Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

send just anybody after a dangerous and subtle villain like the Wolfe, so that was where Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d’Ark came in. They were, after all, the most dangerous people the Empire had ever seen. All Owen had ever really wanted was his old life back, but almost from the moment the rebellion was officially declared triumphant, it seemed to him that everyone and his brother had begun fighting for a chance to grab a piece of the legendary Deathstalker hero. Every political party wanted him as its figurehead. Every cause sent representatives requiring he attach his name and his blade to their demands.
    Sometimes they even fought duels outside his quarters over who got to speak to him first.
    Then there were the holo news networks wanting endless interviews, and agents wanting to buy exclusive rights to his life story. They all wanted pictures and quotes and answers to increasingly personal questions. Not to mention product endorsements and book deals and merchandising rights. Hell, one company even wanted to manufacture a line of action figures based on him and Hazel and Jack and Ruby. Owen just wanted to be left alone, and said so increasingly loudly, but no one listened. So in the end he had fled Golgotha on the Sunstrider II, on what turned out to be the first of many missions as a glorified bounty hunter, licensed and paid by Parliament to clear up the Empire’s more dangerous messes. Hazel was there too. She said she had just come along to get a little action to keep herself from getting soft, but Owen liked to think she was just bored spitless without an enemy to fight. Though it had to be said she’d never been one to sit around and contemplate the lilies of the field, and settling down to a peaceful and productive life was exactly what she’d become an outlaw to avoid. She couldn’t even get drunk and start fights in bars anymore. Everyone knew who she was, and was scared witless to say anything that might upset her. So when Random had offered her a commission to track down and possibly execute missing war criminals, she’d jumped at the chance, and wasted no time in persuading Owen to join her. Even if she seemed to remember it the other way around. But then, that was Hazel for you. Never happier than when she could lay the blame on someone else.
    “We just dropped out of hyperspace over Virimonde,” murmured the AI Ozymandius in Owen’s ear.
    “Currently maintaining high orbit and all shields. I really don’t know why you wanted to come back here, Owen. I mean, it’s not as if you have any friends here anymore. In fact, I would have to say that the likelihood of our all ending up riddled with holes increases geometrically with every second we are dumb enough to stay here.”
    “Nag, nag, nag,” said Owen, subvocalizing so Hazel wouldn’t hear. She didn’t approve of him talking to an AI that was supposed to be dead and no one else could hear. “You never want to go anywhere fun, Oz. This is where our current quarry has gone to ground, so here we are too. Right now Valentine Wolfe is down there somewhere, along with certain aristocratic cronies, all of whom the current authorities would dearly like to see standing in a dock or hanging from a rope. And preferably both. Besides… I always said that one day I’d come home to Virimonde.”
    There had been a time when Owen Deathstalker had been Lord of the whole planet of Virimonde. And then the Empress Lionstone had outlawed him and taken it all away. His own security people had tried to kill him for the reward on his head, and he’d had to flee for his life. He nearly hadn’t made it. But Hazel had arrived at just the right moment to save his aristocratic ass, as she never tired of reminding him, and they’d been together ever since. He fell in love with her. He still wasn’t sure how she felt about him. His cousin David had been made Lord in his absence, but he died not long after, trying to defend the planet from Lionstone’s troops, led by Valentine Wolfe. The Wolfe had overseen the murder of millions of defenseless people, and the utter destruction of what had been a beautiful rural paradise.
    And now Valentine had returned, like a criminal to the scene of his crime, or a dog to its own droppings, and Owen had come back too, to bring belated justice to the destroyer of Virimonde. One way or another. He sighed quietly to himself. Through all his rebel wanderings, he’d always clung to the secret hope that someday he would be