Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

at the moment.”
    He dug into the pack he was carrying and brought out two foot-long dolls of Owen and Hazel. Their clothes were reasonably accurate, if not their faces, and at least the proportions were rather more human.
    The reporter pressed the speaker buttons on their backs. The Owen doll said, “Fight for justice!” The Hazel doll said, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” Somehow Hazel held on to her temper. She’d learned to recognize when she was being goaded. Owen had the sense to turn his beginning laughter into a not entirely convincing cough. The disappointed reporter decided it was time to play his trump card. If that didn’t get her going, he’d eat his union card. He put the dolls back in his pack and casually brought out the last items.
    “And there are, of course, these.” And he held up two cuddly furry toys in Owen and Hazel costumes.
    “A furry toy?” said Hazel in tones that suggested imminent thermonuclear meltdown. “They’ve turned me into a furry toy?” Everyone held their breath and decided which way they were going to jump when the shit started flying. The cameras would still get the best shots for them. Assuming they survived whatever appalling thing was about to happen. And then Owen reached out to the sweating reporter and took a toy in each hand. “I think they’re rather cute.”
    “You like these monstrosities?” said Hazel.
    “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily want one on my pillow, but I definitely want a piece of this action. We are talking major revenues here.” Hazel calmed down visibly as she considered this. “Yeah… Could be.
    Kids go crazy for this kind of crap. One good Christmas and we could be set up for life.” Owen smiled inwardly. When in doubt, you could always distract Hazel with talk of money.
    The reporters reluctantly decided there wasn’t going to be any action after all, and heaved quiet disappointed sighs. Some even recalled their cameras. The agent provocateur reporter glumly took his fluffy toys back, stuffed them into his bag, and tried to remember if he’d kept all the receipts so he could get his money back. Everyone started to drift away. And then the representative from Parliament arrived, and everything went to hell in a handcart. It was a fairly typical Parliament rep, all things considered. A jumped-up civil servant, promoted way out of his depth because there weren’t enough warm bodies to go round, trying to convince everyone that he was as important as the messages and instructions he carried. This particular fellow was dressed well beyond what should have been his means, surmounted by the traditional courier’s red sash and a distinctly snotty attitude. He strode forward, the reporters falling back before him, and planted himself before Owen and Hazel. He stuck his nose in the air and glared at them both, just to remind them of their real place in the scheme of things, and then launched into his prepared speech without even bothering to introduce himself.
    “Sir Deathstalker, Miss d’Ark, you are commanded to present yourselves before Parliament at this evening’s session, to report on your mission to Virimonde. Parliament wishes to express in advance its extreme displeasure that not only have you failed to bring back any of the rebel Lords alive, but you also allowed that most detestable villain Valentine Wolfe to escape justice entirely. You are required to make full explanations of these shortcomings. Also, you can forget about your bonuses.”
    All the cameras started zooming in again. The reporters knew a storm was brewing when they saw one.
    So Owen decided to try reasoning with the man just to annoy them.
    “We did put an end to the abominable practices on Virimonde,” he said mildly. “Charnel House is no more. The dead have been avenged. And we did nip in the bud a most dangerous plot against the Empire. Not bad for one day’s work.” The representative sniffed. It was a loud, arrogant, and entirely obnoxious sound. He’d clearly put a lot of practice into it. “All that matters is you failed to carry out Parliament’s demands. What you may or may not have done other than your instructions is utterly irrelevant.” Owen and Hazel looked at each other. “After you,” said Hazel generously. “Thank you,” said Owen. He stepped forward, smiled at the representative, and punched him out. The unfortunate fellow stretched his length on the unforgiving surface of the landing pad and lay there, twitching quietly. Owen