Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

ragged around the edges just now, but Adrienne liked them a lot more. She'd always had a weakness for the mentally challenged. Finlay and Evangeline had been in different worlds for too long, becoming different people who had nothing in common except their love, but in the end it was enough. It was strong and real enough to hold even them together. Adrienne could recognize that. She'd have had to be blind not to.
    But for once, she didn't know what to do for the best. Finlay would have to be really crazy to go on this mission, but all the signs were he was a long way down that road already. Nothing she could say or do would change his mind. She wasn't used to that. She'd never been in a situation before where her arrogance and mastery of words couldn't get her what she wanted. She'd relied on her acid tongue to get her own way for so long, that she was frankly lost for an alternative. She didn't want to lose this new, interesting Finlay, now she'd found him. She was surprised to find how much that mattered to her. Finlay and Evangeline finally came up for air, and she coughed meaningfully. It was a good cough. On a good day, she could silence a room with it. The two lovers turned to look at her without letting go of each other.
    "Before you say anything," Evangeline said firmly to Finlay, "Adrienne and I
    have become friends. She gave me the strength to do something very unpleasant but utterly necessary that I'd been putting off for far too long. And no, I'm not going to tell you what. Suffice it to say it's because of her support that I'll be able to spend more time down here in the future."
    "Thank you for that at least, Addie," said Finlay.
    "You're so welcome," said Adrienne. They looked at each other for a long moment, but had the sense to leave it at that.
    "So," said Finlay. "What are your plans, Ad? Going to join the rebellion?"
    "Maybe," said Adrienne. "Things have been getting pretty tough for me upstairs.
    I could use a new direction and a measure of security. Tell me, Finlay, were you really a fighter in the Arena?"
    "He was the Masked Gladiator," said Evangeline, and she and Finlay both laughed aloud at the expression on Adrienne's face. She quickly pulled herself together and managed to laugh with them.
    "Who knows," she said, "if I put my mind to it, maybe I can nag Lionstone into making reforms."
    "If anyone could, you could," said Finlay generously.
    Finlay teleported into the interrogation center with a sword in his hand and grim determination in his heart. He snapped into being halfway down a dimly lit corridor, facing half a dozen rather surprised-looking guards. They had swords in their hands, too, but it didn't help them. Finlay plowed straight into them, his sword flashing in short, brutal arcs, and blood-choked screams filled the corridor. He killed them all in under a minute, and then stood poised and ready, listening for reinforcements. The seconds passed, and no one came to investigate. The few brief sounds from the onesided slaughter obviously hadn't traveled far. Finlay sniffed dismissively, flicking drops of blood from his
    blade. Not much fun. Strictly amateur hour. No challenge at all. If this was the Empire's idea of a trap, this mission was going to be a walkover. Then he noted the cameras set into the ceiling, watching him with glowing unblinking eyes, and decided it might be a good idea if he got a move on after all. Given what the cameras had just observed, reinforcements were probably already on their way, in great numbers, with guns and guard dogs. He'd never liked dogs.
    He looked up and down the corridor, and wished he'd thought to ask for a map.
    The corridor was sparsely lit by dull-glowing lamps set into the ceiling. The walls were bare featureless steel, with no markings or signs. Narrow doors led off into interrogation cells at regular intervals—solid steel doors, sealed with electronic locks. Deep shadows lay undisturbed to every side, and there was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air, almost but not quite masking other, more unpleasant smells. Julian Skye was here somewhere, but exactly where was anyone's guess. The underground had taken pains not to send him to the exact location of Skye's beacon. Materializing inside a locked cell, where everyone would be expecting him, had not struck anyone as a good idea, least of all Finlay. So they picked the nearest open space and dropped him there. Finlay looked around him vaguely, hefted his sword, and for want of