Deathstalker Coda (35 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
“I hope so,” said Jesamine. “I don’t know if my nerves can take much more of this. It’s worse than opening night.”
They walked on, unhurriedly, through the devastated castle. The only sounds were the wind whistling through the many holes, the occasional groan from floor or wall, and the quiet sound of their own footsteps. They looked into every room, but nowhere had been left untouched, unsullied. Finn’s creatures had made a thorough job of their desecration.
“You should have seen it in its prime,” Lewis said finally. “It was . . . magnificent. The accumulated treasures and wonders of centuries. Family history that went back to the First Empire. Paintings and antiques and objets d’art. Some of them so old even we weren’t sure what they were, or what significance they might once have held. One day, it would all have been mine, to enjoy and preserve. I wanted to share it with you, Jes.”
“And you will,” said Jesamine, hugging his arm tightly and laying her golden head on his shoulder. “This can all be rebuilt, restored. I’m seriously rich, remember? I have money in accounts all over the Empire, that Finn’s people couldn’t find if they used an uber-esper and a dowsing rod. I have more money than even I can spend in one lifetime, and it’s about time I put it to some good use. I can’t restore the treasures that you’ve lost, and the things that meant so much to you, I know that; but the Deathstalker Standing can be made magnificent again. We’ll see to that. When all this madness is over, we’ll put everything right again. You’ll see.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time this old place has been rebuilt,” Lewis admitted. “Deathstalkers tend to lead . . . dramatic lives.”
“How are you feeling, Lewis?”
“Glad that you’re here with me. And glad that I came here, and saw this. It reminds me of the oldest truth of my Family: that no matter how bad things get, Clan Deathstalker endures. We never forgive, we never forget, and we bring our enemies down—whatever it takes.”
Sometime later, his pinnace led a flotilla of assorted ships up from Virimonde to join the waiting fleet, more than doubling it in size. Clan Deathstalker was going to war.
Back on the flagship
Havoc
, Brett Random and Rose Constantine had been roaming the steel corridors for some time, looking for some trouble to get into. Brett had run out of wine, and was bored; always a dangerous combination. So he went wandering, and Rose went along with him, because whatever Brett got up to, it was bound to be at least interesting. No one ever challenged their right to be wherever they were; they were the Deathstalker’s companions, and therefore trusted.
More fools them,
Brett thought. He descended farther and farther into the ship, into areas passengers rarely ever saw. Brett was determined to find something amusing to do, if only to demonstrate his independence from Lewis. Besides, with the drink finished, there was nothing else left to do except have sex with Rose, and there was a limit to how much of that his nerves could stand.
Havoc
, Brett Random and Rose Constantine had been roaming the steel corridors for some time, looking for some trouble to get into. Brett had run out of wine, and was bored; always a dangerous combination. So he went wandering, and Rose went along with him, because whatever Brett got up to, it was bound to be at least interesting. No one ever challenged their right to be wherever they were; they were the Deathstalker’s companions, and therefore trusted.
More fools them,
Brett thought. He descended farther and farther into the ship, into areas passengers rarely ever saw. Brett was determined to find something amusing to do, if only to demonstrate his independence from Lewis. Besides, with the drink finished, there was nothing else left to do except have sex with Rose, and there was a limit to how much of that his nerves could stand.
“There’s got to be a still somewhere on this ship,” he growled. “Or a med tech turning out knockoff battle drugs.
Something to get a desperate man comfortably out of his head for a while. I did try the med bay earlier, but Jesamine had already warned the doctors about me, the bitch.”
“Why don’t I just grab someone, and pound them until they tell us where to find the good stuff?” Rose said reasonably.
Brett winced. “Better not. We’re not exactly popular around here as it is. The last time I went down to the main galley, just looking for a little food and good company and perhaps a friendly game of dice, everyone I tried to talk to just made some excuse and left. Some of them didn’t even bother with the excuse. Some of them even left their meals behind.”
“Our reputation has gone before us,” said Rose.
Brett sniffed loudly. “No one’s actually said anything, of course. We are Maze people, after all, and friends of the Deathstalker. But are we treated like heroes? Are we hell as like. We’re made about as welcome as a skid mark on a hotel towel. You know what, Rose? I think you’re right. To hell with whether or not Lewis gets upset. Grab the next crewman you see, and shake some information out of him.”
So they stood and waited for the next unfortunate to pass by, and then Rose picked him up and slammed him against the nearest wall. Brett explained what it was they wanted to know, and the crewman expressed every eagerness to assist them, if only Rose would move the point of her dagger just a little farther away from his eyeball.
“Try the third subgalley, down on deck forty-three. There’s always something going on there.”
Rose dropped him back onto his feet, and put away her dagger. The crewman slid along the wall, putting a little distance between them, and scowled at Brett.
“I knew we couldn’t trust you. Scum always finds its own level.”
“We are not scum!” said Brett. “We’ve been through the Madness Maze, remember?”
“That’s right. You’re monsters. We should have locked you up in the cargo bay, along with all the other freaks from Shandrakor.”
Rose raised her knife again, but Brett stopped her. He’d had enough of hiding bodies. He smiled unpleasantly at the crewman, and put all his esper compulsion into his voice. “You. Forget all about this conversation. Then shit yourself. Then run away.”
The crewman did all these things, to Brett’s amusement. “I really hate this ship,” he announced, not caring whether anyone heard him. “I could cope when it was just Lewis and Jesamine being disapproving, but everyone here sees us as second-class heroes, at best.”
Rose said
second-class heroes
along with him, and Brett looked at her thoughtfully. “We’re doing that more and more lately. Completing each other’s thoughts, coming up with the same ideas, even sharing body language. I notice these things. We’re becoming more like each other, and I don’t like it. There’s only room in this Empire for one Brett Random.”
second-class heroes
along with him, and Brett looked at her thoughtfully. “We’re doing that more and more lately. Completing each other’s thoughts, coming up with the same ideas, even sharing body language. I notice these things. We’re becoming more like each other, and I don’t like it. There’s only room in this Empire for one Brett Random.”
“I’m horny,” Rose said implacably. “Find me someone to kill. Sex with you is nice, but it doesn’t satisfy like the real thing.”
“Why me?” said Brett piteously, to the heavens. “Try and contain yourself, Rose. Please? Soon enough we’ll be going up against Finn and all his armies, and then you’ll be hip deep in all the slaughter you can handle.”
“Yes,” said Rose. “I’m looking forward to it. But I am concerned about facing the Durandal again. He scares me.”
She said it in her normal, casual tone, but there was no denying she meant it. Brett was actually shocked. “I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”
“Finn is a special case,” said Rose, and Brett had to agree. Just thinking about facing Finn again made his heart pound in his chest.
“I have been thinking,” Rose announced, and Brett winced. It was always dangerous when Rose started getting ideas. She looked at Brett thoughtfully, and he felt the first few beads of sweat pop out on his forehead.
“Oh yes?” he said, in a very nearly normal voice.
“I’m remembering my past differently, Brett. Seeing things differently. Because we are linked, your mind affects me as much as mine affects yours. There are times . . . when I think of other things than killing. It would be wrong to say I’m developing a conscience; I don’t think you and I possess one between us. But I am capable of seeing people differently now. As people, rather than just targets. It . . . disturbs me.”
“Do you feel any differently about killing people?” Brett said hopefully.
Rose considered the question. “I think . . . it might make killing people even more fun.”
“I’m changing the subject,” Brett said, in a loud and very determined voice. “We need to work out a way to make ourselves some serious money, before the action starts. Mistworld turned out to be a complete bust, and Virimonde was always going to be a nonstarter. We could sell our stories to the media after the war, but that rather assumes there’s going to be an afterwards. Besides, most of our stories aren’t suitable for the mass media. Either way, I think I’ve done my part in this rebellion. No more fighting and diving into danger for me. I don’t care if our mental link has made me a better fighter; it’s just not me. I’d grab a ship and desert, if it weren’t for the marvelous possibilities of looting when we finally take the Parade of the Endless. But I’ve got to find something to do before then or I’ll go crazy from boredom. Something worthy of my talents. So, let’s try the directions that kind and accommodating crewman gave us before he had to go and change his trousers. There’s got to be a friendly card game I can get into somewhere. There’s always good money to be made from the kind of people who think poker is a friendly game.”
“I still want to kill someone.”
“All right, I’ll accuse someone of cheating! After I’ve made a decent sum.”
They headed down to deck forty-three. It was a long way down. Brett tended to forget, until forcibly reminded, that Imperial starcruisers were the size of floating cities, and as complex. Normally it was a very well run, very calm and tranquil city in between engagements, but Brett couldn’t help noticing the freshly daubed graffiti that appeared on the steel walls as they descended towards deck forty-three.
The Church is the only true Authority. The true Owen is watching you. Death to heretics. Pure Humanity; Pure Loyalty. Long live Emperor Finn.
And
The voices in my head are getting louder.
The Church is the only true Authority. The true Owen is watching you. Death to heretics. Pure Humanity; Pure Loyalty. Long live Emperor Finn.
And
The voices in my head are getting louder.
“Some of those sentiments are really worrying,” said Brett. “Particularly that last one.” He looked at Rose. “You don’t get the significance, do you? This graffiti means that not all the crew are of one mind. They were all supposed to have had a change of heart once Owen appeared to them, but this suggests very strongly that there are still Pure Humanity and Church Militant fanatics on board this ship, still loyal to Finn. The real hard cases. Which means . . . well, I don’t know. Sabotage, maybe? Knives in the dark? Internal dissension in the ranks when it comes time to fight? That’s the last thing we can afford when we come to face Finn’s defenses.”
“Should we tell someone?” said Rose. She made a genuine effort to sound interested, to please Brett, but she didn’t really care.
“Not yet.” Brett frowned, running the possibilities in his head. “We need to know more. And, just maybe . . . I smell an opportunity. Let us press on.”
At the entrance to deck forty-three, they found someone waiting for them. A single crewman, in a marine’s uniform, tall and lithely muscular, with a rather droopy mustache that didn’t suit his otherwise wolfish features. He smiled and nodded easily to the newcomers.
“Brett Random. Rose Constantine. We’ve all been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Have you?” said Brett, ready to break and run at a moment’s notice.
“Oh yes. I’m Leslie Springfield, marine trooper second class, and Random’s Bastard in bad standing.”
“The best kind,” Brett said automatically, and Leslie grinned.
“You should be glad I’m here. This is enemy territory. You wouldn’t have made it this far if I hadn’t vouched for you.”
“That was very kind of you,” said Brett. “What’s it going to cost me?”
“Maybe a small percentage, later on. Now come with me; people are waiting to talk with you.”
“What sort of people?” said Brett.
“The large and growing part of this crew who remain loyal to Emperor Finn, and the ideals of Pure Humanity and Church Militant. The illusion of the false Owen didn’t fool us for a moment. We knew Shub trickery when we saw it. The true Owen would never reject our ideals. He was always an enemy of aliens and the AIs of Shub. Now do let’s hurry along. You didn’t really come down here for a drink and a game of cards, Brett, and you know it. You could have found them anywhere, if you’d really wanted to. No, whether you knew it or not, you were looking for us, because you know we’re the winning side. Price’s bunch of losers and freaks don’t stand a chance against properly motivated Imperial armies.”
“Maybe,” said Brett. “What exactly are you selling, Leslie?”
“A chance to be legitimate again. To come back where you belong. I can hook you up with the loyalist cause, even put you in contact with the Emperor himself. Yes, I thought that would interest you. Come on, Brett; you don’t belong with the traitor Deathstalker and his slut. They’re going to lose and lose hard, and you know it. Mainly because the loyalist crew are going to seize control of all the starcruisers in this fleet, long before we get anywhere near Logres. We have no intention of fighting and dying for heretics. And remember: there is a hell of a big reward waiting for anyone who brings the Emperor the heads of the Deathstalker and Flowers. Fifteen million credits apiece.”
“What is it you people want from me?” said Brett. “Not that I’m committing myself to anything, you understand. I’m just . . . listening.”
Leslie shrugged. “Information, to begin with. Mostly concerning the Deathstalker and Flowers. When they’re at their weakest, and most off guard.”
“What about John Silence?” Rose said suddenly, and both men jumped a little. “He is a legend.”
“Is he hell?” said Leslie, curling his lip. “He’s just an old merchant trader with delusions of grandeur. Playing Santa Claus at the Coronation wasn’t enough for Samuel Chevron, oh no, he has to be John bloody Silence. You’ll notice he was careful not to go down to Mistworld or Virimonde, where they knew the man, and could have unmasked an impostor. No, the original John Silence was a good military man, and unwaveringly loyal to the throne.”
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