Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

invaluable. He could rely on her—probably.
    Half A Man pushed his chair away from the table, stood up, and moved over to the bed. He lay down on it without bothering to pull back the bedclothes. He didn't sleep anymore. Hadn't since the aliens worked on him. But he still made a point of resting a few hours every night so he could dream. Sometimes in his dreams he remembered some of the things they'd done to him, and then he woke screaming.
    But he needed to dream. He had to remember exactly what had been done to him.
    All of it, no matter how bad it got. Because the real horror was that the change they'd worked in him wasn't over yet. Every year the energy construct that made up the right half of his body grew a little larger, by eating up a little more of his human half. Only a very little. But it was an ongoing process that showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. Eventually, all his humanity would be gone, and he had no idea at all who or what he might be then.

    It also seemed to him more and more that the energy half of his body was slowly changing shape, becoming gradually less human and more something else. Something alien. He had no memory of what the aliens who changed him looked like, except briefly in his nightmares, but he found the hints in his changing energy half disquieting and disturbing. But even worse than that, he was beginning to worry that the energy half might have its own subordinate intelligence, its own secret thoughts, and just possibly its own hidden agenda. It was vital he hang on grimly to what was left of his humanity and his mind, for fear of what might replace it.
    Which was one of the few reasons he had to be glad he was here on Technos III.
    It would be good to be back in the field again. Mostly he ran a desk these days, but the Empress had wanted results on Technos III fast, and he grabbed the chance with both hands. Things were so much simpler in battle. It always felt good to be killing the Empire's enemies. According to all the reports, the Rejects and their new leader, whoever he really was, would make a good enemy.
    They were clever, cunning, and brave fighters. A real challenge for once. He'd enjoy killing them. And just maybe he could use the occasion to teach Edge, Burr, and Shoal to be part of an armed fighting force. Why not? He'd taught them how to be Investigators in the first place.
    Toby Shreck had charmed, persuaded, and bullied various factory personnel into letting him use part of the complex's communications center as a mixing room for the broadcast he had to put together for the next day. He had a hell of a lot of footage, courtesy of the redoubtable Flynn, who was probably currently relaxing in his quarters in a nice little twin set and pearls, hopefully behind a locked door, leaving Toby to do all the hard word of choosing which precious moments of
    recorded history would make it into the final mix. Toby glared at the viewscreens and control panels before him, poured himself another stiff drink, used it to wash down a couple of uppers, and stuck his cigar back in his mouth.
    Two in the morning, wired out of his skull, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts could follow. That was how you got your best work done. If you were Toby Shreck on a tight deadline.
    He missed having room service to shout at, but otherwise this was business as usual. The whiskey burned in his chest and in his mind, the uppers hammered through his bloodstream, and the cigar smoke kept him balanced as he sorted the gold from the dross. He had to make this compilation look good. Really good. The live footage of Half A Man and his Investigators had made people sit up and take notice, and won him his best viewing share ever. But it hadn't made him any friends among his fellow reporters, who had been besieging the Wolfe complex with requests, demands, and pleas for entry visas ever since. The Wolfes, not surprisingly, were stonewalling. They still thought they could control things, as long as it was just Toby Shreck and his cameraman. Toby grinned around his cigar. He'd show them.
    But he couldn't continue to rely on lucking into great found footage. He'd caught everyone's attention, but to hold onto it he'd have to follow up with a bloody good program about what was really going on down here on Technos III. It hadn't been easy. Everyone in and around the factory complex was being very careful about what they said in front of Toby, whether Flynn was with him or not. The word had