Deathstalker Honor d-4

by Simon R. Green

  Everyone was looking at Owen and Hazel, but they said nothing. There were things they knew about the nature and cause of the Darkvoid that no one else knew, but they had sworn long ago, for very good reasons, to keep those secrets to themselves. Besides, there was no obvious link between what they knew and the phenomenon Beckett had described. Or so they hoped.

  "Speaking of the Hadenmen," said Beckett after the silence had dragged on for a while, "we come to the last part of my report. I think we were all somewhat surprised when the revived Hadenmen joined the rebel forces to overthrow the Empress, and we were even more surprised when we discovered the augmented men were actually obeying orders, and taking prisoners when the Empire forces surrendered rather than just butchering them all, as they did in the past. They were, after all, the official Enemies of Humanity until the AIs of Shub replaced them in that role.

  "You assured us they had reformed, sir Deathstalker. You said we could work with them. We should have known better. We should never have trusted cyborgs, men who threw away their humanity in the search for perfection through tech, who launched the great Crusade of the Genetic Church, dedicated to destroying Humanity and replacing us with themselves. The men machines in their golden ships. The butchers of Brahmin II. Well, sir Deathstalker, your old allies have returned to Brahmin II, destroyed their defenses, and taken control of the planet and its population. They've renamed it New Haden and surrounded it with a blockade of their golden ships. The few reports that got out before all communication was cut off said the Hadenmen had been experimenting on the prisoners they'd taken, turning them into new, improved Hadenmen.

  "We have no idea of what's happening down there now. And since we don't have a hope in hell of getting past the golden ships, we have no way of rescuing the people of Brahmin II. Unless, of course, the Deathstalker has some ideas? He is, after all, the man who loosed the Hadenmen on Humanity again!"

  A rising growl of anger moved through Parliament, from the MPs to those gathered watching on the floor of the House. It was a disturbed, dangerous sound, and only died reluctantly away when Owen glared about him. "They were a necessary evil," he said flatly. "We couldn't have defeated Lionstone's Fleet without them. Ask General Beckett. I had… hopes the augmented men had moved on beyond their old agendas. I knew one Hadenman who was as fine a man as any I ever met. But it seems I have been betrayed again by those I placed my faith in. Still, let's not exaggerate the dangers of the situation. They hold only one planet, and as yet they don't have enough forces to do anything but defend it."

  "Are you suggesting we abandon the people of Brahmin II, to be turned into monstrosities?" said Gutman. "I don't think the Empire would stand for that."

  "Why not?" said Owen. "Isn't that what you were proposing to do with the people of the Rim planets? Sacrificing the few in the name of the many? But no, Gutman, I'm not suggesting we write off Brahmin II's population, if only because the Hadenmen might eventually create a whole new army out of them. Hazel and I will go to Brahmin II, alone, and see what we can do to rectify the situation. Because I am, after all, responsible."

  "Hold everything," said Hazel. "When did I volunteer to go on this suicide run?"

  "Well, you don't want to miss out on all the fun, do you?"

  "There is that," said Hazel. "I just like to be asked, that's all."

  "The House gratefully accepts your proposal," said Gutman. "And wishes you all good fortune. Because you're going to need it. Is this acceptable to you, General Beckett?"

  "Damn right," said Beckett. "It's his mess; let him clean it up. But just in case they fail, we'd better consider the practicalities of scorching the whole damn planet, and hope we get as many of the inhuman bastards as possible before they can escape. Beckett out."

  The viewscreen disappeared, taking Beckett with it. Parliament muttered quietly among itself. Gutman smiled down at Owen, who braced himself. Something bad was coming his way. He could just feel it. Gutman leaned forward, his voice entirely reasonable. "But before you leave us, sir Deathstalker, we feel there are a few questions we would like answered, concerning the various war criminals this House has sent you after. We can't help noticing that you do tend to bring them in dead rather than alive."

  "For some reason they don't seem to think they'll get a fair trial here on Golgotha," said Owen. "The fact that not one accused war criminal has been found innocent by these trials of yours has not escaped them. So, not unexpectedly, they tend to fight to the death rather than be taken. Don't blame us for a situation you've created."

  "We prepare our cases very thoroughly," said Gutman smoothly. "We find them guilty because they are guilty. Surely you don't think I'd allow my fellow ex-aristocrats to be falsely accused?"

  "This from the man who killed his own father to get on," said Hazel. "Pause, for sustained hollow laughter."

  Gutman shrugged. "Things were different then. I am a different man now. Or don't you believe people can change, my dear ex-pirate and ex-clonelegger?"

  Hazel scowled but said nothing, for which Owen was very grateful.

  "The war trials exist to show the people of the Empire that justice is being served," said Gutman.

  "They exist because they're popular," said Owen. "People need scapegoats. What are you going to do when you run out of the real villains, Gutman? Going to start investigating anyone who dares disagree with this new order of yours?"

  "Only the guilty need fear the people's justice," said Gutman.

  "And you decide who's guilty."

  "Parliament decides."

  "And you speak for Parliament," said Owen. "How utterly convenient."

  "Let us move on," said Gutman. "Next on the agenda is a proposal which I think will guarantee some lively debate. I'm sure I don't need to remind most of you that many seats will be contested shortly in the first free elections since the fall of the Iron Throne. What you may not be aware of is that many ex-aristocrats have expressed their intention to stand for many of these seats."

  "No way in Hell!" said Owen, his voice rising sharply over the growing murmurs around him. "The deal Random made was clear; the Families renounced political power in return for being allowed to survive as financial institutions. Let them get into Parliament, through bribes and intimidation as likely as not, and they'll just end up running things again!"

  "You really must learn to curb your paranoia, sir Deathstalker," said a chilly voice, and everyone turned to look. Grace Shreck met their collective gaze with a mein of cool indifference, her nose stuck firmly in the air. Since Gregor's forced withdrawal from public scrutiny, his older sister had taken over as head of the Family and, to everyone's surprise, had done an excellent job of it. Toby and Evangeline had both been too busy and too reluctant to take over as the Shreck, so the position had fallen to Grace pretty much by default. Her time in the limelight seemed to have agreed with her.

  Long, tall, and more than fashionably thin, with a pale swan-like neck, a pinched face, and a massive pile of white hair stacked on top of her head in an old-fashioned and frankly precarious-looking style, Grace made a striking picture among the more colorful birds of prey surrounding her. Ancient and austere, Grace hadn't been out in public regularly for years. She'd hated attending Court, and only did so when bulled into it by Gregor.

  But she'd taken to the less formal and infinitely less dangerous Parliament with astonishing ease, and was now a spokesperson for many of the older Families, who trusted her precisely because she'd been out of touch for so long, and therefore had no attachments to any particular Clan or cause. She wore clothes so old-fashioned they'd actually come back into style again, and possessed a quiet poise and brittle wit that had won her the respect of many. The acceptable face of the ex-aristocrats, the holo audiences adored her and would listen to arguments from her they would have shouted down from any other aristo.

  "Everyone has a right to stand for Parliament," Grace said primly. "A democratic right. Isn't that one of the things you claimed to be fighting for, sir Deathsta
lker, that everyone should be treated equally? Ex-aristocrats have as much a right to be heard as anyone else. After all, you yourself were once a Lord. Are you saying you should be banned too, your voice no longer heard? You are not the only member of a Family to understand the concepts of redemption and atonement."

  Owen scowled. "I could have taken power. I chose not to."

  "How very… noble of you. But who is to say you might not change your mind in the future? I really cannot see what all the fuss is about. We are talking about free elections, taking place under safeguards you yourself helped to set up, with people voting according to their own consciences. If some of them choose to place their trust in a member of a Family to represent them in Parliament, that is their business and no one else's."

  "It's not as simple as that, and you know it." Diana Vertue glared across the floor of the House at Grace Shreck, who smiled condescendingly back. Diana's scowl deepened, but she kept her temper under control. "The espers will not again place themselves under the power of those who once treated them as property. Who mistreated, abused, and murdered them at will."

  "The excesses of the past are deeply regretted," said Grace calmly. "All the Families understand they have to prove their worth and place in the new order, and none of us are foolish enough to risk that place by resuming old and discredited practices. We must all learn to look to the future. The Families have much to offer. Everyone here understands the terrible events in your past, esper Vertue, that left you physically and mentally scarred, but we cannot allow one woman's obsessions to stand in the way of progress."

  Diana clung grimly to her self-control. This wasn't the first time Grace had sought to undermine her arguments by referring to her past as Jenny Psycho, when her mental stability had been… somewhat changeable. She couldn't respond to the accusation directly (All right, I was crazy then, but I'm better now didn't exactly inspire confidence), so as always she ignored the insult and bulled on regardless.

  "The espers will never bow down to aristos again. We broke free of our chains through blood and suffering and the sacrifice of many; we will not be shackled again."

  "Pretty rhetoric," said Grace, "but essentially meaningless. This talk of masters and slaves is from the past; let it stay buried there. The rest of us have moved on. And, as I have pointed out in this House before, I dispute your claim to speak for all espers. You distanced yourself from the official underground leadership when you began speaking openly of your distrust of the Mater Mundi, and your following among the rank and file is not what it was. You speak only for yourself these days, esper Vertue."

  "Then let's talk about Blue Block," said Finlay Campbell, and everyone's head snapped around to look at him. Finlay didn't often speak out in Parliament, but when he did everybody listened. The floating cameras overhead rushed to zoom in on him. Finlay smiled coldly across at BB Chojiro and her people. "How can we trust the Families when most of them are still under the influence of a once secret organization, Blue Block? Their motivations, like their background, remain largely unknown."

  BB Chojiro stepped forward, her voice rising sweetly in the quiet. "The fact that we are no longer secret should put an end to most of those fears. Yes, in the past we were created to be the Clans' personal assassins, deadly agents to be aimed at their enemies, but we have evolved beyond that. And you, of all people, have no right to criticize us. How much blood is there on your hands, sir Campbell? How many died under your blade?"

  "Not enough, apparently," said Finlay, and everyone shuddered just a little at the bleakness in his voice.

  "I think we've taken this argument as far as we can go for the moment," said Gutman. "Let us move on, please. We have a holomessage from her Holiness, Mother Superior Beatrice Christiana. She is too busy overseeing relief work on Lachrymae Christi to speak to us in person, but she recorded this message for us earlier."

  He gave a sign, and a viewscreen appeared floating in midair. Beatrice's head and shoulders filled the screen, her white cowl surrounding her tired face like a halo. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was ragged with exhaustion. "I'll keep this short, because we're up to our lower lip in work and sinking fast. The war has left half the planets in the Empire existing at barely subsistence levels. Only Beckett's food ships are holding off mass starvation. Social, political, and business structures have collapsed everywhere, and people are dying from lack of food, shelter, and medical supplies.

  "The Church is overseeing relief work everywhere it can, but our funds and our people are limited. Parliament must make more funds available to us, or whole populations will revert to barbarism or worse. Millions are already dying. Millions more will die if something isn't done soon. The Church's work these days is wholly concerned with charity; you have my personal assurance that all monies voted to us will go directly to ease the suffering of the needy. Help us, please. Help us to help those who need us."

  The screen went blank and disappeared. There was a certain amount of uncomfortable stirring. Golgotha had taken its wounds during the rebellion, but in the end had come through largely unscathed. It was easy to forget that many others had not been so lucky. Elias Gutman leaned forward in his chair. "We will of course take Her Holiness's request under advisement. Though once again I must point out that there are many calls on Parliament's limited resources. We will consider the matter further in this House once the appropriate committee has made its report. But now we have one last piece of business to discuss. Something that I think practically everyone here can agree on is our need for an official head of state, someone to personally represent the government to the people. After much discussion in many committees, it has been decided that we should appoint a constitutional monarch."

  There was an immediate uproar. Everyone wanted to speak at once, and no one was willing to back down. Gutman tried to wave them to silence, but for once was completely ignored. So he sat back in his chair and just let them get on with it. Owen stood silently in the midst of the hubbub and thought about it. Even though he'd destroyed the Iron Throne, the crown still existed, and legally he supposed there was nothing to prevent Parliament from appointing a new Emperor, if they were stupid enough to do so. He felt very tired. He'd been through so much to overthrow Lionstone, but more and more he was beginning to wonder if all his efforts had been for nothing.

  The noise finally died down, and Gutman was able to make himself heard again. "Nothing will be decided without this House's full approval! We are suggesting a purely constitutional monarch, with no actual power or legal authority. A figurehead whose duties would be entirely public and social in nature. It would, of course, have to be someone that everyone could trust and support. After extensive discussion the committees came up with what I think you will all agree is the only suitable choice: Owen Deathstalker!"

  There was an uproar all over again, and a great deal of more or less spontaneous applause, from those who approved of honoring such a great hero to those who saw the advantages of removing the Deathstalker from the political process once and for all. Owen was shocked to silence for a long moment, and then his voice rose above the general roar, cutting it off immediately.

  "No way in hell! If I'd wanted to make myself Emperor, I could have done so when I overthrew Lionstone. I didn't want the crown then, and I don't want it now!"

  Gutman smiled easily. "Most people here seem to think it's a good idea, and an honor you richly deserve. And who is more suitable to be a constitutional monarch than a man who openly says he has no interest in power? Though we may have our differences, sir Deathstalker, I do not hesitate to acknowledge all you have done to make this democracy possible. Who better to represent it? And think on this, sir Deathstalker; if not you, who? A Campbell perhaps? Or a Wolfe? Or a Shreck? You are perhaps the only aristocrat who could come to the crown without an agenda. Come, Owen, you have always known your duty. Think about it."

  Owen nodded stiffly, still scowling. Hazel looked at him, and her face showed nothing, n
othing at all.

  Then there was a new disturbance at the back of the crowd, and people fell back as two men bulled through, heading implacably for the open floor of the House. Everyone recognized Captain John Silence, but the dark and brooding figure at his side was a mystery. Once Silence's companion would have been Investigator Frost, as attached to him as his shadow, but she had died defending the Empire, struck down by that notorious traitor Kit SummerIsle. The new figure was, if anything, even more disturbing than Frost had been, and people looked away, unable to meet his eyes. And then some people recognized what the man in black was holding, and a shocked murmur ran through the crowd. It was a power lance, a banned weapon from the old days of Empire, banned because it could make an esper so strong that no one could hope to stand against him. It was death just to own one.

  Captain Silence stood at the front of the crowd and nodded brusquely to the House. He was a tall man in his late forties, with a thickening waistline and a receding hairline, and eyes that had seen far too much, but had never been able to look away. One of the few who had fought for the Empire to nonetheless emerge a genuine hero, he'd kept his head down since then. There were many on both sides who would have liked to remove such a powerful figure from the game, but he was too potentially useful to be taken off the board just yet. Never knew when you might need someone for a last-ditch suicide run. And now here he was, unannounced and unexpected. The crowd went very quiet, and waited for him to speak. Silence nodded brusquely to Gutman.

  "Sorry to burst in, but this won't wait. I've just returned from the planet Unseeli, out on the Rim. We're all in big trouble."

  "Oh, hell," said Gutman. "Does nothing but bad news come from the Rim these days? What is it. Captain, the insect ships?"

  "Worse," said Silence. "It's Shub." He let the crowd and the MPs mutter for a moment before continuing. "I was on a regular supply run to the single Imperial Base on Unseeli, where scientists were studying a crashed alien ship of unknown origin. We dropped out of hyperspace to find the whole planet had been destroyed. The metallic forests that covered the world from pole to pole, provider of the heavy metals that power our traditional stardrives, have been completely harvested. Billions of trees, and every one gone.