Deathstalker

by Simon R. Green

  All Robert had was his gentleman's gentleman, the experienced and very reassuring Baxter.

  With Owen Deathstalker missing and presumed dead, the need for a new constitutional King had grown suddenly very intense. The public wanted the royal wedding they'd been promised, and they wanted it soon. It was the one ray of light in an otherwise very gloomy time, and all across the Empire the people fixated on the wedding with an almost desperate determination. Candidates for Constance's new fiance had been advanced from all sides, by everyone with an ambition or an axe to grind, but Constance would have none of them. Instead, she chose Robert Campbell. Parliament went berserk, but the people ate it up with spoons. It was like a fairy-tale romance, with young love finally bringing together two Houses that had been at each other's throat for generations. And so the marriage was back on, the wedding ceremony was hastily rejigged here and there to allow for Campbell Family traditions instead of Deathstalker, and Robert wondered more than once just what he had let himself in for.

  He'd never wanted to be King, constitutional or otherwise. All he'd ever wanted was to be a Captain in the Imperial Fleet, master of his own ship. But Family responsibilities had put an end to that. It seemed to Robert that most of his life he'd been forced down paths that were not of his choosing, but at least this time he had good company. He loved Constance with all his heart, and never ceased to be amazed that such a wondrous creature should love him. They'd fought against it, trying to deny the pull of their own hearts, because Constance was promised in marriage to the legendary hero Owen Deathstalker. Constance and Robert's love would have been a scandal.

  When news of Owen's presumed death first arrived, Constance and Robert were quietly relieved. Constance shed a few tears, because she had admired Owen, but they were more for show than anything else. Robert still worried from time to time that the Deathstalker might yet turn up again, which was why he permitted the wedding arrangements to proceed at such a pace. If Owen were to pull off one of his miraculous returns, Robert wanted to be happily married and established as King well in advance. He was almost sure the Deathstalker would understand. He'd always been an honorable man.

  Robert hoped very much that was the case. Because if Owen didn't understand… if he got angry… Robert tried not to think about that. He'd seen the reports from Loki. Of what the equally legendary Jack Random had done there. Of dead men hanging by their necks from city walls, like the strange fruit of hideous trees… If the honored and much admired professional rebel himself could go mad, then what of a man like Owen Deathstalker, who'd already lost so much? During the day Robert found many things with which to distract himself, but sometimes he woke in the night in a cold sweat, afraid to sleep again.

  He made himself concentrate on his current problems. They at least were something he could come to grips with. His servant Baxter was currently fussing around him, as they both studied the Campbell's new wedding outfit in the full-length mirror before them. Robert had wanted to be married in his old Fleet uniform, but that was shot down almost immediately. The new King-to-be had to be seen to be impartial to all past beliefs or influences. So instead he was wearing formal evening clothes; basic black with a golden cummerbund, and as many of Robert's military decorations as they could fit on his chest. Robert tried not to be too proud of his medals. He knew better men than he had died without any kind of honors, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, they did look awfully impressive, marching across his broad chest in multicolored rows.

  And yet… the high stiff collar irritated the underside of his chin, there was barely enough room in the jacket to flex his shoulders or take a deep breath, they'd put the crease in his trousers in crookedly, and his shoes were a size too large. For a first fitting it wasn't too bad, but unfortunately this was the sixth fitting, and they still hadn't got the details right. Robert sighed heavily. He tried a few poses in front of the full-length mirror, but they all looked like someone else. Robert turned almost despairingly to Baxter.

  "Right, that's it. Dump the monkey suit and dig out my old Captain's uniform. I am not going to appear at my own wedding looking like I hired my suit at the last minute."

  "Perseverance is the word for today, sir," murmured Baxter, entirely unmoved. "We're getting closer all the time. And I thought we'd agreed not to bring up the military uniform again. A constitutional monarch cannot wield real power, least of all military power. You'll grow accustomed to the suit, once a few more necessary changes have been made. You look very smart."

  "I look like a tailor's dummy! Clothes aren't supposed to hang this stiffly. It isn't natural. And do I have to wear this damned bat at my throat?"

  "A black bow tie is expected, yes, sir. Don't worry. I'll be there to tie it for you."

  Robert sighed, deeply. "It's going to be a long, long ceremony, isn't it?"

  "Undoubtedly, sir. The current program suggests at least two hours. Possibly more. Not including the formal reception afterwards. The scriptwriter's still working on your speech. But the lady is worth it, isn't she, sir?"

  "Oh yes," said Robert, smiling fondly across at Constance. "She is that."

  Somewhere else in the crowd, comfortably close to the buffet table, Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn were arguing quietly over whether Flynn's footage needed a voice-over from Toby, or whether they could get away with snippets of "found" conversation from the various people involved. And if the latter, whether they'd be better off writing and rehearsing the "found" dialogue in advance. Robert was a decent sort, but he wasn't used to being spontaneous and witty on command. And if you caught him by surprise, his language could be downright shocking. Toby put it down to his military background.

  As head of Imperial News, Toby would normally have dedicated coverage like this to the usual experts and professional sycophants, but Constance had personally requested his presence. Apparently she was a big fan of his coverage during the rebellion. And the owners of Imperial News had been only too happy to oblige her, in return for exclusive coverage. Toby had protested loudly and at length when this news had been broken to him, and none of it had done a blind bit of good. The wedding and coronation promised to be the social event of the year, if not the millennium, and Imperial News wanted exclusive rights so badly they were more than willing to sell Toby's soul to get it.

  "This isn't news," said Toby forcefully, not for the first time. He leaned against the buffet table, which creaked ominously under his weight. Toby ignored it, and lit up another cigar, in open defiance of Constance's strict no-smoking policy. "Not real news. Jack Random going psycho, that's real news, but I wasn't even allowed to go and meet him at the starport."

  "Just as well," said Flynn calmly. "The questions you were going to ask would undoubtedly have got us both incinerated on the spot. They say Random's got a really short fuse these days. And Ruby Journey always was…"

  "A complete bloody psychopath."

  "Quite. Personally, I like it here. No one's shooting at us."

  "So far," said Toby darkly. "There's a lot of people out there who don't want this wedding to go ahead. You saw the security setup around this place. The last time I saw that many armed guards in one place, there was a rebel army fighting them. I miss those days, Flynn. You knew where you were, then."

  "Yeah," said Flynn. "Right on the firing line. Personally, I don't miss those days at all. This is much more my speed. Civilized settings, finger food in all directions, and more pretty dresses in one place than I ever dreamed of. Do you think Constance might let me try on a few in private, if I asked her ever so nicely?"

  "Don't even think about it," said Toby sternly. "Constance might go along with it, but I have a feeling Robert is probably more straitlaced about these things. Besides, you and she aren't even remotely the same size, and if you stretch or tear anything, they'll probably make us pay for it. And you can bet one of those frilly numbers costs more than you and I make in a year. Well, you anyway. If you're really good, I'll ask if you can be a bridesmaid." He
glanced around him. "This isn't news. This is cheerful propaganda, to take everyone's mind off how badly the war's going. I hear they're running the Arenas twenty-four hours a day now, to help keep the people distracted. Blood and circuses, and royal weddings. Give the people what they want. I may puke."

  "There's a rejected top hat to your right," said Flynn. "Try not to miss. The carpet's expensive."

  "Hold everything," said Toby. "Turn your camera on quietly. I think we're about to capture the happy couple's first real row."

  Robert had wandered away from his mirror in search of some distracting conversation with Constance, and had walked right into their first real disagreement. Constance was, and always had been, a major fan of the Arenas. The Wolfes had their own private box, right next to the sands, so they could be sure of seeing all the blood and suffering and deaths in close-up. Constance never missed a major match, and cheered and booed lustily as the mood took her. She knew all the great players by name and history, and could quote statistics with the cheerful zeal of the dedicated fanatic. She'd had a great crush on the Masked Gladiator as a teenager, and sent him scented fan letters. She adored it when the kill happened right in front of her.

  Robert thought the Arenas were barbaric, appealed to the baser nature in Humanity, and should be banned on moral grounds.

  Normally they dealt with this divergence of opinion by agreeing not to discuss it, but now Constance was talking about missing a vital wedding rehearsal in order to watch two of her favorites fight to the death, and Robert was having none of it. Coldly reasonable tones quickly escalated to raised and heated voices, and everyone else went very quiet and retreated to the sidelines in case the happy couple started throwing things.

  "You don't tell me what I can and can't do!" snapped Constance, her eyes blazing fiercely. "And I don't take kindly to having my favorite pastime described as cruel and inhuman!"

  "I saw too many good men and women die in the war!" said Robert, clearly trying to hold on to his temper. "There's no sport or amusement in human suffering or death. There's just blood and waste and the loss of good fighters. If they're that keen to do battle, let them join the armed Services, and go out and fight our real enemies! There's enough of them. And allow me to point out, that for all your keenness in the sport, I don't see you volunteering to strap on a sword and fight in the Arena yourself."

  "Of course not! That's what makes gladiators such heroes! They fight for us, for the crowd; putting their lives and reputations on the line in search of honor and fame and the adulation of the people."

  "That's just a small percentage of psychopaths and death-wish merchants. The vast majority of fresh meat in the Arenas are fighting for money, for a chance to get out of grinding poverty or dead-end jobs. For a chance to be somebody, a celebrity. There's no honor or glory in it. Needless death is an abomination."

  "I see," said Constance coldly. "And what does that make me?"

  "Misguided," said Robert, but only after a pause that went on for just a fraction too long. They glared into each other's face, eyes locked on eyes, neither willing to back down. Toby was holding his breath and praying quietly that Flynn's camera was getting it all. The tension in the suite was thick enough to cut, and there was no telling what might have happened next if the door hadn't suddenly burst open, and a representative from Parliament came rushing in. Robert and Constance both turned to glare at him, and he hesitated a moment before hurrying forward to present Robert with a communication, sealed in wax with Parliament's own seal. Robert frowned at it, then broke the seal and read the message while Constance stood fuming silently beside him. Robert's face lost all emotion as he read, and when he'd finished he slowly lowered the message and stood staring at nothing for a long moment. Finally he looked up and nodded to the representative.

  "I'll join you in a moment. Wait outside."

  Constance waited till the door had closed behind the departing representative and then exploded again. "Don't you dare walk out on me, just when I'm winning the argument! What could possibly be so important—"

  "I have to go," said Robert. "I love you, Constance."

  He leaned forward and murmured a few words in her ear. No one else could hear them, but they could all see the color drain out of Constance's face. She clutched at his arms desperately, as though to stop him from going. He kissed her on the forehead, gently disengaged himself from her hands, and hurried off after the messenger. The door closed quietly behind him. Constance looked uncertainly about her, and then spotted Flynn's camera hovering nearby. She glared at Toby, and marched over to confront him.

  "Tell me that thing hasn't been broadcasting live. If you want to keep your head in the vicinity of your shoulders."

  "Live coverage was expressly forbidden by our contract," said Toby sourly. "We're just recording. Perhaps you'd care to make a few comments for our vast watching audience…"

  "No, I bloody wouldn't. Now get that camera down here and unload the tape."

  "You've got to be kidding," said Toby. "This is the first really interesting footage I've got. I'm not giving it up. It makes you both look very human."

  "Give me the tape or you'll be doing your next piece to camera with a big gap where your front teeth used to be."

  Toby thought about it. She was a Wolfe, after all. He sighed. "I wasn't in this much danger during the rebellion. Couldn't we discuss this… ?"

  "The tape. Now. Or else."

  Given the mood Constance was in, Toby decided not to inquire what the or else might involve, and nodded to Flynn. The cameraman retrieved his camera, removed the tape, and silently handed it over. Constance weighed the tape in her hand, and then dropped it into the nearest disposal. She glared about her.

  "Don't you all have some work you should be getting on with?"

  Everyone immediately set about looking very busy. Constance stalked back to her dress fitting, staring into the mirror before her, lost in her own thoughts. Flynn fitted a new tape into his camera, and nodded surreptitiously to Toby.

  "Don't sweat it, Boss. This new model has a backup storage system. It automatically retains that last few minutes of any tape, in case of snarl-ups. And I think I got something interesting. The last thing Robert said to Constance."

  "Run it," said Toby quietly. "And play it back through our comm implants on a secure channel. I don't want anyone else picking this up."

  Flynn nodded, and made the connection. The camera's view filled their eyes as it zoomed in on Robert and Constance's faces, and the microphone boosted Robert's last words to clear audibility.

  "The Recreated have come."

  Flynn stopped the tape and broke the connection, and then he and Toby looked at each other.

  "Shit," said Toby quietly. "Flynn; we're leaving. This isn't a story anymore. If Robert's right, I think the shit just hit the fan for the whole Human race."

  Before Robert Campbell could set out on his way to Parliament, for an in-depth briefing, he was waylaid by one of his least favorite acquaintances, Cardinal Brendan. With BB Chojiro dead and gone, the Cardinal had taken her place as the pleasant public face of Clan Chojiro. He smiled a lot, spoke in simple homely terms, and quietly brokered important deals and meetings behind the scenes, between people who wouldn't normally have agreed to share the same room together. The Cardinal had a lot of pull these days. So when he insisted that what he had to say was vitally important, Robert had no choice but to agree to listen.

  So he allowed the Cardinal to steer him into a nearby empty room, and waited more or less patiently while Brendan set up some powerful security seals, to be sure they wouldn't be interrupted. The Cardinal wasn't much to look at, even in his impressive Church robes, but Robert studied him closely anyway. The Cardinal was tall and thin, with an entirely forgettable face, as long as you overlooked the eyes. They were dark and fiercely intelligent and missed nothing. The eyes of a man who thought deeply, and probably on subjects most people would prefer to avoid. Robert scowled, and wondered what the hell Clan Chojiro want
ed with him now, and why it couldn't wait. He couldn't think of a single thing he knew or was likely to know that would make him worthy of the Cardinal's attention.

  "All finished," said Brendan, smiling pleasantly. "Just making sure we won't be bothered or overheard."

  "What do you want, Cardinal?" said Robert. "I'm needed at Parliament. All hell's breaking loose, in case you hadn't heard."

  "People are dealing with it, I'm sure," said the Cardinal. "Parliament is responsible for the present. My people are more concerned with the future. We're planning it, step by step. Parliament follows where we lead."

  "Your people? The Chojiros?"

  "No, Robert; Blue Block."

  The Campbell nodded slowly. "I should have seen that one coming. So; what does the Empire's most secret secret society want with me?"

  "Perhaps just to remind you of your roots. As a young man, you were inducted into Blue Block…"

  "Oh please! I was only there a few weeks, before my Family took me away again. I was never initiated into any of the mysteries. I owe you and them absolutely nothing."

  Brandon smiled easily. "Once in, never out. You will always be one of us, till the day you die. The ties that bind are real and potent, even if you don't remember them."

  "There are no ties," said Robert flatly. "I've heard about the indoctrinations, the controls you put in people's minds. The Black College. The Red Church. But you have no power over me, and I have no loyalty to Blue Block."

  "But you do remember things. Not one man in a million knows about the Black College, or the Red Church. Or the Hundred Hands. You know these things because we placed them in your mind. We put other things in your mind too; for future use."

  Robert grabbed a handful of the Cardinal's robe and pulled him forward, till they were face-to-face, Robert's hot eyes glaring into the Cardinal's unyielding stare. "What are you talking about, Brendan? Are you threatening me? By God, if you threaten me or Constance, you'll leave this room a dead man!"