Deathstalker - Twilight Of The Empire Omnibus Part 3

"Yes, Director?"

"Have you any more information on those strange readings your people picked up from theBalefire ?"

"Nothing definite, sir. Our sensors detected a concentration of energy levels which suggests that most of the ship's pa.s.sengers are being carried in cryogenic units, but even so, our espers are still picking up some very unusual life signs. There's something strange aboard theBalefire , Director. Something cold and powerful and . . . alien."

"Alien? You mean an alien life form?"

"I don't know, Director. None of us have ever come across anything like this before. Whatever it is the Balefire' s carrying, it's well shielded. It could be anywhere aboard the ship."

"Do you think this creature's dangerous?"

"I couldn't say, Director. But it is disturbing."

Steel pursed his lips thoughtfully and tapped them with an index finger. "Get me theBalefire' s Captain."

"Yes, Director."

There was a pause as the screen went blank, and then a slow, grim voice issued from the monitor's speakers.

"This is Captain Starlight, of theBalefire ."

"Welcome to Mistport, Captain," said Steel.

"Never mind the d.a.m.ned amenities; my hull's breached in a dozen places, my ship's systems are falling apart, and my cargo hold's full of refugees. How long before I can unload and get a repair crew in here?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. Until theBalefire' s been fully inspected and cleared, no one will be allowed to leave your ship for any reason. My security people are armed and have been given orders to shoot on sight."

"What?"

"Mistport's already suffered one Empire plague ship, Captain. We don't take chances anymore."

There was a long silence.

"How are your crew, Captain?" asked Steel politely. "What condition are they in?"

"Pretty bad. Most of them are dead, back on Tannim. I had to raise ship while I had the chance; I couldn't wait for them. . . . The few I have with me are exhausted. They've each had to do a dozen men's work. They need medical attention, Director. I take it you will at least allow a doctor to come on board?"

"I'm sorry," said Steel.

"You can't be serious, d.a.m.n you! My crew needs a doctor. They could die!"

"Then they die."

The words seemed to echo endlessly on the silence.

"If just one of my men dies needlessly . . ."

"Save your threats, Captain. I've heard them all before."

"Aye. I'm sure you have."

"My espers did a thorough scan on your ship, Captain. They picked up some . . . interesting readings."

"Is that it? Is that the reason you're keeping us cooped up in this death ship? Just because a few b.l.o.o.d.y freaks have a bad feeling about us? I'll have your head for this!"

"I doubt it," said Steel calmly. "But I may have to take yours. We'll talk again later, Captain."

He broke the connection without waiting for an answer. Everyone on Mistworld understood the concept of the Trojan horse. For those with short memories, Mistport's cemeteries were full of reminders. There was a sudden blast of noise behind him, and Steel winced as he turned quickly round to find Jamie Royal leaning nonchalantly against the open cubicle door. The young esper grinned at Steel, and trimmed an immaculate fingernail with a wicked-looking dirk.

"Gideon, how are you doing?"

"Close the door!" Steel roared. "Can't hear myself think with all that noise!"

Jamie nodded casually, put away his knife, and pushed the door shut with his elbow. The uproar of voices and machinery was cut off instantly. Steel leant back in his chair and hid a smile behind his hand.

He liked Jamie, though he often wondered why. The man drank too much, lived beyond his means, and would come to a bad end. If an outraged husband didn't kill him first.

"h.e.l.lo, Jamie. What are you doing here?"

"I've been helping install your new cannon."

Steel raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you develop a taste for honest work?"

Jamie smiled sheepishly. "My creditors were becoming insistent."

"I'm surprised they could fine you."

"So was I. I must be slipping."

Steel had to laugh. "So, Jamie, how did you come to be involved with our disrupters? What you know about high tech could probably be engraved on your thumbnail without undue difficulty."

"I've been acting as an interface between the technicians and your living computer." The young esper shuddered suddenly. "You can't imagine what that's like, Gideon. Those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have just enough mind left to realise what's been done to them. Neither man nor machine, but something caught horribly between the two. Inside, they're screaming all the time."

"You think I like using that monstrosity? I don't have any choice, Jamie. We've less than half the computers we used to have, and those still on-line are all linked into vital areas of port machinery. We need those people, Jamie; the port can't function without them."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No. It doesn't."

Jamie smiled suddenly. "Hark at me, preaching to you. What is the world coming to?"

"I sometimes wonder," growled Steel. "What do you think of the new defence systems?"

"They're all right, if you like that sort of thing."

"You might try and sound a little more impressed, Jamie. Those cannon are strong enough to punch through an Imperial cruiser's shields."

Jamie laughed, and seated himself elegantly on the edge of Steel's desk, one leg idly swinging. "Still putting your faith in technology rather than people, Gideon? The psionic shield has kept Mistworld safe for almost two hundred years, and no d.a.m.ned machinery is ever going to replace us. We're better and faster than any gun you ever saw."

Steel groaned theatrically. "Not you as well, Jamie. I've already spent hours arguing this out with the d.a.m.ned Council." He broke off suddenly, and looked grimly at the young esper. "I had time for a little chat with your grandfather. He's worried about you."

"He's always worried about me."

"Usually with good reason. Are you in trouble again, Jamie?"

"No more than usual."

"Jamie . . ."

"Don't worry, Gideon. I know what I'm doing. I owe a few people money, that's all. I'm taking care of it."

Steel knew better than to push for an answer once Jamie's face took on that bland, innocent look. In his own way, Jamie had his pride. He got himself into messes, so he had to get himself out. If it had been anyone else, Steel would have called it a matter of honour. . . .

"So, what can I do for you, Jamie?"

"It seems I need your permission to leave the centre, and right at this moment a rather delightful blonde is waiting impatiently for me to join her."

"Is she married?"

"How would I know?"

"I thought you were still seeing Madelaine Skye; or has she been arrested for tech-running again?"

Jamie's face froze suddenly. "I couldn't say. I won't be seeing her again."

"But I thought you and she . . ."

"Not anymore."

Steel decided not to ask; he didn't think he really wanted to know. His life was complicated enough without getting himself involved in the never-ending intrigues of Jamie Royal's love life. "All right," he said finally, smiling in spite of himself. "I'll fix it so you can leave early. We can manage without you, I suppose."

Jamie grinned, snapped off a salute, and left the cubicle, carefully shutting the door behind him. Steel watched him walk jauntily away, and shook his head ruefully. Jamie would never change. Steel turned his attention back to his command monitor, and for a long time he sat quietly, studying the mist-shrouded hulk of the starshipBalefire . After a while he leant forward and tapped a code into his console.

"Yes, Director?"

"Call Investigator Topaz of the city Watch and tell her . . . tell her she's needed."

Steel signed off without waiting for his order to be acknowledged, and sank back in his chair, his fat hands clasped loosely across his ample stomach. It had been almost three years since he'd seen Topaz; he'd hoped the gap would be a great deal longer. Out of all the people the Bloodhawk had sent after him, only Topaz had come close to actually proving anything against him. But with a strange refugee ship on the main landing pad, and the disrupter cannon still being installed . . . Steel smiled sourly. Whatever else you could say about her, Topaz was very good at finding answers.

Steel's hand strayed to his bald patch again, and he pulled it back.I worry too much , he thought irritably.Getting soft . He picked up his cup of unsugared coffee and sipped at it. The coffee had gone cold.

Topaz moved slowly about her living room, picking things up and putting them down again. A log stirred in the open fire, and the flames jumped higher for a moment before the wood settled again. The crackling flames were very loud on the quiet. A single lamp shed a warm, comfortable glow across the room, but the shadows were still very dark. Topaz moved slowly among her possessions as though searching for a lifeline, but they gave her no comfort. She looked at her padded armchair beside the fire, but didn't sit down. She was too restless to settle yet. The room seemed too big and empty with just her in it. She and Michael Gunn had lived together as man and wife for almost seven years, and in all those years they'd never been separated from each other for more than a few days at a time, and then only rarely. She looked at his chair, on the other side of the fireplace, and realised with something like shock that he'd never sit in it again. She looked away, but everywhere she looked reminded her of Michael.

And Michael Gunn was dead.

It hurts . . .

She'd made the arrangements for his funeral. Everything had been taken care of. Michael had wanted to be cremated; he didn't believe in graves or cemeteries, and he had a quiet horror of the bodys.n.a.t.c.hers.

No flowers, by request. Michael always said that flowers were for the living. So Topaz had accompanied her husband's body to the crematorium and watched impa.s.sively as his coffin was consigned to the flames. A small choir sang something tasteful in the background. Afterwards, the manager gave her an urn full of ashes he said were Michael's, and Topaz took it home with her. It didn't weight much. She put the urn in a cupboard under the stairs and left it there.

Died in the morning, cremated in the afternoon. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

It hurts . . . like somebody hit me.

She wandered slowly, listlessly, through the living room, her mind far away as she searched for some kind of reason for Michael's death. He had his share of enemies, all mercenaries did, but few of them had the money or the resources to reach him on Mistworld. And a.s.sa.s.sins with energy guns were very expensive. Lord Raven had sworn vengeance over the affair of Shadrach's Burning.Gunn and Topaz running sword in hand through the blazing courtyard while a hundred warriors in jet and silver murdered each other in a mindless frenzy. Behind and above them, the ancient castle blazed against the moonless night . But the old Lord had been mad and dying even then, and his son had shown no interest in feud and vendetta.

Tobias Skinner still carried a grudge from the time Topaz and Gunn had murdered his brother.The crowd roared as the slavemaster died, and Topaz held up the severed head to show it to the crowd . But Skinner no longer had the guts or the money for this kind of vengeance. Topaz shook her head slowly, and finally sank into her armchair. None of it made any sense. She'd already thought of a dozen old enemies, and dismissed them all. If any of them had arrived at Mistport, now or in the past, she'd have known. She still had her contacts.

She sat brooding in her chair, her muscles aching from the continuous strain of being unable to relax. Her wounded thigh still troubled her with a dull persistent ache. Her head was pounding and her hands shook.

She folded her hands together in her lap and stared into the fire. The day was slowly wearing on, and tired as she was, she still hadn't gone to bed. She had tried, but found on entering the bedroom that she couldn't stand the thought of sleeping alone in the empty bed. She didn't feel like sleeping anyway. She leant her head back against the chair and stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Thoughts moved sluggishly through her mind, drifting here and there, unable to rest. Memories, plans for revenge, theories of guilt and murder . . . none of them made any sense. The memories cut at her like so many knives, but she couldn't get away from them. Everywhere she looked brought back another memory. And anyway, she wouldn't give them up even if she could. They were all she had left of Michael now. Emotions roared within her like great consuming flames, but still her face remained calm and composed. She'd worn her mask a long time, and knew that without it she'd break down completely. And she didn't have time for that now. She'd do her mourning later, after she'd tracked down Michael's killer. She had no faith in the Watch finding the murderer. Mistport was full of murderers. And besides, the Watch dealt only in justice.

Topaz wanted revenge.

She reached out to the table beside her chair and picked up a small wooden casket. She held it before her for a long moment, just looking at it, remembering, and then she snapped open the catch and raised the lid. Inside the casket was an ornately fashioned steel bracelet. Topaz took it out and hefted it in her hand, then slipped it round her left wrist and locked it firmly in place. It was a personal force shield. They were rare on Mistworld, even more so than energy guns. Topaz had brought it with her when she and Gunn had escaped from Darkmoon's Standing and headed straight for Mistworld. She hadn't worn it in Mistport; with Gunn and the Watch to guard her back, she'd never felt the need. Now he was gone, and she had a killer to find, alone. The bracelet weighed heavy on her wrist. Michael had been working on it for the past few months, trying out an idea he'd had. Michael loved to tinker.

Topaz stirred restlessly, needing to be going somewhere, doing something . . . But as yet she had no clues or leads to follow. Her mind was still too shocked to work logically, and she knew it. Until the shock wore off she was in no condition to begin her search. She sighed quietly. In the meantime, she needed something to do, to occupy her mind and keep her from thinking. She knew she ought to be gathering up Michael's things and sorting through his . . . effects, to decide what she was keeping, and what would have to go. But she couldn't do that yet. That was too final, too much like saying goodbye forever.

The monitor screen on the far wall chimed discreetly, and Topaz jumped at the sudden noise. She waited a moment to be sure she had control of herself again, and then she got up from her chair and walked unhurriedly over to the monitor. She entered her code and the screen lit up to show her a familiar face: John Silver, the duty esper at Mistport command centre.

"h.e.l.lo, John."

"h.e.l.lo, Topaz. I heard about Michael. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."

"Have the Watch come up with any leads?"

"Not yet."

Silver hesitated. "Topaz . . . are you all right?"

"I'm fine, John. What was it you wanted?"

"Port Director Steel asked me to call you. We have a problem with a refugee ship that landed here earlier today. Steel wants you to come and take a look at it."

Topaz smiled coldly. "He must really be in a panic if he asked for me."

"Topaz, if you don't want to do this, I quite understand. We can always find somebody else."

"No, I have no other commitments. I'm free to take the a.s.signment."

"If you're sure . . ."

"I'm sure."

"Very well. The Director will meet you on the main landing pad in two hours' time. The ship is the Balefire , out of Tannim. I'll tell the Director you're on your way."