Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

back in time, into the past, then it was entirely possible that Hazel had that power too. If so, she could travel back in time, find you, and either save or repair you. It seemed logical, though of course complicated by the problem of not knowing exactly where in space and time you were when you died. Hazel examined the idea, and left. We never saw her again. And since neither you nor she ever returned, we had to assume that she had failed in her quest.
    “It seems we were mistaken. And that we may have done a terrible thing, in our eagerness to be of service. Hazel d’Ark did go back into the past, but far too far, losing her mind and even her identity along the way. We of Shub have to face the very real possibility that we are at least partially responsible for the creation of the Terror. For the deaths of worlds and civilizations. Our last, greatest crime against Humanity.”
    “Don’t load yourself down,” growled Owen. “There’s enough guilt to go round for everyone.”
    “Excuse me,” said Brett very politely, peering cautiously out from behind Rose. “But, what the hell are you talking about, please? How could Hazel d’Ark become something like the Terror? For all her power, she was only ever human.”
    “Hazel was desperate to save me,” said Owen. “Somehow, she learned how to go back in time. But she was already half crazy, and what she experienced in the long journey back must have driven her right over the edge. She didn’t know exactly where to look for me, so she just kept going back and back, until finally she lost all her reason, and became just this implacable, relentless thing . . . still searching, though it had lost all memory of what for . . . Poor Hazel. So alone, so lost, hurting so badly . . . Now she’s coming back. And I have to stop her.”
    “Well, before you go rushing off to save us all, O mighty Deathstalker,” said Silence, “can I just point out that we have some rather urgent and pressing problems of our own that need to be dealt with, right here and now? Namely, a fleet of hundreds of Imperial starcruisers in orbit right above us, waiting for your instructions on what to do next. I really don’t think they’re going to listen to the likes of us, so I think it would take a load off all our minds if you’d find the time to have a little chat with them.”
    “Nag, nag, nag,” said Owen. “You haven’t changed at all, Captain. All right . . . Shub, get me the fleet flagship.”
    “Yes, Lord Owen. That would be the Havoc .”
    A viewscreen appeared before them, floating on the air, showing the somewhat surprised Captain Alfred Price. Tall, thin, and aesthetic, they’d actually caught him chewing on a thumbnail. He swallowed hard as he made eye contact with the legendary Deathstalker, and then he rose up sharply out of his command chair to crash to attention and salute.
    “Captain Price, Lord Deathstalker! At your command, my lord, sir!”
    “Relax, Captain,” said Owen, smiling just a little. “I’m not military, and never was. Though I do seem to be in charge now. Are you ready to take my orders, on behalf of the fleet?”
    “Of course, my lord. Every captain in this fleet will follow you to Hell and back.”
    Owen raised an eyebrow. Price certainly sounded like he meant it. “And you speak for all the captains in this fleet in this?”
    “You are Owen,” Price said simply. “We’ve been waiting for your return all our lives. The fleet is yours, my lord.”
    “And this Emperor, Finn. What about him?”
    “Our debt to you outweighs our oath to him,” Price said carefully. “Certainly we do not trust him, as we trust you.”
    “Nicely compartmentalized thinking, Captain,” said Owen. “You’ll go far. Stand ready to accept me and my party aboard your ship.”
    “Yes, my lord. Destination?”
    Owen smiled. “I want to go home. To Virimonde. To walk in my old Standing again, and meet my present Clan and Family.”
    Captain Price swallowed hard again, and looked away for a moment, as though searching for support and strength for what he had to say next. When he finally met Owen’s gaze again, his voice was firm and even, though his eyes were full of compassion.
    “I am sorry, Lord Deathstalker. Apparently the news hasn’t reached your companions yet. There has been an . . . incident, on Virimonde.”
    Lewis stepped forward to stand beside Owen, his skin prickling with a horrid presentiment. “What is it, Captain Price? What has Finn