Deathstalker Honor (23 page)

Owen scowled. “I could have taken power. I chose not to.”

“How very . . . noble of you. But who is to say you might not change your mind in the future? I really cannot see what all the fuss is about. We are talking about free elections, taking place under safeguards you yourself helped to set up, with people voting according to their own consciences. If some of them choose to place their trust in a member of a Family to represent them in Parliament, that is their business and no one else’s.”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it.” Diana Vertue glared across the floor of the House at Grace Shreck, who smiled condescendingly back. Diana’s scowl deepened, but she kept her temper under control. “The espers will not again place themselves under the power of those who once treated them as property. Who mistreated, abused, and murdered them at will.”

“The excesses of the past are deeply regretted,” said Grace calmly. “All the Families understand they have to prove their worth and place in the new order, and none of us are foolish enough to risk that place by resuming old and discredited practices. We must all learn to look to the future. The Families have much to offer. Everyone here understands the terrible events in your past, esper Vertue, that left you physically and mentally scarred, but we cannot allow one woman’s obsessions to stand in the way of progress.”

Diana clung grimly to her self-control. This wasn’t the first time Grace had sought to undermine her arguments by referring to her past as Jenny Psycho, when her mental stability had been . . . somewhat changeable. She couldn’t respond to the accusation directly (
All right, I was crazy then, but I’m better now
didn’t exactly inspire confidence), so as always she ignored the insult and bulled on regardless.

“The espers will never bow down to aristos again. We broke free of our chains through blood and suffering and the sacrifice of many; we will not be shackled again.”

“Pretty rhetoric,” said Grace, “but essentially meaningless. This talk of masters and slaves is from the past; let it stay buried there. The rest of us have moved on. And, as I have pointed out in this House before, I dispute your claim to speak for all espers. You distanced yourself from the official underground leadership when you began speaking openly of your distrust of the Mater Mundi, and your following among the rank and file is not what it was. You speak only for yourself these days, esper Vertue.”

“Then let’s talk about Blue Block,” said Finlay Campbell, and everyone’s head snapped around to look at him. Finlay didn’t often speak out in Parliament, but when he did everybody listened. The floating cameras overhead rushed to zoom in on him. Finlay smiled coldly across at BB Chojiro and her people. “How can we trust the Families when most of them are still under the influence of a once secret organization, Blue Block? Their motivations, like their background, remain largely unknown.”

BB Chojiro stepped forward, her voice rising sweetly in the quiet. “The fact that we are no longer secret should put an end to most of those fears. Yes, in the past we were created to be the Clans’ personal assassins, deadly agents to be aimed at their enemies, but we have evolved beyond that. And you, of all people, have no right to criticize us. How much blood is there on your hands, sir Campbell? How many died under your blade?”

“Not enough, apparently,” said Finlay, and everyone shuddered just a little at the bleakness in his voice.

“I think we’ve taken this argument as far as we can go for the moment,” said Gutman. “Let us move on, please. We have a holomessage from her Holiness, Mother Superior Beatrice Christiana. She is too busy overseeing relief work on Lachrymae Christi to speak to us in person, but she recorded this message for us earlier.”

He gave a sign, and a viewscreen appeared floating in midair. Beatrice’s head and shoulders filled the screen, her white cowl surrounding her tired face like a halo. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and when she spoke her voice was ragged with exhaustion. “I’ll keep this short, because we’re up to our lower lip in work and sinking fast. The war has left half the planets in the Empire existing at barely subsistence levels. Only Beckett’s food ships are holding off mass starvation. Social, political, and business structures have collapsed everywhere, and people are dying from lack of food, shelter, and medical supplies.

“The Church is overseeing relief work everywhere it can, but our funds and our people are limited. Parliament must make more funds available to us, or whole populations will revert to barbarism or worse. Millions are already dying. Millions more will die if something isn’t done soon. The Church’s work these days is wholly concerned with charity; you have my personal assurance that all monies voted to us will go directly to ease the suffering of the needy. Help us, please. Help us to help those who need us.”

The screen went blank and disappeared. There was a certain amount of uncomfortable stirring. Golgotha had taken its wounds during the rebellion, but in the end had come through largely unscathed. It was easy to forget that many others had not been so lucky. Elias Gutman leaned forward in his chair. “We will of course take Her Holiness’s request under advisement. Though once again I must point out that there are many calls on Parliament’s limited resources. We will consider the matter further in this House once the appropriate committee has made its report. But now we have one last piece of business to discuss. Something that I think practically everyone here can agree on is our need for an official head of state, someone to personally represent the government to the people. After much discussion in many committees, it has been decided that we should appoint a constitutional monarch.”

There was an immediate uproar. Everyone wanted to speak at once, and no one was willing to back down. Gutman tried to wave them to silence, but for once was completely ignored. So he sat back in his chair and just let them get on with it. Owen stood silently in the midst of the hubbub and thought about it. Even though he’d destroyed the Iron Throne, the crown still existed, and legally he supposed there was nothing to prevent Parliament from appointing a new Emperor, if they were stupid enough to do so. He felt very tired. He’d been through so much to overthrow Lionstone, but more and more he was beginning to wonder if all his efforts had been for nothing.

The noise finally died down, and Gutman was able to make himself heard again. “Nothing will be decided without this House’s full approval! We are suggesting a purely
constitutional
monarch, with no actual power or legal authority. A figurehead whose duties would be entirely public and social in nature. It would, of course, have to be someone that everyone could trust and support. After extensive discussion the committees came up with what I think you will all agree is the only suitable choice: Owen Deathstalker!”

There was an uproar all over again, and a great deal of more or less spontaneous applause, from those who approved of honoring such a great hero to those who saw the advantages of removing the Deathstalker from the political process once and for all. Owen was shocked to silence for a long moment, and then his voice rose above the general roar, cutting it off immediately.

“No way in hell! If I’d wanted to make myself Emperor, I could have done so when I overthrew Lionstone. I didn’t want the crown then, and I don’t want it now!”

Gutman smiled easily. “Most people here seem to think it’s a good idea, and an honor you richly deserve. And who is more suitable to be a constitutional monarch than a man who openly says he has no interest in power? Though we may have our differences, sir Deathstalker, I do not hesitate to acknowledge all you have done to make this democracy possible. Who better to represent it? And think on this, sir Deathstalker; if not you, who? A Campbell perhaps? Or a Wolfe? Or a Shreck? You are perhaps the only aristocrat who could come to the crown without an agenda. Come, Owen, you have always known your duty. Think about it.”

Owen nodded stiffly, still scowling. Hazel looked at him, and her face showed nothing, nothing at all.

Then there was a new disturbance at the back of the crowd, and people fell back as two men bulled through, heading implacably for the open floor of the House. Everyone recognized Captain John Silence, but the dark and brooding figure at his side was a mystery. Once Silence’s companion would have been Investigator Frost, as attached to him as his shadow, but she had died defending the Empire, struck down by that notorious traitor Kit SummerIsle. The new figure was, if anything, even more disturbing than Frost had been, and people looked away, unable to meet his eyes. And then some people recognized what the man in black was holding, and a shocked murmur ran through the crowd. It was a power lance, a banned weapon from the old days of Empire, banned because it could make an esper so strong that no one could hope to stand against him. It was death just to own one.

Captain Silence stood at the front of the crowd and nodded brusquely to the House. He was a tall man in his late forties, with a thickening waistline and a receding hairline, and eyes that had seen far too much, but had never been able to look away. One of the few who had fought for the Empire to nonetheless emerge a genuine hero, he’d kept his head down since then. There were many on both sides who would have liked to remove such a powerful figure from the game, but he was too potentially useful to be taken off the board just yet. Never knew when you might need someone for a last-ditch suicide run. And now here he was, unannounced and unexpected. The crowd went very quiet, and waited for him to speak. Silence nodded brusquely to Gutman.

“Sorry to burst in, but this won’t wait. I’ve just returned from the planet Unseeli, out on the Rim. We’re all in big trouble.”

“Oh, hell,” said Gutman. “Does nothing but bad news come from the Rim these days? What is it, Captain, the insect ships?”

“Worse,” said Silence. “It’s Shub.” He let the crowd and the MPs mutter for a moment before continuing. “I was on a regular supply run to the single Imperial Base on Unseeli, where scientists were studying a crashed alien ship of unknown origin. We dropped out of hyperspace to find the whole planet had been destroyed. The metallic forests that covered the world from pole to pole, provider of the heavy metals that power our traditional stardrives, have been completely harvested. Billions of trees, and every one gone.

“The Base is destroyed, blown apart. Every man and woman dead. The alien ship is gone. Shub took it. The only living thing to survive the Shub attack was the man at my side, once an Investigator, living on Unseeli as an outlaw. His name is Carrion. I brought him here to tell the story, with my personal guarantee of his safety. I trust this is acceptable?”

“Yes, yes,” said Gutman impatiently. “We trust your judgment in this as always. Tell us about the Shub attack. Why didn’t the Fleet detect it?”

“No one sees Shub if they don’t want to be seen,” said the man called Carrion, in a voice like a dead man talking. Tall and whipcord lean, he work dark leathers under a billowing black cape. He had a young face, deathly pale under long black hair, and cold, dark eyes. “They came out of nowhere, thousands of ships like nightmares cast in metal, filling the skies. They slapped aside the Base’s force screen as though it wasn’t there and smashed it flat. I heard the screams of men and women as they died. Shub took the alien ship, along with whatever scientists happened to be on board at the time. The attack was over almost as soon as it began. Then they began the harvesting.” He paused. “Once there had lived among the metallic trees a wonderous alien race called the Ashrai. The Empire exterminated them so as to have uninterrupted access to the metal trees. But their souls survived, tied to the trees. I heard them screaming as the trees were ripped from the earth.

“I survived, underground, protected and hidden by my psionic abilities. I am the only living survivor of Unseeli. The Ashrai are dead, the humans are dead, and the trees are gone. My name is Carrion. I bring bad luck. I am the destroyer of nations and of worlds.”

He stopped talking abruptly, and the silence stretched on for long moments as everyone looked at each other, caught up in the spell of the dark man’s words and the terrible news he brought. Finally Gutman cleared his throat uncertainly and looked down at Carrion and Silence.

“ We . . . thank you for this intelligence. If Shub has taken all the trees, we can only assume that they must be planning a major assault on Humanity. The heavy metals from the harvesting would fuel one hell of an armada, while at the same time denying them to us. And if they’ve got the alien ship, it won’t be long before they have the secrets of the new stardrive, just as we do. Our work on perfecting and better understanding the new drive has become more urgent than ever. Thank you for bringing us this news, Captain Silence. As always you serve us well. You may go now, but we’ll need full reports from both of you.”

“Understood,” said Silence. “We’ll make ourselves available. One last thought for you to chew over. An esper once told me he had a clairvoyant vision of what Shub had planned for Humanity. He wouldn’t tell me what he saw, but he killed himself rather than risk living to see it come true.”

Parliament muttered uneasily. Gutman leaned back in his chair, his voice carefully calm and reasonable. “Precognition is the least understood and the least reliable of the esper abilities, Captain. Whatever vision your esper may have had, I don’t think we should put too much faith in it. It’s clear, though, that someone must investigate what Shub is up to.”

“I’ll volunteer,” said Jack Random loudly. “If an attack’s imminent, we need to know. And I’m one of the few people who could hope to get close to Shub’s dealings and still come back alive to make a report.”

“Ah, hell,” said Ruby Journey. “Guess I’ll go along as well, for the ride.”

“Your offer is gratefully accepted,” said Gutman. “All that remains is to thank Captain Silence and his companion for the timely news they have brought. Go with Parliament’s best wishes. No doubt you are eager to return to your ship. Carrion, you will of course have to turn the power lance over to the proper authorities before you can leave.”