Deathstalker Rebellion

  With no firsthand memories of his earlier life, Dram's performance in public was necessarily based on what the Empress chose to tell him, and he already knew she wasn't telling him everything. Argus's files helped, but he had to keep most of what he found there secret. Still, he felt he was doing a good job, all in all. As the official Consort, he'd stayed mainly in the Empress's shadow and rarely had to deal with anyone in person when she wasn't present, but even so, he had to be constantly on his toes; he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Anti-clone feeling was stronger now than ever, and he was the Court's worst nightmare: a clone replacing a person in power so closely that the Court couldn't recognize it. After all, if it happened once it could happen to anyone. And what better way for Lionstone to control her Court then to replace them one by one with her own creatures? As it was, anyone who changed his mind suddenly, on any matter, big or small, could expect to be thoroughly questioned by his peers. Just in case.

  He'd got through his first appearance at Court all right, but now St. John was dead, his new duties as Warrior Prime would mean much more mixing with people, away from the safety of the Empress's side. Perhaps it would be better to appoint another substitute to take St. John's place. Dram didn't particularly want to be Warrior Prime. He didn't much like the man he used to be. The picture of Dram that had emerged from Lionstone's teachings and the diary files was of a man consumed by hatred and driven by ambition and bloodlust. Dram the clone considered himself to be rather more civilized than that. Whatever forces had driven the original Dram to such extremes had not survived the cloning process.

  He'd learned about his predecessor's other life as Hood from the files, and from them Hood's connections with the underground. Luckily, Hood had only interacted with a few people who mattered: Valentine Wolfe, Evangeline Shreck, David Deathstalker, and Kit SummerIsle. They knew a side of Dram the Empress knew nothing about, but he didn't see that as posing much of a problem. The last two would be safely offplanet in a few days, and Evangeline had apparently disappeared into the underground completely. That just left the Wolfe; and Dram had already decided to keep a safe distance from him.

  Dram had every intention of being his own person and not a weak copy of a man he sometimes detested, but circumstances dictated that he had to play the role as convincingly as he could, for the time being at least. His personality had to be consistent to avoid fanning the flames of suspicion. And though he hated to admit it, the role did feel… comfortable. He might find his work with the dead and living espers distasteful, but he had no intention of avoiding it. Or the executions, now that Lionstone had insisted. If nothing else, he did seem to have inherited the original Dram's ruthlessness.

  To help sort out his confusion, he dug deeper and deeper into Argus's files. The first big surprise he'd stumbled across was that the original Dram had had to play a role, too. It seemed he'd spent centuries in stasis and took the name Dram only when the Empress woke him. Dram the clone liked to think she awoke him with a kiss, but had to admit it was very unlikely. A kick, maybe. No information survived as to who the man might have been before he went into stasis, many centuries ago. Argus didn't know. Perhaps the Empress didn't know, either. It wasn't something he could ask Lionstone about, because he wasn't supposed to know, either. Certainly, it had been conspicuously absent from the briefings she'd given him.

  Dram was also dismayed to discover he had some of the old Dram's tastes and impulses. Lionstone had instructed him on how to kill someone at Court, should the occasion arise, and when his cue came up he followed the script she'd given him. Killing the MP had been an execution, not a duel, and he'd enjoyed every minute of it. So much so he'd almost been unable to stop and turn away, even after the man was obviously dead. He'd tried to feel bad about that, but it felt false.

  He was still trying to decide whether he should take the esper drug, as his predecessor had. He'd found a few doses of the drug carefully hidden in his quarters, stashed against the possibility that some future Dram might need them. The drug would give him the same limited esper abilities the original Dram enjoyed, but there was also a small but definite chance the dose would kill him. And yet if he didn't acquire those powers, all it would take was one mind probe by the Empress's espers and all his carefully acquired secrets would be revealed. Including how he really felt about her.

  On the other hand, the esper drug was addictive. Once he started taking it, he'd have to keep on taking it. And if someone were to gain control over the supplying of the drug, they would then have control over him. The original Dram had power over those who supplied him. He had something on them, some knowledge they couldn't afford to have made public. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, this knowledge had not been included in Argus's files.

  Of course, they didn't know that. Yet.

  So many decisions to make. Including whether he should continue to support the Empress. She was where real power lay. But of late she'd been alienating a lot of people over her insistence on ever more emergency powers. So far no one had dared say no, but among all the Families, the army and the Church, Dram was hard-pressed to name anyone Lionstone could still count on as a friend. They were beginning to be afraid of her for the wrong reasons. Push too hard, too far, and they might see her as more of a threat to them than the aliens were. If Lionstone was to fall, he'd be brought down with her. Unless he made some secret cautionary alliance of his own. Assuming he could find anyone to trust him. Dram, the Widowmaker, had many enemies, more rivals, and no friends. Not a good place to start from.

  If he was honest, his own sympathies lay with the underground. He was a clone, after all. But he didn't see how he could link up with them, after the original Dram had betrayed them so thoroughly in his Hood persona. Perhaps he could adopt another persona, too; but to bring that off he'd need the esper powers that only the esper drug could provide. He sighed again and stretched out in his chair. So many questions, so many decisions, so many possibilities, and all he really wanted was a little rest.

  "Sir," said Argus, "I am still awaiting your questions. Sir?"

  But Dram was asleep. The AI considered the matter, checked that all the security measures were in place, lowered the lights, and shut itself down till it might be needed again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Meeting of Minds

  Owen Deathstalker, that most notable hero and reluctant rebel, stood at the edge of the Hadenman city, deep within the bowels of the Wolfling World, and tapped his foot impatiently. He'd been waiting for Hazel d'Ark for some time and was prepared to wait a good deal longer, if need be. He seemed to spend a lot of time waiting for Hazel to deign to put in an appearance these days. For someone who was always in a hurry, Hazel had surprisingly little idea of time or punctuality, especially where other people were concerned. She'd probably be late for her own funeral, if only so she could be sure of getting in the last word. She was supposed to be joining him to teleport up to the Last Standing, still in orbit around the Wolfling World, but for the moment she was still somewhere deep in the Hadenman city, doing something she didn't want him to know about, so all he could do was stand around like a spare posy at a wedding and wait for her. He knew she was there; he could feel her presence through the mental link they shared. But of late that link had grown blurred and uncertain, as though something had come between them, and Owen was convinced it had something to do with her occasional trips into the Hadenman city. Maybe this time he'd find out what it was. He sighed, and glared once again at the watch face embedded in his wrist. Up in the great Hall of the Last Standing, that ancient stone castle that also happened to be an extremely powerful starship, representatives of rebels and freedom fighters from all across the Empire were gathering in a great council to determine the shape and future of the forthcoming rebellion. And he was stuck down here in the gloom, waiting for Hazel. He could have gone up without her, in fact Hazel had insisted he should, but he was damned if he would. She was up to something, and he wanted to know what. He might love her, but that did
n't mean he trusted her any farther than he could spit into a hurricane. She'd been a pirate and a clonelegger long before she took on the dubious respectability of a rebel. And besides, something was wrong with Hazel. She'd been distracted lately, up one minute and down the next, and absentminded and vague when she wasn't snappy and bad-tempered. This wasn't actually untypical of Hazel, but it had grown much worse of late, enough for Owen to become concerned. Perhaps it was the strain of being a rebel and always on the run. Or a side effect of the many changes the Madness Maze had worked in her. Either way, if he was going to help her, he had to know what the problem was. Which was why he was prepared to wait right there till hell froze over, if that was what it took to find out what she was up to in the Hadenman city.

  It stretched away before him, a gleaming expanse of shimmering metal and glass, spread out across the floor of a giant cavern. There were towers and suspended walkways, and squat sharp-edged buildings, all shining brightly from within, pushing back the gloom of the cavern. The city had been built by the first Hadenmen, many years ago, and in its inhuman cradle they grew many and powerful. They abandoned it to launch their war on humanity and never returned. Those few who did come back, beaten and dismayed, chose to sleep in the Tomb of the Hadenmen, until such time as they might rise to glory once again. And while they slept, the city maintained itself, until it was recently shattered by the roaring energy cannon of Captain Silence's task force. Only wreckage and ruin remained, sadly gleaming shards of past majesty.

  Now the revived Hadenmen were busy restoring and rebuilding it, and the city slowly stirred itself and came alive again, gleaming and brilliant. One of the Hadenmen had taken Owen and Hazel on a brief tour of the city, and just the sight of the enigmatic misshapen structures up close had been enough to make Owen's skin crawl. The buildings had not been designed with human comforts or logic in mind, and their purposes remained hidden and mysterious. The quiet was eerie and disturbing, unbroken by any sound of conversation or working machinery. No one building or structure was quite like any other, and everywhere there were strange shapes and unnerving angles, like the menacing cities we glimpse in nightmares in the hours when the night is darkest. Just the tour of the city had given Hazel and Owen maddening headaches, and they'd made their excuses and left as soon as they politely could. Owen had never ventured in again; but Hazel had.

  Owen shuddered suddenly as he looked out over the city, convinced on some deep level that it knew he was there and was watching him with a thousand unseen eyes. Hadenmen were everywhere, performing unguessable tasks, hurrying back and forth on unknown missions, like so many ants in a nest, but silent, always silent. Working together, communing on a level no human could reach, the Hadenmen became a gestalt, a single mind greater than the sum of its thoughts, working toward an end incomprehensible to human thought. Giles Deathstalker, Owen's revered ancestor, thought the city might be a physical expression of the Hadenman group mind, and when it was complete, they would be, too.

  Owen had known only one Hadenman before, and that was Tobias Moon, who'd lived among humans so long he had become all but human himself, much to his disgust. He died trying to free his people from their Tomb and never saw their great awakening. In the end Owen had revived them, and not a day went past without his wondering if he'd done the right thing. The Hadenmen had repaired Moon afterward, but though his body now worked as efficiently as ever, the mind and memories of Tobias Moon had not returned. They were gone, lost, and Owen couldn't find it in himself to be unhappy. The dead should stay dead.

  "If Hazel's in there much longer, we'll have to send in a search party," said the AI Ozymandius, murmuring in Owen's ear.

  "I thought I told you," said Owen, "I'm not talking to you. I don't know who or what you are, but you aren't my Oz. I destroyed him."

  "You came bloody close," said Oz calmly. "But no cigar. I'm still here. I do wish you'd listen to me. I have only your best interests at heart."

  "You don't have a heart."

  "Oh, picky picky. Don't put on airs with me, Owen. You may be a hero now and the great new hope of the rebellion, but I knew you when all you cared about was sleeping in late and which kind of wine to have with your dinner. I have no intention of letting your present success go to your head."

  "If you are Oz," said Owen reluctantly, "then how is it I'm the only one who can hear you? If you're on my comm channel, other people should be able to pick you up, too."

  "Don't ask me," said Oz. "I'm just a computer. Something strange happened to me, certainly, but I'm back now. Feel free to applaud."

  "You were an Empire spy," said Owen. "I have trusted and relied on you since I was a child, and you betrayed me. You put control words in my head and made me try to kill my friends."

  "It was programmed into me; I had no choice. But that's all gone now, and if I had any control words, I don't remember them. Maybe that was all just an overlay the Empire installed, and that was what you destroyed with your new mental abilities. Personally, I'm very pleased that you've become a rebel. You were never very successful as an aristocrat. Besides, I want you to kick the Empire's ass. They used me to hurt you. I won't allow that again."

  Owen said nothing. Part of him wanted to believe it was really Oz, his friend come back again, but he'd felt Oz die in his mind, disappearing into a darkness without end. But if the voice in his head wasn't Oz, who was it? Some other AI, somehow patching in through Oz's old connection? Some unknown presence he acquired when he passed through the Madness Maze? Or was he simply going insane, cracking up under the pressure of being a leader of the new rebellion? And if he was going crazy, did he have a duty to tell the others?

  "Whoever you are, keep quiet," Owen said finally. "I have enough to worry about as it is."

  "Your choice," said Oz easily. "Call me if you change your mind. I'll just twiddle my thumbs and count electrons."

  Owen waited a moment, but all was quiet inside his head. The only noise came from behind him, where more of the Hadenmen were busily repairing minor damage to the golden ship he'd brought back from the Golgotha mission. Apparently, this mostly involved beating the hell out of the rear fin with large hammers and a lot of enthusiasm. Personally, Owen was damned if he could see anything wrong with the starship, but that was the augmented men for you: always busy working, repairing and improving, in pursuit of perfection. He looked back at the ship in time to see two women with the same face emerging from the open loading bay in the ship's belly. He nodded politely as they strode toward him; the Stevie Blues, esper clones, and representatives of the Golgotha underground. Every time he looked at them, Owen remembered the third Stevie Blue, who'd died during the escape from the Tax Headquarters, despite everything he could do to save her. All his new powers and abilities, and he still couldn't save one life when it mattered. The Blues were wives, sisters, clones; a relationship stronger and closer than anything Owen could imagine. What must it feel like, when a third of you dies? They came to a halt before him and nodded respectfully.

  "Hi," said the one on the left. "I'm Stevie One, this is Stevie Three. Don't get us confused or we'll get cranky."

  "I'm sorry about… Stevie Two," said Owen. "I would have saved her, if I could."

  "You risked your life trying to save her," said Stevie One. "An esper and a clone you barely knew. That's a lot more than most would have done."

  "She will be avenged," said Owen. "If that's any comfort."

  "Cold comfort is better than none," said Stevie One, and Stevie Three nodded. Stevie One glanced back at the busily working Hadenmen. "Horrid things, aren't they? I've known vending machines that were more human than this bunch and talking elevators that had more personality. They give me the creeps."

  "Right," said Stevie Three. "It doesn't help that they're fascinated with us. I've never seen anyone so interested in me who wasn't trying to get into my pants. Apparently, there were no esper clones around during their last lifetime. They keep asking us, very politely, if we'd like to visit their laboratories,
but I have a strong suspicion they'd like to take us apart to see what makes us tick. Literally."

  "You're probably right," said Owen. "They took away a number of Wampyr from the Empire force that came here, and we never saw any of them again."

  "Oh, hell," said Stevie One. "Here comes another one."

  A single Hadenman came striding purposefully toward them from the golden ship. He could have been one Owen had met before, or he might not. They all looked the same to him. Tall and perfectly muscled, the Hadenman's every movement was the epitome of grace, and his eyes glowed like the sun. Half man, half machine, more than both. And, like all his kind, extremely single-minded. The two Stevie Blues looked at each other. Stevie One produced a coin and tossed it.

  "Heads," said Stevie Three while it was still in midair. Stevie One caught it and slapped it on the back of her hand. Stevie Three looked and scowled. "Damn."

  "Your turn," said Stevie One, and they both turned to face the Hadenman with the same cold expression.

  The augmented man came to a halt before them, poised and perfect, and when he spoke his buzzing voice was calm and very reasonable. "You must submit to examination. It is necessary that we understand the changes that have taken place in humanity during our absence."

  "We don't do tests," said Stevie One.

  "Right," said Stevie Three. Blue flames burst out all around her, licking along the lines of her body without harming her. Owen and Stevie One fell back a step, hands raised to protect their faces from the heat that shimmered in the air before them. The Hadenman stood his ground, apparently unaffected by the heat. Stevie Three smiled unpleasantly and turned up the heat another notch. Beads of sweat appeared on the Hadenman's expressionless face.