Deathstalker Legacy (48 page)

Emma Steel slowed her sled’s approach, allowing her to study the city from what she hoped was still a safe distance. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she said back over her shoulder. “This is an exclusively esper city. Humans aren’t welcome, mostly.”

“It is a risk,” Joy admitted, peering diffidently past her at the city of lights spread out before them. “Hopefully the espers will see me as being sufficiently different from baseline Humanity to accept my temporary presence. New Hope has always been a place of sanctuary for those who are gifted and in need. I think when they see what’s in my head, what I know, and the things that I have seen of yesterday and tomorrow, they’ll want me to stay. Certainly the oversoul is one of the few forces in the Empire powerful enough to protect me from everything the Angel will be sending after me.”

“The Angel? You mean Angelo Bellini, the Angel of Madraguda? He’s the one who put the death mark on you? What the hell have you got on him; vid footage of him prancing about in women’s underwear at a Hellfire Club dinner dance?”

“Nothing so amusing,” said Joy, regretfully. “If the espers won’t take me, I suppose there’s always the clones; but they don’t have New Hope’s formidable defenses. And their dress sense is appalling.”

“You know, you’re sounding very rational, all of a sudden,” said Emma.

“I find stark terror concentrates the mind wonderfully,” said Joy. “Don’t worry. It won’t last.”

The city grew before them as they approached cautiously, keeping to a clearly nonthreatening speed. The hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stirred, anticipating the psionic assault she probably wouldn’t even have time to feel. The espers should have more sense than to attack the authority a Paragon represented, but she was most definitely where she shouldn’t be, and after the Neuman riot, everyone was on edge and looking for trouble. The sled crossed the city perimeter and headed steadily towards the official landing pads, and Emma let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. If the espers were going to stop her, they would have done it by now. Unless the oversoul was planning something really unpleasant, to make an example of her and her companion . . .

The city unfolded constantly before them, like a glorious flower. New Hope had a strong, almost overwhelming sense of presence. As though it was more real, more there, than anywhere else in the material world. It glowed fiercely, as though illuminated from within by its own vitality. The city hummed loudly, in the ear and in the mind, like the sound of a great engine, endlessly turning. Emma found that disturbing. She knew that New Hope had no generators, no reactors, no artificial power sources of any kind. The city, all of it, was powered and maintained and levitated by the espers themselves. The oversoul was a living power source, generated from living minds, and thus utterly independent from the rest of Logres, and indeed, the rest of the Empire.

Emma steered her sled carefully between the elegant towers soaring up all around her, impossibly high, wonderfully crafted from glass and steel and precious metals. Every structure was a thing of beauty and a joy to behold. People flew in and out of the buildings, soaring gracefully through the air without the need for cumbersome technology. Down on the streets, people appeared and disappeared, came and went in a moment, teleporting in and out in the blink of an eye. And everywhere, men and women looked at objects, which moved or disappeared or burst into flames. No machines, no tech, anywhere in New Hope. They weren’t needed. New Hope had moved beyond reliance upon such things.

Emma Steel brought her sled down to rest on the edge of the city’s landing pads, and only then paused to wonder how she’d been able to find her way there. She’d never been in New Hope before. Someone had placed the information in her mind. She shuddered despite herself, then stepped down from the sled and made a point of glaring about her. She was a Paragon, dammit, and entitled to a proper and respectful reception. She was also an entirely unwanted guest, so she stayed where she was. Dignity was one thing; arrogance would only get her killed. Or worse. The oversoul guarded its secrets jealously.

That was, after all, why she’d brought the Ecstatic here. Even the Angel of Madraguda couldn’t afford to get the oversoul mad at him.

Emma folded her arms across her breastplate and tapped her foot impatiently as she looked about her. There was no one else on the landing pads. No ships, no travelers, not even any signs of Customs and Excise. Emma considered the implications of that for a moment, and then decided not to. It was only upsetting her. She turned around to help Joy down from the sled, and when she turned back an esper was standing right in front of her. Emma refused to jump, on principle, but it still took a moment for her heart to settle. The esper was a tall woman, almost supernaturally thin, with a long bony face and long blond fly-away hair, framing her head like a halo. She inclined her head slightly to the Ecstatic, in something that was almost a bow but not quite, and then looked coldly at Emma with dark, dark eyes.

Emma glared right back at her, and then felt as much as heard a buzzing in her head, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, somewhere behind her eyes. It grew suddenly worse, a pain stabbing outwards from the center of her brain. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, and put a hand to her head, and then her mind opened up, blossoming like a flower in the rain, spreading wide in all directions, some of which she had never even supposed existed before. Sight and sound and colors and echoes and so much more . . . And for a moment Emma Steel caught just a glimpse of the oversoul at work; an intricate lattice of interconnecting thoughts, communicating with more speed and clarity and depth than mere speech could ever allow. A million minds all talking at once, without anything being lost or drowned out, forming patterns of logic and structures of emotion, unbearably beautiful, inhumanly complex, infinitely productive. The oversoul: a whole far greater than the sum of its parts. And then the pain crashed back into Emma’s head as her mind slammed shut, her glimpse of heaven over, the gates slammed shut in her face. Emma groaned aloud despite herself, and looked at the esper before her with new eyes.

“Why did you show me that? And why did you shut me out again?”

“You have the esper gene, Paragon.” The woman’s voice was little more than a whisper, as though she wasn’t used to talking aloud, and Emma had to strain to understand her. “It’s buried deep in your ancestry. Not strong enough to maintain telepathy without extensive support. Continuing the contact would have burned you out. Permanently. You don’t belong here. Though your descendants might, some day. We are Humanity’s future, after all. One day, we shall all shine like suns. The Owen said so.”

“You’re starting to sound like him,” Emma growled, jerking her head at Joy. “He’s an Ecstatic.”

“Yes,” said the esper. “I recognized the smile.” She looked at Joy, frowned briefly, and something passed between them. The esper nodded reluctantly. “Very well. He shall have sanctuary. You must leave, Paragon.”

“Just like that?” Emma let her hands rest ostentatiously on her weapons belt and gave the esper her best scowl. “Blow that out your ears. This is Paragon business. I’m not budging from here till I get some answers. Why is the Church suddenly killing Ecstatics? What does this one know that’s so damned important? And why are you willing to protect him?”

“Things are changing,” said the esper, her voice and gaze unwavering. “The Church needs enemies, to keep its members focused. Give the people someone to hate, and they’ll stop thinking for themselves. Make them hate enough, and they’ll turn on anyone. You should know that, Paragon. Soon the Church will turn on espers. We are the next logical target. We’re too sane to fall for the Church’s lies and temptations, and too powerful and too dangerous to be allowed to exist outside the Church. They’ll come for us next. We are calling all our people home. Back to the security of New Hope. We will not fall again. You must go now.”

Emma started to argue, and the next thing she knew she was standing beside her gravity sled on the landing pads of Logres’s main starport. Right back where she’d first arrived on the planet. She’d been teleported. There was no sign of the Ecstatic. Emma sighed and shrugged, and stepped back up onto her sled. She rose slowly back into the sky and floated back across the city, going nowhere in particular. The Parade of the Endless seemed very different now from when she’d first arrived, such a short time ago. So full of happiness and good intentions then, even innocent, though that was not a word she would have used about herself before she came to Logres. But now her whole world had changed, and perhaps the Empire too. Humanity was becoming something new, something darker. Sometimes it seemed to Emma that the only thing that hadn’t changed for the worse was her.

She still believed in what it meant to be a Paragon.

She soared slowly over the city, and down in the streets below people looked up at her, and didn’t wave or cheer or smile. She was no longer their protector. She was the enemy.

Emma Steel frowned and wondered almost helplessly what to do next.

 

Anne Barclay sat alone in her office, swiveling back and forth in her familiar old chair, watching her display of monitor screens with the sound turned down to a bare mutter. She glanced from screen to screen but saw nothing. None of it mattered, not really. The House would be going into Session soon, and there were all kinds of urgent matters that ought to be commanding her attention, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate on any of them. She had a mug of hot, sweet black coffee in her hand, and she sipped at it now and again, when she remembered it was there, but she didn’t really taste it. Her other hand moved slowly over her close-cropped red hair, an old familiar caress that for once failed to comfort.

Anne was feeling unappreciated. She worked all the hours God sent, practically ran the House’s Security single-handed these days; and no one cared. She always made sure Douglas had every bit of information he needed, often hours before anyone else had it; and she couldn’t remember the last time he said
Thank you.
She rushed from room to room and meeting to meeting, making the secret necessary deals that Douglas couldn’t be seen to make himself; and all for what? Despite all her hard work, despite all the miracles she worked every day on Douglas’s behalf, he just took her for granted. He didn’t even talk with her anymore. Oh, he’d pop in to make sure she knew all about his latest problems and orders, sometimes throw her a brief meaningless smile, and then he was off and on his way again. He never paused to say
Well done,
or
Couldn’t do it without you,
or even
You’re my good right hand, Anne, I’m so proud of you.
Not much to ask for, really. She knew he was busy. She knew he worked even longer hours than she did. She knew she was being unfair. And she didn’t give a damn.

She’d never felt so alone, so desolate. So miserable. Jesamine was always too busy, or perhaps too guilty, to talk with her anymore. And Lewis was unofficially but very definitely in disgrace, and only allowed into the House on special occasions. Anne sighed and drank more coffee she didn’t want. She couldn’t go to see Lewis without risking seeming disloyal to Douglas, and the King had been hurt enough. All of which meant there was no one left for Anne to talk to, or at least no one she could trust. So she came to the office early and left late, and worked and worked till she was numb, because that was all she had left. Bringing the House, and its Security, under her control because she couldn’t control her own life.

She looked almost reluctantly at the lowest drawer of her desk, securely locked and sealed, where she kept the bright pink feather boa Jesamine had given her. She should have thrown it away, given it to someone who could appreciate it, or at the very least was brave enough to wear it in public. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do that. The boa was important to her; it represented something valuable, though she wasn’t sure what. Freedom, perhaps. The freedom to be someone other than boring old dependable Anne Barclay. Someone who had the guts to go and find a life of her own; someone who knew how to have fun. To do all the things Anne Barclay dreamed of, but had never found the time or the courage to go looking for. Someone who knew how to live, instead of just exist.

There was a single mirror on her desk; small, plain, and functional. Nothing at all of vanity about it. Anne looked at her own face in the mirror and didn’t recognize it. That wasn’t her; that grim scowling mask with hollow desperate eyes. That old, dead woman.

An unexpected knock at her office door made her jump in her chair, interrupting her train of thought. She flushed guiltily, swiveled her chair around, and regarded the closed door suspiciously. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, and her staff knew better than to bother her when she said she had some thinking to do. She glanced back over her shoulder at the monitor screen that covered the corridor outside. Standing patiently outside her door was the honorable Member for Virimonde: Michel du Bois. Anne raised an eyebrow. It had been a long time since du Bois had wanted anything from her, mainly because he knew he wouldn’t get it. The best memories Anne had of Virimonde were of leaving it. Provincial bloody dump. They’d never appreciated her either. But in the end she shrugged and called for her visitor to enter. It was someone to talk to; and she was curious.