Deathstalker Legacy (34 page)

And then he broke off and leaned forward in his chair again, as trouble broke out on one of the marches, and all the media cameras zoomed in for close-ups. Security forces had apparently decided enough was enough, and had started setting up barriers to block off the road leading to Parliament. The marchers went crazy, as they were forced to halt. There was shouting and screaming, the shaking of fists and a lot of bad language. Angelo Bellini pursed his lips disapprovingly at the latter. These were supposed to be Churchgoing people. The marchers pressed forward, pushing at the barriers and threatening the security people behind them. Already some people were throwing things from within the safety of the crowd. The security forces backed away, looking nervously about them. They were vastly outnumbered, and unsure what to do for the best. No one had seen a demonstration this large, and this angry, for years. But still none of the security forces had drawn a gun, or even a sword. Not yet. They’d all been given strict instructions not to start anything. But some of the stones and missiles flying through the air were coming dangerously close. And the barriers were flimsy things. They wouldn’t stop the marchers if they were determined to break through, and both sides knew it. The marchers could see the House of Parliament now, and just the sight of that symbol of authority inflamed their passions even further. They were going to enter the House, by force if necessary, and make the MPs listen to what they had to say.

And a few peacekeepers and security people with frightened faces sure as hell weren’t going to stop them.

“How soon before it becomes a riot?” said Brett, so fascinated by the drama unfolding before him that he actually forgot his stomach hurt.

“As soon as my overpaid agents provocateurs are all in position,” said Finn, sipping his wine delicately. “I want all seven marches stopped outside Parliament before I let all hell break loose. Security might handle one mob, but not seven. And especially not seven outraged blood-crazed mobs, whipped into a frenzy by the carefully honed rhetoric of my people.”

“But . . . there’s no way they’ll actually get inside the House,” said Brett. “I mean; that building’s got all kinds of antiterrorist defenses built into it, from the bad old days. And you can bet security’s got them all up and running after that suicide bomber.”

“They’re not supposed to get inside,” Finn said patiently. “They’re supposed to riot. Cracked heads, and men down, and blood running in the gutters. The peacekeepers won’t be able to contain it, security will break and run, and dear Douglas will only have one option left open to him. And then . . . he will play right into my hands. You must be patient, Brett. I know what I’m doing. And you’ll get to play your part soon enough.”

“And I’ll get to kill someone?” said Rose.

“I promised you a shot at the Deathstalker,” said Finn. “And you know I always keep my promises.”

In the House, every single Member of Parliament was present, for once, packed shoulder to shoulder in their seats. All the alien representatives were there too, along with clones, Shub, and the oversoul. Parliament’s authority hadn’t been challenged this blatantly in a hundred years. They could hear the roar of the mob growing ever louder outside the House, a dark disturbing violent sound, and a lot of the MPs looked nervous, even the few who were only present as holos. They were in unknown territory now. King Douglas sat scowling on his Throne, Jesamine on his left, Lewis on his right. Jesamine looked calm and composed, even regal. Lewis was scowling even harder than Douglas, even though Anne was talking constantly in his ear, telling him to relax, dammit, he was spooking everyone. Armed security men lined the walls, looking twitchy and sweaty.

A large viewscreen was floating in midair on the open floor of the House, so that the honorable Members could watch the latest media reports of the converging marches. Anti-Church and anti-Neumen demonstrators were turning up in large numbers now, drawn by the media coverage. The Church Militant had a lot of enemies, from all kinds of political and philosophical positions. Security and peacekeepers now had the extra responsibility of trying to keep the two sides apart. Already there was a lot of angry shouting, as both sides screamed insults and threats at each other. Stones and other missiles were flying from all directions. Some people had been hit and were sitting bleeding and dazed on the ground, but the medics couldn’t get to them. Most of the medics were frankly too scared even to try. Where the two sides did occasionally manage to get at each other, fistfights and worse broke out immediately. The peacekeepers and the security forces were running scared. They hadn’t a hope of controlling or even containing the situation anymore, and everyone knew it. They hadn’t been trained in how to deal with mass civil insurrection. No one had ever thought it would be necessary.

No one had drawn a weapon yet, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time now.

“Send the troops in,” said Tel Markham, Member for Madraguda. “The peacekeepers are out of their depth. Someone’s going to get hurt soon. Really hurt. Call out the army. Let them handle it. One look at trained professional fighting men, and the mob will fall apart.”

“What if they don’t?” said Lewis.

“I’m reluctant to have armed troops running loose in the city, attacking civilians,” Douglas said heavily. “The last thing we need is for this to escalate. Lewis is right. If the crowds see troops bearing down on them with weapons in their hands, they won’t run; they’ll go crazy. Intelligence says a lot of the marchers are armed, some of them with energy weapons. They were expecting trouble. I don’t want blood and bodies in the streets. That smacks too much of the bad old days; the kind of tactics Lionstone was famous for. We’re suppposed to be better than that. We need a way to defuse this situation, before anyone gets seriously hurt.”

“Exactly,” said Meerah Puri, Member for Malediction. “Troops haven’t been allowed into the Parade of the Endless for over a century. Not even for parades. We mustn’t let this mob panic us into taking measures we might regret later.”

“If those thugs break through the barriers and storm the House, we could end up regretting that even more,” said Rowan Boswell, Member for Hercules IV. “They’ve got fire in their bellies and blood in their eyes. Let them even scent weakness, and they’ll take the House by force; and we could all end up hanging from ropes!”

“Hysteria doesn’t suit you, Rowan!” snapped Gilad Xiang, Member for Zenith. “Take a few deep breaths and stick your head between your knees. Before I have someone do it for you. There is no need for panic. We’re all perfectly safe in here. There’s no way the protesters can get to us. The House has been on security Red Alert ever since the suicide bomber got in here, and all the old defenses have been reactivated. The House has its own blastproof steel doors and interior force shields. We could stand off an army if we had to. Whatever happens out there, we’re safe.”

“We still don’t know how that bloody bomber got in!” said Boswell shrilly. His face was pale, and his mouth was trembling. “Maybe we should . . . agree to meet someone from the Church. A delegation . . .”

“We are not opening our doors to a mob!” Tel Markham said immediately. “We can’t give in to threats. We certainly can’t afford to appear weak before them. Give the Church Militant an inch, and we’ll never be free of them. And if we start making concessions to the Church, where would it all end? They aren’t the only extremists with demands. We have to set an example. Show everyone that we can’t be intimidated. We have to break up the mob, and send the militants packing. And for that we need the army!”

“The troops are in their barracks, outside the city limits,” Douglas said steadily. “Even if the House gave the order, it would take time for them to assemble and get here in force. I doubt we’d see them in under an hour. And a lot can happen in an hour; especially if the mob found out armed troops were on their way to shut them down.”

“How would they find out?” said Boswell.

“Don’t be naïve,” said Xiang. “This demonstration didn’t just happen; it was organized. By people who aren’t stupid enough to be down here themselves. Whoever they are, you can bet they’ll be monitoring this situation very carefully. If we give the order, you can bet the militants will know almost as soon as the troops. And then the shit really will hit the fan.”

“There is . . . an alternative,” said Lewis, and everyone in the House turned to look at him.

“Is there, by God?” said Douglas. “I for one would very much love to hear it.”

“The Paragons,” said Lewis. “You’ve got over a hundred Paragons in the city right now, sitting around waiting for the Royal wedding. Call them in. The mob will take one look at that many Paragons bearing down on them, and calm right down. I mean; I would, wouldn’t you?”

“You’ve got a point, Lewis,” said Douglas. He looked out over the House. “The people respect the Paragons. Always have. Certainly far more than they do the House security or even the peacekeepers. The Paragons have a reputation for solving problems, by whatever means necessary. And the Paragons have always been the people’s heroes. I’ll bet even militants will break down and disperse, rather than take up arms against their heroes. Lewis; do you know where most of the Paragons are, right now?”

“Well, currently you’ll find most of them in a bar called The Sangreal,” said Lewis. “It’s not far from here. And they’ll know where to find the others. If you want them, most could be here inside of ten minutes. And all of them inside twenty. And they’re probably not being watched like the troops, so the militants wouldn’t know what was coming until the Paragons were right on top of them. After that, it should all get very calm in a hurry.”

“And we won’t need the troops after all,” said Douglas, leaning back in his Throne. “Nice one, Lewis. Good thinking.” He looked out over the House. “How say you, honorable Members? Shall we call in the Paragons?”

The House voted Aye, without a single dissenting voice, and the sense of relief in the air was so thick you could almost smell it.

 

The King called The Sangreal personally. Most of the Paragons had been watching the news coverage too, and grasped the situation immediately. They grabbed their weapons, pulled on their armor, and charged out into the early evening air, glad of a bit of excitement at last. A lot of them had been drinking and carousing for some time, but none of them bothered to stop for Purges. They weren’t expecting any real trouble. Not from a bunch of civilians. They spread the word on the Paragon comm channel, and soon they were all heading for Parliament, picking up stragglers along the way, storming down the streets on foot and on gravity sleds, their purple cloaks flapping bravely on the rising wind.

The outer reaches of the mob spotted the approaching Paragons, and word spread quickly through the protesters. The shouting died away on all sides, replaced by an ominous quiet. The Paragons marched down the street in unison, the greatest gathering of heroes the city had ever seen, with a handful of gravity sleds flying overhead. They advanced confidently on the silently waiting demonstrators, and only slowed to a halt a few yards short, as they took in the mood of the situation. It wasn’t what they’d expected. The civilians didn’t looked scared, or cowed, by the presence of so many Paragons, as they should have been. They were just . . . waiting, to see what would happen. The Paragons looked at each other uncertainly, until finally Veronica Mae Savage pushed her way to the front. A murmur moved through the crowd. They recognized Veronica Mae. They knew her reputation. She stood before them, her hands on her weapons belt, her head held high, tam-o’-shanter perched at its usual bold angle.

“All right, people,” she said crisply, her voice carrying clearly on the quiet. “This has gone far enough. Time to break it up and go home, before someone gets hurt. If anyone has a genuine grievance, I guarantee, on behalf of the Paragons, that we will see you get a fair hearing. But this isn’t the way, and you know it. So choose a street and start walking, or there’ll be trouble. You don’t want there to be trouble, do you?”

Someone from deep inside the crowd fired a disrupter, and the energy beam blew her head right off her shoulders. The Paragons cried out in shock and outrage, and drew their weapons. They surged forward and slammed into the crowd, determined to reach whoever had fired the shot. Some of the militants fought back, and suddenly it seemed everyone was firing energy guns, and people were falling dead and injured to the ground. The crowd had become a mob, hysterical with fear and rage, and the Paragons only had thoughts of avenging their fallen; and as quickly as that it all went to hell.

In the House, the King and the MPs watched with horror as the mob turned on their supposedly beloved heroes, attacking the Paragons with everything from clubs to disrupters. The Paragons were fighting well and fiercely, tearing a bloody path through the mob, but they were vastly outnumbered. Already there were dead Paragons lying on the ground, their bodies being kicked and trampled underfoot. Douglas recognized some of their faces.