Deathstalker Legacy (59 page)

“The Church can offer you protection against the Terror,” he said, for what had to be at least the tenth time. “You will be safe with us. Let us get you out of here. They can’t hold you here against your will, not if you have the backing of the new Church. All you’ll have to do is make the occasional appearance, the occasional speech or two, on our behalf. No pressure, of course. Whatever you feel comfortable with. And we’ll find you a really secure place; somewhere the Terror could never find or reach you. We want to be your friend, Donal. The Church is your friend.”

“You want me to speak to people,” said Corcoran, holding his hands up before his face, and turning them back and forth as though he’d never seen them before. “Praise the Church and pass the panacea. Bullshit. Bullshit! You can’t hide behind your precious religion now, little angel. There’ll be nowhere to hide when the Terror comes. I know. The rock cried out, no hiding place . . . I don’t want to speak to people. I just want to get the hell out of here. Get back to my ship. Back to the Terror . . .”

Angelo blinked at him confusedly. “You want . . . to face the Terror again?”

Corcoran spun on him, his fingers crooked now into claws, his eyes suddenly inhumanly wide and unblinking, his lips pulled back into a vicious snarl. Angelo fell back a step, despite himself. Corcoran laughed soundlessly.

“I want to fight the Terror! Kill it! Hurt it, like it hurt me! I can feel it . . . I can always feel it . . . We’re connected now, till death do us part. Screw your protection, Angelo, I want revenge. I want to be free of it. Do you think I don’t know what’s been done to me? Inside, I’m hurting all the time. Inside, I’m screaming all the time. I’ll never be safe, never be free, never be me again . . . until I’ve torn the Terror apart, burned it down and pissed on the ashes.”

“Well,” said Angelo. “That’s all very interesting, but . . .” Corcoran hugged himself tightly, as though he might fly apart, still fixing Angelo with his disturbing, feverbright eyes. “I see you, Bellini. There are dead men peering over your shoulder. There’s something on your hands and it isn’t blood, though it’s red enough. You think you know revenge . . . You get me out of here, little angel, and I’ll show you revenge.”

Angelo had to swallow hard, unable to look away from eyes that seemed to look right through him. This was just like the Ecstatic, who’d also seemed to know things he couldn’t possibly have known. What had the Terror done to this man? What had it turned him into?

“God feels your pain, my son . . .”

“God? Where was your God, when so many innocents died? I think . . . maybe what I saw was God. God gone crazy, devouring His own creation. Saturn, eating his children. Get me out of here, Angelo. Or maybe I’ll eat you.”

Corcoran was very close to Angelo now, and still the Angel couldn’t look away from the dark, dark eyes. He was whimpering, though he didn’t know it. And then King Douglas and Crow Jane came striding through the illusionary gardens, breaking the spell, and Angelo was actually pleased to see them. He broke away from Corcoran and stumbled over to bow formally to Douglas.

“Ah, your Majesty. What an unexpected surprise, and a pleasure. May I introduce you to my quite extraordinary new friend, Donal Corcoran? He and I have been having the most fascinating little chat.”

“How the hell did you get in here, Bellini?” demanded Douglas. “And where do you get off, claiming to have official permission? I wouldn’t give you permission to clean this place’s toilets with your own toothbrush. And trying to take advantage of the mentally ill has to be a new low, even for you. Get out of here, now. Before I have the guards throw you out.”

Angelo drew himself up to his full height, and glared at the King coldly. “I represent the Church, and the Church goes where it wishes. Your power derives from a handful of frightened men and women in an outmoded institution, Douglas. Mine comes from the greatest and most powerful religious movement this Empire has ever known. The day will come, and sooner than you think, when your House will have to kneel to my Church; and you will have to kneel to me. Make the most of your little authority, Campbell. While you still have it.”

Douglas punched him in the mouth. Angelo squealed loudly, lurched backwards, and sat down suddenly. Blood welled down his bearded chin, and tears ran from his eyes. Douglas took a step forward, and Angelo scooted frantically backwards across the grass.

“Never outstay your welcome, Angelo,” Douglas said calmly. “And by the way, for a warrior of the Church Militant, you take a punch like a sissy. Now get out of my sight, or I’ll have them set the dogs on you.”

Angelo rose unsteadily to his feet, gathered what was left of his dignity about him, and opened his mouth for one last cutting comment. Only to lose it all and run for his life when Douglas suddenly growled and lunged at him. Crow Jane watched him go, and then looked thoughtfully at Douglas.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Oh yes,” said Douglas, happily. “Absolutely. You have no idea.”

They both turned to consider Donal Corcoran, who had ignored all of what happened, intently counting his fingers over and over again. His whole body was trembling, as though full of energy he didn’t know what to do with. His face was slick with sweat, though it was only pleasantly warm in the fake garden. He looked up suddenly to glare at Douglas, his head cocked slightly to one side.

“You. It’s all your fault. You shouldn’t have had me brought here. To Logres, to this place. I wanted to stay on my ship. I knew where I was, there. We’ve been through a lot together. We’re connected, you see. Both changed by the Terror. The Navy took me by force. Boarded my ship, wrestled me to the deck, put me in a straightjacket, and brought me here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t feel safe. I need to be out there . . . waiting for it to show its face again. You do know it’s coming back, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Douglas. “If the Terror continues on the same course, it will cut a swathe through all the most densely populated worlds, and come here. To Logres. That’s why I had you brought here, Donal. Because of what you’ve seen, what you know. I need to know what you know.”

“You can’t,” Corcoran said flatly. “Even I don’t know everything I know. There’s more inside my head than just me. You think I don’t know what this place is? I know. I can hear the barred windows and smell the guns. Best-looking rubber room I ever saw.” He looked around sharply, and tensed, half crouching, as though preparing to run. “I’m never alone anymore. I’m haunted by ghosts. I can hear the voices of every man, woman, and child who died on the Rim worlds. They talk to me, in the quiet between other people’s words. They tell me what it’s like to be dead. They don’t like it. They didn’t like it the first time, either. That’s why they became the Recreated. But now, all they have is me. Whatever I am now. I will be their vengeance, hunt down the Terror and destroy it. Make it suffer, make it pay, for what it did to them, and to me. And maybe then I’ll be able to sleep again.”

“We all want to stop the Terror,” Douglas said carefully.

“Do you know how we can do that, Donal?”

Corcoran looked at him sideways, smiling craftily. “Let me out of here, and I’ll tell you.”

Douglas sighed, and looked at Crow Jane, who shook her head slowly. “I’ve been trying to get inside his mind, and I can’t. It’s spooky in there. I’ve never encountered anything like this before. He isn’t an esper, and he has no actual telepathic shields, as such; it’s just that his mind is too . . . different. I’ve known aliens whose thought patterns were easier to understand. It’s like . . . part of his mind is always missing. Like . . . not all of him came back from the Rim. Perhaps when he encountered the Terror, it took part of him, and kept it.”

“There is a place that is not a place,” Corcoran said softly. “Sometimes . . . I can sense it, just behind my shoulder. I think maybe . . . the Terror was born there. Look into my eyes, little esper, and perhaps you’ll see it too.”

Crow Jane looked away. “I can’t. It frightens me.”

Corcoran laughed. It was a thick, ugly, disturbing sound with nothing sane about it. Douglas shuddered, despite himself. Corcoran looked slowly around the garden that had been made for him, sneering at its security, denying himself its comforts. He turned suddenly to glare at Douglas.

“Let me out of here. I can’t be here. I have business to be about. You have no right to keep me here!”

“What you know, or might remember, could prove very valuable,” said Douglas. “All sorts of people would like to get their hands on you, for what they think you know. You’re safer here. Talk to the doctors, Donal. Help them to help you. And then work with us, to stop the Terror. Before it kills again.”

“You know nothing! You understand nothing!” Corcoran stepped suddenly forward, to shout his words right into Douglas’s face. Crow Jane drew her disrupter. Corcoran ignored her. Douglas gestured for the esper not to interfere, and stood very still as the madman shouted at him. “You can’t keep me here! I won’t be kept here, like an animal!”

“I’ll come and talk to you again,” said Douglas. “When you’re feeling calmer. I won’t give up on you, Donal. I am your King, and I will not abandon you. If you have faith in nothing else, have faith in that.”

He bowed to Corcoran, and then turned and walked unhurriedly away. Crow Jane gave Corcoran one last suspicious glance, and then hurried after Douglas, her gun still in her hand. The madman watched them go, his staring eyes suddenly calm and thoughtful. When the King and his esper were both out of sight, hidden behind the concealing holos, Corcoran walked off in another direction, between trees he knew weren’t real, following a direction that blazed in his mind like a siren. He soon came to what appeared to be a high stone wall, the boundary of the grounds. Corcoran slowly reached out, placed his hands flat against the disguised force shield, and pushed. And his hands and arms went right through the energy screen as though it wasn’t there. Corcoran pulled his hands back, and laughed soundlessly.

 

Frustrated by his failure to acquire Donal Corcoran for the Church, and furious at his treatment by King Douglas, Angelo Bellini scowled and fumed all the way back to the Cathedral. He slammed out of his chauffeur-driven limousine, stormed through the offices at the back of the Cathedral, and his people saw his face and hurried to get out of his way. He stalked right past his secretary, even as she rose twittering from behind her desk to tell him he had a visitor waiting in his office. He kicked the door open, strode in, and slammed the door behind him with satisfying noise and venom. It felt good to be back in his office, in his territory, in his place of power. A good place to plot revenges, and the humbling of Kings. He strode over to his desk, enjoying the way his feet sank into the deep pile carpet. He sank down into his chair, activated the massage function, and finally began to relax a little. Someone cleared his throat politely, and Angelo only then remembered what his secretary had said about a visitor. He looked around, and there was Tel Markham, the honorable Member for Madraguda, standing patiently beside the window, looking calm and relaxed as always.

“Hello, Angelo,” Markham said easily. “You’re looking good, as always. Like the new office. It’s very you. Is that dried blood in your beard?”

“Go away, Tel,” Angelo said wearily. “I don’t have the time or the patience for this. I’m really very busy today. You’ll just have to make an appointment with my secretary for another time, like everyone else.”

“An appointment?” said Markham, raising one elegant eyebrow. “Since when did Madraguda’s two most favored sons need an appointment to talk to each other?”

“Spare me the crap,” growled Angelo. “I’m not in the mood. What do you want, Tel? You know you only ever come to see me when you want something.”

“I want us to be partners,” Markham said easily. “We have so many aims in common, these days. Think how much we could achieve, working together, in the House and in the Church.”

“I already have one partner, and he’s enough of a pain in the arse as it is.”

“But I have so much to offer, Angelo.”

“I very much doubt it.” Angelo smiled sardonically at his visitor. “Parliament is on its way out. The new Church is where the future is. You never wanted to be my partner when I was just the Angel of Madraguda. How many times did I ask for your support, back when I was trying to raise money for good causes? You never wanted to know, never bothered to stir yourself unless there was a media opportunity you could crash and turn to your advantage. Well, now the tables have turned, Tel, and you know what? You don’t have a single thing I want or need. Or at least, nothing I can’t take from you, when I get around to it.”

“You always were a sore loser, Angelo.” Markham considered for a moment. “I am Pure Humanity, you know. A lot of MPs are. I’m sure we already have a great many acquaintances in common.”

Angelo sneered at him. “So the rats are already deserting the sinking ship, are they? I don’t care if you’re Neuman, Tel. I already have all the fanatics I need. And I sure as hell don’t need another partner. What power I have is mine, and I won’t share it with anyone else!”

“I really do suggest you think again,” said Markham. He moved over to stand before Angelo, confronting him directly with a steady gaze and his best commanding voice. “I am now connected to people who could be very useful to you, and your Church. People and . . . organizations you can’t even imagine. I can make things happen, with just a word here and a word there. I can open doors that even your current influence couldn’t budge. I come to you today in friendship, with my hands open. Deny me now, turn me away, and when I come to you again it might not be in so friendly a manner.”

“Ah, shove it up your majority,” said Angelo. “You always did try and bully me out of what was rightfully mine. Well, not anymore, Tel. Don’t let the door hit you on the arse on your way out.”

Markham shrugged easily, entirely unmoved. “There never was any talking to you when you’re in one of your moods. And by the way; give Mother a call. She says it’s been ages since she last heard from you.”