“Wulf! I’ve been waiting for you to contact me! When will you be here?”
“I won’t,” said the Wolfling. His deep, dark voice was as much a growl as anything else, but an underlying sadness and tiredness took most of the threat out of it. “I told you, Giles. I’ve had enough of fighting. I’ve seen too much death and destruction to take pleasure in any more. Lionstone has to fall. I know that. But she’ll go whether I’m there or not. You don’t need me anymore, Giles. You’ve moved beyond me.”
“But . . . we spent so long arguing and scheming over how we’d pull the Iron Bitch down! Don’t do this to me, Wulf. Don’t leave me here alone. You’re my oldest friend, all I have left to remind me of the old days.”
“That was always the difference between us, Giles. You want to remember the past, and I just want to forget it. Let your hatred go, Giles. I know all about hatred. Give it too much hold over you, and it’ll eat you alive till there’s nothing left in you but it. And that’s no way to live. Do what you have to because it’s the right thing to do, not because you enjoy it. I’m tired, Giles. I’ve lived too long, seen the Empire change beyond recognition, watched my race fall out of history and into legend. I think it’s time for me to let go and follow them.”
“Isn’t there anything I can do for you?” said Giles, almost plaintively.
“Yes,” said the Wolfling. “You can kill Lionstone for me. Whatever happens, she mustn’t be allowed to escape. Kill her, Giles.”
“Yes,” said Giles. “I can do that for you.”
The Wolfling nodded his great shaggy head, and the viewscreen went blank. Giles stared at it for a long moment, and then nodded slowly, as though listening to some private, inner voice. He turned back to the others, and his face was entirely calm and composed, as though daring the others to comment on the emotions they’d seen him display. When he spoke, his voice was brisk and formal.
“Aliens. We haven’t discussed them yet. So far, there’s been no sightings of any alien craft anywhere in the Empire since the attack on Golgotha, but we can’t afford to forget them. They’re out there somewhere, no doubt watching and planning. It’s vital we get the rebellion over with as quickly as possible, and order restored. We can’t afford to be caught helpless and divided by an invading alien force.”
“And let’s not forget Snub,” said Owen. “There’s always a chance the rogue AIs might try and take advantage of our divisions by launching an attack of their own.”
“God, you’re a cheerful lot,” said Ruby. “Look, let’s just get out of here and get this show on the road. We’ll worry about aliens and AIs and plagues of frogs as and when they make an appearance.”
“Right,” said Hazel. “We’re wasting time here.”
“Good planning is never a waste,” said Giles coldly. “Now pay attention. This is how we’re going to do it. Owen’s been doing some research on old records of the Imperial Palace, back when it was first being constructed. I suppose his being an historian had to come in useful someday. The only way into the Palace today is by the underground train system, run and monitored by the Palace’s security systems. The train stations are well guarded, and the train compartments themselves are fitted with lethal gas jets, just in case. However, Owen has discovered records of a number of old maintenance tunnels, long abandoned and apparently forgotten. We can use those to bypass the Security guards entirely, and gain access to the trains safely. Owen, Hazel, and I will undertake this mission.”
“Hold everything,” said the AI Ozymandius in Owen’s ear. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but your ancestor’s words have tripped a file hidden deep within my memory by your father. He knew about these trains and tunnels, and has given me all the necessary security codes to get you onto the trains and into the Palace.”
“Are you sure about this?” said Owen, subvocalizing. “If you get just one of those codes wrong, we’re all dead.”
“Trust me,” said the AI. “This is the real thing, Owen. Your father believed in planning ahead.”
Owen passed on the AI’s words, and there was an awkward pause. Owen had always maintained he’d used his Maze powers to completely destroy the treacherous AI Ozymandius when it turned out to be working for the Empire, and tried to use control words it had implanted in Owen and Hazel to make them kill the others. Only sometime later Oz, or something claiming to be Oz, turned up in Owen’s head again. No one but Owen could hear its voice, but the information it occasionally volunteered was always reliable. For the rest of the time, Owen tried hard to ignore it.
“Your father would naturally have tried to gain access to those codes,” Giles said slowly. “I suppose it’s possible he could have hidden them in your AI for safekeeping. There’s no way of testing them here. I suppose we’ll find out whether they’re the real thing when we get there. It would certainly simplify things a lot. Even with our powers, breaking out of the Palace station was always going to be a major undertaking. So, it would appear we’ll just have to trust Oz. Whoever or whatever he really is.”
“Thanks a whole bunch,” Oz murmured in Owen’s ear. Owen didn’t pass that on.
Hazel shook her head. “Great. We’re going to risk all our lives on a voice in Owen’s head only he can hear. What do we do for an encore, make a sacrifice to the gods and read our fortune in its entrails?”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Giles. “Next, Jack Random and Ruby Journey “will lead the gravity sled attack on the Family Towers, as arranged with the underground. For the moment the Clans seem to have decided they’re on no one’s side but their own, but that won’t last. The outlawing of David and the threatened mechanization of their planets hit them where they lived, but it won’t take them long to realize that their financial and social well-being is irrevocably linked to the Empire as it is. A successful rebellion by the lower orders would be their worst nightmare come true. So, faced with the loss of their wealth and position, they’ll finally have to commit their troops to defending the Empress, on the grounds that the crazy devil you know is still preferable to the devil with blood in his eyes and centuries of grudges to catch up on. At this stage, their troops might just be enough to turn things in the Empress’s favor. It’s therefore vital we keep them pinned down in their Towers, well away from the main action. We want them preoccupied with their own survival, rather than the Empress’s.
“Random, we’ve been through the logistics of this with the underground. You know what to do. A flotilla of gravity sleds is waiting just outside the Parade of the Endless for you to lead them in. Apparently competition to man the sleds, and follow you into almost certain death for the majority, was very hard-fought. It would seem there are still a great many people who still believe in the professional rebel. But Random, while you’re out there enjoying yourself raining death and destruction down on the heads of the Lords, remember we still need some of them left alive afterward to oversee the economy once the rebellion is over.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Random calmly. “No promises.”
Giles sighed, and shook his head. “Ruby Journey will, of course, accompany you. If only because no one else feels safe around her.”
“You say the nicest things,” said Ruby.
“If they’re going, I’m going, too,” said Alexander Storm firmly. “I haven’t waited this long to miss out on the downfall of the Families. I’ve worked and fought all my life to see them go down in flames, and I’m damned if I’m being left behind. I might not be as young as some people, but I can still carry my weight.”
“Oh, let him come,” said Ruby. “He’ll only sulk otherwise.”
“Of course you’re coming with us, Alex,” Random said reassuringly. “I wouldn’t dream of doing this without my old comrade at my side.”
“You’re using that word old again,” said Storm ominously.
“All right, how about ancient?” said Ruby.
“Ruby . . .” said Random.
She sniffed, and went back to manicuring her nails with her dagge
r. She’d come to accept that Random had a blind spot where Storm was concerned. He still thought of his old friend as he used to be, when Storm was young and swift and daring and hell on wheels with a sword in his hand. He couldn’t seem to accept that while he was young and strong again, Storm wasn’t. Ruby decided to keep a watchful eye on Storm. She didn’t care tuppence if he got himself killed, but she was damned if she’d let him drag Random down with them. In fact, it might be better all around if a stray bullet took Storm out right at the beginning. No one would notice where one stray shot came from, once the fighting started. Of course, she’d have to be careful. If Random ever found out . . . Ruby Journey frowned, thinking hard.
“Now that that’s decided,” said Giles loudly, bringing all eyes back to him, “we come to Young Jack Random. You will make your own landing dirtside, and team up with Finlay Campbell and Julian Skye. Your reputation will help to inspire their people, and throw a fright into the defending troops. Your mission is to take out and occupy the Security troops’ main command center in the Parade of the Endless. They’ve still got comm channels open, so they’re practically running the city’s defenses single-handed. Once they’re out of the loop, the Security forces will fall apart, and the Parade of the Endless will be ours for the taking. And once the city is ours, only the Empress herself stands between us and control of Golgotha. And from Golgotha, we will form the new Empire that rises from the ashes of the old.”
“Rah rah rah,” said Hazel. “Go, team, go. Save the inspirational pep talks, Giles. We all know why we’re here. And can I just remind you that the rebellion is far from over. Right now, we’re nothing more than a handful of terrorists with prices on our heads.”
“Your point being?” Giles said icily.
“That we take things one step at a time. We can dream about the future once we’ve taken control of the present. I don’t want any of us getting shot in the back because we were too busy dreaming of running the Empire instead of paying proper attention to what’s going on around us.”
“Don’t worry, Hazel,” said Young Jack calmly. “We will prevail. We are heroes. It is our destiny.”
“And somebody shut him up before I puke,” said Hazel. “I am not a hero, and never have been. Heroes tend to come to glorious, painful, and rather sudden ends, and have statues put up to them by the survivors. Personally, I would much rather be a survivor than a statue.”
“Right,” said Ruby. “We haven’t talked about the loot yet, either. Can we talk about the loot?”
“Somebody sit on her,” said Giles. “I’m getting a headache. And finally . . .”
“About time you got around to me,” said Jenny Psycho, scowling fiercely. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”
“If only that was possible,” said Giles. “You will orchestrate the use of espers on the planet’s surface, and liaise among the various rebel factions. Like the two Randoms, the espers should follow you unquestioningly, just because of who you are. Try and keep your people under control. Espers can do a lot of damage when they’re all pointed in the same direction, but the last thing we need are esper loose cannon going off all over the place.”
“You presume too much,” said Jenny Psycho. “You’re not in charge here. In the end, the underground will win this war, and the underground will decide what replaces Lionstone’s Empire. We’ve been preparing for this day for centuries. Espers, clones, the committed, and the faithful. We won’t be brushed aside in the moment of our triumph by a bunch of newcomers, even if they are heroes and legends.”
“We can argue about who gets the credit later,” said Random, cutting in firmly on what threatened to be a long tirade. “First, we have to win this war. Let’s make a move, people. It’s time to go to work.”
“Right,” said Hazel.
Owen grinned about him. “See you all in Hell.”
In the huge Court of the Imperial Palace, the Hell that Lionstone had made was growing worse. The surroundings continued to change from moment to moment, reflecting the Empress’s darkening mood, and the underworld grew steadily more disturbing. The light was more scarlet than crimson now, absorbing all other colors, and the stench of sulfur was almost overpowering. There were other smells, too: piss and shit and blood, the smells of fear. Batwinged shapes floated lazily overhead, dark shadows too high up to be seen clearly, like cinders coughed up from the depths of the Pit. The maids-in-waiting clustered at the foot of the Iron Throne looked more like demons than ever. And the open Court itself was studded with row upon row of men and women impaled on stakes. There were so many of them Dram assumed they had to be holograms, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. Their screams had sounded real enough. He stood where he’d been told to stand, beside the Iron Throne, and did his best not to draw attention to himself.
Lionstone had grown too restless to stay sitting on the Throne, and now paced back and forth before it, shouting orders at people on the floating viewscreens. She was still in control of herself, but her rage grew with every reported rebel victory or Imperial setback. Lionstone had stopped seeing it as a political struggle for control of the Empire, and was now taking it as a series of personal attacks. Everyone was out to get her. No one could be trusted. Every Imperial failure was a betrayal of her. She gave orders in endless streams, sometimes contradicting herself. Dram didn’t point this out to her. Lionstone’s legendary self-control was finally fragmenting in the face of so many attacks on so many fronts.
Valentine Wolfe had been summoned to Court, and stood patiently before the Throne, poisoning the air just by being there and looking pleased as Punch about it. His long black curls had been freshly oiled, falling to his shoulders in artful disarray. His mascaraed eyes gleamed with fever-bright intensity from his bone-pale face, and his scarlet smile seemed wider than ever. He was calmly pulling the legs from some squealing black thing in his hands. Dram hoped it was an insect. Valentine Wolfe had come to Hell, and looked perfectly at home there.
Dram stood facing him, not because he chose to, but because Lionstone hadn’t given him permission to move. He was still officially in charge of the Imperial Fleet, when Lionstone allowed him to be. He’d been doing his best, but his lack of real experience limited his insights and his options. Mostly, things were moving too fast for him to keep up. The Fleet was scattered all across the Empire, and the increasingly isolated ships were too busy fighting off Hadenmen and rebel mutineers to pay him much attention. Even if he’d had anything worthwhile to offer. Lionstone suddenly stopped her pacing and whirled on the two men.
“You! I should have you both executed! This is all your fault! I had things under control until you went mad on Virimonde! All you had to do was pacify one insignificant backwater planet, and you couldn’t even do that for me. No, you were too busy running wild and killing anything that moved. Fools! Even a mechanized planet will need some people to work it! What use is there in being an Empress if you don’t have peasants to rule?”
Both Dram and Valentine had been following Lionstone’s specific instructions on Virimonde, but neither of them was stupid enough to remind her of that. Lionstone glared at them both, and the maids stirred menacingly, picking up on her mood. Dram could feel cold beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He felt very much that he would have liked to turn and run, except that a maid would undoubtably have brought him down before he managed a dozen steps, and besides, there was nowhere he could run to. He had no friends anywhere after Virimonde. Not that he regretted one delightful moment of his time there. He’d never felt so alive. No, for better or worse, his destiny was tied to Lionstone’s, the woman who had brought him into life from the cells of his dead original.
“I’m going to have to send you out to defend me, because you’re all I’ve got,” the Empress said finally, recovering some of her calm. “Valentine, you will take control of all the war machines currently on Golgotha. There aren’t that many, but do what you can with them. Most of my beautiful engines of destruction are
still stuck on Virimonde, and by the time I could get them back here the struggle would already be over. One way or the other. So don’t waste any of them. Dram, I want you up on the surface, leading the troops in person. They’ll follow the Warrior Prime. I’m giving control of the fleet over to Beckett. He was right, damn him. He has the experience. All I can do is hope the bastard stays loyal.”
“I’ve done my best,” Dram said cautiously. “But I’m sure you can trust Beckett to do his best, too.”
“Very good,” said Valentine. “Polite but supportive, without actually meaning anything. If we survive this, you may have a bright future as a courtier.”
“I don’t like leaving you here undefended,” said Dram, ostentatiously ignoring the Wolfe.
“Investigator Razor and Lord SummerIsle are already waiting in my antechamber,” said the Empress. “And there are . . . others on their way, too. Now get out of my sight, both of you. And don’t fail me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” murmured Dram, and he and Valentine Wolfe bowed low and departed. They passed Razor and Kid Death coming in, but kept their eyes carefully averted. In her present state, Lionstone might well take a warning glance as evidence of treason. Dram and the Wolfe passed through the Court’s great double doors, and out of Hell, walking as fast as they thought they could get away with.
Investigator Razor and Lord Kit SummerIsle approached the Iron Throne at a somewhat slower pace, stopped a safe distance from the maids-in-waiting, and bowed respectfully to the Empress. When they raised their heads, they were disturbed to find Lionstone smiling at them. It was truly said that the Empress was at her most dangerous when she was smiling. Her sense of humor was . . . not like other people’s, and tended toward the vindictive. Razor and the SummerIsle stood their ground, faces carefully blank, and kept their hands well away from the weapons they’d been ordered to wear in her presence.