Deathstalker Coda (36 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Deathstalker Coda
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“Fifteen million credits apiece,” said Brett. “I have to say . . . I am tempted. What do you think, Rose?”
“You will decide for both of us, Brett, as you always do. I have never cared for which side I’m on, as long as I get to kill a whole bunch of people.”
“Predictable,” said Brett. “But still upsetting.”
“Besides,” Rose said thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted to know whether I could take the Deathstalker.”
“Join us,” said Leslie. “Soon there will be an uprising on every starcruiser in the fleet. Loyal crewmembers will position themselves to strike down every officer who is not with us, and replace them with our own people. Then we shall take control of the fleet, and put to death all disloyal elements.”
“Just like that,” said Brett, not even trying to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“No. We know it will be a hard and vicious struggle. But there are more of us than you think, and we have God and the Emperor on our side.”
“Rose and I need to talk about this for a moment,” said Brett, and Leslie politely stepped back a way so Brett and Rose could have some privacy. Brett scowled. “I always did think the fleet surrendered to Owen too easily. If there really are as many fanatics as this guy makes out, they could just pull this off. The Deathstalker’s a hell of a fighter, but even he couldn’t take on the fleet by himself. And those rag bag ships from Mistworld and Virimonde wouldn’t stand a chance either. The rebellion could be over before it even got started . . . suddenly I haven’t got a clue what to do for the best. This is why I hate being on a starship! There’s nowhere to run! Why did they have to give me a choice over which side to be on? Finn’s a bastard and a monster, but I’m damned if I’m going to be on the losing side . . . Would he really take us back? He might; all he ever cared about was winning. Oh, God, my stomach hurts. It never bothered me when I was with Lewis. I think some of his moral certainties rubbed off on me.”
“Can we trust Finn to keep his word afterwards?” said Rose, as always getting to the heart of the question. “Can we trust him about the reward, and our safety?”
“Probably not. Unless . . . we can negotiate from a position of strength. Stay well out of his reach at all times, and then use the reward money to disappear among the border worlds . . .”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“Well, not
want
exactly. Finn’s an evil piece of shit, and strange with it, but he could win this war. And I have no intention of dying gloriously for a lost cause, no matter who my ancestor was. But on the other hand . . . I like Lewis. Even admire him, I suppose. He’s a genuine hero, the real deal, just like my ancestors, Jack Random and Ruby Journey. It feels . . .
right
, being at a Deathstalker’s side. If only he didn’t keep dragging me into danger all the time.”
“But that’s what heroes do,” said Rose.
“I know! I know. I admire Lewis, I really do, but . . . I can’t decide right now. I need to know more. Follow my lead, Rose.”
“Don’t I always?”
They went over to join Leslie Springfield, who raised a polite eyebrow. Brett nodded jerkily. “Lead the way. I’m not promising anything, mind; but I’ll listen.”
“Once you know the truth, of who and what we are, you know we can’t just let you walk away,” said Leslie.
“I know how the game is played,” said Brett. “Lead on. I want to know everything.”
And he only had to push Leslie Springfield with just the lightest touch of his Maze-backed compulsion.
 
They ended up in a deserted weapons bay, where a large crowd of loyalists had gathered together to meet Brett. He tried to do a surreptitious head count, but there were too many of them. And every single one of them studied Brett coldly as he entered. He gave them his most professional trustworthy smile, and allowed Leslie to lead him and Rose to the guest seats of honor. Someone presented Brett with a glass of surprisingly good wine, and someone else offered him a cigar, which Brett took because he always took anything that was offered for free. He sat down, and Rose took up a position standing beside him, her hands resting on her weapons belt. Everyone was very polite to her. Various people took it in turns to present Brett with loyalist propaganda and harsher Pure Humanity and Church Militant beliefs, and he smiled and nodded in all the right places. The general pattern of the planned uprising was explained to him, but not the details. That would only come later, once he’d committed himself to the cause. Brett drank his wine and smoked his cigar, and listened carefully to everything that was said to him. His stomach ached, but he kept it out of his face. Finally, they ran out of things to say to him, and Brett looked out on a crowd of intent faces. Rose was a comforting presence at his side, but Brett really didn’t like the odds. So when he was asked, politely but very pointedly, whether he was in or out, Brett nodded decisively and said
I’m in
.
There was a general murmur of relief, and the crowd relaxed a little. Several people wanted to shake Brett by the hand, and he let them. No one wanted to shake Rose’s hand. Leslie came forward, and smiled meaningfully at Brett.
“We’re delighted to have you and Rose aboard, of course, but you do understand that we need you to prove your commitment to the cause?”
“I thought that might be coming,” said Brett. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
The crowd parted as several marines brought forward a man, bound and gagged. They forced the man onto his knees before Brett, and his eyes looked pleadingly at Brett.
“This fool thought he could be a spy among us, and report back to the false Silence,” said Leslie. “Kill him.”
And Brett knew that even hesitation would damn him. “Of course,” he said. “Rose, do the honors, if you would.”
Rose smiled happily, and everyone near her shied away. She stepped forward, grabbed the prisoner’s head with both hands, and ripped it away with one savage movement. The body toppled backward, fountaining and spraying blood everywhere. The crowd around him fell back, uttering shocked cries. There were even more cries of shock and distress as Rose kissed the severed head on the lips and then casually threw it away. She bent over the headless body, plunged her hand into its back, pulled out the still pulsing heart, and started to eat it. Several people vomited noisily, and a hell of a lot more looked like they wanted to.
“Nicely done,” said Brett, in a very nearly normal voice. “But do remember to brush your teeth with especial vigor tonight. Anything else we can do for you, Leslie?”
“No . . . not for the moment,” said Leslie, perhaps not as strongly as he would have liked. “We’ve set up a secure channel, so that you can talk to us freely at any time, without it showing up on the comm officer’s instruments. We can also arrange ship-to-ship communications, as necessary. But now, we have someone special who wants to welcome you to the cause.”
A viewscreen flared into life on the wall beside them, and Brett’s heart jumped painfully in his chest as the classically handsome features of the Emperor, Finn Durandal, appeared on the screen, smiling warmly.
“Ah, my dear Brett,” said the Emperor. “So good to see you safe and sound, after so many adventures. Come home, dear boy, and all shall be forgiven. We’ll be together again, just like the old times. Won’t that be fun? You know we belong together. We are the same kind, we see the world in the same way. Why did you leave me, Brett?”
“Because . . . I thought I saw better opportunities,” said Brett.
“Ah. I should have known. Return to me, and you shall never have to want for money again. I shall deny you nothing. And . . . do bear in mind how easy it was for me to find you, and arrange this little chat. My people are everywhere, loyal unto death and beyond. Say that you’ll be mine again, dear Brett.”
“Why not?” said Brett. “After all I’ve been through with Lewis, after all I’ve done for him, I’m still not one penny richer than when I started.”
“Am I welcome too?” said Rose.
“Why, of course, dear Rose,” said Finn. “I have missed your blessed madness most of all.”
“Will I get to kill lots of people?”
“Lots and lots,” said Finn.
“Good to be back,” said Rose.
 
Admiral John Silence sat straight-backed in his command chair on the bridge of the
Havoc
. It felt good to be back in the military. To be involved, to be hands-on, instead of pulling strings from the shadows as Samuel Chevron. He’d never felt entirely comfortable in his role as Humanity’s secret protector. He’d always been happier when things were out in the open. He could do subtlety, but it didn’t come naturally to him. And he enjoyed the open respect he got from the crew of the
Havoc
. He might not be as much of a legend as the blessed Owen, but he was one of them; a military legend. Which was why they had preferred to be led by him, rather than by the ex-Champion with the legendary name.
Silence turned to his comm officer. “Check the formation of the fleet. Make sure that all of the Mistworld and Virimonde ships are keeping up and holding their positions.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Silence didn’t really need to be told. He always knew when some of his ships were going astray. His two times in the Madness Maze had changed him, enlarged him, if not so ostentatiously as Owen and the others. The layout of his fleet was as familiar to him as his own body. He also knew that there were disloyal elements among his crews. Knew it even before the loyalist graffiti began appearing down below. He had security people looking into the problem, but he doubted it would come to anything. If the loyalists were a real problem, he would have known by now. Silence knew all kinds of things, except how to be the legend that everyone else needed him to be. He was a soldier, and that was all that ever really mattered to him. But he’d already noticed some of his crew studying him covertly, hoping for miracles, and interpreting even his most innocent remarks as signs or prophecies. It was to avoid just such nonsense that he’d faked his death over a hundred years ago.
Captain Price kept wanting to hover at his side, but Silence kept him busy with other duties. Partly because he needed someone willing to deal with all the scutwork that Silence couldn’t be bothered with, like seeing all the loyalist graffiti was cleaned off the down-below walls, but mostly because Captain Price got on Silence’s nerves. He was just too amiable, too obliging, always too ready and eager to serve. Silence knew his sort. They’d been rife in Lionstone’s day. Political soldiers, ready to bow with every breeze, and side with whoever looked most like the winning team. Such men were to be made use of, but never trusted.
And besides, there had only ever been room for one person at Silence’s side. Ever since he’d taken his place in the command chair on the bridge of the
Havoc
, Silence had seemed to feel Investigator Frost standing beside him, as she always had. Silence didn’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes the sense of her presence was so real, so overwhelming, he felt he could just reach out and touch her. It had been over two hundred years since Frost had died in his arms, in Lionstone’s terrible Court, cut down by Kit SummerIsle, the infamous Kid Death. She had bled to death in his arms, and there had been nothing he could do, nothing at all.
I wanted to die, Captain. Surely you knew that?
Her calm dry voice was perfectly clear.
Hush, Investigator. I’ve got enough problems without the dead popping round for a chat.
Don’t flatter yourself, Captain. I’m here because you need me, just as you always did. Never could resist backing the long odds, could you? It’s a wonder to me you’ve lasted as long as you have. Haven’t you fought enough battles, old man?
I belong here,
Silence thought stubbornly.
I was always at my best with a starship under my command.
Still looking for a good death, Captain? For a cause worth dying for?
Maybe, Investigator.
He looked around, carefully casual, but of course she wasn’t there. Silence felt himself shrink a little, in his chair. Not a legend, not even a hero. Just an old, tired man, hearing voices.
Owen, you brought the Ashrai back from extinction, and revitalized their world. You gave new life to the Recreated and all their worlds. Why didn’t you bring back the only woman I ever really loved? I never thought to ask, and by the time I did it was too late. You were gone. Everyone lost someone in the Rebellion; I know that. But I gave so much; couldn’t I have had just one small thing for myself?
There was never anyone else in his long life, after Frost. Not because he’d sworn a vow, or anything like that; but because he’d never felt the same way about anyone else. There’d never been anyone like the tall, unbending, magnificent Investigator Frost. They’d made an excellent partnership in their time, achieved many great things, and more than a few ignoble ones. Life had been like that, under Lionstone XIV. He’d never told Frost how he felt about her. She was an Investigator, and all such emotions were alien to her. Probably.
And then, it had been so hard to stay young, while everyone else grew old around him. All his old friends died, and he never seemed to have much in common with the new people springing up around him. Even his daughter died. Diana Vertue, also known as Jenny Psycho. They’d never been . . . close, but he still missed her. He had seen the birth and flowering of a Golden Age, and had found pride in being Humanity’s secret guardian. Always believing he might be needed again, always hoping he was wrong. And now here he was, a soldier again and heading into battle, knowing that the only sure thing in this new rebellion was that good men and women were bound to die, on both sides.

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