Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

feet.
    The Empire had kept its promise. They'd put Hazel in the Defiant's regeneration machine, and she'd emerged whole and healed of all her wounds. But the machine
    had been able to do nothing about the almost spiritual weariness that she and Owen shared after tapping into the mental force that saved their lives.
    Physically, they were both still weak as kittens. That hadn't stopped Bartok from taking all their weapons and weighing them down with chains till they could hardly stand. They'd even wanted to remove Owen's golden Hadenman hand, but couldn't figure out how to do it. There had been talk of cutting it off, just in case, but Bartok had been too eager to show off his secret weapon to his illustrious prisoners. Besides, they could always cut it off later.
    Typhoid Mary wore no chains. The control words in her head held her more securely than any physical restraint. She hadn't said a dozen words since she had come aboard the Defiant. Owen and Hazel had both tried talking to her, but she only responded to Imperial orders. She stared blankly at the thing in the tank, apparently unmoved by its appearance or its smell.
    "So," said Captain Bartok to Owen and Hazel. "What do you think of our wondrous creation?"
    Owen sniffed. "Looks like one of God's more disappointing bowel movements.
    Smells like it, too. Haven't you people ever heard of air-conditioning?"
    Razor hit him again, and he almost fell. Hazel kicked Razor in the knee, that being all her chains would allow. Razor hit her in the face, bloodying her mouth and nose. Owen and Hazel leaned on each other, glaring impotently at the Investigator. He didn't smile. He didn't have to. Mary watched impassively, her face quite blank. The control words buzzed in the back of her head like a swarm of angry bees, but still a small part of her was able to think clearly. She kept it to herself, hidden so deep not even another esper could have detected it.
    She'd seen herself strike Topaz down as if from a great distance, helpless in her own body. She assumed Topaz was dead, or she'd be here, too. Mary, who had
    sworn never to kill again, had killed her best friend. The anguish and the horror nearly overwhelmed her when she thought of it, but she kept it deep and secret, and none of it reached her face.
    Bartok took her by the arm, and led her toward the great tank. She went unresistingly.
    "Hello, Legion," said Bartok. "I've brought someone to see you. This is Typhoid Mary. A Siren, and quite possibly one of the most powerful espers in the Empire."
    Welcome, Mary, said Legion in its many voices. Owen grunted as the horrid chorus rang inside his head, thick and smothering like the stench of rotting fruit.
    Hazel shook her head, as though to drive the voices out. Mary didn't react at all. Legion spoke in many voices at once, combined into an awful harmony of male and female voices, young and old, alive and dead. And faintly, in the background, they could all hear the sound of thousands of voices screaming helplessly, damned to a man-made living Hell.
    I'm so glad you're here, Mary, said Legion. They're going to rip your brain out of your head, and make it part of me. All your power and all your songs will become mine. And I shall put them to good use down in the streets of Mistport.
    Already they quail and shiver at my voice, but with your songs I'll trample through all their heads and stir my sticky fingers in their souls. They will all dance to my tune, or die horribly.
    "Well?" said Bartok, after a while. "Talk to Legion, Mary."
    "Who's speaking to me?" said Mary slowly. "The brains or the worms?"
    You'll find out.
    "Why are you hurting and killing your fellow espers? They're your own kind."

    Because it's fun. And because I can. I'm nothing like them. Or you. There's never been anything like me before. There's no limit to how big I can grow, no limit to how powerful I can become. Call me Legion. I am vast. I contain multitudes. Someday, all espers shall be a part of me. This tank won't hold me forever. And on the day that I break free, let all Humanity beware. Let all that lives beware.
    Typhoid Mary looked at her future, and at the future of Humanity, and despair and rage boiled up within her, blasting aside the restraints of the Empire's conditioning. New power blazed through her, wild and potent, as something wonderful was suddenly there in the auditorium with them, bright and shining and perfect, with Mary as its focus. The Mater Mundi, Our Mother Of All