by Paul Darrow
“That’s another interesting thought. But you’re too bad to die.” Reiss laughed humourlessly.
They walked on. Eventually, they seated themselves on stone benches and stared into the waters of a stream that ran past them. The stream was well stocked with fish, ready for the High Council supper table.
“You were right,” Vasht said.
“I frequently am.”
“The outer regions are in chaos,” she continued, disdainful of his interruption. “There are guerrilla movements everywhere. Blanca has instituted severe measures, but there are elements, even here on Earth, that have found the courage to oppose them. The courts are overcrowded.” She smiled. “Even the Killer men cannot eliminate everybody.”
Reiss made no comment.
“Gros has suggested we launch an expedition into the Beyond.” Vasht continued. “It might serve as a distraction.”
Reiss shook his head fatalistically. “It would certainly ease your problems if you could provoke a war with an alien civilization. If there is such a thing. Since the collapse of the superstition called religion, there is no fear of the ’unknown’ to manipulate in order to control the mob.”
Vasht was silent for a moment. Then, “Blanca wants you to take charge of the spy network. He wants you to root out all traitors.”
“They would consider themselves patriots,” Reiss said.
“He wants you to persecute dissidents and terrorists.”
“They would call themselves freedom fighters.”
Vasht flushed with anger. “What has freedom got to do with it? The Federation is all there is. There is no alternative. If there isn’t a degree of freedom in the Federation system, it certainly won’t be found anywhere else.”
“Then your traitors and terrorists will try to change the system.”
“We control it.”
“Then they will fight until your control is lost and is found again by someone who commands their respect and support.”
“You sound like a dissident yourself!”
Reiss scowled. “Know your enemy! I have had the luxury of knowing mine. Fight treason with deception, terror with counter terror. I have to tell you—you still might not win.”
Vasht smiled ruefully. “Then, what’s the point?”
Reiss looked at her searchingly. “The point is—there is no point?”
6
Despite reservations, Reiss did as he was bid and formed a group of dedicated followers who infiltrated all strata of Federation society on every planet, satellite and moon of the Empire.
Discontent was widespread and his success was minimal.
Those who were too influential to be simply murdered, or otherwise disposed of, had to be brought to trial. It proved necessary to manufacture charges, so that a kind of justice could be seen to be done. Any uprising that threatened to overthrow the regime, or disturb the status quo, had to be prevented at all and any costs.
Blanca achieved a greater reputation for extreme cruelty than any who had gone before him. His use of the most horrifying methods in suppressing the revolutionary zeal of those opponents of the system that Reiss brought to his attention caused him to become more widely known by his sobriquet—the White Cobra. He became a major target for assassins.
Mars and two of Neptune’s moons flared in rebellion and a great battle was fought through the Clouds of Magellan. There was a slaughter on the satellite called Nereid.
When the battle was over, it was judged that the Federation had triumphed and it exacted awful retribution.
Nonetheless, some resistance survived and went underground.
On Earth itself, there was a sudden surge of antipathy to Blanca’s methods, and those of the Counsellors who supported him. The threat of a new internecine conflict hung in the air.
The Federation backed away. It assumed an ersatz liberal conscience, pretended compassion, hid its terrible aspects.
Reiss, rejoining the ranks of the Killer men, conducted a secret, deadly campaign against its supposed enemies within. But, although his dedication to his task could not be faulted, he disliked the distraction from what he considered his main purpose.
However, Sabbath continued to keep him informed of Kerr’s activities and of his steady progress through the ranks at the Iron School. The Coordinator arranged for Anna Grant to be housed in her natural brother’s house and enabled her to resume her role of mistress.
Del Grant, conscripted into the Iron Guard and obliged to take part in the action fought in the Clouds, was wounded and listed as missing. In fact, he was captured by a guerrilla force on Nereid and converted to its cause.
Once more, Vasht met with Reiss in the gardens of Lupus. Now it was mid-winter and a thick carpet of snow covered the ground. The stream was frozen, as were the ornamental pools. Water from the fountain spouts had frozen in mid-flow, creating exotic ice sculptures. There was no scent from any flower and no birds sang.
Swathed in furs that only just succeeded in keeping out the fierce cold, they walked beneath trees stripped of their spring and summer glory.
“Blanca has become an embarrassment,” Vasht said. “His excesses are bad for business.”
Reiss said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He must be removed from office,” Vasht continued. “His resignation must be final.”
“What makes you think he will resign?”
“You know what I mean!”
They stood together on the bank of the ice-covered stream. Vasht spoke quickly. “It would be preferred if none of the corporations appear to be involved. Some members of the Council will have to be appeased. I will undertake that task.”
“I’m sure you’ll handle it very well,” Reiss said sarcastically.
Vasht ignored the remark. Although she spoke softly, almost as if she were discussing the weather, her concentration on the matter in hand was total.
“The execution must be carried out by someone who will have no difficulty gaining an audience. The assassin must be unarmed.”
“Why don’t you get to the point?” Reiss interrupted.
“You once told me that there is no point.”
Reiss sighed irritably. “I’m too old, too tired and too intelligent for this prevarication.”
“Very well,” Vasht said. “Will you do it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Vasht chose to ignore the question. “You are the one who is best placed. Blanca esteems you because of your recent successes. As far as he is able, he trusts you more than anyone. Except, perhaps, for Pel Gros. But that is a different kind of trust.”
Reiss nodded thoughtfully. “How will Gros react?” He asked.
“You must kill him!”
“Two for the price of one?”
“You can name any price.”
Reiss looked at her intently. “I think you’re playing a game with me.”
Vasht smiled beguilingly. “Why on Earth would I do that?”
“There is more than Earth at stake here.”
“True.”
Snow fell and Reiss looked up at the gray, threatening sky. “I’ll do as you ask,” he said at length, “But, let me make one thing quite clear. If I am taken after I have killed the White Cobra and his lover, and if I am, shall we say, accidentally killed by my captors or shot while trying to escape, I will have left instructions with people I trust to eliminate you!”
Vasht laughed. “That won’t be necessary. I have a better scheme in mind.”
“I’m listening.”
“Killing Blanca and Gros will be a crime that cannot go unpunished. Federation justice must be done. You will be very popular with the masses, however.”
Reiss scowled. “That I can do without!”
The snow was falling thick and fast, but neither of them seemed to notice.
“You are a faithful servant of the Federation,” Vasht said, “I will decide the form your trial will take. I will suggest trial by combat.”
Reiss looked a
t her, startled.
“It’s an ancient ritual,” she went on, “but it’s quite acceptable.”
“I thought our legal system was more civilized?”
Vasht shrugged. “The human race is too complex, too self-interested, too variable to understand the true meaning of the word. Barbarity lurks beneath its veneer.”
Reiss smiled thinly.
“Your motive for the killings, though suspect, will seem irrelevant,” Vasht continued. “All you will have to do to dismiss rumour and allay criticism is to fight and win. You must accept a kind of exile. I guarantee it will be comfortable, even luxurious.”
“I have some unfinished business,” Reiss said.
“Hear me out!” Vasht spoke sharply. “I will choose your opponent for the combat.” She paused, her eyes gleaming as if in anticipation of intense sexual pleasure. “I will choose Rogue Avon’s son!”
Reiss threw his head back and laughed.
“Don’t laugh too soon,” Vasht interrupted him, almost in a whisper. “He may kill you!”
Reiss took hold of her and pulled her to him in a clumsy embrace. “Do you think I really care?”
7
It was arranged that Reiss would dine alone with Blanca and Pel Gros. The latter still considered his former ally a friend and the White Cobra admired him as only a man of equal brutality could admire a contemporary.
Reiss was assigned a room in the castle of Lupus. Preparatory to dressing in a simple, black velvet coverall, he stripped naked and surveyed his body in a long oval mirror.
His dark hair, cut in a fringe, framed a lined, pale face. His eyes, deep in their sockets, were jet black, unfathomable pools. The scars of many conflicts puckered on his chest and back. One leg was slightly shorter than the other, as a result of a wound sustained during an attack upon him with a phosphorous grenade. His mid-section had been cut away. Flesh and bone had been replaced with a supple metal sheath. Artificial veins, inserted by skilled surgeons, allowed his life blood to flow between the upper and lower halves of his body. There were no other functioning organs. He was half a man.
He moved closer to the mirror so that his breath clouded his reflection. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the day that his half-brother had torn him apart with a twin-bladed knife with serrated edge.
In the absence of a father, Reiss had assumed the role, but there had come a falling out between him and Rogue Avon that had been sudden and savage.
Avon had fled to Uranus with Reiss’s blood on his hands.
A terrible cry constricting his throat, Reiss smashed the oval mirror. Blood from his fist mixed with powdered glass.
When he had brought himself under control, he bathed his wounded hand, dressed and walked out of the room. With measured tread, he made his way along a wide, brightly lit corridor that was walled with marble. At the end of it, he pushed open heavy panelled doors and entered the chamber of the High Council.
Blanca and Gros, seated at a table laden with every kind of food—meat, vegetables, rare fruits—rose to greet him.
“I’m sorry,” Gros said in a hushed tone, “but I must search you for weapons. Just a formality.”
Reiss smiled and raised his arms above his head while Gros, rather too perfunctorily, Reiss thought, patted his body with a certain effeminate grace.
Blanca nodded and smiled when he indicated that Reiss was unarmed and invited him to be seated.
“You have served us well,” the albino said, picking at his food as if he considered eating a tiresome formality.
Reiss said nothing as Gros passed him a glass of Saturn wine.
Blanca cleared his throat. “Vasht tells me that you feel you have had enough. That you—how shall I put it?—that you wish to retire from our service. Is that so?
Reiss nodded.
“Very few are permitted to retire peacefully from the ranks of the nine families,” Blanca said ominously.
The sycophantic Gros sniggered.
“I was hoping you might allow an exception,” Blanca frowned. “How old are you?”
“I really don’t know. Perhaps fifty Earth years.”
“A good age.”
“Average as far as life expectancy in the Federation is concerned.”
On cue, Gros laughed again.
“You understand, I’m sure,” Blanca went on, “that, if we were to lose your services, they are likely to be sought by others?”
“I have no ambitions.”
“That’s not the point!” the albino snapped. “It is other ambitions that concern us.”
“What do you propose?” Reiss was biting into a peach.
Blanca shrugged and glanced out of a high window at a full moon encased in a black night.
Gros leaned across the table and spoke earnestly. “Axel! There is great danger here. We have uncovered a plot.”
“There are so many plots, I’m surprised you can tell one from the other,” Reiss said acidly.
“Vasht is involved,” Gros continued, then paused for a reaction.
Reiss smiled. “Isn’t she always?”
“We wondered if she had approached you?” Blanca asked, his pink eyes narrowing to points.
Reiss looked from one to the other. “Of course,” he said.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Gros. Blanca was silent and very still, a glass of wine held halfway to his lips.
“As a matter of fact,” Reiss said coolly, “she arranged our meeting here tonight so that I may kill you both.”
Pel Gros, his face very pale, stood abruptly. Blanca grabbed his arm and, his concentration never leaving Reiss for a second, forced his companion to sit again. “And?” he said to Reiss.
Reiss stood, glass in hand, and glanced at the painting hanging on the wall at the far end of the room. “I considered it,” he said.
“You’re very frank.” Blanca’s eyes followed him like twin lasers homing in on a target.
“I see no point in deception,” Reiss said, walking over to the painting, seeming to study it.
Blanca rose from the table and joined him.
Gros, tense and fearful, held his own wine glass in a grip of iron.
Reiss turned and smiled disarmingly. “It was a question of weighing the pros and cons,” he said.
Blanca smiled conspiratorially. “I take it you have reached a sensible decision?” he asked coyly.
Reiss, his smile seemingly fixed in place, smashed his crystal glass on the edge of the Council’s antique desk and slashed him across the face with jagged glass.
Blanca staggered back in surprise and pain.
Gros shrieked and leapt to his feet. Foolishly, he launched himself across the room at Reiss who, with the stiffened edge of his hand, cut him down with a savage blow.
Blanca, blood pumping from his eyes, was trying to reach an alarm button set into the wall.
Calmly, Reiss stripped himself of his wide leather belt studded with silver. He caught Blanca round the neck with it and forced him to his knees. The albino’s eyes bulged. Now he choked on blood.
Gros, recovered, sprang across the desk and pushed the button. He turned and, transfixed with fear, watched as Blanca’s body sagged beneath Reiss’s powerful arms. With a twist of the belt, Reiss snapped the albino’s neck. He turned his attention to Gros.
“No, No!” Gros whimpered as he backed away. He was frothing at the mouth.
Reiss struck him a terrible blow just above his heart and he fell. Reiss kicked his head. Then, grabbing him by his hair, he dragged him across the room to a high window.
Gros screamed as Reiss lifted him up and hurled him through the plate glass. He was still screaming as he fell to the gardens below.
The door to the chamber burst open and half a dozen Iron Guards piled into the room, their weapons levelled at Reiss.
Breathing heavily, stained with blood, he snatched a bottle of wine from the table and drained it.
Vasht entered. She viewed the scene with evident satisfaction. She walked over
to Blanca’s lifeless body and touched it with a dainty foot.
An icy wind gushed through the broken window. Tiny pieces of glass tinkled to the floor.
Vasht crossed the room to Reiss’s side. He was sitting now. Outwardly calmed, his eyes bore into her. She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips.
PART FOUR
Desolation
1
Kerr Avon, known for the time being as Grant, learned well at the Iron School. The task his mother had set him weighed heavily but, for the moment, he devoted his time and energy to achieving that which would better equip him to carry it out.
He made no friends among the elite student body. Only Amiyak could be said to have a close relationship with him.
When Makarov died, there seemed to be no suspicion concerning the manner of his death and Avon, to whom subterfuge and cunning had become second nature, commiserated as a “Brother” should.
When they came to Earth together, they formed a bond of interdependence that would not be broken until Amiyak’s death.
Because of its importance as a kind of insurance for the future of the Federation, the school and its inhabitants were isolated and disciplined to the extent that communication with the outside Universe was severely restricted. Anna Grant was but a memory.
The day came when Sabbath came to call.
Quietly, very gently, for he too had a talent for deception, he explained that Rowena and Pi Grant had been murdered by dissidents. That the flame of revolution had been lit in the Empire and that they had been among the first casualties. The perpetrators had been caught, he said, tortured and executed. The quarters of their mutilated bodies had been on public show and Sabbath produced video films to prove it.
Avon’s first question concerned Anna.
“She is safe,” Sabbath answered him, smiling paternally. “It was a happy accident that she was away from her home at the time.”
“Where is she?”
“Being cared for by powerful friends. In time, it may be possible for her to come here. Difficult, given the security that surrounds this place.”
Avon seemed content with the answer. He went to see Del Grant who was preparing to leave for the Federation campaigns that would eventually lead to the running battle through the Cloud of Magellan.