Deathstalker Destiny (17 page)

A sound came out of the viewscreen, though they shouldn’t have been able to hear anything. It was like a never-ending scream, an endless howl of agony and joy and horror, at a volume no human throat could produce, going on and on and on, long after human lungs would have collapsed. It was vile and horrible, a jagged, abrasive sound, almost too much to bear. People in the House put their hands over their ears, but couldn’t shut it out. The few espers present were crying tears of blood. Diana Vertue was baring her teeth in a snarl that was pure Jenny Psycho. Jack Random clutched at his head as a fierce pain beat in his temples, as though his brain were trying to force its way out of his skull. Ruby Journey had her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth stretched in a cry of hate or pain or fear no one could hear. The sound from the screen grew louder, intolerably loud, the distilled essence of horror.

On the viewscreen, the Imperial ships were exploding, one by one. The scene cut back to the
Dreadstar’s
bridge, and Captain Xhang. Blood was coursing down his face, from where he’d torn out his own eyes. Behind him, his maddened crew were killing one another. Xhang was trying to say something, but he couldn’t be heard over the endless, maddening howl. And then the viewscreen suddenly went blank, and the awful sound was shut off. People in the packed House began to cautiously lower their hands from their ears. Many were panting heavily, fighting for breath, as though they’d been fighting some physical enemy. Some had passed out. Some of the espers were dead. The computer voice said,
Communication from the Rim has ceased. Contact cannot be established with any of the ships. Awaiting further instructions.

“They’re back,” said Half A Man. “The Recreated have finally come out of the dark, to destroy us all.”

The House was quiet. No one knew what to say. Half A Man’s alien abductors had been the nightmare boogeyman of all Humanity for centuries, only really half believed in, but still passed down from generation to generation as an awful warning. And now here they were, at last. As though the monsters from under a child’s bed had waited till the child had grown up, and then come hammering on his front door. Even Jack Random and Ruby Journey were silent, their courage and confidence stripped away by long forgotten childhood fears. And then Elias Gutman stood up, and everyone turned to look at him.

“General Beckett will undoubtedly be gathering together every ship he can, to face this new threat,” Gutman said heavily. “I’m sure this House will wish to support him in every way possible.” He looked around him, but still no one said anything. Gutman scowled. “We all knew the Recreated would make their appearance eventually. Their timing could have been better ... but that’s the way our luck’s been going recently. So, Half A Man; you have the most experience with these ... aliens. We will put a fast ship at your disposal immediately. I’m sure you’ll wish to confer with General Beckett as soon as possible. With the two of you leading our forces against the Recreated ...”

“No,” said Half A Man. “I’m not going.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He stared impassively back with his half a human face, his energy half spitting and crackling in the quiet.

“But ... your advice on dealing with these aliens will be invaluable,” said Gutman. “You can do far more good with Beckett’s Fleet than you can here.”

“I’m not going,” said Half A Man. “There’s no point. We can’t beat them, we can’t stop them, and there’s nowhere we can run. There’s nothing I or the Fleet can do to save you. Every species has to face its own extinction eventually.”

He turned and walked away, and for a long, long time after he left the House, no one had anything to say.

Constance Wolfe and Robert Campbell were making plans for their forthcoming wedding. Or at least, Constance was. Robert had given up trying to keep track of events long ago, and now settled for standing around on the very edge of the organized chaos, drinking endless cups of tea, ready to offer help and advice on the few occasions when it might be required. Personally, he would have been quite happy to abdicate all authority on the matter to Constance, but she insisted his opinions mattered to her, and wouldn’t hear of him leaving it all to her. And besides, there was the media to consider. The ceremonial wedding of the first constitutional King and Queen to be had captured the public imagination and affection, and they were desperate for continuing coverage of the wedding couple and all the preparations. They wanted to see everything. And since Robert couldn’t afford to be seen as the weak half of the happy couple, he had to be seen to be right there in the thick of things, participating in every decision. If only theoretically.

Constance’s suite at the top of Tower Wolfe was packed with people, coming and going and coming back again, all the while chattering constantly at the top of their voices. There were endless clothes to be designed and approved and fitted, flowers to be chosen and arranged, gifts to be examined and cooed over and stacked away (after being discreetly examined for bombs or other unpleasantnesses, because not everyone approved of the royal wedding, for a whole variety of reasons), and all the endless details of the great ceremony to be discussed and argued over at distracting length. There were courtiers and tradespeople and Family representatives from both sides, all of them buzzing around Constance like bees around a rare and precious bloom.

All Robert had was his gentleman’s gentleman, the experienced and very reassuring Baxter.

With Owen Deathstalker missing and presumed dead, the need for a new constitutional King had grown suddenly very intense. The public wanted the royal wedding they’d been promised, and they wanted it soon. It was the one ray of light in an otherwise very gloomy time, and all across the Empire the people fixated on the wedding with an almost desperate determination. Candidates for Constance’s new fiance had been advanced from all sides, by everyone with an ambition or an axe to grind, but Constance would have none of them. Instead, she chose Robert Campbell. Parliament went berserk, but the people ate it up with spoons. It was like a fairy-tale romance, with young love finally bringing together two Houses that had been at each other’s throat for generations. And so the marriage was back on, the wedding ceremony was hastily rejigged here and there to allow for Campbell Family traditions instead of Deathstalker, and Robert wondered more than once just what he had let himself in for.

He’d never wanted to be King, constitutional or otherwise. All he’d ever wanted was to be a Captain in the Imperial Fleet, master of his own ship. But Family responsibilities had put an end to that. It seemed to Robert that most of his life he’d been forced down paths that were not of his choosing, but at least this time he had good company. He loved Constance with all his heart, and never ceased to be amazed that such a wondrous creature should love him. They’d fought against it, trying to deny the pull of their own hearts, because Constance was promised in marriage to the legendary hero Owen Deathstalker. Constance and Robert’s love would have been a scandal.

When news of Owen’s presumed death first arrived, Constance and Robert were quietly relieved. Constance shed a few tears, because she had admired Owen, but they were more for show than anything else. Robert still worried from time to time that the Deathstalker might yet turn up again, which was why he permitted the wedding arrangements to proceed at such a pace. If Owen were to pull of one of his miraculous returns, Robert wanted to be happily married and established as King well in advance. He was almost sure the Deathstalker would understand. He’d always been an honorable man.

Robert hoped very much that was the case. Because if Owen didn’t understand ... if he got angry ... Robert tried not to think about that. He’d seen the reports from Loki. Of what the equally legendary Jack Random had done there. Of dead men hanging by their necks from city walls, like the strange fruit of hideous trees.... If the honored and much admired professional rebel himself could go mad, then what of a man like Owen Deathstalker, who’d already lost so much? During the day Robert found many things with which to distract himself, but sometimes he woke in the night in a cold sweat, afraid to sleep again.

He made himself concentrate on his current problems. They at least were something he could come to grips with. His servant Baxter was currently fussing around him, as they both studied the Campbell’s new wedding outfit in the full-length mirror before them. Robert had wanted to be married in his old Fleet uniform, but that was shot down almost immediately. The new King-to-be had to be seen to be impartial to all past beliefs or influences. So instead he was wearing formal evening clothes; basic black with a golden cummerbund, and as many of Robert’s military decorations as they could fit on his chest. Robert tried not to be too proud of his medals. He knew better men than he had died without any kind of honors, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, they did look awfully impressive, marching across his broad chest in multicolored rows.

And yet ... the high stiff collar irritated the underside of his chin, there was barely enough room in the jacket to flex his shoulders or take a deep breath, they’d put the crease in his trousers in crookedly, and his shoes were a size too large. For a first fitting it wasn’t too bad, but unfortunately this was the sixth fitting, and they still hadn’t got the details right. Robert sighed heavily. He tried a few poses in front of the full-length mirror, but they all looked like someone else. Robert turned almost despairingly to Baxter.

“Right, that’s it. Dump the monkey suit and dig out my old Captain’s uniform. I am not going to appear at my own wedding looking like I hired my suit at the last minute.”

“Perseverance is the word for today, sir,” murmured Baxter, entirely unmoved. “We’re getting closer all the time. And I thought we’d agreed not to bring up the military uniform again. A constitutional monarch cannot wield real power, least of all military power. You’ll grow accustomed to the suit, once a few more necessary changes have been made. You look very smart.”

“I look like a tailor’s dummy! Clothes aren’t supposed to hang this stiffly. It isn’t natural. And do I have to wear this damned bat at my throat?”

“A black bow tie is expected, yes, sir. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to tie it for you.”

Robert sighed, deeply. “It’s going to be a long, long ceremony, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly, sir. The current program suggests at least two hours. Possibly more. Not including the formal reception afterwards. The scriptwriter’s still working on your speech. But the lady is worth it, isn’t she, sir?”

“Oh yes,” said Robert, smiling fondly across at Constance. “She is that.”

Somewhere else in the crowd, comfortably close to the buffet table, Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn were arguing quietly over whether Flynn’s footage needed a voice-over from Toby, or whether they could get away with snippets of “found” conversation from the various people involved. And if the latter, whether they’d be better off writing and rehearsing the “found” dialogue in advance. Robert was a decent sort, but he wasn’t used to being spontaneous and witty on command. And if you caught him by surprise, his language could be downright shocking. Toby put it down to his military background.

As head of Imperial News, Toby would normally have dedicated coverage like this to the usual experts and professional sycophants, but Constance had personally requested his presence. Apparently she was a big fan of his coverage during the rebellion. And the owners of Imperial News had been only too happy to oblige her, in return for exclusive coverage. Toby had protested loudly and at length when this news had been broken to him, and none of it had done a blind bit of good. The wedding and coronation promised to be the social event of the year, if not the millennium, and Imperial News wanted exclusive rights so badly they were more than willing to sell Toby’s soul to get it.

“This isn’t news,” said Toby forcefully, not for the first time. He leaned against the buffet table, which creaked ominously under his weight. Toby ignored it, and lit up another cigar, in open defiance of Constance’s strict no-smoking policy. “Not real news. Jack Random going psycho, that’s real news, but I wasn’t even allowed to go and meet him at the starport.”

“Just as well,” said Flynn calmly. “The questions you were going to ask would undoubtedly have got us both incinerated on the spot. They say Random’s got a really short fuse these days. And Ruby Journey always was ...”

“A complete bloody psychopath.”

“Quite. Personally, I like it here. No one’s shooting at us.”

“So far,” said Toby darkly. “There’s a lot of people out there who don’t want this wedding to go ahead. You saw the security setup around this place. The last time I saw that many armed guards in one place, there was a rebel army fighting them. I miss those days, Flynn. You knew where you were, then.”

“Yeah,” said Flynn. “Right on the firing line. Personally, I don’t miss those days at all. This is much more my speed. Civilized settings, finger food in all directions, and more pretty dresses in one place than I ever dreamed of. Do you think Constance might let me try on a few in private, if I asked her ever so nicely?”