Deathstalker Rebellion by Simon R. Green
"And that's Technos III in a nutshell. Perfect for vacations. Bring the kids. Of course, the war ignores such trivialities as the seasons; it goes on day in, day out, whatever the weather. You've arrived as autumn turns to winter—the nearest we've got to a quiet time. Our people and the Wolfe mercs take the opportunity for a breather, plan our revenges, and bury our dead. But don't think you can relax. You've got maybe two hours before the killing starts again. So welcome to hell, gentlemen and bounty hunter. Maybe now we can get to the important questions, like: When are the others coming? How large an army can you supply us with? How many weapons?"
Storm and Ruby both looked at Random. He sighed and met the rebels' gaze as calmly as he could. "I'm afraid there isn't any army. Not yet. The underground is raising volunteers for the great rebellion on hundreds of worlds, but it's a long slow process. Such trained men as we have are scattered across the Empire where they can do the most good. For the moment we're all you're getting."
"I don't believe I'm hearing this," said Tall John, his voice shaking with barely suppressed anger. "We were promised battle-hardened fighters, led by the legendary Jack Random, the professional rebel. And what do we get: two old men and a professional back stabber. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just throw the three of you out into the winter to freeze?"
Random snatched the gun out of Tall John's hand, lifted him off his feet with one hand, and pressed the gun under the rebel's chin. Tall John's eyes bulged as his feet kicked a good foot above the floor. Before the surrounding rebels could react, Random put Tall John down again and offered him his gun back. The rebel leader took it automatically and blinked confusedly. The rebels looked at each other uncertainly. Throat-slitter Mary was grinning. Ruby sniffed.
"Show-off."
Tall John pulled his dignity about him again and nodded curtly to Random. "Not bad for an old man."
"There's more to us than meets the eye," said Storm smoothly.
"There would have to be," said Throat-slitter Mary. "Well, if you're all we're going to get, we'd better make the most of you. Come with me, and I'll introduce you to a few of our strategists. Ragged Tom and Specter Alice should have a few ideas. They usually do."
"Interesting names you have here," said Storm. "Hasn't the concept of surnames made it this far yet?"
"Our ancestors were indentured workers," said Tall John. "Slaves, in all but name. They just had numbers. We're free, so we choose our own names or accept those given to us by others. Surnames are for people with families and a future. We live from day to day and depend on no one but ourselves. There's no room for luxuries on Technos III."
In a small private gymnasium, in the great hulking residential building attached to the factory, Michel Wolfe, reluctant husband to Stephanie, was working out on the parallel bars. Sweat dripped from his bulging muscles as he pushed himself through the strenuous routine his computers had recommended. He grunted and huffed with every effort, eyes squeezed shut, scowling with concentration. He'd originally acquired his muscles from a Golgotha body shop and just went back for quick touch-up if they looked like they might be sagging a bit. But out here in the wilds, far from civilization, he had to maintain his muscles the hard way, like it or not. Michel hated every minute of it. It was entirely too much like hard work; and if he'd wanted to work hard, he wouldn't have married into the aristocracy.
He dropped down from the bars and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The marriage had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now he was beginning to wish he'd stayed an accountant. You knew where you were with figures. If you did your job properly, the numbers added up to a single, undeniable total. No arguments, no opinions, no having to care what anybody else said. Life in the Families wasn't like that. The answer to any question tended to depend on who you were talking to at the time. And heaven help you if you got it wrong, or even worse, didn't give a damn. Everyone was plotting with everyone else, and if you chose the wrong side, death was often the easiest way of losing. And you weren't allowed not to choose a side. Just by being part of a Clan you inherited feuds, arguments, and hatreds that went back centuries. Michel sighed and thought about doing fifty sit-ups. And then he thought the hell with it. Let his abdominals sag. See if he cared. He sighed again.
"What's the matter, lover?" said Lily Wolfe from the doorway.
Michel looked around quickly. Lily Wolfe, reluctant wife of Daniel, was standing in the open doorway, striking another of her poses. This was her favorite: one leg forward, chest out, head slightly back, designed to pull his eyes up her body, showing off her six-foot-six willowy frame, from her incredible legs all the way up to her pouting mouth. She was wearing another of her pagan witchy outfits, all flapping silks and earth colors, designed to make her look long, pale, and interesting. She'd swapped her usual long silver wig for a mop of bright red curls that didn't really suit her, but was presumably meant to give her an air of gypsy abandon. It didn't matter. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful. Michel smiled at her in spite of himself. Every time he saw her he fell in love with her all over again, even if it was about as sensible as clutching a live grenade to his bosom. Everyone has one true love in their life, someone who fills their life with light and turns their bones to water, and God help him, she was his. He reached for the nearby towel and wiped the sweat from his face.
"What brings you here, Lily?" he said finally, trying hard to sound casual though his pulse was already racing. "I didn't think you even knew this place existed. And I've told you before; don't call me lover in public. It's not safe."
Lily shrugged. "There's only one kind of exercise I've ever been interested in. Anything else is just a waste of good sweat. And I've never been interested in being safe, either. Now, are you going to come over here and kiss me, or am I going to have to come and get you?"
Michel draped his towel over one shoulder and moved unhurriedly over to join her. It was important to him that he kept some kind of control, even though he knew he'd lose it all the moment he took her in his arms. He had to tilt his head up to kiss her. He was a good six inches shorter than her, but that had never bothered him. It just meant that there was that much more of her for him to love. And when he crushed her in his arms like some long delicate flower and her perfume filled his head like a drug, he didn't give a damn about anything but her.
Lily always said they were made for each other. His dark and swarthy looks complemented her pale high cheekbones, like two sides of the same gypsy coin. They were soul mates, meant for each other, and nothing could keep them apart. She said a lot of things like that, but he didn't usually listen. It was enough that she was there. He belonged to her, body and soul, even though he knew he'd probably end up dying for her, if they were ever found out.
He finally pushed her away, though he didn't let go of her.
"This complex may not be as openly bugged as we're used to, but that doesn't mean somebody couldn't be watching us," he said heavily. "That bug scrambler of yours has its limits. Daniel and Stephanie may be so preoccupied with getting this factory up and running that we're being allowed a longer leash than usual, but we still have to be careful. If they were ever presented with hard evidence of our love, they'd have to have us executed—or be a laughing stock. Even worse, they might throw us out of the Family. I love you, Lily, but I won't be poor again for you."
"You worry too much," said Lily, laughing silently at him from beneath heavy eyelids.
"And you don't worry enough," said Michel, meeting her gaze firmly. "We're only here on this benighted back end of nowhere because our respective spouses don't trust us out of their sight. So far all they have are suspicions. Their egos won't let them believe anything less than hard evidence, so let's not get careless and provide them with any. We have to be careful, Lily. We have so much to lose."
"You're so boring when you're being sensible," said Lily. She pouted like a child and pulled out of his arms. "You should listen more to the ancient voices within you, the dark savag
Michel folded his arms across his great chest. "So talk. I'm listening, darling."
Lily flashed him a wide smile, and suddenly she didn't look at all childish anymore. "Daniel and Stephanie have a great deal invested in this factory's success. If they were to fail, if something were to go wrong here, they'd have even less time to pay attention to us. So you might say we have a vested interest in their failure. Yes, I thought you'd like that. Now, let's take the argument one step further. If they were to die here, you and I would inherit all their world goods and their position in the Family. And considering that dear Constance doesn't give a damn about the Family and never has, and dear Valentine is a complete lunatic whose regular intake of dubious chemicals would suggest he isn't long for this world anyway… if we were to play our cards very carefully, we could end up with everything."
"And we could end up very dead," said Michel. "Kill them? Are you crazy? You've been thinking again, haven't you? I hate it when you think. Our position is precarious enough as it is. Arranging a plausible accident for the factory is one thing, but if Daniel and Stephanie were to die, whatever the situation, the first people they'd arrest would be me and you. Precisely because we have so much to gain. And you can't lie to an esper."
"Unless… the deaths could clearly be put at someone else's door," said Lily calmly. "Someone who hates them even more than we do. Like the local rebels, perhaps."
"All right," said Michel. "I just know I'm going to regret this, but tell me more."
Lily half turned away from him, her eyes lost in the distance. "You've never believed in my witchy powers, Michel, but they've been stronger than ever since we came here. I've… seen things, felt things, ridden on the winds of the storm. This is a wild place, and wild things happen here. It calls to me. I feel stronger here, more focused, more daring. You'd be surprised what I dare, lover."
Michel nodded, but said nothing. He'd always suspected Lily had a touch of esp, but it wasn't something you mentioned among the aristocracy. Espers were property. Always. Apparently, the boredom of enforced celibacy and the untamed nature of the planet had combined to stimulate her abilities. Certainly, she'd seemed more extreme lately in her emotions and her recklessness.
"All right," he said mildly. "So you've got a great future ahead of you as a weather predictor. So what? How does that help us?"
"The wildness of this planet doesn't lie in its weather, but in its people," said Lily. "I can feel them out there. Underground. They're planning something big, something we can perhaps take advantage of. You see, I have friends here, dear Michel. Good friends. Powerful friends."
And then they both heard footsteps approaching down the corridor outside, and they broke off, moving away from each other. There was a pause, and then Toby Shreck came bustling through the doorway, smiling professionally, followed more casually by his cameraman Flynn. Michel and Lily drew themselves up majestically.
"Get out," said Lily.
"Sorry to bother you," said Toby breezily, "but I need to tape a quick interview with you two. Nothing too complicated or challenging; just a simple character piece for inclusion in the documentary your Family's commissioned from me on the opening ceremony. So if you'll just grant me a few minutes of your time…"
"Get out," said Michel.
"Allow me to point out that your respective spouses are very keen that you should cooperate," said Toby. "Trust me, just lie back and relax, and it'll be over before you know it."
"Get out," said Lily.
"Honestly," said Toby, smiling till his cheeks ached, "you'll enjoy it, once we get started. Haven't you ever wanted to have your face on the holoscreen, broadcast across the entire Empire, in front of a guaranteed audience of practically everyone with a set? The stardrive ceremony is big news. There's bound to be a massive audience. Your names could be on everybody's lips." He looked hopefully at Lily and Michel, and then sighed and shrugged. "I know; get out. Come on, Flynn. We'll try again some other time when they're not feeling so aristocratic."
He bowed briefly to Lily and Michel and left, followed by Flynn, who didn't bow to anyone. Michel relaxed a little as the door closed behind them. Lily scowled.
"Impertinent little creep. Speaking to us like that. I can just imagine the sort of questions he had in mind. Publicity like that we don't need. Not with what I've got planned."
"Well, what precisely have you got planned?" said Michel impatiently. "And who the hell are these friends of yours? Why haven't you mentioned them before? Have you told them about us?"
"I didn't have to," said Lily. "They already knew. That's why they came to me."
"Who the hell are they?"
"Clan Chojiro. I've been one of their agents for ages now. They respect my witchy nature, and they pay very well. They had a great many agents in place here already, but through me they now have access to all kinds of levels they couldn't even touch before. They're quite willing to see we get everything we want, as long as they get what they want. They even have agents among the local rebels, feeding them information. Honestly, things couldn't be working out better for us. Could they?"
"I don't know," said Michel. "Conspiring with Clan Chojiro is like shark fishing and using yourself as bait. I need time to think about this."
"Well, think quickly. Someone will be coming here to talk to us any minute. Our plans can begin anytime now. The last piece of the puzzle has just arrived."
"I hate it when you go all allusive. I assume we're talking about a double agent. What makes him so special?"
"He's a Jesuit commando," said a calm voice behind them. "Which means he has access to all the security systems in and around the factory complex."
Michel spun around, fists clenched at being caught unawares, and then he quickly unclenched them as he remembered who he was facing. The Jesuits were the enforcers of the Church of Christ the Warrior and were said to be the best fighters you could find outside the Investigators or the Arena. This particular Jesuit was wearing purple and white battle armor and a sardonic smile. He was tall, dark, and not particularly memorable. He didn't look especially tough, either, but Michel had absolutely no intention of testing him. Or even upsetting him. Michel's muscles were strictly for show.
"So glad you could come and see us," Lily said graciously to the Jesuit. "I take it everything is going as planned?"
"So far," said the Jesuit. "I am Father Brendan, Michel. You may have complete confidence in me. In this room, for example, the security systems are currently running on a closed loop, so we can talk for as long as we need without fear of being overheard. Now, I'm sure you have questions. Ask away."
"All right," said Michel. "Let's start with why we should trust anyone from the Church. Last I heard, they were still advocating the return of the death penalty for adulterers. This could all be a setup by Kassar. He'd love to have something he could use to bring down the Wolfes."
"The Cardinal knows nothing about this," said Brendan, or we'd all be dead by now. As to why I've chosen to work with Clan Chojiro, it's really very simple. Before I joined the Church, I was originally Clan Silvestri."
"What the hell do Chojiro and Silvestri have in common?"
The Jesuit smiled. "Blue Block."
Michel realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. Blue Block. The extremely secret, half-mythical school where younger members of the Families were trained and conditioned almost from birth to be utterly loyal to the Clans, to death and beyond. The Families' secret weapon.
"But…" Michel struggled for words. "Why is Blue Block being used against the Wolfes, one of their own?"
Brendan smiled. "The Wolfes in general—and Valentine in particular—are becoming too powerful. He's tipping the balance. We feel it would be best for all if Valentine could be made to stand down, and others more willing to share the profits of stardr
"Which is where we come in," said Lily. "Daniel and Stephanie will fall easily without Valentine to protect and support them, Constance will be quietly sidelined, and we will take over the Family. Clan Chojiro will support us now in return for future generosity on our part."
"Quite," said Brendan. "You don't have to do anything much to begin with. We'll supply explosives and provide exact locations where they'll do the most damage. All you have to do is place them in those areas of the complex that only you have access to. It won't be a particularly big explosion. Just enough to throw production into chaos and make Clan Wolfe look incompetent."
"So no one has to get killed?" Michel said quickly.
"Only as a last resort," said Brendan. "We prefer to avoid actual bloodshed. It's so… obvious. Trust me, Michel, we'll try everything else first."
Michel nodded reluctantly. "All right. When does the balloon go up?"
"At the ceremony," said the Jesuit. "Live, on holoscreens all over the Empire. It'll be a ratings smash."
"You see, lover," said Lily to Michel, slipping an arm through his. "Even that little toad of a reporter will end up helping us. Everything is planned, down to the last detail. Nothing can go wrong."
Toby Shreck hurried down the narrow corridor, glanced at the watch face set into his wrist, and swore quietly. This was officially sleep time in the factory complex's living quarters, and after the day he'd been through he felt he could sleep for a week. In the hours since his unsuccessful little chat with Lily and Michel Wolfe, he'd been running himself ragged trying to set up all the interviews and factory footage he could.
No one was cooperating except under the direst of threats, and trying to make this factory look good was a task that even an experienced PR flack like himself would have blanched at. Personally speaking, Toby felt he'd seen sexier-looking abattoirs. But none of that mattered now. He had a chance at a once-in-a-lifetime interview, and he was damned if he was going to lose it now, just because it was an hour when all civilized men had their heads down and were dreaming furiously. Everyone else could give him cold shoulders till their joints froze up; this one interview would make his reputation.