Deathstalker (13 page)

“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 transfered 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 for 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 SummerIsle?”

And everything went very quiet as all heads turned to look at the SummerIsle. 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. SummerIsle 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.

“One man’s traitor is another man’s hero, Your Majesty,” he said easily. “Perhaps you had some specific name in mind?”

“Perhaps we did,” said the Empress. “You have spoken out against us too many times, SummerIsle, thwarted our will too often.”

“I can remember when it was no crime for a man to speak his mind. Of course, that was a long time ago, in your father’s day. And many things have changed since then.”

Lionstone smiled. “You have displeased us, SummerIsle, because your many words of criticism were aimed not only at ourself, but also at our Empire. Can we rely on you to refrain from such treasonous talk in the future?”

“Don’t be silly, Lionstone. I’m too old a dog to learn new tricks, and I wouldn’t if I could. I remember you as a child. You were so full of fun when you were younger. If I’d known what you’d grow into … I probably would have let you live anyway. I always was too soft where children were concerned. I’m all that remains of your father’s inner circle. The others are all dead. Some at your hand, some not. Just as well. They’d hate to see what you’re doing to the Empire they swore to maintain. Under you, honor is a joke and double-dealing is the norm. Justice only for the rich, and death for those who dare to disagree. Thirteen generations of your line built this Empire, Lionstone, only to see it crumble in your iron fist. You are the cancer at the heart of the Empire, the blight on the rose.”

There was complete and utter silence in the court. Lionstone had been leaning angrily forward on her throne, but she made herself relax and lean back before she spoke.

“You always did talk too much, old man. You stand condemned by your own words. Let no one say we did not give you a fair chance. …”

“Oh, get on with it,” said SummerIsle. “I’m to be an example to silence others. I knew that before I came here.
Send forward your pet executioner, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

He glared defiantly at Dram, but the Widowmaker just stared calmly back, his hands nowhere near his weapons. Lionstone smiled sweetly.

“You’re not worthy of the Warrior Prime, SummerIsle. I have a more … appropriate executioner for you.”

She nodded to one of her maids, who leapt to her feet, raised her clawed hands above her head and clapped twice. A third man appeared out of nowhere as the concealing hologram blinked out and moved forward through the muddy waters to stand smiling at the SummerIsle. A slender figure in black-and-silver armor, he was young and more than fashionably thin, with pale blond flyaway hair, icy blue eyes and a killer’s smile. He carried a sword on both hips, and he walked like a predator. People drew back at the sight of him, and a low whisper passed softly through the packed crowd:

“
Kid Death … Kid Death
…”

He smiled and nodded to the courtiers, and those nearest him recoiled as though he’d tossed a snake into their midst. They knew who and what he was. Everyone in the court had heard of Kid Death, the smiling killer. He strode slowly forward, and the gentle lapping sounds of the water against his boots were eerily loud in the quiet. He finally came to a halt an arm’s length from the SummerIsle, and the two of them stood face to face, the old man and the young. The invincible warrior and the undefeated duelist.

Kid Death drew the sword on his right hip, reversed it, and offered it casually to SummerIsle. The old Lord bowed formally, took it, and then took up a fighter’s stance. The younger man drew the sword on his other hip and fell into his own stance. SummerIsle nodded approvingly.

“Glad to see all my training hasn’t gone to waste, Kit. You were the best pupil I ever had.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.” The young man’s voice was light and breathy.

“Another child who turned out wrong. What the hell was wrong with your generation? Maybe there was something in the water. …”

“I’m what you made me, Grandfather: the most skilled swordsman in the Empire. You sharpened the blade; did it
never occur to you that someday it might be used against you?”

SummerIsle hefted his sword, his face fixed on his grandson’s eyes. “You killed your father and your mother and both your brothers, and the law couldn’t touch you, because you said they were duels, and there was no one to contradict you. I should have killed you myself, but I couldn’t. You and I are all that’s left of the SummerIsle line, Kit. Don’t let it end here, in senseless bloodshed, just to please the Iron Bitch.”

“I’m doing this to please myself, Grandfather. Doesn’t the student always want to prove that he’s become better than the teacher? As to serving the Empress, I am a killer, so I must go where the killing is. My parents disapproved of the life I led and tried to stop me; so I stopped them. And my brothers too, later, when they came looking for vengeance. They won’t be missed, any of them. They dared little and achieved less. But I go on the best of the best, death on two legs, Her Majesty’s executioner in all but name. One day I’ll have that, too, and then there’ll be a new Warrior Prime.”

“You won’t last that long, Kit. She’ll see to that. Tell me, boy, did you ever feel anything for your Family? I loved them so much.”

“No, Grandfather, not a thing. Not even when I killed them. Enough talk, old man. Let’s dance.”

He stepped forward, the sword moving easily this way and that, searching for an opening. SummerIsle went to meet him, moving only as much as he had to, the tip of his sword pointing always at his grandson’s heart, and his eyes were cold and steady. For a moment they circled, each wary of the other, and then they came together in a flash of steel and the crashing of blades. The encounter was over in a moment, then they were circling again. There was a long red slash along Kid Death’s left cheek, and blood trickled down his face. SummerIsle had drawn first blood. His grandson smiled widely, then threw himself forward. His sword was everywhere, and the sheer ferocity of his attack forced SummerIsle back, step by step. And then he stood his ground, and would not give up another step, no matter how hard Kid Death pressed him, as though he had said,
This far will I go, and no further
. Their swords slammed together and they stood face to face, straining with all their strength for the upper hand. SummerIsle’s breath was coming fast, and
his face was flushed. His grandson wasn’t even breathing hard. Kid Death held SummerIsle’s eyes with his and surreptitiously drew a dagger from a concealed sheath in his sleeve. SummerIsle smiled suddenly and nodded, and Kid Death thrust his dagger between the old man’s ribs.