Deathstalker Destiny (50 page)

“And who would ever suspect a social butterfly like Chantelle?” said Robert. “But of course she went everywhere, heard everything, knew everybody’s secrets. Who better to run a secret society based on bluff and blackmail?”

“And now she’s gone,” said Brendan. “And Blue Block dies with her. She was the only one who knew everything, all the code names and implanted control words.”

“Good riddance,” said Kit SummerIsle, watching unmoved as the Cardinal lowered his head and wept over the dead woman in his arms.

“Did you love her?” said Robert.

“Of course I loved her,” said Brendan. “She made us all love her.”

Up in the director’s gallery, occupying part of Parliament’s security center, Toby Shreck and his assistants sat hunched over their control panels, watching the display of monitor screens showing what the cameramen down on the floor of the House and its antechamber were broadcasting. It was all going out live, with a few seconds’ delay so they could edit out any foul language, and the current audience totals were bigger than anything Toby had ever known, even during the last days of the rebellion. Practically everyone in the Empire who had access to a holoscreen, and wasn’t actually under attack, was watching his show. Toby couldn’t stop grinning, even when his cheeks ached from the strain.

He spoke quietly to his assistants at the control and mixing boards, switching from one camera to another as something interesting caught his eye. This close to the ceremony, it was up to him to impose some form of sense and structure on the sheer mass of information being filmed. Every now and then he’d have a quiet word with his cameramen through their comm implants, telling them to concentrate on this person or that gathering, or when to pull back and look away, rather than show some unpleasant incident or ill feeling that might distract from the general joy of the occasion. This wasn’t a documentary, after all; this was supposed to be a morale booster for Humanity, and for once Toby Shreck was following instructions. He knew how vital it was that everything was seen to go well. Besides, his cameras were recording a lot more than they were transmitting, and by rights it all belonged to him. Later on, he’d put together a warts-and-all documentary that would really open people’s eyes.

Assuming there was a later on ...

On Toby Shreck’s many screens, movers and shakers and aristocrats and celebrities clustered together, putting aside for one day at least old hatreds and animosities, as they waited impatiently for a wedding that would change the whole nature of the Empire yet again.

 

In a huge antechamber packed almost literally from wall to wall, the guests were growing restless. Overcome by the immensity of the occasion, and the increasingly sauna-like conditions, they’d been knocking back the complimentary champagne as fast as the circulating waiters could get it to them. Faces were becoming flushed, voices louder, opinions more vehement. Anyone even the least bit interesting was seized on by the guests to distract them from their boredom, the heat, and the impossibly long queues for the toilets. The actor who now played the part of the daredevil esper Julian Skye in the continuing holo adventure show was having a great time. The show was bigger than ever these days, and the star was a much better actor than the real Julian had ever been. Most assumed the esper’s sudden, tragic death had been a suicide pact with BB Chojiro; that the two love-birds had chosen to die together rather than be separated by Julian’s growing illness. Others spoke darkly of Chojiro and even Blue Block conspiracies, and hinted that Julian had been murdered because he had been ready to make dangerous public remarks about his time with BB. Either way, it was all Very Romantic. The public did so love a tragic hero, and Julian Skye’s reputation grew ever more noble and heroic, now he was safely gone and unable to contradict it. The best legends have always been based on the dead.

Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat, those two most notable toys and ambassadors from Haceldama, were there as well. Evangeline had arranged for their invitations, partly as an excuse to see old friends again, and partly to demonstrate to the Empire that the infamous killer toys of Haceldama were now much more civilized. Unfortunately, most of Toby Shreck’s films on Haceldama had been overlooked, due to the increasing coverage of the imminent rebellion, and as a result only the bad news had stuck. As a further result, most of the wedding guests were openly petrified by Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat. The Bear honestly didn’t notice, and was polite and charming to everyone, even as they babbled meaningless excuses and ran away from him. The Sea Goat had noticed, and was playing up to it for all he was worth, by making pointed remarks that on the surface seemed perfectly straightforward, but which could also very easily be taken for veiled threats. He’d also acquired a taste for champagne and terrorizing the waiters. Bruin Bear persisted in his attempts to be a good ambassador for the new Haceldama, while the Sea Goat kept baring his huge blocky teeth in a terrible smile, and pretending not to notice when people cringed back from him. The two toys had trapped Donna Silvestri in a corner, and she stared at them with wide terrified eyes as the Bear innocently tried to make small talk with her.

Toby got it all on film, but after a while he weakened, and sent Flynn over to interview the two toys. Donna Silvestri seized her chance, gathered up her skirts, and ran for her life. Bruin Bear waved after her, puzzled, while the Sea Goat sniggered into his champagne glass. Flynn chatted happily with the toys, sharing reminiscences of their time traveling together on the abandoned pleasure planet, and everyone else in the antechamber was openly impressed by the cameraman’s calm composure in the face of such danger.

Unbeknownst to Flynn or Toby Shreck, or indeed anybody else, Valentine Wolfe was also present in the antechamber. He moved calmly among the chattering throng, smiling and nodding to all, hidden behind a Shub hologram disguise that gave him the seeming appearance of a Sister of Mercy. His invitation, an absolutely impeccable forgery, said he was there to represent Mother Superior Beatrice, the Saint of Technos III, and now Lachrymae Christi. The Shub camera on his shoulder produced a faultless visual image, undetectable even at very close range, and modified his distinctive voice into that of an anonymous young woman. The illusion wouldn’t have withstood the touch test, but who was going to touch a nun?

Valentine would have preferred to rely on his own minor esp abilities, rather than have to rely on a tech under someone else’s control, but unfortunately that just wasn’t possible. The security Elves on the perimeter would have spotted him in a moment. And even if he could have found a way into the House, the living esp-blockers would have blown away his illusion immediately. At least the Shub tech was clearly superior to any of the Empire’s security devices. Under Shub’s cloaking holo he could go anywhere, a ghost from the Empire’s troubled past, a deadly specter at the feast. He stood in the middle of the crowded antechamber, unnoticed and unchallenged, and smiled contentedly.

Of all the many disguises he could have chosen, the nun appealed to him most. He liked the outfit. Its stark black and white complemented his extreme nature. And as for masquerading as one of Saint Bea’s nuns, well, Beatrice was still technically his fiancée. He was sure she’d understand. Once the terrible thing he planned to do was over, he’d have Shub seize Beatrice, and bring her to him. The naughty little minx had put off their union for far too long. Valentine smiled. He forgave her. She was just playing hard to get. What’s a few death threats between soulmates? He would wed her anyway; and on their wedding night he would show her such awful pleasures ... And when she was dead, he’d do other things to her.

His plans for the Royal Wedding ceremony were simplicity itself. He was going to murder Robert and Constance, right there in front of everyone, and then declare himself Emperor. He hadn’t actually told Shub that. They just thought he was here as an observer. But no doubt it would come as a nice surprise to them. The nun holo would get him close to the happy couple, under the guise of bestowing a benediction from Saint Beatrice, and then a disrupter shot to Robert’s smiling face, and a slashed throat for Constance, and that would be that. He was quite looking forward to the second murder. He’d always wanted to kill his beautiful stepmother. Pity there wasn’t time to ravish her first, as one more spit in the eye for dear dead Daddy, but no plan was perfect. Maybe there’d be time afterward. And if not, he’d settle for the look in her dying eyes as he finally dropped his disguise, so she could know in her last moments just who had killed her and her Campbell lover.

A Wolfe, marrying a Campbell? Unthinkable. Someone had to preserve the old decencies.

Once they were dead, Valentine had no doubt the aristocracy would flock to support him. They’d always understood and appreciated real power. And he was the last scion of one of the grand old Families, extremely suitable to be Emperor. He would promise the Clans an alliance with Shub, that would preserve both Humanity and the Clans’ authority over it. A lie, of course, but the Families would believe it because they’d want to. And as Emperor, he would destroy the Empire as Shub never could, from within. He would crush their spirit, reduce them all to mad animals feasting on one another, and then watch the Empire burn. He would delight in its death agonies, and dance in its screaming ruins. He’d always known that was his destiny.

And even if the aristocrats, or Security, or anyone else rose up against him, it would do them no good. Shub had filled him full of nanotech that could repair any damage to his body pretty much instantly. Finlay Campbell had shot him in the chest with a disrupter at point-blank range, and he’d still survived. Though admittedly it had taken the nanos a while to build him a new heart. Afterward, he’d walked through the flames of the burning Tower Shreck with impunity, ignoring his roasting flesh, already planning his revenge. He was unstoppable now, unkillable. Perhaps even immortal. And flying on every drug known to man, plus a few he’d had Shub whip up specially, just for him. Anyone else would have died from the extraordinary cocktail of chemicals circulating in his bloodstream, but Valentine just took that as one more sign of his clear superiority. His mind was so sharp now he could out-think anyone. Or anything. Let Shub beware.

All around him, people’s faces and body language shouted volumes of information to his expanded senses. He was faster, stronger, and more devious than any other mere mortal could hope to be. The only ones who might have hoped to stop him weren’t here. Jack Random and Ruby Journey were currently facing obliteration at the steel hands of the Shub armada, and Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d‘Ark were already dead. A pity, that. He would have liked to talk with Owen, one last time. The Deathstalker was probably the only person left who could have appreciated the terrible and wondrous thing Valentine had made of himself. And he would have enjoyed going one on one with Owen, sword to sword. The Deathstalker had always been Valentine’s greatest challenge. He deserved a better death, a better end to his legend than just missing in action, presumed dead. Valentine would have killed him with style and grace, giving Owen a death so appalling people would have talked of it for centuries.

Off to one side, Flynn studied the Sister of Mercy through his camera, and tried to figure out what was wrong. His camera was state of the art, and quite definitely picking up some kind of energy field, but he was damned if he could tell what. Of course, it could be just a malfunction, or even him reading the displays incorrectly ... Flynn was always at least one manual behind whatever state of the art his camera happened to be in. He wondered vaguely if he should mention it to security, or Toby, and then the Shreck’s voice was suddenly ringing loudly in his ear, demanding he pay immediate attention to the argument growing between two female celebrities who had unfortunately chosen the same outfit, from a supposedly exclusive fashion guru. Flynn immediately sent his camera flying toward the trouble spot, and hurried after as best he could. Real news always had to take priority.

 

Finally, it was time. The great double doors swung open, and everyone in the antechamber surged forward onto the floor of the House. Strategically placed security Elves kept the fighting for position to a minimum. No one wanted to risk being excluded from the ceremony. The happy couple were already in place, magnificent in their traditional attire, standing together on the raised dais that had once held the Speaker’s chair. Cardinal Brendan stood before them, ready to perform the wedding, and then oversee the investiture. He held his prayer book to his chest like a shield, and tried not to look at Kid Death, standing quietly to one side.

The floor of the House was soon packed solid, shoulder to shoulder, as Robert Campbell and Constance Wolfe took their vows, while the whole Empire watched and listened. The Cardinal ran smoothly through the service, and Robert and Constance’s voices were firm and steady. The choir sang beautifully, and rose petals rained down from the galleries. Delicate rainbows shone through the stained-glass windows. An almost completely overwhelmed page brought forward the ceremonial golden cord on its platter. Constance calmed him with a smile, and his hands were steady as he held the platter out to the Cardinal. Brendan took the cord and wrapped it loosely around their wrists, symbolically binding them together. Crow Jane of the Elves stepped forward then, cold and magisterial as the occasion demanded, to probe the minds of the bride and groom, as tradition demanded, and declare that both were exactly who they claimed to be. There was only the slightest pause as she did this, but to Robert it seemed to last forever. He lived again the terrible events that followed this part of the ceremony at his first wedding. For a moment he thought he might faint. The Unknown Clone saw him sway slightly on his feet, and grabbed Robert firmly but surreptitiously by the arm, steadying him.