Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

legs and tested a loose tooth with the tip of his tongue. He wouldn't meet
    Valentine's eyes. They upset him too much.
    "I don't know their names. They didn't offer them, and for the kind of credits they were putting up, we didn't ask. Never saw their faces, either. Had them hidden behind holo masks. Man and a woman. Young, rich, arrogant; aristos like you, by their accents. But they did leave something behind; something that might interest you. It's in my pouch, over there."
    He nodded gingerly in the direction of a hip pouch lying abandoned on one side of the fight. It was still sealed. Valentine walked over and picked it up with one thumb and forefinger. He brought it back and dropped it in the Demon's lap.
    He winced at the impact, and Valentine smiled down at him.
    "Open it. And be very careful. After all, there might be a booby trap of some kind, mightn't there?"
    The Demon smiled mirthlessly and fumbled at the pouch's straps with shaking fingers. His face was pale and blotchy and the comedown from the drugs was obviously getting to him. Valentine watched him dispassionately. Amateurs had no business meddling with drugs. He looked back at the front door. One of the Demons had activated the "Closed" sign embedded in the glass of the door. That, together with the swiftness of the actual fight, had kept anyone from breezing into the shop in search of Georgios, but it wouldn't do to hang about too long.
    Some people, such as those of Valentine's rank, would only see the "Closed" sign as a challenge. They might even kick the door in, if they were sufficiently annoyed. Valentine would have. And the last thing he needed was to be found surrounded by dead bodies and soaked in their blood. It would be difficult to explain and harder still to cover up. The authorities would take a great deal of expensive soothing, and his father would be furious. Valentine winced. No, that wouldn't do at all.

    It occurred to him that the Demon was taking an uncommonly long time to get the pouch open. He stepped forward impatiently and then stopped dead in his tracks as the Demon opened the pouch, reached in and pulled out a disrupter. Valentine froze where he was, his mind racing. The energy weapon changed everything. There was no way a small-time street tough could have got his hands on a disrupter through normal channels. It was death for such as him to even possess such a weapon.
    But the gun in the Demon's hand was real enough, which suggested the Demons'
    mysterious patrons really had been aristocrats after all. Valentine ran quickly through the drugs still available in his system. He'd used up most of the useful ones, and he was pretty sure the Demon would shoot him if he made any move for his silver pill box. He could still jump the tough and trust his reflexes were in better shape than the Demon's. He could also get himself killed. He decided he was going to stand very still and wait for an inspiration to strike him.
    The Demon covered him with the energy gun, though it was all he could do to keep it steady. There was a wildness in his eyes that Valentine didn't like at all.
    And yet it occurred to him that the Demon had had plenty of time to shoot him, if that was what he intended. And if he'd had an energy gun all along, why hadn't he used it during the fight? And then, as Valentine watched, the Demon slowly turned the energy gun on himself, his face full of surprise and horror, pressed the barrel against his forehead and depressed the stud. His head exploded in a splatter of blood and brains that rained down all over the shop.
    Valentine cursed mildly. The Demon had obviously been programmed by his patrons not to reveal any secrets. And that was interesting. It suggested that not only did the patrons have access to a mind tech, but that the Demons knew things that
    their patrons couldn't afford to have revealed. Valentine smiled slowly as he wiped the fresh blood from his face with a scented handkerchief. He'd already worked out who the patrons were. Who they had to be.
    He made his way to the living quarters at the back of the shop in search of a cloak he could use to cover his bloodstained clothes. He'd have to replace them before he rejoined his Family. Wouldn't do to have them asking question, and besides, he hated to be seen not looking his best. He had an image to maintain.
    He glance back at the dead bodies littering the floor. Poor Georgios.
    Ah, dear brother, dear sister… what am I going to do with you?
    Daniel and