Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

unnerving principle were just too much for him.
    After a couple of unfortunate incidents when his mind had wandered during what would otherwise have been perfectly safe landings, he had decided very firmly to leave such matters to the computers and devote his time to more important matters. Like sulking. He sat slumped in his chair, watching the dark blue world rising slowly toward him, and felt almost nostalgic. The last time he’d come to Golgotha, the rebellion had been in its last vicious throes, and practically everyone on the planet had been shooting at him. Now he was just another visitor, no more important than anyone else. Owen had a strong feeling he preferred the old days. At least then he’d been sure who and where his enemies were. He looked fondly across at Hazel, brooding furiously in her chair. Even when Hazel d’Ark was supposed to be relaxing, she still looked as though she might leap up at any moment and tear someone’s throat out. Owen didn’t mind. He was used to it. “So,” said Hazel brusquely, somehow knowing he was looking at her, even without looking around. “Where do we go next? Got any plans?” “Why is it always up to me?” Owen protested mildly. They’d had this conversation before, many times. “How come you never have any ideas?” “I have plenty of ideas,” said Hazel. “But you’re always too chicken to follow them up.”
    “That’s because your ideas have a distressing tendency to revolve around violence, murder, and bloody mayhem, and stealing anything that isn’t actually nailed down. We can’t get away with that kind of thing anymore. We’re not rebels and outlaws anymore; we’re part of the status quo. Hell, technically speaking, we’re law enforcement agents.”
    “Boring,” said Hazel. “You’ve got really boring these days, Deathstalker.” “Actually, I do know what I’m going to do next,” said Owen, ignoring the insult with the ease of long practice. “As soon as we’ve landed and made our report to Parliament, I’m going straight out again after Valentine Wolfe. The trail will still be warm. He won’t get far.”
    “You’ve said that before, Owen, and he’s always got away. The Wolfe’s spent his whole life being somewhere else than where he’s supposed to be. That’s how he’s stayed alive so long, with so many enemies. Power down, get some rest, recharge your batteries. He’ll pop up again soon enough, doing something appalling, and then we’ll get another crack at him.”
    Owen had to smile. “Things have come to a pretty pass if you’re being the voice of reason to my hothead.”
    Hazel sniffed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Just shows how turned around we both are. We need some down time, Deathstalker. Virimonde hit us hard.” “Yeah. Not much of a homecoming, all told.”
    There was a pause, and then Hazel looked across at him, her face, and voice, carefully calm and casual.
    “Owen, how come you never told me about Cathy before? I mean, she was your mistress. She must have been important to you.” “She was,” said Owen. “I never talked about her because she was none of your business. You could never have understood the kind of relationship we had.” “You could have talked to me,” said Hazel. “I would have tried to understand.
    Tell me about her, this Cathy. What was she like? How did you meet her?” Owen was quiet for so long
    that Hazel had almost decided he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he began to speak, his voice calm and almost unemotional, as though that was the only way he could approach such painful memories. He didn’t look at her once.
    “Her name was Cathy DeVries, and she was very beautiful. Been a courtesan of one kind or another all her adult life, specially trained and adapted by the House of Joy to fulfill every desire you ever had, and help you come up with some new ones. She was a surprise party favor at a Winter Ball on Golgotha, and when they first presented her to me, I thought she was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen. We danced and talked, and she listened to me, seemed to understand and care about what I was saying when so many didn’t. She even found my jokes funny. She was perfect. So I bought out her contract, for an utterly extortionate price, and she became my mistress.
    “Of course, it turned out she wasn’t perfect. Her table manners were appalling, she was far too bright and cheerful first thing in the morning, and she was an Imperial agent,