Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

sick. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. Half starved, the bones of her face jutted out against the taut skin. She looked up at him with empty eyes, beyond hope or despair, no room in her face for anything but pain.
    "Plasma baby," said Hazel quietly behind him. "They start them young in Mistport."
    "She's just a child," said Owen harshly. "Dear God, what have I done?"
    "She would have killed you," said Hazel, "and never given it a second thought.
    Finish it, Owen. We have to go."
    Owen looked back at her almost angrily. "What do you mean, finish it?"
    "You want to leave her like that? If she's lucky, she'll bleed to death. If not, and the gangrene doesn't kill her slowly, she'll be a cripple for what remains of her life. And Mistport's a bad place to be weak and vulnerable. It's kinder to put her out of her suffering. Do you want me to do it for you?"
    "No!" said Owen. "No. I'm a Deathstalker. I clear up my own messes."
    He drew the dagger from his boot and thrust it expertly into the girl's heart.
    She didn't moan or shudder. She just stopped breathing, and her eyes stared straight past him. Owen pulled the dagger out and then just sat there, rocking slightly, trying to hold back the emotions within him. Hazel hovered at his
    side, unsure what to do for the best. She wanted to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, let him know she was there and understood, but she wasn't sure how he'd take it. He was strong man, and a proud one, too, but he still had unexpected vulnerabilities. And if you had any weaknesses, you could be sure Mistworld would find them.
    Hazel hadn't been sure the Deathstalker had any soft spots in him. He'd always seemed the perfect warrior and aristocrat. She was seeing a new side of him now, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. Being weak could get you killed when you were an outlaw. She put a tentative hand on his shoulder, ready to draw it back in a moment, but he didn't even know she was there. She could feel the tension under her hand and knew it was rage as much as sorrow that boiled within him. She looked back at the Hadenman, but he just looked back at her with his inhuman golden eyes, and she had to look away. Owen stood up suddenly, still looking down at the pathetic little body.
    "This is wrong," he said flatly. "No one should have to live like this, die like this."
    "It happens everywhere," said Hazel. "Not just on Mist world. You're rich, titled; what would you know about living in the underclass?"
    "I should have known. I'm a historian, and I studied the records. I knew things like this used to happen. I just never thought…"
    "History is what the Empire says it is," said Moon in his rasping, buzzing voice. "They decide what gets recorded. But even the brightest flower has manure at its roots."
    "No," said Owen. "It doesn't have to be this way. I will not stand for this. I am a Deathstalker, and I will not allow this to continue."

    "What are you going to do?" said Hazel. "Overthrow the Empire?"
    Owen looked at her for a long moment. "I don't know. Maybe. If that's what it takes." He turned away from her and the dead child and walked over to the Hadenman. He studied Moon thoughtfully. "Last I heard, there'd been less than a dozen sightings of Hadenmen throughout the Empire. What do you think I can do for you? The Empress put an order of execution on you all as a threat to the Empire and Humanity itself. Can't say I blame her, given the results of your rebellion. You killed millions in your uprising. If you'd succeeded—"
    "We'd have killed millions more," said Moon. It was hard to read emotions in his inhuman and buzzing voice, but Owen thought he sensed as much regret as defiance. "We were fighting for our freedom. Our survival. We lost that battle, but the war goes on. I am not the last of my kind. On the lost world of Haden, floating alone in its dark void, an army of my people lies sleeping in the Tomb of the Hadenmen, waiting only for the call to wake again. We learned the hard way that we couldn't win fighting alone. We need allies. Allies like you, Deathstalker. Your only chance for survival now is to raise an army and go to war against the Empress Lionstone. You are a Deathstalker; many would follow you where they wouldn't follow another. Your name always stood for truth and justice and triumph in battle. I speak for the Hadenmen. We would fight beside you, in return for our freedom."
    "Hold it, hold it," said Owen, putting up his hands defensively.