Free Mistworld (Deathstalker Prelude) by Simon R. Green Page B

rule, but only by paying a very heavy price. Technology was the lifeblood of a starport, and Mistport was running dangerously low. The landing pads hadn’t been repaired or extended since the Empire first built them, almost three centuries ago. The high-impact crystal that could withstand the blast of a starship’s engines and sustain its million tons of weight was now cracked and dull, worn slowly away by the unrelenting storms and cold.
    Blackjack looked round sharply as two figures moved slowly out of the mists towards him. He let one hand rest on the butt of his gun, hidden from sight by his cloak, and then relaxed a little as one of the men lifted his hand in the prearranged recognition signal. A moue of distaste pulled at the mercenary’s mouth. Paying bribes to traitors was hardly his idea of a day’s work, but Vertue gave the orders and Blackjack had no choice but to obey them. For as long as the contract lasted. Afterwards… Blackjack smiled suddenly, though his eyes remained cold.
    The two men followed a tortuous, invisible path through the hidden pressure fields and proximity mines. The location of the safe paths was a closely guarded secret, revealed only to those Watchmen responsible for starport security. Unfortunately for the starport, Watchmen were only human, and every man has his price. Or his breaking point. Blackjack didn’t know why Vertue should want a map of the safe routes, and didn’t much care. He had his orders.
    The two security Watchmen finally came to a halt before him, and Blackjack bowed politely. The Watchmen nodded their heads briefly in return, and for a moment the three men stared silently at one another. Both security men were tall and lean, and at least partly anonymous in their thick purple cloaks and padded helmets. They both carried pikes, the heavy steel heads gleaming dully in the light from the control tower. Yet for all their similarities, Blackjack had no difficulty in telling them apart. The one with the scarred face was Sterling; the one with the golden eyes was Taylor.
    Blackjack’s hand tightened on his gun butt. He’d heard a lot about Taylor, none of it good. Word was that Taylor was a Hadenman, and one look at those madly glowing eyes was enough to convince Blackjack that he was indeed facing one of the rare and legendary augmented men of lost Haden. Taylor’s face was pleasant enough, almost handsome in its way, but the glaring golden eyes gave his features a wild, inhuman look. Even standing still, he gave an impression of strength and speed, and a savagery barely held in check. Blackjack was tempted to draw his gun and shoot Taylor where he stood; the man was dangerous. But he had his orders. And besides, the mercenary had an uneasy feeling he might not be fast enough.…
    The man at Taylor’s side had to be Sterling, the ex-gladiator from Golgotha. Which was also fairly impressive; there were reputed to be even fewer survivors of the Golgotha Arenas than there were survivors from Haden. Blackjack decided that Vertue had known what he was doing after all, in sending a mercenary on a simple payoff job. These two Watchmen were both hard, experienced fighters. Blackjack smiled slightly. When all was said and done they were still amateurs, while he was a professional.
    “You’re Blackjack,” said Taylor suddenly. His voice had a harsh, rasping buzz, alien and subtly disturbing. It had no place in a human throat. “I was expecting Vertue himself. Where is he?”
    “The doctor is busy,” said Blackjack easily. “He sent me in his place.”
    “Prove it.”
    Blackjack pulled off the thick leather glove on his left hand and showed the two Watchmen the heavy gold ring on his finger, carrying Vertue’s seal. Taylor nodded, and Blackjack pulled the glove back on. His hand had been exposed to the evening air for only a few moments, but already his fingers were numb.
    “I was told to ask about the memory crystal,” he said evenly. “Has it been