Deathstalker War (5 page)

“Pity,” said Random. “I admired them both. I was hoping they’d vouch for me, too. We still need some proof, don’t we? How about this; you gave me all the gold you had on you, twenty-two years ago. And that was exactly seventeen crowns. Am I right?”

“Exactly right!” said Donald, slapping his knee. “I remember now. Seventeen crowns. No one else could have known that, Madelaine.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “An esper could have got it out of Jack’s head, or yours.”

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Donald said dismissively. “She was born suspicious. Had her mother’s milk tested for steroids. You’re the real thing, Jack; I can feel it in my bones. I’ll vouch for you. And maybe this time you’ll listen to me before you go haring off to fight for truth and justice with too few troops and no proper backup.”

“I’ll listen this time,” said Random. “I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“You’ve had enough opportunities,” said Madelaine, but both Donald and Jack ignored her.

“We’ve got a real chance this time, Donald,” said Random, leaning forward. “An army of clones and espers, and powerful allies beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed of. I won’t throw it away because of my pride.”

“Good man,” said Donald. “Get your people together and set up a meeting with the Council. Madelaine and I will be there.”

“Thank you, Donald. This means a lot to me.” Random rose smoothly to his feet, then waited politely as Donald struggled up out of his chair. They clasped hands again, and Random strode out. Madelaine followed him to the door, to be sure he didn’t steal anything, and then came back to stand in the doorway and glare at Donald.

“You think he’s a fake, don’t you?” Donald said calmly, as he eased himself back into his chair.

“Damn right I do. He’s too good. Too perfect. Great-looking, muscles to spare, and all the right words and phrases. Like a popular hero designed by a committee. And I don’t buy that regeneration story for one moment. I mean, technically speaking I suppose it’s possible, but where would a rebel on the run gain access to that kind of tech? Last I heard, regeneration machines were strictly for the aristos. No, Donald, you only believe in him because you want to. Because he’s one of the few good memories from your past that’s still around.”

“Maybe,” said Donald. “I don’t believe he’s telling us everything, or that everything he told us was true. But every instinct I have says it’s him. He’s just the way I remember him. A larger-than-life hero and a plausible rogue, all in one. He’s passed the only tests I could think of. What else does he have to do to convince you, walk on water?”

“If he did, I’d want to check his boots afterward,” said Madelaine.

Jenny Psycho made her way through the streets of Mistport, the crisp snow crunching under her steady stride. Her breath steamed thickly on the air before her, but she was pleasantly warm inside her furs. Heat and cold and other vagaries of the world had lost all power over her. According to her briefing, the espers’ union had their own hall in Guilds Quarter, but she needn’t have bothered with the directions. She could feel it in her mind, like a great searchlight stabbing up from the center of the city. There were people bustling everywhere she went, but they all gave her plenty of room, even if they weren’t always sure why.

The hall itself turned out to be modestly sized, set back in its own grounds. Jenny was a little taken aback to see it standing plainly sign-posted and apparently unguarded. Anywhere else in the Empire such a gathering of espers was punishable by death or mindwipe, depending on how valuable their services were. The simple openness of the espers’ union cheered her greatly, and she strode up the graveled path to the front door with something like a swagger. There were no visible guards anywhere, but she hadn’t expected any, even in a cesspit like Mistport. Espers had their own, subtler ways of keeping watch and seeing off the uninvited. The great front door looked imposing and impressive. Jenny looked for a knocker or bellpull, but there wasn’t one. She raised her hand to knock, and the door swung open before her. A tall slender man in formal evening wear filled the doorway, staring haughtily down at her. His head was clean-shaven, showing small surgical scars here and there, and his eyes were just a little too wide. His smile was formal and entirely meaningless.

“Come in, Jenny Psycho. We’ve been expecting you.”

“I should hope so,” said Jenny. “Now, are you going to let me in, or am I supposed to teleport past you?”

The doorman, or whatever the hell he was, stepped back gracefully, and Jenny strode past him with her nose firmly in the air. Start as you mean to go on. The hall was open and airy, the air sweetened by vases of blossoming flowers in every nook and cranny. Jenny would have liked to ask where the hell they found flowers like that on a freezing, inhospitable rock like Mistworld, but she kept the thought to herself. Asking questions could be taken as a sign of weakness, and it was vital she appear strong. The butler took her furs and hung them up. He looked pointedly at her boots, dripping melting snow onto the thick carpet, but she ignored him. Bare feet might be taken as a sign of informality.

“I take it your precogs told you I was coming,” said Jenny, casually. “They are supposed to be the best in the Empire, after all. But did they tell you why I was coming?”

“Not yet.” He closed the door firmly and turned to smile at Jenny. She didn’t like the smile. It was too confident by far. The flunky strode off down the hall without waiting to see if she was following, allowing his words to trail back over his shoulder. “We know who you are. We could find out why you’re here if we wanted to, but we’d rather hear it from you directly. This way. Someone will see you shortly.”

Hell with this
, thought Jenny Psycho. Things were getting out of hand. These people needed reminding who and what she was. She reached out with her mind and drenched the flowers in the hall with her esp. They erupted out of their vases, growing at a tremendous rate, flowers budding and blossoming in a moment as vines and branches sprawled across the walls like runaway trellises. They filled the hall from floor to ceiling, rioting on the walls, pushing each other aside for space to display. The scent of flowers was overpowering, rich and glorious. The servant looked back at Jenny, his face impassive, but only just.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“There’s lots about me you people don’t know. Now find me someone in charge to speak to, or I’ll turn this entire house into a shrubbery.”

“They said you’d be trouble,” said the butler, or whatever the hell he was. “If you’d care to wait in the study, someone will be with you soon.”

“Very soon,” said Jenny.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. And for your information, I am not the bloody butler, I am the Chancellor of this lodge. This is the study. Try not to break the furniture or set fire to things. Some of these books are very old and a great deal more valuable to us than you are.”

“That’s what you think,” said Jenny. “Now beat it, Chancellor. And don’t keep me waiting too long or I’ll act up cranky.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,” said the Chancellor, and ushered Jenny into the study. The room was large and brightly lit, with large comfortable furniture, gleaming wood-paneled walls, and an inviting, well-banked fire. The whole study had a calm, relaxed atmosphere that Jenny didn’t trust for a moment. They probably just wanted to put her off her guard. Jenny quietly probed the surrounding rooms and had to hide her surprise when her mind bounced harmlessly away from powerful psionic shields.

“Please don’t do that,” said the Chancellor. “We have many private places here, mentally shielded to protect our more sensitive people from the clamor of the world. And occasionally to protect the world from some of us. I advise you to respect their privacy. For your own sake, if not for theirs.”

Knowing a good exit line when he delivered one, the Chancellor bowed briefly and left Jenny alone in the study, shutting the door firmly behind him. Jenny waited to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock, but it didn’t come. Presumably the espers’ union thought it had other ways of stopping her if she decided to leave. More fool they. She sniffed angrily and threw herself into the most comfortable-looking chair. She’d been held in Wormboy Hell and survived, and there wasn’t much left that could intimidate her now. She glowered around her. Looked at closely, the study was a bland place, with no style or personality of its own. More like a stage set than a place where people lived and worked. Probably set up as neutral ground, a midway place where espers could meet with emissaries from the outside word.

Jenny sank grudgingly back into the comfort of her chair and tried to relax. Nerve and passion and a sense of destiny had brought her this far, but for the first time she wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do next. It all depended on how seriously the espers’ union took her. She was no longer used to dealing with people who weren’t awed or at least impressed by her presence, or what she’d become. But this house held the greatest minds on a planet of espers. They weren’t going to impress easily. And she couldn’t just threaten them. The underground needed their wholehearted support and approval. Besides, it might not work. Jenny scowled sulkily. When in doubt, stick to the script. The underground had spent some time drilling her in all the proper words and phrases, till she could have recited them in her sleep. It helped, too, that she believed passionately in the arguments. Still, these people had better learn to treat her with respect. She had been touched by the Mater Mundi, and she was so much more than she used to be.

She concentrated, diffusing her thoughts, letting her esp creep slowly outward, easing unnoticed through the mental shields to every side of her. Immediately a babble of voices filled her head, harsh and deafening, and visions flashed past her eyes almost too fast to follow. Jenny reeled, and had to grab at the arms of her chair to center herself. So many minds, all working at the peak of their abilities. Past records and future possibilities jumbled together till she could hardly tell them apart. They surged around Jenny, like waves crashing against a rock on the seashore, but she held firm and would not be swayed or moved. She concentrated, filtering through the deafening noise for the information she needed, and slowly things came to her, like ships glimpsed briefly through an ocean fog.

Someone was praying, and sobbing so hard she could hardly get the words out. There were visions of buildings burning, and people running screaming in the streets. Something dark and awful was hanging over Mistworld, like a huge spider contemplating its prey. There were guns firing, and a child’s blood splashed across a wall. The streets were full of people rushing this way and that as the city burned and death closed in around them. In a padded room not too far away, someone was beating at the walls with raw and bloodied hands, and though he was silent as the grave, his mind was full of an endless horrible scream. And through it all, a name, repeating over and over in a chorus of voices, surfacing through the babble like a heartbeat, like a prophecy of doom that could not be denied.

Legion. Legion is coming. Legion.

Jenny broke free of the contact, shaking and trembling. She breathed deeply, fighting to control her scattered senses. She had no doubt she had seen the future. She had seen the streets of Mistport thrown down into Hell, and watched as Imperial troops butchered the people as they ran. She’d seen the city walls thrown down, and buildings blown apart, and above it all, a scream that never ended. It wasn’t a human scream. It might happen a week from now, or a year, or it might already have begun. She had no way of knowing. Precog visions were like that. She cut herself off from all mental contact, slamming down her shields, until she was the only one left in her head, and she was safe and secure again. She groaned quietly, and rubbed at her aching brow.

“Serves you right for peeking,” said a harsh voice from the doorway. Jenny’s head snapped round, and she scrambled to her feet. She hadn’t heard the door open. Standing in the doorway, looking as hard and uncompromising as before, was Investigator Topaz. Beside her stood a tall, painfully thin woman dressed in pale pastel colors. She looked almost as washed-out as her clothes, and stringy blond hair hung uncared for about a sharp, gaunt face with striking ice-blue eyes. There were patches of scar tissue around her cheekbones, and part of her nose had been eaten away. It gave her a stark, almost supernatural glamor. She might have looked dangerous, if she hadn’t also looked like a strong breeze would blow her away.

“It’s rude to stare,” said Topaz. “Frostbite, in case you were wondering. It gets cold around here sometimes. If you ask her nicely, she’ll show you the stumps where some of her fingers used to be. Her name’s Mary.”

Jenny made the connection immediately, and stared at the blond wraith with new respect. “Typhoid Mary? The plague carrier?”

“I don’t use that name anymore,” said Mary. Her voice was quiet, little more than a murmur, but Jenny had no problem understanding her. There was an almost compelling power in Mary’s speech and gaze. “Typhoid Mary was another person; someone the Empire created to do its dirty work. I’m just Mary.”

Jenny nodded. “I know about mind techs. They stirred their sticky fingers in my brain, too. Still, considering the damage you caused here in Mistport, I’m surprised they’re letting you run loose. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Little Miss Tact,” said Topaz. “We don’t blame people for what the Empire did to them. Here on Mistworld, most of us have done things for the Empire we’re ashamed of. The Council gave Mary over into my custody. We work as a team now. We have a lot in common. Mostly things we’ve lost, because of the Iron Bitch and her damned intrigues. Enough small talk. You wanted to speak to the esper union, but the powers that be are rather busy at the moment. You can talk to us. We’ll take it farther, if need be. In the meantime, if you want to make a good impression, leave the flowers alone and respect the mental shields in this house. They’re here for your protection, as well as others’. There are a lot of people here who came to us for help and protection, because of the terrible things the Empire did to them, before they found their way to Mistworld. Some of them have yet to be defused. And there are also a lot of people here still mourning for the friends and family and loved ones they lost during the esper plague. Respect their privacy.”