Deathstalker Coda

by Simon R. Green

  The Psycho Sluts took to the air, shooting up into the early morning sky like avenging angels. They tore in and out of the lumbering gravity barges, blowing the antiquated vessels apart with vivid pyrotechnic displays of psionic energy. Gun ports exploded, steel shells tore like paper, and terrible multicolored fires swept through the packed interiors. The huge war machines lurched off course, slammed together, or just drifted helplessly, black smoke billowing from their shattered engines. Attack sleds and their unprotected riders plummeted from the skies like burning birds.

  But still the main fighting was on the ground, as the Rookery rose up as one against the invaders from outside, cutting down the enemy with vicious skill and righteous fury. The Imperial soldiers fought with close precision, the fanatics fought with ice-cold fury, certain their God was on their side, singing their terrible songs of glory, and the thralls… fought with wide happy smiles, not caring whether they lived or died because the body meant nothing to the minds that drove them. And none of that mattered worth a damn, because the Rookery had awakened, finally forced into battle and discovering how good it felt to strike back at a hated enemy. The streets filled with blood and bodies and the cries of the fallen, and the intersections were choked with pushing, heaving mobs, and the invaders were slowed, stopped, and finally pushed back by the sheer press of people spilling out onto the streets to oppose them. The invaders fought only to win; the Rookery fought for a cause. For freedom. And what was death, compared to the promise of freedom from fear and tyranny?

  Douglas Campbell and Stuart Lennox fought side by side, and occasionally back to back, and no one could stand against them, though many tried. They were always there in the thickest of the fighting, inspiring everyone with their feats of daring and their calm determination. They threw themselves into the face of the enemy, defying the odds, and the people of the Rookery followed, calling out their names as war cries.

  Diana Vertue, still occasionally Jenny Psycho, strode through the streets, and wherever she looked enemy troops died. Some exploded, some burst into flames that could not be put out, and some just fell back and screamed away their sanity at what they'd seen in her eyes. Diana didn't even notice. She concentrated, reaching deep within herself, and then turned the full force of her extraordinary mind on the link between the uber-espers and the thralls they controlled in the Rookery. Diana could see it clearly, like the convoluted web of an insane spider, hanging over the Rookery and leading far away. She broke the link with a single surge of destructive energy, and all across the Rookery men and women collapsed, thralls no longer. With their minds restored to them, they stopped fighting immediately, and just sat and cried and howled, at the memories of what they had been forced to do. Some even hugged the bewildered fighters of the Rookery, thanking them for their release.

  At one stroke, the size of the invading army had been halved, and the already faltering attack fell apart. Shattered into smaller, easily overwhelmed groups, they soon realized they couldn't hope to win, and the wise ones turned and fled. The invasion became a rout, and collapsed. The Rookery killed the fanatics who stood, and pursued those who ran, cutting them down from behind. They had seen too much slaughter and destruction to think of mercy. In the end, only one man got out of the Rookery alive.

  Joseph Wallace had never ventured far inside hostile territory. He stuck close to the Rookery boundary, trying hard to keep on top of what was happening. He was only there in person because the Emperor had required it of him. He couldn't believe how quickly his marvelous army had fallen apart. It should have been a walkover; his trained and fervent warriors against the rabble of the Rookery. All the computer simulations had said so. But instead he'd been forced to watch helplessly as his people died, outnumbered and overwhelmed. Even his glorious air force had been crippled, driven from the skies by those esper freaks. He sent frantic calls for reinforcements, for any kind of backup, but they went unanswered. There were no more soldiers to be had, Finn wouldn't release any of his fanatics, and the ELFs… were silent. In the end, all that was left for Joseph was to turn and run. No one tried to stop him. He made it across the boundary of the Rookery and back into the rigidly controlled area of the Parade of the Endless, and found waiting for him a dozen of the Emperor's personal zealots. They wore the scarlet cross of the Church Militant on their armor, but when he tried to command them, they fell upon him and forced him to his knees.

  "What are you doing?" he screamed. "What are you doing?''''

  They cut off his head and stuck it on a spike, and took it back to Finn, leaving the body to rot in the streets. He'd been told not to come back if he failed.

  This was the Emperor's first big failure to be seen live, as it happened, on viewscreens all across the Empire. Overnight the Rookery became a symbol for the possibility of successful rebellion. Proof that you could defy the Emperor, and get away with it. And as the Rookery celebrated their victory, and mourned their losses, uprisings broke out on planets everywhere. Imperial troops were caught by surprise, and overrun. Finn had no extra troops to send, and too many troubles of his own, so he did what he'd told Joseph to do, the one thing Joseph had quailed at. He chose a planet at random, a backward but comfortable world called Pandora, and used transmutation engines to reduce all life on the world to undifferentiated protoplasmic slime. The news spread quickly, and the rebellions stopped, because there was no one to tell them how few engines there actually were in the Empire.

  Until Nina Malapert appeared in her studio again, red-faced and breathless from fighting in the streets, to follow up her live coverage of the invasion with newly arrived information from the combined fleet currently approaching Logres. She told the listening, frightened worlds that most of the engines had been destroyed at Mog Mor, and backed it up with on-the-spot recordings from the starship Heritage. And the rebellions broke out all over again, this time fueled with fury over what had happened to Pandora.

  Finn Durandal sat alone in his private quarters, thinking. He could still win. All he had to do was cut off the head of the rebellion, and the body would falter and fall apart. All he had to do was take out the figurehead, the acclaimed King of Thieves, and the Rookery would be leaderless, and fall apart into feuding factions. They depended on Douglas, not just for leadership, but for vision. Yes, all he had to do was kill his old friend and comrade Douglas Campbell. The man who was the source of his problems, and always had been.

  Finn had known before of the fleet's surrender, but the news of the incipent invasion had finally reached him. It took so long because no one wanted to be the one to tell him. They told Joseph, but he had been too busy planning his invasion of the Rookery to be bothered. Eventually a Church Militant fanatic was found with a strong sense of duty and no real sense of self-preservation, and he was sent to tell the Emperor. Finn listened in silence to the news that the combined fleet was now heading towards Logres with the express intent of kicking him off his throne, and when he was sure he'd heard every detail, he beat the messenger to death with his bare hands, and went raging through the corridors of his palace with sword and gun in hand, killing everyone he came across. Even his most loyal followers fled, rather than face his incandescent rage. Even his bodyguards disappeared. After a very long time, Finn just ran out of energy. He slumped against a blood-spattered wall, breathing heavily, gore dripping thickly from the blade in his hand, and finally decided he'd vented enough for one day. He trudged wearily back to his private quarters, and poured himself several large brandies.

  He put away his sword without bothering to clean it, and laughed shakily. It had been a long time since he'd let the beast run loose like that. But he couldn't afford to indulge himself anymore. He had to think… He picked up the only intact chair, set it on its legs again, and sat down.

  It all came down to Douglas. If he could kill the ex-King before the combined fleet arrived, he'd be able to negotiate from a position of strength. With the Terror on its way, the Empire needed a strong man on the throne. They had to know that. And
with Douglas gone, who else was there who could do the job? The runaway Deathstalker? Finn thought not.

  He smiled slowly, the last of the tension easing out of his muscles. He could deal with Douglas. He knew how the Campbell thought, what reached him, and what moved him. After all, they'd been friends and colleagues for so long… Finn understood Douglas, and Douglas only thought he understood Finn. So setting a trap to lure Douglas in, and then kill him, shouldn't be any problem at all.

  Finn went to talk to Anne Barclay. This meant talking to Dr. Happy as well, which was unfortunate. The good doctor had continued to deteriorate, and was now barely a shadow of his former self. Finn entered the private and very secure laboratory he maintained in the palace for the doctor and his patient, and found Dr. Happy scrabbling around on the floor on all fours, searching for some bit of him that had fallen off. Finn had to call the doctor's name several times before he responded, and then he lurched reluctantly back onto his feet again. There wasn't a lot of Dr. Happy left. He wore nothing but his stained and crumpled lab coat, revealing a shriveled and desiccated body with holes in it, topped by a face that was little more than a skull with strands of wispy flyaway hair. The nose and ears were gone, the lips just pale tatters. Dr. Happy waggled his remaining fingers at Finn in a friendly manner, peering at him uncertainly with sunken, piss yellow eyes.

  "So good to see you again, Finn! Yes! I've been working on a marvelous new experiment that will allow us to plug in other people's organs as backup spare parts… imagine what you could do if your body contained three hearts and two livers… I have broken the compatibility barrier! I have! You'll see, before long I'll have made a new man of myself! The tech keeps me going, of course, but it lacks a certain… something. Flesh is the key to all mysteries."

  "Well," said Finn. "That's all very demented, but I have business to be about. How is Anne?"

  "A work of art, if I say so myself. You could put her up against a Hadenman now, and make a killing on the side bets. Go and have a nice chat, while I try and find my genitals."

  Finn made a wide circle around Dr. Happy, and let himself into the reinforced steel vault they'd built at the back of the lab to contain the rebuilt Anne Barclay. He found her standing still and silent in the middle of the room, staring at nothing, not even the mirror. For a long time the addition of the synthesized Boost to her many tech implants had made her restless and suddenly violent, but the mood seemed to have passed. At least, there didn't seem to be any new dents in the steel walls. Finn approached her cautiously.

  "Hello, Anne. How are we doing today?"

  "I don't know about you," said Anne, not looking round, "but I'm fighting the voices in my head. Dr. Happy put computers in me, to help run my various servomechanisms, and I can hear them whining away at the back of my thoughts. I'm fighting a civil war in my head, and I fear I may be losing. Why did you do this to me, Finn?"

  "I couldn't let you die."

  "Why not? You let so many other people die. And it might actually have been kinder, in my case."

  "I couldn't let you go," said Finn. "Because you're the only one who saw the monster within me, and didn't flinch."

  Anne looked at him for the first time with her glowing golden eyes, and smiled briefly. "Takes one to know one."

  "I want to help you," said Finn. "Tell me how."

  "Don't you know what I need, Finn?"

  "Emotional support. But I've never been very good at that. Just don't have the knack."

  "Then you're no use to me. You'd have to be human to understand what I'm going through, and you left that behind a long time ago."

  Finn looked at her, feeling helpless. He didn't like the feeling. He could see what she needed, but had no idea what it involved. He never had. Emotions were for the most part things he only understood from a distance. But he tried anyway. Because he needed to believe that even monsters didn't have to be monsters all the time.

  "I could still make you my Queen," he said. "Set you on a throne beside me. No one would say anything. No one would dare."

  Anne laughed harshly. "I can just see something like me sitting on a throne. A perfect symbol for the Empire you've made, Finn. No. I never wanted to be Queen. I wanted so very little, and never got any of it. And now… I'm haunted by the people I could have been. Stronger, better, happier people. All I am now is what you made of me. Just another poor damned monster—like you."

  Finn considered the matter, and then shrugged mentally. Anne was lost to him, trapped within her own limitations. Which meant he had no more use for her, except as a weapon to use against his enemies. So he turned and left her in her room, her cage, nodded good-bye to the preoccupied Dr. Happy, and went off to set in motion his plan to bait and trap and kill Douglas Campbell.

  First, he made an official announcement, on all his tame news stations, that Anne Barclay wasn't dead after all. Instead, she had been kept in strict seclusion while she recovered from her many serious injuries. But now that she was finally well enough, she could at last be put on trial for treason, and the murder of the well-beloved Paragon Emma Steel. There would be a show trial, televised on every channel, followed quickly by a prolonged, painful, and messy execution.

  Finn watched a recording of his broadcast afterwards, and gave himself serious points for an excellent performance. He struck just the right notes of betrayed trust and outraged honor. He still had the crystal paperweight with which Anne had bludgeoned Emma Steel to death, stained with the Paragon's dried blood. He'd had a feeling at the time it might come in handy someday. Not that he expected to have to offer it in evidence. It would never come to a trial. Douglas would see to that. He'd take one look at the news broadcast and come running to save her. Because after all that had happened, after all the things that Anne had done, she was still his friend. Douglas would come to rescue her, because he still believed in people. That had always been his greatest weakness.

  Nina Malapert got the news first, of course. She hurriedly called a private meeting, just for her and Douglas and Stuart, and wouldn't say why until they were all assembled in Douglas's room. Two Psycho Sluts stood guard outside the door, ensuring they wouldn't be interrupted. Douglas and Stuart sat on the two chairs and looked expectantly at Nina, who was too nervous to sit or stand still. In the end, she folded her arms tightly under her breasts, mostly to keep her hands from shaking, and broke the news as swiftly and kindly as she could. She kept to the bare facts, not commenting, while watching Douglas carefully. After she'd finished, he didn't say anything for a long time. Nina and Stuart looked at each other.

  "You're thinking about a rescue," Stuart said finally. "Don't. We can't risk it, Douglas. She's being held inside the palace. We'd need an army just to break in, and I don't see why we should risk so many good people for a back-stabbing traitor like Anne Barclay."

  "We wouldn't need an army," said Douglas. "I know old, secret ways into the palace, remember? Ways that Finn doesn't even suspect are there."

  "You're thinking of going on your own, aren't you?" said Nina. "Sweetie, it's a trap! Has to be!"

  "Of course it's a trap," said Douglas, his voice dangerously calm. "Finn always did know how to yank my chains. It doesn't matter. I can outthink Finn."

  "And get to Anne, despite all the obstacles and booby traps he'll put in your path?" said Stuart.

  "Of course."

  "Why?" said Stuart, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "What makes her so important? She betrayed Lewis and Jesamine, and you, and Finn's finally admitted she murdered Emma Steel!"

  "She was Finn's bitch," said Nina. "And now that he doesn't need her, he's thrown her to the wolves, and I say good riddance to bad rubbish."

  "You never knew her before," said Douglas. "She was splendid, in her time. And she was my friend. Friends don't stop being friends just because they've done bad things. And I think… perhaps we all betrayed her, long before she betrayed us."

  "Douglas, she hasn't been your friend in a long time," said Stuart.

 
"That's why I need to be her friend," said Douglas. "One last time."

  He swore them both to silence, and left the Rookery alone, traveling secret paths he remembered from his time as a Paragon. He went alone and in disguise, because he knew the rest of his people would have tried to stop him if they'd known—and he wasn't going to be stopped. He slipped silently over the border and into the dark empty streets of the Parade of the Endless, keeping to the shadows to avoid the peacekeepers, hidden from the ELFs by the old Paragon esp-blocker on his belt. He headed for the palace, and no one saw him coming.

  He had to do this. Perhaps because Anne was the very last piece of his old life that he might still be able to rescue and redeem. Everything else was changed or lost or gone, including him. He had to salvage something.

  The only person who might have stopped him was Diana Vertue. So he made a point of searching her out before he left, telling her what he was going to do, and asked her to run interference to cover his leaving. Diana agreed. She understood all about necessary emotional gestures, and even more about self-sacrifice.

  And if I don't come back…

  You will be avenged, said Jenny Psycho.

  Finn Durandal sat on a comfortable chair in Dr. Happy's laboratory, and watched what was left of the good doctor ricochet around the room. He'd had to bring his own comfortable chair; Dr. Happy had moved far beyond such everyday comforts. All his skin was gray and rotting now, with deep dark holes in the exposed red meat of his body, some of it tinted here and there with the purples and greens of gangrene. Sharp-edged support tech protruded all over his body, blocky and functional. And ever since he'd dosed himself with the new Boost (he couldn't resist, he just had to know), his mental deterioration seemed to have accelerated to catch up with his supercharged metabolism. He darted back and forth across his laboratory, unable to settle anywhere for more than a moment, bouncing off the hardier pieces of equipment, giggling and barking and singing scraps of songs.