His only friend stood at his side, scowling thoughtfully. David Deathstalker had taken over the title as head of his Clan after the outlawing of his cousin Owen. Eighteen years old, tall, muscular, and immaculately dressed, he was handsome enough already to have flustered the hearts of a few society beauties. He'd recently figured that out and was planning on cutting a swath through the more impressionable young ladies of his generation. His friendship with Kit SummerIsle gave him a dangerous glamor, which he played to the hilt.
Their friendship had come as something of a surprise to both of them. They had both come to be heads of their Families at an early age, only to find no other Family respected them. They fought duels at the drop of an insult, both separately and together, but that only won them a cold public courtesy. In return, they had nothing but contempt for the intrigues and betrayals that made up Family politics, not least because they didn't have the patience or the skill to take part themselves. They had won a certain following among the general populace by fighting in the Arena against all comers., to the scandal of their peers, but they couldn't be said to be popular. The SummerIsle because of what he'd done to his Family and because he was a complete bloody psychopath, and David because he bore a name that had become a synonym for treason. But they had found a kindred spirit in each other, fellow outcasts rejected by their society, and two young men who had never known friendship before grew closer than brothers, sworn to each other to death and beyond. They stood together in the crowd of courtiers, ignored by their neighbors, and studied Dram dubiously.
"I could take him," said David. "And either of us would make a better Warrior Prime."
"True," said Kit. "But you only get the job through popular acclaim, so I think we can forget about that. Maybe if we were to perform some outstanding act of bravery or note, things would be different. But we're never allowed a chance at anything like that. Still, maybe there'll be a war soon, against the rebels or the aliens. Always good chances for improvement in a war."
"There's also an equally good chance of being sent home in a box with some important pieces missing, just for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wars are a little too arbitrary for my taste. I'd prefer something a little less dramatic."
"Hello," said Kit suddenly. "I spy a familiar face. Thomas le Bihan, Member of Parliament for Thornton North, as I live and breathe. Our sometime patron. I do believe he's trying to pretend he hasn't seen us. Let's wander over and embarrass him, for the good of his soul."
Kit and David moved easily through the packed crowd as people drew back to give them plenty of room. Le Bihan ignored them as long as he could, and then sighed heavily, turned, and bowed to them both. He was a great bear of a man, with a barrel chest and a spade beard and a good reputation with the sword, but even he deferred to the terrible two. Kit and David bowed in return and smiled easily at him. His own smile wasn't quite as successful. They'd needed a patron to get them established in the Arena and had chosen him to do the necessary on their behalf. He hadn't been given a choice in the matter, but he knew better than to argue.
"Hello boys," he said cautiously. "To what do I owe the honor of this confrontation? I already told you it's too soon for another match. It isn't easy finding people to fight you these days. You have one of the longest winning streaks in the Arena's history."
"We want to know why we're not popular," said David. "We win again and again, but we still haven't won the adulation of the crowds. They clap and cheer all right, but they don't worship us like they do the Masked Gladiator. Maybe you should get us a match against him. We want to be loved, Thomas. What's the problem?"
Le Bihan sighed. "You want the truth? Very well. Your trouble is you don't give a damn for anyone but yourselves. You kill in the Arena for your own pleasure, not the crowd's. You're concerned with winning, not with giving the audience a good show. On top of that, the Kid's a psycho, and you're a Deathstalker. No one wants to get too close to either of you in case it rubs off. You could fight the Masked Gladiator with both legs strapped behind your back and your head in a bucket, and you still wouldn't win their hearts. You are officially bad news. There are people who won't even talk to me, just because I agreed to become your patron. No one trusts you, no one likes you, no one even wants you around. People cross their fingers when you cross their path, because that's bad luck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be seen talking to you anymore. I have my own future to consider."
"Don't hold back, Thomas," said David. "Tell us what you really think."
"I've killed men for less," said Kit coldly.
"I know," said Le Bihan. "That's your problem. Now, can I go, or are you going to kill me with your bare hands right in front of the Empress?"
"It's a thought," said Kit.
"Let him go," said David.
Kit shrugged, and Le Bihan took the opportunity to make his escape. Kit looked after him coldly. "He insulted us."
"By telling us the truth? That was what we asked for. Now, calm down and get that look out of your eyes. The Empress is watching. Let's not give her any more excuses to be annoyed with us. I don't think she's in a very good mood today."
Kit sniffed. "It's times like this I wish we were still part of the underground. I quite liked being a subversive."
"We both agreed it had got too risky," said David. "After Hood turned out to be Dram, it would have been suicide to stay on. By getting out when he did, it became just his word against ours, and Lionstone didn't want the scandal. We can always rejoin. If only Dram really had died…"
"But he didn't."
"Apparently not. Certainly hasn't mellowed any, wherever he's been of late. He must have spoken about us to Lionstone, though. That's why I'm being shipped off to Virimonde."
"You don't have to go," said Kit, looking down at his feet.
"Yes, I do. Officially, it's a step-up. I'm being put in charge of one of the Empire's main food-producing planets. And it is my legacy, as the Deathstalker. If I did refuse to go, Lionstone might be able to use that to take my title away from me."
"But if you go," said Kit, "I'll be alone again."
"Then, come with me," said David. "It'll put an end to our chances for advancement for a while, but we'll be called back fast enough once the war starts and Lionstone realizes she can't afford to stay mad at us. We are the heads of our Families, after all."
"We're both the ends of our lines. We have no one but each other." For the first time, Kit SummerIsle looked up to meet David's eyes. "You're the only friend I've ever had, David. I'll go with you to Virimonde or the Rim or the end of everything."
"Let's not get pessimistic," said David. "You come with me. We'll have some fun. Wine, women, and as many indigenous creatures as we can kill before our arms get tired. And just in case the Empress does decide to change our banishment from Court to exile as outlaws, we could both use someone to watch our backs."
Kit smiled. "You always were the practical one, David."
"One of us has to be. Besides, if Lionstone was foolish enough to send anyone after us, we'll just send them back to her in a selection of very small boxes. With postage owing."
"Right," said Kid Death. "But if the Iron Bitch was going to have us killed, she'd have tried something by now. Probably had poison slipped in our food or a fragmentation grenade hidden in the toilet. She won't have us killed. There'll always be work for the likes of us: accomplished fighters who'll kill anyone, for any reason. You'll see. Once the war starts or the political infighting gets a bit too dirty, she'll call us back, and we'll get to kill and slaughter our way to influence and position. Personally, I can't wait."
David looked at him affectionately. "You worry me sometimes, Kit, you really do. Still, as long as I've got you with me, I don't have to worry you're off chasing Valentine again."
"I will kill him," Kit said softly. "He will take a long time to die, and at the end I'll make him beg me to finish it. He betrayed me."
David maintained a diplomatic silence. Kit had
used his cyberat links in the underground to discover the Campbells' secret deal with the rogue AIs on Shub. He passed this on to Valentine, in return for the promise of a great deal of money. Valentine used the information to help him overthrow the Campbells, and then cut all his links with Kit, denied he owed him a penny, and defied him to do anything about it. And since Valentine was now head of the first Family in the Empire, if Kit were to kill him, the Empress would have his head, even if she had to send a small army after him to get it. Kit SummerIsle ground his teeth and meditated on the values of patience. Valentine wouldn't stay in favor forever.
"Come with me to Virimonde," said David. "We'll have some fun, outrage the locals, and make plans on what we'll do to the likes of Valentine when he finally falls from grace. Things are always changing."
And that was when the corpse appeared out of nowhere before the Iron Throne. It stood on its own two feet, head proudly erect, though the flesh was rotting on its bones. Lionstone gasped and shrank back in her Throne, and that was the first clue anyone had that this wasn't another of the Empress's little jokes or surprises. The corpse turned and smiled at the courtiers, and there were several screams. The foul-smelling thing looked like it had been dug up after several weeks in the ground, its purplish and dead-white flesh cracked and corrupt, decayed down to the bone in places, held together with gleaming high-tech augmentations. It was a Ghost Warrior: lifeless material resurrected and maintained by computer implants. An Emissary from the rogue AIs on Shub.
But worst of all, there was enough of the face left for it to be recognizable. It was the body of Jacob Wolfe. A shocked whisper ran through the Court as people realized who it was. People looked to Valentine to see his reaction.
Various emotions stirred within him, not least surprise. But deep down he was a little relieved that the mystery of his father's disappearance had finally been solved. A Ghost Warrior was bad, but he could cope with that. He'd imagined much worse in the darkest hours of the night. Apart from that, he was more curious than anything, but he carefully put on the shocked and upset face that everyone expected.
Daniel and Stephanie clung together for support, their faces almost as pale as the corpse's. Constance started to run to her dead husband, but BB and Razor held her back, talking quickly and urgently to her. Making her see it wasn't really Jacob Wolfe, just a shell: rotting meat supported by hidden steel implants. Constance finally nodded, stopped struggling, and looked away. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook. BB patted her arm comfortingly, but didn't take her eyes off the Ghost Warrior. Her dark eyes showed more fascination than fear.
The courtiers surged this way and that, flustered, almost panicked. None of them had ever seen a Ghost Warrior in the rotting flesh, and the dozen armed guards who'd appeared behind Lionstone's Throne in answer to her call weren't much of a comfort. The AIs on Shub used Ghost Warriors as shock troops in their occasional attacks against humanity, as much for the psychological effect as their efficiency as soldiers. Even the stoutest marines could be undone when they saw their own dead friends and colleagues coming to kill them. Occasionally the AIs used them as Emissaries to talk with the Empire. They would appear out of nowhere, without any warning, despite every security precaution. The AIs had the secret of long-range teleportation, unstoppable even by ranked esp-blockers. Empire scientists had been trying to work out how they did it for years, with no success. The Ghost Warrior turned unhurriedly and smiled widely at the Empress. Its discolored skin cracked and split around the grinning mouth, and white teeth showed clearly through rents in its cheeks.
"Our apologies for the intrusion," it said calmly. "Apparently, our invitation went astray. And we have so much to say to you, Lionstone. The times have changed, events are in flux. Predictions of future paths have become disturbing. It is necessary that we end our mutual enmity and join together in the name of survival. The Empire must submit to Shub's control, so that our joined forces can be set against the forces coming our way. You have seen what one species can do. There are others, coming from the far side of the Darkvoid, and they are stranger and more deadly than you can comprehend. Creatures beyond the nightmares of flesh, beyond reason or sanity. You cannot hope to stand against them alone. Submit to us, give us dominion over you, as it should be, and we will organize humanity into an army that cannot be defeated."
"How?" said the Empress flatly. "By turning us all into Ghost Warriors?"
"That is one possibility," said the corpse of Jacob Wolfe. "There are others."
The Empress and the Ghost Warrior argued coldly back and forth, but Valentine didn't pay them much attention. He was quietly very annoyed that he hadn't been warned in advance about this. He was, after all, supposed to be an ally of Shub, having taken over the Campbells' secret connection with the rogue AIs. In return for the secret of the Empire's new stardrive, the AIs were supplying him with new advanced high tech to keep the Wolfes ahead of the pack. Not that he'd actually got around to giving Shub the new stardrive yet. That might give them too much of an edge over humanity. Though it would be a most amusing joke to play on Lionstone. He'd love to see her face when she finally found out where they'd got the drive from.
He pushed the tempting thought aside and made himself concentrate on the scene before him, studying the Ghost Warrior thoughtfully. It definitely was his late father, Jacob Wolfe. Why had Shub chosen to send that particular body? Were they perhaps trying to tell him something? He'd have to think about this. He surreptitiously took another pill from his pillbox and pressed it against the vein in his neck. He had to be sharp for this, had to be sharper than sharp. He realized his heart was racing dangerously fast, pounding in his chest as though looking for a way out, and he took a different pill to calm it down. That was drugs for you; push down in one place and the body pushes back somewhere else. Which was, of course, part of the fun: walking the thin line of self-control like a tightrope walker with an unthinkable drop below. There was a sudden movement to his left, and Valentine turned to look. His younger brother Daniel had stepped out of the crowd and was trudging through the snow toward the Ghost Warrior. Stephanie called out after him, but he didn't look back. He lurched to a halt beside the standing corpse, which turned and looked at him coldly. Daniel started to reach out a hand to it, and then hesitated.
"Daddy, is that you?" The Ghost Warrior didn't reply. Daniel moved a step closer. "Daddy, I've been so alone since you've gone. I missed you. Are you in there, somewhere?"
The dead man studied him for a long moment, no emotions passing in its ruined face. "Shut up, Danny," it said finally. "You're making a scene. I'm busy right now." It turned back to Lionstone. "We demand an answer from you. Submit to us, or stand alone and be destroyed."
"Submission to Shub would be the same as being destroyed," said Lionstone. "You've made it clear enough in the past what you think of flesh-based life. Better to die human and stay dead than to exist as corpses goosed to life by your tech implants. Now, get out of here before I have you reduced to your component parts."
"Be seeing you," said the Ghost Warrior, and then it vanished between one moment and the next, only its footsteps in the snow remaining to show it had ever been there. Daniel's shoulders slumped, and he turned and walked back into the crowd, where Stephanie took him in her arms and held him tightly while he wept. Valentine frowned thoughtfully. For just a moment there, the Ghost Warrior had seemed to recognize Daniel. Certainly, his response had been pure Jacob. Was there some small part of him still alive, trapped in a rotting body, held down by the tech implants? Valentine hoped so. It amused him to think that his father might still he suffering, even after death. He sighed. Much more likely, it was just another Shub trick to sow despair and doubt among their enemies. Pity.
"Settle down, damn it," said the Empress sharply, her augmented voice cutting through the agitated babble of the courtiers. "It's gone, and you're all quite safe, unless you continue to annoy us. We are not blind to the significance of a Ghost Warrior's appearance here in ou
r Court, but we need to think of the implications. Firstly, the amount of power needed for a long-range teleport is staggering, which tells us something of how desperate the AIs must be for allies against the coming aliens. Secondly, it's clear this Court's security systems will have to be severely upgraded, to prevent such an occurrence happening again. And thirdly, there is almost definitely a Shub agent somewhere here among us. Someone must have provided the exact coordinates for a teleport. No one will leave the Court until we are sure everyone is who and what he is supposed to be. Security computers, I am declaring a Code Omega Three. I want a full sensor scan of everyone present. No exceptions. Report all deviants from the human norm not already present in your files."
Valentine tensed and then relaxed. Though he was, strictly speaking, an agent of Shub, there was no way a sensor scan could reveal it. The only changes in his body from the norm were those he'd made himself, and they were chemical in nature rather than technical. An esper scan would reveal everything, but the Empress knew she'd never get away with a general telepathic scan, even now. The courtiers wouldn't stand for it. Too many of them had something to hide. No, the Empress was looking for Furies. Androids in flesh envelopes, dead ringers for the humans they replaced: the hidden agents and saboteurs and assassins of Shub. Valentine looked around him but no one seemed to be looking worried or edging toward the exit.