Deathstalker Legacy

  "Oh, we'll get answers," Crow Jane said easily. "Whether they'll mean anything, though… Just because he believes what he's saying when he says it doesn't make it true. Or useful. The reports say he likes to talk, in fact they often have trouble stopping him. The trick is to get him to respond to what you're saying. And I hate to disappoint you, but there's going to be distinct limits to what I can see of his thoughts. I doubt very much that he'll be able to keep me out, but… what's in his head may make sense only to him. And I can't risk digging too deep, or too long. Madness is dangerous. Insanity can be very… seductive. It can suck you in. I could end up trapped inside his head, unable to get out. So if you ask me to do something, and I say no; don't push. And if I say we have to go; we go, at speed. Is that clear?"

  "I asked for a top-level telepath," said Douglas.

  "And that's what you got. Most espers wouldn't go anywhere near Donal Corcoran, and quite rightly. They'd probably end up with their brains dribbling out of their ears. I can protect you from him, and I should be able to peek past his defenses. Settle for that."

  "I need information from him. Things only he knows."

  Crow Jane shrugged. "He won't be able to knowingly lie to me, but I can't make him tell me what he doesn't know."

  "How about things he may have chosen to forget, because they're too painful or too frightening?" said Douglas.

  "Depends how deep he's buried them. Some traumas can be so painful, so terrible, that the victim would rather die than remember. I can push him in the right direction, but… I'm an esper, not a miracle worker. Despite what some of the tabloid media shows would have you believe."

  Douglas sighed. "It's going to be a long, hard morning, isn't it?"

  "Got that right," said Crow Jane.

  Douglas's authority and charm got them through the various levels of security at the asylum fairly quickly, until he and Crow Jane ended up in the quietly comfortable office of Corcoran's current analyst, Dr. Oisin Benjamin. It was a bright and cheerful office, with sunshine streaming through the open window. It had the usual desk and couch and book-lined walls, and everything was plush and cozy and agreeable. In fact, the only uncomfortable thing in the office was Dr. Benjamin. His handshake was weak, his smile was unsteady, and he had a slight but definite twitch in one eye. Not uncommon signs in someone who'd been exposed to Donal Corcoran on a regular basis. The doctor responded a little to Douglas's practiced charm, but Crow Jane clearly upset him. Especially when she sat cross-legged in midair rather than perch on the straight-backed visitor's chair. After that, the doctor did his best to ignore her and direct all his remarks to Douglas. They sat facing each other across Dr. Benjamin's desk, while the good doctor fiddled constantly with a lethal-looking letter opener.

  "Donal Corcoran," he said abruptly. "Yes. A very unusual man. Quite remarkable. And, so far, entirely unresponsive to every traditional form of treatment. He's not interested in therapy. Hell, after time with Donal, most of our therapists require therapy. Medication doesn't work. We've dosed him with every drug we've got and a few we imported specially, on dosages that would mellow out a Grendel, and he just laughs at us. He has a very unsettling laugh. Like he knows things we don't. Things no sane man would want to know. We've had him here for, what, ten days now? And we're still no nearer understanding what's wrong with him. Whatever he saw, or felt, out there on the Rim, your Majesty; he can't or won't tell us. And we have no way of making him."

  "What about his dreams?" said Douglas. "Do they tell you anything?"

  "He doesn't sleep," said Dr. Benjamin. "Ever. In fact, according to my predecessors' notes, Donal hasn't closed his eyes since we got him here. Normally, such a long period of sleep deprivation would be enough to drive a man seriously psychotic, but with Donal… He says he won't sleep, in case the Terror creeps up on him. It's my belief he's holding sleep at bay through sheer willpower. Which shouldn't be possible, but, well… Donal does a lot of things he shouldn't be able to do. He can hear what people are saying about him, even when they whisper. Even when they're in the next room. And sometimes he gives answers to questions we haven't even asked yet."

  Crow Jane perked up at that. "Has he been tested for telepathy, or other esper abilities?"

  Dr. Benjamin still wouldn't look at her, addressing his reply to Douglas. "We ran all the usual tests, of course. None of the results made a blind bit of sense."

  Crow Jane frowned. "Why didn't you contact the oversoul? We would have sent you an expert."

  "Donal's condition is extreme enough already, without exposing him to esper meddling!" snapped Dr. Benjamin.

  "Ah well," said Crow Jane. "As long as there's a scientific reason…"

  "But you have no objection to my seeing him?" Douglas said quickly— "With my associate?"

  The doctor shrugged unhappily. "You must do as you think best, your Majesty. At your own risk, of course. I'll call for someone to take you to Donal. As soon as his current visitor has left…"

  Douglas looked at him sharply. "He already has a visitor? I was under the impression no one else had been cleared to see him!"

  "Well, no, but this was Angelo Bellini. You know; the Angel of Madraguda himself. Charming fellow. Came all the way here, in person, just to make sure that Donal's spiritual needs were being ministered to. He… gave me to understand that he had official consent. Doesn't he?"

  "No," Douglas said grimly. "He bloody doesn't."

  Donal Corcoran was being kept in a maximum-security psycho ward, though he probably didn't realize that. People tended to add the word probably to whatever they said about Corcoran, because no one could be sure what he was and wasn't aware of. It tended to vary, suddenly and without notice. Certainly his surroundings didn't look like any kind of hospital ward, or cell, even though they were very definitely both. Corcoran was supposed to believe he was being looked after in a secure country manor house, with wide-ranging gardens for him to walk in. A lot of effort had gone into providing him with the illusion of freedom. In fact, most of it was comprised of holos, backed up with concealed force screens in case he tried to wander off. The illusion was really very convincing, backed up with state-of-the-art sight and sound, right down to all the correct scents of a garden in full bloom. Birds seemed to sing, insects seemed to buzz, and refreshing breezes came and went on a regular basis. Certainly the pleasant summer heat felt entirely convincing to Angelo Bellini as he strolled through the gardens with Donal Corcoran, talking quietly of this and that. The Angel had come as a representative of the official Church; ostensibly to offer Corcoran spiritual comfort in his time of trial, but actually to try and enlist him into the Cause. If Corcoran could be persuaded to join and endorse the Church Militant, and thus Pure Humanity, the general public could then be persuaded to associate joining the new Church with standing against the Terror. Which could in turn be parlayed into increased political power. Angelo had come up with the idea all on his own. Bringing Corcoran into the new Church would be a major coup, for the Church Militant and for him. But it was proving… very hard work.

  Corcoran didn't always seem to hear what Angelo said to him, and even when he did his responses suggested he didn't care. Physically, his presence was disturbing, and even actually distressing. Corcoran was still wearing his old spacer's uniform, ragged and filthy, because he'd hospitalized the last three orderlies who'd tried to persuade him to change them for regulation hospital issue. He hadn't washed or shaved or even combed his hair since he arrived, and he smelled really bad. He looked like a wild man, openly contemptuous of all the usual civilized proprieties. He talked in long, jagged speeches that tended to wander around the point without ever actually touching on it. He was constantly distracted by everything around him, and sometimes by things that weren't, and Angelo was finding it an uphill struggle just to keep Corcoran's attention. He tried to keep the strain out of his face and his voice, and persevered.

  "The Church can offer you protection against the Terror," he said, for what had to be at least the tenth ti
me. "You will be safe with us. Let us get you out of here. They can't hold you here against your will, not if you have the backing of the new Church. All you'll have to do is make the occasional appearance, the occasional speech or two, on our behalf. No pressure, of course. Whatever you feel comfortable with. And we'll find you a really secure place; somewhere the Terror could never find or reach you. We want to be your friend, Donal. The Church is your friend."

  "You want me to speak to people," said Corcoran, holding his hands up before his face, and turning them back and forth as though he'd never seen them before. "Praise the Church and pass the panacea. Bullshit. Bullshit! You can't hide behind your precious religion now, little angel. There'll be nowhere to hide when the Terror comes. I know. The rock cried out, no hiding place… I don't want to speak to people. I just want to get the hell out of here. Get back to my ship. Back to the Terror…"

  Angelo blinked at him confusedly. "You want… to face the Terror again?"

  Corcoran spun on him, his fingers crooked now into claws, his eyes suddenly inhumanly wide and unblinking, his lips pulled back into a vicious snarl. Angelo fell back a step, despite himself. Corcoran laughed soundlessly.

  "I want to fight the Terror! Kill it! Hurt it, like it hurt me! I can feel it… I can always feel it… We're connected now, till death do us part. Screw your protection, Angelo, I want revenge. I want to be free of it. Do you think I don't know what's been done to me? Inside, I'm hurting all the time. Inside, I'm screaming all the time. I'll never be safe, never be free, never be me again… until I've torn the Terror apart, burned it down and pissed on the ashes."

  "Well," said Angelo. "That's all very interesting, but…"

  Corcoran hugged himself tightly, as though he might fly apart, still fixing Angelo with his disturbing, feverbright eyes. "I see you, Bellini. There are dead men peering over your shoulder. There's something on your hands and it isn't blood, though it's red enough. You think you know revenge… You get me out of here, little angel, and I'll show you revenge."

  Angelo had to swallow hard, unable to look away from eyes that seemed to look right through him. This was just like the Ecstatic, who'd also seemed to know things he couldn't possibly have known. What had the Terror done to this man? What had it turned him into?

  "God feels your pain, my son…"

  "God? Where was your God, when so many innocents died? I think… maybe what I saw was God. God gone crazy, devouring His own creation. Saturn, eating his children. Get me out of here, Angelo. Or maybe I'll eat you."

  Corcoran was very close to Angelo now, and still the Angel couldn't look away from the dark, dark eyes. He was whimpering, though he didn't know it. And then King Douglas and Crow Jane came striding through the illusionary gardens, breaking the spell, and Angelo was actually pleased to see them. He broke away from Corcoran and stumbled over to bow formally to Douglas.

  "Ah, your Majesty. What an unexpected surprise, and a pleasure. May I introduce you to my quite extraordinary new friend, Donal Corcoran? He and I have been having the most fascinating little chat."

  "How the hell did you get in here, Bellini?" demanded Douglas. "And where do you get off, claiming to have official permission? I wouldn't give you permission to clean this places toilets with your own toothbrush. And trying to take advantage of the mentally ill has to be a new low, even for you. Get out of here, now. Before I have the guards throw you out."

  Angelo drew himself up to his full height, and glared at the King coldly. "I represent the Church, and the Church goes where it wishes. Your power derives from a handful of frightened men and women in an outmoded institution, Douglas. Mine conies from the greatest and most powerful religious movement this Empire has ever known. The day will come, and sooner than you think, when your House will have to kneel to my Church; and you will have to kneel to me. Make the most of your little authority, Campbell. While you still have it."

  Douglas punched him in the mouth. Angelo squealed loudly, lurched backwards, and sat down suddenly. Blood welled down his bearded chin, and tears ran from his eyes. Douglas took a step forward, and Angelo scooted frantically backwards across the grass.

  "Never outstay your welcome, Angelo," Douglas said calmly. "And by the way, for a warrior of the Church Militant, you take a punch like a sissy. Now get out of my sight, or I'll have them set the dogs on you."

  Angelo rose unsteadily to his feet, gathered what was left of his dignity about him, and opened his mouth for one last cutting comment. Only to lose it all and run for his life when Douglas suddenly growled and lunged at him. Crow Jane watched him go, and then looked thoughtfully at Douglas.

  "Was that really necessary?"

  "Oh yes," said Douglas, happily. "Absolutely. You have no idea."

  They both turned to consider Donal Corcoran, who had ignored all of what happened, intently counting his fingers over and over again. His whole body was trembling, as though full of energy he didn't know what to do with. His face was slick with sweat, though it was only pleasantly warm in the fake garden. He looked up suddenly to glare at Douglas, his head cocked slightly to one side.

  "You. It's all your fault. You shouldn't have had me brought here. To Logres, to this place. I wanted to stay on my ship. I knew where I was, there. We've been through a lot together. We're connected, you see. Both changed by the Terror. The Navy took me by force. Boarded my ship, wrestled me to the deck, put me in a straightjacket, and brought me here. I don't want to be here. I don't feel safe. I need to be out there… waiting for it to show its face again. You do know it's coming back, don't you?'

  "Yes," said Douglas. "If the Terror continues on the same course, it will cut a swathe through all the most densely populated worlds, and come here. To Logres. That's why I had you brought here, Donal. Because of what you've seen, what you know. I need to know what you know."

  "You can't," Corcoran said flatly. "Even I don't know everything I know. There's more inside my head than just me. You think I don't know what this place is? I know. I can hear the barred windows and smell the guns. Best looking rubber room I ever saw." He looked around sharply, and tensed, half crouching, as though preparing to run. "I'm never alone anymore. I'm haunted by ghosts. I can hear the voices of every man, woman, and child who died on the Rim worlds. They talk to me, in the quiet between other people's words. They tell me what it's like to be dead. They don't like it. They didn't like it the first time, either. That's why they became the Recreated. But now, all they have is me. Whatever I am now. I will be their vengeance, hunt down the Terror and destroy it. Make it suffer, make it pay, for what it did to them, and to me. And maybe then I'll be able to sleep again."

  "We all want to stop the Terror," Douglas said carefully. "Do you know how we can do that, Donal?"

  Corcoran looked at him sideways, smiling craftily. "Let me out of here, and I'll tell you."

  Douglas sighed, and looked at Crow Jane, who shook her head slowly. "I've been trying to get inside his mind, and I can't. It's spooky in there. I've never encountered anything like this before. He isn't an esper, and he has no actual telepathic shields, as such; it's just that his mind is too… different. I've known aliens whose thought patterns were easier to understand. It's like… part of his mind is always missing. Like… not all of him came back from the Rim. Perhaps when he encountered the Terror, it took part of him, and kept it."

  "There is a place that is not a place," Corcoran said softly. "Sometimes… I can sense it, just behind my shoulder. I think maybe… the Terror was born there. Look into my eyes, little esper, and perhaps you'll see it too."

  Crow Jane looked away. "I can't. It frightens me."

  Corcoran laughed. It was a thick, ugly, disturbing sound with nothing sane about it. Douglas shuddered, despite himself. Corcoran looked slowly around the garden that had been made for him, sneering at its security, denying himself its comforts. He turned suddenly to glare at Douglas.

  "Let me out of here. I can't be here. I have business to be about. You have no right to keep me her
e!"

  "What you know, or might remember, could prove very valuable," said Douglas. "All sorts of people would like to get their hands on you, for what they think you know. You're safer here. Talk to the doctors, Donal. Help them to help you. And then work with us, to stop the Terror. Before it kills again."

  "You know nothing! You understand nothing!" Corcoran stepped suddenly forward, to shout his words right into Douglas's face. Crow Jane drew her disrupter. Corcoran ignored her. Douglas gestured for the esper not to interfere, and stood very still as the madman shouted at him. "You can't keep me here! I won't be kept here, like an animal!"

  "I'll come and talk to you again," said Douglas. "When you're feeling calmer. I won't give up on you, Donal. I am your King, and I will not abandon you. If you have faith in nothing else, have faith in that."

  He bowed to Corcoran, and then turned and walked unhurriedly away. Crow Jane gave Corcoran one last suspicious glance, and then hurried after Douglas, her gun still in her hand. The madman watched them go, his staring eyes suddenly calm and thoughtful. When the King and his esper were both out of sight, hidden behind the concealing holos, Corcoran walked off in another direction, between trees he knew weren't real, following a direction that blazed in his mind like a siren. He soon came to what appeared to be a high stone wall, the boundary of the grounds. Corcoran slowly reached out, placed his hands flat against the disguised force shield, and pushed. And his hands and arms went right through the energy screen as though it wasn't there. Corcoran pulled his hands back, and laughed soundlessly.

  Frustrated by his failure to acquire Donal Corcoran for the Church, and furious at his treatment by King Douglas, Angelo Bellini scowled and fumed all the way back to the Cathedral. He slammed out of his chauffeur-driven limousine, stormed through the offices at the back of the Cathedral, and his people saw his face and hurried to get out of his way. He stalked right past his secretary, even as she rose twittering from behind her desk to tell him he had a visitor waiting in his office. He kicked the door open, strode in, and slammed the door behind him with satisfying noise and venom. It felt good to be back in his office, in his territory, in his place of power. A good place to plot revenges, and the humbling of Kings. He strode over to his desk, enjoying the way his feet sank into the deep pile carpet. He sank down into his chair, activated the massage function, and finally began to relax a little. Someone cleared his throat politely, and Angelo only then remembered what his secretary had said about a visitor. He looked around, and there was Tel Markham, the honorable Member for Madraguda, standing patiently beside the window, looking calm and relaxed as always.