He surged to his feet, dragging Dr. Benjamin up with him as though he were weightless. He grabbed one of the doctor's shoulders in each hand, and pulled. Dr. Benjamin screamed horribly as he came apart, ripped in two, torn apart down the middle from the top of his head, down through his torso, and all the way to the groin. The two vertical halves fell away from each other as Donal let go, and crashed to the carpeted floor. There was blood, but not a lot, before Donal sealed off both halves through the force of his will. Dr. Benjamin thrashed weakly on the floor, still alive, reaching out with his seperated arms, a single eye rolling in each half head, and making horrible sounds with his half mouths. Kept alive by Donal's implacable will. Somewhere an alarm bell was ringing loudly. Someone had noticed Donal Corcoran wasn't where he was supposed to be. He crossed quickly to the door of the doctor's office, and then looked back at the two halves of his psychiatrist.
"Now you know how I feel all the time," he said, and left.
Donal Corcoran went walking through the corridors of the asylum, sometimes using the doors and sometimes not. More alarm bells were ringing now, and he could feel guards coming his way with all kinds of restraints and weapons. Sometimes Donal avoided them by walking through walls, and sometimes he just turned sideways from the world and they couldn't see him. He made his way out of the asylum and into the street. There was no one about. The guards were all inside, looking for him. Donal looked up into the sky and called to what was waiting. There was a pause, and then a long dark shape came plunging down out of the clouds to join him. It was sleek and silver and it knew him. His old ship, the Jeremiah, had escaped from its dock and come looking for him. It too had been touched by the Terror, and was more than just a ship now. The madman and his mad ship looked upon each other, and were glad. They belonged together. The ship hovered above him while he thought about what he should do, and when he stopped thinking he was on the Jeremiah's bridge. He could do things like that now. He gave the order, and his ship blasted off for orbit. The Jeremiah was a trader's ship, built for speed and treachery. Illegally fast and protected by state of the art stealth shields, there wasn't much on Logres that could catch or intercept it.
Donal walked curiously through the shadowed corridors of the Jeremiah, and it seemed to him that the old ship looked somewhat different. It had changed since he last saw it. After the Imperial Navy had boarded his ship against his wishes, strapped him into a strait-jacket and dragged him away screaming, the Jeremiah had been piloted to Logres and held in a stardock for oberservation. Donal had known that, without having to be told—just as he knew that many of the scientists sent to study the ship had quit because of the nightmares it was giving them. But he hadn't realized his ship had changed as much as he had, wandering off along new and little-used paths.
The steel corridors of the Jeremiah were now tall gothic arches, punctuated here and there with niches and crevices packed with fascinating things. Some of them looked almost alive. The ship's technology had grown, run wild, mutated. Strange new constructs, of no certain function, blinked at him from consoles with too many dimensions. Sometimes there was no lighting at all, but he could still see. The Jeremiah and he had been joined together by their experiences, on a level that nothing could break. The metal walls were comfortably warm under his touch.
He returned to the bridge, and the main viewscreen showed him scenes of the damned, burning in Hell. They writhed and twisted, calling out silently for mercy that never came. Donal frowned, and the images disappeared. All through the ship, whispers had followed him, rising and falling like the sea, never ending, never still. He couldn't understand them yet, but he thought he might, in time. The Jeremiah had been forced awake and aware through its contact with the Terror; not just the AI but the whole ship. And it hurt. Like its master, it ached for revenge. Or perhaps they both just craved death, and the peace it promised. Either way, they would find the Terror, and drag it down with them into Hell if they could.
As they were leaving orbit, they encountered the city of New Hope. The Jeremiah paused to match orbits, and the two vessels considered each other. The city of light and the starship holding darkness within. On the Jeremiah's bridge, the viewscreen activated itself, showing Crow Jane and the Ecstatic called Joy.
"I know you," said Donal. "I watch the news, though I don't believe all of it. About time you got the hell out of there. It's only going to get worse, you know."
"I know you, Captain Corcoran," Crow Jane said courteously. "I told them that place would never hold you, if you wanted out. Do you know where you're going?"
"To the ends of the Empire, and beyond. Off the edges of the maps, and into the spaces marked Here Be Monsters. I have business there."
Crow Jane turned to Joy. "You talk to him for a while. He sounds like your type."
"Greetings, Captain," said the Ecstatic cheerfully. "I think we should keep this short and to the point. Because your ship is upsetting the oversoul. It keeps trying to talk to them. I like roses. Do you see the Light People too?"
"Yes," said Corcoran. "I do. I see them. They walk among us and no one knows. Which is kind of spooky, if you think about it. But they don't bother me so I don't bother them. Do you know where you're going?"
"There's currently some debate about that," said Joy. "We can't stay here indefinitely, but we're a long way from anywhere else."
"You need to access hyperspace," said Donal. "It's easy. Look."
He reached out to the oversoul and touched it with his altered thoughts. Both sides winced, but they held contact. Donal could see into many places now, and hyperspace was one of them. He showed the oversoul a direction to look in, that they had never suspected existed, and there was hyperspace waiting for them. Donal withdrew, hiding inside his own head again, leaving the oversoul with new possibilities and a massive collective headache.
"Go to Mistworld," said Donal. "I did a lot of trade there, when I was still sane. They're still rebels at heart, and they have defenses that could stand off whatever the Empire sends against them. They'll take you in. They remember what it was like to be hunted. I was happy there. It seems such a long time ago."
"Don't be sad," Joy said earnestly. "The universe isn't as dark as it seems. The long night is full of stars, and the worlds are full of people. Who could have predicted that? We are not alone. There is comfort."
"I don't want it," said Donal. "I only want revenge now. It's all that's been left to me."
Crow Jane frowned. "You've had closer contact with the Terror than anyone else. Could it be some part of the Recreated, that was never made human again by the blessed Owen?"
"No," Donal said immediately, shaking his head violently. "It's bigger than that. It lives in more than three dimensions. Its spawn incubates in the hearts of suns. It eats souls. It wants to destroy the whole universe and everything in it. Unless I kill it first. I can see it. I can always see it, no matter what place it's in. Part of me is there with it, and it suffers."
"How can you hope to stop it?" said Crow Jane.
Donal smiled. "It pushed me into Hell. And now that I know the way, I'm going to grab the Terror and drag it down into damnation forever with me."
"Hope you've got a backup plan," said Joy.
Crow Jane hushed him. "Best of luck, Captain Corcoran. Perhaps we'll meet again someday."
"It doesn't seem likely," said Donal.
He broke contact, and the two vessels passed each other in the night, each going its separate way.
Treasure Mackenzie, that almost impossibly gorgeous star of the vid soap The Quality, was going to have dinner with her husband-to-be, King Douglas. He wasn't expecting her. She contacted him on the viewscreen in his private chambers, using a private number she shouldn't have known about, and invited him to join her at one of the most famous and fashionable restaurants in the city. The kind of place where you had to get on a waiting list just to bribe the maitre d'. But of course people like Treasure never needed a reservation—as long as her ratings held up. Douglas e
xplained to her, very politely, that the dinner date wasn't possible. For reasons of security, Finn Durandal had decided that it wasn't safe for the King to leave his palace. Except to go to the House, and then only when protected by Finn's guards. Treasure pouted prettily, wrinkled her perfect brow, and then smiled brightly. Not to worry, she said.
And within half an hour she was knocking at the door to his private chambers, having brought dinner with her. When Douglas opened the door she barged right in, followed by half a dozen waiters from that very fashionable restaurant, pushing trolleys loaded down with everything necessary for a full scale banquet. There were main courses, side courses, in between courses, and a selection of snacks to keep them going while they decided which course to have next. Just the smell alone would have fed a family of six for a month. If anyone else had asked the restaurant to provide such a meal to go, they would have laughed in their face; but of course nothing was too much trouble for Treasure Mackenzie. She bustled about the room, directing the waiters on where to set things up, making sure everything was to her satisfaction before she signed the bill with a practiced flourish. She then signed autographs for all the waiters, kissed the youngest on the cheek just to see him blush, and then shooed them all out. The door shut behind them, and Douglas and Treasure looked at each other.
"I didn't know what you liked, so I brought everything," said Treasure.
"So I see." Douglas considered her thoughtfully. "How did you get past the guards at my door? They usually have strict instructions not to let anyone in."
Treasure smiled. "Pure charm, darling. And several deep breaths. Cleavage will get you places even security passes won't. Shall we make a start?"
They sat down facing each other across Douglas's dining table. Treasure helped herself to generous amounts of everything on offer, piling her plate high, while Douglas filled his plate more cautiously. He was still trying to work out exactly what was going on here. He opened the wine expertly, pausing a moment to approve of the excellent vintage, and poured out two tall, thin glasses. Treasure rewarded him with her trademark wide smile. Douglas had to admit it really was a very nice smile. He was glad he'd made the decision to clean himself up. He would have hated her to see him the way he used to be. As it was, they made a striking enough couple. He with his handsome face and golden hair, Treasure with her famous sensual face and a great mane of pure white hair tumbling down past her bare shoulders. It had to be said, she had the most delightful collarbones…
"Are you sure you've got enough there?" said Douglas, as Treasure finally finished loading up her plate.
She laughed easily. "The joys of a fast-moving metabolism, darling. I burn it all off through nervous energy. Besides; I've always believed that appetites should be satisfied. Anything less is unnatural and unhealthy."
"So you eat like this all the time?"
"Oh, hell, no. My agent would have a fit if she could see me now.
There are very strict clauses in my contract about being overweight. But this is a special occasion, so…"
"It is?" said Douglas.
"Oh, yes," said Treasure, smiling over her wineglass at him. "Drink up, darling. You don't want to get left behind, do you?"
Douglas had to smile. In her own ingenuous way, Treasure was as unstoppable as a force of nature. She attacked her food happily, wolfing it all down with good appetite, and Douglas ate his quite excellent food at a somewhat slower pace, so he could study his dinner companion unobtrusively. Her long, flowing, off-the-shoulder gown was shimmering silver, studded here and there with semiprecious stones, carefully designed to amplify and draw attention to her fabulous cleavage—as if it needed any help. Seen away from the camera, and with rather more understated makeup than usual, Treasure's face was pretty rather than beautiful, given strength by her pointed chin and blazing green eyes. Her gaze was direct and untroubled, and she chattered happily about nothing in particular, in between and sometimes during large mouthfuls of food. She ate with her fingers when she felt like it, and didn't give a damn.
Douglas watched her carefully, in much the same way he would have watched a dangerous opponent in the Arena, to see which way the attack might come from. Treasure was charming if undemanding company, and certainly easy enough on the eyes, but Douglas thought he knew a planned seduction when he saw one charging straight at him. Clearly Treasure had decided to make sure she had him properly infatuated with her before the wedding, so there wouldn't be any problems this time. Douglas smiled, and poured more wine for both of them. He'd been dodging predatory women since he was a teenager. There's nothing like being the only heir to the throne of the Empire to make one apparently irresistible to women.
So he ate with a good appetite, and nodded pleasantly back at Treasure as she chattered away. Why not? It was something to do, and thanks to Finn bloody Durandal he didn't get out much these days. It was good to have company. And she was going to be his wife, eventually. Douglas wondered if Treasure knew that he meant to put the ceremony off for as long as he could. Perhaps she guessed it, and that was what this dinner was for. Certainly she was making every effort to charm, chase, and vamp him; and with anyone else she would probably have succeeded. You'd have had to be dead from the neck down not to feel Treasure's appeal. Having the full force of her sexuality turned on you was like staring into an open blast furnace.
But Douglas still loved Jesamine. Stupidly, hopelessly, helplessly. Because love is like that, when it strikes a man in later life. Douglas had never really cared for anyone before. He'd never wanted for female company, and had been genuinely fond of most of them, but he'd always known that mostly he tended to choose his women by how much they'd piss off his father. But he'd loved Jesamine from the moment he met her. And he'd thought she cared for him. Perhaps she had, in her way, but she'd still left him to be with Lewis. It didn't matter. He still loved her, and always would.
Besides, Douglas didn't entirely trust Treasure's motives. You didn't get to be a major vid star without a ruthless ambition and determination far beyond the norm. She'd never be content to be just a trophy wife on his arm. Make her Queen, and she'd find ways to exercise power. Real power. Either on her own, or through her dominated husband. So Douglas ate his meal and drank his wine, gracefully sidestepped her little traps and seductions, and watched it all with quiet amusement. It had been a long time since he'd had anything to smile at.
Behind her smile, Treasure was watching him with increasing annoyance. Even her most practiced techniques came to nothing against this man's casual self-possession. Look at him, eating the most expensive food in the Empire as though it was just another meal, and smiling at her as though she was just another woman. She wasn't used to having her magnificent presence taken for granted. Most men lost the thread of what they were saying every time she took a deep breath, and spilt their wine if she deigned to lean forward. She was beginning to get just a little angry. She was a star, dammit. She even lowered herself to being a good listener, only to find Douglas had nothing much to say. She'd set up this meal specifically to discover whether the King really was the broken man he appeared to be; but she was no closer to finding out. His face was open and amiable, his manner dull but pleasant, and neither face nor voice gave any clues as to what was going on in his mind. She'd come here with every intention of seducing the man, but he didn't seem interested in that, either, which was practically unheard of. Perhaps the Durandal was doping him? That would explain a lot.
But Frankie had to be sure. The Hellfire Club needed to be sure. There was a lot she could do as Queen to advance the Hellfire Club's agenda, in public and in private; but not if the King opposed her. Douglas had killed dozens of Hellfire Club devils in his days as a Paragon, when he was still a man to be reckoned with. If he still was… She let her hand drift casually closer to the long slender dagger secretly sheathed on her upper right thigh. No one had body-searched her. No one had dared. She could kill him, if she had to… but it would be such a wasted opportunity, if he could be turned. Th
e things she could do as Queen; the terrible, wonderful things…
She focused on the creed of the Hellfire Club: Thou shalt not love. Thou shalt not he weak. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.
"How are the baby mice stuffed with humming birds' tongues?" she asked sweetly.
"A little overspiced, I fear," said Douglas.
Treasure almost ground her teeth together. She held out her glass for him to fill, and arranged it so that her fingers brushed his lightly. He didn't even seem to notice. Maybe if she just grabbed his face and jammed it between her breasts… She indicated that she'd had enough to eat, and he agreed. They moved away from the table, and took their drinks over to the fireplace. He was still being pleasant and even gallant, in a rather vague way, and Treasure, or rather Frankie, thought Oh, the hell with it. She pushed Douglas back against the wall and slammed her body up against his. Her magnificent breasts flattened against his manly chest. His arms went around her automatically. She grabbed his head with both hands and pulled his mouth towards her waiting lips. And Douglas grabbed her bare shoulders and pushed her away from him with such force that she fell backwards onto the thickly carpeted floor. She sat down hard on her well-padded bottom and glared up at him, hair disheveled, breathing heavily, and their eyes met. And for just a moment they both saw the real person behind each other's public mask. They regarded each other coldly, and then the masks slipped smoothly back into place. Douglas leaned forward, offering his hand. Treasure accepted it, and rose to her feet with dignity. She brushed herself down here and there, adjusted her decol-letage, and ran her hands through her long white hair. Her breathing was perfectly calm now, as was his.
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