Deathstalker d-1

by Simon R. Green

  "Save the flattery and the paranoia," said one of the Stevie Blues. "We're here to talk; let's get on with it. Some of us have a life outside the underground."

  "Freaks and perverts," growled the flowing mandala. "Group marriages such as yours are forbidden among clones."

  "We're elves, first and foremost," said the middle Stevie Blue calmly. "We fight for freedom. All kinds of freedom. Want to make something of it?"

  Roaring flames suddenly licked up around the three elves, and the heat drove everybody back a step. It didn't affect the Stevie Blues. They were pyros and immune to their own fire. The clone representatives frowned severely, making it clear this was nothing to do with them. The waterfall began to steam slightly, and the dragon shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Perfect's face was turning red. Maybe he was present, after all. Valentine grinned, enjoying the show.

  "Well?" said the third Stevie Blue, glaring at the mandala. "You have anything further to say?"

  "Not at this time," said the mandala stiffly. The elves' fire snapped off, and everyone breathed a little more easily.

  "Can't we leave you people alone together for ten minutes?" said a new voice, and everyone turned to look. All around the walls, viewscreens were flashing on as the cyberats made their appearance. Computer hackers, techno-freaks, teenage rebels with any number of causes. Like the esper representatives, they hid their true faces behind computer-generated images. Cyberats faced death or reconditioning if caught, but for them the lure and possibilities of the computer system was just too much to resist. Most of them had no interest in politics or rebellion, outside of wanting to be left alone, but the shared danger provided a common ground with the clone and esper undergrounds.

  Cyberats were unpeople, hiding behind fake IDs and a multitude of names, organizations and corporate identities. They lived like rats in the walls of the state, foraging for what they needed when no one was looking. Ghosts haunting the machine just for the hell of it. They helped fund the underground through various scams and computer frauds and used the opportunity to vent their spleen on the authorities who persecuted them. There were a great number of ways to make someone's life miserable through computers, and the cyberats knew all of them. After all, they'd invented most of them.

  The esper and clone representatives looked severely about them at the grinning faces covering the walls and maintained a dignified silence. Long experience had taught them they couldn't win with the cyberats, who spent most of their time engaged in wars of words with each other. A few voices jeered at the representatives, and then were distracted by the last of the arrivals. The aristocratic backers had finally turned up, fashionably late of course, stepping out of the entrances as though just entering the chamber was enough to soil their clothing. Valentine smiled at them, and they bowed briefly in return. There were only three of them. Most of the aristocrats who for one reason or another backed the underground, preferred to do so discreetly, and at long distance.

  On the whole, they funded the underground as a means to political power. Mostly younger sons, who weren't going to inherit, or at least not fast enough to suit them, and therefore had to look for advancement where they could. They wore no disguises; the underground didn't trust them any further than they could spit into the wind with their mouths closed and were determined to know exactly who they were dealing with. If only so they could get them later, if things went wrong. The aristocrats went along, with much bad grace. It wasn't as if they had a choice. You only came to the underground when there was nowhere else to go. Personally, Valentine didn't give a damn.

  Evangeline Shreck he knew from before, and her appearance here was no surprise. A fervent supporter of the clone underground in recent times, for reasons which remained obscure. David Deathstalker was a new face. He'd inherited the title after Owen was outlawed and didn't look any too pleased about it. Only seventeen years old, a minor cousin, unused to the hot house intrigues of the Imperial Court. Tall, immaculately dressed, and possibly not as nervous as he appeared. Handsome enough to set a few hearts fluttering at court, but young enough not to know that yet. Or maybe not. He was a Deathstalker, after all.

  He'd acquired the title by default. Owen had no brothers or sisters; the supposedly genetic quirk that gave Deathstalkers the boost also killed most children before they reached maturity. The Family considered it an acceptable risk. No one ever asked the children what they thought about it. So far, David's motivations seemed clear enough. He wanted to avoid being outlawed like Owen, or executed like Owen's father, and was smart enough to know he had absolutely no allies at court. The Deathstalker name had become synonymous with treason and bad luck, and most people were keeping well clear in case it rubbed off.

  The third face held Valentine's interest the longest. Kit Summerlsle, called by some Kid Death, who murdered his own Family in the name of ambition only to find himself alone, trusted neither by the court nor any Family. A mad dug who'd slipped his leash. Presumably Kit was there as a backer of the underground because no one else would touch him. The Empress had played with him for a while, but Kit had to be wise enough to know that wouldn't last. He was too dangerous: a sword that might just as easily turn on anyone who tried to wield it. Kid Death, the smiling killer, resplendent as always in his armor of black and silver. He looked very young, with his pale face and flyaway blond hair, but the icy blue eyes were very old. They'd seen enough death for a dozen lifetimes and loved every minute of it.

  Valentine stepped forward and bowed courteously to Evangeline Shreck. "Dear Evangeline, so good to see you again. Pity about the wedding, but that's life. Or rather, death. Your father always did have a propensity to overreact."

  "That's one way of putting it," said Evangeline. "You look quite different without your face on, Valentine. Almost human."

  "A mere illusion," Valentine said smoothly. He turned to the young Deathstalker and bowed again, not quite as low. "I've not had the pleasure, I believe, sir. David, isn't it? I'm…"

  "I know who you are. And it's pronounced Dah-veed, actually." The Deathstalker's voice was cool and sharp, trying hard for the gravitas he felt his title required.

  "As you wish," said Valentine. "But I fear you too must learn to come when the underground calls, however they pronounce your name. There's no room down here for the airs and graces we allow ourselves in society. That is, after all. part of the charm of treason. There are no rules here, no required behavior, no one to make us kneel or bow the head.

  We are equal here. And all they ask of us is a willingness to fight and if need be die for the cause."

  "Then why are you here, Valentine?" said Kid Death. "You never cared for any cause save your own continuing self-destruction."

  Valentine took his time turning, and smiled at the Summerlsle. "Where better to seek death or transformation than in the midst of rebellion? There's only one place on Golgotha more dangerous than the underground, and that's the Arena. And that's always seemed too much like hard work for me. I'm really rather delicate, you know."

  "You have the constitution of an ox," said Evangeline. "Your system has to be in top form to put up with all the things you do to it."

  "I know why he's here," said Kid Death. "He wants the drug. The esper drug. Trust me, Valentine, if you did get it, you wouldn't like it. You'd find out what everyone really thinks of you."

  Valentine smiled dazzlingly. "You already know what everyone thinks of you, dear Kit, and it hasn't slowed you down any."

  "I want to know why Hood is allowed to hide his face," said David. "We weren't allowed to, even though it meant having to expose our faces in front of brain damage cases like Valentine and Kid Death."

  "How unkind," murmured Valentine. "No one appreciates a true artist."

  Kid Death looked steadily at David. "You really must learn to choose your words more carefully, Deathstalker. You never know when they might be your last."

  David looked at him defiantly. His hand was very near his sword. "You don't frighten me, Summerlsle."

/>   "Then he should," said Evangeline. "I've seen you both fight, and he'd win. Now if you two have both finished shaking your genitalia at each other, perhaps we could hear Hood answer the question about his anonymity. Personally, I'm all ears."

  Kid Death and David Deathstalker looked at each other, and David looked away first. Valentine studied him thoughtfully. Perhaps the young Deathstalker wasn't as naive as he seemed. The Summerlsle was a psychopath, and everyone knew it. If he were to turn those cold eyes in Valentine's direction, Valentine had every intention of bowing low and backing down. And then possibly dropping a little something lethal in the Summerlsle's drink at some future time. He looked across at Hood as he realized the silence had lengthened and Hood still hadn't answered the question. The man without a face stood very still, the empty interior of his hood as enigmatic as ever.

  "I am valuable to the underground and the cyberats," he said finally. "They indulge me rather than risk losing what I provide."

  "And what might that be?" said Kit.

  "You don't need to know," said Hood.

  "But we insist," said David.

  The two of them moved unhurriedly toward Hood, taking up positions on either side of him so that he couldn't face them both at once. Their hands were very near their swords.

  "That's enough!" snapped Mr. Perfect, and everyone turned to look. The esper representative glared at them all impartially. "We did not summon you here to squabble like children in a playground. We have business to discuss, and the longer we stay here, gathered together in one place, the more danger we put ourselves in."

  "Damn right," said one of the Stevie Blues. She strode forward to take up a position in the center of the chamber, hands on hips. "Security would just love to get the drop on us because we were too busy arguing among ourselves to hear them coming. Everyone stops messing about right now, or my sisters and I will start banging heads together. You can call me Stevie One. My sisters are Two and Three. Don't get us mixed up or we'll hit you. We pride ourselves on our individuality."

  There was a general relaxing and moving away by all those present. Stevie One nodded to Mr. Perfect to take over. David sniffed at the three clones.

  "Bunch of perverts," he said quietly to Valentine. "And they dare call what they have a marriage."

  "Be fair," said Valentine. "At least they can be sure what they see in each other. Anyway, at least now we get to know why the elves summoned us here."

  Mr. Perfect glared at him. "The esper council summoned you, not the elves. They are only a part of the underground. The Stevie Blues do not speak for everyone here."

  Stevie Two sniffed. "You still come to us when you want something dirty done. Especially if it's risky. And who has a better right to speak than my sisters and I? We're both espers and clones; we understand the pressures of both sides. No one knows more of suffering than we do."

  "Right," said Stevie Three.

  "We will be heard," said Stevie One. "Our sister is dead, murdered by the Iron Bitch. We demand a vengeance."

  "I didn't know there were any esper clones left alive," said David quietly to Evangeline while the espers argued. "I thought they were all wiped out and further experimentation forbidden."

  "Lots of things are forbidden," murmured Evangeline. "But they still happen, if there's profit to be made. As I understand it, the Stevie Blues were a secret military experiment in cloning battle espers. Didn't work out. Most of the subjects died, and the survivors were too powerful. Too uncontrollable, unpredictable. Word about the experiments got out, and the Empress was furious that she hadn't been consulted. Gave the order to close everything down. The Stevie Blues were marked for execution, but they escaped. The elves took them in, gave them a purpose in life and a shape for their revenge. As both espers and clones, they were supposed to be a link between the two undergrounds, but no one seems too sure where their true loyalties lie. Perhaps even they're not sure."

  "Fair enough," said David. He realized the espers had stopped talking and settled for glaring at each other, so he raised his voice again. "I still want to know why Hood hides his face."

  "Oh, tell him," said the dragon. "Or we'll be here all night."

  "I am highly placed in the Empress' retinue," said Hood. "I have her trust, in as much as she trusts anyone. I am not ready to endanger myself by revealing my identity to those who don't need to know. The underground indulges me because I discovered the esper drug. None of us can afford for the Empress to learn about that. They'd get the secret out of me eventually; they always do. My identity remains a secret because it is in all our best interests. Now, as the Stevie Blues have pointed out, we have business to discuss."

  "I said that," said Mr. Perfect.

  "Then get on with it," said Valentine. "What exactly is so important that we had to be dragged here at such short notice and at such an ungodly hour?"

  "We have a plan," said Stevie One. "We elves have placed one of our own in the water purification department. Through him we have unlimited access to the water supply network for the whole of Golgotha. We propose to introduce the esper drug into the water system. I'm told a really small amount, as little as one part per million, would be enough to have an effect on anyone who drank it or even had contact with the affected water. No one would notice its presence until it was far too late. No one knows it exists but us, and unless you knew exactly what you were looking for, the esper drug would just blend in with all the other drugs in the water. It's pumped full of happy drugs and tranquilizers, as it is, to keep the common herd quiet. With millions of espers suddenly appearing overnight, the Empress would have no choice but to recognize espers as full citizens, with full privileges. After all, most of her subjects would be espers, along with most of her own people. Who knows, maybe we'll get really lucky, and she'll get a surprise in her drink, too…"

  There was a long pause as everyone took it in turn to look at each other. The Stevie Blues smiled at each other smugly.

  "You have got to be joking!" said Evangeline. "You're crazy!"

  "Oh, I don't know," said Valentine. "I rather like the sound of it myself."

  "You would," snapped David. "Anyone who is anyone drinks offworld bottled water. Only the lower classes drink tap water. And the Empress would rather wipe out every single one of them on this planet than be dictated to."

  "Nicely put," said Evangeline. "Didn't think you had it in you, David."

  "Dah-veed."

  "Don't push it, Deathstalker."

  "Look," said Stevie One. 'The esper and clone undergrounds have been fighting for self-determination for almost three centuries, and what have we to show for it? Nothing but increased security on all levels and greater controls over the clone and esper populations. The elves emerged out of a need to strike back, to take the attack to the enemy. This would be a blow against the Empress' authority that couldn't be hidden or hushed up. A whole planetful of espers couldn't be ignored. They'd be too valuable just to be wiped out."

  "Right," said Stevie Three.

  There was a flood of approval from the cyberats on the surrounding viewscreens. They were always up for a little orchestrated chaos and mayhem, and they admired audacity. They'd always been troublemakers first and rebels second. The various faces on the screens began shouting advice and support, and then started shouting at each other to shut up, 'until finally one of the esper representatives had the sense to turn the volume right down. The cyberats raved silently on, oblivious to the fact that no one was listening to them anymore. They were used to that.

  "You're still carefully overlooking the main objection," said Evangeline to the Stevie Blues. "According to the figures I've seen, the esper drug kills twenty to forty percent of those who take it. If we gave it to the entire population of Golgotha, how many innocents would die for our revenge?"

  "None of them are innocent," said Stevie Two defiantly. "They're all part of the system that brutalizes us. They're happy enough to profit from our pain."

  "Right," said Stevie Three. "When
have they ever cared for us?"

  "What do you think we should do?" said Stevie One, glaring at Evangeline. "Commit suicide in public as a protest, like that poor fool you smuggled into the wedding? What difference did it make? No one gave a damn. They don't care if an esper or a clone dies; we're just property. They can just replace us. It's not like we were people. Do I need to stand here and tell you horror stories of the way we've been treated to justify our plan? We've all lost someone dear. It's barely a year since Dram and his butchers attacked our base in New Hope. That was supposed to be our first step forward, out of the darkness and into the light. Espers and clones and normals living together in harmony. A living example of the way things could be.

  "And then the attack sleds came falling out of the sky, opening fire without warning. Hundreds of thousands died as the city burned. Men, women and children; espers, clones and normals. There was nothing we could do but run for our lives. It took us a year to rebuild the underground, and now all the normals are too scared even to be seen with us. Every chance we had for peaceful coexistence died with New Hope. All that's left is the elves and the armed struggle. Did our friends die for nothing? Have you forgotten the screams bursting through our minds, blinking out one by one, like candles caught in a storm?"

  "Revenge," said one of the male clones, and everyone turned to look. The four men had been quiet so long everyone had forgotten they were there. "Revenge is all elves ever want. We want peace. Freedom. We have to learn to live with the normals because it's their universe. Their Empire. One day it might be ours, but none of us will live to see it. Pardon our paranoia, but we can't see how a planetful of traumatized espers, mourning their dead, would do anything to further the clone cause. The Empire would waste no time in blaming the undergrounds. We'd be branded mass-murderers, and they'd be right. Everyone would turn against us, even the new espers."

  "He's got a point," said David. "I really don't think I can go along with this."

  "No one asked you, Dah-veed," said Stevie One. "You don't understand what we're talking about."