Deathstalker Legacy

  First, pour yourself a glass of absinthe and place it on the bar. Next, take a spoon (flat, pure silver, shaped like a leaf) and place it over the top of the glass. Next, place a sugar lump on the spoon. Then dilute your drink by dripping spring water over the sugar lump, until the liquor below turns from a dull blue into a vivid green. Then, and only then, drink. And hold onto your hat. Absinthe could do major damage to the liver, the kidneys, and the brain; but it was very good for the soul. Especially when taken to excess. Suitably refreshed, Brett turned back to an audience even more refreshed than he was. In fact, some of them were so refreshed they weren't even in the same time zone as him.

  "My fellow Bastards!" he said grandly. "So good to be back among family again! Fleecing the sheep can be fun as well as profitable, but it's only here with you I really feel at home. In a very real way, I like to think of you all as my children, gathering at my knee to listen and learn. I have this strange urge to make you all go upstairs and tidy your room… Are you all wearing clean underwear? Then feel free to go out and get knocked down by a truck; I promise I won't care. But never forget, boys and girls; you may be Random's Bastards, but I alone am worthy of the title of The Bastard.

  "My father, as many times removed as he could stand, was the legendary Jack Random. Just like all of you. God, he put it around. But my dear mother, equally removed, was the just as legendary Ruby Journey! My genes are so damned heroic it's a wonder I'm able to bear being in the same room as the rest of you."

  He grinned unmoved into the face of raucous derision from the crowd, who might be pissed as farts but could still recognize bullshit when they heard it. Even the Madelaines stopped serving long enough to jeer at him, and throw things. One of them threw her room keys. Brett plucked them out of midair with practiced ease, and dropped her a wink.

  "Ruby Journey famously never had any children!" said a half-alien Random from the front row. "Everyone knows that!"

  "Jack and Ruby donated sperm and eggs before their last mission," said Brett, with exaggerated patience. "It was a charity thing."

  "Ruby wasn't known for being charitable either," said the half-breed, smirking all over his Gray face. "Not unless it involved killing people."

  "Oh, shut up," said Brett. "You're just jealous."

  And that was when the Paragon Finn Durandal strolled casually into the bar. Brett's first thought was to put such an impossible sight down to the absinthe. Drink enough of the green liquor, and you'd see all kinds of things. He only realized Finn was actually there in person when everyone else in The Three Cripples took one look at the new arrival, screamed as one, and immediately began running in all directions, heading for every exit the bar had and making a few new ones where necessary. For a moment it was pure bedlam, and Brett was so drunk, he actually hesitated before jumping down from the bar with the express intent of legging it for the nearest horizon, or possibly the one beyond. But that hesitation was all the time Finn needed to draw a bead on Brett Random and shoot him in the stomach.

  Brett looked down at the dart sticking out of his gut, recognized the distinctive green and white markings on the feathers, and just had time to mouth the words oh shit before the compressed air in the barrel of the dart shot the dose of Purge straight into his system. His whole body convulsed, slamming him back against the wooden bar, and then he was on the floor, kicking and screaming and begging for death. Purge was an industrial strength sobering agent, absolutely guaranteed to remove all toxins and intoxicants from a person's body in a matter of seconds, by the shortest route possible. Or to put it another way, via every orifice possible, including tear ducts and sweat glands. Didn't matter whether you were drunk, stoned, or in a parallel reality to this one, Purge would have you stone cold sober in under a minute, and make you regret every one of those fifty-odd seconds. Saying Purge had a dramatic effect was like saying the Empress Lionstone could get a bit tetchy on occasions.

  Finn watched the projectile vomiting from a safe distance, entirely unmoved, and when the nastiness was finally over, and Brett had been reduced to a sweating, quivering, trembling mess with his back propped up against the bar, Finn strolled casually over to join him, politely ignoring the smell, and drank the last of the absinthe.

  "Charming place you have here," he said. "Really quite charming. Such… ambience. And so many guilty consciences in one place… anyone would think they'd got something to hide. How are you feeling, Brett?"

  "Sober," said Brett. "I don't think I've been this sober since I was born. God, it feels awful. You bastard, Finn; I'll never be able to come in here again. And I was just about to get lucky, too. How the hell did you track me here'?"

  "I know lots of things I'm not supposed to. I just file it all away, until the time comes when I can make use of it. Get up."

  "Oh sure, just like that. Give me a hand?"

  "Not if you were drowning. Get up."

  Brett slowly levered himself to his feet, and really hoped it was just sweat trickling down his legs. He tried to glare at Finn, but didn't have the energy. "What do you want with me, Paragon? I'm just a con man. No one special. You can find a hundred like me in the Rookery. Well, a dozen…"

  "I want you," said Finn. "You and no other. Though perhaps not quite so close, just at the moment. We really are going to have to find you a shower and a change of clothes before we leave. That's the trouble with dramatic gestures. There's always so much mess to clean up afterwards." His smile widened briefly. "Ask the ELFs at the Arena. If you know a good spiritualist. Now, Brett; you are going to work for me, for as long as I require it. Or; I can kill you, right here and now. Never let it be said that I didn't give you a free choice in the matter. Oh, don't look so glum, Brett. Stick with me, and I promise you protection from the law, more wealth than even you ever dreamed of, and the satisfaction of seeing all kinds of authority figures humbled and brought low. What more you could possibly wish for?"

  A ten-minute start, thought Brett, but had enough sense not to say it out loud. "I know you," he said carefully. "Hell, everyone on Logres knows about you. Why would the great and legendary hero Finn Durandal suddenly decide to go bad?"

  Finn shrugged easily. "Perhaps because it's the only thing I haven't tried yet."

  "But why me?" Brett said plaintively.

  "A coincidence, at first," said Finn. "You gave yourself away at Court, you know. You were far too good at your job. Most real waiters have a certain sullen evasiveness; never there when you want them. And once I looked carefully, I spotted the camera eye straightaway. I was going to let Court Security deal with you after the Ceremony, rather than spoil the atmosphere, but afterwards… Once I had my computers run a check on your background, I realized you were perfect for my needs. You know people, Brett. You have contacts in all sorts of dark and unsavory places. People who wouldn't talk to me will talk to you. We were meant to meet, you and I. You are a part or my destiny.

  Crazy, Brett thought resignedly. All flat goodness and heroics finally sent him over the edge, and he flipped. But; just because he's loopy, it doesn't mean he can't deliver all the things he says he can…

  "All right," he said. "I'm your man. Are you really serious, about bringing down the whole Empire?"

  "Deadly serious," said Finn, smiling again. Brett really wished he wouldn't. It was a distinctly disturbing smile. "And when the Empire is in ruins, the King disgraced and deposed, and the people are on their knees begging for a savior; they'll come to me to save them. And I will! I'll raise them up and make the Empire great and glorious again. In my own image, and according to my own needs, naturally. And then everyone will finally know that I am the better man!"

  Yeah, thought Brett. You get my vote for loony of the year.

  "Question?" he said. "How are you, even with my very experienced help, going to bring down hundreds of civilized worlds?"

  "By setting them at each others throats," said Finn Durandal. He glared suddenly at Brett. "Once you're all shining clean again, and somewhat easier on the nostrils, y
ou don't leave my side. We're partners. Guess which of us is the junior? Got it in one. And don't sulk like that, or I'll hurt you."

  "Some days things wouldn't go right if you bribed them," said Brett, pouting. "All right, senior partner; where are we going first?"

  "Shopping," Finn said brightly. "You will accompany me as I gather together the rest of the people who are going to assist me in my glorious cause. Even if they don't know it yet."

  "What sort of people are we talking about here?" Brett said cautiously. "The Shadow Court, the Hellfire Club?"

  "No," said Finn. "Or at least, not yet. They're buried so deep even I'd have trouble finding the right stone to look under. And they are, after all, the kind of people it's best to deal with from a position of strength. When the time is right, when they've seen what I can do, they'll come to me… No, Brett; to start with I thought we'd pay a pleasant little social call on the Wild Rose of the Arenas."

  "Oh shit" Brett said miserably.

  King Douglas crossed the floor of the House to a fanfare of prerecorded trumpets, and took his Seat with quiet dignity. His Kingly robes had been pressed and arranged to within an inch of their life, and the great Crown of Empire set on his noble brow shone brilliantly in the restrained lighting. He sat on the golden Throne as though he belonged there, and always had. The Members of Parliament had more self-discipline than to show how impressed they were, but still most of them bowed their heads to their King with more than simple duty. Jesamine Flowers stood at the King's left hand, every inch as regal as her husband-to-be, and the Deathstalker stood proudly on his right, a dramatic figure in black leather armor who seemed the very embodiment of safeguard and justice. The media cameras broadcast it all live, and all across the Empire, on hundreds of worlds, human hearts swelled with pride. This was what they paid their taxes for. The power and the glory, and the pageantry of it all.

  And then the business of Parliament began, and it all fell apart.

  Because the first order of the day was aliens. To be exact, the place of aliens in what was still predominantly a human Empire. Officially, the 132 declared sentient species were equal partners in the Empire, but; were they ready and capable to be made equal partners in Parliamentary business? Up until now the aliens had been represented by a single Seat in the House, with a single Vote, like the clone and esper representatives and the AIs of Shub. But the 132 species spent so much time arguing among themselves that they had yet to achieve a consensus on any issue. They really didn't have a lot in common, apart from not being human. The aliens had finally decided that enough was enough, and that the time had come for a separate Seat for each separate alien world, with a separate Vote, just like the humans. The Swart Alfair in particular had been very vocal on the subject, and since every species with a working brain was very nervous of the enigmatic Swart Alfair, very definitely including Humanity, the subject of separate Seats had become very pressing.

  And it was a really great way to drop the new King and Speaker into the deep end on his first day.

  The prospect of so many new Seats in the House, and the possible dramatic changes in the balance of power between the various cliques and factions had frankly traumatized the majority of human MPs. The matter had been debated on the floor of the House before, but while the MPs were quite ready to discuss the situation for as long as anyone liked, and indeed longer than most people could comfortably stand, most MPs showed a marked reluctance to come to any conclusion whatsoever. They seemed to believe that as long as they kept putting off coming to a conclusion, they were dealing with the problem without actually having to deal with it. And who knew; maybe it would just take the hint and go away.

  All 132 alien species had chosen to be represented in the House today, their holo images crammed into the space provided, often overlapping and shorting each other out temporarily. By tradition, most of the projected holo images were human in shape and form, because often human senses couldn't cope with some of the more extreme alien presences. And there just wasn't room for aliens the size of mountains, or deepwater dwellers and gas breathers who couldn't survive under human conditions without heavy tech backup. Most of the human images often didn't have the knack of sounding or acting entirely human, but Parliament appreciated the thought.

  Some made a point of appearing in person. The Swart Alfair had always refused to hide any of their light under a bushel, and their crimson-hued representative towered over the holo images, smiling widely to show off his sharp teeth because he knew it upset everyone. Blue ectoplasm boiled off him constantly, defying the Houses air-circulating systems to disperse it.

  The N'Jarr was there, its Gray face as unreadable as always, disdaining translator tech to speak long sentences that sometimes made sense, and sometimes only seemed to. The Brightly Shining Ones had manifested as floating abstract images, as always, with razor-sharp edges. And Saturday, the reptiloid from Shard, was there for the first time, looking interestedly about him and trying not to step on some of the smaller delegates.

  Meerah Puri, Member for Malediction, was the first on her feet. Her brightly dyed sari was a breath of color in the House, and the media cameras zoomed in on her immediately. Meerah frowned fiercely about her, to remind everyone how serious the subject was. "Our alien partners have served a long apprenticeship," she said sternly. "Since they were brought into this Empire as supposedly equal partners, some of them as far back as the early days of King Robert of blessed memory, our alien friends have labored long and hard to prove their worth and their usefulness. Through trade and shared technological advances, they have contributed immeasurably to human knowledge and wealth. How can we honorably deny them the places they have earned?"

  There were loud murmurs of agreement, and some applause, from MPs all across the House. The hovering media cameras shot back and forth, getting good reaction shots from the more notable faces. Douglas watched thoughtfully from his Throne, his face impassive, while Anne murmured her best guesses in his ear as to what the percentages would probably be, if it came to a Vote today.

  "Sentiment may be very pretty, but it has no place in politics," said Tel Markham, Member for Madraguda, and the next MP on his feet. (Precedence and order had been decided previously, backstage, by the usual swapping of favors and promises.) Douglas couldn't help noticing that the MP was addressing his remarks more to the media cameras than to his fellow MPs, or indeed, the Speaker. Markham had a rich, commanding speaking voice, the best that money could buy, but tended to undermine it with a weakness for overly dramatic gestures and body language.

  "The business of this Empire is still mainly human business. Human worlds, pursuing human concerns. I have to ask; can we ever be sure that nonhuman minds will have enough in common with the way humans think for them ever to be able to properly understand the nature of human business, let alone contribute anything useful to it? Trade and science are one thing; matters of philosophy are quite another. The alien species have a right to have their opinions heard; that was why they were granted a Seat in the House. But their alien nature, their motivations, needs, and desires will always be sufficiently different from those of Humanity that I doubt we will ever be able to develop proper common ground. We do not interfere in internal alien affairs; they should pay us the same courtesy. Human business is for humans. The Golden Age that we have so laboriously built for ourselves should not be sacrificed to chaos over a point of sentimental principle."

  Again there was much murmuring of agreement and scattered applause as Markham sat magisterially back into his Seat. Michel du Bois, Member for Virimonde, was immediately on his feet, and addressing Markham bluntly. "That sounds very much like Neuman philosophy to me, Markham. Do you now speak for Pure Humanity in this House? If our alien partners are to be excluded from the decision-making process, how long before they are excluded from the Empire itself? To be declared slaves and property again, subjugated to our needs and desires, as it was in the bad old days of Empire under Lionstone, cursed be her name!"

&nb
sp; Markham was quickly back on his feet before du Bois had even yielded the floor. (He could do that because Virimonde was a poor planet with few allies.) "That is a vicious slur, sir, and I demand that you withdraw it immediately! I represent the fine and hard-working people of my own world, and no one else! The Neumen are fanatics, and I of course distance myself from their more extreme positions. But just because there is an extreme version of a position, it does not mean the position itself is automatically invalid." He smiled about him, spreading his arms wide to embrace the human MPs. "This House often has a hard enough time achieving a consensus over merely human differences; add a hundred and thirty-two alien voices, with all their alien… viewpoints, and this House would descend into bedlam! Nothing would ever be decided!"

  "Not too much change, then," said King Douglas, and a surprising number of people laughed. Douglas leaned forward, acutely aware that all eyes were on him. "I for one would be very interested to hear what the oversoul has to say on this matter. Human, yet other than human, perhaps they can offer a more impartial insight."

  Markham and du Bois looked at each other, and reluctantly sat down. This wasn't what had been agreed, but both were keen to give the new King enough rope to hang himself. The esper representative, a tall and slender youth with sharp ascetic features, faraway eyes, and a Stevie Blue Burns in Glory T-shirt, rose slowly to her feet.

  "What I hear, the oversoul hears," the esper said flatly. "Markham's words are nothing new to us. Similar reasons were once given for denying a voice to official nonpersons such as espers and clones. We had to fight a war to win our freedom and our rights. Does the Member for Madraguda perhaps intend to exclude us from the decision-making process too, for fear we might dilute his precious human consensus?"

  "I'm sure the honorable Member wouldn't wish to imply any such thing," said Ruth Li, Member for Golden Mountain, rising smoothly to her feet. "But he is not alone in his concerns for the future. You don't have to be a Neuman to see how unchecked alien influence could distort the Empire into something it was never meant to be."