Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

planet Shandrakor. The traitor Owen Deathstalker is traveling there with other enemies of the Empire, including the notorious Jack Random. A spy in their company has provided us with the exact coordinates for Shandrakor.
    You are to capture these people alive. They have knowledge of the exact location for the Darkvoid Device. You are hereby authorized to take any and all actions necessary to retrieve the Device and return it to the Empire. After you have the Device, you may execute the outlaws. This information is classified, your eyes only. Message ends."
    His face vanished from the screen. Silence looked at Frost. "Officially, you
    didn't hear that."
    "Of course not, Captain. Pity we're leaving Grendel just as it was getting interesting. Still, the Deathstalker, Random and the Device… now that's what I call a mission."
    "The Darkvoid Device," said Silence. "I can't believe that nightmare's turned up again after all these years."
    "We'd better hope it has," said Frost. "It's about the only thing I can think of that could take on the AIs on Shub, if they really are turning the Sleepers into Ghost Warriors. Still, Jack Random and the Deathstalker… I'll enjoy killing them."
    "I thought you'd like that bit," Silence said dryly. "Just remember we have to get our hands on the Device first. Dead men don't share secrets. So, Shandrakor here we come. I always thought that planet was a myth, a legend, like the Wolfling World. Just goes to show."
    "What?"
    "Pardon?"
    "It just goes to show what?"
    "I don't know," said Silence. "Something."
    "Very erudite," said Frost. "Well, here's one more thing for you to think about.
    Stelmach seemed pretty sure that the Sleepers were genetically engineered, which suggests rather strongly that they must have been created with a particular purpose in mind. Or at the very least, a particular enemy. What do you suppose could be so dangerous, so deadly, that the Sleepers had to be created to fight it? And is it still out there somewhere, just waiting for us to stumble over it?"

    Silence looked at her for a moment. "I don't know why I keep you around, Investigator. You can be really depressing when you put your mind to it."
    Frost nodded calmly. "It's a gift."

Chapter 7
    A Wedding
    It was hot under the lights of the Arena, but then it always was. The Masked Gladiator lay on his back on the bloodied sands, looking up at the angel hovering above him on outstretched wings and wondered if he was going to die after all. He rolled to one side, grunting with the effort, and the angel's clawed feet missed him by inches as it swooped past. The Masked Gladiator lurched to his feet, sword at the ready once again, and studied the soaring angel dispassionately. Whoever had gengineered the angel had put a lot of thought into it. The wide feathered wings and a touch of psychokinesis enabled it to fly effortlessly, which meant it could attack from all kinds of interesting directions at incredible speeds. The claws on its hands and feet were long and curved, strong enough to tear right through his steelmesh armor, and more than enough to gut him quite efficiently, or rip out his throat in a moment, if he left it undefended. He watched the angel fly, half-silhouetted against the lights of the Arena, and the air was dry and hot as hell itself.
    The angel swept back and forth around him, darting in and out, always staying out of reach of his sword. The creature had to be tiring just as fast as he was, but it showed no signs of slowing its attack. It swept in close, the battering air from its widespread wings throwing him to the sands again with brutal force.
    Somehow he clung onto his sword and got to one knee again, then the angel seized him from behind with muscular arms and carried him up into the air. The fierce grip forced the breath from his lungs, but at least his arms were still free.

    The sands swept by below him with dizzying speed, and he looked away.
    He could feel the angel's panting breath on the back of his neck, and he slammed his head back into the angel's face with all his strength. He felt as much as heard the angel's nose break, and warm blood sprayed over his helm and shoulders, but its hold didn't weaken. The Gladiator wondered hazily what the damned creature intended to do to him, and then he saw looming up before him the pennant hanging from its pointed steel pole, and he knew. All the angel had to do was drop him on the pole at this speed, and it would be over. And impalement was a