Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

alarms shut off, so the speakers could carry shouts and screams and raw harsh cries for vengeance. All the prisoners were loose, and already searching for weapons and a way out. Except for one man, who stood calmly before a security camera, smiling and entirely relaxed. He looked almost ordinary, until you got to the eyes. Owen shuddered as he looked at the man looking out of the monitor screen. He’d seen eyes like that before. Cold, mad, killer’s eyes.
    It didn’t seem such a long time since he’d killed Kit SummerIsle, also known as Kid Death.
    “DeLangford,” Dominic said grimly. “Somehow, he’s got into the computers. He’s triggered all the overrides, using codes he shouldn’t even have known existed. There’s nothing we can do.”
    “He wanted to be brought here,” said Glory. “He didn’t set the others loose out of altruism. He’s planning something. Something awful.”
    “Call out the guards,” said Owen. “How many do you have stationed here?”
    Glory and Dominic looked at him. “There are no guards,” said Dominic. “Just the computers. Usually, that’s all that’s needed. After all, this is the moon. Where could anyone go if they did escape? But deLangford isn’t interested in escaping. He wants to make some art here. Murder art. But he waited for something to bring us back here. Because he wanted an audience.”
    “You mean, he let the other prisoners out so they could watch as he killed you?” said Owen.
    “No,” said Glory. “He thinks bigger than that. He’s going to make the prisoners die, for his entertainment. That’s what he does. And we get to watch while he does it.”
    “Except we can’t allow that,” said Dominic.
    “Why not?” said Owen. “You said yourself they were the worst of the worst.”
    Dominic stared at him, openly shocked. “They are here to be cured, and given new lives! Not to be punished, executed! That would be . . . inhuman. We only ever kill when we have to.”
    “We may have to,” said Glory, her ruby hands moving swiftly over the control panels. “DeLangford’s shut down all the nonlethal security measures. There’s no way he could have hacked into these computers without help. He must have brought something up with him. He was supposed to have been thoroughly searched before he got here, inside and out, but his cult has people everywhere. The computers aren’t going to repair themselves in time, Dom. We’re going to have to stop this ourselves.”
    “They’ll be heading for the unloading bay,” said Dominic. “It’s the only way off the moon. There isn’t a ship docked at the moment, but they don’t know that. We can bottle them up in the bay, incapacitate a few to calm down the rest, and then keep them sealed up until the computers are back on line.”
    “Too simple,” said Glory. “DeLangford will have planned for that. He’s had plenty of time to think this through. His murders always have to be art.”
    “But he doesn’t know about me,” said Owen. “He won’t have allowed for my presence. Let me help. Please. I want to help.”
    Dominic and Glory looked at him, and then at each other. “We need him,” said Dominic. “And he seems rational enough.”
    “Our orders . . .”
    “Don’t cover a prison break! Saving lives comes first.”
    “Of course they do, Defender.” Glory hit a control on her wrist, and the energy gyves around Owen’s wrists snapped off.
    Owen smiled. He could have broken free at any time, but he wanted them to trust him. He studied the wall screens, showing shouting men running through the plain steel corridors. There were a lot of them, but they didn’t look like they’d be too much of a problem, unarmed. Except . . . all the prisoners seemed to have the same frenzied expression. He pointed this out, and Dominic nodded grimly.
    “DeLangford’s infected them all with the Thrillkill meme,” said Glory. “They belong to him now. They live only to kill for him, for his art. We may have to kill them all anyway, because they’ll never surrender. They won’t be able to.”
    She said a word that Owen didn’t understand, and the air around Glory Chojiro rippled suddenly, as she disappeared and a new form took her place. It was about a foot taller and a great deal broader, roughly humanoid in shape but composed entirely of bright gold armor. The solid bullet head had no features, only a series of protrusions that might have been sensors. A row of gun muzzles thrust out of the