Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

anger or need that usually sent the power raging through him like a violent storm, sweeping away his obstacles. And even when he did have it, he had all he could do to focus it in the right direction. Focus… The word reverberated in him, suddenly full of significance. He turned his thoughts inward, blanking out the tunnel and the fan, trying to concentrate on how it had felt when he focused the power, and a memory slowly surfaced. He seized hold of it, pulling it into the light, and the concept, the feeling of focus, stirred in the depths of his mind. It was like suddenly seeing a whole new color, hearing a new musical instrument, but more abstract than that. A whole new concept of experiencing the world. And a surge of power pushed its way out of the back brain, the undermind, and all the way into his conscious thoughts, where it immediately became as obvious and familiar a thing as breathing.
    He reached out with his mind as he might stretch out his hand, and touched the metal fan blades. They slowed under his touch, trembling as they fought against a force they could not resist, and then slowed still more till they were barely turning.
    The central motor groaned loudly, like a thing in pain. Hazel pounded him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
    “You did it, Owen! You did it!”
    “Damn right,” said Owen. “Now stop inflicting bodily injury on me, and climb through before the fan decides it’s malfunctioning and sets off an alarm.” “Alarms, alarms,” said Hazel, stepping cautiously
    between the barely moving steel blades. “You’re obsessed with alarms.”
    “One of us has to be,” said Owen, following her between the blades. He then released his will, and once again the blades resumed their normal speed. The feeling in his mind quietly shut down, retreating back into the undermind, the back brain. But now he knew where to look, he was sure he could call it back again. If he felt it… necessary.
    “So, what did it feel like?” said Hazel interestedly. “Like dancing,” said Owen. “Or painting. Mental grace under discipline. Bringing the raw material of the world into order. Does any of that help?” “Not a bit,” said Hazel. “Right, let’s get a move on. We should be nearing the entrance to the main system soon, and then we’ll have access to any part of the city we want.”
    “Good,” said Owen. “I can’t wait to breathe some fresh air again. My lungs feel like ashtrays.”
    “Before you start off again,” Oz murmured in Owen’s ear, “there is something on that subject I feel we should discuss. According to a file I’ve just discovered in the city computers, there’s a reason why the air in the sewers is so foul. It’s poisonous. A rather deadly nerve gas, introduced into the systems by the Hadenmen, to kill off whatever might be living down there.” “Poisonous!” said Hazel after this had been passed on to her. “But we’ve been breathing it for ages! Why aren’t we dead yet?” “A fair question,”
    said Oz. “And one that has been much on my mind ever since I discovered the file. By rights, all the flesh should have melted off your bones by now.”
    “It must be another of the Maze’s changes,” said Owen. “Emerging in us when we needed it. As usual.
    Just another way in which we’re no longer human.” “Don’t start that again,” growled Hazel. “It’s the first really practical change the Maze has come up with. Keep moving. We’ve a way to go yet.” They set off down the tunnel again. Owen tried breathing shallowly for a while, and then gave that up on the grounds it was too late now anyway. The rest of the journey was largely uneventful, until they reached the entrance to the main system and found their way blocked by a massive steel seal. A single great slab of solid metal, it filled the tunnel completely, and defied even their combined strength. Owen and Hazel took a step back, breathing heavily, and considered the matter.
    “This was only ever supposed to be closed in emergencies,” said Hazel, “to prevent flooding in the main system. It’s a mechanical lock, because electronics and water don’t mix too well, and I haven’t a hope in hell of cracking the locks without very specific heavy-duty equipment.”
    “The Hadenmen shut it,” said Oz. “To keep out people like us probably. Since the lock’s not electronic, I can’t help you. And the even worse news is that while there appears to be a manual override, it takes