Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

was no room in his cold heart now for anything but rescue or revenge.
    When they finally let him up again, he spent the best part of a day in the Mission comm center, calling for a ship to come and pick him up. Any ship. He used every bit of authority he had, pulled every string, called in every favor
    he could think of, threatened and pleaded and bribed, and none of it did any good. There was a war on. Actually, there were several wars, going on simultaneously. The Empire was under attack by the Hadenmen, Shub, Grendels, the insect aliens, and the threat of the Recreated. Owen just wasn't important enough anymore to be worth diverting a precious ship to far-off Lachrymae Christi. He'd just have to wait.
    Owen would have wrecked the whole damned comm center, if Mother Beatrice hadn't been there, her eyes full of compassion. So instead, he stalked out and buried himself in the rebuilding of the Mission. It helped that there was a lot that needed doing. He made himself eat and drink at regular intervals, because if he didn't Mother Beatrice or Sister Marion stood over him till he did. When it grew too dark to work, he lay down on his bed and pretended to sleep, waiting with empty heart for it to be light again.
    The rebuilding was slow and hard work now that his powers were gone, burned out in his last stand against the Grendels. He was no stronger or faster than any other man now, and all his other abilities were lost to him, like the words of an old song he could no longer quite recall. Sometimes, in the long endless hours of the night, it seemed to him that something was stirring deep within him, but it never surfaced, and when morning finally came, it found him still just a man.
    So he spent his days working alongside the more able-bodied lepers, raising the high wall again segment by segment, and in its way the work comforted him, working as a man among men again, a part of Humanity instead of someone thrust outside it. To be just a part of a group, instead of its leader. It felt good to lose himself in mindless, repetitious work, and to have achieved something definite by the end of the day. But most of the real work was coming to an end.
    A few more days, and the Mission would be complete again, and all that would be left was scrabbling about on the sloping roof fixing leaks, and other small stuff. Owen didn't know what he'd do then.
    He drank the wine the leper had brought him, too tired even to grimace at the bitter taste. They'd been putting strychnine in it again, to give it a bit more bite.
    "She could be anywhere," he said quietly, knowing he was tormenting himself, but unable to stop. "Anywhere in the Obeah Systems. I've never been there. Don't know anyone who has. I don't even know which planet they've got her on. They could be doing anything to her. Everyone knows the Blood Runners' reputation.
    They've made an art of suffering and a science of slaughter. She could be dying, right now, and there's nothing the great and almighty Owen Deathstalker can do to save her."
    "This isn't doing you any good, Owen," said Oz. "She's dead. She must be, by now. Grieve, and let her go—"
    "I can't."
    "Then be patient. A ship will come, eventually."
    "I love her, Oz. I would have died, to save her from them."
    "Of course you would have."
    "Oh, God…"
    "Hush, Owen. Hush."
    Sudden screams jerked Owen's head up, and he was up and on his feet in a moment, casting the wine cup aside, as he saw one section of the newly erected wall break free from its ties and lean ponderously forward, over the dozen or so lepers beneath it. The segment weighed several tons, and the safety ropes that
    should have stopped or slowed its fall were snapping one after the other, like a series of firecrackers. The lepers turned to run, but it was obvious they weren't going to make it out from under the wall before the segment came crashing down like a hammer.
    Owen subvocalized his old code word boost, and new strength and speed burned in his muscles as he raced toward the falling wall. Everything else seemed to be moving in slow motion as the gengineered gift of the Deathstalker Clan kicked in, making Owen briefly superhuman again. He reached the falling wall in seconds, and grasped the last intact safety rope with both hands. His fingers closed like steel clamps around the thick cable and held it firmly as it snapped taut. The lepers ran slowly past Owen as he held the rope, snarling furiously as the rough hemp tore slowly through his grasp,