Deathstalker Return (16 page)

“He’s in excellant shape, Sir Durandal. No deviation from the original process. The most perfect clone I’ve ever produced.”

“I should hope so, considering how much you and your people charged me to make him,” said Finn.

“Ah,” said du Katt, smiling and shrugging, “clones aren’t cheap, especially when they’re illegal, and you did want something special. With all the improvements I’ve built into this model, he’s practically a Hadenman.”

Finn frowned suddenly. “I told you: no implants. No tech. Nothing that might show up on a scanner. I hope you haven’t been too creative, Elijah. If I’ve got to tear this model apart and start over, I’ll do the same to you. Slowly.”

“Relax, Sir Durandal, relax!” Du Katt’s hands fluttered nervously, and his attempt at an easy laugh wasn’t at all convincing. “I can assure you, he’s entirely organic. He’s faster, stronger, and has better reflexes than most of the fighters you’ll find in the Arena these days. A born killer, just as you requested.”

“Pity he isn’t a bit smarter,” said Finn, studying James dispassionately. “It’s a real pain in the neck having to teach him his answers to questions, parrot fashion, all the time, just to get him through interviews.”

Du Katt shrugged again. “He’s just as intelligent as the original, potentially—possibly even more so. He just lacks a context to work from. You can’t learn everything from books. A certain lack of social skills is only to be expected. He’s only six months old, after all!”

He laughed, but Finn didn’t join in, so he quickly stopped. James just stood there, his face carefully blank, waiting to be told what to do. He never volunteered anything. That wasn’t his place. And Finn hurt him if he ever looked like he was forgetting his place. In public, James was always calm and confident and perfectly poised, because that was what Finn wanted. In private, James was quiet, diffident, and eager to please—because he wanted to go on living.

Finn finally waved du Katt away and looked upon his creation, his possession, his latest weapon. And smiled, remembering.

 

 

Finn Durandal personally led the raid on House Campbell, accompanied by his personal guard of six returned Paragons and four assault ships full of Church Militant and Pure Humanity troops. Armed and armored, fanatics to a man and a woman, pumped full of righteousness and knockoff battle drugs, they were sworn to fight and die in Finn’s name, for the cause. Cannon fodder, basically. Finn commanded the lead ship himself. Some pleasures were just too tasty to be shared with anyone.

William’s security people challenged him automatically as he approached, only to relax once they recognized his face. Finn had been to House Campbell many times before, as an old friend of Douglas. All he had to do was make vague allusions to a possible security alarm, and William ordered all his defenses dropped and invited Finn and all his people in. As easy as that. William had no reason to distrust the Imperial Champion.

Finn’s ships landed unchallenged on the House’s private landing pads, and his attack troops immediately spilled out, armed to the teeth and shouting their vicious slogans. Finn would have liked more of an element of surprise on his side, but he had to make allowances when working with thugs and fanatics. Strategy was a mystery to people blind to everything but their cause. So Finn just pointed them in the right direction and let them get on with it. They charged off the landing pads and into the grounds, killing everyone they saw. The security guards went down first, followed by gardeners and servants and old family retainers. Only the guards had weapons, of course, and most never even got a chance to use them. Those few who did were quickly outnumbered and overrun. Everyone else died where they stood. Or, if they ran, they were shot in the back. Finn had no interest in taking any prisoners.

No one had time to send a warning. And Finn had come prepared, with special equipment in his lead ship, to make sure no comm messages would leave House Campbell. He sauntered unhurriedly across the great green lawns towards the House, accompanied by his six beaming Paragons, enjoying the smell of smoke in the air as his people set fire to the ancient gardens. Trees blazed like torches, flower beds became ashes, and the old hedge maze burned brightly like a funeral pyre. And everywhere there were dead men and women, their blood and brains and guts seeping out onto the neatly cropped grass. The ancestral grounds of House Campbell had become an abattoir, and Finn Durandal couldn’t have been happier.

He strode like a conqueror into the great hall of House Campbell, casually destroying irreplaceable treasures as he went, and warmed his hands before the great open fireplace. It was an unseasonably chilly morning. He looked around, smiling, as his people dragged a beaten and bloodied William Campbell into what had once been his hall, and dropped the old man in a heap at Finn’s feet. He lay there, gasping and shuddering, while Finn looked thoughtfully at the thugs in their Church Militant armor. They stirred uneasily under his gaze.

“Did he put up a fight?” said Finn. “I wouldn’t have thought the old man had it in him.”

“Not . . . as such,” said one of the thugs. “But he said things . . .”

“Oh well,” said Finn. “I don’t suppose it matters. I never liked him anyway. And I do so admire zeal. Bring him outside.”

Finn led the way out of the house and across the devastated grounds, until they came at last to James’s grave. William stumbled along and had trouble keeping up, but the Paragons kept him moving with kicks and general abuse. They were having a good time. Finn finally let the old man drop to the grass at the foot of his eldest son’s grave, while he looked casually out over the artificial lake. Dead swans lay floating in the bloody waters. Finn’s smile widened. He approved of thoroughness. William slowly struggled up onto his knees, and looked at Finn, his bloody mouth quivering with outrage. One of the Paragons placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, to make sure he stayed on his knees.

“For God’s sake, why, Finn? What’s the meaning of this? Does Douglas know you’re here?”

Finn took his time answering. “Dear Douglas knows very little about what goes on, these days,” he said, smiling charmingly. “But it wouldn’t matter if he did. Douglas is a spent force, as are you; and neither of you matters a damn in the scheme of things anymore. I did all this . . . because I could. Because it pleased me. Don’t look for rescue. All of your own people are dead, and no one will be coming from outside. Your day is over, William. And mine is just beginning.”

“How could you do this, Finn?” William said numbly. “You’re Douglas’s friend. You were always welcome here. You and he used to have such good times here . . .”

“Things change, people change,” said Finn. “You might say I’ve grown up since then. You never really knew me, William. But you do now.”

William looked uncertainly at James’s grave. “What do you want here? What could possibly be worth all this death and destruction?”

“I’m glad you asked that, William. I’m here for James. No good to anyone just lying in the ground, but I have a use for him.” He leaned over the headstone, and casually blew out the eternal flame that burned there. “Dig him up, boys.”

William cried out angrily, and tried to surge to his feet, but the Paragons hit him, and he fell helplessly to the ground.

“Ah, William,” said Finn. “Children are such hostages to fortune, aren’t they? Even when they’re dead.”

Finn’s people dug up the grave while William watched helplessly. It didn’t take them long to get down to the coffin, break open the lid, and reveal the corpse. The funeral technicians had done an excellent job. Still perfectly preserved, all of James’s many injuries had been cunningly disguised. He might only have been sleeping. William made a soft low sound of distress, but no one paid him any attention. Finn clambered down into the open grave, so he could look James in the face, close up. Finally he nodded, smiled, and then leaned forward and kissed James on his dead lips.

“You’ll do. Du Katt, take your samples.”

“No names!” hissed the clone representative, as he hurried forwards. “You promised, no names!”

“Oh, get on with it,” said Finn.

Du Katt waited for Finn to vacate the grave, and then clambered clumsily down to take his cell samples. He was swiftly efficient, though he was careful never to look at the corpse’s face. When he was finished, he got out of the grave as fast as he could, and Finn then nodded to one of his people, who dropped a small transmutation bomb into the hole. A few seconds later, the mortal remains of the noble James Campbell had been reduced to undifferentiated protoplasmic slime that might have been anyone or anything. William cried harsh, racking tears while Finn smiled on him.

“Don’t blame me,” he said airily. “This is all Douglas’s fault. None of this had to have happened. But he should have made me Champion.”

“You always were a petty-minded little shit,” said William.

“Take him back to House Campbell,” said Finn. “Lock him up somewhere secure, then set up a rotation of guards for the house and the grounds. No one gets in or out unless they’re with me. Oh, and boys, you can play with William, but don’t break him. I may have a use for him, later on.”

He looked out over the burning gardens as his men dragged William away. “Someday, all Logres will look like this,” he said happily.

 

 

Back in James’s chambers, Finn strolled around his creation, studying him from all angles. The clone looked good. He looked very good. Finn approved of good work. Du Katt had been surprisingly easy to bring on board. All he wanted in return for his services and the doctored genetest was a promise from Finn to bring the clone underground back to power and prominence again. And a whole bag load of money, of course. Only du Katt and a select few from the clone underground knew the truth. The less who knew, the less chance there was that someone might develop a conscience and talk. The deal itself was simple enough: in return for James, Finn would see to it that once the Transmutation Board had wiped planets clean of “troublesome” alien life, vast numbers of new clones would be produced to populate these new terraformed worlds. These new populations, along with their planetary votes in Parliament, would make the clones a force to be reckoned with again.

Du Katt was also responsible for keeping the original cell samples in a safe place, so that another James could be produced if the first one didn’t work out. That was one of the first things Finn told James, just so he knew where he stood.

Anne Barclay had dug up everything the clone James needed to know, from her extensive archives. It wasn’t difficult; down the years many books had been written and documentaries produced about the short but promising life of the man who should have been King. Anne and Finn had then taught the clone James all he needed to know on how to speak, how to move, how to act in public. He picked it up surprisingly quickly. As a blank slate he was endlessly hungry for information about himself, and the process was aided by Finn’s punishing him severely if he got things wrong, and Anne’s comforting him afterwards. Bad cop, good cop; carrot and stick. The old ways are always the best. James was still having trouble with some social skills, but they were mostly the kind you could pick up only by experience—which was why Finn insisted that James do so much at once. A full schedule of meetings and talks immersed James in the world he had to fool. It was sink or swim, but it seemed to be working. And if it was a bit hard on James, well, it wasn’t as if he was a real person, after all.

“You still need to do more work on your small talk,” said Anne, sitting opposite James. Even just sitting, she still looked stiff and awkward in her new, beautiful body. “I know chatting makes you nervous, James, but you can only learn by doing. When in doubt, just smile and say something nice. It doesn’t have to be true; few compliments are.”

“I do my best,” said James, trying hard not to sound sulky. “It’s just . . . I get tired. There’s so much to do, and it never stops . . .”

Finn slapped him across the face. It was a casual blow, but there was real power behind it. James rocked on his feet, but didn’t fall. He stopped talking and stood very straight, his hands at his sides.

“You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it,” said Finn.

Anne was up out of her chair, glaring at Finn. “There was no need for that! He’s doing his best.”

Finn looked at her coolly. “I will do what I will do, Anne, and no one gets to stop me anymore. You of all people should know that. James has to be perfect in his part, or all our plans will come to nothing. So James is going to be perfect, whatever it takes.” He smiled at James. “I own you, boy, body and soul. I will make you King, and the Empire will bow down to you, but only because it pleases me to do so. You’re mine, and always will be. Now, I must be about my business. So many lives to ruin; so little time! Anne, make sure he’s fully briefed for the news interview in an hour. And remember: we are not at home to Mr. Cock-up!”

He laughed, patted James lightly on his reddening cheek, blew Anne a kiss, and then swept out of the luxurious chamber with du Katt hurrying after him. James waited until the door had slammed shut behind them, and only then dared to sit down. His hands were trembling, and he clasped them tightly together in his lap. Anne sat on the padded arm of his chair, and put her arm round his shoulders.

“Why doesn’t Finn like me?” said James. “I do everything he tells me to do. I try my hardest, always.”

“There, there, James, don’t take on so. It’s just his way. We’re both very pleased with your progress so far, and neither of us have any doubts about your abilities. Not really.”

“Then why is he always . . . like that?” said James. “Why can’t I ever please him? I want to please him.”

“Finn . . . isn’t easy to get to know,” said Anne. “And he has a lot on his mind. You just carry on as you are. You’re doing fine.”