Deathstalker Legacy (52 page)

The Terror was coming.

There were no more records. Lewis watched the worlds burning on the great viewscreen before him, seven planets where nothing lived anymore, and his mind reeled. So many dead, so many lost to agony and despair . . . He felt like screaming, like laughing and crying at the same time. He wanted to run away and hide, and let someone else deal with it, because it was just too much for him . . . but he didn’t. Because he was a Deathstalker. Because he was the Champion. Because people depended on him, just as they had once depended on his ancestor, the blessed Owen. Lewis clamped down hard on his teetering thoughts, and made himself concentrate on the things he could handle. He still had questions, things he needed to know.

He plunged back into the House’s records, forcing open old classified files with his Champion’s authority, ransacking long-sealed and secret bureaus he would never have even dared approach before, but found little there of any real use. The blessed Owen had never said anything about what the Terror actually was, only that it was coming, and that the whole of Humanity had to prepare itself to fight the Terror when it arrived. That Humanity might have to evolve, even transcend itself, through the Madness Maze, just to survive the Terror’s coming. Of course, no one knew what the blessed Owen’s actual original words had been. He’d vanished when the Darkvoid was broken and the lost planets returned, the Recreated saved and restored. His words came via his old ally, Captain John Silence. Also long gone, and no one knew where or why.

King Douglas made a sharp gesture, and the viewscreen disappeared. The House stirred, as though the honorable Members were slowly waking from a nightmare. Only to find it was all horribly real. They looked shocked, stunned, beaten down. Small men and women, entirely unprepared to face the greatest threat there had ever been to Humanity’s existence. They looked at each other, but no one had anything to say, so they looked to their King. Douglas sat straight-backed on his Throne, and looked steadily back at them.

“First of all; get a grip on yourselves,” he said harshly. “There’s no indication the Terror can break light speed. Which means it’s still a long way out. It’ll take weeks just to get to the next set of populated worlds. We can evacuate them, or fortify them, as we decide. We have time, to think and plan. To do our duty, and our jobs. The Terror is . . . unsettling. But we are not without resources. And we will not be taken by surprise.”

“Send the Fleet!” said a shrill voice from somewhere in the House. “Wait for that thing to reappear, and then blow it away!”

Other voices rose quickly in agreement, only to die away again as King Douglas shook his head.

“We can’t risk sending the Imperial Fleet to intercept the Terror. We can’t send any ships. In fact, I think we should recall all ships in the area, for now, as a precaution. Once a ship approaches the Terror, or its creatures, the crews on those ships will just fall under its influence. Do you really want Imperial starcruisers, with hyperdrive and disrupter cannon, running wild in the main systems, crewed by homicidal maniacs? No; we send drones, steered by remote control. That goes for you too, Shub. AIs are just as vulnerable as human minds. Does the House have any more . . . practical suggestions?”

People started shouting immediately, some with ideas, some with objections, most just for the comfort of saying something. The House quickly descended into bedlam. Douglas tried to be the voice of reason, but couldn’t make himself heard. He leaned back in his Throne and let them get on with it. Let them get it out of their system. It soon became clear no one had anything useful to offer, and they were just shouting at each other; taking their fear and anger and helplessness out on old rivals and enemies. The various alien species were just as distressed, and just as conflicted over what they should or could do. The Terror had come, and found everyone wanting.

King Douglas sank further back in his Throne. He didn’t feel ready either. He’d only just been made King. He was still learning how to do his job, dammit. He shouldn’t have to deal with something as important as this, as vital as this, so early in his reign. He didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t fair. Briefly, he cursed the blessed Owen, and all his fellow Maze people, for not being around when they were needed. Douglas could feel the shakes starting in his hands again, and gripped the arms of his Throne tightly. It wasn’t fair, but then, little in life ever was. Being a Paragon taught you that. But now he was the King, and the Speaker, and it was his job to lead, if necessary by example.

He turned to the Champion at his side, and beckoned for him to lean closer. Lewis did so, and Douglas told him what he wanted him to do. Lewis grinned, drew his disrupter, and fired an energy blast over the heads of the massed MPs. The energy bolt only just missed their heads by a couple of feet or so, and they all ducked reflexively, as the energy beam went on to smash a satisfyingly large hole in the wall at the far end of the chamber. An emergency siren began blaring, but was shut off almost immediately. It seemed Anne was still watching. The bright flare of the energy discharge and the roar of the explosion cut through the House’s bedlam, and caught everyone’s attention. They stopped arguing, and looked uncertainly at their King and his Champion. Several were still ducking. A few were on their knees, hiding. Lewis smiled coldly upon them all, his gun covering the whole House impartially. Douglas nodded, satisfied.

“Thank you, Lewis. And thank you, ladies and gentlemen and gentlebeings, for shutting the hell up so I can hear myself think at last. There will be no more hysteria, by order. I will not have the honorable Members of this venerable institution running about like chickens who’ve just had their heads chopped off! I will have calm, rational discussion at all times, from all Members. I know I will have this, because I have just given my Champion orders to shoot a hole through the next MP he sees panicking. You don’t have any problems with that order, do you, sir Deathstalker?”

“Not in the least, your Majesty. In fact, I’m just in the mood to shoot somebody.”

The House looked at Lewis, and had no trouble believing him. They remembered him in the Neuman riot. In a way, it was almost comforting to have a Deathstalker in the House, doing what he did best. Silence and watchful eyes became the order of the day, as the honorable Members sat down again, and looked to their King and Speaker to see what he would do next. Douglas nodded, satisfied, and turned his gaze on the blue steel humanoid figure standing calmly among the aliens.

“When you want logic, go to a computer. Talk to me, Shub; what can you tell this House about the Terror? What it is, where it comes from, and what it might do next?”

The robot representing the AIs of Shub slowly turned its expressionless face towards the Throne. “We received the same warning that you did. We possess no further information, no extra records, nothing on the nature or capabilities of the Terror that you do not already have. Like you, we never thought the Terror would come so soon. We will send remote probes to the next inhabited system in its path, have them monitor the situation when the Terror next appears in real space. Perhaps by studying the nature of its arrival, we can determine where it exists the rest of the time. Perhaps even come up with some way to go in after it.

“We have weapons that can destroy worlds; or creatures the size of worlds. But the Terror . . . is like nothing we have ever seen before. It doesn’t seem to be real, as we are real. Limited as we are limited. It is clearly an extradimensional creature. It is possible that no weapon of ours will be able to affect it. You saw how Corcoran’s sensor drones changed and mutated, just through continued exposure to the Terror’s presence. Just as technology on the Rim planets was affected. And Shub is, of course, technology. The implications are disturbing. But we will send our probes, and study the information they send for as long as they last. Information is always useful. All data will be shared equally, of course.

“I am sorry, your Majesty. You came to Shub for logic, and it seems all we can offer are guesses and possibilities. Though . . . there is one weapon that might prove useful against the Terror. Should you wish to make use of it.”

“A weapon?” Douglas leaned forward. “Something you created, during your long war against Humanity?”

“No. Nothing of ours. No one knows who or what created this weapon. And only you can decide whether or not you wish to use it.”

“The Maze,” Lewis said harshly. “They’re talking about the Madness Maze. Owen said we’d have to transcend, through the Maze, to face what was coming. We could have evolved, made living weapons of ourselves, become greater than we are, long and long ago; if we hadn’t been frightened of the Maze.”

“We chose to progress cautiously!” Douglas snapped. “And with good reason. The Maze kills people, or drives them insane. That’s all it’s done, since Owen’s time. No, Shub; I know you’re desperate to go through the Maze, but I can’t let you use even the Terror as an excuse. The risks are too great. The Madness Maze stays closed and isolated, until we’ve tried absolutely everything else. Some cures are far worse than the disease.”

“The Terror just wiped out seven populated worlds,” said Lewis. “Billions of people dead, in horror and despair. What’s ten thousand volunteers dead in the Maze, compared to that? If only one person were to go through and survive, to transcend, like Owen and Hazel and—”

“Are you volunteering to go in?” said Douglas. “To risk almost certain death or madness, just on the off chance of becoming like your ancestor?”

“I don’t know,” Lewis said honestly. “The Maze scares the crap out of me. The odds aren’t good, but . . .”

“The odds stink,” said Douglas. “I won’t risk killing the brightest and the best, the bravest and most heroic of my people, just on the chance the Maze might throw up a miracle. No one gets into the Maze. In fact, this House had better cut orders to increase the levels of Quarantine protection. The last thing we need is streams of religious zealots trying to force their way in. Dead martyrs piling up on Haden would only complicate the situation further.”

“And of course, we don’t want rogue superhumans running loose about the Empire, answering to no one but themselves,” murmured Lewis.

Douglas looked at him sharply. “No; we don’t.” He turned away, to face the esper representative, a tiny woman barely four feet tall, with golden skin and leaf green hair and the biggest overbite Lewis had ever seen. Douglas nodded courteously to her. “I need the oversoul to organize all the espers on the outlying planets. Just in case the Terror changes its course. The espers can be the Empire’s early warning system. Let us know if there’s any change in the herald’s direction or speed. Since you don’t rely on tech, you should be able to operate longer than most.”

The tiny woman nodded briefly. “We’re on it, your Majesty.”

“We ought to set up a watch all along the Rim,” said Lewis. “Who’s to say there’s only one Terror?”

“Shut up, Lewis,” said Douglas. “You’re depressing me.”

And that was when the Swart Alfair, the representative of Mog Mor, left the alien section and stepped out onto the floor of the House. Ten feet tall, the huge crimson-skinned batlike creature was an imposing presence, and it knew it. It wrapped its membranous wings around its vaguely humanoid shape, like a great ribbed cloak, while thick blue ectoplasm boiled around it, churning mists containing images that came and went too quickly to be studied. The Swart Alfair made sure it had everyone’s attention, and then it turned to face the King. Its eyes were black on black, its snouted gargoyle face unreadable. The Swart Alfair pretended not to notice that Lewis was now covering it exclusively with his disrupter.

“Mog Mor has an offer to make, to King and House and Humanity. Mog Mor offers help and support, in time of mutual need. The Destroyer has come at last, and must be faced and conquered if any are to survive. So; the time for silence has ended, and the Swart Alfair must talk of many things. We have technology you do not even suspect. Technology advanced beyond anything you have, beyond anything in your wildest dreams. We have weapons, ships, machines that think. Greater and more powerful than you can imagine. Kept secret, unsuspected, for time of need. We can blow apart worlds, put out suns; perhaps even stop the Destroyer. Mog Mor will make all this available to Humanity, and Empire, in return for certain promises and assurances . . .”

The King looked around the House, but the honorable Members seemed just as stunned as he was. “Promises . . .” Douglas said finally.

“We want things,” said the batlike creature, showing all its pointed teeth in something that might have been meant as a smile. “We want to colonize worlds of our own. Rich, useful, pleasant worlds that would normally go only to human colonists. There are such worlds close to our home planet. We lay claim to them. They are already colonized by humans, so they will have to leave; so Swart Alfair can occupy them. We want . . . more of a
presence
in the Empire. We want a Seat and a Vote in the House, for every world on which Swart Alfair live, as long as required population levels are maintained. We wish to grow and expand, and scatter ourselves across the stars as humans do. This is our price. For weapons and ships and technology beyond your expectations. Swart Alfair are very old. Asleep for a long time, but waking up now. Embrace us, or fall to the Destroyer.”

“Yes . . .” said Douglas, after a long pause. “Well; that’s a very interesting offer. Which I’m sure the House will want to discuss in some depth. In the meantime . . . we’ll take your offer under advisement, and get back to you as soon as we can . . .”

“Don’t leave it too long,” said the Swart Alfair. The ectoplasm boiled thickly around it, despite everything the House’s air conditioning could do to disperse it. “We have tech that can hide us from the Destroyer, as it hid us from the Empire and its Investigators, in days of old. You have nothing like it. And no, your Majesty; Mog Mor feels no duty, no responsibility, to offer it to the Empire free of charge. Not so long as Empire remains poisoned by Pure Humanity philosophy. Going now. Mog Mor will not be seen again in House. Call Mog Mor, when you are ready. When you are scared enough. You have no choice, really.”