dangerous messes.
Hazel was there too. She said she had just come along to get a little action to keep herself from getting soft, but Owen liked to think she was just bored spitless without an enemy to fight. Though it had to be said she’d never been one to sit around and contemplate the lilies of the field, and settling down to a peaceful and productive life was exactly what she’d become an outlaw to avoid. She couldn’t even get drunk and start fights in bars anymore. Everyone knew who she was, and was scared witless to say anything that might upset her. So when Random had offered her a commission to track down and possibly execute missing war criminals, she’d jumped at the chance, and wasted no time in persuading Owen to join her. Even if she seemed to remember it the other way around. But then, that was Hazel for you. Never happier than when she could lay the blame on someone else.
“We just dropped out of hyperspace over Virimonde,” murmured the AI Ozymandius in Owen’s ear. “Currently maintaining high orbit and all shields. I really don’t know why you wanted to come back here, Owen. I mean, it’s not as if you have any friends here anymore. In fact, I would have to say that the likelihood of our all ending up riddled with holes increases geometrically with every second we are dumb enough to stay here.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” said Owen, subvocalizing so Hazel wouldn’t hear. She didn’t approve of him talking to an AI that was supposed to be dead and no one else could hear. “You never want to go anywhere fun, Oz. This is where our current quarry has gone to ground, so here we are too. Right now Valentine Wolfe is down there somewhere, along with certain aristocratic cronies, all of whom the current authorities would dearly like to see standing in a dock or hanging from a rope. And preferably both. Besides . . . I always said that one day I’d come home to Virimonde.”
There had been a time when Owen Deathstalker had been Lord of the whole planet of Virimonde. And then the Empress Lionstone had outlawed him and taken it all away. His own security people had tried to kill him for the reward on his head, and he’d had to flee for his life. He nearly hadn’t made it. But Hazel had arrived at just the right moment to save his aristocratic ass, as she never tired of reminding him, and they’d been together ever since. He fell in love with her. He still wasn’t sure how she felt about him. His cousin David had been made Lord in his absence, but he died not long after, trying to defend the planet from Lionstone’s troops, led by Valentine Wolfe. The Wolfe had overseen the murder of millions of defenseless people, and the utter destruction of what had been a beautiful rural paradise.
And now Valentine had returned, like a criminal to the scene of his crime, or a dog to its own droppings, and Owen had come back too, to bring belated justice to the destroyer of Virimonde. One way or another.
He sighed quietly to himself. Through all his rebel wanderings, he’d always clung to the secret hope that someday he would be able to return home and take up his old life again as a minor historian of no real importance to anyone but himself. But he’d changed so much, in so many ways, till he wasn’t sure he recognized himself anymore. And given the reports he’d seen of the utter devastation awaiting him below, he wasn’t even sure there was a home left to return to.
“Run sensor scan,” he subvocalized to his AI. “Locate my old Standing and see what kind of force they’ve got protecting it.”
“Way ahead of you as usual,” sniffed the AI. “There’s a fair-sized army surrounding the castle, which according to the comm traffic I’m picking up, Valentine and his associates are currently occupying. Typical. Nothing but the best for dear Valentine. And according to the information we were given before we left Golgotha, which I’ll wager good money you haven’t even looked at, there’s also a hell of a lot of scientific equipment down there, along with scientists to run it. Though no one seems to know what or why.”
“Don’t get uppity, Oz. Just tell me what I need to know.”
“Bully.”
Owen wasn’t quite sure where he stood with Oz. The original Ozymandius had been the Family AI, handed down to Owen from his deceased father. It turned out to contain hidden Empire programming, and had acted as a spy for Lionstone before finally turning on Owen and trying to enslave him with control words it had placed in his subconscious. Owen had had no choice but to use his Maze-given powers to destroy the AI. Only sometime later Oz came back. Or a voice in his head that only he could hear, claiming to be the AI Ozymandius. Certainly it was just as knowledgeable and irritating as the original. Owen had accepted the situation for the time being, for as long as the AI remained useful. And because he hadn’t the faintest idea how to get rid of the voice anyway.
Besides, he’d missed Oz.
“So, do I start the descent or not?” said Oz briskly. “We’re fully cloaked, but there’s no telling how long even Hadenman shields will hold up against the security systems Valentine’s installed here. What used to be standard weather-control satellites have been upgraded with really heavy-duty sensors and more weaponry than your average Fleet cruiser. When the Wolfe says Do Not Disturb, he means it.”
“Maintain orbit,” Owen said firmly. “I want a really good idea of what to expect dirtside before I commit us to a landing. Scan the area surrounding the Standing, ten-mile radius, and report on the local population’s situation.”
“Owen . . . I’ve already done that. There is no local population anymore.”
“What? ”
“I’ve scanned the surrounding areas to the limit of my sensors. There isn’t a single living soul outside of the Standing for hundreds of miles. I’m sorry, Owen.”
Owen shook his head slowly. He’d read the reports on Valentine’s destruction of Virimonde, watched Toby Shreck’s filmed coverage, seen interviews with the few survivors to get off-planet, but he’d always assumed they were exaggerated. No one could oversee the murder of a whole planet’s population just for the fun of it. Not even Valentine Wolfe. Deep down, part of him had desperately wanted to return home to the cheers of his people, overjoyed to have their rightful Lord back at last. He’d wanted to apologize for not being there to protect them. Wanted to promise them that things would be different now he was back. He’d keep them safe, protect them, guard them from all harm. They’d never be hurt again because he was off somewhere else being a hero of the rebellion. There was so much he’d wanted, needed, to say. He hadn’t wanted to believe that all his people were dead.
“What’s the matter?” said Hazel. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” said Owen. “I was just thinking. About the way things used to be here.”
“Don’t,” said Hazel. “That’s always been your problem, Deathstalker. Always living in the past.”
“I understand the past,” said Owen. “Things were simpler then. I understood my world and my Empire and my place in it. Or I thought I did. Since then I’ve seen the destruction of everything I ever believed in, lost everything I ever cared for, and now to top it all, I find I can’t go home again. Because Valentine Wolfe burned it all down and pissed on the ashes. Virimonde is dead.”
“We can’t know that for sure till we get down there and check for ourselves,” said Hazel. “Reports can be exaggerated; sensors can be mistaken. It’s a big world, Owen. He can’t have killed everything.”
“And if he has? If he’s done everything he’s supposed to have done?”
“Then we cut his black heart out, throw it on the ground, and stamp on it. And the same for everyone with him.”
Owen had to smile slightly. “Life’s always been so simple for you, hasn’t it, Hazel? Good guys and bad guys, and a direct, forceful answer to every problem. But you heard the man at the briefing. There are still powers that be who want Valentine brought back alive for a show trial. If only because they could sell holo rights for a small fortune.”
“I keep up with things,” said Hazel. “And for every faction that wants the Wolfe brought back alive, I’ll bet I can name ten who’d very much rather he came back with flies buzzing around him. Not least the clone and esper undergrounds. If word ever gets out that Valentine Wolfe had once been an active part and supporter of the undergrounds, they’d lose what little public support and popularity they have. And on top of that, there are any number of people who struck questionable deals with him in the past, and don’t want it coming out now they’ve re-created themselves as pure-hearted supporters of the rebellion.”
“And that’s why we’re going to bring the bastard back alive,” Owen said firmly. “Not necessarily in one piece, but definitely alive. I’m no man’s puppet, and no organization’s either. I need to send a signal that no one pressures me. And I won’t kill him just because I want to.”
“You and your damned conscience,” said Hazel. “All right, so we try to take him alive. What about his supporters?”
“Massacre the lot, for all I care.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Hazel.
Owen leaned back in his chair, interlocked his fingers before him, and stared at them thoughtfully. “He wasn’t always a monster, you know. Valentine. We were children together, moved in the same circles, went to the same parties. He seemed quite . . . normal then. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign then of the psychopath he became. Just another kid, perhaps a little quieter than most. Much like me. We were never actually friends, but I can remember good times we had together. And then we went our different ways, to be trained as a Wolfe and a Deathstalker, and I didn’t see him again for years. And sometimes I find myself wondering how two such similar children became such different adults.”
“People change,” said Hazel. “Whether they want to or not. Life writes our scripts, and we just get to ad lib now and again.”
Owen looked at her. “Why, Hazel, that was almost profound.”
“Don’t you patronize me, Deathstalker. I have a mind. I have read the occasional book in my time. When there was nothing else to do. I just meant that even while we’re busy changing the universe, it’s busy changing us. Look at you; you’re not the person you used to be, even a few years ago. Thank God. The Owen Deathstalker I saved from certain death down below is a very different man from the official hero who toppled an empire.”
“I know,” said Owen. “That bothers me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Hazel. “He really was a stuck-up little prig.”
Owen raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you stick with him?”
Hazel smiled. “I thought I saw potential in him.”
Owen’s mouth twitched. “I thought much the same about you.” And then he frowned again.
“Oh, hell, Owen, now what? I swear, you know more ways to depress yourself than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I was just thinking about Finlay Campbell. We should have included him on this trip.”
“We’ve been through this, Owen. The man is obsessed. He’s sworn a vendetta against Valentine. Sworn to kill the man, on his blood and on his honor. If we’re to keep our options open down there, we can’t afford to have the Campbell anywhere near us. He’s always been . . . erratic. They tried using him as a bounty hunter, but he always brought them back dead. Sometimes in pieces. Last I heard, his girlfriend, Evangeline, was trying to get him interested in politics. God help Parliament, that’s all I have to say.”