The Demon's struggles weakened quickly as her air ran out, and then the other Demons jumped Valentine and there was nothing but the press of bodies and thrusting steel. But quick as they were. Valentine was quicker. He danced among them like a ghost, everywhere at once, his hands lashing out to kill and cripple. He was boosted now, fast and furious, neurons firing at impossible speed, decisions and evasions planned and executed in the spark of a moment. His blows were devastating and unblockable, and the few times a Demon's steel found a fleeting target, the pliable flesh healed itself in seconds. The Demons cut and thrust with increasing desperation, but hit each other more often than not. They fell one by one as Valentine danced among them, pirouetting with deadly grace in the midst of death. His hands and feet moved too fast to be seen, and the last thing the Demons saw before they fell was his terrible crimson smile.
In the end, eleven dead gang members lay scattered across the patisserie floor, like so many broken flowers, lying still in awkward poses in pools of their own blood. Only one Demon remained alive, sitting shaking with his back to a wall, nursing a broken arm and trying to keep as far from Valentine as he could. His breathing was harsh and his eyes were wide, and shock and pain had driven most of the drugs from his system. For all his clawed hands and pointed teeth and bulked-up muscle, he'd never stood a chance against Valentine, and both of them knew it. He licked his dry lips, stared in fascinated horror at Valentine, and tried desperately to think of anything he knew that he might be able to trade for his life. And trying even more desperately to keep from his face the thought of the one thing that might still save him.
Valentine Wolfe brushed himself off and made a quiet moue of distaste at the blood that soaked his garments. Little of it was his, and his wounds had already healed. He'd dumped a universal cutoff and flush into his bloodstream, and the various battle drugs had dissipated quickly, leaving his mind sharp and clear and his body whole and relaxed. Nothing like a good workout to focus the mind. He looked about him at the dead Demons and felt no pity for them. They should have chosen a different target for their class anger. Of course, they had no idea what kind of fighter they were taking on. No one knew about his martial skills, or at least, nobody living. He'd gone to great pains to keep his abilities secret, including killing his trainers. It suited Valentine that his enemies should always underestimate him. He loomed over the sole surviving Demon and smiled down at him. The Demon winced away from the smile and pressed back against the wall behind him, but there was nowhere left to go.
"Eleven men dead in under three minutes," said Valentine conversationally. "There are only three men outside the Arena who could match that, and I'm two of them. I know, I'm not at all what you expected, but then, that's life isn't it? I'm really rather annoyed with you. Poor Georgios is dead, my morning has been ruined, and my clothes are a mess. The only reason you're not dead and frying in whatever afterlife you believe in is because you have information I want. Someone set you on my trail, and you're going to tell me who. Because if you don't, I'm going to take the morning's frustrations out on you, and you'd be surprised how inventive I can be when I'm annoyed. Talk. Now."
The Demon spat a thick wad of blood onto the floor between his outstretched legs and tested a loose tooth with the tip of his tongue. He wouldn't meet Valentine's eyes. They upset him too much.
"I don't know their names. They didn't offer them, and for the kind of credits they were putting up, we didn't ask. Never saw their faces, either. Had them hidden behind holo masks. Man and a woman. Young, rich, arrogant; aristos like you, by their accents. But they did leave something behind; something that might interest you. It's in my pouch, over there."
He nodded gingerly in the direction of a hip pouch lying abandoned on one side of the fight. It was still sealed. Valentine walked over and picked it up with one thumb and forefinger. He brought it back and dropped it in the Demon's lap. He winced at the impact, and Valentine smiled down at him.
"Open it. And be very careful. After all, there might be a booby trap of some kind, mightn't there?"
The Demon smiled mirthlessly and fumbled at the pouch's straps with shaking fingers. His face was pale and blotchy and the comedown from the drugs was obviously getting to him. Valentine watched him dispassionately. Amateurs had no business meddling with drugs. He looked back at the front door. One of the Demons had activated the "Closed" sign embedded in the glass of the door. That, together with the swiftness of the actual fight, had kept anyone from breezing into the shop in search of Georgios, but it wouldn't do to hang about too long. Some people, such as those of Valentine's rank, would only see the "Closed" sign as a challenge. They might even kick the door in, if they were sufficiently annoyed. Valentine would have. And the last thing he needed was to be found surrounded by dead bodies and soaked in their blood. It would be difficult to explain and harder still to cover up. The authorities would take a great deal of expensive soothing, and his father would be furious. Valentine winced. No, that wouldn't do at all.
It occurred to him that the Demon was taking an uncommonly long time to get the pouch open. He stepped forward impatiently and then stopped dead in his tracks as the Demon opened the pouch, reached in and pulled out a disrupter. Valentine froze where he was, his mind racing. The energy weapon changed everything. There was no way a small-time street tough could have got his hands on a disrupter through normal channels. It was death for such as him to even possess such a weapon.
But the gun in the Demon's hand was real enough, which suggested the Demons' mysterious patrons really had been aristocrats after all. Valentine ran quickly through the drugs still available in his system. He'd used up most of the useful ones, and he was pretty sure the Demon would shoot him if he made any move for his silver pill box. He could still jump the tough and trust his reflexes were in better shape than the Demon's. He could also get himself killed. He decided he was going to stand very still and wait for an inspiration to strike him.
The Demon covered him with the energy gun, though it was all he could do to keep it steady. There was a wildness in his eyes that Valentine didn't like at all. And yet it occurred to him that the Demon had had plenty of time to shoot him, if that was what he intended. And if he'd had an energy gun all along, why hadn't he used it during the fight? And then, as Valentine watched, the Demon slowly turned the energy gun on himself, his face full of surprise and horror, pressed the barrel against his forehead and depressed the stud. His head exploded in a splatter of blood and brains that rained down all over the shop. Valentine cursed mildly. The Demon had obviously been programmed by his patrons not to reveal any secrets. And that was interesting. It suggested that not only did the patrons have access to a mind tech, but that the Demons knew things that their patrons couldn't afford to have revealed. Valentine smiled slowly as he wiped the fresh blood from his face with a scented handkerchief. He'd already worked out who the patrons were. Who they had to be.
He made his way to the living quarters at the back of the shop in search of a cloak he could use to cover his bloodstained clothes. He'd have to replace them before he rejoined his Family. Wouldn't do to have them asking question, and besides, he hated to be seen not looking his best. He had an image to maintain. He glance back at the dead bodies littering the floor. Poor Georgios.
Ah, dear brother, dear sister… what am I going to do with you?
Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe, brother and sister to Valentine, waited impatiently for news in the Family's private box at the edge of the Arena. It was a fair-sized box, as boxes went, complete with every luxury that money and position could command. The sands lay a mere ten feet below, so that the occupants of the box could enjoy the various life-and-death struggles at close range, and it came equipped with its own private force screen, just in case things looked like they were getting a little too close.
Stephanie stalked back and forth in the narrow confines of the box, her arms folded tightly across her chest, while Daniel stood at parade rest, scowling out across the empty Arena
. People had begun to arrive and were filing slowly into the ranks of tiered seating, but it was early yet. No one who was anyone would dream of arriving this much in advance. Under normal circumstances, the two Wolfes wouldn't have been there, either, but they needed to be alone when the information they were waiting for Finally came. In particular, they wanted to be sure they got the news before their father did.
Daniel was the youngest Wolfe, only just out of his teens. He had the hulking frame of his father, but as yet neither the muscle nor the presence to carry it off. He was clumsy as a child, until his father beat it out of him, with the result that even now he kept his movements to a minimum and saw those through with exaggerated grace and care. The stutter took longer to disappear. His hair was a long mane of shining bronze strands with silver highlights, the latest fashion, but he wore the formal robes his father had insisted on for a public Family appearance. They were dark, dull and severely cut, and didn't suit him at all. Daniel often wished he had the nerve to defy his father as Valentine did, but then Daniel often wished for things he didn't have, which was what kept getting him into trouble.
That, and his sister.
Stephanie Wolfe, the middle child, took after her late mother, being tall and gangling with long hair that always looked ratty, no matter what she did with it. Her long frame was full of suppressed energy, constantly in danger of bursting out at the most inopportune moments. She was twenty-four years old, good-looking in a bland sort of way, no matter what she did with cosmetics, and boyishly slim in an age when voluptuousness was always in fashion. Stephanie had been through a great many body shops in her time, searching for a more acceptable look, but in the end her natural stubbornness kicked in, and she settled for her true face and shape. The aristocracy set trends, not followed them. No one ever commented on her decision or her appearance. Firstly, she was a Wolfe, and secondly, Daniel was devoted to her and ever ready to fight a duel over some perceived insult to his sister's beauty.
Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe. Brother and sister, bound together by love and viewpoint and named ambition. Rich, young and aristocratic, they should have had the world at their feet, but the world wasn't that simple. As younger siblings, they stood to inherit little or nothing as long as Valentine lived. So, being pragmatic and determined and children of their time, not to mention Wolfes to the core, they schemed and plotted and occasionally arranged little accidents for Valentine. They would have liked to order his death, but they weren't that stupid. In the event of Valentine meeting a violent or suspicious death, the first thing the Imperial Court would do would be to order them both to be examined by an esper. Guilt would mean immediate execution, despite their rank and station. And if they tried and failed, and word got out, they'd be laughingstocks, humiliated before all the Families. So they settled for accidents, apparently random occurrences that would hopefully hurt and maim, and at the very least make him look incompetent. If Valentine could be proved unfit to inherit, he might be put aside in favor of Daniel or Stephanie. Of course, if any of these accidents were to be traced back to them, there'd be hell to pay, not least from their father, but if truth be told, the risk was half the fun. After all, there was no point in gambling if you could afford to lose. Daniel and Stephanie needed the thrill almost as much as they needed their brother's downfall.
Even if they didn't handle the pressure very well. Stephanie stopped herself pacing back and forth with an effort, and threw herself into one of the extremely comfortable chairs set out by the guards earlier before they retreated to a discreet distance. Apart from making sure they were out of earshot, Daniel and Stephanie ignored them. There were always guards, no matter where they went. It was part of being an aristocrat. Daniel looked back at his sister and smiled slightly.
"About time. You've practically worn a groove in that carpet, pacing up and down. We wouldn't want dear Papa to get the idea we've anything to feel nervous about, would we?"
Suzanne smiled at him sweetly. "Forget the sarcasm, Danny; you've never had the gift for it. It requires wit and a lightness of touch, among other things, all equally beyond your grasp. Father will be here soon, hopefully bearing news of our dear brother's unfortunate mishap. When he tells us, do try not to overreact. We're bound to be suspected, but there's no point in providing our enemies with ammunition. Forget trying to look surprised, just look dazed and leave all the talking to me."
"Of course, Steph. Don't I always? There's always the chance Valentine is dead. If things got out of hand…"
"I don't see how. We planned for every contingency. As long as those thugs followed their instructions. No, if he was dead, we'd have heard by now. Father would have burst in with the news, or the guards, or a servant, or somebody! You couldn't keep news like that quiet."
"Keep your voice down, Steph. Of course, you're right. Dear Valentine is currently lying in the film of a back alley, one big mess of broken bones."
"Yes. You're right." Stephanie took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. "You did fix the gun, didn't you?"
"Of course. All identifying marks were removed. There's no way it can be traced to us."
"The gun still worries me. It's a clear sign the street gang wasn't working on its own."
"We had to be sure none of the gang would survive to answer questions. The gun and the subliminal conditioning will take care of that."
Stephanie relaxed a little in her chair. "Valentine won't even know what hit him. The medics will fix him up fast enough, but the attack will cast severe doubts on his competence. A few more such incidents, and he'll be a laughingstock. And then, finally, we'll find a way to dispose of poor accident-prone Valentine, and nothing will stand between us and control of Clan Wolfe."
"Unless Constance has a child."
"Ah yes. Dear stepmother. If she was to have a child, dear Papa might well disinherit us in favor of the newcomer. So it's just as well I bribed our Family food-taster not to notice the contraceptives I've been lacing her food with. She could no more carry a child now than Father could."
Daniel glared at her.
"And what if he gets an attack of the scruples and betrays us?"
"He won't. He can't betray us now without incriminating himself. He should have gone to Father the moment he suspected anything was wrong. But the money I offered was just too tempting. Besides, we still have some insurance. The drug I've been slipping into his food is extremely addictive, and I'm his only source." She laughed softly. "He checked everyone's food but his own. Stop worrying, Danny. I've thought of everything."
Daniel looked at her affectionately. "You always did have a delightfully devious mind. We'll have such fun ruling the Family."
Stephanie smiled dazzlingly. "With my brain and your brawn, we can do anything, Danny. Anything at all."
And then they both fell silent as they heard approaching footsteps and the guards crashing to attention. Daniel and Stephanie just had time to get to their feet and look casual, and then Jacob Wolfe came crashing into the box, followed by their new stepmother. Jacob was clearly in a foul mood, his heavy brows furrowed in a scowl, and his two children had enough sense to bow politely and say nothing. The Wolfe was flaming mad about something, and they didn't want his anger aimed their way. Daniel bowed to his stepmother. Stephanie barely nodded. Constance Wolfe smiled at them both.
Constance was seventeen years old and already a breathtaking beauty on a world noted for its beautiful women. Tall and blond and perfectly proportioned, she seemed to glow with health and good cheer and raw sexuality. Just to look at her was enough to send a man's hormones into overdrive. Jacob had won her for his new wife by the simple expedient of intimidating most of her other suitors and killing the rest in duels. Jacob was a great believer in tradition. Constance seemed happy enough with the arrangement, which made her one of the most important women on Golgotha, and had settled in well to the running of Clan Wolfe and her husband. The Wolfe's three children had looked on with varying levels of concern as her word became law and her whim beca
me increasingly wide-ranging. Jacob knew what was going on, but said nothing. It was up to his wife and his children to sort out their own pecking order. As long as they were polite in company and didn't squabble in his presence, he didn't give a damn.
He spun around suddenly, catching all three by surprise, and fixed them with his glare. "The Summerlsle died in court today. Cut down in a duel by Kid Death. His own damn grandson. There's no pride in Family anymore."
Daniel smiled tightly. "Youth must have its day, Father. The old must give way to the new. That's the way of things."
The Wolfe glared at him contemptuously. "You ever raise a hand to me, boy, and I'll cut it off at the wrist. Or perhaps you think you're ready to run this Family?"
"Of course not, Father. Not yet."
"Not ever, unless you buck your ideas up. But I'll make a man of you yet, boy, despite all your sister can do to prevent it."
"That's not fair," said Stephanie, moving protectively closer to Daniel. "Someone has to look out for him."
"He's a Wolfe; he's supposed to be able to look out for himself!" snapped Jacob. "That's what being a man is all about. I won't always be here to wipe his nose for him."
"Now stop that," said Constance, pouting prettily as she dropped a restraining hand on his arm. "You're good for another century at least, and I won't have you saying otherwise. Besides, it's far too nice a day to spoil it with a quarrel. We're supposed to be here for a Family meeting before the Games begin; can't we make a start?"
"Not without Valentine," said the Wolfe. "I seriously doubt he'll have anything serious to contribute, apart from the address of his latest chemist, but he is my eldest and has a right to be present. Even if he is late. Again."
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