“A complete bloody psychopath.”
“Quite. Personally, I like it here. No one’s shooting at us.”
“So far,” said Toby darkly. “There’s a lot of people out there who don’t want this wedding to go ahead. You saw the security setup around this place. The last time I saw that many armed guards in one place, there was a rebel army fighting them. I miss those days, Flynn. You knew where you were, then.”
“Yeah,” said Flynn. “Right on the firing line. Personally, I don’t miss those days at all. This is much more my speed. Civilized settings, finger food in all directions, and more pretty dresses in one place than I ever dreamed of. Do you think Constance might let me try on a few in private, if I asked her ever so nicely?”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Toby sternly. “Constance might go along with it, but I have a feeling Robert is probably more straitlaced about these things. Besides, you and she aren’t even remotely the same size, and if you stretch or tear anything, they’ll probably make us pay for it. And you can bet one of those frilly numbers costs more than you and I make in a year. Well, you anyway. If you’re really good, I’ll ask if you can be a bridesmaid.” He glanced around him. “This isn’t news. This is cheerful propaganda, to take everyone’s mind off how badly the war’s going. I hear they’re running the Arenas twenty-four hours a day now, to help keep the people distracted. Blood and circuses, and royal weddings. Give the people what they want. I may puke.”
“There’s a rejected top hat to your right,” said Flynn. “Try not to miss. The carpet’s expensive.”
“Hold everything,” said Toby. “Turn your camera on quietly. I think we’re about to capture the happy couple’s first real row.”
Robert had wandered away from his mirror in search of some distracting conversation with Constance, and had walked right into their first real disagreement. Constance was, and always had been, a major fan of the Arenas. The Wolfes had their own private box, right next to the sands, so they could be sure of seeing all the blood and suffering and deaths in close-up. Constance never missed a major match, and cheered and booed lustily as the mood took her. She knew all the great players by name and history, and could quote statistics with the cheerful zeal of the dedicated fanatic. She’d had a great crush on the Masked Gladiator as a teenager, and sent him scented fan letters. She adored it when the kill happened right in front of her.
Robert thought the Arenas were barbaric, appealed to the baser nature in Humanity, and should be banned on moral grounds.
Normally they dealt with this divergence of opinion by agreeing not to discuss it, but now Constance was talking about missing a vital wedding rehearsal in order to watch two of her favorites fight to the death, and Robert was having none of it. Coldly reasonable tones quickly escalated to raised and heated voices, and everyone else went very quiet and retreated to the sidelines in case the happy couple started throwing things.
“You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” snapped Constance, her eyes blazing fiercely. “And I don’t take kindly to having my favorite pastime described as cruel and inhuman!”
“I saw too many good men and women die in the war!” said Robert, clearly trying to hold on to his temper. “There’s no sport or amusement in human suffering or death. There’s just blood and waste and the loss of good fighters. If they’re that keen to do battle, let them join the armed Services, and go out and fight our real enemies! There’s enough of them. And allow me to point out, that for all your keenness in the sport, I don’t see you volunteering to strap on a sword and fight in the Arena yourself.”
“Of course not! That’s what makes gladiators such heroes! They fight for us, for the crowd; putting their lives and reputations on the line in search of honor and fame and the adulation of the people.”
“That’s just a small percentage of psychopaths and death-wish merchants. The vast majority of fresh meat in the Arenas are fighting for money, for a chance to get out of grinding poverty or dead-end jobs. For a chance to be somebody, a celebrity. There’s no honor or glory in it. Needless death is an abomination.”
“I see,” said Constance coldly. “And what does that make me?”
“Misguided,” said Robert, but only after a pause that went on for just a fraction too long. They glared into each other’s face, eyes locked on eyes, neither willing to back down. Toby was holding his breath and praying quietly that Flynn’s camera was getting it all. The tension in the suite was thick enough to cut, and there was no telling what might have happened next if the door hadn’t suddenly burst open, and a representative from Parliament came rushing in. Robert and Constance both turned to glare at him, and he hesitated a moment before hurrying forward to present Robert with a communication, sealed in wax with Parliament’s own seal. Robert frowned at it, then broke the seal and read the message while Constance stood fuming silently beside him. Robert’s face lost all emotion as he read, and when he’d finished he slowly lowered the message and stood staring at nothing for a long moment. Finally he looked up and nodded to the representative.
“I’ll join you in a moment. Wait outside.” Constance waited till the door had closed behind the departing representative and then exploded again. “Don’t you dare walk out on me, just when I’m winning the argument! What could possibly be so important—”
“I have to go,” said Robert. “I love you, Constance.”
He leaned forward and murmured a few words in her ear. No one else could hear them, but they could all see the color drain out of Constance’s face. She clutched at his arms desperately, as though to stop him from going. He kissed her on the forehead, gently disengaged himself from her hands, and hurried off after the messenger. The door closed quietly behind him. Constance looked uncertainly about her, and then spotted Flynn’s camera hovering nearby. She glared at Toby, and marched over to confront him.
“Tell me that thing hasn’t been broadcasting live. If you want to keep your head in the vicinity of your shoulders.”
“Live coverage was expressly forbidden by our contract,” said Toby sourly. “We’re just recording. Perhaps you’d care to make a few comments for our vast watching audience ...”
“No, I bloody wouldn’t. Now get that camera down here and unload the tape.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Toby. “This is the first really interesting footage I’ve got. I’m not giving it up. It makes you both look very human.”
“Give me the tape or you’ll be doing your next piece to camera with a big gap where your front teeth used to be.”
Toby thought about it. She was a Wolfe, after all. He sighed. “I wasn’t in this much danger during the rebellion. Couldn’t we discuss this ... ?”
“The tape. Now. Or else.”
Given the mood Constance was in, Toby decided not to inquire what the or else might involve, and nodded to Flynn. The cameraman retrieved his camera, removed the tape, and silently handed it over. Constance weighed the tape in her hand, and then dropped it into the nearest disposal. She glared about her.
“Don’t you all have some work you should be getting on with?”
Everyone immediately set about looking very busy. Constance stalked back to her dress fitting, staring into the mirror before her, lost in her own thoughts. Flynn fitted a new tape into his camera, and nodded surreptitiously to Toby.
“Don’t sweat it, Boss. This new model has a backup storage system. It automatically retains that last few minutes of any tape, in case of snarl-ups. And I think I got something interesting. The last thing Robert said to Constance.”
“Run it,” said Toby quietly. “And play it back through our comm implants on a secure channel. I don’t want anyone else picking this up.”
Flynn nodded, and made the connection. The camera’s view filled their eyes as it zoomed in on Robert and Constance’s faces, and the microphone boosted Robert’s last words to clear audibility.
“The Recreated have come.”
Flynn stopped the tape and brok
e the connection, and then he and Toby looked at each other.
“Shit,” said Toby quietly. “Flynn; we’re leaving. This isn’t a story anymore. If Robert’s right, I think the shit just hit the fan for the whole Human race.”
Before Robert Campbell could set out on his way to Parliament, for an in-depth briefing, he was waylaid by one of his least favorite acquaintances, Cardinal Brendan. With BB Chojiro dead and gone, the Cardinal had taken her place as the pleasant public face of Clan Chojiro. He smiled a lot, spoke in simple homely terms, and quietly brokered important deals and meetings behind the scenes, between people who wouldn’t normally have agreed to share the same room together. The Cardinal had a lot of pull these days. So when he insisted that what he had to say was vitally important, Robert had no choice but to agree to listen.
So he allowed the Cardinal to steer him into a nearby empty room, and waited more or less patiently while Brendan set up some powerful security seals, to be sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. The Cardinal wasn’t much to look at, even in his impressive Church robes, but Robert studied him closely anyway. The Cardinal was tall and thin, with an entirely forgettable face, as long as you overlooked the eyes. They were dark and fiercely intelligent and missed nothing. The eyes of a man who thought deeply, and probably on subjects most people would prefer to avoid. Robert scowled, and wondered what the hell Clan Chojiro wanted with him now, and why it couldn’t wait. He couldn’t think of a single thing he knew or was likely to know that would make him worthy of the Cardinal’s attention.
“All finished,” said Brendan, smiling pleasantly. “Just making sure we won’t be bothered or overheard.”
“What do you want, Cardinal?” said Robert. “I’m needed at Parliament. All hell’s breaking loose, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“People are dealing with it, I’m sure,” said the Cardinal. “Parliament is responsible for the present. My people are more concerned with the future. We’re planning it, step by step. Parliament follows where we lead.”
“Your people? The Chojiros?”
“No, Robert; Blue Block.”
The Campbell nodded slowly. “I should have seen that one coming. So; what does the Empire’s most secret secret society want with me?”
“Perhaps just to remind you of your roots. As a young man, you were inducted into Blue Block ...”
“Oh please! I was only there a few weeks, before my Family took me away again. I was never initiated into any of the mysteries. I owe you and them absolutely nothing.”
Brandon smiled easily. “Once in, never out. You will always be one of us, till the day you die. The ties that bind are real and potent, even if you don’t remember them.”
“There are no ties,” said Robert flatly. “I’ve heard about the indoctrinations, the controls you put in people’s minds. The Black College. The Red Church. But you have no power over me, and I have no loyalty to Blue Block.”
“But you do remember things. Not one man in a million knows about the Black College, or the Red Church. Or the Hundred Hands. You know these things because we placed them in your mind. We put other things in your mind too; for future use.”
Robert grabbed a handful of the Cardinal’s robe and pulled him forward, till they were face-to-face, Robert’s hot eyes glaring into the Cardinal’s unyielding stare. “What are you talking about, Brendan? Are you threatening me? By God, if you threaten me or Constance, you’ll leave this room a dead man!”
“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.”