Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

smiled at the reporters. “You just have to know how to talk to these people. Did everyone get that, or shall I pick him up and do it again?”
    The reporters said they’d got it just fine the first time, thank you very much, and then started firing questions at Owen and Hazel over these new details on their last mission. In particular they wanted to know just what the hell the Charnel House plot had been, and what the infamous Valentine Wolfe had had to do with it. The group interview then rapidly deteriorated into a bidding war for exclusive rights to the full story. Fistfights broke out among the reporters, and Owen and Hazel took the opportunity to make a quiet exit. The rep seemed to be stirring, so Hazel kicked him somewhere particularly painful, just on general principles.
    “You know, you’d have thought they’d have learned to wear body armor by now,” said Owen.
    “Must be a new guy.”
    “Well, if he doesn’t learn better manners soon, he’s never going to be an old guy. Let me just check if he’s got any written orders on him.” Owen knelt beside the quietly moaning man and frisked him thoroughly, coming up with a set of sealed orders with his name on them. Hazel frowned. “That’s another thing. How come my name’s never on these things?” “They wouldn’t dare,” said Owen. He broke the wax seal, studied the brief message, fashionably written in real pen and ink, and scowled fiercely. “Damn.
    They’ve arranged another parade for us. Right now, on our way to Parliament. I hate parades.”
    “Yeah, but the people love them.” Hazel shrugged as Owen got to his feet and dropped the orders onto the rep’s chest. “It’s no big deal, Owen. Just smile and wave and try to look heroic. And remember, you’re supposed to kiss the babies and pat them on the head. Not perform an impromptu exorcism on the grounds it’s supernaturally ugly.”
    Owen sniggered. “I was bored. You like all this public-acclaim shit. I just wish they’d all go away and leave me alone. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like being stared at. And I hate doing autographs. Last time my hand ached for a week.” “Just relax and enjoy it. We earned this. Let them worship us if they want to.” “All right, let’s get it over with,” said Owen resignedly. “Then we can make our report to Parliament, answer a whole lot of stupid and unnecessary questions, and heroically refrain from shooting a whole bunch of people too stupid to live. And maybe then we’ll be allowed to go home, crash out, and get some sleep.”
    “Right,” said Hazel. “I could sleep for a week.” “He was right, you know,” Owen said quietly. “It wasn’t exactly our most successful mission.”
    “Hush, Owen,” said Hazel. “Your people were avenged. Settle for that. Now, let’s go. Our admirers await.”
    She clapped him once on the shoulder and led the way off the landing pad. Owen followed her, dragging his feet all the way.
    The parade’s organizers had thoughtfully provided a gravity sled for them, and Owen and Hazel floated down the main street, just high enough to be out of reach of the crowd’s grasping hands. There had been unfortunate incidents in the past, and after Hazel showed an understandable but regrettably violent way of dealing with fans, it was decided that everyone concerned would be a whole lot safer if the crowd’s heroes were kept up out of reach.
    Owen smiled and waved like an automoton, and distanced himself from the din and bedlam as best he could by concentrating on the report he was going to make to Parliament. He’d never liked crowds.
    People staring at him made him feel nervous and self-conscious. Once, in his old life, when he’d had to make a speech to a gathering of historical scholars, he’d locked himself in the toilet for so long they’d had to send someone to ask if he was all right. It should be different now. He was a man of power and destiny. Everyone said so. He’d fought his way through whole armies of Imperial troops and never once hesitated. It didn’t make any difference. He still hated being stared at. It didn’t help that Hazel had really gotten into it, and was waving and smiling and turning back and forth so everyone could get a good look at her. A whole group of Hazel look-alikes were chanting her name and squealing ecstatically whenever she smiled in their direction. Some were even women. Someone threw her a long-stemmed rose. She caught it deftly, avoiding the thorns,