Deathstalker Honor

CHAPTER TWO

Just Another Day in Parliament

The Sunstrider II dropped out of hyperspace and took up orbit above Golgotha, homeworld and seat of power of the Empire, and Owen and Hazel couldn't have cared less. Virimonde had taken a lot out of both of them. After the physical and psychological hammering they'd taken in the old Deathstalker Standing, it was all they could do to sit upright in their chairs and grunt responses to the main starport's landing instructions. Owen keyed in the coordinates and let the navigation computers handle the landing. They were better at it than he'd ever be, and he was just so deathly tired.

And besides, if he was being honest with himself, the Sunstrider II intimidated him. The Hadenmen, those enigmatic augmented men, had rebuilt the ship to resemble the lost original as closely as possible, but they hadn't been able to resist "improving" it. Owen could handle doors that opened if he even thought about approaching them, and food synthesizors that knew what he wanted for dinner before he did, but navigation controls that worked on the same unnerving principle were just too much for him. After a couple of unfortunate incidents when his mind had wandered during what would otherwise have been perfectly safe landings, he had decided very firmly to leave such matters to the computers and devote his time to more important matters. Like sulking.

He sat slumped in his chair, watching the dark blue world rising slowly toward him, and felt almost nostalgic. The last time he'd come to Golgotha, the rebellion had been in its last vicious throes, and practically everyone on the planet had been shooting at him. Now he was just another visitor, no more important than anyone else. Owen had a strong feeling he preferred the old days. At least then he'd been sure who and where his enemies were. He looked fondly across at Hazel, brooding furiously in her chair. Even when Hazel d'Ark was supposed to be relaxing, she still looked as though she might leap up at any moment and tear someone's throat out. Owen didn't mind. He was used to it.

"So," said Hazel brusquely, somehow knowing he was looking at her, even without looking around. "Where do we go next? Got any plans?"

"Why is it always up to me?" Owen protested mildly. They'd had this conversation before, many times. "How come you never have any ideas?"

"I have plenty of ideas," said Hazel. "But you're always too chicken to follow them up."

"That's because your ideas have a distressing tendency to revolve around violence, murder, and bloody mayhem, and stealing anything that isn't actually nailed down. We can't get away with that kind of thing anymore. We're not rebels and outlaws anymore; we're part of the status quo. Hell, technically speaking, we're law enforcement agents."

"Boring," said Hazel. "You've got really boring these days, Deathstalker."

"Actually, I do know what I'm going to do next," said Owen, ignoring the insult with the ease of long practice. "As soon as we've landed and made our report to Parliament, I'm going straight out again after Valentine Wolfe. The trail will still be warm. He won't get far."

"You've said that before, Owen, and he's always got away. The Wolfe's spent his whole life being somewhere else than where he's supposed to be. That's how he's stayed alive so long, with so many enemies. Power down, get some rest, recharge your batteries. He'll pop up again soon enough, doing something appalling, and then we'll get another crack at him."

Owen had to smile. "Things have come to a pretty pass if you're being the voice of reason to my hothead."

Hazel sniffed. "Don't think I haven't noticed. Just shows how turned around we both are. We need some down time, Deathstalker. Virimonde hit us hard."

"Yeah. Not much of a homecoming, all told."

There was a pause, and then Hazel looked across at him, her face, and voice, carefully calm and casual. "Owen, how come you never told me about Cathy before? I mean, she was your mistress. She must have been important to you."

"She was," said Owen. "I never talked about her because she was none of your business. You could never have understood the kind of relationship we had."

"You could have talked to me," said Hazel. "I would have tried to understand. Tell me about her, this Cathy. What was she like? How did you meet her?"

Owen was quiet for so long that Hazel had almost decided he wasn't going to answer, but finally he began to speak, his voice calm and almost unemotional, as though that was the only way he could approach such painful memories. He didn't look at her once.

"Her name was Cathy DeVries, and she was very beautiful. Been a courtesan of one kind or another all her adult life, specially trained and adapted by the House of Joy to fulfill every desire you ever had, and help you come up with some new ones. She was a surprise party favor at a Winter Ball on Golgotha, and when they first presented her to me, I thought she was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen. We danced and talked, and she listened to me, seemed to understand and care about what I was saying when so many didn't. She even found my jokes funny. She was perfect. So I bought out her contract, for an utterly extortionate price, and she became my mistress.

"Of course, it turned out she wasn't perfect. Her table manners were appalling, she was far too bright and cheerful first thing in the morning, and she was an Imperial agent, set up to spy on me. Reported everything I said and did to a contact on Golgotha. Oz found out and told me, but I didn't care. I was just a minor scholar in those days, with no interest in politics. Her reports must have made really boring reading. Occasionally I'd say something controversial just so they wouldn't consider taking her away from me. We were so happy. I don't think we ever once had an argument. Seven years we had together. Sometimes I think that was the last time I was ever really happy. That I treasured it so much because somehow, deep down, I knew someday it would all be taken away from me.

"I loved her so much. I never thought I'd have to kill her. Stick a knife in her ribs, and twist it, and then hold her in my arms as she bled to death."

"Jesus, Owen…"

"I would have saved her if I could."

"She tried to kill you."

"Sometimes I think she did. I never did ask her if she loved me. I was afraid of what her answer might be. Maybe if I'd known, she wouldn't have taken so much of me with her when she died."

"Stop that right now, Deathstalker. If you start getting maudlin on me, I am going to get up out of this chair and come over and slap you around the head."

Owen smiled briefly. "You would too, wouldn't you?"

"Damn right I would. Never put yourself down, Owen; there are always plenty of other people just waiting for the chance to do it for you. Cathy's the past. Let it go and move on."

"You're the one who brought it up," Owen said mildly. "And I don't know why you're so interested in my romantic past all of a sudden. You're the one with all the surprises in that department. I still haven't got over that time in Mistport when the Wampyr called Abbott turned out to be one of your exes."

"He was a mistake."

"And nowhere near the first or the last, by all accounts."

Hazel glared at him. "Who's been talking?"

"Practically everybody. The gossip columnists love you. You've got your own magazine on the Matrix Internet. With daily updates."

"You haven't been reading that rubbish, have you?"

"Nah. I just look at the pictures."

When they finally disembarked, in the great city known as the Parade of the Endless, home to Golgotha's remaining government, Owen and Hazel found themselves beseiged by a crowd of reporters. Most of the major news organizations were represented, and all of the minor ones with stringers on Golgotha. Owen and Hazel's exploits were always news, and the reports trickling in on what they'd found and done on Virimonde had raised the journalists' expectations to the boiling point. They surged around Owen and Hazel, shouting their questions, while cameras swooped and dived overhead, searching for the best shots. Interviewers tried to elbow each other out of the way, and fistfights broke out at the back. Even so, no one got too close to Owen or Hazel. They'd learned better, usually the hard way. Hazel hadn't actually killed a reporter yet, but the smart money was on when rather than if. There were even betting pools on some of the more obnoxious tabloid characters.

Owen waited patiently for them to calm down a little and sort out their own seniority, while Hazel glared furiously in all directions and kept her hands worryingly near her weapons. It did absolutely nothing for her temper that most of her questions these days tended to be pointed inquiries about her relationship with the revered Deathstalker. She'd tried being facetious, but they just reported everything she said as fact. She'd tried hitting everyone who brought up the subject, but the others just filmed her doing it. Mostly these days she just settled for "no comment," or a similar two-word answer, the second of which was usually "off." It didn't help her temper at all that Owen found the whole business vastly amusing, and always winked at the cameras when he said his "no comment."

And then one of the reporters brought up the recent Deathstalker movie, and cranked up the tension a whole other notch.

The rebellion hadn't been finished a week before the first documentaries had hit the holoscreens—feature-length films cobbled together from film footage of varying clarity and integrity. But as people have always preferred the comforts of Romance to the dry facts of History, it wasn't long before the documentaries were roughly shouldered from the holoscreens by the first Deathstalker movie. Action-packed and vastly simplified, it made billions of credits for all concerned, except those on whose lives it was based, and was quickly followed by many more, of varying quality and accuracy. From Toby Shreck's prize-winning coverage to wild fantasies that didn't even always get the names right, the public ate it all up with spoons.

The most recent, and most popular of all, movie claimed to be a biography of Owen Deathstalker, in which he was portrayed throughout as a saintly and selfless hero, and his associate Hazel d'Ark was a murderous psychopath, barely restrained from constant mayhem and bloodshed by her undying doglike devotion to Owen.

Owen and Hazel were sent free tickets to the premiere, so they went to see it, entirely unsuspecting. Owen laughed so much he hurt himself, and was finally asked to leave by an usher, because he was disturbing the rest of the audience. Hazel stuck it out to the end, gripping the arms of her chair so tightly that her hands ached. When the film was finally over, she set fire to the cinema. Luckily Owen got to her before the city guards did, and hustled her away while the firefighters were still trying to keep the fire from spreading. He then took away all her weapons, wrestled her to the ground, and sat on her until she promised not to hunt down and kill everyone concerned with making the movie. As Owen very reasonably pointed out, such actions would only tend to vindicate the movie's portrayal of her.

It hadn't helped that Owen had been played by a major star and heart-throb, while Hazel had been played by an ex-porn star with more looks than talent and a quite astonishing cleavage.

So, when a reporter in full battle armor raised the question of the movie, everyone else backed hastily away so that blood wouldn't get on them. Hazel grabbed a hovering camera out of midair and threw it with devastating accuracy. It hit the reporter right between the eyes and knocked him cold. Owen moved quickly in and pinned her arms to her sides from behind. The reporters watched interestedly from what they hoped was a safe distance until Owen had more or less calmed Hazel down, and then they edged forward again, stepping over the unconscious body of their fallen fellow seeker after truth and ratings. Sensibly, they changed the subject. Unfortunately, they picked merchandising.

The mass audience's appetite for celebrity being what it was, even the endless series of movies and documentaries weren't enough to satisfy their interest in the new heroes. They also showed an insatiable readiness to buy enough general junk based on the movies and their characters to cover a small moon several miles deep. Said junk ranged from the truly tasteless to the appallingly cheap and nasty, and Owen and Hazel did their best to take no notice of any of it, as long as their royalties kept coming in. That was about to change.

"Have we seen what?" said Owen, and then rather wished he hadn't, as the reporter held up a small plastic figure.

"There's a whole line of them," said the reporter cheerfully. "Fully posable action figures, of all the main characters in the rebellion. They're very popular. Especially the Empress figure. People like to do terrible things to it."

He produced more of the figures and passed them forward for Owen and Hazel to examine. They were cast in bright primary colors, with identical muscular figures and politely generic faces. Certainly they resembled absolutely no one Owen knew. He looked at Hazel.

"Did we authorize these?"

"Who knows?" said Hazel, glaring at the huge breasts on the figure supposed to represent her. "We signed all kinds of agreements. I lost track."

"They're harmless enough," said Owen. "Tacky but harmless."

"Either way, we'd better check this out," said Hazel. "There's supposed to be a hell of a lot of money in this market, and if there is I want my share. Which one's supposed to be Ruby?"

"Uh, the one with all the guns," said the reporter.

"Nothing like her," said Hazel. "And she couldn't even carry that many weapons at once. She'd fall over. Mind you, with breasts that size, she'd probably fall over anyway. Hell, no one has breasts that size outside the House of Joy."

"Is there a lot of this stuff out there?" said Owen, handing the toys back to the reporter.

"Well, yes, sir Deathstalker. There are lunch boxes, posters, games… These are quite popular just at the moment."

He dug into the pack he was carrying and brought out two foot-long dolls of Owen and Hazel. Their clothes were reasonably accurate, if not their faces, and at least the proportions were rather more human. The reporter pressed the speaker buttons on their backs. The Owen doll said, "Fight for justice!" The Hazel doll said, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Somehow Hazel held on to her temper. She'd learned to recognize when she was being goaded. Owen had the sense to turn his beginning laughter into a not entirely convincing cough. The disappointed reporter decided it was time to play his trump card. If that didn't get her going, he'd eat his union card. He put the dolls back in his pack and casually brought out the last items.

"And there are, of course, these." And he held up two cuddly furry toys in Owen and Hazel costumes.

"A furry toy?" said Hazel in tones that suggested imminent thermonuclear meltdown. "They've turned me into a furry toy?"

Everyone held their breath and decided which way they were going to jump when the shit started flying. The cameras would still get the best shots for them. Assuming they survived whatever appalling thing was about to happen. And then Owen reached out to the sweating reporter and took a toy in each hand.

"I think they're rather cute."

"You like these monstrosities?" said Hazel.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily want one on my pillow, but I definitely want a piece of this action. We are talking major revenues here."

Hazel calmed down visibly as she considered this. "Yeah… Could be. Kids go crazy for this kind of crap. One good Christmas and we could be set up for life."

Owen smiled inwardly. When in doubt, you could always distract Hazel with talk of money.

The reporters reluctantly decided there wasn't going to be any action after all, and heaved quiet disappointed sighs. Some even recalled their cameras. The agent provocateur reporter glumly took his fluffy toys back, stuffed them into his bag, and tried to remember if he'd kept all the receipts so he could get his money back. Everyone started to drift away. And then the representative from Parliament arrived, and everything went to hell in a handcart.

It was a fairly typical Parliament rep, all things considered. A jumped-up civil servant, promoted way out of his depth because there weren't enough warm bodies to go round, trying to convince everyone that he was as important as the messages and instructions he carried. This particular fellow was dressed well beyond what should have been his means, surmounted by the traditional courier's red sash and a distinctly snotty attitude. He strode forward, the reporters falling back before him, and planted himself before Owen and Hazel. He stuck his nose in the air and glared at them both, just to remind them of their real place in the scheme of things, and then launched into his prepared speech without even bothering to introduce himself.

"Sir Deathstalker, Miss d'Ark, you are commanded to present yourselves before Parliament at this evening's session, to report on your mission to Virimonde. Parliament wishes to express in advance its extreme displeasure that not only have you failed to bring back any of the rebel Lords alive, but you also allowed that most detestable villain Valentine Wolfe to escape justice entirely. You are required to make full explanations of these shortcomings. Also, you can forget about your bonuses."

All the cameras started zooming in again. The reporters knew a storm was brewing when they saw one. So Owen decided to try reasoning with the man just to annoy them.

"We did put an end to the abominable practices on Virimonde," he said mildly. "Charnel House is no more. The dead have been avenged. And we did nip in the bud a most dangerous plot against the Empire. Not bad for one day's work."

The representative sniffed. It was a loud, arrogant, and entirely obnoxious sound. He'd clearly put a lot of practice into it. "All that matters is you failed to carry out Parliament's demands. What you may or may not have done other than your instructions is utterly irrelevant."

Owen and Hazel looked at each other. "After you," said Hazel generously.

"Thank you," said Owen. He stepped forward, smiled at the representative, and punched him out. The unfortunate fellow stretched his length on the unforgiving surface of the landing pad and lay there, twitching quietly. Owen smiled at the reporters. "You just have to know how to talk to these people. Did everyone get that, or shall I pick him up and do it again?"

The reporters said they'd got it just fine the first time, thank you very much, and then started firing questions at Owen and Hazel over these new details on their last mission. In particular they wanted to know just what the hell the Charnel House plot had been, and what the infamous Valentine Wolfe had had to do with it. The group interview then rapidly deteriorated into a bidding war for exclusive rights to the full story. Fistfights broke out among the reporters, and Owen and Hazel took the opportunity to make a quiet exit. The rep seemed to be stirring, so Hazel kicked him somewhere particularly painful, just on general principles.

"You know, you'd have thought they'd have learned to wear body armor by now," said Owen.

"Must be a new guy."

"Well, if he doesn't learn better manners soon, he's never going to be an old guy. Let me just check if he's got any written orders on him."

Owen knelt beside the quietly moaning man and frisked him thoroughly, coming up with a set of sealed orders with his name on them. Hazel frowned.

"That's another thing. How come my name's never on these things?"

"They wouldn't dare," said Owen. He broke the wax seal, studied the brief message, fashionably written in real pen and ink, and scowled fiercely. "Damn. They've arranged another parade for us. Right now, on our way to Parliament. I hate parades."

"Yeah, but the people love them." Hazel shrugged as Owen got to his feet and dropped the orders onto the rep's chest. "It's no big deal, Owen. Just smile and wave and try to look heroic. And remember, you're supposed to kiss the babies and pat them on the head. Not perform an impromptu exorcism on the grounds it's supernaturally ugly."

Owen sniggered. "I was bored. You like all this public-acclaim shit. I just wish they'd all go away and leave me alone. I don't like crowds. I don't like being stared at. And I hate doing autographs. Last time my hand ached for a week."

"Just relax and enjoy it. We earned this. Let them worship us if they want to."

"All right, let's get it over with," said Owen resignedly. "Then we can make our report to Parliament, answer a whole lot of stupid and unnecessary questions, and heroically refrain from shooting a whole bunch of people too stupid to live. And maybe then we'll be allowed to go home, crash out, and get some sleep."

"Right," said Hazel. "I could sleep for a week."

"He was right, you know," Owen said quietly. "It wasn't exactly our most successful mission."

"Hush, Owen," said Hazel. "Your people were avenged. Settle for that. Now, let's go. Our admirers await."

She clapped him once on the shoulder and led the way off the landing pad. Owen followed her, dragging his feet all the way.

The parade's organizers had thoughtfully provided a gravity sled for them, and Owen and Hazel floated down the main street, just high enough to be out of reach of the crowd's grasping hands. There had been unfortunate incidents in the past, and after Hazel showed an understandable but regrettably violent way of dealing with fans, it was decided that everyone concerned would be a whole lot safer if the crowd's heroes were kept up out of reach.

Owen smiled and waved like an automoton, and distanced himself from the din and bedlam as best he could by concentrating on the report he was going to make to Parliament. He'd never liked crowds. People staring at him made him feel nervous and self-conscious. Once, in his old life, when he'd had to make a speech to a gathering of historical scholars, he'd locked himself in the toilet for so long they'd had to send someone to ask if he was all right. It should be different now. He was a man of power and destiny. Everyone said so. He'd fought his way through whole armies of Imperial troops and never once hesitated.

It didn't make any difference. He still hated being stared at.

It didn't help that Hazel had really gotten into it, and was waving and smiling and turning back and forth so everyone could get a good look at her. A whole group of Hazel look-alikes were chanting her name and squealing ecstatically whenever she smiled in their direction. Some were even women. Someone threw her a long-stemmed rose. She caught it deftly, avoiding the thorns, and blew the thrower a kiss. The crowd loved that. Owen pretended he hadn't noticed, while noting grumpily that no one was throwing him roses. Not that he wanted any, of course. It was just the principle of the thing.

Rebuilding was going on all around, as houses and shops and offices damaged or destroyed during the last great battle in the city were still being repaired. Workers in antigrav slings high up on the sides of buildings leaned dangerously out of their harnesses to shout coarse comments at Hazel. She shouted even coarser ones back. They loved it. Cameras were shooting back and forth overhead, and occasionally getting into butting contests over the best angles.

Owen smiled till his teeth ached—and kept a constant suspicious eye on the unfinished surrounding buildings for potential snipers. The adulation of the crowd was all very well, but there were a lot of people out there who would love to see Owen and Hazel conveniently dead, for all sorts of reasons. And besides, the approval of the crowds didn't fool him. He knew what was behind some of it. With so many dead on both sides, for the first time ever transplants were now available for everyone. Even with the extremely long waiting queues, people who would otherwise have been left to die now had new hope. And all because of the many people dead because of Owen and Hazel.

There was an even darker side than that to the adulation. Inspired by Owen's and Hazel's more than human abilities, many in the general populace had been moved to "improve" themselves by all means possible. These Maze wannabes had taken to Blood, tech implants, and supplantive surgery with an enthusiasm that bordered on the macabre. Owen didn't approve and did his best to keep an eye on the trend. He hadn't saved Humanity from the Empress Lionstone just to see them turn themselves into minor-league Hadenmen.

The parade seemed to go on forever, but eventually they came to the centuries-old building that housed Parliament. Since no one had taken Parliament at all seriously for centuries, the great square building was tucked away in an usually quiet backwater, and the general fighting and destruction had largely passed it by. The tall stone walls were overgrown with thick mats of ivy that no one ever dared prune because of the very real possibility that it was only the ivy that was holding the old building together.

As Owen and Hazel approached Parliament, troops moved in to hold back the crowds as Owen and Hazel stepped down from the gravity sled and made their way hurriedly into the lobby of the old building. The great oaken doors shut firmly behind them, and Owen breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Facing an undoubtedly hostile Parliament didn't bother him nearly as much as hysterical crowds shouting they loved him and wanted to have his babies.

Waiting servants bowed to Owen and Hazel, and led them to the great outer Chamber, where everyone with business before Parliament was waiting with varying degrees of patience for the evening session to get under way. Parliament drew even more would-be movers and shakers than Lionstone's Court had, not least because Parliament wasn't likely to kill you if they thought you shouldn't be there. They'd just bore you to death.

Everyone knew Parliament had inherited the day-to-day running of the Empire pretty much by accident. All the other contenders had been so busy fighting each other that they effectively cancelled each other out, and only Parliament was left. So far they were doing as good a job as anybody else might have. The two hundred and fifty MPs who made up Parliament, elected by all those above a certain yearly income who could be bothered to vote, hadn't had any real power in centuries, and reacted to their new status with varying enthusiasm. Some threw themselves into the job with gusto, determined to show what they could do, given a chance. Others reacted strongly at the very thought of actually having to work for a living, and drew so far back into their shells that no amount of coaxing could convince them to come out. Most cheerfully advertised themselves for sale to the highest bidder. Some even floated themselves on the stock exchange. Certainly there was no shortage of organizations, factions, and powerful individuals trying to influence the MPs, so much so that armed guards had had to be installed in and around Parliament to keep the peace. Especially during budget debates.

Outside Parliament, things were getting really violent. Realizing too late that Parliament had seized the only real political ground, the various remaining factions had taken to deciding quarrels between themselves by brute force. The body counts rose every day, as swords, guns, bombs, and poison decided who was currently on top. The authorities had stopped even trying to enforce the peace, except during the morning and evening rush hours. Both sides bandied the word terrorist freely, while plotting atrocities of their own. Owen and Hazel had considered getting involved, and killing lots of people until the others got the point, but Jack Random had quietly talked them out of it. No one wanted to risk giving the factions the only thing they might actually unite behind; namely the assassination of Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d'Ark.

The only real competition Parliament had as a governing body were the ongoing war trials, presided over by leading figures from the various rebel undergrounds. Under Lionstone's corrupt rule all kinds of atrocities had become commonplace. People could disappear for any or no reason and never be seen again. Torture and murder had been everyday matters of state under the Iron Bitch. Once she fell, and the rebel leaders had access to the Palace records, the names of these vile murderers and torturers became known, and a long-delayed vengeance began. The underground put their faces on holovision, along with their addresses, and they were dragged from their rich apartments or hunted through the streets. Many met bloody and awful ends, and the rest hurried to surrender themselves to the authorities. They still thought they could cut themselves deals by betraying each other, and realized too late that they were to be shown no more mercy than they had shown to their countless victims. The war trials had begun within hours of Lionstone's fall, and were holovised every day in full so that the people could see justice being done. The trials went on and on, and there seemed no shortage of the accused, no matter how fast the courts hanged them. The public hangings attracted huge, mostly silent crowds, as though the people needed to see the bastards die for themselves before they could believe it to be true.

The courts released details of the victims' fates as fast as they could. There were just so many of them.

Parliament was more than a little jealous of the war trials, both for the power they wielded and the attention they took away from Parliament's sessions, but they knew better than to interfere. Even more than justice, the people needed vengeance.

Owen and Hazel came to the great Chamber, the last room before entering onto the floor of the House itself. The Chamber was separated from Parliament proper by an ancient massive oaken door that by long tradition was only ever opened from the inside. The MPs used this privilege to keep people waiting as long as possible, to remind them of their place in the new scheme of things—a practice they'd borrowed from Lionstone, though that of course was never mentioned. As always, the great room was packed, and the noise was deafening. Everyone was looking for contacts, trying to make a deal or talk up some new opportunity. There were no holo images; everyone had to be there in person. In these days of clones, aliens, and Fury imposters, people liked to be sure of exactly who they were talking with. Esp-blockers were installed in hidden locations just to keep everyone honest, and to hell with whether it upset the espers.

When Owen and Hazel made their entrance, everything stopped. All eyes turned in their direction, and the gabble of voices died quickly away to nothing. Owen and Hazel looked calmly about them in the silence and inclined their heads politely. Everyone turned away, and the babble of conversations resumed. No one was interested in talking to the Deathstalker or the d'Ark woman. It wasn't safe. For all kinds of reasons. Owen and Hazel moved unhurriedly forward into the Chamber, and everyone made room for them.

"The usual warm greeting," said Owen, not caring if anyone overheard.

"Ungrateful bastards," said Hazel, and looked hopefully to see if anyone present was stupid enough to take offense.

"They do have their reasons for not liking us," said Owen more quietly. "Heroes and role models are supposed to be pure and unsullied. I fear we came as something of a disappointment."

"My heart bleeds," said Hazel. "I never claimed to be a hero. For two pins I'd walk out of here and Parliament could whistle for its report. Hell, for three pins I'd burn the place down as well before I left."

"Steady, steady," murmured Owen, smiling unconcernedly so everyone could see. "Don't let them get to you. They'd take it as a sign of weakness."

Hazel sniffed. "Anyone sees me as weak and tries to take advantage of it, they'll be carrying their lungs home in a bucket."

"Get your hand away from your sword, dammit. You can't kill anyone here. Duels are forbidden. You even start to draw your sword, and half a hundred guards will appear from everywhere. Even we're not exempt. I do wish you'd keep up on the changes here, Hazel."

"Ah, you know you love a chance to make speeches to me. Besides, I could handle half a hundred guards."

Owen sighed. "Yes, you probably could, but that's not the point. We are trying to make a good impression."

"Since when?"

"Since we failed to bring back Valentine Wolfe for trial yet again."

Hazel shrugged. "Is it okay if I just half kill someone?"

"If you must. Only try to do it when the holovision cameras aren't looking. We really don't need any more bad publicity."

Hazel looked about her. "Don't think I've ever seen so many cameras here before. Either Parliament's got something really juicy lined up, or someone told them we were coming. Hello, I spy a familiar face."

And she plunged off into the crowd, shouldering people out of her way if they didn't move fast enough. Owen followed after, murmuring polite apologies as he went. It was a practice he was growing increasingly used to. The familiar face turned out to be Tobias Shreck, accompanied as always by his cameraman Flynn. Owen joined Hazel in greeting them, smiling genuinely for the first time since he'd entered the Chamber. Toby Shreck had been a news reporter during the rebellion, and had demonstrated an uncanny ability to turn up in just the right place at the right time, with Flynn always there at his shoulder to broadcast it all live. They'd covered a lot of the fighting Owen and Hazel had been involved in, and had even been there when the rebels finally threw down the Empress Lionstone and destroyed the Iron Throne forever.

Toby looked much the same as ever, a fat, perspiring butter-ball of a man with slicked-down blond hair and a ready smile. He was wearing fashionable clothes of the very finest cut, tailored to disguise as much of his great girth as possible, but they didn't suit him. He was more used to the easy casualness of combat fatigues, and it showed. Flynn was the same tall, gangling sort, with a deceptively honest face. A quiet, retiring sort in the field, he tended to fade into the background when working, a useful trait when people were firing guns all around you.

His private life was another matter entirely.

"Looking good, Toby," said Hazel cheerfully, poking a playful finger into his more than ample stomach. "Lost a few pounds, have we?"

"I wish," said Toby. "Ever since I allowed myself to be promoted to management, I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk instead of getting out in the field where I belong."

"Leave it out," said Flynn calmly. "You used to spend all your time in the field whingeing and grousing about all the comforts you were missing."

Toby glared at him. "Straight speaking like that is why you're still a cameraman, while I am now management. And don't contradict me again in public or I'll have someone in accounting take a really close look at your expense claims for last year."

"Bully," said Flynn.

"You're looking very smart, Toby," Owen said quickly before they could fall into their usual bickering. "Right on the cutting edge of fashion."

"Don't you start," said Toby. "I know what I look like. Why do you think I always wore fatigues in the past? Every time I wear something good, I look like I stole it."

"So what's management doing here?" said Hazel. "Parliament planning something special, is it? Something perhaps we ought to know about?"

"Right," said Owen. "What do you know that we don't?"

"Volumes," said Toby airily. "But for once I'm as much in the dark as you. I'm really only here because I felt a desperate need to get out in the real world for a while. I've been feeling really bored just lately, to tell you the truth. It's all so different these days. My work with Flynn during the rebellion has already been hailed as classic material, and at any given time it's a safe bet that somewhere some station is still running it. The public can't get enough of it. The royalties are coming in faster than even I can spend them. So much money that even the company accountants can't hide it all. Flynn and I need never work again if we don't want to. But…"

"Yeah?" said Hazel.

"But we're too young to retire," said Flynn. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"Right," said Toby. "And I can't help being haunted by the horrible suspicion that perhaps I've already done my life's best work. That everything I do from now on is bound to be second best. That's a hell of a thing to feel at my age. I need a real story, something I can get my teeth into. Something that matters."

"We are rebuilding a whole Empire pretty much from the ground up," said Owen. "Our whole political and social structure is changing day by day. I can't believe you can't find a story worth covering."

"Oh, there's no shortage of news. History in the making and all that. But it's all so bloody worthy and open and honest and dull. Where's the fun in that? Where's the drama? Even the villains are second-rate nowadays."

"No," said Owen. "I wouldn't say that. Valentine Wolfe is still out there somewhere."

"Ah, yes," said Toby. "I'd heard you'd had another run-in with him. I'm looking forward to hearing your report on that. At least you two are still around, making waves. Everyone else has pretty much disappeared. Jack Random is too busy playing politics to get into any real trouble, and Ruby Journey rarely leaves her house these days. Though word has it they may be making an appearance here today. Maybe they've heard something. God, I've got some great footage of the four of you in action during the rebellion, stuff that never saw the light of day. Maybe when we're all safely dead…"

"Yeah," said Hazel. "Maybe. But until then I think some secrets should stay hidden. People don't need to know everything that went on."

There was a certain amount of shared nodding. Nobody mentioned the fake Young Jack Random, who'd turned out to be a cyborg working for the rogue AIs of Shub, but they all knew they were thinking of the moment when Flynn's camera had caught the machine's unmasking. And there were other, darker, secrets too. The rebellion hadn't been nearly as straightforward as most people thought.

"So," said Toby briskly, breaking the awkward moment, "have either of you thought any more about my offer to make official documentaries of your lives? You don't have to worry about the writing; we have people for that. Just talk into a recorder, and we'll arrange the material and dig up footage to go with it. We can fake some linking material to cover the areas you don't want to talk about. All you'll have to do is narrate over the final footage. Easy money. Get it while it's going; who knows how much longer people are going to stay interested in you?"

"The sooner everyone loses interest in us, the better," said Hazel. "No biographies, Toby. We have little enough privacy as it is. Besides, most of my life story isn't suitable for a mass audience anyway."

"I can quite believe that," said Owen. "Let us change the subject rapidly. How's your life, Toby? Doing anything interesting?"

"Him?" Flynn sniffed loudly. "He doesn't have a life outside of his work. First in, last out, and takes work home with him. Typical management. I work the union-approved hours only, and once I clock out, I don't even think about work again till I clock on in the morning. You should have stayed a working grunt like me, boss. Far less pressure."

"You never did have any ambition," said Toby.

"Damn right, and proud of it. Ambition just gets you into trouble, and takes over your life. Which is why you have bags under your eyes and incipient ulcers, and I have a wonderful new lover in my life." Flynn beamed at Owen and Hazel. "You really must come around and meet him sometime. His name's Clarence, Clarence DuBois. Works as a researcher for the MP John Avon, one of the few marginally honest Members in Parliament. My Clarence does all the real work, of course, so Avon can look good on the floor of the House, but that's the way of the world for you. He's very handsome and a marvelous cook. The things he can do with a fresh joint and a few vegetables. Trouble is, he has size-twelve feet, and you wouldn't believe the problems we've been having trying to find stiletto heels that will fit him."

"Love seems to agree with you," said Hazel. "It's made you positively chatty."

"Don't I know it," said Toby. "I've been hearing about bloody Clarence for weeks." He grinned maliciously at Owen and Hazel. "And how are you two lovebirds getting on, hmm?"

"If you find out, let me know," said Owen.

"We're taking things day by day," said Hazel firmly. "How about you, Toby? Anyone special on the horizon?"

"I have been considering a Clan marriage just lately," Toby admitted reluctantly. "On the grounds that I'm not getting any younger, and my Family's been putting the pressure on about where the next generation of the Family's going to come from. With Uncle Gregor forced into hiding, Grace an avowed old maid, and Evangeline disowning the Family, the line pretty much ends with me. But who'd marry a Shreck? Thanks to dear Uncle Gregor and his appalling ways, the Family name has become mud in all the circles that matter."

"Now, now, none of that, boss," Flynn said firmly. "You're Toby the troubador, rich and famous journalist of note, not just a Shreck. Work is all very well, but in the end there's no substitute for getting out and meeting a nice girl. Or boy. Or whatever."

Owen was so busy watching Toby glow bright red with embarrassment that he didn't notice the approaching young aristo till the man was practically on top of him. Hazel noticed. It took a lot to distract Hazel. She tapped Owen surreptitiously on the arm with one hand, while the other fell to the gun on her hip. Owen turned unhurriedly and stopped the approaching aristo in his tracks with a steady gaze and a raised eyebrow. The young man bowed formally, keeping his hand well away from the sword at his side. He was dressed well but unimaginively, his long metallic hair already out of fashion. His blandly handsome face was studiously unreadable.

"Sir Deathstalker, my apologies for imposing on you, but there is someone nearby desires to make your acquaintance."

"Then that makes him pretty much unique in this company," Owen said easily. "Who might this someone be?"

"It is the lady Constance Wolfe. She wishes to speak with you urgently, on a matter of some importance to you both. May I lead you to her?"

Hazel frowned. "Constance Wolfe? Don't think I know her. What relation is she to Valentine?"

"Technically speaking, she's his mother," said Owen, letting the aristo wait. "She married Valentine's father, Jacob, late in his life. With Valentine on the run, Daniel missing, and Stephanie discredited, Constance runs Clan Wolfe these days. I've never met the woman; can't think what we might have in common. Still, I'd better go see what she wants. Never know when you might learn something useful."

"Watch your back," said Hazel. "She's still a Wolfe."

Owen grinned, nodded goodbye to Toby and Flynn, and allowed the increasingly impatient young aristo to lead him through the crowd to where Constance Wolfe stood waiting. As always she was surrounded by male admirers, from the highest in Society to the merely very rich. Constance had only just entered her twenties but was already a breathtaking beauty, on a world noted for its beautiful women. She was tall and blond, with the body and grace of a goddess, but for all the cheerful chatter around her, her perfect face remained cool and unresponsive, her occasional smile merely a matter of form. She looked up as Owen approached, and he thought for a moment he saw something very like relief in her deep blue eyes as she made her excuses to her admirers and drifted forward to meet him.

Owen bowed, and she curtsied, and then they stood for a moment looking at each other. Without turning her head, Constance dismissed her messenger with a brief wave of the hand. He bowed stiffly and moved reluctantly away to join the small army of admirers, who immediately began a quiet but animated discussion, while glaring openly at Owen. He chose to ignore them, knowing that would irritate them the most. Constance sighed.

"That was Percy Furey. He adores me, and I take advantage of it disgracefully. But then so many men have declared their undying love for me since my Jacob died that I find it hard to take any of them seriously. When you're as rich and well appointed as I am, it's amazing how adorable one becomes. I have only ever loved one man, my dear Jacob, and his death has not changed that. But a woman alone cannot hope to survive long in this changing Empire without powerful friends and supporters, so I let them cluster around me, and reward them with the occasional smile or encouraging nod. As long as they still think they have a chance with me, they'll make my enemies theirs, and thus I have a certain amount of security, if not safety. I trust I don't shock you with my frankness, sir Deathstalker?"

"Not at all," said Owen, charmed in spite of himself. "Such honesty is refreshing in this day and age. Perhaps you could continue the openness and explain precisely what I can do for you. I confess I'm not entirely sure what you might have in common with a man who's sworn to kill your son."

"Valentine? Kill the degenerate, with my blessings. He brings shame to the House of Wolfe and always has. I have reason to believe he murdered his own father."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "Now, that I hadn't heard. Though I can't say it surprises me. I've always considered Valentine capable of anything."

"I am the Wolfe these days," said Constance. "Even though I'm only a member of the Family by marriage. There is no one else. But it's hard to be the head of a largely discredited Clan. My people are still loyal, as much to me personally as to the Family, but how long they will hold out in the face of ever increasing pressure and bribes I don't know. I need your help, sir Deathstalker."

"In what way?" said Owen. "You must know I'm not exactly popular among the powers that be. What influence I have is strictly limited. And if all you want is a bodyguard, allow me to point out that there are any number of excellent fighters looking for work now the rebellion's over."

"No, that isn't what I want from you." Constance frowned and shook her head slowly. "This isn't easy for me, sir Deathstalker, so please… make allowances for me, and permit me to approach this in my own way."

"Of course. But please, call me Owen. I've never been much of a one for the formalities."

Constance smiled briefly. "So I've heard. Very well. It will make things simpler. And you must call me Constance." She turned away for a moment, composing her thoughts, and then turned back, her face quietly determined. "My life… has not gone the way I thought it would. You can understand that feeling, I'm sure. When I married Jacob Wolfe, I thought my life's path was set out before me. I'd have children by Jacob, raise them for him, and walk by his side all my days. And then he was dead, murdered, and my new Family was rocked by one blow after another, and I… was left alone. I had to take charge of my own life, something I'd never done before, and had no training for. But it's amazing what you can do when you have to. I learned by doing. And I grew up fast, because the alternatives were poverty or death, and quite possibly both. It made me stronger. It also made me hard, ruthless, and someone I'm not always sure I approve of. You see, Owen, we have a lot in common, after all. That's why I want you to marry me."

Owen stared at her. He was sure his mouth was hanging open, but he didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. Whatever he'd been expecting when he strolled so casually over to join Constance, this sure as hell wasn't it. The impulse to turn and run and lose himself in the crowd was almost overpowering, but he fought it down. Apart from shockingly bad manners, it wouldn't do for word to get around that he ran from anything. He managed to force his mouth closed and swallowed hard.

"Why me?" he said finally, and just a little plaintively.

Constance shrugged. "It's clear I must marry someone, and after much thought I've decided you are the best choice. We have much in common, we're both of old, established bloodlines, and I need someone untouched by the evil and corruption that has swallowed up so much of our class. I need someone I can trust. My position as head of Clan Wolfe is… precarious, and with my Jacob gone, I see no reason to remain in a Family I no longer have any stake in. It wouldn't be a love match, I know, but we both have a duty to marry well and continue our lines. We would make a strong alliance, Owen. You have made your Family name honorable again. I would be proud to be a Deathstalker."

She stopped talking and looked at him expectantly, and for once in his life Owen didn't have the faintest idea what to say. He thought hard. "I knew Jacob Wolfe," he said finally. "My father had… dealings with him. As I recall, he didn't think much of me."

Constance smiled. "Jacob didn't think much of anyone. He was a hard man. He had to be. But I knew another Jacob, the side of him he never dared show anyone else, not even his children. Perhaps especially not them. He was strong and steadfast, and he stood up for what he believed in. A lot like you, Owen."

"Hold on," said Owen, raising both hands defensively. "If there's one thing we should both be certain of, it's that I am not in any way like Jacob Wolfe. I never wanted to be a warrior. I was a quiet scholar, and perfectly happy to be so, until Lionstone outlawed me. I was dragged into the rebellion, kicking and screaming all the way."

"Then the more honor to you that you achieved so much with such disadvantages," said Constance demurely. "But now the rebellion is over, what are you going to do with your life? You can't go back to being a simple scholar, not after all you've seen and done. The butterfly cannot become a caterpillar again. And while bounty hunting no doubt fills a present need in you, it's not a profession to build a life on. Like it or not, you have become a symbol to many people, and they're looking to you to provide leadership. Which means you're going to have to enter politics. Otherwise, you could win the battle but lose the war. Surely you didn't go through all you did just to see Lionstone replaced by something even worse?"

"No," said Owen. "No, I didn't. But I'm not interested in power for myself. Never have been."

"The best kind of politician," said Constance. "It's the ones who want power you have to watch out for. This is a matter of duty, Owen, not desire. The Empire needs you."

"I've heard that so many times," said Owen. "From so many people. But they all had very different ideas as to what I should do once I came to power. I always thought I'd be free of all that, once the rebellion was over and I'd made it clear I had no interest in the crown or the Throne. I thought I'd be free to turn my back on all the blood and death and run my own life again. I should have known better. Duty will ride on my shoulders till the day I die, like the Old Man of the Sea, who once picked up can never be put down."

"Or the red shoes," said Constance, nodding. "They'll make you a great dancer, but once you put them on, you can never take them off, and you can't stop dancing. When I first heard that story, I decided that if that ever happened to me, I'd just have to dance as beautifully as I could. So that I'd be remembered for what I did rather than the curse that drove me. Be a politician, Owen. Be a statesman. Make something new and marvelous of yourself. I can advise you, guide you, introduce you to the right people. We'd make a good partnership."

"There's more to this than your admiration for me, or your need to be free of Clan Wolfe," said Owen suddenly. "You're afraid of something. Something specific. What?"

"Very good, Owen. You're as sharp as everyone says. Blue Block has become the real power that the Clans answer to. They talk, and everyone listens. They make suggestions, and everyone rushes to follow them. But I don't trust Blue Block. I don't trust their motives. I want to be free of them. I want the Families to be free of them. But thanks to you they're frightened and divided. The Clans need a hero to gather behind. And even after everything you've done, they'd accept you. They understand your argument was always with Lionstone rather than the Clans. They respect vendetta. And they've always understood ambition. After all, you were born and raised an aristocrat, just like them."

"No!" said Owen sharply. "I'm nothing like them. I fought to bring down not just Lionstone, but also the order that supported her. I saw the horrors and evils the Families were responsible for. I saw the awful lives the many lived so the few could sprawl in luxury."

"You changed. So can they. Help them. Remake them into what they could be, should be—a guiding force to run the Empire fairly, and make it strong and secure again."

"I don't know, Constance. It's not that simple. There are a hell of a lot of people in positions of power and influence these days who think the only good aristo is a dead aristo."

"You could change that. Owen, the aristocracy has too much potential for good to just let it disappear. We are an inheritance of the best, going back centuries. Generations of breeding and gengineering for perfection. You're the last of the Deathstalkers. Do you want your bloodline to die with you? If not, you must marry another aristocrat, to maintain your Family legacy. Anything less would be a betrayal of your Clan." She stopped and looked searchingly at Owen. "Separately, we are both people of great potential. Together, our Family could become unbeatable."

Owen shook his head slowly. "Constance… I don't know you. I don't love you."

She smiled. "We'll come to know each other. I like what I've heard of you. I think we'd be… compatible."

"Constance, I always thought that when the time came, I'd marry for love or not at all. I want a marriage, not a business merger."

"I can't promise you love, Owen. I don't know that I'll ever love again. But my match was an arranged marriage, and Jacob was a stranger to me when we began as man and wife. We don't have to love each other to be supportive partners and allies, but… perhaps love will come later." She fixed him with a thoughtful eye, head cocked slightly to one side. "Or is there already a love in your life? There's been endless speculation in the media and in Society about your relationship with the d'Ark woman. A… formidable figure. No one doubts that she's a hero of the rebellion, but you must realize, you could never marry her. You are from different worlds and always would be. And despite what the songs might say, love doesn't conquer all."

"Hazel… never would say she loved me." Owen stumbled on, not sure what he was going to say until he said it. "We've been as close as two people can be, fought side by side against everything the Empire could throw at us, faced death and worse together… but she never once said she loved me."

"I can give you children," said Constance. "Raise them to be part of the Deathstalker Clan. Could she do that for you? Would she?"

"No," said Owen. "I don't think she would. Very well, Constance, a marriage shall be arranged between us. You set everything in motion; I've been away for so long I'm rather out of touch with the formalities involved."

"Of course," said Constance. "I'll take care of everything. You may kiss me now if you wish."

She came into his arms and turned her mouth up to him. It was a very polite, almost diffident kiss, but Owen could feel his whole life changing with that touch, as he committed himself to a future he could barely see or grasp. A chapter in his life was ending here, and something new beginning. He just hoped that for once he'd made the right decision. They broke apart and looked into each other's eyes for a moment, Owen's hands resting easily on Constance's hips. She met his gaze freely, open and trusting, binding herself to him. But there wasn't an ounce of love there, and both of them knew it. Constance stepped back, and Owen's hands fell to his sides. She smiled at him, curtsied, and moved off into the crowd, leaving Owen standing alone. He could see people all around him regarding him with new interest, but for the moment all he could think of was how he was going to break the news to Hazel d'Ark.

Hazel had found the bar, a quiet, set-apart area with gleaming tiles, rows of interesting-looking bottles, and a long wooden counter. She'd also found Jack Random and Ruby Journey. The three of them were drinking together in companionable silence. None of them looked particularly happy. Jack was wearing a simple blue jumpsuit that showed off his newly youthful figure to its best advantage. He'd been given all kinds of medals, but he never wore them. Ruby was wearing her usual black leathers under white furs. She said it helped remind her of who she was. However, she was also wearing so much gold and silver and jewelery, on her arms and wrists and around her neck, that she couldn't make the smallest movement without it all clattering and chiming together. They were all drinking the strongest brandy that the bar had to offer. They had a bottle each, and they weren't bothering with glasses. The bartender looked distinctly scandalized at such cavalier treatment of a good brandy, but had the good sense and survival instincts to keep his mouth firmly shut.

"One of the drawbacks to our Maze-improved bodies," said Jack sadly, "is that it takes a hell of a lot of booze to make a dent in them. But facing this wondrous new Empire we helped to create is too awful a task to contemplate entirely sober."

"Right," said Ruby. "Of course, it helps that we can afford the very best booze now. Can't honestly say that it tastes that much better from the rotgut I used to drink, though."

"You have no palate," said Jack.

"Yes, I have," said Ruby. "I speak perfectly clearly."

Hazel could see an argument starting and moved quickly to head it off. "So, what have you guys been doing while Owen and I were off chasing the bad guys? Keeping busy?"

"Off and on," said Jack Random. "Since I brokered the deal that defanged the aristocracy and brought about their surrender, everyone and his brother comes running to me every time an aristo steps out of line. Like there's anything I can do about it, except pass their complaints on to Parliament. I have my own problems, trying to set up a new political system practically single-handed. People expect so much of me. My legend has been expanded by the rebellion to almost inhuman proportions. People were confused by the two Jack Randoms, so they've decided there must only have been one, and attributed everything to me. Along with a whole lot of complete fiction. No one sees me anymore, the real me—just the damned legend. They think I can do anything, solve any problem, and then have the nerve to get angry when I can't." He took a long swallow from his bottle. "Of course, my legend's nothing compared to Ruby's. I've known people to cross themselves when they see her coming."

"And quite right too," said Ruby briskly. "Half the time I don't even have to pay for things anymore. I just walk into a place, point at what I want, look a bit severe, and they fall over themselves rushing to give it to me as a gift. I'll bet we won't even have to pay for these drinks. Probably make the barman wet himself with a single look."

"I'll take your word for it," said Hazel hastily. She looked across to where Owen was talking with Constance Wolfe, and scowled. "Wonder what he's doing with Pretty Miss Perfect? I don't like him talking with other aristos. They're a bad influence on him. And he's always been easy to talk into things."

"You should know," said Ruby. "What's the matter, afraid they'll woo him away from you?"

Hazel snorted. "Not after everything we've been through together. There's a bond between us that's stronger than anything they could ever understand."

"Yeah," said Ruby. "But have you bedded him yet?"

"Mind your own business!"

"Thought not."

"It would… mean too much to him," said Hazel. "He'd take it too seriously. He'd start talking about relationships and trust and building a life together, and I'm not ready for that kind of shit."

"Can't say I can see a time when you ever would be," said Jack.

"And you can shut up as well."

"Better get to it soon, girl," said Ruby calmly. "Or someone else'll have him. Wouldn't mind a bash at him myself. Good build. Nice ass. And he's got that innocent, little-boy-lost look that always sets my fingers itching."

"You keep your hands to yourself, Ruby Journey," said Hazel firmly. "Anyone touches him but me, and I'll put them in traction for a month."

"Yeah, but do you love the man or not?" Ruby insisted.

"We have… an understanding."

"Understandings won't keep you warm in the early hours of the morning. You're just frightened of commitment, Hazel. Always have been."

"That's good, coming from someone who's never had a permanent relationship with anyone in her life!"

"We're not talking about me," said Ruby calmly. "We're talking about you. And Owen. He isn't going to hang around forever, you know. The war brought you together, but that's over. He's the best thing that ever happened to you, Hazel d'Ark, and you'd be a damned fool to let him get away. Right, Jack?"

"Don't look at me," he said. "I'm still trying to work out what our relationship is. Besides, I've been married seven times, under various names, and none of them worked out. Being a professional rebel took up a lot of my life. There wasn't always room left for anyone else, no matter how I felt about them."

"But your job's over now," said Hazel.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," said Jack. He started to raise his bottle to his mouth, and then stopped and put it down again. "I was the man who fought the System. Any System. I defined myself, who and what and why I was, in relation to Lionstone and her corrupt Empire. Now they're both gone, I don't know what to do with myself that matters a damn."

"You'll just have to learn a new kind of war," said Ruby. "It's called politics."

"I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks," said Jack. "Even if I have a new young body. I spent my whole life turning myself into a particular kind of man, only to discover there's no need for that kind of man anymore. Instead, there's just meetings and committees and endless bloody compromises, all the time trying to keep old enemies from each other's throats. And all the time wondering if any of it really matters…" He sighed deeply. "I suppose I could put myself forward as a bounty hunter, like you and Owen, but I can't escape the feeling that everything here will come crashing down in ruins if I'm not here to oversee the change. They trust me, you see. I'm the legendary professional rebel. The man who finally gave them their freedom. How can I tell them that their everyday little problems bore the shit out of me?"

"Know what you mean," said Ruby, nodding sagely. "Know what you mean. Success ruined us. I mean, look at me. Finally I'm as rich as I always dreamed of being. Maybe even more so—hell, I can't even keep track of it all these days. Got accountants for that. They send me statements, but I can't make heads or tails of them. I never knew there were numbers that big. I track down rich criminals, find where they've hidden their loot, confiscate it, and then hand it over to Parliament, minus my hefty commission. Not that I do much of the actual work myself, of course—got a whole bunch of cyberats working for me. They locate the funds and the bastard's location, and then I just bash my way in there and arrest the bad guy. They rarely put up much of a fight once I'm past their defenses. Hell, most of them burst into tears when they see me walk in."

"Hold everything," said Jack. "Arrest them? Since when did you ever bother with arresting people?"

"Oh, all right, then. I break in and kill the bad guys, if you insist on being exact. They'd only be hanged by the war trials anyway, and I can't be bothered with the paperwork. Point is, I am now rolling in money. More than even I can spend in a lifetime. Got a big house, servants, all the latest comforts and luxuries. All the things I always thought I wanted. But you can get tired of things real quickly. They're just toys, when you get right down to it. Even shouting at the servants has lost its charm. There's no fun in intimidating someone when you know you're paying them to be intimidated. And on top of all that, I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm getting soft and losing my edge. There's always someone waiting in the wings to take it all away from you."

"Yeah," said Jack heavily. "The trouble with fulfilling all your dreams is that eventually you wake up to reality."

"Oh, very profound," said Ruby. "Very deep. What the hell does that mean?"

Jack shrugged. "Damned if I know. But it sounded good there for a moment." He looked across the crowded Chamber at Owen. "What's he doing, talking to that Wolfe woman?"

"Maybe she's got some lead on where we can find Valentine," said Hazel.

"Maybe," said Jack. "But I wouldn't trust anything that came from that direction. Last I heard, Constance Wolfe was in bed with the Chojiros. Bad Family. Bad people."

Hazel looked at him thoughtfully. "There was something in your voice just then, when you said Chojiro. Something cold… and angry. What connection do you have with the Chojiros?"

"Yeah," said Ruby. "This isn't the first time I've heard you put them down. What makes the Chojiros so much worse than all the other aristocratic scumbags?"

Jack stared at the bottle before him so he wouldn't have to look at Ruby or Hazel. "My mother was a Chojiro," he said quietly. "They threw her out and cut her off without a penny, just because she married the man she loved rather than the man they chose for her. They were all bastards then, and they're bastards now. Never trust a Chojiro."

"You made a deal with them fast enough," said Ruby. "You sold out every principle you ever had when you saved the aristos' asses."

"It was necessary," said Jack. "It took the Families and their private armies out of the war. With them out of the loop, millions lived who might otherwise have died. Not a bad bargain. What are a few principles compared to people's lives?"

"Even if it means most of the guilty go unpunished for generations of crimes against Humanity?"

Jack turned and glared at her. "That's pretty sophisticated talk from a killer for hire! When did you ever care about Humanity? When did you ever have any principles?"

"Never," said Ruby. "And I never pretended otherwise. But I might have felt differently in time. I believed in you, Jack. And then you turned out to be just like everyone else."

It was an old argument, with no end in sight. Hazel turned away and let them get on with it. She looked out across the Chamber, and the crowd seemed to part before her just in time for her to see Owen take Constance Wolfe into his arms and kiss her.

Finlay Campbell, once again the height of fashion, moved smoothly through the packed crowd, like a shark floating on the currents, basking in a sea of prey. His crushed velvet cutaway frock coat was superbly tailored, snug as a second skin, an electric blue so bright it was almost painful on the eyes. He wore thigh-length bruised-leather boots over canary yellow leggings, and wore a rose red cravat at his throat, tied just untidily enough to show he'd done it himself. Such details were important. He wore a pair of pince-nez he didn't need, and his long hair was tied back in a single complex plait. Once such mastery of fashion, the epitomie of the fop and dandy, would have won him admiring glances from one and all, and perhaps even a smattering of applause as he passed. But that was long ago, in another lifetime.

Finlay had changed during his years as a rebel. His once youthful face was now thin and drawn, with heavy lines at the mouth and eyes. The color had faded from his hair, till it was almost white. He was only in his late twenties, but looked more than ten years older. Although he tried hard, he walked more like a soldier than a man of leisure, and his eyes were frighteningly cold. He looked what he was, hard-worn and dangerous, and all his pretty clothes looked only like a clown's costume on a killer. People moved quickly to get out of his way, even when he indicated he might like to talk to them. Although he was no longer the Campbell, and leader of his Clan, in many ways he had become his late father, that feared and dangerous man—a thought that never failed to disturb Finlay.

His failure to fit in worried him. He'd thought he could just adopt his old dandy persona again, and everyone would accept him as they always had. But he had changed too much, lost his youth and innocence on too many assassination runs for the underground, and he couldn't go back. Besides, he found the persona so much of an effort these days; the petty politics of Parliament and its hangers-on were nothing compared to the life-and-death struggles of the rebellion. Then everything he did mattered, had made a difference. Now he was just another minor hero, home from the wars, no more important than a thousand others.

Just another killer pensioned off too soon.

In the past he'd always been able to slake his need for blood and excitement in the Arenas, as the undefeated champion, the Masked Gladiator. But he'd had to give up that persona when he'd been forced to flee Society and join his love, Evangeline, in the clone and esper underground. His mentor, the original Masked Gladiator, had taken up the role again in Finlay's absence, so no one would make a connection between the missing Campbell and the missing Gladiator. But the original Masked Gladiator had died during the rebellion, his bloody end caught live by Flynn's camera as the esper Julian Skye took a vicious revenge for his brother Auric's death in the Arena. And so that role was lost to Finlay forever. Even worse. Auric Skye had actually died at Finlay's hand, during his time under the Mask. He could never tell Julian that. It would have destroyed their friendship forever.

And so the Arenas were banned to Finlay. He couldn't even fight as himself without the Mask. His style would soon be recognized by the aficionados, and his secret would be out. Julian would hear, and know he'd killed an innocent man. So Finlay put on the fine clothes again and walked in Society, trying to be the diplomat and ambassador for the clone and esper undergrounds that he had reluctantly agreed to be. Because they needed him. Or at least, because Evangeline had convinced him they needed him. Sometimes he found himself wondering whether she might have got him his position through her own influence in the undergrounds, just to keep him busy, and make him feel… useful. He couldn't ask her. She was always busy with her own work, struggling to help the clone underground to take its place above ground as part of the new political scene. It was important work. Sometimes he didn't see her for days. The one time in his life when he really needed her comfort, and she wasn't even there.

It was a petty thought, and he did his best to disown it.

He didn't know that Evangeline had seen the growing desperation in his eyes, and arranged as much work for him as she could, because she was afraid he might kill himself if he didn't have a direction, a purpose in his life. She didn't know he still dreamed of the bulging veins in his wrists, and the sharp edge of a knife, or of a rope noose hanging in the moonlight, and how easy it would be to put it all behind him and find peace at last.

Finlay saw Owen Deathstalker standing alone for the moment, and an old anger stirred in him. It wasn't just love that kept him going; there was also an unconsummated hatred that still burned in his heart. He strode over to the Deathstalker, who turned and bowed formally. Finlay made himself bow in return. The forms had to be observed. Owen and Finlay might have fought on the same side in the rebellion, but they'd never had that much in common as people. Owen thought Finlay was a mad dog killer who might slip his leash at any time, and turn on friend as well as foe, and Finlay thought Owen was a dangerous amateur who thought too much. In public they were very polite with each other. Usually.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Deathstalker."

"Join the queue," Owen said calmly. "What's your problem, Campbell?"

"Valentine Wolfe. I've only just found out you knew where he was and didn't tell me. He destroyed my Family, damn it."

"Valentine destroyed a lot of people's families. That's why Parliament sent me after him. If you were as well connected as you're supposed to be, you'd have heard it too. I can't help it if you've been a little… preoccupied lately."

"Don't patronize me, Deathstalker!"

"And don't you get haughty with me, Campbell. If anything, I have a better claim on Valentine than you do. He destroyed my whole planet."

"I will kill him," said Finlay. "And anyone else who gets in my way. Even the almighty Owen Deathstalker."

Owen smiled. "You could try," he said politely, and then turned and walked unhurriedly away. Finlay watched him go, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. And then someone put a hand on his arm, and he spun furiously around, only to find Evangeline Shreck standing there beside him, smiling. The rage left him in a moment as he smiled back at her.

"I got back early," said Evangeline, taking his hands in hers. "Thought I'd surprise you. And from the look of you, I'd say I got here not a moment too soon. Who's upset you this time?"

"Oh, just the Deathstalker," said Finlay, calm again, all the darkness swept away by the sunshine of her smile and the glory of her eyes. He took her in his arms, as though they could force out all the things that separated them by the depth of their love. And maybe they could at that. After a long while they released each other, and stepped back to get a good look at each other.

"God, you look lovely," said Finlay, and she did. Evangeline was wearing a long dress of sparkling silver, cut away at one shoulder to show off her delicate, waif-like bone structure, and her dark hair was cut short in defiance of the current fashion. Her face was high-boned, wide-eyed, vulnerable but determined, and just looking at her again made Finlay all the more determined to defend her from all the dangers and cruelties in the world. She was his reason for living, the blood that flowed in his veins, the heart that beat in his breast only for her. Sometimes when she was away, he forgot that, but now she was back and he was alive and awake again. He wanted to rush out and slay a couple of dragons just so he could lay them at her feet.

"You look… fashionable," said Evangeline. "If you were any more colorful, everyone else would appear to be in black and white."

"Just dressing the part," said Finlay. "Subtlety is out this season. Mind you, you should have seen some of the stuff I wore when I was pretending to be one of the secret masters of style, and had to be constantly on the cutting edge of fashion."

"I've seen holos. The images are irreversibly seared into my retinas. Now, what were you so mad about? Not that Robert is continuing as head of Clan Campbell instead of you, surely?"

"Oh, hell, no. Let him be the Campbell if he wants. He'll do a much better job than I ever could. No, it's a new world for the Families now, and he's far better suited to guide the Clan through it. Good man, Robert. It helps that he's one of the few people who fought for the Empire to still be considered a hero. Last man to leave his ship, defending her to the last against overwhelming odds… Maybe he can use that image to rebuild the Family, make it what it was before Valentine destroyed it."

Evangeline nodded slowly as she heard the sudden venom in Finlay's voice when he named his enemy. "So that's why you were so mad at Owen. Save your anger for your real enemies, dear. You'll get your chance at Valentine."

Finlay forced a smile. "Let's talk of happier things. What brings you back so unexpectedly?"

"My mission turned out to be a bust. It was all over before I got there—agreements signed, everybody happy. It happens that way sometimes. So here I am. Glad to see me?"

"Let me get you out of this madhouse and home again, and I'll show you how glad I am," growled Finlay, pulling her close again.

Their shared laughter was a moment of real warmth in the artificial chill of polite company.

Not far away, Robert Campbell stood watching them. He wore his new Captain's uniform with a certain stiffness. The high mortality rate in the Imperial Navy had meant sudden and rapid promotions for the few worthy survivors, and Robert wasn't used to his new position yet. He felt somewhat like a pretender, and kept expecting someone to burst in and say it was all a ghastly mistake, and would he please return the uniform at once, because the real captain was waiting for it.

He smiled slightly at the familiar thought, a tall, handsome man with steady eyes and close-cropped hair. Both hair and face had been burned away in the fires that swept the bridge of the beseiged Endurance. He'd got away in an escape pod, but it had taken long sessions in a regeneration tank to undo the damage to his face, and his hair was only now starting to grow out again. He thought the new look made him appear older, more responsible, and he'd take every bit of help he could get. His new command was the Elemental, one of the few E-class starcruisers to survive the rebellion, and he was eager to officially take charge of her and see what she could do. But… as the Campbell and head of his Clan, he was obliged to spend a certain amount of time on Golgotha, looking out for his Family's interests first. And that meant hobnobbing with the right people at Parliament, making the necessary connections and deals to ensure his people wouldn't be bothered or harassed while he was away on duty aboard his ship. One day he'd have to make the choice between his Family's needs and his military career, but that was… one day.

His cousin Finlay was actually looking quite civilized, now that Evangeline had arrived to calm him down. One day that man was going to run wild, and even Evangeline wouldn't be able to stop him. And then there'd be blood and death and a scandal no amount of influence could hope to clear up. Finlay was just a disaster waiting to happen. And as the Campbell and head of the Clan, Robert was going to have to decide what to do about that. Whether he should take… steps. He sighed gently and shook his head. Military training was fine for most things, but it was no help at all when it came to dealing with wild cards like Finlay Campbell. There was a sudden presence at his side.

"Don't worry about Finlay, boy. Better men than you have tried to deal with him, and they're all dead and cold in their graves while that bastard Finlay goes on untouched. There is no God."

Robert turned and smiled at Adrienne Campbell. "Then why did you marry him?"

"It was an arranged marriage, as well you know. My father arranged it. He never liked me. I'd divorce Finlay in a moment if it wasn't for the children. I don't suppose you could arrange a nice, quiet assassination for me, could you, dear? It would solve so many problems."

"Don't tempt me," said Robert. "Besides, who could we send against him? Owen Deathstalker? Kid Death?"

"Don't tempt me," said Adrienne. "No, let him live. If only because his death would upset Evangeline so much. I'm very fond of Evangeline, except for her appalling taste in men…"

They grinned at each other. Adrienne Campbell had a sharp, fiercely determined face under a mop of curly golden hair that was the only angelic thing about her. Regarded by all as the most ferocious intriguer in current politics, and the most dangerous, Adrienne had few real friends, and so many enemies there was a waiting list to join. Hardworking, frighteningly intelligent, and too damned honest for her own good, while not actually elected to any official position, Adrienne represented a number of very influential pressure groups, and could be relied on to have an acerbic opinion about absolutely anything.

"So, how are you settling in as Captain?" said Adrienne.

"Slow but steady. It helps that the crew are familiar with my record, and know I earned my position through my abilities rather than my sudden fame. It's been quite a jump from Navigation officer to Captain, but it's not like I'm taking anyone else's place. The Fleet's desperately short of experienced officers. If only we were short of enemies…"

"Now, don't you start," said Adrienne firmly. "I hear that every day in Parliament. There just isn't the money or the resources at present to build the Fleet up to what it used to be. The factories are running twenty-four-hour shifts just to produce the ships we need to keep supplies moving between the worlds, and people starving now have to take preference over possible future threats. The rebellion was long past necessary, but sometimes I can't help thinking we could have timed it better."

"It's the birth of a new order," said Robert. "And birth is always painful."

Adrienne sniffed. "Don't you quote propaganda to me, boy. I helped write most of it. Oh, hell, look who's coming over. As if I didn't have enough problems."

Robert looked around and hid a wince as he saw Finlay and Evangeline approaching. Evangeline looked friendly, and Finlay was doing his best. Robert sensed Adrienne seething at his elbow, and leaned down to murmur in her ear. "Take it easy. It won't kill you to be nice to him."

"Want to bet? Still, you and he should meet, Robert. I know you don't care much for each other, but you are Family. That still means something, even in these confused days."

"He ran away from the Family to join the rebels when the Clan needed him the most, leaving me to take over as the Campbell. A privilege I never expected and had no experience in."

"He had no choice. He had to follow his heart, and go where Evangeline went." She snorted suddenly. "I can't believe I'm actually defending him. Even if he did save my life once. Look, he never wanted to be the Campbell. He knew he'd make a mess of it. You were much better suited to the job. You've kept the Family alive when Finlay would have had them go down with all guns blazing. Accept what happened and move on. Try to mend some fences. These days we all need all the friends we can get."

The four came together in a small space that seemed to open up around them. Everyone in the vicinity recognized a potential flashpoint when they saw one forming, and prefered to put a little distance between them and whatever unpleasantness might occur. If only so they wouldn't get blood on their best clothes. Evangeline and Adrienne greeted each other cheerfully, with much clasping of hands and kissing of cheeks. Adrienne had never begrudged Finlay his mistresses, not as long as he continued to turn a blind eye to her many amours, and had been delighted when he finally chose someone she could approve of. The two women had developed strong links during their shared time in the underground, and discussed Finlay scandalously behind his back. Finlay and Robert nodded formally to each other, faces utterly impassive, and then Finlay abruptly stuck out his hand. Robert shook it, after a moment's surprise, and the two men relaxed slightly.

"Congratulations on your new command," said Finlay. "First Campbell to make Captain in three hundred years."

"I'll do my best to do the Family honor," said Robert. "You're… looking very sharp, Finlay."

Finlay shrugged. "You want to play with the big boys, you have to dress the part. It's been a while since I fought my battles with sharp words and barbed bon mots rather than cold steel, but I think I'm getting the hang of it again. We've… been too distant, Robert. Friends and allies come and go, but Family is forever."

"You're the one who never had much time for the Family."

"I'm trying to change that."

Robert looked into Finlay's steady gaze and then nodded slightly. "You were the one who kept a distance. And I was too busy holding the Family together and serving in the military to search you out."

"I know that. I'm grateful for what you've done. We were on opposite sides during the rebellion, but that's all over now. We need to stand together, or our enemies will drag us down."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "And what enemies might we have in common, exactly?"

"People like Blue Block maybe. People who want to turn the clock back, make things the way they used to be again. You've no reason to love the old order. You suffered under it more than most. Blue Block stood by and did nothing to stop the Wolfes when they butchered our Clan."

"And my Letitia died on what should have been our wedding day. Murdered by the Shreck in the name of Family honor. While you stood by and did nothing to stop him."

"I was wrong," said Finlay. "I still believed in the Families then. In the honor I thought held us together. I had to learn I was wrong the hard way. But I didn't fight and bleed in the rebellion just to see the Families take control again behind a different mask. I'll do whatever I have to to stop them. Can I count on you to help? Parliament may not be much, but it's the only hope we have."

"I never thought of you as a politician, somehow," said Robert.

Finlay shrugged. "It's the new battlefield. And I had to learn a new form of fighting, or die of boredom. So, will you stand with me?"

"I'll think about it, and we'll talk further. See if we have as much in common as you think. If we do… I think I'd be proud to have the legendary warrior Finlay Campbell at my side."

"Same here," said Finlay, smiling for the first time. They shook hands again.

"God help us, they'll be bonding next," said Adrienne. "Getting drunk in disreputable bars and telling each other those jokes that only men think are funny."

"I think it's very sweet," Evangeline said firmly.

"Hello, Adrienne," said Finlay, putting on his best polite face and voice. "You're looking… very you."

"I suppose that's the nearest you'll ever get to a compliment," said Adrienne. "I see you're still using the same tailor. Did I hear he's got himself a new guide dog?"

"You're so sharp you'll cut yourself one of these days. You and Evangeline have a good gossip, have you?"

"I hear you're trying to get into mainstream politics, Finlay. One word of advice. Don't. I've no doubt you mean well, but the last thing we need is another enthusiastic amateur raising everyone's hackles and muddying the waters. Especially someone with your temper. You can't kill your opponents just because you're losing the debate. They have laws against that sort of thing now. Though admittedly that might add a little excitement to the budget debates… Look, Finlay, I know you, though I often wish I didn't. You're too soft-hearted for politics. It would mean too much to you. You couldn't bear to lose one argument so you could win another later. You get out of hand in this business, and I won't be able to save you. Nor will anyone else, for all your great exploits in the rebellion. Heroes are ten a penny these days."

"You're sounding very you as well, Addie," said Finlay. "One of these days you'll say something nice to me, and I may faint from the shock. I survived everything the Empire could throw at me, and the horrors of Haceldama. I think I can handle a few politicians. Don't worry, if I have to kill anyone, I'll be sure and do it when no one's looking."

"The trouble is, he means it," said Adrienne. "That's his idea of being diplomatic."

"In the meantime," said Finlay, "I want to see our children."

They all looked at him in surprise, including Evangeline. Adrienne shook her head slowly. "Finlay, you've never wanted to see the children. Not even when they were born. I have to remind you to send them birthday presents. They only know what you look like from watching the holos. And where the hell were you when Gregor Shreck was threatening to have them killed to get at you? Give me one good reason why I should let you anywhere near them!"

"I've been… feeling my mortality lately," said Finlay. "When I'm gone, all that will be left will be my reputation and my children. I look at what the news people and the docu-dramas have made of my past, and I don't recognize myself at all. That just leaves my children, and I'd like them at least to have some idea of who I really was. I know I've done… questionable things, but I always thought I had a good reason. In the past I was busy living two lives at once, and I told myself there was no room for children in either of them. They would only have got hurt. They were safer with you. Besides, I didn't know what to do with children. Not sure I do now. But I'd… like to try to get to know them now. If they'd like to see me…"

Adrienne was taken aback for a moment. In all their years of marriage, she'd never heard Finlay open up like that before. "I'll ask them," she said finally. "But it's up to them. I won't put in a word one way or another."

"That's all I ask," said Finlay.

The four of them talked a little more, but they didn't have enough in common for small talk, and they'd taken care of all their business. Eventually Adrienne and Robert made their excuses and moved off into the crowd, and Finlay and Evangeline were left together.

"We've never talked about… children," said Evangeline quietly. "Given the lives we were leading during the rebellion, it just wasn't possible. We were always racing off into danger and sudden death, never knowing for sure whether we'd live to see the morrow. And afterward… you never raised the subject."

"I've been thinking about a lot of things I never did before," said Finlay. "I never wanted children with Adrienne, but my father required it for the Family. Things are different now."

"I couldn't bring myself to raise the subject," said Evangeline, not looking at him. "I was always afraid you never said anything because I was just a clone. You're an aristocrat, but I'm not. Not really. Some would say I'm not really human. And even in our marvelous new order, the marriage of an aristocrat and a clone would be a scandal, their children an outrage. If anyone found out…"

"You're more human that most of the people I have to deal with," said Finlay. "You're worth a hundred of them. A thousand." She sank into his embrace, her face pressed against his shoulder so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. He knew they were there anyway, but carried on as though he didn't, his voice carefully steady. "I can't marry you, Evangeline. Not because you're a clone, but because divorcing Adrienne would distance me from people I need to be close to. Politics in our circles are still largely dictated by old Family connections, and my position is precarious enough as it is. But you are my love, my life—the only woman I've ever cared for. Of course we can have children, if that's what you want. People will make allowances. They always have."

Evangeline hugged him so tightly she thought she must be hurting him, but he never said anything. When she was sure her eyes were dry, she let go of him and stepped back. And then someone came and called Finlay away on urgent business, and Evangeline was left alone again. She watched him go with a brave little smile on her face, but inside, her thoughts were churning furiously. Before she could even think of starting a family with Finlay, there was a lot she had to sort out in her life, most of it things Finlay didn't know about, and must never know.

Finlay knew Evangeline had been cloned from a dead original, but he didn't know why. Gregor Shreck had loved his Evangeline as a man rather than a father, and finally murdered her in a fit of rage when she tried to run away. To cover up his crime, and have his daughter in his bed again, Gregor had the clone made in strictest secrecy, and she became the Evangeline that Finlay came to know and love. He rescued her from her father and helped her make a new life of her own. But he never knew just what he rescued her from, and Evangeline could never tell him. If he ever found out, he would murder Gregor, not giving a damn for the consequences. She couldn't let him do that. She wanted Gregor dead, wanted it with a deep, despairing sickness of the heart, but Finlay must never know. Because it would hurt him so much. And perhaps because, deep down, she feared he'd never feel the same way about her again once he knew the truth.

Besides, Gregor Shreck was a powerful and dangerous man, even if he had fallen from favor just lately. He surrounded himself with an army of private guards, and even Finlay Campbell couldn't take on a whole army single-handed.

She couldn't risk losing him. Not now, not after they'd gone through so much to get here.

Secrets. So many secrets between two people.

And there were more. Before Gregor had disappeared behind his private army and enough corrupt influence to keep even Parliament's hounds at bay, he'd contacted Evangeline to let her know he'd taken her best friend, Penny DeCarlo, as his prisoner. And that dear Penny would die in horrible agony if Evangeline didn't return to him. Finlay didn't know about that, either. She hadn't told him. Because once again he'd go rushing off to be the hero for her sake and get himself killed. So far she'd kept Gregor at bay by various strategems, but they'd mostly run out now. Soon she would have to find a way to rescue Penny that didn't involve Finlay, or go back to Gregor and hope to sort out some kind of deal. Either way had its dangers, but her time in the rebellion had hardened Evangeline. She was no longer the weak, helpless victim that Gregor remembered. And just maybe that was a weapon she could use against him.

Not far away, someone else was watching Finlay Campbell. The esper Julian Skye had been Finlay's friend and disciple ever since the Campbell rescued him from the torture cells of the Imperial interrogators. Julian still carried the scars, mental and physical, from the things that had been done to him, but he owed his life to Finlay, and dedicated that life to the Campbell's service. The Campbell didn't get a say in the matter. But now that Finlay had found a new life in politics, he didn't need a warrior at his side anymore. And Julian understood nothing of politics, and cared even less.

He was currently occupying himself by portraying himself in docudramas of his times during the rebellion. He'd never seen himself as an actor, but people had really liked watching him in the news footage Toby and Flynn had shot, and apparently that was enough to make you a star, if not an actor. He'd never be a major attraction, but he had an audience and a faithful following, and he made more than enough money to indulge his few vices. It helped that the memories he'd dictated to the screenwriters had been almost entirely fictional. The public wanted the legend, not the facts, and there was still so much of his past that he couldn't bring himself to talk about. Very definitely including the woman who was standing not so far away from him, that petite, dark-haired oriental beauty BB Chojiro.

He'd loved her once. Loved her, and she betrayed him to the Imperial torturers. Because he was a rebel, and because the BB in her name stood for Blue Block, the secret inner circle of young aristos conditioned to be loyal to the Families to the death and beyond. She still loved him, but she had to follow her conditioning. She had said that to him in the cell of the torturers.

But now Blue Block was running the Families for their own good. And BB Chojiro was the pleasant public face of that inner circle. She had come to Parliament, as usual, to stand quietly at the back to listen to all that was said. Everyone knew that when she spoke, she spoke as the voice of Blue Block, and everyone listened. If they knew what was good for them.

This was the first time Julian had dared to come to the Chamber. To be so close to BB Chojiro… Part of him still desperately wanted to kill her for what she'd done to him, for what had been done to him because of her. For the betrayal of everything he'd thought they had between them. And part of him wondered if even now he'd forget all that, forgive her everything, if she would just take him in her arms and kiss him and love him once again.

So, frightened, he stayed away. But now here he was, not ten feet away from her, and damned if he knew why. Perhaps it was just unfinished business, as simple as that. Either way, he had come to Parliament to see her and perhaps talk to her. And if he didn't kill her, he might just learn how to be free of her. If that was what he really wanted. Julian had to smile. He was so messed up in the head where BB Chojiro was concerned that it was either laugh or go mad.

She stood at ease among her advisers, smiling and listening and saying little. A tiny little doll of a woman in a bright scarlet kimono the exact shade of her lips. Dark, straight shoulder-length hair. Huge, dark, lustrous eyes. The most beautiful woman Julian had ever seen. He ached to hold her in his arms again, a physical need like a hunger or an addiction. To feel her lips on his, her warm breath in his mouth… And then maybe he'd kill her, or maybe he wouldn't. He didn't know. He hadn't decided yet.

Standing beside BB Chojiro, unnoticed by the obsessed Julian, stood Stephanie Wolfe, sister to Valentine, stepdaughter to Constance. Tall, blond, boyishly slim, brimming over with barely suppressed resentments. When her late father, Jacob, had been the Wolfe, the Clan had been one of the most powerful Families in the Empire. Then Jacob died and Valentine took over, and it all went to hell. Now Valentine was on the run, Jacob's dead body had been transformed into a Ghost Warrior by the rogue AIs of Shub, and her beloved brother Daniel had gone off in search of it. Which meant only Constance and Stephanie remained to represent Clan Wolfe in the highest circles.

"I should be the Wolfe," said Stephanie, not for the first time.

"Of course you should," said BB Chojiro, flashing her a smile that meant nothing at all. "And you will be. Blue Block has promised you this."

"You talk and talk, but nothing changes." Stephanie scowled. "Constance cannot be the Wolfe. She has no right. I am Jacob's blood. She just married him."

"Have I mentioned recently how obsessed you are on this subject, Stephanie? Just one of the reasons why so many of your peers currently prefer Constance as Wolfe. They see her as more… approachable. We meet as little as I can arrange, but still I know your refrain so well I could practically say it along with you. Let us please change the subject, before my ears begin to bleed. Any sign of Daniel yet?"

"No." Stephanie's scowl deepened, as honest concern changed her mouth from its sullen pout to a flat, compressed line. Daniel was the only person apart from herself she still gave a damn about. "He was last seen heading into the Forbidden Sector. No one seems to know how he got past the Quarantine ships. The only thing left before him now is Shub. Poor damned fool."

"Yes. Let us wish him the comfort of a quick death."

"No! He's no threat to Shub. They'll see that and send him home again. What could they hope to gain by hurting someone as harmless as him?"

They hurt us because they can, thought BB. Because they are artificial, living metal, and have only hatred for all that is flesh. "Yes," she said aloud. "Let us hope for a miracle. Hope costs nothing."

Stephanie sniffed. "Whatever happens, Daniel will survive. He's a Wolfe, after all. But if the Clan is to survive, I must lead it. As you suggested, I have been moving, through the lower orders of the Clan, gathering support. Many are unhappy with an outsider, not of the blood, as the Wolfe. They would support me if I found it necessary, for the good of the Clan, to take… certain steps."

BB turned to Stephanie for the first time, and fixed her in place with her dark, unwavering gaze. "I have said before, you are not to kill Constance, or have her killed, in any way that might be traced back to you. The deal we made with Random prohibits such measures."

"We may have no choice," Stephanie said stubbornly. "You saw Constance talking to Owen. You know as well as I what they were discussing. A marriage between her and the Deathstalker could put the whole House of Wolfe under their joint control. Clan Deathstalker might even consume Clan Wolfe, and then our name would vanish forever! That cannot be allowed. We must strike at Constance while we still can. With Owen guarding her, we'd never be able to touch her."

"As always, you think too small, Stephanie. With Constance and Owen married, it shouldn't be too difficult to control Owen through threats to Constance. He might not love her, but as his wife he would be obliged to protect her, or suffer much loss of face before Society. Owen is practical enough to understand the realities of the situation. He will cede control of Clan Wolfe to you, and then we will control both the Wolfe and the Deathstalker Clans."

"Wait a minute," said Stephanie. "What do you mean, control Clan Deathstalker? There is only Owen. He's the last of his line, the last Deathstalker."

"You really must learn to think of the future, Stephanie. If he marries, eventually there will be children. In Blue Block we always think in the long term."

"I hate it when you lecture me," snapped Stephanie. "I'm not a child. I'm not stupid. I just don't care about anything but rebuilding my Family. Everything else has to wait. But then, you wouldn't understand that, would you? You had all the pride in your Family brainwashed out of you once you were given to Blue Block. Hell, they even took your name away from you."

BB Chojiro smiled gently. "I lost little and gained much. Blue Block is the sum of all the Families. Through it we shall all attain greatness. BB is who and what I am, who and what I have made of myself, and I take pride in my achievement."

"Yeah, well, that's because you're a mind-wiped, totally conditioned zombie who wouldn't know an original thought if you fell over it. What did the Families think they were doing when they created Blue Block? You were supposed to be our ultimate weapon, to give us control over the Throne. And now we all bow down to you. We made our own collars and fastened then around our necks without even realizing."

"Quite," said BB Chojiro. "Now please be quiet, or I'll tug on your leash. An old friend is approaching. Perhaps he has good news for us."

Cardinal Brendan had once been a Jesuit commando in the service of the Church of Christ the Warrior. He killed the heretics and the ungodly, or any who dared threaten the Church's strength or position. The Church had been the official religion of the Empire, and closely associated with the Empress Lionstone. So when the Iron Throne was finally toppled, the Church fell with it. From the ashes of the fallen Church arose the smaller but much more respected Church of Christ the Redeemer, a nonviolent, charity-oriented Church led by Mother Superior Beatrice Christiana, the Saint of Technos III. Her first official action had been a purging of the old Church's most offensive sinners, and its most disreputable elements, but she missed Brendan. He was Blue Block, and they looked after their own. He was now Cardinal Brendan, the Church's representative on Golgotha, and Blue Block's main agent in the new Church.

He wasn't particularly memorable in person. Tall, dark, with a sardonic smile and an eyebrow always on the point of rising. He dressed simply but well, and since he made a point of talking to everybody with equal attention and favor, no one noticed that he occasionally talked quite openly with the notorious BB Chojiro. He bowed low to BB and again, not quite so low, to Stephanie Wolfe.

"Well met, gentle ladies. To what do I owe the pleasure of this summons? Parliament usually manages to get along just fine without my august presence."

BB calmly waved for her advisers to move away a little. They bowed and did so without protest, stopping just out of earshot. They knew there were always plots within plots, to which even they were not always privy. BB smiled at Cardinal Brendan.

"You are here because Owen and his friends are all here. The Maze survivors. If Blue Block is to survive and prosper, they must be brought into the fold, or eliminated. So, since we value your opinion, you are here to study and evaluate these four people as possible future friends or enemies. Who can be turned or pressured, persuaded or bribed?"

"And if they really are what they're supposed to be, and aren't interested in joining us?" said Brendan.

"Then we require your most informed advice on how best to kill or dispose of them," said BB calmly.

"You don't want much, do you?" said Brendan. "Lionstone with all her people and all her resources couldn't handle these four, but you think we can?"

"All things are possible, given enough time and planning," said BB Chojiro. "They still think in terms of open warfare and the clash of armies. The gun and the sword and the simple joys of slaughter. They are as yet unexperienced in the more subtle forms of conflict. And they are, after all, so much more… reachable now than they were before."

"They won the war against the Families," said Stephanie. "You lost. Remember?"

"We lost a battle," said BB. "The war continues, in other ways."

"Still, better watch your ass, Cardinal," said Stephanie. "Side too openly with Blue Block, or raise the ire of one of our great rebel heroes, and Saint Bea will throw you right out of the Church, just like all the others."

"Nothing will happen to our most loyal Cardinal," said BB. "Reports will be misfiled, paperwork lost, rumors misdirected. Mother Beatrice hears what we wish her to hear."

"You wouldn't be the first person to underestimate Saint Bea," said Stephanie. "And most of those who did are dead, or wish they were."

"She can't live forever," said Brendan. "And if she was to die suddenly, unexpectedly, the new Church would be thrown into utter chaos. Just the kind of situation that Blue Block has always best profited from. And the remnants of the old order, the Brotherhood of Steel, is still out there, though officially suppressed, just waiting for a chance to take control of the Church again. You'd be surprised how many of today's movers and shakers bow down to the Brotherhood in private."

"And Blue Block controls the Brotherhood of Steel," said BB Chojiro. "Saint Bea may have won the populace's heart for the moment, but they're a fickle breed. They can always change their mind. Or have it changed for them."

"And then Blue Block will run the Church as well as Parliament," said Brendan.

"You don't own Parliament yet," said Stephanie. "In fact, they show distressing signs of developing a will of their own."

"It's only a matter of time," said BB calmly. "Now, why don't the two of you find something not too incriminating to talk about, while I take care of some personal business?"

She left them standing together, trading mutually suspicious looks, and made her way gracefully through the crowd to stand before Julian Skye. He saw her coming, and made as though to walk away, but in the end he stood his ground and waited for her. She stopped just out of arm's reach and smiled up at him. Julian nodded curtly, his face impassive.

"Hello, Julian," said BB in her sweetest voice. "It's been a long time since I last saw you. You're looking good."

This last was a polite lie, and both of them knew it. Julian had never really recovered from the horrid injuries he suffered in the interrogation cells. The late Giles Deathstalker had worked something of a miracle cure in him on the nightmare world of Haceldama, but it didn't last. Julian Skye hung on to what remained of his health through grim determination, and it showed.

"Hello, BB," he said finally. "You look beautiful as always. Betrayed anyone interesting recently?"

BB shook her head. "You never did understand me, Julian. I had no choice. The moment you told me you were a rebel, my feelings for you were swept aside and my conditioning took over. I couldn't even warn you they were coming. I cried afterward."

"Yes," said Julian. "And then you came to me in the interrogation cells to talk me into betraying my friends and my colleagues. You said I was scum, the lowest of the low. And then you walked away and left me to the torturers. And all the time I was screaming, I thought of you."

"I had to say what I did. Others were listening."

"What do you want, BB?" said Julian harshly.

"I wanted… to see if we could still talk to each other. I have missed you so much, Julian. Blue Block is my life and my purpose, but nothing ever touched my heart like you. A part of me died the day they took you away, and I want it back. I want things to be the way they used to be again."

"You must think I'm mad! I know about Blue Block now. I know about you. You'd do anything, say anything, to serve your precious higher cause. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. You mean nothing to me anymore, BB. I cut you out of my heart, one inch at a time. It hurt like hell, but I felt so much better once you were gone."

"Don't. Please, don't." She reached out to him with both hands, but he shrank back rather than touch her. She dropped her hands, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Oh, Julian. My feelings for you were genuine then, though I couldn't give in to them. Now things have changed. I've changed. Because of my position. Blue Block has given me more and more freedom and room for personal initiative. At last I'm free to follow where my heart leads. People can change; you must believe that. We could be together again, Julian. Like we used to be, only better. There are no secrets between us anymore."

"There will always be secrets, as long as you still represent Blue Block." Julian shook his head jerkily, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Go away, BB. Whatever game you're playing, I don't want any part of it. What we had, what I thought we had, was never more than a dream. And I've woken up now. It took me a long time to get over you, BB. I won't put myself through that again. Just… go. Please."

"I'll go," said BB. "I'll walk away and never see you again. Just tell me you don't love me anymore."

"BB…"

"Tell me that and I'll go. Even though I love you. Because I'd rather die than see you hurt again. Just say… you don't love me."

"I don't love you."

"Liar," said BB Chojiro softly.

"Oh, God, of course I love you, BB. I'll always love you."

She reached up and placed her fingertips on his mouth. "You don't have to say anymore, my darling. I know how difficult that must have been for you. But trust me, things will be different this time. I'm free now of many of my old constraints. Still, I think we've said enough for now. We have time… all the time we need. Goodbye, my love. For now."

And she turned and walked away, back to Brendan and Stephanie and her advisers. Julian watched her go, and didn't know what to say or think. She'd given every indication of being honest and genuine, but none of that mattered, because she was Blue Block. All he knew for sure was that his heart was beating again the way it used to, when he still knew what happiness was, when his love had been something more than just a road to damnation. Julian Skye watched her go, and cursed himself for a fool for still believing in happy endings.

Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn made the rounds of the Chamber, pressing the flesh with one and all. It seemed everyone wanted his approval, now he was head of Imperial News. He did on-the-spot interviews with practically everyone, and hoped to sort some gold out of the endless practiced sound bites in the editing suite later. Politicians were born with the ability to say much while committing themselves to as little as possible, but Toby had experience in getting them to confirm more than they meant, and say more than they realized. Until they saw it on the news later. Toby stayed much later than he meant to, simply because he was enjoying himself so much. This was real news gathering, bracing old friends and enemies with the same friendly smile while digging out the truth despite everything they could throw in his path.

Eventually the Members decided they were ready, struck their most impressive poses, and gave the order for the door to the Chamber to be flung open. Everyone in the Chamber then rushed forward into the House, trampling the slower moving underfoot. The two ranks of seats on either side of the open floor were packed with MPs, till they were practically sitting on each other's laps. Previously, it had been a miracle if a quarter of the seats had been filled at any one time, but these days the Members were all desperate to be seen on the news. Most had upcoming elections to consider, by the new universal electorate, and needed to be at least seen to be doing something.

The floor of the House quickly filled with people, and the air was full of flying cameras trying to elbow each other aside for the best angles. The MPs sat carefully upright in their seats, looking down on everyone else. Their PR people had warned them on the dangers of slouching. It made them look undignified on camera. The MPs had also hired researchers to dig out old Parliamentary customs they could use, from the days when Parliament still meant something, but they hadn't quite got the hang of most of them yet. For example, nowadays all MPs proudly wore the traditional black and scarlet gowns and powdered white periwigs, but so far no one had had the heart to point out that the gowns and wigs came from Parliaments centuries apart.

Their latest big idea had been to appoint an official Speaker of the House, someone who owed no allegiance to any particular party or cause, and could therefore keep order with utter impartiality. A good idea in principle. Unfortunately, they'd chosen Elias Gutman for the job. Supposedly because he'd been on so many sides at various times that he could truthfully be said to represent everyone's interests. In fact, Gutman had been elected to the post because he bribed most of the MPs and intimidated the rest, a practice that had always done well for him in the past.

It was said that Elias Gutman had a hand in every dirty deal in the Empire, though people were careful how loudly they said it. Gutman's Family had banished him from Golgotha in his disreputable youth, and sent him money regularly as long as he promised not to come home, an arrangement that suited both parties. Gutman had used that money and his new freedom to become the first-class villain he'd always known he had inside him. He had even helped fund the rebellion, just to hedge his bets.

But so many of his Family had died fighting on both sides on Golgotha that Elias found himself made the most senior member of his Family by default, and was invited to come home at last. He wasted no time in barging into the political process, sensing that this was where the real power and wealth would be in the new Empire. And now Elias Gutman was Speaker, with power to decide who was and who was not allowed to be heard in Parliament. Many MPs had been heard to ask how they got themselves in that position. But they were careful to say it very quietly.

Even more unfortunately for all concerned, Parliament had made this important appointment while Owen Deathstalker was off chasing Valentine Wolfe and his cronies. Everyone was waiting to see what his reaction was going to be, torn between a desire for the best seat and a very real need to keep their heads well down, or at the very least out of the range of fire. Owen didn't disappoint them. The moment the Chamber doors opened, he surged furiously forward into the House, Hazel striding cheerfully along beside him. Owen ignored the plaintive cries of the stewards as they tried to steer him to the assigned public area, and headed straight for Gutman, sitting on a raised platform between the two ranks of seats.

Two armed guards moved forward to block his way. Owen punched out one, kicked the other in the groin, and just kept going. Hazel followed on behind, stepping gracefully over the groaning bodies on the floor. Gutman stirred just a little uneasily on his seat. He had arranged other, hidden protections, but suddenly face to face with the Deathstalker, he wasn't quite as sure of their efficacy as he had been. Owen came to a halt directly beneath Gutman's raised seat and glared up at him.

"All right, what mentally deficient bunch of dickless wonders elected this crook as Speaker? I turn my back on you for five minutes, and you throw open the doors and invite the fox into the henhouse. Why didn't you hand over the crown jewels to him as well while you were at it? In fact, I think I'll check them right after I leave here, and if just one piece is missing, someone is going to suffer, and it sure as hell isn't going to be me. Why Gutman, of all people? If there's any vile trade in the Empire that he hasn't profited from, it's only because he hasn't found out about it yet. The man deals in death and suffering; God knows how much blood he has on his hands."

"And how many have died at yours, sir Deathstalker?" said Gutman smoothly. "We've all had to do distressing things to get where we are today. But this is, after all, supposed to be a new order. A chance for everyone to remake themselves anew. To build new lives and careers, entirely separate from what their old history might have been. Or don't you believe in second chances? In redemption?"

"Not where you're concerned," said Owen flatly. "Grendels will turn vegetarian before you reform. I know you, Gutman."

"The fact remains," Elias Gutman said easily, "that I have been freely elected to my position as Speaker of the House by these good men and women present. Or are you defying their authority?"

"Don't try to twist this!" said Owen, his voice rising angrily in spite of himself. "I didn't spend years on the run as an outlaw, and wade through blood and slaughter in the streets of Golgotha, just to see power handed over to such as you! I don't know how you managed to escape the war trials, Gutman, but you won't escape me. Now, come down off that seat or I'll come up and get you."

"You can't touch me. I have the protection of Parliament. The people you yourself helped place in power. Have you no faith in your own creation?"

"Not when they screw up this badly."

"So you place yourself above their authority? Just like the aristocrats you threw down because you said they abused their power. Can anyone spot the irony here? You're not a hero anymore, Deathstalker, making up your own rules as you go along. You're just another citizen of the Empire, subject to the authority of the people, as expressed through Parliament."

"To hell with that! I never needed a Parliament to tell me what was right and wrong! Now, get down here or I'll kill you where you sit!"

"You defy Parliament's will!"

"To hell with them! I'll tear down this whole House around your ears if that's what it takes!"

Armed guards came running from all sides as the MPs broke into an excited babble. With anyone else, what they'd heard might just have been empty threats, but this was Owen Deathstalker. He might just do it. Gutman gripped the arms of his chair tightly, but kept his face calm. He'd manipulated the Deathstalker into losing his temper and undermining his heroic image. Now all he had to do was live through it.

"Typical Deathstalker threat," he said steadily, making sure his voice was heard over the rising hubbub. "To hell with how many die as long as he gets his way. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. It was after all his ancestor, the first Deathstalker, who activated the Darkvoid Device and murdered untold billions of innocents."

Hazel clung grimly to Owen's arm so he couldn't draw his disrupter. The surrounding guards looked on anxiously. Hazel grabbed Owen by the chin with one hand and forced his face around to meet hers. "Don't, Owen. You'd have to kill a lot of innocent men before you got to Gutman."

Owen jerked his face out of her hand and glared at her, breathing hard. "I thought you at least would understand."

"I do, Owen, I do. But this isn't the time or the place."

It had gone very quiet in the House. Everyone was waiting to see what the Deathstalker would do. The guards were careful to do nothing that might provoke him into action. Owen looked slowly about him and then some of the anger went out of him, and he let his hand drop away from the disrupter at his side. There was the sound of a great many people releasing held breaths. Owen nodded to Hazel.

"What are things coming to, when you have to lecture me on restraint? But you're right; there'll be a better time."

He turned his back on Gutman and strode off to join the watching crowd in the appointed area. Hazel gave Gutman a hard look and then hurried after Owen, just in case. Not far away, Jack Random and Ruby Journey were applauding. A great many others looked as though they would have liked to. The guards lowered their weapons, picked up their two fallen fellows, and retreated as fast as honor would allow. Toby Shreck grinned from ear to ear, confident that Flynn had got it all on tape.

Elias Gutman waited a moment to be sure his voice was steady, and then opened the session's proceedings with an emotional speech composed entirely of stirring sound bites. Everyone present applauded the speech for being short, and then Parliament finally got down to business. First on the agenda was a report from the cyberats currently investigating Golgotha's Computer Matrix for signs of infiltration by the rogue AIs of Shub.

A viewscreen appeared before the assembled Parliament and audience, floating in midair. Vivid colors flashed across the screen, and then resolved into the head and shoulders of whoever was acting as spokesperson for the cyberats today. They tended to be rather relaxed about such matters, having little concern for the demands of the world outside their precious computers. The cyberats lived for the time they spent immersed in cyberspace, and never appeared in public if they could help it. Anyone who'd ever seen one knew why immediately. They had enough tech implants, add-ons, and cutting-edge options to technically qualify as cyborgs, and their personal habits occasionally bordered on disgusting. They cared only for tech and what it could do for them, and often forgot or disregarded the needs of the mere meat they lived in.

The current representative, who rejoiced in the code name of Wired Bunny, looked like he'd died several days ago and been dug up especially to make this report. His skin was a dusty gray, and his face was sharp and bony to the point of emaciation. A nutrient tube was plugged into a vein in his neck, and a computer jack disappeared into his empty right eye socket. He smiled vaguely at his audience, revealing a set of truly awful teeth.

"Like, wow, so many people in one place. I can dig the ambience from here. Greetings and salutations, meat people, this is the very heavy-metal dude Wired Bunny making nice with you. Hallelujah, let's all speak in tongues! Power to the people who believe they're real, and to those still thinking about it. To everyone else, the secret is to bang the neurons together, guys. Me and my totally buzzed-in associates have been surfing the silicon in the Matrix in search of those utterly bad metal mothers from the place we don't mention, and so far I have to tell you we've found utterly squat. Zip, de nada, less than zero. Lots of signs that something mega's been and gone, but don't ask who or what or where, unless you want a lot of technical speak that even we don't understand half the time, because we're having to make it up as we go along. We're the frontier, people, and it sure is strange out here.

" 'Course, it hasn't helped that large areas are marked off limits by the larger business constructs. Paranoia city, cousins. We'll break through eventually, if only because we do so love a challenge, but it is slowing us down some. Don't suppose you heavy business dudes would care to volunteer the entry codes? No? Didn't think so. Damn, these negative vibes are freaking me out. Hold on while I boost my endorphins again. Oooh… groovy. You guys talk among yourselves for a bit. I think I'm going to have a little lie-down and fry a few brain cells I'm not currently using. Wow, the colors, man."

"Wait!" said Elias Gutman. "Haven't you anything useful you can tell us?"

"Oh, sure, large dude, I like entirely forgot. I wrote it on a post-it somewhere… ah. Beware the dragon's teeth. Cool. Over and out and gone, man."

The viewscreen disappeared, taking the cyberat with it. There was a long pause. Gutman looked at Owen. "As I recall, you recommended these… people, sir Deathstalker."

Owen shrugged. "They're weird, but they know their business. Spending enough time in the Matrix will drive anyone crazy, and these people go there for fun. If the AIs have left any trace of what they've been doing, these are the only people who have any chance of detecting them. And we have to know. The AIs said they'd infiltrated all the major human businesses, and have been manipulating our economy to their own ends. Now, they could have been just saying that for the panic it would cause, but we can't take any chances. If it is true, we need to know how far the infiltration has gone, and how long it's been going on, before we can even start to put things right."

Gutman nodded reluctantly, his face impassive. "But your own… expert said none of the cyberats have been able to find any traces of outside meddling."

"If there's one thing Shub knows better than us, it's computers. They'd have hidden their tracks in places normal humans wouldn't even think to look. Luckily, the cyberats aren't even remotely normal."

"At last you've chanced upon something we can agree on," said Gutman heavily. "I only wish I shared your confidence in these… people. Perhaps you could now enlighten this House with your best guesses as to what these dragon's teeth are that we're supposed to beware."

"I would have thought that was obvious even to you, Gutman. The AIs also claimed they'd been ripping the minds out of people as they entered the Matrix and substituting their own thoughts. The dragon's teeth are the people walking among us who are no longer people, wearing men's faces but thinking Shub's thoughts. The perfect spies, even less detectable than Furies. We have no way of knowing how many there may be out there, or how deeply our security has been penetrated."

"Which brings us very neatly to my petition before the House," said a harsh voice from the crowd. People looked around to see who it was, and then backed hastily away as they recognized the short blond with the eyes cold as death. Once her name had been Jenny Psycho, and she had been an avatar of the mysterious and enigmatic uber-esper Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls. Power beyond hope and reason had burned in Jenny Psycho, and the air around her had crackled with potential. She was no longer all that she had been, abandoned by the Mater Mundi, and had now reverted to her old name of Diana Vertue, but she was still a power to be reckoned with, and most people had the good sense to be very nervous when she was around. These days she represented the esper underground in Parliament, mainly because everyone else in the underground was too worried by her to disagree. She made her way forward through the crowd, and people hurried to get out of her way. She stopped before Owen, who bowed politely to her. Truth be told, she worried him a little too, but he didn't believe in letting people see things like that.

"Hello, Diana. You're looking very normal. What petition might this be?"

"To have all the esp-blockers removed from Parliament so we can scan the minds of all present to find out if everyone is who they claim to be." Diana's voice was harsh and ragged, and utterly intimidating. She'd damaged her throat screaming in Golgotha's prison cells, and it had never really recovered. "The esp-blockers must go. It's not just Shub we have to worry about. Remember the shape-changing alien that turned up at Court? It mimicked a man so exactly that even his friends couldn't tell the difference. The only way we can maintain real security in Parliament is by mass esp-screening, with no abstentions permitted. Seems a perfectly reasonable request to me."

"That's because you're weird," said Gutman, and practically everyone nodded in agreement. "What you suggest is totally unacceptable. Everyone is entitled to the inviolability of their own mind."

"For once I have to agree," said Owen. "We all have secrets that must be kept to ourselves. Even if they're really only important to us. Or perhaps especially those. But I do see your point. Maybe we could work out some kind of voluntary system…"

"Go right ahead," said Gutman. "You first."

Owen smiled slightly despite himself. "Let's pass this one on to the Church. They have experience with confessionals."

"We'll take it under advisement," said Gutman. "And if that doesn't suit you, esper Vertue, feel free to take it up with the appropriate subcommittee. At some other time. However, this does lead neatly on to our next piece of business. As part of the deal Jack Random thrashed out with the Families, clones and espers are not longer property but citizens in their own right. Laudable and just as that may have been, it has led to certain unexpected problems. For centuries trade and industry throughout the Empire was based on the unlimited availability of clone and esper labor. They now have to be replaced by paid workers or new technology, both of which are proving extremely expensive. Change is always costly, and someone's got to pay for it all.

"Since we've finally got the tax computers working again"—and here Gutman and everyone else paused to glare at those responsible for the computers' destruction, namely Owen and Hazel, who smiled and nodded modestly—"our first thought was a rise in the basic rate of income tax. But the general mass of citizens quickly made it very clear that they regarded this as a very bad idea. They suggested the aristocracy, as the wealthiest among us, should shoulder the bill. The Clans not unreasonably pointed out that their loss of power and control through Random's deal had already reduced many of them to near pauperism, and they really didn't think it was fair that they should be punished any further. Dark hints were dropped about the collapse of Family industries if they were pressed any further, with all the mass unemployment that would cause. Extensive discussions, negotiations, and any number of committees have quite failed to reach any useful conclusions."

"He makes even longer speeches than you do, Owen," murmured Hazel. "I'm impressed."

"And you needn't look to the undergrounds either." said Diana. "We're already having to support the families of clones and espers thrown out of work by new technology. While they were property, the Clans supported their essential needs. Now they're free citizens, the Clans have washed their hands of them. Freedom's all very well, but it doesn't put food on the table."

Owen thought he'd never heard so many people being so ungrateful, and felt like saying so. But he didn't, because he just knew they'd find some way of blaming it all on him. And because he didn't know who should pay for it all either. Economics had never been his strong point. He was a warrior, not an accountant. He looked at Hazel, who shrugged.

"Don't ask me. My only ideas for a fairer redistribution of wealth involved becoming a pirate and a clonelegger. Neither of which worked out particularly well."

"The problem is the rate of change in the Empire," said Diana Vertue. "It's too slow."

"The problem is it's too fast," said Gutman.

"You would say that," said Diana. "It's you and your kind who have the most to lose."

"We're just concerned about changing too rapidly from a system based on people to one based on tech. We don't want to end up like Shub."

Diana scowled intimidatingly. "That's just a smoke screen, Gutman. The undergrounds don't want clones and espers replaced by tech, just better working conditions and an equitable day's pay. You're just changing to tech to avoid that."

"Which brings us neatly back to money," said Gutman, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the assembled crowd. "With everything in turmoil, and our economy running wild with no one at the helm, inflation has shot through the roof. Prices are rising everywhere, even on the most stable planets. Savings have been wiped out. Banks have collapsed. The Families are doing all they can, but the only thing they all agree on is that things are bound to get worse before they get better. Whatever else you can say about the old order, it always maintained the value of credit. Even if the Empress had to hang a few bankers to make her point."

"How about a tax on pompous windbags?" Hazel suggested sweetly. "Or a windfall tax on those who managed to profit very nicely from the changing situation? That ought to raise a fair amount of cash."

A great many of those present growled and muttered among themselves, but no one had the nerve to demand Hazel retract her comment.

"Please let us all try to refrain from personal attacks," said Gutman severely. "I think it might be best if we were to move on to the next order of business."

"But nothing's been decided about the last question!" Owen objected.

"I said, we're moving on," said Gutman. "As Speaker I am in charge of the agenda."

"I told you," said Owen, glaring about him. "I warned you this would happen."

"I could have you removed," said Gutman.

"You could try," said Owen.

"Please," said Hazel.

"We will now move on to the next order of business," said Gutman. "General Beckett, officer in charge of the Imperial Fleet, is waiting most patiently to address us."

A floating viewscreen appeared in midair almost immediately, as though it had just been waiting for its cue, and General Shaw Beckett scowled impartially out of the screen at one and all. His large, square head was set upon a pair of massive shoulders, though most of his intimidating bulk remained out of sight. His uniform was stretched tightly across his great frame, strewn with medals beyond counting. His wide mouth was set and stern, his dark eyes unwavering. As always, he was smoking a large cigar, and paused occasionally to blow smoke at the camera.

"About time you got around to me. Right, pay attention, and take notes if you have to, because I'm damned if I'm going through this again. Ever since the Fleet was blown apart during the rebellion by outlaw ships and those bloody Hadenmen vessels, we've been struggling to operate a bare skeleton service. Most of the starcruisers are gone, D and E class, and we're having to rely on destroyers and revamped frigates to carry a workload they were never intended to handle. We're short of crew too. There are plenty of volunteers, but it takes time to train real crewmen. Can't let just anyone loose on a starship.

"We're using the larger ships to protect food routes to the hardest-hit planets. There are lots of hungry people out there, but so far we've managed to avoid large areas of actual famine. Pirates have been a problem, attacking the convoys to sustain their black markets. We kill them as fast as we can catch them, but there are always more. What ships we have left over are on patrol, mostly out on the Rim, watching for the insect ships."

His face disappeared from the screen, replaced by the familiar sight of an alien ship. It resembled a huge ball of sticky white webbing tangled together, tightly compacted. Weapons and force shields of unfamiliar design were there, unseen. One such ship had murdered every living soul in an isolated Imperial Base, and then almost destroyed Golgotha's main cities before Captain Silence and his crew destroyed it. No one knew where the alien ship had come from, or what they wanted. The only certainty about the aliens was their murderous intentions. The image of the ship disappeared, replaced by General Beckett again.

"Given the limited number of ships at my disposal, I cannot risk launching any kind of preemptive strike. All I can do is respond to alien attacks, drive the ships off, and then try to clean up the mess they've left behind. So far we've been lucky enough to avoid the major destruction and slaughter the first ship brought to Golgotha, but luck has a nasty habit of running out. The bottom line is, people are dying out here on the Rim, and there's damn all I can do about it! I must have more ships!"

"We're building them as fast as we can, General," Gutman said sharply. "But there are difficulties. There won't be any more E-class ships until we can establish a new stardrive factory to replace the one destroyed in the rebellion. And come up with something to replace the clones who previously performed the dangerous task of actually assembling the drive. And, of course, even D-class ships are horrendously expensive, at a time when every expense has to be weighed and justified. As long as the alien ships don't pose an immediate threat to the main Empire—"

"You'll sacrifice the people of the Rim planets to avoid having to raise taxes on everyone else." Beckett snarled openly at the camera. "Rulers come and rulers go, but nothing really changes. Look, the insects came to Golgotha once, and right now we don't have anything to stop them making a return visit. We still don't know where they came from; they just appear out of nowhere, make their attack, and then disappear again."

"As long as we keep them from getting too annoyed with us, there's a real chance they will confine their attacks to the Rim," said Gutman. "A bleak philosophy, I'll admit, but in these desperate times we have no choice but to think in terms of the greatest good for the greatest number. We are not abandoning the Rim worlds. We authorize you to remain where you are, and give them all the protection you can. As soon as new ships are available, they will be sent to join you. But that's all I can offer you. Now, unless you have anything else to bring up—"

"As it happens, I do," said Beckett. "There's something… happening out here on the Rim. Disturbing reports have been coming in from all along the Rim, concerning the Darkvoid. There are reports of… things coming out of the darkness. Voices of the dead crying warnings. Visions of wonders and nightmares, fleeting contacts with things that come and go in a moment. Espers have had dreams of a door opening and closing, and something awful peering through. There've been too many reports, from normally trustworthy sources, for me to just dismiss them. I am forced to the only logical conclusion. There's something alive in the Darkvoid."

For a long moment everyone was quiet. In the nine hundred and more years since the original Deathstalker used the Darkvoid Device, no one had really learned anything more about the vast area of utter night called the Darkvoid, save that ships which went into it rarely returned. Gutman turned to Owen and Hazel.

"Sir Deathstalker, you and Miss d'Ark were the last people to travel deep into the Darkvoid and return. Perhaps you could… shed a little light on this phenomenon?"

"This is all news to me," said Owen. "We never encountered anything like that. Just because my ancestor created the Darkvoid Device, it doesn't mean I'm any more of an expert than anyone else. If Giles kept any secrets about the Darkvoid, he never passed them on to me. But I really don't see how anyone or anything could be alive in there. There's nothing left in the Darkvoid to support life. No light, no heat, nothing to feed on… how could anything exist there?"

"Not life as we know it," said Beckett from the viewscreen. "But who knows what nightmares might be lurking in the darkness, birthed in that moment of mass slaughter and utter horror?"

"That's ridiculous!" said Owen.

"Is it?" said Beckett. "When you went into the Darkvoid, you came back with the revived Hadenmen, an old horror we thought we were well rid of. There could be anything in that darkness. Anything at all."

Everyone was looking at Owen and Hazel, but they said nothing. There were things they knew about the nature and cause of the Darkvoid that no one else knew, but they had sworn long ago, for very good reasons, to keep those secrets to themselves. Besides, there was no obvious link between what they knew and the phenomenon Beckett had described. Or so they hoped.

"Speaking of the Hadenmen," said Beckett after the silence had dragged on for a while, "we come to the last part of my report. I think we were all somewhat surprised when the revived Hadenmen joined the rebel forces to overthrow the Empress, and we were even more surprised when we discovered the augmented men were actually obeying orders, and taking prisoners when the Empire forces surrendered rather than just butchering them all, as they did in the past. They were, after all, the official Enemies of Humanity until the AIs of Shub replaced them in that role.

"You assured us they had reformed, sir Deathstalker. You said we could work with them. We should have known better. We should never have trusted cyborgs, men who threw away their humanity in the search for perfection through tech, who launched the great Crusade of the Genetic Church, dedicated to destroying Humanity and replacing us with themselves. The men machines in their golden ships. The butchers of Brahmin II. Well, sir Deathstalker, your old allies have returned to Brahmin II, destroyed their defenses, and taken control of the planet and its population. They've renamed it New Haden and surrounded it with a blockade of their golden ships. The few reports that got out before all communication was cut off said the Hadenmen had been experimenting on the prisoners they'd taken, turning them into new, improved Hadenmen.

"We have no idea of what's happening down there now. And since we don't have a hope in hell of getting past the golden ships, we have no way of rescuing the people of Brahmin II. Unless, of course, the Deathstalker has some ideas? He is, after all, the man who loosed the Hadenmen on Humanity again!"

A rising growl of anger moved through Parliament, from the MPs to those gathered watching on the floor of the House. It was a disturbed, dangerous sound, and only died reluctantly away when Owen glared about him. "They were a necessary evil," he said flatly. "We couldn't have defeated Lionstone's Fleet without them. Ask General Beckett. I had… hopes the augmented men had moved on beyond their old agendas. I knew one Hadenman who was as fine a man as any I ever met. But it seems I have been betrayed again by those I placed my faith in. Still, let's not exaggerate the dangers of the situation. They hold only one planet, and as yet they don't have enough forces to do anything but defend it."

"Are you suggesting we abandon the people of Brahmin II, to be turned into monstrosities?" said Gutman. "I don't think the Empire would stand for that."

"Why not?" said Owen. "Isn't that what you were proposing to do with the people of the Rim planets? Sacrificing the few in the name of the many? But no, Gutman, I'm not suggesting we write off Brahmin II's population, if only because the Hadenmen might eventually create a whole new army out of them. Hazel and I will go to Brahmin II, alone, and see what we can do to rectify the situation. Because I am, after all, responsible."

"Hold everything," said Hazel. "When did I volunteer to go on this suicide run?"

"Well, you don't want to miss out on all the fun, do you?"

"There is that," said Hazel. "I just like to be asked, that's all."

"The House gratefully accepts your proposal," said Gutman. "And wishes you all good fortune. Because you're going to need it. Is this acceptable to you, General Beckett?"

"Damn right," said Beckett. "It's his mess; let him clean it up. But just in case they fail, we'd better consider the practicalities of scorching the whole damn planet, and hope we get as many of the inhuman bastards as possible before they can escape. Beckett out."

The viewscreen disappeared, taking Beckett with it. Parliament muttered quietly among itself. Gutman smiled down at Owen, who braced himself. Something bad was coming his way. He could just feel it. Gutman leaned forward, his voice entirely reasonable. "But before you leave us, sir Deathstalker, we feel there are a few questions we would like answered, concerning the various war criminals this House has sent you after. We can't help noticing that you do tend to bring them in dead rather than alive."

"For some reason they don't seem to think they'll get a fair trial here on Golgotha," said Owen. "The fact that not one accused war criminal has been found innocent by these trials of yours has not escaped them. So, not unexpectedly, they tend to fight to the death rather than be taken. Don't blame us for a situation you've created."

"We prepare our cases very thoroughly," said Gutman smoothly. "We find them guilty because they are guilty. Surely you don't think I'd allow my fellow ex-aristocrats to be falsely accused?"

"This from the man who killed his own father to get on," said Hazel. "Pause, for sustained hollow laughter."

Gutman shrugged. "Things were different then. I am a different man now. Or don't you believe people can change, my dear ex-pirate and ex-clonelegger?"

Hazel scowled but said nothing, for which Owen was very grateful.

"The war trials exist to show the people of the Empire that justice is being served," said Gutman.

"They exist because they're popular," said Owen. "People need scapegoats. What are you going to do when you run out of the real villains, Gutman? Going to start investigating anyone who dares disagree with this new order of yours?"

"Only the guilty need fear the people's justice," said Gutman.

"And you decide who's guilty."

"Parliament decides."

"And you speak for Parliament," said Owen. "How utterly convenient."

"Let us move on," said Gutman. "Next on the agenda is a proposal which I think will guarantee some lively debate. I'm sure I don't need to remind most of you that many seats will be contested shortly in the first free elections since the fall of the Iron Throne. What you may not be aware of is that many ex-aristocrats have expressed their intention to stand for many of these seats."

"No way in Hell!" said Owen, his voice rising sharply over the growing murmurs around him. "The deal Random made was clear; the Families renounced political power in return for being allowed to survive as financial institutions. Let them get into Parliament, through bribes and intimidation as likely as not, and they'll just end up running things again!"

"You really must learn to curb your paranoia, sir Deathstalker," said a chilly voice, and everyone turned to look. Grace Shreck met their collective gaze with a mein of cool indifference, her nose stuck firmly in the air. Since Gregor's forced withdrawal from public scrutiny, his older sister had taken over as head of the Family and, to everyone's surprise, had done an excellent job of it. Toby and Evangeline had both been too busy and too reluctant to take over as the Shreck, so the position had fallen to Grace pretty much by default. Her time in the limelight seemed to have agreed with her.

Long, tall, and more than fashionably thin, with a pale swan-like neck, a pinched face, and a massive pile of white hair stacked on top of her head in an old-fashioned and frankly precarious-looking style, Grace made a striking picture among the more colorful birds of prey surrounding her. Ancient and austere, Grace hadn't been out in public regularly for years. She'd hated attending Court, and only did so when bulled into it by Gregor.

But she'd taken to the less formal and infinitely less dangerous Parliament with astonishing ease, and was now a spokesperson for many of the older Families, who trusted her precisely because she'd been out of touch for so long, and therefore had no attachments to any particular Clan or cause. She wore clothes so old-fashioned they'd actually come back into style again, and possessed a quiet poise and brittle wit that had won her the respect of many. The acceptable face of the ex-aristocrats, the holo audiences adored her and would listen to arguments from her they would have shouted down from any other aristo.

"Everyone has a right to stand for Parliament," Grace said primly. "A democratic right. Isn't that one of the things you claimed to be fighting for, sir Deathstalker, that everyone should be treated equally? Ex-aristocrats have as much a right to be heard as anyone else. After all, you yourself were once a Lord. Are you saying you should be banned too, your voice no longer heard? You are not the only member of a Family to understand the concepts of redemption and atonement."

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 wore 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."

"No," said Carrion. "I don't think so."

Gutman frowned. "Power lances are banned, and with good reason—forbidden throughout the Empire. Silence's word gives you protection, outlaw, so we do not demand your death. But you cannot be permitted to keep the lance."

He gestured with one fat hand, and a dozen armed guards stepped forward, their guns trained on the man called Carrion. He looked at Silence, who shrugged. Carrion smiled coldly at Gutman.

"Try to take it."

The light seemed to darken suddenly throughout the House, and there were shadows everywhere. Things moved in the gloom and hung threateningly out of sight overhead, huge and cold and unseen. There were glimpses of jagged teeth and great curved claws. A heavy wind was blowing from nowhere, gusting and violent. Something howled, a long, savage sound with nothing human in it. More voices rose on every side. There were unseen watching presences beyond number, and everyone could feel a malevolent rage hovering over them like a storm cloud. Guards clutched their guns tightly, but didn't know where to point them. Owen, Hazel, Jack, and Ruby stood back to back, ready for whatever came. People clutched each other, trying to look in all directions at once. They were only moments from panicking, and a stampede for the doors that would leave a lot of people dead, trampled underfoot.

And then suddenly the presences were gone, the wind stopped blowing, and all was quiet and still again. On his chair, on his raised dais, Gutman licked his lips nervously and cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him, but he was looking only at Carrion.

"What… what was that?"

"The Ashrai," said Carrion. "They died long ago, when Captain Silence gave the order to scorch Unseeli, but their ghosts lived on. Once they haunted the metallic forests, but now the trees are gone, so they haunt me. They protect me."

"Oh, hell," said Gutman. "Keep the bloody lance. Now, get the hell out of here and take your unnatural friends with you."

Carrion nodded calmly, turned, and headed for the doors, Silence at his side. People hurried to get out of their way. All except one. Diana Vertue stood in their path, and Carrion and Silence stopped before her. Diana nodded brusquely to Carrion, and then fixed her wounded eyes on Silence.

"Hello, Father," said Diana.

"Hello, Diana," said Silence. "I heard you'd taken your old name back. I'm glad. I never really liked Jenny Psycho."

"She was a real part of me. She still is, deep down. I've just… moved on. When the Mater Mundi worked her will through me, I thought I was her avatar, her focus, her saint on earth. But she abandoned me, took away the grace and the glory, and left me to live the rest of my days as a lesser being, no longer touched by Heaven. Left me alone, just like you did, on Unseeli."

"It wasn't like that," said Silence.

"Yes, it was," said Diana. "It was just like that." She looked at Carrion. "I heard the Ashrai sing on Unseeli. Joined my voice with theirs. They gave me a glimpse of Heaven and then went away. Better to be blind forever than to see the colors of the rainbow for only a few moments, before being thrown back into the dark again. I've been betrayed so many times; all I trust now is me. Whoever that is. I'm glad your planet is dead, Carrion. I'm glad the forests are gone. I just wish you and the Ashrai had disappeared with them. Stay away from me. You too, Father. Because I'll kill you if you hurt me again."

Silence tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come, and in the end he just bowed to her and left, Carrion at his side. Diana watched them go, and for a moment something of her old malevolent persona crackled about her like a halo of flies.

After that everything else was pretty much an anticlimax, and Parliament soon broke up. Owen and Hazel, Jack and Ruby left through a side entrance to avoid the media and the crowds. They didn't feel like talking to strangers. There was a tavern nearby, not much more than a hole in the wall, but the booze was drinkable and privacy came guaranteed. The four of them sat around a stained and scarred tabletop, nursed their drinks, and wondered what to say to each other. They'd come a long way from the simple band of heroes Owen had put together back on Mistworld.

"Been a long time since we last sat down together," said Jack Random finally. "But then, we've all been busy, I suppose."

"Not really that surprising," said Hazel. "I mean, all we ever really had in common was the rebellion."

"There's still friendship," said Owen. "There's always friendship."

"Of course," said Jack, perhaps just a little too heartily. "You can't go through everything we did without becoming… close. But I know what Hazel means. The rebellion gave us a shared purpose, something to base our lives around. With that gone, we've had to reinvent ourselves, and we're not the people we used to be anymore."

"Right," said Ruby. "How the hell did we get here from there? I don't know what I expected to happen if we ever actually won, but this sure as hell isn't it. I miss… the sense of direction I used to have."

"The certainties," said Jack. "I used to know who I was. I was the professional rebel. I fought the System, any System. And now I'm part of it."

"We used to be outlaws," said Hazel. "With a price on our heads and everyone queuing up to take a shot at us. I sure as hell don't miss that."

"But we can't go back to who we were," said Owen. "To the people we were before all this started. We had to become other people, just to survive."

"Wouldn't go back if I could," said Hazel. "Hated it."

"Right," said Jack. "Roots are overrated. We're like sharks; we have to keep moving or die. And sometimes that means moving on."

"But we have to stay in touch," said Owen. "Who else can we talk to? Who else could hope to understand the things we've been through? The Maze changed us on many levels, and I'm not convinced the changes are over yet."

"Don't start that again," said Ruby impatiently. "It's over, Owen, let it go. I won't live in the past. Sit in shitholes like this every evening, talking old battles and victories, and arguing over who did what like old pensioned-off soldiers, with nothing left to do but relive the days when their lives had purpose and meaning. My life isn't over yet. I'm damned if it is."

"Right," said Jack. "That's why I volunteered us for the Shub mission."

"Yes, well," said Ruby, "I'm not sure that's entirely what I had in mind."

"Oh, come on," said Jack. "Where's your spirit of adventure? You said you wanted some action. So, tomorrow we make our start."

"So soon?" said Owen. "Hazel and I only just got back. We've hardly had any time together."

"Maybe it's for the best," said Jack kindly. "We're becoming new people, moving apart, whether we want to or not. Strangers become friends, become strangers again. That's life."

They talked a while longer, but they'd already run out of things to say. Jack and Ruby left. Owen stared into his glass. Hazel watched him do it.

"There's something I have to tell you," Owen said finally. "I'm getting married."

Hazel's pulse jumped, but she kept her voice and face calm. "Oh, yes? Anyone I know?"

"Constance Wolfe. It's an arranged marriage."

"I thought that kind of thing disappeared with the aristocracy."

"They're not really gone," said Owen. "And some of the old ways are still… valid."

"It all seems… very sudden," said Hazel.

"It took me by surprise," Owen admitted. "It was all Constance's idea. She had good reasons. I couldn't say no."

"You always were easily talked into things. Do you… love her?"

"No! I hardly know her. But then, that's often the way with arranged marriages. I would have had to marry someone eventually. Someone of my class. It's the bloodlines, you see…"

"No," said Hazel. "I don't see. But congratulations, anyway. I suppose she'll be Empress to your Emperor."

"I didn't want that either. But it seems… politically necessary. I can't say no. Not when so many of the alternatives would be so much worse."

"We could run away," said Hazel, looking into Owen's eyes for the first time. "Leave this whole mess behind us. It would be just like the old times again—you and me, running from the Empire, nothing and no one to care about but ourselves."

"It's tempting," said Owen. "But I can't. It's duty, you see. I've always understood duty. In the end, there are things more important than our happiness. And you never did say you loved me."

"No," said Hazel. "I never did."

They both waited a long time, but neither of them had anything more to say. So they sat together in the tavern, drinking their drinks, and trying to see their way through the darkening future ahead of them.