Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

rebellion, or at least the parts that were suitable for public consumption, with Hazel chiming in now and again with what she considered telling points. The lepers treated them both with great respect, and Owen and Hazel couldn’t help but warm to them. It had never occurred to them that the lepers might be fans of theirs just like everyone else.
    Eventually Owen ran out of things to say, and introduced Moon. The audience listened quietly as he talked of his adventures with Owen and Hazel. A voice from the audience asked if he considered himself a traitor to his people, and Moon thought for a moment before finally saying no, that his people were traitors to Humanity. He actually got a soft patter of applause for that. Time went by quickly, and Owen was surprised when Oz murmured in his ear that his hour was nearly up. Owen wasn’t sure what he’d expected from a colony of lepers—perhaps shambling, deathlike figures clanging a bell and shouting,
    “Unclean! Unclean!” These quiet, warm, friendly people were a revelation to him. Previously, he’d seen his commitment to fight for them as a duty. Now he saw it as an honor. They’d been through so much, it didn’t seem fair to him that they should have to face the Hadenmen as well.
    He announced at last that he had to leave, and a roar of protest went up. He explained that Mother Beatrice had a meal prepared for them, and the mention of the Saint’s name was all it took to clear the compound. Owen looked at Hazel. “So, what do you think?”
    “They’ll fight,” said Hazel. “But then I never doubted they would. Only hard-line fighters could survive in the face of all they have going against them, even before the Hadenmen. But God knows how long we can hold this place against an army. Moon?”
    The augmented man frowned. “I confess I find it hard to understand what the Hadenmen are doing here anyway. The colonists don’t have anything worth taking. There must be something else here, something we’re missing.” “Keep thinking,” said Owen. “If we knew what it was they wanted, maybe we could just give it to them. Or destroy it. Then maybe they’d go away and annoy someone else.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Hazel. “Once the Hadenmen find out we’re here, it might well motivate them to raze the whole Mission to the ground just to get us. We did, after all, destroy their plans for Brahmin II. And the Hadenmen have never been the most forgiving of people.”
    “True,” said Moon.
    “Oh, shut up,” said Owen. “I’ve got enough problems to think about.” “I think a new one may be heading our way,” said Hazel quietly. “Take a look at what just showed up.”
    They all looked, with varying degrees of disbelief, as a skeletally thin creature lurched toward them. Well over six and a half feet tall, the newcomer wore a long black dress of tatters, belted around an impossibly thin waist to support a sword on one bony hip and a gun on the other. She wore lace-up boots, long green evening gloves with holes, and a battered witch’s hat with long purple streamers flying from the top.
    Her face was covered with white pancake makeup, pointed up by two bright red cheeks, and metallic green lipstick and eye shadow. She moved with an uneven, determined gait, her legs barely bending, as though the knees didn’t work properly. She looked a lot like a marionette who’d cut her own strings, done something very nasty to the puppeteer, and then gone out into the world to do as much damage as
    possible before someone finally stopped her.
    Owen let his hand drift casually down to the gun at his side. The black-clad witch lurched to a halt before him, waited a moment to make sure all her parts had caught up with her, and then glowered at Owen in what she clearly thought was a friendly fashion.
    “Welcome to Hell, Deathstalker. I’m Sister Marion. Bea’s second in command. I run the place while she’s busy being saintly. I was going to be a Saint too when I was younger, but it turned out I didn’t have the right attitude. So they made me a Sister of Glory, and sent me out to kick righteous ass on the kind of missions the Church doesn’t like to talk about in public. Then I caught leprosy, and they sent me here.
    Bastards. Still, a nun serves God wherever she’s sent, and God knows this bunch needs all the help it can get. You can say hello now.” “Hello, Sister Marion,” said Owen, doing his best to appear entirely unperturbed.