The pallid light on the pockmarked, cable-strewn walls looked increasingly disturbing, almost organic. Hazel muttered something about moving through the bowels of the earth, but no one laughed. They didn’t feel much like speaking, lost in their own thoughts. After all the time and blood they’d given to the struggle, they were finally heading toward a confrontation that could mean the end of Lionstone’s rule and the way things were. Owen tried to visualize the kind of Empire he might be responsible for creating and wasn’t surprised to find he couldn’t. As an historian he’d studied any number of ancient societies, including some that were officially banned from the records these days, based on all kinds of politics and beliefs, but all he’d ever known personally was the Empire of the Families and the Iron Throne. Random and Hazel had taken it in turns to explain their differing views of a democracy-based Empire, but much as he wanted to believe in them, they just sounded like chaos to him. And he was damned if he could see how he’d fit into either of their futures. But then, he’d never fitted in Lionstone’s Empire, either. He smiled briefly, as it occurred to him that the chances of his living to see any of these futures were remote anyway, which made his worries somewhat irrelevant. Let him survive this mission, and he’d worry about such things then.
He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do when he finally forced his way into the Imperial Court and faced his Empress in the Iron Throne. All his life he’d been raised to revere and honor the Throne, irrespective of whoever occupied it, sworn to serve it all his life and to his death, if necessary. The Iron Throne was the source of all duty and honor and other things that could not easily be put into words. Overturning the Throne was like overturning God. Owen Deathstalker was an aristocrat, even if he had been outlawed, and he supposed in some ways he always would be. But he’d seen too much of the dark side of Empire, of the suffering and horrors on which his society of wealth and privilege was based, and he couldn’t just look away and pretend he’d never seen it. Duty and honor and sheer humanity demanded he put a stop to it.
So he became a leader of the rebellion, a hero and an inspiration to others, and his life had been given over to avenging others whose lives had been broken and discarded on an Empress’s whim. He was fighting now for all the poor and downtrodden, the espers and the clones and the other unpeople, for everyone whose lives had been ruined by an Empress who was supposed to protect them. And if sometimes he felt like an impostor, or unworthy to be part of the struggle, he comforted himself with the thought that no one else could do what he was doing. The Madness Maze had made him more than human, so he preserved his humanity by wielding his powers in the service of Humanity.
And all because Lionstone had outlawed him and taken away his life of comforts and everything he ever cared for. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t just revenge, that his fate gave him an insight into how so many other people had felt when the Empress ruined their lives, but he was basically too honest to lie well, even to himself. He wanted to make her suffer as he had, by taking away what she valued most.
But in the end none of that mattered. None of those reasons had brought him here, stumbling along in the darkness under the earth to topple an Empire. He was fighting for a child who’d lain crying helplessly in the blood-soaked snows of a Mistport back alley after he’d cut her down without thinking. She was a Blood addict, a street ganger, and she’d tried to kill him, but none of that mattered. He’d been forced into a position where he’d had no choice but to cripple and then kill her, and that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that no one should have had to live like her, or die like her. Just a poor lost soul in the Hell Lionstone made. Her cries haunted him, and her blood would always be on his hands. He would overturn an Empire for her, throw down a whole way of life and everything he ever believed in, and he knew even then it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his guilt.
The tunnel they were following finally reached an end in a sealed hatchway. Owen and Giles put their shoulders and their Maze-given strength to it, and the heavy steel plate wrenched open on squealing hinges. Light spilled into the tunnel, so bright they all had to look away for a moment, till their eyes adjusted. Owen turned off his lamp, leaned out of the opening, and took a cautious look around, then signaled the others it was all clear. They took it in turns to jump lightly down from the tunnel opening to the station platform below.
The station was a massive, wide-open cavern, all gleaming tiles and overhead lights, with a single tube train standing at the spotlessly clean platform. The long vehicle was large enough to make them feel like children in its presence, all gleaming steel polished within an inch of its life. There were no windows, but a sliding door stood invitingly open. The platform was deserted, no guards anywhere, though security cameras watched openly from above. Hazel looked up at the high-arching ceiling, then at the richly decorated walls, and finally at the luxurious interior of the train, and tried hard not to seem impressed.
“Nice,” she said, “in an overbearing sort of way.”
“That’s the aristocracy for you,” said Owen. “They don’t like to settle for anything less than perfection. Even if the surroundings aren’t the first thing on your mind. Normally, if you’re using one of these trains, you’re too busy worrying about what nasty surprises Lionstone is going to hit you with once you get to Court. Sometimes the Court can be more dangerous than Lionstone is, which takes some doing. God knows what it looks like now, given her present mood. Still, no point in hanging about. Come, my lady Hazel, your carriage awaits.”
“I am nobody’s Lady,” said Hazel, stepping warily through the open door into the train’s carriage.
“That’s for sure,” Owen said gallantly.
Once inside, Giles sat down on the nearest seat and put his feet up. Hazel headed straight for the built-in bar, and Owen paid careful attention to the code panel set beside the door. The correct codes announced who you were, how many were in your party, and your level in Society. Without the right codes, the train wouldn’t go anywhere. A really wrong code would activate the security systems, and the gas jets fitted in the carriage, and the only place you’d go after that would be the morgue. Oz claimed to have codes that would not only get them to the next station in perfect safety, but would also override the security systems, so that the gas jets couldn’t be activated from the outside. Owen wasn’t quite as convinced of that as he had been.
“Trust me,” Oz said calmly in Owen’s ear. “Your father’s research was very thorough. The codes are correct. Just punch in the numbers as I give them to you.”
Owen growled something indistinct under his breath, and did as he was told. The last number went in, and Owen braced himself for any hissing from the gas jets. He’d already decided that at the first whiff of anything suspicious, he was grabbing Hazel and leaving this carriage, even if he had to punch a hole through the solid steel wall to do it. But nothing happened, or at least, nothing unpleasant. The door slid shut, the engine fired up in its sealed compartment, and the train moved smoothly off. Owen looked around him, feeling there was something else he ought to be doing, and then shrugged and went to sit down beside Giles, who was leaning back in his luxuriously appointed seat, eyes closed, feet casually crossed before him, the epitome of relaxation. Owen sat on the edge of his seat and bit his lower lip. Trains gave him travel sickness.
Hazel had the bar open and was working her way through the decanters. She took a healthy swig from each till she found something she really liked, then came back to sit down opposite Owen and Giles, clutching the decanter to her. Owen gave her a hard look. Hazel wasn’t in the least put out and offered him a sip. Owen politely declined. Giles opened an eye, looked at Hazel and the decanter, sniffed, and closed his eye again. Hazel made a rude gesture at him that Owen was glad Giles didn’t see. He could feel his face getting warm. Giles had made it clear to Owen on more than one occasion that he didn’t approve of Hazel. Entirely unsuitable as a match for the last of the Deathstalker line. He said it once in front of
Hazel, and Owen had to restrain her from punching his ancestor out. Giles had got very sniffy, and said that just proved his point. Hazel had shrugged Owen off, said something very unkind about inbreeding in the aristocracy, and stalked off in a huff. Owen had been torn between a shouting match with his ancestor or hurrying after Hazel to calm her down, but in the end decided discretion was the better part of valor and left them both to their own devices. Some arguments you just knew you were never going to win.
“You know, this has almost been too easy,” said Hazel, lowering the decanter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I mean, considering this is the only means of access to Lionstone’s Court, I was expecting the station to be stuffed with security measures. Instead there’s no armed guards, you punched in a few numbers, and off we went. That doesn’t sound to me like the paranoid Iron Bitch we all know and loathe.”
“Lionstone has always believed simple is best,” said Owen. “It doesn’t take much to make these trains secure. Once they’ve started, there’s no way of getting off, the carriage is sealed, and the gas jets in the ceiling can be activated by the Palace at the first sign of anything worrying. Hopefully the codes Oz and my father supplied are either blocking the carriage’s sensors or preventing the Palace from flooding the carriage with gas. A slow and rather horrid death, or so I’m told.”
Hazel glared at the nearest gas nozzle. “Hold everything. Are you telling me you don’t know exactly what these codes do?”
“I’m afraid so. Oz doesn’t have details like that. Apparently my father loaded the codes into the AI’s memory some time back, but never got around to explaining their function. Which was typical of my father, who never explained anything unless he absolutely had to. So I’m afraid we’ll just have to trust him.”
“You want me to trust the word of an AI that’s supposed to be dead, and only you can hear, programmed by a man who delighted in intrigue and treachery? All right; stop the train. Let me off. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“The trains are programmed not to stop anywhere except their destination,” Owen said calmly. “I could break down the door and throw you out, but then you’d be facing a ten-mile walk. Alone. In the dark. Facing unknown security measures very definitely not covered by my codes.”
Hazel scowled at him and took solace in her decanter. “I hate it when you’re right. You go all smug and self-satisfied.”
Owen hid a smile and looked round at Giles, who still had his eyes shut. “Everything all right, Giles?”
Giles opened his eyes and nodded to Owen, ignoring Hazel. “Couldn’t be better, my boy. I’ve waited a long time for this. Dreamed for so long of finally coming home to put right the ancient wrongs done me. They threw me out, Owen. Outlawed me, after everything I’d done for them. I gave them my life and all my duty, fought their wars and killed their enemies, stained my honor with the Darkvoid Device, and even that wasn’t enough for them. But now, after 943 years, I’m back to present them with the bill for what they did to me.”
He stopped talking with an abruptness that suggested he had nothing more to say on the subject, and stared straight ahead, eyes far away in a time of old hurts and betrayals. Owen stirred uncomfortably in his seat. The original Deathstalker had been a hero and a legend for so long it was hard to think of him as a real man, with real hurts and grievances. Owen couldn’t help feeling that the great and glorious Deathstalker of old ought to be above such things. There wasn’t room in what they had to do for such simple things as revenge anymore. Even he knew that. To be fair, Giles had never tried to hide the fact that he was in this for himself, and not for the underground or any of its causes. The rebellion was just a means to an end for him. On its own this would have been enough to cause Owen concern, but there was also the fact that for a man who’d spent the best part of a thousand years in stasis, Giles often seemed remarkably well informed and up-to-date. Owen sighed mentally. If you couldn’t trust Giles Deathstalker, legendary hero and warrior, whom could you trust?
Assuming, of course, that this really was Giles Deathstalker.
The journey passed uneventfully, Hazel kept shooting suspicious glances at the gas jets in the ceiling, and significantly lowered the level of brandy in her decanter. Eventually this made Owen so nervous that he took the decanter away from her and put it back in the bar. It was a measure of their friendship that she let him do it, but she still didn’t speak to him for the rest of the trip. The train finally slowed and slid to a halt. The door opened, and the engine shut itself down. It was suddenly very quiet. Owen got to his feet, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest. They’d finally come to Court. No more plans, no more arguments, no more quiet panics in the early hours of the morning when everyone else was fast asleep. And no turning back. Here, in the next few hours, his fate and that of the whole Empire would be decided, one way or another. He drew his sword and gun, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the platform. He only managed a couple of steps, and then stopped dead. He heard Hazel and Giles leave the carriage behind him, but he only had eyes for the man waiting at the other end of the platform to meet them. As soon as Owen saw him, he realized he should have expected him to be there. That it was right that this man, above all others, should be there to try and stop them going any farther. He was standing some distance down the brightly illuminated platform, sword in hand, waiting patiently for them to come to him. His energy half spit and crackled loudly in the quiet.
Half A Man.
Hazel moved up beside Owen and swore quietly. “I knew things had been going too smoothly. Why did it have to be him, of all people? The one man in the Empire who definitely can’t be killed?”
“Because my loyalty is beyond question,” said Half A Man. “Because the sensors in the carriage told us who was coming, and Lionstone knew someone of more than usual valor would be needed to stop you. And because I wanted to be here. Lionstone was quite annoyed when the gas jets wouldn’t function, but I wasn’t. That would have been such a . . . petty way to win. This way is better. It’s only fitting that the truest man in the Empire should face such infamous traitors to the Crown. I suppose it’s too late even now to talk you out of this madness?”
“Far too late,” said Giles.
“And it’s not madness,” said Owen. “It’s necessary. The Empire has become corrupt, sick, evil. It has to be put down, so that something better can take its place.”
“I’ve heard all that before,” said Half A Man. His half face was unreadable, but his voice was firm. “It doesn’t mean anything compared to the evil waiting outside the Empire. The aliens that destroyed my ship and my crew and did this to me are still out there, somewhere, waiting for us to grow weak and divided so they can move in and destroy us. And the petty evils that so concern you are nothing to what the aliens would do to Humanity. I saw and experienced horrors beyond your worst nightmares in their ship. We’re nothing compared to them. Only the combined strength of the Empire has a chance of stopping them. By this rebellion, you put the survival of our very species at risk.”
“Stuff that shit,” said Hazel. “I’ve been hearing that all my life, and there’s still no sign of your aliens. If they were coming, they’d have been here long ago. These days, it’s just an excuse to keep people like you in power. That lets people like you do whatever you want to people like me. Let the aliens come. They couldn’t be worse than the life you people wanted to condemn me to. You’re the real aliens. You have nothing in common with the people whose lives you control.”
“Hazel’s right,” said Owen. “You’ve held the threat of the aliens’ coming over everyone’s heads for so long, you’ve come to the point where you can use it to justify any damn thing you want. If you really want to ensure the Empire’s survival, stand aside. Let us overthrow Lionstone, and put things right in the Empire.”
“You wouldn’t know what to do with an Empire,” said Half A Man. “You people would loot and pillage and destroy the traditions of centuries, just to satisfy your o
wn needs and pleasures. I can understand what drives a mercenary like the d’Ark woman, but what the hell are Deathstalkers doing here? You took an oath, upon your name and your blood and your honor, to be true to the Empress and serve her all your days.”
“No,” said Giles. “Our oath was to the Throne, not to the madwoman who currently sits on it.”
“A distinction without meaning.” Half A Man moved unhurriedly toward them, the sound of his one human foot slapping on the platform sounding loud and distinct in the hush. It felt to Owen as though the whole Empire was listening and holding its breath to see what would happen next. “We have nothing to talk about, outlaws,” said Half A Man. “We don’t even speak the same language anymore.”
“I don’t think we ever did,” said Owen, just a little sadly. “Throw down your sword. You don’t stand a chance against the three of us.”
“You can’t kill me,” said Half A Man. “No one can.”
“You never met us before,” said Giles. “We’re different.”
Deathstalker War Page 50
