Deathstalker Legacy

by Simon R. Green

  Afterwards, he'd make all the appropriate noises to the families of those he'd injured and killed, but Finn didn't really care. All the Paragons knew about Finn. All he ever cared about was taking down the bad guys, and if some innocents got caught in the crossfire, well, that was regrettable but sometimes necessary. And people accepted that, because Finn was so very good at taking down the bad guys.

  Lewis had never accepted it.

  He shut out the horrid din of the crowd, and the thought of how many poor souls Finn might kill in the ruthless pursuit of his prey, and made himself concentrate on the main problem. There was an answer… he could feel it. Something someone had said, not too long ago… The thought eluded him, maddeningly just out of reach. All right. All right; think it through. The crowd is trapped in the Arena. No way of getting them out of the Arena. Security would have sealed all the exits automatically. So the answer to the problem would have to come from inside the Arena… Security! Arena security used tanglefields and sleepgas to control the imported killer aliens! Dammit, he'd only just been discussing that with Finn and Douglas at Court!

  Obvious question: why hadn't the Arena security forces already activated the systems? Obvious answer: go and find out.

  Lewis drove his gravity sled right at the closed gates that led to the systems under the Arena. Smoke was still billowing out of the control center he'd blown up just a little earlier. The closed gates below looked to be made of sterner stuff, namely solid steel with electronic backups. Lewis pushed the sled to full speed, strapped himself into his crash webbing, and put his faith in the prow force shield. He was skimming just above the surface of the sands now, the air shrieking past him, heading straight for the closed steel doors. Thralls on the sand were running after him. They'd never catch him in time. The steel doors were rushing towards him now. They looked very solid. Lewis braced himself as best he could, and at the last moment fed all the emergency power to the force shield.

  He hit the gates dead-on, and punched right through them. The left door swung inwards before him, buckled and half torn away by the blow, locks and bolts flying through the air like shrapnel. The sled rang like a bell from the impact, and shook Lewis in his webbing like a dog with a rat. But the force shield held, and the sled kept on going. Lewis clung desperately to the controls and guided the sled at speed through the narrow corridors, following the map he'd called up from his sled's computer link. Luckily there was no one about.

  The security center wasn't far. It was, however, very thoroughly locked down. Lewis guided his sled in to a halt before the only entrance, clambered just a little shakily out of his crash webbing, and dismounted from the sled. His legs felt a bit unsteady under him as he strode over to the center and hammered on the closed door with his fist.

  "This is the Paragon Lewis Deathstalker! Open up!"

  "Go to Hell!" screamed back a voice so full of panic Lewis couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. "We're in lockdown! Full security! No one's getting in here till it's over!"

  "I'm a Paragon! I can stop this. Open up, on the King's authority!"

  "No! You could be anyone! No one's getting in here! I'm armed! Go away! We have esp-blockers. You're not getting into my head!"

  "Let me in, damn you! People are dying out here!"

  "Go away! Leave me alone!"

  A whole bunch of answers jumped to the tip of Lewis's tongue, all of them angry, none of them helpful. The voice on the other side of the door had clearly passed beyond the point where reason could reach him or her. The door looked very solid and impressive, but fortunately Paragons were allowed certain advantages that most people didn't know about to help them do their job, such as an electronic skeleton key that could open any lock short of diplomatic level. Lewis winced briefly, thinking of all the paperwork he'd have to do later, and then pulled the key out of his boot and plugged it into the door's lock. The door swung open, and he stormed in.

  There was only one man inside, curled into a ball underneath the blank monitor screens, shaking and shuddering. His eyes were wild and he tried to point a gun at Lewis. The Deathstalker slapped it out of the man's hand and hauled him out from under the screens. The man whimpered and tried feebly to kick him.

  "Stop that!" said Lewis. "Look at the uniform; I'm a Paragon. Why haven't you activated the tanglefields and the sleepgas? And where are the rest of the security staff?"

  The man sniffled and looked away, unable to meet his gaze, and Lewis understood. His lip curled in disgust, and he shook the man roughly.

  "You locked them out, didn't you? You broke and ran and locked yourself in here, and left the others to fend for themselves."

  The disgust in his voice acted like a slap in the face for the security man, and he actually calmed down a little. He straightened up, brushing automatically at his rumpled uniform, and glared at Lewis. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm security chief here. I had to secure the computers. Important equipment. Very valuable. Not my fault if the others didn't move quickly enough. I did my job…"

  "The tanglefields and the sleepgas," said Lewis, cutting him short. 'Activate them, and we can stop the ELFs."

  "You can't just force your way in here and give me orders! I'm in control here. I'm not doing anything without proper orders. We might make them angry…"

  "Oh hell," said Lewis. "I don't have time for this."

  He spun the security man around, twisted his arm up behind his back, and bent him over the control panels.

  "Hit the tanglefields! All of them! I want a full spread, covering all the crowd areas!"

  He put pressure on the twisted arm, and the security man cried out, and worked the control panels frantically with his free hand.

  "Now hit the sleepgas. Feed it in through the air-conditioning.

  Blowers on full. I want the whole seating area blanketed with the stuff before the ELFs realize what's happening."

  The security man hit more controls, sobbing to himself now. Lewis wasn't comfortable playing the bully, but needs must when the demons drive. He got the man to patch in an emergency back-up camera system, and some of the monitor screens came to life again, showing what was happening in the Arena. All the tanglefields had activated, covering the crowd and the sands. Sparkling energies washed over the struggling men and women, slowing their movements to a crawl. Soon they were trapped and still, like so many insects in amber. And already their eyes were beginning to close, as invisible, odorless sleepgas gushed out of the air-conditioning systems. A growing silence fell across the terraces as the crowd fell into a deep, peaceful, merciful sleep.

  A few ELFs teleported out. The rest were held fast by the tanglefields, along with everyone else, and all their powers couldn't protect them from a gas they didn't know they were breathing. Finn cruised slowly over the heads of the sleeping crowd. As Lewis watched, the Paragon used his sled's instruments to detect the ELFs, and pulled them out of the crowd, one by one. He carried them out onto the sands, and dropped them in a pile. Lewis began to get a bad feeling. He used the security comm system to call for medical assistance, left the security man sniffling in a corner, and ran back to his sled.

  He had to get back to the Arena. Finn was planning something.

  By the time he guided his gravity sled back through the maze of corridors and back out onto the Arena sands, the sleepgas was already beginning to wear off. People were beginning to stir on the terraces. Most of them were crying. Some were too shocked even to do that. Lewis steered his sled over to where Finn had arranged his ELF prisoners in a single long line. They were all awake now and kneeling on the sands with their hands cuffed behind their backs, a series of esp-blockers laid out on the sands before them so they couldn't use their powers. They were all silent now, though their eyes were alert and watchful. Lewis jumped down from his sled and walked over to Finn, who nodded calmly to him.

  "Good work with the tanglefields, Lewis. And the sleepgas, I assume? Quick thinking. I'll write you a commendation."

  "Just doing my job," sai
d Lewis, keeping his voice carefully calm and neutral. "I count fourteen ELFs here. Pretty good catch, Finn."

  "Three dead, three teleported out," said Finn. "Fourteen left, to make an example of."

  "I've summoned medics for the crowd," said Lewis. "They'll be here soon.

  "Hope they bring a lot of body bags," said Finn. "These bastards did a lot of damage before we shut them down."

  One of the ELFs laughed softly. Finn strode unhurriedly down the line and kicked him in the head. The ELF crashed to the sand, blood spurting from his nose and mouth. Finn hauled him back into a kneeling position again. Lewis hurried over and grabbed Finn by the arm.

  "For God's sake, Finn…"

  Finn jerked his arm free. "Don't you ever lay your hands on me, Deathstalker. Not ever; you understand me?"

  "All right, all right! Jesus, Finn; take it easy, you know? We're supposed to be the good guys here."

  "We are," said Finn. "Listen to the crowd."

  Lewis looked around, and realized the watching crowd was cheering Finn for what he'd done. It was a patchy sound at first, but growing stronger as the survivors found their voices. If they hadn't still been held by the tanglefield, they'd probably have applauded. Lewis looked uneasily at Finn. Something was building here. He could feel it coming, and he didn't like the feel of it at all.

  "Don't go soft on me, Lewis," said Finn, smiling slightly. "The ELFs came here to send a message. I say we use the opportunity to send a message to them."

  "What are you talking about, Finn?" Out of the corner of his eye, Lewis noticed the new media cameras arrived to replace the ones he'd put out of action. Whatever Finn was planning, he clearly intended it to be seen by the media audience. Hell, half the Empire was probably watching by now. Finn smiled around him at the watching crowd, and nodded to the cameras. Lewis really didn't like the look on his face. "Finn; talk to me. What is this?"

  "Just a little simple justice," said Finn. "Right here, where everyone can see it. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Terror for the terrorists."

  "Finn," Lewis said carefully. "Listen to me. The ELFs are harmless now. The esp-blockers have them under control. They have to stand trial for what they did here. That's the law."

  "The law did nothing to protect the people here," said Finn, raising his voice so it carried clearly on the quiet. The crowd was watching him avidly now, hanging on his every word. "Sometimes, law isn't enough. Not for what happened in this place. What's needed here is vengeance. We're supposed to be the King's Justice. Your ancestor would have understood, Deathstalker."

  Lewis glanced at the crowd. Some were shouting encouragement. There was a bloodlust building. He could all but taste it.

  "This isn't the time or the place, Finn," he said urgently. "The tangle-field has an automatic shutdown, to prevent power drains. If we don't get the ELFs out of here fast, we could have a riot on our hands."

  "Not if we give them what they want," said Finn. "Not if we do the right thing. The ELFs aren't afraid of trials. In prison, they're just martyrs to their cause. Sit around waiting to be traded in some hostage deal. I say we give them something to be afraid of. I say we show them what martyrdom really means."

  "Finn; no! We're Paragons. We're the law!"

  "We're the King's Justice. It's time we acted like it." Finn drew his sword and held it up, the long blade shining brightly under the winter sun. The crowd roared their approval. Finn walked over to the first of the kneeling ELFs. Lewis hesitated, not sure what to do. Finn wasn't going to listen to reason. Not with the survivors of the possessed crowd baying for blood. Lewis's hand fell to the gun on his hip, and then moved away again. He couldn't shoot Finn Durandal. A comrade, a brother in arms, the greatest living Paragon. Not over an ELF. But he couldn't let Finn act as judge, jury, and executioner either.

  His hand went to his sword, and suddenly a tanglefield fell over him, pinning him to the spot. He struggled against the enveloping energies, even though he knew it was useless. Back in the security center, the man he'd left behind had taken the chance for a little personal revenge. Maybe he'd guessed what Finn had in mind too. Lewis cried out for Finn to stop, but his voice was lost in the half insane baying from the crowd. They had been forced to suffer almost beyond belief, and only one thing would satisfy them now.

  Lewis understood that. Part of him wanted to agree. But what Finn was planning was wrong, so wrong. It wouldn't stop the ELFs; only spur them on to even greater horrors in revenge. But most of all, it was wrong for Finn to do this because he was a Paragon. Paragons had to be better than this. They had to be.

  Finn beheaded the first ELF with one stroke of his sword. The crowd cheered and jeered as the severed head bumped and rolled across the bloody sands, its eyes still blinking, the mouth still opening and closing. Lewis wanted to close his eyes, but he made himself watch as Finn strode slowly down the long line of helpless ELFs, taking his time, executing them one by one to the rising adulation of the crowd. Like a gladiator in Lionstone's time, Lewis thought sickly. As Finn came to the last ELF, the esper smiled straight into the nearest camera, and laughed triumphantly.

  "You see!" she cried. "We were right about you! You're just as bad as we always said you were! This justifies everything we've done, and everything we'll do; because this is what you'd do to all of us, if you could!"

  "Oh, shut up," said Finn Durandal.

  He brought his sword down hard. But perhaps he was getting tired by then, or careless, because although the blade sank deep into her neck, it didn't sever it. The blade jammed in the vertebrae, and Finn had to jerk and pull at it. The ELF screamed horribly, blood spraying from her mouth. The crowd laughed and mocked her. Finn had to put a boot between her shoulder blades to brace himself before he could jerk his sword free for another blow. This time the head came away, hanging from the gushing stump by a shred of skin. Finn put away his sword, bent over and jerked the head free with his hands. He held it up to the crowd and smiled and nodded modestly as it cheered and roared its approval.

  Lewis finally looked away. Not from Finn, not from the severed head, but from what the crowd had become. What was in their faces now was exactly what he'd seen in the ELFs' faces, as they took their pleasure from their thralls. The crowd had been victims in an awful crime. Now Finn had made them willing accomplices in something almost as bad.

  "Damn you, Finn Durandal," Lewis said quietly. "You've betrayed us all."

  Back at the Court some time later, the Ceremony was almost ready to begin. The vast open floor of the Court was now packed from wall to wall with a great heaving mass of the very best people, there to see and be seen, and to bless the new King with their presence and approval. Everyone who mattered, and a great many more who thought they did, or should, had come to Court to celebrate the Coronation. Members of Parliament, Paragons of the King's Justice, AIs from Shub downloaded into humanoid robots, clone and esper representatives, a handful of assorted aliens, and a whole bunch of priests from the Empire's official religion, the Church of Christ Transcendent. But the vast majority of the crowd were, of course, the most famous and most sparkling members of High Society.

  There were no more aristocratic Families anymore, of course, or at least not officially; but there was still Society, old money and new, new and old fame, and celebrity in all its many forms. They lived their lives in public, in the camera and all the glossy magazines, deciding on a whim who or what was In or Out, while the public watched and loved every minute of it. Bright as rainbows, gaudy as peacocks, Society paraded back and forth across the floor of the Court, thrusting aside lesser souls to ostentatiously kiss the air near each others cheeks and chat loudly about nothing of importance. Brittle bon mots and vicious put downs were the order of the day, and the floating cameras of the officially sanctioned media broadcast it all live to a spellbound Empire.

  After all, there's nothing more splendid and romantic than the Coronation of a new King. Unless it's a Royal wedding. And already, there were rumors…

&nbs
p; King William had gone to great pains to ensure that only the most sympathetic media companies were allowed access to the great day. He understood that the best publicity is the kind you made, or at the very least, controlled, yourself. He was determined that his son's Coronation was going to be presented in the best possible light, and the media had been so desperate for exclusive access that he'd been able to impose whatever terms he wanted; and he had.

  The Christmas motif in the Court had been his idea too. An old idea made new again, first Society and then the Empire had embraced the concept of the old-fashioned Christmas with great enthusiasm. So now the whole Court was one big Santa's Grotto, complete with dwarfs in merry costumes, gengineered intelligent reindeer, a towering tree bedecked with ornaments and lights and shimmering tinsel, and even St. Nicholas himself, fat and jolly in his red and white suit, bestowing his blessings on one and all, and jovially enquiring of Members of Parliament whether they'd been good or bad that year. St. Nick was being played by one Samuel Chevron, a merchant trader and old friend and adviser to King William. He rarely appeared in public, and his appearence at the Ceremony was a great coup for William.

  St. Nicholas was currently talking with the Church Patriarch, who was now so nervous that his hands were visibly shaking, and he'd developed a twitch. St. Nick produced a brandy flask from inside his red coat and persuaded the Patriarch to take a healthy swig. The young man looked quickly around to check there wasn't a camera on him, and took a good long drink. He then had a coughing fit and had to be slapped on the back, but it seemed to do him some good. Certainly at least now he had a little color in his cheeks.