Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

to forget just how old he is, really. All the things he saw, and all the things he did . . . For him, our legends are memories. He’s probably the only man left alive who actually talked with the Iron Bitch herself. He was there , during all the history that Robert and Constance had suppressed. I’ll bet he could tell some incredible stories, if we could just get him to open up a little.”
    “I don’t think he wants to remember,” said Jesamine. “I don’t think he likes the man he used to be. The things that man had to do.”
    “There is that,” said Lewis. “Legend makes him out to be an honorable man, but even legend couldn’t disguise the fact that he did . . . questionable things.”
    Brett sniffed loudly. “Then he should be right at home here on Mistworld. They’ve made an entire culture out of being thieves, thugs, and outlaws.”
    “They know a lot about killing, too,” said Rose.
    “You are not to start anything, Rose,” Brett said sternly. “Lewis, tell her she’s not to start anything.”
    “I wouldn’t dare,” said Lewis.
    “Rose is your problem, Brett,” said Jesamine. “You’re the one who’s sleeping with her, which to my mind is the bravest thing you ever did.”
    “You have no idea,” said Brett.
    They stood together in the cold some more, stamping their feet hard on the landing pad to keep the circulation flowing. They were all wearing heavy furs supplied by the Havoc , but the cold cut right through them like a bitter knife. Brett was also wearing lizardskin boots, while Rose had a fine new lizardskin cape. None of them ever mentioned their erstwhile companion and proven traitor, the reptiloid called Saturday.
    “What’s the holdup?” Jesamine said angrily. “They knew we were coming. Hell, they landed our ship.”
    “They’re probably checking us out from a safe distance, with scanners and espers,” said Lewis. “Making sure we are who and what we claim to be, with no hidden weapons or forbidden implants. Mistport has reason to be wary of trojan horses; a long time ago a brainwashed esper called Typhoid Mary came very close to wiping out the whole city.”
    “I’ll bet you were a real swot at history classes,” muttered Brett. “Look, they’re keeping us waiting because they can. To rub it in that they’re in charge, and we’re the ones begging for an audience. It’s all about putting us in our place.”
    “I have never known my place!” Jesamine said immediately. “The only place I’ve ever accepted is the one I made for myself.”
    “They must have forgotten you’re a star,” Brett said cunningly. “Why don’t you blast them with an aria, just to remind them?”
    “For once, the squalid person and I are in agreement,” said Jesamine. “I may be a rebel, but I am still a diva. How dare they treat me this way? And after I performed a special charity concert for them, only nine years ago, in that toilet they called a theater. If they don’t show their miserable faces soon, I’ll sing them an aria that’ll shatter every window in their control tower, and make all their fillings vibrate for a week.”
    “Someone’s coming,” said Rose.
    Everyone straightened up and looked in the same direction as Rose. The mists swirled slowly, with no sign of anyone approaching, but they all trusted Rose’s instincts.
    “I can feel something,” Lewis said suddenly. “Can you feel . . . something?”
    “Yes,” said Jesamine slowly. “Like cobwebs drifting across my mind. What is that?”
    “Esper probes,” said Brett. “Telepaths trying to peek into our thoughts. Not that they stand a chance against our strengthened minds. I doubt anything short of the oversoul could pry open our defenses these days. Still, we shouldn’t be able to feel the probes. That is unusual.”
    “So are we, these days,” said Lewis. “No doubt we will discover other . . . abilities, as we go on.”
    “Strangely, I don’t feel at all comforted by that thought,” said Brett.
    “Shut up, Brett,” said Jesamine.
    Dark figures finally began to appear out of the drifting mists before them, forming slowly out of the endless gray. Rose’s hand rested easily on the gun at her hip. A dozen men and women drew to a halt before them, anonymous in thick fur wraps and hoods. What little could be seen of their grim, unrelenting faces didn’t seem in the least welcoming. They were all heavily and conspicuously armed.
    “Our espers couldn’t make any sense out of your