Read Online Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker by Simon R. Green - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Simon R. Green
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Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. And maybe that was the real legacy of the Deathstalkers.
It occurred to Owen that he was going to die here, lost and alone and abandoned by all those he trusted, but the thought didn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would. He'd lost everything that mattered and a few that didn't: title, money, position, even people. I was fond of you, Cathy. Even if he could somehow find a way to survive this ambush, and what he was doing to himself with the boost, the only future he'd have was as an outlaw and renegade, with every man's hand turned against him. Dear God, I've killed Cathy.
Owen felt suddenly tired, despite the boost. It wasn't that he wanted to die; he just didn't see the point in going on.
Everything he valued had been taken from him by people far beyond his reach.
Revenge seemed unlikely, and even pointless now. It wouldn't bring back what he'd lost. If he was going to die, he thought he'd rather go out in a dignified way, not fighting and squealing like a pig in an abattoir.
He cut off the boost and almost fell as his wounds burst open again. Blood poured down his body, and his legs trembled so much he could hardly stand. He used the last of his strength to put away his sword and disrupter. He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of a struggle. The men who used to be his guards advanced purposefully, weapons at the ready. Owen wrapped himself in what was left of his pride and dignity and fought to keep his head up.
And then a ship came crashing down out of nowhere, and everything changed. The guards scattered, crying out in shock and alarm as they tried to run every way at once. The gleaming steel craft blocked out the sun as it roared down and then
slammed into the broken earth and sat there, large and ugly and immovable. Owen would have run too, but his legs weren't listening to him. He looked blankly at the squat, squarish ship before him: a simple steel container without identification or markings. Which was of course strictly illegal. He slowly realized it wasn't any kind of flyer, but rather some kind of escape pod from a larger craft. A hatch swung open, and a steel ramp slammed down. A slim figure appeared in the hatchway. Owen took a moment to register that it was a. woman, and another to realize that she was almost the same age as him and in almost as bad condition. She was burned, her flesh and her clothes blackened and scorched.
He thought she might have been pretty if her face hadn't been white and splotchy from pain and shock. She was also carrying the biggest and ugliest handgun he'd ever seen. She glared at him and gestured at the interior of her ship.
"Move, you idiot! Those bastards will be back any moment, and I for one don't plan to be here when they get their act together and start shooting. Shift your ass and get in here!"
Owen lurched forward. He didn't know who she was, or what she wanted with him, and he didn't care. A moment before he'd been ready to die, but now he'd found hope again, and he wanted to live. He could recognize destiny when it came calling. He could take a hint. He stumbled up the ramp, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and she yanked it up the moment he was clear and slammed the hatch shut. There were two sets of crash webbing just inside, and Owen sank gratefully into one as the woman threw herself into the other and jabbed frantically at the control panels. The ship lurched under him, engines roared, then they were up and off and moving. Owen let the webbing support him and studied his rescuer thoughtfully. The most obvious guess was that she wanted the reward on his head
and didn't feel like sharing, but somehow he didn't think so. He supposed he should cautiously draw her out with clever questions and gradually determine what she wanted with him, but he didn't have the strength or the patience. So, when ail else fails, be direct. He cleared his throat painfully.
"I'm Owen Deathstalker. Who are you, and why did
It occurred to Owen that he was going to die here, lost and alone and abandoned by all those he trusted, but the thought didn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would. He'd lost everything that mattered and a few that didn't: title, money, position, even people. I was fond of you, Cathy. Even if he could somehow find a way to survive this ambush, and what he was doing to himself with the boost, the only future he'd have was as an outlaw and renegade, with every man's hand turned against him. Dear God, I've killed Cathy.
Owen felt suddenly tired, despite the boost. It wasn't that he wanted to die; he just didn't see the point in going on.
Everything he valued had been taken from him by people far beyond his reach.
Revenge seemed unlikely, and even pointless now. It wouldn't bring back what he'd lost. If he was going to die, he thought he'd rather go out in a dignified way, not fighting and squealing like a pig in an abattoir.
He cut off the boost and almost fell as his wounds burst open again. Blood poured down his body, and his legs trembled so much he could hardly stand. He used the last of his strength to put away his sword and disrupter. He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of a struggle. The men who used to be his guards advanced purposefully, weapons at the ready. Owen wrapped himself in what was left of his pride and dignity and fought to keep his head up.
And then a ship came crashing down out of nowhere, and everything changed. The guards scattered, crying out in shock and alarm as they tried to run every way at once. The gleaming steel craft blocked out the sun as it roared down and then
slammed into the broken earth and sat there, large and ugly and immovable. Owen would have run too, but his legs weren't listening to him. He looked blankly at the squat, squarish ship before him: a simple steel container without identification or markings. Which was of course strictly illegal. He slowly realized it wasn't any kind of flyer, but rather some kind of escape pod from a larger craft. A hatch swung open, and a steel ramp slammed down. A slim figure appeared in the hatchway. Owen took a moment to register that it was a. woman, and another to realize that she was almost the same age as him and in almost as bad condition. She was burned, her flesh and her clothes blackened and scorched.
He thought she might have been pretty if her face hadn't been white and splotchy from pain and shock. She was also carrying the biggest and ugliest handgun he'd ever seen. She glared at him and gestured at the interior of her ship.
"Move, you idiot! Those bastards will be back any moment, and I for one don't plan to be here when they get their act together and start shooting. Shift your ass and get in here!"
Owen lurched forward. He didn't know who she was, or what she wanted with him, and he didn't care. A moment before he'd been ready to die, but now he'd found hope again, and he wanted to live. He could recognize destiny when it came calling. He could take a hint. He stumbled up the ramp, leaving a bloody trail behind him, and she yanked it up the moment he was clear and slammed the hatch shut. There were two sets of crash webbing just inside, and Owen sank gratefully into one as the woman threw herself into the other and jabbed frantically at the control panels. The ship lurched under him, engines roared, then they were up and off and moving. Owen let the webbing support him and studied his rescuer thoughtfully. The most obvious guess was that she wanted the reward on his head
and didn't feel like sharing, but somehow he didn't think so. He supposed he should cautiously draw her out with clever questions and gradually determine what she wanted with him, but he didn't have the strength or the patience. So, when ail else fails, be direct. He cleared his throat painfully.
"I'm Owen Deathstalker. Who are you, and why did
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