Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

till we're in orbit."
    "Yes, Owen."
    "Then where?" said Hazel, following him back into the first compartment.
    Owen shrugged. "I was hoping you'd have some ideas. I'm new to the outlaw business. Where can we go where we'll be safe from the kind of people who'll be coming after me? And before you say anything, no, I am not interested in joining up with any rebel groups against the Empire. I am still loyal to the Iron Throne and the Empire, if not the Empress."
    "Nicely rationalized," said Ozymandius.
    "There's only one place we can go," said Hazel. "Mistworld, the rebel planet.
    But it's a one-way trip. You'll be safe enough there, but no one ever leaves Mistworld."
    "Mistworld. I might have known." Hazel looked at Owen inquiringly, and he shook his head. "Don't ask. Very well, for want of anywhere better to go, Mistworld it is. Set the coordinates, Oz. Let me know when we're ready to make the hyper
    jump."
    "Yes, Owen. We are now in orbit."
    "What, already?" said Hazel. "I didn't even know we'd taken off."
    "I told you this yacht was special," said Owen smugly. "Oz, show us what's happening on the main viewscreen."
    One of the walls became a viewscreen, showing Virimonde far below, and an Imperial starcruiser heading straight for them. Even as they watched, a second starcruiser dropped out of hyperspace behind the first.
    "Two starcruisers?" said Owen, staring at the screen in disbelief. "They sent Mo bloody starcruisers to get me? Cut me some slack, dammit."
    "There is a possibility this might be something to do with me," said Hazel reluctantly. "My previous ship rammed a starcruiser just after I got away in the escape pod. Presumably they got a distress call out as they went down."
    "Thanks a whole bunch," said Owen. "Any other nasty little surprises you've been keeping from me? No, tell me later. Oz, shields up and go hyper the moment the power levels are steady. I don't know why they're not firing already___"
    "Presumably they're being extra cautious, after already losing one ship," said the AI. "It's not something that happens all that often. They're trying to contact us. Should I talk to them?"
    "It couldn't hurt. Lie a lot."
    "There's no way this ship can stand up to that kind of firepower," said Hazel.
    "And there's no way we can get out of here before they open fire."
    "Not necessarily," said Owen. "This ship has a new kind of hyperdrive. Very powerful, very fast."
    "Why do I get this strong feeling that there's a but hanging on the end of that?"

    "But, it's rather… untested. No one's had a chance to use it much yet, and there's always the chance they haven't got all the bugs out. I always intended to take her on a long shakedown run, but what with one thing and another, I never found the time. And then circumstances rather caught up with me."
    "Great," said Hazel. "Just great. If I had anything left in my stomach, I think I'd be sick."
    "All systems are ready, Owen," said the AI. "Or as ready as they're ever going to be. Power's up and all tests are positive. I'm lying my head off to both starcruisers, but I don't think they're in a listening mood. Both are now in firing range. It's time to go, Owen. There's nothing left to hold us here."
    The viewscreen filled with light as both starcruisers opened fire on the Sunstrider. Owen and Hazel winced instinctively.
    Take us out of here, Oz," said Owen. "We're going to Mistworld."
    "And the good God grant us luck," said Hazel. "Because we're going to need it."
    The Sunstrider dropped into hyperspace and was gone, and the starcruisers were left to orbit Virimonde alone.

Chapter 3
    Fashion, Paranoia and Elves
    The Imperial Palace lay deep in the rotten heart of Golgotha, homeworld of the Empire: the concentration of power, and of destiny. It lay hidden away, far below the surface, drawing its power from a geothermal tap; sunk so deep even a scorching by the entire Fleet couldn't touch it. Up above, the delicate towers and pastel cities of the elite, the noble and the moneyed. Down below, like a cancer in a rose, a massive steel bunker a mile and a half wide, the home and fortress of Her Imperial Majesty, Lionstone XIV. And within that bunker, behind
    the many layers of cutting-edge technology, a court of gleaming steel and brass where the whole Empire came to pay homage to its ruler. The personification of honor and duty, law and justice, whose whisper was louder than thunder, and more far reaching.
    Lionstone XIV, the perfect and divine, the worshipped and