Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

to go all uncertain and tongue-tied when Lewis gave them his best thoughtful stare. He was very proud of that stare. He'd put a lot of thought and effort into getting it just right, so that it suggested all kinds of imminent violence and unpleasantness, if not actual mayhem, and generally appalling possibilities. In the past, some villains had actually dropped their weapons and begged to be arrested, rather than have Lewis look at them in that particular thoughtful way.
    It was a bright sunny afternoon, despite the chill, with a pale blue sky and not a cloud anywhere. The main landing pad was huge, bigger than some city blocks, and the docked starcruisers rose up before Lewis like so many steel mountains, the tops of their shimmering steel hulls lost to sight in the glare of the sun. The Hammer, The Highlander and The Hector were all in port, waiting for new crews or new equipment or just a little downtime between missions. There were dozens of other, smaller craft scattered across the pads stretching away before him, but Lewis only had eyes for the newly arrived Highlander, fresh in from Xanadu. Douglas's long-promised replacement as Paragon for Logres had finally arrived; the famous, or perhaps more properly infamous, Emma Steel.
    Even among the inflated reputations of the Paragons, Emma Steel had almost more reputation than one person could comfortably bear. She'd been born and raised on Mistworld, which explained a lot.
    Mistworld, once the only rebel planet in Lionstone's Empire, was still a wild and woolly and largely uncivilized place, mostly because its inhabitants preferred it that way. They had no intention of going soft, just in case this whole Golden Age thing turned out to be nothing more than a passing fad. They kept themselves to themselves, discouraged tourists, tax collectors, and anyone else showing too much interest in their affairs. Emma was the first Paragon Mistworld had ever got around to producing, and she took her position and her responsibilties very seriously.
    She was a tenacious tracker, specializing in pursuing the criminals who eluded everyone else. No one could hide from Emma Steel. They could change their names, their faces, and their whole damned
    bodies, purge their presence from every known computer, and jump from planet to planet in a freight ship, inside a packing crate marked MACHINE PARTS, and still Emma would sniff them out. She always brought her prey back, even if she had to do it in several small refrigerated containers.
    It helped that she wasn't impressed by anybody and was always ready to browbeat, intimidate, and if necessary slap around any poor fool who thought his position gave him the authority to get in her way.
    Emma worked from the position that everyone was guilty of something, and it was a sad fact that she was right more often than she was wrong. She was the only Paragon not to attend Douglas's Coronation, because she'd been in the middle of a case, and Emma Steel didn't break off from the chase for anyone or anything. With anyone else that would have been treason, but this was Emma Steel, so everyone just shrugged and made allowances. Everyone made allowances for Emma Steel. Even King Douglas. He understood it was nothing personal. It was just Emma being Emma.
    Either way, news of her new position on Logres had finally caught up with her, and she made arrangements for her latest catch to be sent home in irons, and hitched a ride on the closest ship. She'd sent word she'd be arriving today. Lewis checked the watchface embedded in his wrist again, and shrugged. It was well known that while Emma had many sterling qualities, punctuality wasn't one of them.
    Lewis sighed, folded his arms across his chest, and shifted his stance slightly. The black leather armor creaked loudly, and Lewis shook his head exasperatedly. Douglas's personal tailors had had three goes at refitting the armor, and it still didn't feel comfortable. Lewis had taken to wearing his old Paragon's purple cloak over it, and that at least made him feel a little less conspicuous.
    Anne had proved entirely unsympathetic when he raised the matter with her. It's important you look the pan, she kept saying. That armor is designed to send a message. It's a style statement. Trust me, you look every inch a Champion. In return, Lewis has said something short and cutting, in which the words pratt and pimp featured strongly, and Anne had thrown her coffee cup at him, and then giggled till she got hiccups.
    A