Silence, Frost, and Stelmach took it in turns to tell what they'd found in the vast caverns deep beneath the frozen surface of the Wolfling World, once also known as Haden, home to the augmented supermen, the Hadenmen. They told of the thousands of sleeping Hadenmen, who rose from their long death-like sleep and walked out of their Tomb, glorious and powerful, an army of cyborg warriors who once tried to overthrow humanity and only narrowly failed.
They told of the rebels who woke them: the outlaw, Owen Deathstalker, the pirate Hazel d'Ark, the bounty hunter Ruby Journey, and the legendary professional rebel Jack Random. They told of the defeat of the Dauntless's forces, but none of them mentioned the Lord High Dram's presence or his death at the hands of another legend—the original Deathstalker, thought dead for centuries, but now returned for vengeance against the Empire that betrayed and hounded him. All three had been told previously, in no uncertain terms, that Dram was not to be mentioned. Given their current situation, Silence and Frost and Stelmach were happy to be flexible with the truth.
The Court continued to murmur among itself, despite darting glares from the Empress, as the courtiers reacted to names like Jack Random and the original Deathstalker. They were also troubled by the reemergence of Owen Deathstalker, outlawed by the Empress for no good reason, who had evaded all her armies and now looked to be leading the new rebellion. And they really didn't like the idea of a new army of Hadenmen massing to attack the Empire again. The only reason the Hadenmen weren't still officially listed as the Enemies of Humanity was because the rogue AIs of Shub were even nastier. The Empress finally sat back and let them mutter for a while before reclaiming their attention with her amplified voice.
"Let's not all panic just yet, boys and girls. The Hadenmen are a long way away and only newly awakened; it will be some time yet before they're in any position to pose a real threat to us. The man claiming to be Jack Random could be nothing more than a double; rebel propaganda to draw people to their cause. The man himself is probably long dead." She stopped suddenly as BB Chojiro stepped gracefully out of the crowd to stand before the Throne. BB bowed gracefully, and the Empress fixed her with an icy glare. "This had better be good, Chojiro. And extremely relevant."
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, it had come to us through normally reliable channels that Jack Random had been captured by Empire forces some time back, and then escaped."
"Then, you were misinformed," said Lionstone flatly. "We never had him. If we had, he would never have been allowed to escape. Is that clear? Good. Now, don't interrupt us again, or we'll have the Grendel open you up so we can all see what little girls are made of."
"Clan Chojiro has no wish to appear rude or impertinent, Your Majesty," said BB calmly. "We are merely trying to ascertain the facts. The Hadenman ship that brought the rebels here today was very real and twice as impressive, implying that not only are the Hadenmen and the rebels working together, but that the augmented men are already so well prepared that they can drop in on us anytime they like. Who is to say a fleet of these ships is not already setting out from Haden to try humanity's strength again?"
"You're a real cheerful sort to have around, Chojiro," said Lionstone. "If the Hadenmen are getting ready for a comeback, that is all the more reason to support my military buildup, and stop whining about your tax bills, isn't it? Anyone else want to add anything before we move on? Bearing in mind it had better be pretty damn good, or we'll keep you all here till your eyeballs freeze solid."
"If you will allow me," said Valentine Wolfe, "I have a few words to say." He stepped forward to stand beside BB, who gave him a brief sidelong glance and then stepped a little farther away. Valentine gave her a dazzling smile anyway and nodded to the Empress. "Lovely Court, Lionstone. Very bracing. Could do with a few penguins, but I like the snow. It goes with my complexion. Now then, I had heard, through various, reliable, and only slightly corrupt sources that your consort, the Lord High Dram, had been a part of Captain Silence's expedition to the Wolfling World, and that, regrettably, he met his end there. And is, in fact, quite definitely dead. Given that no one seems to have seen him at Court or at your side for some time, perhaps you could reassure us all as to his present whereabouts and well-being?"
"Of course," said Lionstone. "Dram was never there. He has been here on Golgotha all along, undertaking some important business for me."
"I'm sure we're all very relieved to hear that," said Valentine. "But where might the Lord High Dram be, right now?"
"Right here," said the Empress, smiling calmly. "At my side, as he always is."
She gestured smoothly, a hologram shield disappeared, and there was Dram, standing beside her, between Cardinal Kassar and the Throne. Kassar didn't actually jump, but he looked as though he would have liked to and did move away a step before he could stop himself. Dram, Warrior Prime of the Empire, stood at Lionstone's side in his jet-black robes and battle armor, his familiar handsome face perhaps just a little cold and distant. He nodded calmly to the assembled courtiers, who stared silently back. There had never been any love lost between Lionstone's right hand and the Company of Lords. Valentine studied Dram for a long moment, then looked at BB, shrugged, and stepped back into the crowd. No point in playing out a losing hand. BB Chojiro inclined her head to Dram and to the Empress, and stepped back to rejoin Investigator Razor. Silence and Frost and Stelmach looked at each other.
"Now, that is interesting," murmured Frost. "If that's Dram, who did we see die on the Wolfling World? The real Dram? Is this a clone, or was it the clone who came with us while the real Dram stayed behind here?"
"I don't know," said Silence. "But I have a strong feeling asking those sorts of questions could prove to be really bad for your health."
"What are you saying?" said Stelmach impatiently. "I can't understand either of you when you whisper like that. What are we going to do?"
Silence and Frost looked at each other. Without realizing, they'd fallen into the near telepathic contact again, their thoughts jumping back and forth like conversation. Which should have been impossible with all the esp-blockers Lionstone insisted on for Court gatherings. Something else for them to discuss when they were safely alone.
"I'll tell you what we're going to do," said Silence to Stelmach. "We're going to keep our mouths shut until the Empress tells us what to say. If she says that's Dram, then that's Dram. Right?"
"Fine by me," said Frost.
"Right," said Stelmach, but he didn't look at all happy about it.
There was a sudden disturbance among the courtiers as someone moved forward through the crush, and then a man dressed in the very height of fashion stepped out of the crowd to stand challengingly before the Iron Throne. He wore a long golden frock coat and leather boots that rose halfway up his thighs. His hair was long bronzed strands, and his face was blindingly florescent. The thick silver medallion hanging over his breast proclaimed him an elected Member of Parliament. He glanced quickly about him for the holo cameras he knew were somewhere around, even if he couldn't see them, and drew himself up proudly. Like all politicians, he understood the importance of putting on a good show for an audience. And half the Empire would be watching today.
"Your Majesty, I really must protest. Information has come to me, from a private but valued source who must of course remain anonymous, that verifies everything the Lord Wolfe had to say. The Lord High Dram is dead. He died on the Wolfling World, cut down by the original Deathstalker himself. The man at your side is at best an impostor, at worst a clone you are attempting to fool us into accepting. Well, I for one am not fooled. I must insist that this… person submit to a genetest, here and now. We cannot permit a clone to stand as Consort to Your Majesty."
"We?" said Dram. "And who might this we be?"
"I represent a number of my colleagues," said the Member of Parliament. "And I trust I have the backing of every loyal man and woman here. We have a right to know the truth."
Lionstone leaned forward on her Throne, her face calm and
quite composed. "Your face is not familiar to us. You are… ?"
The MP drew himself up a little farther, his voice ringing out magnificently. "I am Richard Scott, newly elected Member for Graylake East. I won my seat on a platform of reform for truth and justice in government. It seems only fitting that I begin my fight here at Court."
Lionstone nodded and leaned back in her Throne. "I might have known. There's nothing more pompous and impertinent than a newly elected official. Dram, you deal with this."
Dram nodded, his cold dark eyes fixed on Scott, who was looking a little perturbed. Whatever answer he'd expected to his challenge, this wasn't it. No anger or denial or bluster, just a calm indifference from the Empress and a cold calculating look from her Consort. Scott began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. His colleagues had been loud enough in their support earlier, but now they stood silent in the crowd while he stood alone before the Iron Throne. Dram stepped forward, and Scott had to fight down an impulse to step back. He had to appear strong, resolute. Dram came to a halt, standing between Scott and the Throne. His sudden smile was cold as death.
"The Empress has already stated before this assembled Court that I am the real Lord High Dram. By challenging that, you challenge her word. You have, in effect, called her a liar. And that is a dueling offense—a matter of honor. I represent Lionstone in this matter. Find another to stand for you, or you must defend yourself, here and now."
Scott paled as he saw the trap he'd fallen into. No one would help him now. The field of honor was sacrosanct. He swallowed hard. "Your Majesty, I protest! Members of Parliament are by tradition exempt from the Code Duello."
"Normally, yes," said Dram. "But you insulted the Empress in front of her own Court. That much insult outweighs tradition."
Scott didn't turn to look behind him. He knew the faces of the courtiers would be closed against him. He raised his hands to show they were empty. "I don't have a sword."
One of the guards who'd brought in the late head of starport security stepped forward at Dram's gesture and offered Scott his sword. The MP accepted it as though it was his death warrant, which in a way it was. He was no duelist, hadn't drawn a sword in anger since his student days. And Dram was the Warrior Prime. If this was Dram, of course.
Scott hefted the sword once, getting the feel of it. It was a good blade, well balanced. He started to cry. Not a breakdown or anything dramatic; he'd be damned if he gave them the satisfaction. Just a few tears, running down his cheeks. He knew he was going to die. This was an execution, not a duel. He couldn't remember whether he'd told his wife he loved her when he left that morning. He hoped he had. And he'd had that specially imported marble come for the forecourt. She wouldn't have a clue what to do with it. So many things left undone. He shook his head briefly. None of that mattered now. It was too late for anything but Dram and him and their two swords. He looked straight at Dram, and though tears were still running down his cheeks, his voice was cold and hard and determined.
"Let's do it."
Dram stepped forward, lifting his sword, and Scott went to meet him. They circled each other a moment, and then Dram launched a blistering attack with all his strength behind it. Scott parried as best he could, but after only half a dozen blows his sword was knocked out of his hand. He watched it sail through the air and land in the snow a dozen feet away. He looked back at Dram, held his head high, and tried to keep his mouth from trembling. There was nowhere he could run, and maybe a good showing would buy him a reprieve from the Empress. But Dram didn't even look back at her. He raised his sword and brought it flashing down to sink deep into Scott's right shoulder, like a forester taking his ax to a stubborn tree.
The impact drove Scott to his knees, a surprised sound exploding from his slack mouth. Dram jerked his sword free, and blood fountained from the great wound, spattering Scott's face and the snow around him. Dram struck at him again and again, avoiding a killing blow, his sword rising and falling with relentless precision. Scott tried to intercept some of the blows with his arms, the sword slicing skin and meat away as the blade rebounded from the bones, but then one of the blows took off his left hand, and after that he just crouched there in the snow, cradling the bloody stump to his chest. He cried out constantly at the pain, but made no move to avoid any of the blows. Finally, he fell forward into the crimson snow and lay still. It was obvious to all that the man was dead, but Dram continued to hack at the body like an axman cutting wood, the body jumping and shuddering under the rain of blows.
The courtiers watched in horrified silence. Lionstone leaned forward in her Throne to get a better view, smiling widely. The maids stirred restlessly at the foot of her Throne, excited by the smell of blood in the air, watching the body jump and shudder with their unblinking insect eyes. Silence watched impassively, and wondered if he'd just crouch there in the snow and take it. Armed or unarmed, he'd do his best to die with his hands crushing Dram's throat. Frost watched the display with a curled lip, disapproving of such a messy kill. Stelmach's face was as white as the snow, but he didn't look away. He knew how dangerous it could be to show weakness in Lionstone's Court. And finally Dram stopped and straightened up, standing over the butchered body with blood dripping the length of his sword blade. He was breathing just a little heavily, but his face was calm. He thrust his sword into the snow a few times to clean it, and then sheathed it. He looked at the watching faces of the courtiers, and smiled briefly.
"Time for a by-election at Graylake East." He moved back to take his place at Lionstone's side. Kassar gave him plenty of room. The Empress gestured for her guards to come and drag the body away, as they'd previously disposed of the late head of starport security. They wrapped the body in a sheet, careful not to leave any of it behind, and carried it away. They couldn't do anything about all the blood soaked into the snow, though. The courtiers were silent and watchful, thinking hard and privately for later discussion. They all knew an object lesson when they saw one. They also recognized the Lord High Dram's distinctive style when they saw it, and this killing had been typical of the man privately known as the Widowmaker. Lionstone reached out and tousled Dram's hair, as one might pet a favorite dog, and then turned her gaze on Silence, Frost, and Stelmach. Silence and Stelmach tried to stand a little straighten
"We have new duties for you three," said Lionstone calmly. "We were rather upset with you when we heard of your failures on the Wolfling World, but in saving us from the alien ship, you have redeemed yourselves. We must commend you, Captain Silence. You seem to have a knack of drawing back from the brink at the very last moment. Take care your timing doesn't let you down in the future. Now then, you and your companions are to return to the Dauntless, embark on a tour of all those planets in our Empire still mainly populated by aliens, and make sure of their loyalty to the Throne in these trying times. If you encounter dissent, you are empowered by us to take whatever steps you deem necessary to restore order. Under no circumstances is any alien world to be allowed to make contact with any alien force from outside the Empire. If contact has already been established, you are authorized to scorch the planet. That's all. You can say thank you now."
"Thank you, on behalf of us all. Your Majesty," said Silence. He thought he'd better say it. Stelmach was still clearly in shock, and Frost had never said thank you in her life. Investigators didn't. "I take it you wish us to begin this tour of duty immediately?"
"Oh, hang around for a while if you like," said Lionstone. "Enjoy the rest of this audience. It might be some time before you get a chance to see us again."
If we're lucky, thought Silence, bowing. He wasn't fooled by the kind words. No one was. He'd been handed what was essentially punishment duties, doing the dirtiest, most unpleasant but necessary job she could find. Too important to be trusted to someone incompetent or weak of stomach, but too time-consuming to be given to anyone she really needed. And afterward, if his actions proved to be politically embarrassing, he could always be thrown to the wolves as a sacrifice. Still, it could
have been worse. He was still alive and in possession of all his extremities. He had been given a sign that he was forgiven, if not forgotten; a last chance to show he could still be useful.
He hadn't been fooled by Lionstone's invitation to stick around, either. Once this Court was over, guards would no doubt immediately appear to escort him and his companions back to the Dauntless, to see they didn't get lost along the way or talk to anyone they shouldn't. One reason for sending them out to the backs of beyond was so they couldn't be asked awkward questions about Dram's death on the Wolfling World. By the time they got back to Golgotha, the question would be moot. Silence gestured to Frost and Stelmach, and led them back into the safety of the crowd. It wouldn't he wise to risk catching the Empress's eye again. There was such a thing as tempting fate.
Lionstone began winding down the business of the Court, handing out commendations and reprimands as necessary, and reminding everyone of where the true power in the Empire lay. Questions were asked and answered, points of law decided, and reports made on the repair work taking place in the devastated city and starport. The courtiers began to relax a little and felt free enough to talk quietly among themselves again. David Deathstalker and Kit SummerIsle, that quiet young man also known as Kid Death, watched from a safe distance and allowed themselves the occasional discreet yawn. The action appeared to be over. It had finally stopped snowing and the wind had settled down, as though even the weather was growing bored now the excitement was over. It was still bloody cold, though. A cold setting for two very cold young men.
Kit SummerIsle had become the head of his Family by the simple expedient of killing everyone who stood between him and the title, including his own parents. He killed his grandfather, a legendary old warrior, at the request of the Empress, but little good it had done him. She lost interest in him once he was no longer of any use to her. He flirted with the underground for a while, but was thinking of dropping out after the debacle at Silo Nine. He knew a losing proposition when he saw one. And so the man commonly known as Kid Death, trusted by no one and hated by many, had become an outcast and a pariah even in the dog-eat-dog world of high society. Just nineteen years old, he was a slender figure in black and silver battle armor, with pale blond flyaway hair above a long pale face dominated by icy blue eyes. He walked like a predator in a world of prey. Kid Death, the smiling killer.
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