Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

crack, and that's all there is to it."
    "Since when were you in charge of this mission? If I want to take him, I'll take him!"
    "Hazel, this is really not a good idea!"
    "Excuse me," said the Investigator firmly.
    "Shut up!" said Owen and Hazel, glaring at each other.
    Investigator Razor shrugged, and surged up the last few stairs impossibly quickly, his two swords swinging in shimmering blurs. Owen and Hazel stood their
    ground, swords at the ready, and dropped into boost. Blood pounded in their heads, and strength burned in their arms like living flames. Razor hit them like a thunderstorm, his swords like lightning. The air was full of the ring of steel on steel as Owen and Hazel were driven back, step by step, unable to meet the sheer ferocity of his attack.
    Razor left the stairwell behind him, moving implacably forward, until Owen and Hazel bumped up against the corridor wall behind them, and there was nowhere else to go. Owen and Hazel separated, and attacked him from two sides at once.
    Razor held his ground and stood them both off, his blades moving too fast to be seen. Owen ducked at the last moment, and a flashing sword cut a groove right into the wall where his head had been. Hazel lunged forward, hoping to catch Razor momentarily off balance, and then had to hurl herself to one side as a waiting sword leaped out to meet her. She hit the floor rolling and was quickly back on her feet, breathing hard. Blood soaked her left sleeve, but she ignored it, cushioned from pain and shock by the boost.
    Owen had already realized they couldn't beat Razor on their own. The Investigator had been trained to the peak of perfection in all the killing arts, and Owen didn't have the expertise to match him. Neither did Hazel. But they did have the boost, and what the Maze had done to them. He reached out to Hazel through the mental link, the undermind they didn't have to understand to use, and their minds touched. They threw themselves at Razor, attacking in perfect synchronization, two swords wielded by one concerted will. Razor fell back a step, and then another, but that was as far as he would go. Even joined, Owen and Hazel could only ever be his equal.
    And there was no saying which way the fight might have gone, if Razor's kimono hadn't suddenly burst into roaring flames. He threw himself to one side, rolling
    on the carpeted floor to try and crush the flames, but they just blazed the brighter. The flames were already licking up around his face as he lurched to his feet and ran off down the corridor, but he never once made a sound. He disappeared around a corner, still burning, and was gone, and all they could hear was the departing echo of his feet.
    Owen and Hazel dropped out of the boost and the mental link, and clung to each other as they waited for the reaction to pass. Hazel's cut on her arm had been messy but minor and was already healing itself. It still took a while for the trembling to stop and their breathing to return to something like normal. When they finally let go of each other and looked around, they found themselves facing three women with the same face, smiling sardonically at them from the top of the stairs. Clones, Owen thought immediately. Presumably from the underground. They looked tough enough.
    All three women were wearing battered leathers adorned with brightly polished lengths of steel chain, over T-shirts bearing the legend "BORN TO BURN." They looked to be in their mid twenties, but their faces were somehow older, more harshly used. They were all short and stocky, with bare muscular arms, and their long dark hair was full of colorful knotted ribbons. There were splashes of color on their faces, too, perhaps to disguise how pretty they might have been if it weren't for their cold eyes and determined mouths.
    "Can we help you?" said Owen politely, not lowering his sword. He had a suspicion he was smelling strongly of sweat, but decided he wouldn't bring it up if they didn't.
    "The seagulls are flying low tonight," said the woman in the middle, meaningfully.

    Owen looked at her and then turned and looked at Hazel, who looked back at him.
    "The seagulls are flying low tonight," said the woman in the middle with extra emphasis.
    "Sorry," said Owen. "Didn't quite catch that. The seagulls are what?"
    "Hold everything," said Hazel. "Seagulls. That was part of the contact phrase, wasn't it?"
    "I don't know," said Owen helplessly. "I can't remember. It's gone right out of my head."
    "If I don't