Deathstalker d-1

by Simon R. Green

  The courtiers slogged on, muttering darkly, their mood not helped by the knowledge that the whole Empire was watching them suffer. Every planet, no mater how poor or how far flung, had access to the workings of the court thanks to the artfully concealed holocameras. The Lords and the Members swore every year that they were going to put a stop to the ancient custom, but somehow they never did. No one could resist the thought of so large a watching audience.

  Every now and again, a gleaming silver statue would appear out of the mists, fashioned to show the form of one of the many alien species that had been brought into the Empire and taught their place. There were a hell of a lot of them. No one knew exactly how many. No one really cared. Some of the statues had actually outlasted the species they represented. There weren't many who cared about that, either. It was, after all, first and foremost a human Empire. Some of the older courtiers leaned on the statues to get their breath back, after first checking for booby traps.

  The Empress sat casually on a great throne of black iron and gleaming jade, set just high enough to keep her feet out of the water. She looked perfectly at ease, even though the throne had obviously been designed for someone rather larger. The mists curled away from where she sat, calm and comfortable in her own little circle of cool air. She looked cold and regal and perfect in her royal robes and diamond crown, every inch an Empress. Her maids-in-waiting crouched naked in the muddy waters at the base of the throne, like so many hunting dogs straining at unseen leashes.

  The courtiers slowly assembled before the throne, careful to maintain a respectful and safe distance, and bowed to their Empress. She looked down at the hundreds of bowed heads and yawned. The courtiers stayed bent over, hot and sweating, waiting to be released. Once she'd kept them there for an hour. She finally gave a signal with a bored wave of her hand. A fanfare sounded, and the courtiers straightened up with some surreptitious massaging of the back here and there. No one was stupid enough to say anything. One look at the maids-in-waiting was enough to put the thought out of anyone's mind. Their faces were blank, inhuman, and their artificial eyes had the direct, unblinking gaze of insects.

  They watched the courtiers with unwavering concentration, and now and then metal claws eased out from under their fingernails, ready for use.

  A muffled cry sounded among the Company of Lords, as Lord Gregor Shreck stared in open horror at one of the maids. He started to move forward, and the maids tensed. Shreck's Family quickly closed in around him, holding him in place and muttering earnestly in his ears. Finally he had enough sense to look away, though his hands and his mouth still trembled with impotent rage and sorrow. A quiet murmur ran through the court as they realized that the rumor had been true after all. The Shreck's niece had disappeared from her apartments barely a month ago and had not been seen since. No one was surprised. It was increasingly common knowledge that she'd been mixing with the wrong sort of people. There'd been rumors of treason, but then, there always were. And now here she was, her memories and personality stripped away so that her body might serve the Empress' needs as a maid. The Shreck had recognized her, but in the end he said nothing. There was nothing that could be said.

  The Empress leaned forward in her throne, and the court became silent. When she spoke, her voice was calm and even and purposeful, carried clearly to every listening ear in the court and far beyond. The courtiers listened respectfully, dabbing with silks at the sweat that ran down their faces. The maids didn't listen. They watched.

  "Most loyal subjects, welcome to our court. We trust you find its current aspect amusing. Normally there would now be ceremonies of greeting and respect, but we will pass those by today. We have matters of import to discuss. The Empire faces a threat such as it has never faced before. Not one but two new alien species have been discovered whose technology has achieved comparable levels with our own. They pose a threat to the Empire that is both real and imminent. An attack could come at any time. I have therefore placed our Army and fleet on full alert All reserves will be called up, and all industries shall be placed on a war footing for the duration of the emergency. This will, of course, prove somewhat expensive, and therefore all taxes and tithes have been raised by seven percent, effective immediately."

  She stopped and looked about her, as though inviting comment No one was stupid enough to say anything. There was more coining. They could feel it. Lionstone smiled graciously into the silence and continued.

  "The news we bring today is not all bad. Our scientists have recently perfected a new form of hyperdrive for our starships, powerful and inexhaustible beyond anything we have ever known before. Mass production will begin shortly, and every ship in our Fleet will be fitted with one."

  She waited again, but there was still no response, though thoughts were flying frantically behind a great many impassive faces. If this new drive could do everything the Empress implied it could, it would make all the other drives obsolete. Which would mean, among other things, that the Empress' ships would have an unbeatable advantage over all others. In order to compete, all privately owned ships would have to acquire the new drives, at no doubt exorbitant rates. Another form of indirect taxation. On the other hand, someone was going to acquire the right to mass-produce the drive, and that someone stood to make a hell of a lot of money… It took a moment before the courtiers realized the Empress was speaking again.

  "We regret to inform you that the elves have been busy again, spreading pain and destruction throughout our Empire, but our advisors assure us that they pose no real threat. They have limited numbers and little or no access to advanced weaponry. They will be stamped out. Is that not correct, my Lord Dram?"

  A man was suddenly standing beside the Empress' throne as the holo that had been hiding him fell away. Tall and dark, in jet-black robes and battle armor, he stood rigidly at parade rest, his stance almost inhumanly perfect. He looked to be in his early thirties, but no one knew how old he really was. He'd appeared apparently out of nowhere some ten years earlier, and guarded his secrets well. He was handsome in an unspectacular way, but his dark eyes and slight smile were utterly cold. He wore an energy gun and a long sword on his hips in the presence of his Empress; the only man in the Empire so entitled. He was the Lord High Dram, Warrior Prime of the Empire.

  Elected to that position by popular vote, he held it for life, though Warrior Primes tended not to live all that long. The Empress had bestowed on him control over the military, in all its aspects, and made him personally responsible for her security and safety. The finest fighting man the Empire had ever produced, bloodied in a hundred major actions, he was adored by the commoners, wooed by Parliament, and universally loathed by the Lords for his power and influence with Lionstone. The two of them were supposed to be lovers, but again no one knew for sure. Most of the court found the thought of the Empress having anything to do with something as warm and vulnerable as love frankly ludicrous. It didn't stop a hell of a lot of people trying to find proof one way or the other, so it could be used as leverage.

  Dram had made Warrior Prime after personally leading the attack force that destroyed the elves' main headquarters, hidden among the pastel towers in the floating city of New Hope. Dram and his marines had come falling out of the sun on gravity sleds and opened fire the moment they were in range. The fragile towers cracked and shattered as gunfire raked through them, and people ran screaming in the streets. The marines kept firing. The people of New Hope had known what they were doing when they allowed the elves to live among them. Dram had his orders, and taking prisoners wasn't one of them. So the towers fell and people died, and the elves were forced out into the open to fight or die.

  They never had a chance. Dram had the numbers and the weapons and the advantage of surprise. Most of the elves were mowed down the moment they showed themselves, and in the end the only ones who survived were those who ran. Dram left the city of New Hope in flames, a burning coal floating in the sky. He brought back the elves' heads so that they could be displayed on spikes, as a
lesson for the wise and the virtuous. The people had clapped and cheered whenever Dram made an appearance in public after that. He was the hero of the hour. The people had no use for terrorists, especially those who weren't really human. They made Dram Warrior Prime, and then the Empress took him for her own.

  The elves' plans and capabilities had been almost wiped out, and even now, a year later, they were only just beginning to reassert themselves. Everyone was waiting with bated breath for Lionstone to unleash her hound on them again. Dram got results; everyone knew that. What wasn't as widely known was his willingness to sacrifice his own people, if that was what it took to get the job done. A man could make a good career serving under Dram, if he lived long enough. Which was the other reason why Dram was also known as the Widowmaker, though never to his face. The Lord High Dram had fought seventeen duels in the last year, over everything from an open insult to a raised eyebrow at the wrong time, and never even looked like losing any of them. Didn't stop people from trying to kill him, though. The Company of Lords truly hated him, and their pockets had no bottom where Dram's death was concerned.

  The rewards for information that could be used against him kept rising, with little practical effect. Dram had no obvious vices and less weaknesses. He seemed completely untouched by the appetites and excesses of the court, had no friends, and his enemies were dead. His voice spoke for the Empress, and its word could not be challenged. Men, women and children were killed openly in his name, for treason and lesser crimes, to discourage others. His last victim of note had been the previous Lord Deathstalker. That death had stopped the Lords plotting for almost a week.

  "First order of business," said the Empress, and everyone paid attention. "We will hear from our agents now."

  Another man appeared on the opposite side of the throne. Like the Lord High Dram, he had been there all along, hidden behind a concealing hologram, waiting for his cue. The Empress had always had a fondness for the dramatic gesture. The new arrival wore the silver brand of the Empress' personal espers on his brow and was dressed in pale, characterless clothes. Like the maids, he no longer had a mind or personality of his own. The Empress' secret agents and information-gatherers made telepathic contact through the esper's powers, and he then repeated their reports in their own words. The agents remained anonymous, and security remained complete. The esper's face changed suddenly as an invading personality took it over, and the body's whole stance changed, too, becoming casual, even relaxed.

  "All right, pay attention because I'm not going to repeat myself. I've worked my way into the heart of the cyberat underground, such as it is. They don't have any formal organization, as far as I can tell. Just a bunch of losers and loners hacking into the computer matrix wherever they can find or force an opening and having as much fun as they can before they get caught.

  "Their politics are feeble-minded, and their personalities are inadequate, but unfortunately the threat they pose is all too real and far out of proportion to their numbers. They know computers better than the people who make them. If we stamp out this bunch, others will take their place before you can blink. Makes more sense to keep an eye on the ones we've got; at least we know where to find them if we want them. And just maybe I can keep them on a leash and away from anywhere sensitive.

  "That's it, end of report. And while I've got your attention, I'd just like to say that I would very much appreciate being transferred off this job, and as soon as possible. These cyberats are driving me crazy. The sugar-packed junk they eat is doing terrible things to my system, not to mention my teeth, and the conversation is rotting my brain. Away from their computers, these divots aren't exactly social lions, you know."

  The esper's face and stance changed again as a different agent reported in. The face seemed suddenly leaner, more aesthetic, the stance that of a man trained in meditation techniques. If he'd looked any more relaxed, he'd have probably floated away.

  "Agent Harmony reporting in. My infiltration of the clone underground continues. No one suspects me. They remain suspicious and evasive, but I am making progress. I have as yet discovered no definite aims or planned criminal acts. The underground's politics are largely naive and unfocused, due to the lack of a charismatic leader figure. Should the clone underground acquire such a rallying point, they could become dangerous. As things stand, I have to report that the underground remains a negligible threat to the Empire."

  "Yeah, well, that's mostly because you couldn't find your ass in the dark without using both hands and a map," snapped a third voice. The esper was suddenly scowling fiercely, his stance a defiant slouch. "This is Agent Rapunzel, on the Lord Dram's staff. I've been hanging out with the clone underground for three years now, and I'm telling you, these unnatural bastards are potentially the greatest threat the Empire's ever seen. They've got numbers, a rationale, and heavy-level funding and high-tech support from someone high up. And we're talking really high. Don't know who yet, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, these people want civil rights for clones, and they're prepared to do practically anything to get it. All right, they haven't got a charismatic leader yet to pull things together, but the way things are going, it's only a matter of time. Will someone please listen to me! The crunch is coming, and I want out of here!"

  "We will speak later," said Dram. "Now give the Empress back her esper."

  "Gladly," said the agent. "You wouldn't believe the state of this guy's mind. Doesn't anyone ever clean up around here?"

  "Now, Rapunzel."

  "No one ever appreciates you in this business," said the agent glumly, and the esper's face became clear and blank again.

  The court remained quiet while all this was going on. Clashes between the Empress' private agents and those belonging to the Lord High Dram were common, as both sides fought for the ear of the Empress. Their respective employers encouraged the rivalry to be sure they would continue to hear the things that mattered, whether they wanted to hear them or not. It occasionally came to blows, but as yet they'd stopped short of sabotage, though their clashing over the outlawing of Owen Deathstalker had come damn close. The Empress' agents had wanted it kept quiet, while Dram's agents, for their own as yet inscrutable reasons, had taken it upon themselves to broadcast the news to one and all. The argument was still going on.

  Agents lived brief professional lives of stealth and danger, switching identities and even personalities as they strove to dig up information while hiding their true motives in an age where nothing could remain hidden for long. Agents therefore tended to be professional but eccentric, not to mention quick on their toes. They never knew when their cover might be blown and they'd have to leg it for the nearest horizon with a hunting pack snapping at their heels. The Lords and the Members had their own agents, of course. Everyone did who could afford it, and a few who couldn't. Knowledge was power in Lionstone's court, especially if you got it before anyone else.

  The Empress looked at Dram, who looked right back at her, and then they both looked back at the court. Whatever disagreements they might have in private, they always presented a unified front in public. A great many people had invested a great deal of money into schemes intended to drive a wedge between them, to no avail. Didn't stop people trying, though. The Empress smiled out over the packed court and an anticipatory ripple spread through the waiting ranks. The Empress was finally getting to the meat of the matter: the reason why so many of Golgotha's movers and shakers had been summoned into the Imperial presence.

  "The problems facing our Empire grow more serious with every day that passes. New alien threats, rebel undergrounds and more. Now, more than ever, we must insist on the full support of our subjects. If the Empire were to fall, untold billions would die. Colonists on the outer worlds rely on the Empire for supplies, as the inner worlds rely on them for materials. Even we here on Golgotha, homeworld of the Empire, have become dependent on others. No man can fail to do his best, or the whole system that supports us all would collapse. I therefore have no choice but to call for a
ten percent rise in the output of all our industries by the end of the year."

  There was a long pause. Ten percent was unheard of. It would mean longer work hours for everyone and cost both lords and members a great deal of money. The members looked at each other. Someone had to say something. After an uncomfortable silence pregnant with unspoken words, the member for Shadegate North cautiously cleared his throat.

  "Your Majesty, times are hard for all of us. Credit is scarce, and our resources are not what they were. If we were to attempt the rise in productivity you suggest, I really think the workforce would revolt. We would quite definitely face go-slows, strikes, and even sabotage. Unless, of course, Your Majesty is prepared to provide monies from the Imperial purse to see us through these stormy waters, I fear…"

  "Fear," said Lionstone. "You should fear me, Minister. Fear tor the fate of the Empire if our ministers fail us, and fear for yourself if you fail to carry out our commands. If you can't get the job done, we will have you arrested and executed and see if your second-in-command can do any better. Certainly they'll be more strongly motivated to try harder. Is that clear, Minister?"

  "Eminently so, Your Majesty. I am sure none of us wish in any way to fail our Empress."

  "Oh, some do, Minister. You'd be surprised. Traitors can be found in the most unexpected places. Isn't that right, Lord Summerlsle?"

  And everything went very quiet as all heads turned to look at the Summerlsle. People near him drew away slightly, as though his condition might be contagious, and in a moment he was standing all alone in a circle of empty space. Summerlsle looked slowly about him, but didn't seem particularly surprised. He looked back at Lionstone and smiled slightly. His gaze was direct and his head proudly erect, and in that moment he seemed every inch the warrior he'd always been.