Deathstalker Return (3 page)

Though she did have a point. She and Brett had both had to change their clothing, on the grounds that what they’d been wearing had become more than a little battered and bloodstained during their escape from Logres. (Lewis had just scrubbed his armor clean, Rose had ignored the state of her leathers, and Saturday had licked the gore off his scales with a limber virtuosity that impressed and disturbed the others.) The only spare clothes on board the
Hereward
came from the captain’s closet. Fortunately, it held a fairly wide collection. Either the previous captain entertained a lot of friends, or he liked to play dress-up on long voyages.

Jesamine was now wearing a series of overlapping silk creations in dazzling and fiercely clashing hues, all heavily perfumed. On first seeing herself in the mirror, Jesamine had angrily announced she looked like a Mistworld doxy. Brett had asked her how she knew, and the conversation had deteriorated rapidly. Brett himself was now wearing a thermal suit with built-in chameleon tech, so that he could fade into any background. He was very pleased with it, on the grounds that it opened up whole new fields of avoiding trouble and not being found when there were dangerous things that needed doing. Brett firmly believed that fighting was something other people did, and feats of heroism and derring-do were for people who needed their heads tested. Being around Rose had done nothing to change his opinion.

Lewis just knew this conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere good, and was racking his brains for some way to derail it when Brett suddenly got a fit of the giggles. Almost despite himself, Lewis leaned out of his chair to get a look at what Brett had on his viewscreen now. Lewis had checked out some of the earlier examples of alien porn, just out of curiosity, and had to say it did nothing much for him. Some of the human-alien interactions were . . . interesting, but he found most of the alien-alien material frankly incomprehensible.

On finding out what the
Hereward
’s cargo was, his first reaction had been to declare it should all be seized and held as evidence. Brett had quickly reminded Lewis that he wasn’t a Paragon anymore, and Lewis had scowled and muttered and finally said,
Oh, hell; drop the lot into space. We can use the extra room.
Brett nearly had a coronary.
Dump it? Are you crazy? Do you know how much we can sell this shit for on Mistworld? Look, if we’re going to be rebels on the run, we’re going to need working capital. Lots of it.
Lewis had finally agreed, in principle at least, but he still wasn’t happy about it. He took a look at what was amusing Brett, and felt his scowl headache coming back again.

“Brett . . . what is that? I mean, those two whatever-they-are aren’t even touching each other! And even if they were, they don’t appear to have anything that would make it worthwhile anyway.”

Brett considered the scene. “Maybe it’s a mood piece. You know, all in the way they’re looking at each other.”

“They haven’t got any eyes either!”

Brett shrugged. “Maybe you had to be there . . . It just reminded me of a girl I knew once, that’s all.”

“Don’t go there, Lewis,” said Jesamine. “Trust me on this.”

Brett changed the scene on his screen and then sat up sharply, a wide grin spreading across his shifty features. “Well, hello! Oh, I do not believe this . . . I just tapped in a search on celebrities, and I appear to have found a rather sporty scenario featuring a certain celebrity not a million miles from where I’m sitting . . .”

Jesamine was quickly on her feet in a flurry of silks, and she stormed across the bridge to glare over Brett’s shoulder. Lewis quickly joined her, peering over Brett’s other shoulder. The display screen showed what certainly seemed to be Jesamine Flowers and a half-alien woman getting very friendly with each other in a setting where clothing was clearly optional, if not downright discouraged. Lewis could feel his face heating up.

“That is not me!” Jesamine said firmly. “That is a look-alike, probably fresh out of the body shop. I did do a few . . . artistic studies, very early on in my career, but they were strictly solo poses, for the serious collector and appreciator of the nude form. I never did anything like
that,
even when I was touring in rep. I do have my standards, darling. And I haven’t been able to get my ankles that far behind my ears since I was nineteen. Who or what is that
person
she’s doing that with?”

“That is Nikki Sixteen,” Brett said happily. “An old acquaintance of mine. She’s half N’Jarr, all woman, and one hell of a performer. Go, girl, go!”

“Wait a minute,” said Lewis. “I thought the N’Jarr were those squishy little mushroom people?”

“That’s the larval stage,” Brett said patiently. “The final adult form is largely insectile. Exactly what Nikki’s human and N’Jarr parents ever saw in each other has always been a mystery to me. Presumably love really is blind after all. She’s called Nikki Sixteen because she’s one of sixteen broodmates. She’s the black sheep of the family, if you can apply the term to someone with antennae, compound eyes, and six breasts. God, look at her flex . . . What a healthy, enthusiastic, and limber soul she is . . . Are you sure that isn’t you, Jesamine?”

“That’s Miss Flowers to you, you degenerate. That is definitely not me, and I can prove it. I have a small purple birth-mark on my . . . person. It’s always covered with makeup when the role calls for stage nudity. And besides, that doesn’t even look like me, not really. My breasts aren’t that big, the nose is all wrong, and I wouldn’t do
that
if you paid me. Lewis . . . Lewis!”

“Sorry,” said Lewis. “I got distracted.”

“Go and sit down in your chair again, dear. And push your eyeballs back into their sockets. As for you, Random, I strongly suggest you find something else to look at, before I take that data crystal out of the viewer and ram it so far up your left nostril it will shoot out of your right ear.”

“All right, all right, I’m changing the scene!” said Brett. “Touchy, touchy . . . some people have no sense of humor.”

Jesamine gave Brett a long, thoughtful look. “Brett Random,” she said finally. “You know, I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before . . .”

Brett froze, his face automatically falling into innocent mode while all his internal systems panicked. His well-honed sense of paranoia was never far from overdrive at the best of times. He smiled winningly at Jesamine while his mind worked frantically, trying to remember if he’d ever run a scam on her or any of her people. He was pretty sure he hadn’t, but there was no denying he’d got around in his time. And given the sheer number of confidence tricks and stings he’d pulled down the years on any number of celebrities who had more ego than common sense and who thought their position made them invulnerable . . .

“Oh, I’m sure I’d remember meeting such a great star as yourself, Miss Flowers,” he said smoothly. “I just have that sort of face. People always think they know me from somewhere.”

Jesamine sniffed, unconvinced, but let it go rather than get sucked into yet another argument. “I do meet a lot of people. Or at least, I did. I can’t believe my whole life went down the toilet so quickly. And I certainly don’t believe my fan base will accept any of the terrible things that bastard Finn has been saying about me on the news broadcasts. I mean, they’re my
fans.
What’s the point of having fans if they won’t stick with you? Some did. You saw them, Lewis, demonstrating against my imprisonment, outside Traitor’s Hall.”

“You said it yourself, Jes. The public can be very fickle. I couldn’t believe they’d turn on me so easily either.” Lewis tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully and frowned down at them. “You can bet Finn will have all his best propaganda people working day and night on discrediting both of us. They’ll dig into our respective pasts, and dig up every bit of dirt they can find.”

“There’s dirt in your past, Sir Deathstalker?” said Brett. “I’m shocked. Shocked!”

“Shut up, Brett.”

“Shutting up right now, sir.”

“What they can’t find, they’ll probably make up,” said Lewis. “You can’t be an honest Paragon without making some enemies—people only too willing to tell tales about you, in the name of revenge. What about you, Jes? Is there much in your past they could find that they could use against you?”

“Well, rather a lot, actually,” said Jesamine. “I’ve never pretended to be a saint, darling. And a certain amount of bad behavior is expected of you when you’re a star. It’s affairs of the heart, and sort-of-secret assignations that keep your face in the gossip shows. If no one’s talking about you, how can you be a star? I admit it, I was a slut sometimes. It was good for business. And you have to throw the odd temper tantrum in public, or no one will take you seriously. You have to give the media stories, or they start making up their own.”

Lewis glowered in Brett’s direction. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you, is there?”

“None at all,” Brett said briskly. “I’m a scoundrel, and proud of it. The good Lord put me on Logres to shear the sheep, and I have been a busy, busy boy. Wherever rogues and villains gather, my name is on everyone’s lips. I am a Random’s Bastard, and I glory in it.”

“Then what are you doing here, with half the Empire after you?” Rose said calmly.

Brett pouted sulkily. “One moment of conscience in an otherwise spotless life, and my whole career is over. I could spit. I don’t even want to think what my old comrades will be saying when they discover I’ve hooked up with you.”

“I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of,” said Rose.

“Yes, but that covers a hell of a lot of ground,” said Brett. “Some of the things you did for the Durandal . . .”

“Yes, by all means,” said Jesamine. “Let’s talk about that. You’ve been only too willing to talk about yourself and your many triumphs during the past few days, but you’ve hardly said a word about your involvement with Finn bloody Durandal.”

Oh, shit,
thought Brett, his heart sinking.

“Talk to us, Random,” said Lewis. “I want to know everything you know about that man. What he did, and what he had you do. And all the things he planned to do. Help me to understand why one of my oldest and most trusted friends and colleagues has become the greatest villain of the Golden Age.”

“I suppose I should start with the Neuman riot outside Parliament,” Brett said reluctantly. “Up till then it had all just been talk—making plans and gathering support and assistance. Finn was responsible for everything that happened in that riot. He planned it, orchestrated it from beginning to end. He planted agent provocateurs in the Neuman march and in the crowds, to stir things up and push them out of control. One of them shot the Paragon Veronica Mae Savage, on his orders, and started all the blood and slaughter that came after. It was all designed to intimidate Parliament and discredit the Paragons. You were supposed to die that day too. I lured you away from the main action, just so that Rose could have a crack at you.”

“You shot me,” said Lewis. “I helped you, and you shot me.”

“It was orders,” Brett said weakly. “Finn’s orders. You don’t say no to Finn. Anyway, Saturday turned up and saved you . . .”

“Yes,” said Rose. “I’m still rather annoyed about that.”

She looked at Saturday, and smiled. There was no humor in her dark rosebud mouth—only a promise of revenge presently delayed. The huge reptiloid looked back at her interestedly, absently flexing the terrible claws on his hands.

Brett hurriedly continued with his tale, describing how Finn had methodically set himself up as the mastermind behind a far-reaching scheme to bring down the whole Golden Age, by whatever means necessary. How he bribed and colluded and intimidated people on all sides of the law to build the secret army he needed, which was led by specialized criminals he recruited from the notorious Rookery. Brett tried to talk about his encounter with the awful uber-espers the Spider Harps, in their charnel-house kingdom deep under the Parade of the Endless, but it still upset him too much.

“Making deals with the Esper Liberation Force?” said Lewis, shaking his head slowly. “He must be out of his mind.”

“I don’t think so,” said Brett. “I think he was always like this, inside. He just never had a reason to let it out before.”

“But . . . what does he want?” said Jesamine. “What’s this all for? Does he want to make himself King?”

“Perhaps,” said Rose. “Or perhaps he just wants to burn it all down, so he can dance in the ashes. The Durandal is an extraordinary man. He has a sense of purpose and destiny that is . . . pure and uninhibited. A force of will entirely uncorrupted by mercy or compassion. I like that in a man.”

Jesamine sniffed. “If you’re so hot for the little shit, sweetie, what are you doing here with us?”

“I came to be with Brett,” said Rose. “Or perhaps I’m here because fighting for the Durandal would have been too easy. I do so love a challenge. There’s no joy to be had in the slaughter of easy prey.”

“Oh, I do so agree,” said Saturday. “Just as I am here because siding with you offers me the best chance for killing and mass carnage.”

“I may puke,” said Brett. “Really. I’m not kidding.”

I’ll bet Owen never had these problems,
thought Lewis. Aloud, he said, “Let us all try to keep to the subject. You spent the most time with Finn, Brett. He must have talked to you. How could he have gone so bad so quickly? He was the greatest living Paragon, dammit. They’d almost run out of awards to give him for courage and heroism above and beyond the call of duty. He was admired and adored, all across the Empire. And now he’s a traitor and a murderer, betraying all his old friends? Just because I was made Champion instead of him? It seems such a . . . petty reason, to fall so far so fast.”

“I think for him, it was a wake-up call,” Brett said slowly. “Because he never was a hero, not really. He just played at being one, until something more interesting came along. You worked beside him, Sir Deathstalker. Did you never notice some of his more . . . extreme tendencies?”