Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

an arm around her. "What the hell is going on here, Lewis?
    Why aren't they trying to kill us anymore? And how do they know what a Deathstalker is, let alone recognize the ring? Do they think you're Owen?"
    "I don't think so," said Lewis. "That one there said a Deathstalker had come. Like they'd been expecting one. Still, as long as it stops the fighting, I'm not complaining. And don't you say a word, Rose, I am not in the mood." He put away his sword and his gun, and turned off his force shield. The monsters watched him silently, eyes glittering. Lewis addressed the one who'd spoken first. "I'm Lewis Deathstalker.
    Descendant of Owen. Uh… you can all get up now. If you want."
    The monsters rose up, but held their places. They looked at Lewis expectantly, as though waiting for something. Finally the albino creature cocked its long head unnaturally far to one side, and forced more words out of its misshapen mouth. "You are surprised that we can speak, Deathstalker. That we can reason. We were not always monsters. We are the Empire's droppings, its rejects, its discards. It was long ago, but some of us still remember what it was like to be human. Some of us were taken and altered in the laboratories of Shub, others were the subjects of experiments by Lionstone's scientists. Some of us remember Silo Nine and Wormboy Hell. They all did their work well—so well that we live on and on, even though many of us would rather die than be what they made us. The only hope we have ever had is you, Deathstalker; that one of your Clan would come here, bearing the ring, to be our savior. Will you permit us to escort you to our city?"
    "Jesus," said Jesamine. "You've got a city?"
    "Yes," said the albino, trying something that might have been a smile. "We're not monsters all the time."
    "All right," said Lewis. "Let's see how much weirder this planet can get. Do you guarantee our safety, my own and all my companions ?
    "Of course. You are the Deathstalker."
    "Do you think we can trust it?" Jesamine murmured in Lewis's ear.
    "Do we have a choice? Not a word, Rose." Lewis bowed to the albino. "Lead the way, Sir… Do you have a name?"
    "Yes," said the albino. "But we have all sworn never to use our old names until we are made human again. And you couldn't pronounce what they call me now. This way."
    "Hold everything," said Rose. "Where's Brett?"
    They all looked around them. Rose moved away to check among the bodies of the fallen. Jesamine tugged surreptitiously at Lewis's arm to get his attention, and then murmured in his ear.
    "These creatures expect to be made human again? They were dumped here because nothing could be done for them. What do they expect you to do?"
    "I don't know," Lewis said quietly. "And all this talk of a prophecy worries me. I'm no one's savior."
    "He's not here," said Rose, coming back to join them. "But he's not dead. I would have felt it, if he'd been killed." She looked slowly around her, and then pointed positively at the clearing they'd come from.
    "He's hiding. Poor Brett. He's always hiding."
    She went back into the clearing to look for him. Lewis and the others stayed where they were, because the monsters got visibly restless at the thought of their Deathstalker going away again. Rose walked slowly into the clearing, turning her head back and forth as though listening for something only she could hear. She and Brett were linked, mind to mind, now and forever, and even his esp compulsion couldn't hide him from her. She found him, huddled inside the stinking guts of a dead monster. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out. He tried to resist her, howling miserably, but he was no match for her strength. She sat him down with his back against the carcass, and mopped the blood from his face with the rag she usually used to clean her sword. He finally recognized who she was, and then he burst into fresh tears, throwing his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. Rose let him, holding herself still.
    He put his tired head on her leathered shoulder, exhausted by fighting and panic and tears, and she slowly put an arm around him, to support his weight.
    "I don't belong here," Brett said wretchedly into her shoulder. "I'm not a hero, not a fighter. I'm not up to this. And I lost my sword."
    "We'll get you another one," said Rose. She wasn't used to offering comfort, but she did her best. She thought she understood the concept now, even if she never felt the need for it herself. She wouldn't have