Authors: Simon R. Green
“I know,” said Mary. “That’s something else that worries me.”
“Hell,” said Topaz. “You wouldn’t be happy if you didn’t have something to worry about. It’s in your nature.”
“True,” said Typhoid Mary.
Jenny Psycho watched them talk together, from a safe distance, but felt more numb than jealous. She still couldn’t get over the fact that the Mater Mundi had chosen to manifest through someone else this time, not her. She’d called for help in the streets of Mistport, and the Mother had ignored her. She was slowly beginning to realize that she’d have to find a new purpose in life, that she wasn’t who she’d thought she was.
Councillor McVey cornered Gideon Steel, who was sulking quietly by the punch bowl. The Port Director was rather upset that he didn’t have a starport to be Director of anymore.
“Snap out of it, Steel,” said McVey. “With Magnus and Barron dead, Castle out of his mind with grief, and Donald Royal telling anyone who’ll listen that it’s his destiny to fight alongside Jack Random, wherever he goes, that only leaves you and me as city Councillors. And there’s a hell of a lot of work to be done in putting this city back together. I can’t do it on my own, Gideon.”
Steel sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right. But I was happy being Port Director. It was the only job I was ever any good at.”
“It was the only job where you could syphon off a lot of money on the side.”
Steel looked at McVey. “You knew?”
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you were a good Port Director. It’s a hard job, and no one else on the Council wanted it. So, are you going to help me rebuild Mistport? Think of all the work and construction contracts you’ll be in charge of. A man with his wits about him would be in a position to steal himself a fortune.”
“You talked me into it,” said Steel. “When do we start?”
Back on the other side of the room, Neeson the banker had come to pay his respects to Owen Deathstalker. He looked battered and tired, but surprisingly happy.
“You look like you’ve been in the wars,” said Owen.
“Damn right,” said Neeson. “Most fun I’ve had in years. I started out as a mercenary, you know. This sword for hire, and all that. Your father brought me into the business world. Said someone with my instincts would go far in banking. And how right he was. Anyway, I came to tell you that my associates and I have decided to reactivate and maintain the old Deathstalker information network.”
“How very public-spirited of you,” said Hazel. “What brought that on?”
“Well, partly because of the gentleman standing at your side, partly because everyone on Mistworld is now part of the great rebellion, whether we want it or not, and partly because we all feel more alive now than we have in a long time. Business has its own rewards, but it’s not exactly exciting, you know. It’s a poor life when you’re reduced to getting cheap thrills from foreclosing on someone’s mortgage. No, being a rebel sounds much more fun. See you around, Deathstalker.”
He nodded briskly to Owen and Hazel, and wandered off in search of food and wine and someone else to whom he could boast about his transformation. There’s no one more enthusiastic than a middle-aged convert. He was replaced by the journalist Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn. Their press credentials had saved them from the general slaughter of the invading forces, but now they were stranded on Mistworld until they could beg, borrow, or steal passage off.
“Hi there,” said Toby. “Mind if we join you? We’ve brought our own bottle.”
“Now there speaks a civilized man,” said Owen. “I understand you’re interested in coming along with us desperate rebel types when we leave?”
“Damn right,” said Toby. “You people are where the story is. Besides, we asked everybody else, and they all said no.”
“Fair enough,” said Owen. “If you’re looking for a good story, some of my associates are planning an expedition to a planet called Haceldama. I’ll put you in contact with them. In the meantime, why aren’t you interviewing Jack Random? He’s the official hero of the hour.”
Toby and Flynn looked at each other, and then Toby leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Are you sure that
is
Jack Random?”
Owen and Hazel kept their faces blank, but they leaned forward and lowered their voices, too. “What makes you think that he isn’t?” said Hazel.
“Because we saw him leading a rebellion on Technos III, just a few weeks ago,” said Toby. “And he looked . . . different. Older.”
“Much older,” said Flynn. “I’ve got it all on tape. And my camera never lies.”
“Lots of people have claimed to be Jack Random, down the years,” Owen said neutrally. “Let’s just say this one seems more convincing than most.”
Toby glanced back at Random, still surrounded by well-wishers and devoted disciples. “Doesn’t it bother you, that he’s getting all the glory? You two did just as much as he. Flynn got most of it on tape.”
Hazel shrugged. “Last thing I need is being bothered by autograph hunters. Let him be the hero, if that’s what he wants. I was never very comfortable with the role anyway.”
“Heads up,” said Owen. “I think he’s going to say something.”
The speech that followed was a triumph. Short, sharp, lucid, and witty. A professional speechwriter couldn’t have done better. Young Jack Random stirred the crowd’s blood with praises for their deeds in protecting their city, and with promises of more battles against injustice to come.
On to Golgotha!
he cried, and everyone cheered and applauded. Owen and Hazel applauded, too, so as not to seem small, but neither of them was swayed by his words. He was still just too good to be true, for them.
But, ail things considered, Owen felt basically upbeat. Things seemed to be going his way for once. The Imperial invasion had been defeated, Mistport had been saved, his own mission was apparently a great success, and he’d faced the prophecy of his own death and survived after all. Not that he’d ever really believed in it, but it was good to put it behind him. It was like having a new lease on life; and life was very good just then.
He and Hazel stood together and watched the crowd cheer itself hoarse for Jack Random, and were quietly content.
CHAPTER TWO
INNOCENCE LOST
They called it Shannon’s World, because it was his dream, his vision. He all but bankrupted himself bringing it into existence, but the result was a pleasure world like no other, reserved only for the very rich, the extremely well connected, and the strictly aristocratic. Its location was a secret known only to the glamorous few, and for those inquisitive others who bribed or bullied their way to Shannon’s World uninvited, state-of-the-art security and weapons systems waited to blow them out of this world and into the next. Shannon’s World, where mountains sang to each other, fantasies and dreams became real, and the whole world was alive. A pleasure planet unlike any other, where even the weariest of souls could find rest and comfort and contentment.
And then the awful thing happened.
Afterward, Shannon’s World cut itself off from the Empire, refusing to acknowledge any form of contact. Visitors were destroyed while still in orbit, no matter whom they represented. The Empress sent a ship. It never came back. She sent a starcruiser, which managed to land a full brigade of marines. Something killed them. So she tried a series of covert Security teams. Only one man returned from what had been the foremost pleasure planet in the Empire. He came back soaked in many people’s blood, quite mad, his mind destroyed by what he’d seen, and died soon after, mostly because he wanted to. He renamed the planet Haceldama, the Field of Blood.
The Empress put the planet under Quarantine, stationed a starcruiser in far orbit to make sure whatever was down there didn’t get out, and then turned her attention to other things. Thanks to the traitor Deathstalker and his growing rebellion, she had far more pressing worries than a pleasure planet gone bad. And so things might have remained, if the most important strategic and military mind in the Empire, one Vincent Harker, hadn’t crash-landed on what used to be Shannon’s World. In his head was information vital to both the Empire and the rebellion. The Empress sent down a company of her elite battle troops to recover him. They never reported back.
Now, it was the rebels’ turn.
In a hastily converted cargo ship called the
Wild Rose
, a small group of rebels watched the sensor panels closely, and hoped the new Hadenman cloaking system was everything it was supposed to be. The planet’s defenses were powerful enough to batter down any force shield generated by anything less than a full starcruiser, and the cargo ship’s shields were strictly rudimentary. Either the Hadenman device fooled the orbiting satellites, or the rebels wouldn’t live long enough to know they were dead. The device squatted behind them, roughly bolted to the deck, all sharp edges and unexpected angles, with strange lights that came and went for no apparent reason. The rebels preferred not to look at it. The shape of the device hurt their eyes. They kept their gaze fixed on the sensor panels and the main viewscreen, watching the planet grow slowly beneath them, cool and blue and utterly enigmatic.
On board the
Wild Rose
was Finlay Campbell, the aristo turned rebel, daredevil fighter with a coldness in his soul, who had once been secretly the Masked Gladiator, undefeated champion of the Golgotha Arenas. At his side his lady love, Evangeline Shreck, daughter of the aristocracy, who lived for years with the secret that she was really only a clone, created to replace the daughter sexually abused and murdered by her father. On Finlay’s other side, Julian Skye, the rogue esper rescued by Finlay from the interrogation cells under Golgotha. Skye was once one of the most powerful espers in the Empire and a daring rebel, but his time in the bloodstained hands of the mind techs had left him hurt and damaged, perhaps beyond his ability to recover. And finally there was Giles Deathstalker, the legendary hero who’d spent over nine hundred years in stasis, emerging to find an Empire he barely recognized. Rebels one and all, representatives of the Golgotha underground, desperate to find Vincent Harker before the Empire forces did.
Also along for the ride were Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn, heading toward a story darker and stranger than they had ever known.
Finlay stirred impatiently at the sensor panels. He’d never handled waiting well. His only prayer had always been,
dear Lord, please deliver me into battle and danger up to my eyes.
He had once been a master of fashion, a fop and dandy of great renown, a persona and mask he’d created to hide his secret other existence as the Masked Gladiator, feted darling of the Arenas. Now he was on the run from the Society he’d once moved in so freely, just another rebel among many, expendable enough to be sent on what many regarded as a suicide mission. He was twenty-six years old, and looked easily ten years older. His long hair had faded to a yellow so pale it was almost colorless. He wore it tied back in a single, practical pigtail. He had the look of a mercenary soldier; cold and dangerous but essentially uninvolved. He only joined the rebels to better protect his love Evangeline, and made no secret of his distance from the underground’s politics. It was enough that they provided him with missions where he could test his courage and skill with weapons. Finlay Campbell was fast becoming that most dangerous of men—one with nothing left to lose. Only Evangeline kept him sane and focused, and both of them knew it.
Evangeline Shreck had lived most of her life in fear. Fear of being exposed as a clone and executed for the unforgivable crime of having successfully impersonated an aristocrat. Fear of her father’s perverted love. Fear of always being alone. And then she found Finlay, and for the first time in her life she had a reason to go on living. If he died, she didn’t know what she’d do. Unlike Finlay, she had no taste for danger and excitement, but as a clone she was fiercely dedicated to the rebel cause. And if the many tensions of her life were slowly tearing her apart, that was her business. Gamine and elfin, her military fatigues hung about her like a tent. She had large dark eyes a man could drown in, a firm mouth, and the unmistakable air of a survivor. Of someone who had lived through pain and horror and despair, and had not broken under them. Yet.
They stood together, studying the bright blue planet on the viewscreen before them. There were no signs of civilization, nothing to show that Humanity had ever made a mark on Shannon’s World. No cities, no great roads, nothing big enough to trigger the ship’s sensors. Whatever lived down there was keeping itself hidden and secret. Evangeline sighed suddenly.
“It looks so innocent. Untouched by man. Not at all like a Field of Blood. What could have happened down there, what terrible thing, to justify such a name?”
Finlay smiled slightly. “Something powerful and nasty enough to kill off every armed man the Iron Bitch has sent down there, so far. And there’s not much that can stand against a full force of armed marines. I’ve always liked a challenge.”
“Do you think . . . could it be something like the Grendel alien? I’ve seen the holo of what that creature did at Court.”
“Unlikely,” said Toby from the back. “After the horror of what happened on Grendel, every planet in the Empire was searched for signs of more Vaults. Not even a pleasure planet like this would have been exempt. And if anyone had found more Sleepers, there’s no way they could have kept it quiet. There isn’t that much money in the Empire.”
“Don’t worry, love,” said Finlay to Evangeline, putting an arm across her shoulders and pulling her close. “Whatever’s down there, I’ll protect you.”
“Did you ever come here?” said Evangeline. “I never did. I’d heard of Shannon’s World, but Daddy didn’t believe in letting me out of his sight.”
“I’ve been most places,” said Finlay. “But never here. I was always too busy. And it didn’t sound like the kind of place where I’d fit in. Too peaceful. Ironic, isn’t it? That what was designed as the safest, most secure place in the Empire should end up a nightmare renamed the Field of Blood. Still, that’s life in the Empire for you these days. Just as a matter of interest, how did we get the coordinates for this place? I thought they were strictly need to know, only issued to actual visitors?”
“Valentine Wolfe supplied them,” said Evangeline, her voice carefully neutral. “Before he left us, to become Lionistone’s right-hand man. Apparently he’d been here once, but didn’t care for it. Something about the place . . . disturbed him. He thought we should blow it all up.”
“The Wolfe,” said Finlay, his lips curling back in something between a snarl and a smile. “I must find him and thank him personally. And then I’ll cut his heart out and hold it still beating in my hand. He destroyed my Family, betrayed the rebellion, and spit on everything I ever believed in.”
“Be fair,” said Toby Shreck, butting into the conversation with the casual ease of the experienced journalist. “We are, after all, talking about Valentine Wolfe, famed for degeneracy in a Court where the appalling and the disgusting have become commonplace. The man who never met a drug he didn’t like. I’m amazed you people let him into the underground in the first place.”
“He had money and contacts,” said Evangeline. “At a time when we needed both. Besides, he came with good recommendations.”
“Who from?” said Toby. “The Royal Guild of Chemists? If you nurse a viper in your bosom, you shouldn’t be surprised if it turns round and bites you.”
“I will kill him,” said Finlay. “No matter where it takes me, no matter what it costs.”
“Sometimes I can’t help wondering if we’re getting too inbred,” said Toby. “Here we are, about to face unknown dangers on a planet known as the Field of Blood, and all you can think about is dueling someone who’s light-years away, and probably permanently out of your reach anyway. Give me strength.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” said Finlay, not looking at him. “It’s a matter of honor.”
“Of course not,” said Toby. “I’m a journalist.”
In his short career Toby had shown a remarkable talent for being in the right place at the right time, and producing excellent coverage of extraordinary events, first on Technos III and then on Mistworld. His reports hadn’t made him any friends among the powers that were, but his ratings were going through the roof. Toby was quietly very proud of this. During his long career cleaning up after Gregor Shreck’s messes, he’d often dreamed of being a real journalist, covering real stories. Now that he’d got his chance, he was living his dream. And if he got uncomfortably close to having his ass shot off on more than one occasion, well, that came with the job. He grinned at the image of Shannon’s World on the view-screen. He would be the first journalist ever to set foot on the legendary dream world, and the first to tell what had gone so horribly wrong there. Life was good, sometimes.
His cameraman, Flynn, was quietly dozing in the seat beside him, his camera perched on his shoulder like a drowsy owl. Flynn didn’t believe in getting excited until there was something definite present to be excited over. And he did like to get his rest when he could. An excellent cameraman, Flynn, and a steadfast companion. Toby just hoped he wasn’t wearing ladies’ underwear under his clothes again.
Just in front of Toby, staring blankly at the viewscreen, was Julian Skye. Toby didn’t quite know what to make of the young esper. He’d been handsome once, apparently, before the Imperial interrogators went to work on him. They’d done a lot of damage, to his body and his mind, before Finlay rescued him. Most of it had healed, but the broken bones of his face had mended lumpily, and parts of his face still hung slack from damaged nerves. He wore a rather obvious wig, to hide the steel plate covering the hole the mind techs had made in the back of his skull so they could work on the brain directly.
Before his capture, he’d had a reputation in the underground as one of their wildest, most daring operatives. But his time in the torturers’ cells had destroyed his bravado, and while he hadn’t crawled or broken or betrayed anyone, he was haunted by the certainty that he would have, eventually. Finlay had rescued him just in time, and Julian had clung to him ever since. He didn’t feel safe when Finlay wasn’t around. Finlay, to his credit, had tried to discourage this, building up Julian’s courage and confidence when he could, but the esper’s hurts ran deep, and he constantly found excuses that would keep him close to Finlay. He even argued his way into what everyone said was a suicide mission, just to be with Finlay.
It wasn’t clear yet what Evangeline made of this. Toby kept an eye on all of them, just in case. There was a story there just waiting to happen, and he didn’t want to miss it when it finally broke.
He also kept a careful if inconspicuous eye on Giles Deathstalker. The first and greatest of his line, first Warrior Prime of the Empire, nine hundred years ago. Who had wielded the Darkvoid Device, and put out a thousand suns in an instant, leaving their inhabited worlds to wither and die in the sunless cold and dark. Billions died in horror and despair, because of one man’s decision. Giles was tall but sparsely built, though his arms bulged with muscle. He dressed in battered furs and leathers, like a barbarian, and wore his long grey hair in a mercenary’s scalplock. He looked to be in his late fifties, with a solid, lined face, his mouth a thin flat line above his silver-grey goatee. His eyes were a surprisingly mild grey, but his gaze was firm and unwavering. He looked hard and uncompromising, a vision from the past, when the Empire had been a proud and honorable enterprise, served by proud and honorable men. Giles Deathstalker, greatest hero and greatest traitor of his own time, who would not yield then or now to anything that might compromise his sense of honor or duty.
Or so it was said. All Toby knew for sure was that the man looked like death on two legs just sitting there, calm and relaxed as though heading into a vacation. Giles Deathstalker scared the shit out of Toby, and he didn’t care who knew it. He looked back at the mysterious planet growing steadily on the viewscreen. He found it less disturbing.
“You people know more about Shannon’s World than I do,” he said easily, as though he’d never paused. “But according to rumor, it was supposed to be very restful down there. No worries, no pressures . . . almost therapeutic. A place where you could forget your cares and misfortunes. According to the records, there were 522 people down there when whatever happened happened. None of them have been heard of since.”