Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

had taken place within Owen and Hazel, but it wasn't enough to tell her what those changes were. She sensed that, in their own ways, Owen and Hazel were just as powerful as she was, and she didn't seem able to make up her mind as to whether she should be frightened or awed or jealous.
    Owen had used that uncertainty to talk her into quietly probing Young Jack's mind, to see what was in there. To their mutual surprise, it turned out that as far as Jenny's esp was concerned, there was no one there. Which meant that either Jack had amazingly tough mental shields, or… So far they hadn't been able to come up with an or they liked. Owen looked away from Jenny's burning gaze. As if he didn't have enough things to worry about.
    "Hello, Sunstrider II," said a tired voice from the comm panels. "This is John Silver, head of starport Security. Don't adjust your equipment, we've lost visual again. When I find the pirate that sold us these systems, I'm going to tie his legs in a square knot. Welcome back, Hazel. Don't steal anything big and try not to kill anyone important this time. You can put your ship down anywhere you fancy; there's hardly anything on the pads. Not a lot of traffic comes our
    way these days."
    "Understood," said Hazel. "Cheer up, John, we've got a cargo bay crammed to the ceiling with really nice surprises for you; namely, more projectile weapons, ammo, and explosives than you can shake a really big stick at. Just the thing for expressing your displeasure with Imperial spies and troublemakers."
    "You always bring the nicest presents, Hazel. Now pardon me if I leave you all to your own devices. As head of Security, or what's left of it, I'm being run ragged at the moment. The precogs have been going crazy the last few days, insisting Something Bad is in the air. We can't get any details out of them that make sense, but either way I don't have the time to waste on a single ship, no matter how friendly."
    "In case he's forgotten," said Owen, "remind him we're not just outlaws on the run this time. We represent the Golgotha underground."
    "I heard that," said Silver. "Might have known you'd be aboard, Deathstalker. We haven't forgotten the mess you made on your last visit. Someone will meet you once you're down, but don't expect a brass band or the key to the city. We had to pawn the instruments and the key never did work anyway. Have a nice stay.
    Don't start anything. Now clear the channel so I can concentrate."
    "Is that a typical Mistworld welcome?" asked Jenny Psycho, after a moment.
    "Pretty much," said Hazel. "They've raised paranoia to a fine art in Mistport.
    With good reason. The Empire has a long history of sneaking in dirty tricks to try and undermine or destroy the starport. It wasn't that long ago they started an esper plague here, using a disguised vector called Typhoid Mary. A lot of people died before Security finally tracked her down. They're still recovering."
    "They've been through a lot," said Young Jack. "We'll just have to convince them of the importance of our various missions here. We must have Mistworld on our
    side if we're to win the rebellion. Their espers will be an invaluable asset."
    "Glad someone's keeping an eye on the big picture." said Owen. "But I would go easy on the exposition when you get down there. Mistworlders aren't big on speeches."
    "You should know," said Hazel.
    The landing pads were practically deserted, with only a handful of smugglers'
    ships, huddled together at one end of the field as though for comfort. The Sunstrider II settled comfortably onto the pad set aside, marked by flaring oil lamps. The tall steelglass control tower was the only sign of high tech at the starport, its bright electric lights blazing through the thick, swirling mists.
    Owen had the ship's computers shut down everything except the security systems, then led the way out of the ship and onto the landing field.
    The cold cut at them like a knife as they filed out of the airlock, searing their exposed faces and burning in their lungs as they all huddled in the thick furs the ship had provided. Owen beat his gloved hands together and glared about him. He'd forgotten how much he hated this place. And not just for the cold.
    The mists were at their thickest, in the early hours of the morning before the rising of Mistworld's pale sun. Beyond the control tower, the lights of the city showed only dimly through the shifting grey walls of fog. Young Jack Random looked calmly about him. He didn't