Deathstalker

  "Let go of me, Campbell," said the Cardinal. "I know things you need to know. Before it's too late."

  He waited patiently while Robert controlled his temper, and finally released his grip. The Cardinal brushed fussily at the front of his robe, flattening out the crumpled material. "You must learn to control yourself, Campbell. It's one of the first things we teach, at the Black College. Along with patience, and the ability to take the long view. Minds are weapons, you see, if properly trained and motivated. And pointed in the right direction. And our weapons are everywhere. Certain people who enter Blue Block undergo extensive psychological conditioning. We change the way they think, prime them to live and die for Blue Block, alter their consciousness and morality to suit our needs, and then we make them forget it. We call these people the Hundred Hands. One hundred of the finest young men and women, from all the Families, sent out to be our hidden weapons, our hands to strike in the night, unknown and unsuspected. Not knowing what they are, till the correct code words awaken them from the dream they think is their life. People just like you, Robert Campbell."

  Robert could feel cold sweat beading on his face. His stomach was so tense it ached, as though expecting a blow. "Are you saying… I'm one of the Hundred Hands?"

  "Oh yes. You're primed and ready to kill, your conditioning firmly in place, even after all this time. All you need is a name, a location, and the right activation words. Which I have. Of course, I might not need to use them. If you could see your way clear to being… reasonable."

  "This is all bullshit!"

  Brendan leaned forward. "We all come home."

  Robert Campbell's face shut down. All the emotion and character slipped out of his features, and his gaze was fixed and unblinking. When he spoke, his voice was calm and emotionless. "Activation code acknowledged. Request status confirmation."

  "Status neutral. Reset."

  Robert Campbell was suddenly back again. His breathing came harsh and hurried, and he hugged himself tightly as though trying to keep from falling apart. For a moment everything that was him had been pushed aside, confined to some small back corner of his own mind, while someone or something else looked out of his eyes and spoke with his voice. That other person had been a cold and unflinching thing of duty and obedience, and Robert had no doubt it would have used his body to kill anyone at all. While he watched from far away, helpless to interfere.

  "You bastard," he said thickly. "What have you done to me?"

  "Not me," said Cardinal Brendan. "Blue Block. One of the Hundred Hands lives within you, Robert, never more than a code phrase away from being activated and set loose. Of course, that need never happen. If you're prepared to be reasonable."

  "What do you want?"

  "Use your influence to persuade Constance away from her current opposition to the Families in general, and Clan Chojiro in particular. Convince her to accept a purely ceremonial role as Queen, and avoid all real politics."

  "She'll never agree to that."

  "You'd better make sure she does, Campbell. Because if you can't neuter her, she'll have to die. We can't allow someone of her potential influence and power to continue in her stand against the Families and Blue Block. We'd have to have her killed. Or more exactly, we'd have you kill her." Cardinal Brendan smiled at the distraught look on Robert's face. "I see you understand the realities of your position. Consider my words carefully. Be reasonable, and persuasive, and you and your beautiful intended can have a long and happy life together. Persist in being our enemy, and she shall die. Just like your last bride-to-be. Good-bye, Robert. I've enjoyed out little chat. We must do this again sometime."

  He deactivated his security seals and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Robert didn't know what to say or do. How do you fight an enemy that lives inside your own head? He clenched his hands into fists, but that wasn't enough to stop them trembling. He'd already lost one love at a wedding, and the thought of losing another terrified him beyond hope or sanity.

  Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn looked slowly around the shattered remains of his office at Imperial News. All the walls had been bowed outward by the force of the bomb's explosion, and every piece of furniture in the office had been reduced to charred kindling. There was a small blackened hole in the middle of the floor, where the actual device had detonated, and there was blast and fire and smoke damage everywhere. The single steelglass window was still in one piece, letting sunshine stream over a scene of utter devastation. Extractor fans worked loudly as they struggled to remove the last of the smoke from the air. Toby made his way cautiously across what was left of his office, and sadly stirred the remains of his precious executive desk with his boot.

  "Parcel bomb," he said flatly. "Building security catches most of them, but this one must have been really sophisticated. Obviously I'm attracting a better class of critic these days."

  "Right," said Flynn. "This is what, the fourth explosion so far? And the fourth office. I hear your secretary is demanding danger money just to make the tea these days."

  Toby winced. "Let's not talk about the formidable Miss Kale. She's efficient, professional, and tough-minded, and she scares the crap out of me. I miss my old secretary. Miss Lovett. Good-looking, always a smile and not a brain cell in her head."

  "Yeah," said Flynn. "Pity that all turned out to be a cover, and she was really a terrorist agent. She did a real good job of smuggling in that first bomb as one of her falsies. I always thought she was too dumb to be true. Never trust someone whose lipstick and blusher don't match. It's a sure sign of diverging loyalties. Did Security ever find out exactly who she was working for?"

  "Not so far," said Toby. "Apparently after she disappeared, the building was inundated with people calling in to claim responsibility. Lot of people out there don't like me, Flynn. One of the few signs that I'm doing a good job."

  "Know a man by the enemies he makes," said Flynn solemnly.

  "Damn right," said Toby, cheering up a little. "In a way, a bombing is a sign of approval. If they're trying to kill me, I must be getting really close to whatever it is they're trying to hide."

  "If you've quite finished gloating, perhaps I could go home now," said Flynn. "It's been so long since we had some quality time together, that Clarence is beginning to suspect I'm having an affair. I could use some downtime. Curl up on the sofa with my sweetie, in a nice little cocktail dress and pearls."

  "Flynn; you're telling me more about your home life than I really need to know. Go on; get out of here. Constance won't want us to do any more filming until she and Robert have patched up their spat, and are ready to hold hands in public again. And given how stubborn both of them are, that could take some time. Security have set up yet another office for me, so at least I can get some editing done. I'll call you if I need you."

  Flynn looked at him. "You know, it wouldn't do you any harm to take a break too, Boss. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy and a real contender in the heart-attack-before-fifty stakes. Why don't you pop round to your auntie Grace's with a bunch of flowers and a winning smile, and see if Clarissa's in? You know you're sweet on her."

  Toby frowned. "Aunt Grace has made it clear I'm persona non grata at her house as long as I'm still covering politics. She thinks that as a Shreck I should be using my position to support the Families in general and the Shrecks in particular. I have to sneak calls to Clarissa when I can. And besides… I've been collating info on this new nano plague, and I think I might just be on to something… You nip off home, Flynn. See you tomorrow."

  Flynn gave up, nodded good-bye, and left. Toby gave the remains of his office one last look, shrugged, and went off in search of whatever tiny cubicle Security had found for him this time. It turned out to be a cramped room at the far end of the annex, that judging from its general atmosphere had probably been used for storing cleaning equipment. There was a strong smell of something not entirely unlike pine. The room was well away from everywhere else at all, on the grounds that nobody else want
ed Toby anywhere near them anymore. Just in case. Even his own secretary only talked to him over the intercomm these days. Toby made his way through the gorgeously appointed corridors of Imperial News, carrying armloads of equipment and nodding to the people he passed. He tried not to notice how they all gave him plenty of room.

  By the time he'd finished cramming editing equipment into the tiny room, there was only just enough space left for Toby and his swivel chair. He sighed, and resigned himself to slumming it for a while. Luckily, he'd brought along a few of the little necessities of life; a bottle of the very best whiskey, a box of the finest chocolates, and a dozen cigars with illegally high nicotine levels, all hand rolled on the luscious thighs of barely legal women. And two or three bottles of assorted uppers and downers and the occasional sideways bomber. Tools of the trade.

  Toby had been quietly gathering information on the spreading nano plague for some time. It wasn't easy. The moment the plague was detected, a full quarantine was imposed on the entire planet, and all further information came under a Need to Know basis. Which meant the bribes Toby had to pay were even higher than usual. At first the outbreaks appeared to have nothing in common, but Toby was convinced there had to be a pattern in there somewhere, perhaps even a trail that could be traced back to an initial outbreak. And no one was better than Toby Shreck when it came to putting two and two together and making seven. He kicked his computer terminal awake, and accessed the data he'd been compiling over the last few months. If anybody knew anything, or even suspected anything, about the nano outbreaks, he was sure he had it here somewhere, only a few keystrokes away. He took a good gulp of whiskey, used a second mouthful to wash down a couple of uppers, lit a cigar and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. The combined jolt hit his system like a wake-up call from God, and he dived into the info like a bloodhound hunting rats.

  He plunged recklessly through the infostream, kicking his way through endlessly detailed reports, guided by instinct and years of experience. Patterns configured and flew apart as he tested them on the anvil of his logic, puffing at his cigar, his eyes darting from screen to screen around him. More whiskey, a few more pills, and whatever chocolates came first to hand. He was flying now, his thoughts darting faster than his fingers could call up the info. Minutes became hours, and he didn't notice, jazzed to the breaking point and hurtling from theory to theory like a pinball with a flare up its ass.

  There had to be a carrier. A single carrier, taking the nano plague from one outbreak to another. Unknown, undetected. Which, given the current level of war-status security on every planet these days, should have been impossible. Maybe the carrier was a Typhoid Mary, not actually ill themselves, but still contagious… No, even then Security should have spotted something at the various starports. Unless the carrier had some way of circumventing starport security… More whiskey, to wash down more chocolates. Light up another cigar and chew on the end. Get up and walk around and kick the furnishings, thinking, thinking. Back at the terminals, his fingertips ached from pounding the keys. Okay. Nano plague. Last known nano outbreak in the Empire was long ago, on Zero Zero. Quarantine there still unbroken. Look at the chronological order of the new outbreaks. Seven planets, widely spaced across the Empire, going down with the plague only days apart. No way one carrier could have traveled between them that quickly. Dead end.

  But… what if that was the trail? Ignore the travel time, put the outbreaks in chronological order, and you get a clear picture of the nano plague hopping its way from world to world, starting at the Rim and heading inward. Heading toward… Golgotha? Homeworld? And which current Enemy of Humanity had recently been proved to possess teleportation? Shub. The rogue AIs of Shub. They could drop their carrier onto a planet, bypassing the starports and local security completely, and then teleport him offworld once his infectious job had been done…

  Toby sat back in his chair, suddenly very sober indeed despite the many substances racing through his bloodstream. The nano plague was a Shub weapon. Had to be. And everyone else was so occupied with fighting off Furies and Ghost Warriors and Grendels and the bloody Hadenmen, that they'd never noticed the real threat, the silent killer in their midst. That could come and go unseen, unnoticed, killing off a planet at a time. Toby chewed on his lower lip, his thoughts flying furiously. He couldn't just broadcast this on the main evening news; there'd be mass panic. Paranoia. Rioting in the streets. And he'd end up watching it all on the communal holo set in whatever prison they finally locked him up in, for starting it all. But he couldn't just sit on this. The people had a right to know the danger they were facing… He was still struggling with that one when the door burst open to reveal a breathless Flynn.

  "Toby! Why the hell did you turn your pager off? Everybody in Imperial News has been trying to contact you, and Security couldn't remember where they'd put you!"

  "Just as well. I didn't want to be disturbed. I've been thinking. And what are you doing here? I thought you were safe at home, snuggling with Clarence?"

  "I was. They called me back because I was the only one who might know where to find you!"

  "All right, calm down. I'm sure Clarence will keep it warm for you. Now, what's so important?"

  "Jack Random's announced that he has something Very Important to say. He's going to make a speech at his place, in the Parliament building. He's invited every mover and shaker there is, and said he plans to talk about what happened on Loki, the state of the Empire today, and what he plans to do about it. Imperial News wants us there right now."

  "Why us?" said Toby. "There are any number of reporters who could cover it."

  "Random invited us personally," said Flynn. "Said we wouldn't want to miss this for anything."

  "How long have we got?" said Toby, lurching to his feet.

  "Maybe half an hour. I've got a flyer waiting downstairs, ready to go. Practically everyone Random invited is going to be there. Politicians, Families, everyone. This is going to be really big, Toby; I can feel it in my water."

  "Well try to hold on to your water till we get there. Jack Random is just the person I need to talk to. I've come across something big of my own, and he might be the only person who'll know what to do for the best. Move it, Flynn. I've a nasty feeling time is running out for all of us."

  Cardinal Brendan looked around Kit SummerIsle's hotel room, and tried not to let his lip curl too obviously. The SummerIsle had only been living there a week or two, but the place was already a dump. Though given the hotel's location, in one of the decidedly scummier parts of the city, presumably the room hadn't had too far to go. The furnishings were basic, the color scheme was frankly depressing, and the single window was sealed shut to prevent the occupant doing a moonlit flit to avoid paying the bill. There were discarded dirty plates and half-finished meals everywhere, along with a number of empty bottles and glasses. And judging by the appalling state of the carpet, there had undoubtably been a number of spills of various kinds along the way. The bed the SummerIsle was lying on looked like it hadn't been made since he moved in, and his swordbelt and holster hung openly on the headboard, ready for use at a moment's notice. The door Brendan had just closed behind him was pitted with splintered holes, from where the SummerIsle had been practicing with his throwing knives.

  There was an old dried blood stain on the carpet by the door. Perhaps someone had been foolish enough to come by and complain about the noise.

  Brendan pulled up a chair, brushed it clean with a fastidious hand, and sat down facing the SummerIsle. He arranged his robes about him just so, and smiled brightly, concentrating on appearing perfectly calm and at ease. It was always important not to let Kid Death feel he had the upper hand, just because he was a cold, intimidating son of a bitch.

  "So," he said coolly, "may I take it the extended wake for David Deathstalker is now over, and you're ready to do some serious work for us?"

  "I'm always ready for a little serious work," said Kit SummerIsle, ignoring the Cardinal to stare at the ceiling above him. "As
long as it involves killing someone. And yes, the wake is over. It was important to give David a good send-off. He wanted so little, and was allowed none of it. Don't get too comfortable sitting there, Cardinal. You were a part of the forces that brought him down."

  The Cardinal spread his hands. "Just business, I assure you. Nothing personal."

  "He was my friend."

  The SummerIsle's eyes were dark and far away. Brendan knew most of the details of Kid Death's extended wake. A lot of it had made the evening news, as he drank and brawled his way through an endless series of bars and drinking clubs. No one had tried to stop him, or arrest him, or even ask him to pay any of his bills. This was Kid Death, after all, the smiling assassin. Attracted by the prospect of free booze, there was never any shortage of people willing to drink and carouse with him, and if some of them said the wrong thing and ended up spitted on the SummerIsle's blade, well, none of them were the kind of people who would be missed.

  "Is the hotel to your satisfaction?" said Brendan. "We could supply more… comfortable quarters, if you wish."

  "I like it fine here. The room service is first rate, since I killed a couple of the waiters for being slow. I've always liked hotels. People always at your beck and call, and never far from the next meal. All the comforts of home without the bother of having to maintain it. I never did gave a damn about the responsibilities of maintaining Tower SummerIsle. Cheerless bloody place; I sold it the moment I inherited it. Bit hard on the next generation of SummerIsles, I suppose, but then, what did they ever do for me? I didn't even like the previous generation. That's why I killed them all. What's left of my Clan is pretty much dispersed these days. The name will probably die with me. Good to know I've achieved something worthwhile." He looked directly at Brendan for the first time, and the Cardinal had to fight hard not to look away or flinch back in his chair. The SummerIsle smiled knowingly. "The wake is over, time to get back to work. I am a killer, and must go where the killing is. Many people have made themselves known to me, bidding for my services with all kinds of coin, but it seems to me that Clan Chojiro offer the most opportunities for me to employ my unique skills. I interrupted my wake to do you that small service on Loki; I trust you found my work there satisfactory?"