Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

some straight answers, just for a change? Like, who is this baby, and what is he doing here?"
    "That is Deathstalker brat," said Vaughn. "Very old. Son of Giles, by someone else's wife. Been here eleven hundred years, and never had his nappy changed once. Should get out more, see universe, party hard, but no. Too young. Still being born, really."
    Lewis sighed. "I don't suppose there's anyone else around here I could talk to? I thought not." He looked thoughtfully at the baby. "He's really been here for eleven hundred years? Sleeping at the heart of the Maze? Why hasn't he… grown up?"
    "Only looks like baby, dummy. What we see is tip of iceburg. Rest is hidden from us, and probably just as well too."
    Lewis glared at Vaughn. "Speaking of people who aren't all they seem to be; I saw Vaughn's grave at Lachrymae Christi. So who, or what, are you really?"
    "Good question," said the small gray figure. "Let me just put on someone more comfortable."
    The small form fell apart into floating mists, and then reassembled into the familiar muscular figure of Roland Deathstalker. Lewis stared at the image of his father, who smiled easily back at him.
    "You're not my father," said Lewis.
    "No, I'm not. But I thought you might find this image easier to talk to. Vaughn has his uses, but his speech patterns drive me crazy. And he has personal habits you really don't want to hear about.
    Hopefully this figure will put you more at your ease."
    "You still haven't answered my question," said Lewis, refusing to be sidetracked. "What are you?"
    "I'm the one with all the answers, boy, so don't get snotty with me. Now, I have many names, but one nature. Many faces, but one perspective. And if you find that confusing, think how I feel. I am older than the First Empire, though in rather better shape. I was here when your species were still learning the advantages of standing upright, and the joys of beating each other's heads in with big sticks. I created the Madness Maze, working under very specific instructions, and I was here when Owen finally came through the Maze, looking for answers. He didn't like everything I had to tell him, but unfortunately I can only deal in the truth. My form may vary, but my programming is inviolable.
    "Yes, I know, I know; what am I? Well, as far as your extremely limited thinking can comprehend, I am an ancient semisentient artificial construct, left here by the last remnants of a once proud and mighty race, as they passed at speed through your galaxy to somewhere hopefully a bit safer."
    "They met the Terror, didn't they?" said Lewis. "They were running from the Terror."
    "Got it in one, Deathstalker. Take a prize from any shelf you like. While they were indeed once great and powerful, and vast beyond your understanding, they were still no match for the Terror when it came.
    Their whole civilization was destroyed. All their worlds and all their works, gone to nothing. Only a handful survived, fleeing across the galaxies. They left me here, a living recording, to warn of what was coming, and prepare."
    "What were they like, this other race?" said Lewis.
    "Trust me, you don't want to know. Not unless you're into mental projectile vomiting. Their nature took them in directions your species haven't even developed the concepts for yet. Following their orders, I have struggled to raise as many species as possible to a point where they might conceivably have some chance of standing up against the Terror. Following my programming, I have forcefed them evolution through the Madness Maze, but I can't say it's been particularly successful. A surprisingly large number of species self-destruct spectacularly when forced to confront the true nature of things in general, and the universe in particular. The Grendels missed the point completely, the Ashrai preferred to become gardeners, and I don't even want to talk about MogMor. Only Humanity has shown real potential, and even there it's been a lot of two steps forwards, one step back. Some days I'd like to take your entire race and give it a good slap round the back of the head."
    "Can we please get to the point?" said Lewis.
    "Sorry," said Roland. "But it's not often I get the chance to show off, and being the one who knows is so empowering! You see, I'm not actually allowed to do much myself, being essentially just a recording with a fairly strict set of parameters. The best I can do is sort of nudge certain gifted individuals in the right direction. Owen was the best. He