Deathstalker Coda (24 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
“They never had a chance,” said Owen.
Something in his voice alerted Dominic, who quickly put a restraining hand on Owen’s sword hand. “Don’t even think of interfering, or expressing an opinion. That’s the Emperor’s Praetorian Guard. Everything they do is the Emperor’s will. And they did the only thing they could. The group mind was a threat that would only have become more powerful. There are times . . . when an inhuman response is the only answer we have to an inhuman threat.”
“Kill the thing, before it spreads,” said Glory. “Everyone sucked into the mass-mind was already dead, in every way that matters.”
“What about the ones sucked in against their will?” said Owen. “What was their crime?”
“Not being human,” said Dominic. “Don’t judge us too harshly, Owen. We have tried everything else we could think of, and this is the only action that works.”
They walked on, giving the Praetorian Guards plenty of room as they gathered up the scattered remains for easier disposal. Owen wasn’t sure how he felt about what he’d just seen. He had to wonder just how hard the powers that be had looked for another answer. The three of them headed deeper into the city, and the chattering crowds quickly returned, as though nothing had happened. Dominic and Glory tried to distract Owen by talking of many things: of memes—thoughts and ideas that spread like a virus, infecting people with the latest fashions and fads until those affected built up an immunity; of ideas running loose from the minds that created them, imposing themselves on weaker minds and warping their bodies into new shapes and capabilities. Politics and religions had become memes, endlessly mutating and multiplying.
And up and down the many streets, news channels and adverts and ideological hard sells assaulted Owen from every side. The loud and garish holos capered around Owen no matter which way he looked, shouting in his ears as he walked through them. They didn’t seem to bother Glory and Dominic at all. Presumably they were so used to them they just didn’t notice them. Owen gritted his teeth and stared determinedly straight ahead. The streets were full of every kind of new humanity, and no one paid the barbarian from the future any attention at all.
Just when Owen was thinking at least it couldn’t get any worse, of course it did. Half a dozen naked men came striding down the street, burning alive. People moved unhurriedly to get out of their way. Flames leapt around the burning men, blasting out a heat so intense that those nearest flinched away from it. But no one seemed to be paying them any particular attention. For although the flames burned very fiercely, they did not consume. The flesh beneath the flames blackened and cracked, but that was all. The burning men walked down the street, looking straight ahead, their black and crimson faces twisted with endless suffering, their cracked lips moving silently.
“Penitents,” said Glory, amused by Owen’s shocked reaction. “They set themselves on fire, as a protest. They disapprove of how far we’ve progressed from basic humanity. They’re burning alive as a penance for the sins of the age. Show-offs.”
“Some burn for days, others last for months,” said Dominic. “And there are always more to replace those who fall. I find it reassuring, that there are still people crying out against inhumanity.”
“Even if it’s a really stupid way?” said Glory. “No one notices. No one cares. They’re just another pressure group.”
Dominic sighed. “That’s the problem with the Empire today; too many beliefs, too many faiths and philosophies. And far too many splintered factions, arguing endlessly over details and interpretations that only matter to them. You can find every kind of cause these days—from pagan animism to scientific determinism, from We Are All Property to making blood sacrifices to computers. Given how varied the human condition has become, it’s hard to find anything that everyone can believe in. We all live for the present, for the experience. Heaven can wait. We could have transcended, become something greater, but we dropped the ball. Partly because we were afraid; partly because we couldn’t agree on a direction; and just possibly because we saw the future of the human spirit, and knew we weren’t worthy.”
Owen thought about the Madness Maze, but said nothing. He couldn’t talk about the Maze without telling them about Hazel d’Ark.
Finally Owen Deathstalker came to the great and mighty court of Emperor Ethur, the oldest living human in the whole First Empire. Not that anyone could just walk into court and demand an immediate audience with the Emperor, but Dominic Cairo and Glory Chojiro invoked their ancient privilege of Defender and Investigator, and the jade-armored guards waved them on. An Investigator and a Defender of Humanity could always speak to the Emperor, if they claimed a real and present danger to Humanity itself. Owen thought they were pushing that a bit, but said nothing. One of the guards wanted to take his sword away. Owen gave him his best hard look, and the guard decided that he was needed urgently elsewhere.
Ethur’s Court was a place of freaks and wonders, under a great golden bowl half a mile wide. There were enough courtiers present to make up a decent-sized army, indulging themselves in every extremity of shape, just for the sake of it. From the aesthetic to the grotesque; from the tasteless to the bizarre; from women with bosoms so big they dragged along the floor, to people pierced through every organ, to wispy ghosts who were hardly there at all—every excess was represented somewhere. Braziers pumped perfumes into the air, and sharp atonal music formed a background to the constant babble of voices as everybody talked at once and no one listened. The courtiers played vicious, intricate games and hardly glanced round as Glory and Dominic and Owen passed by, heading for the Steel Throne. They were too normal, too ordinary. Too boring to be of interest. A few followed Owen with their eyes, sensing something different about him; something . . . disturbing. He smiled at them, and they flinched back.
At the very center of the court, under the very apex of the great golden bowl, on the Steel Throne set high on a raised dais, sat Ethur, looking out over his packed court with cold, knowing eyes. Owen had been warned about the state of the Emperor, but the reality still came as a shock. Ethur was the oldest living human being, having occupied the Steel Throne for over four hundred years, but that privilege came at a price. His body was riddled with support mechanisms and gengineered organs, plugged into the machine that was the throne. He had the look of a man in his forties, apart from the many wires and tubes and cables that entered his body, connecting him to the throne he could never leave. He would never rise from the Steel Throne again, except in death.
The Emperor’s pale leathery skin was covered only by the crimson silk cloak that adorned his bony shoulders, fluttering occasionally in the gusting air currents of the court. He had no hair anywhere, no fingernails and no navel, and his complexion and body color changed constantly as chemical tides moved slowly within him. Now and again, strange sharp-edged mechanisms rose up through his flesh, like surfacing creatures, only to be pushed back down by an effort of will. The pale skin closed over them reluctantly, with not even a scar to show their passing. Ethur’s face was lean and hawkish, with a beak of a nose over a tight pursed mouth, and his eyes were as old as the world.
Dominic and Glory stood at the bottom of the dais, and presented themselves to the Emperor. They bowed deeply, but Ethur barely nodded in return. The Defender and the Investigator explained their business, and the whole court grew quiet to listen. They looked at Owen with angry, frightened eyes, and the whispered words
Mad Mind
moved through the courtiers like an icy breeze. Armed guards moved slowly through the courtiers to surround Owen, who politely pretended not to notice. Finally Dominic and Glory presented Owen to the Emperor, and Owen bowed courteously. Ethur considered him thoughtfully for a long time, and when he finally spoke his voice was little more than a whisper, the words an effort, as though they had to be summoned up from deep inside him.
Mad Mind
moved through the courtiers like an icy breeze. Armed guards moved slowly through the courtiers to surround Owen, who politely pretended not to notice. Finally Dominic and Glory presented Owen to the Emperor, and Owen bowed courteously. Ethur considered him thoughtfully for a long time, and when he finally spoke his voice was little more than a whisper, the words an effort, as though they had to be summoned up from deep inside him.
“So, Owen, you are from the future, come to visit us. Something new, at last. How delicious. There is always novelty in our court, but rarely anything
new
. You have done well, Defender and Investigator; but where is the threat to our world that you spoke of? I see only an undeveloped man, dressed like a barbarian, and armed like one too.” He paused to allow a ripple of laughter to run through the courtiers. “You may have come from the same future as the Mad Mind, Owen, but you don’t seem nearly as dangerous.”
new
. You have done well, Defender and Investigator; but where is the threat to our world that you spoke of? I see only an undeveloped man, dressed like a barbarian, and armed like one too.” He paused to allow a ripple of laughter to run through the courtiers. “You may have come from the same future as the Mad Mind, Owen, but you don’t seem nearly as dangerous.”
“I’m no threat,” said Owen. “Really. I’m just visiting. A nice cup of tea, some answers to a few questions, and I’ll be on my way again.”
“We will decide that,” said Ethur.
“Owen has . . . abilities, Your Majesty,” said Dominic. “He has restored to us the city that was lost, and made the survivors human again! A miracle . . . but my partner and I felt unworthy to judge his abilities and potential, and so brought him here, to you.”
“You gave instructions, Your Majesty,” said Glory, “that any other visitor from the future should be punished for the crimes of the Mad Mind. But . . . we could not decide whether Owen is a threat of that same magnitude. So we are here, awaiting your judgement.”
“Yes, yes,” said Ethur, leaning as far forward as the tubes and cables would allow, to stare directly at Owen. “The wound in our world, healed at last by an effort of will. A miracle, indeed. Our scientists are currently having all kinds of hysterics over that. They do so hate to be outdone. And over two hundred survivors, apparently normal again. Truly impressive, Owen. Of course, we had them all killed immediately.”
“You did what?” said Owen. “Why, for God’s sake?”
Ethur actually smiled a little at the harshness in Owen’s voice. “The risk was too great. They might have reverted, or proved contagious. They were inhuman once, and that is enough. You must not judge us, man from the future. This is our time, and we make the decisions here.”
“And the only miracles permitted are the ones you authorize?” said Owen. “Life and death, but only at your command? Well, well, I guess some things don’t change at all, no matter what time it is.”
There were guards all around him now, with energy guns openly trained on him. Owen looked at them thoughtfully, and Dominic and Glory stirred uneasily. And that was when the Empress Hermione made her appearance, walking unhurriedly through the wide aisle that opened up in the courtiers for her. Owen had been told about the Empress, but her appearance still came as something of a shock. She drifted silently through the cordon of guards, passed by Owen without looking at him, and slowly ascended the steps of the dais to stand beside her husband and the Steel Throne.
Hermione was fifteen years old, a tall willowy blonde in flowing white silks, and heavily pregnant. Ethur chose her to be the latest of his many brides when she was just thirteen, and no one questioned him because he was the Emperor, and knew best. Her quiet, passionless face looked drained and tired, as though the pregnancy was taking a lot out of her. It wasn’t her first. The moment she became Ethur’s bride, both natural and unnatural methods began, to make her pregnant with the Emperor’s ancient seed. He desperately needed an heir. The first two pregnancies hadn’t lasted till term, but everyone had great hopes for the third. Everyone except Hermione, but then, no one cared what she thought. The process had clearly taken its toll. Her pretty doll-like face held no emotion at all, and her eyes were empty. Ethur stroked her cheek with his long pale fingers, and she didn’t respond at all. Ethur smiled down at Owen.
“The older we get, the younger we like them. People grow the same so quickly . . . only the young have any real individuality, and it soon fades. All our wives have been such delicate flowers . . .”
“How many have you had?” said Owen.
“Who can say? Some were more memorable than others. Some of them gave us children, but we ended up killing all our heirs, sooner or later. Because they were bad, or unsuitable. They were all such disappointments . . . Still, we remain optimistic. We always hope that the next one will turn out better.”
“Bad blood will out,” said Owen. “And monsters have a tendency to breed true.”
The courtiers gasped, and the Emperor looked at him sharply before settling back in his Steel Throne. The tubes and cables murmured around him, as though resentful at being disturbed.
“You are not our first visitor from the future, Owen. Twelve years ago, the Mad Mind came upon us, without warning. It tore this world apart, searching for knowledge we didn’t have. We have come a long way in our knowledge of the body, but even we can’t raise the dead. The Mad Mind refused to believe us. It raged through our cities, blasting open universities and laboratories, killing hundreds of thousands in the process. All our armed forces were helpless against this . . . creature. It abducted our greatest scientists and thinkers, and tore their knowledge from their brains. What she left behind, the discarded husks, would have been better off dead. And finally, with half of Heartworld in rubble or in flames, with the dead piled up everywhere, the Mad Mind disappeared, as suddenly as it had appeared. Our people are still mourning and rebuilding.
“We know all about monsters, Owen.
“And now here you are, from that same future, claiming the Mad Mind as a friend. We’ve waited a long time for another of your kind to appear. We set our traps everywhere, specifically tasked to catch and cage your kind. You will pay for the crimes of your friend. Whatever mad hell of a future you come from that can produce such monstrosities—we want nothing to do with it. And hopefully the horrific nature of your corpse, when it finally returns to the future, will be sufficient to dissuade any others who feel like visiting us.”
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