reasons.'
'Then you were remarkably naive, Captain,' said Frost. 'In essence, that's always been our final duty. To fight and kill those the Empress has declared enemies of the Empire.'
'We should be fighting the real enemies,' said Silence. 'The Deathstalker and the SummerIsle are just a couple of kids with too much time on their hands. Probably never had a political thought in their lives. The Empire's real enemies are the rebel underground. Owen Deathstalker and his people. Lionstone doesn't take them seriously enough. You saw what happened on the Wolfling World. What Owen and his people have become. I don't even know if they're still human anymore. They're the real danger. And that's the only reason I'm doing this. Because we need to be back in a position to protect the Empress from the coming rebellion. She needs us, whether she wants to admit it or not.'
'You don't like the Empress,' said Stelmach.
'Hell, no one likes the Empress,' said Frost. 'At best, she's an amiable psychopath. But she's the Empress. I took an oath upon my blood and my honor to serve and protect her all my days. Right, Captain?'
'Right,' said Silence. 'She might be a psychopath, but she's our psychopath. Our Empress. Besides, she can't live forever, and when she's gone the Empire will still be here, if we've done our job right. In the end, we're loyal to the Throne, irrespective of who sits on it. We preserve the Empire, for all its faults, because all the alternatives are worse. Without the central control of home world to keep things running, it would be only too easy for everything to fall apart, and all the worlds slide back into barbarism and mass starvation. And let's not forget the various alien threats out there. We have to be strong and organized, to be able to stand against them when they come. We can't afford luxuries like dissent anymore. Right, Stelmach?'
'What? Oh, yes; right. We have to be loyal. Whatever it costs us.'
Valentine Wolfe returned to his quarters alone. They were bare, stark, and characterless, which suited Valentine just fine. At any given time, what was going on inside his head was much more interesting than anything in the outside world. For the moment he had a pleasant buzz going, but nothing more. He had some thinking to do. He sat down in his favorite lounger, and turned on the massage program. He thought best when his body was well taken care of. He pulled one of the thick pulpy petals from his long-stemmed rose, popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He and his Family were in deep trouble, and as always it was up to him to dig them out. Clan Wolfe had lost the new stardrive contract when they lost their stardrive factory to the rebels on Technos III, but Valentine still had his secret contacts with the rogue AIs on Shub. And the unparalleled high tech they provided him had offered a way out of his dilemma. He presented some of it to Lionstone, as a gift to show his worth and loyalty, and then pointed out that his mastery of such tech made him the perfect choice to be in charge of the war machines in their first practical trials. And as simple as that, he was back in favor again.
Of course, his staying in favor depended on how well the machines performed on Virimonde, but he didn't foresee any problems there. He smiled, and purple juice from the rose petal ran down his chin. He was sharp and bright and so in tune with himself he could feel his fingernails growing. Nothing could go wrong. He would succeed. It was his destiny. He was looking forward to seeing what his metal army would do to the poor peasants. There would be blood and fire and death and the destruction of cities, on a scale new even to him. He sighed deeply. Such fun.
Once he'd made a good showing here on Virimonde, Clan Wolfe would be placed in charge of war-machine production, and he could take his place at Lionstone's side again. Where he belonged. He didn't like being a lesser Lord. It offended his delicate sensibilities. And old enemies had been only too ready to crow at his fall from favor. In his apparent weakness they saw a chance for the settling of old scores. Preferably in blood. They were only waiting for him to fail on Virimonde, and then they would be circling him in Court like sharks drawn to the scent of blood in the water. Valentine sniffed. He would remember all their names when he came to power again.
Of course, there were other problems. Ever since the debacle on Technos III, his sister Stephanie and his brother Daniel had been missing. This was both good and bad news. Good, in the sense that they weren't around to stick knives in his back anymore, and bad, in that he couldn't be sure what they were up to now. Daniel had apparently gone off in search of their dead father, last seen as a computer-controlled corpse used as an emissary from the AIs of Shub. It seemed Daniel believed their father was still alive and wished to rescue him. Valentine hoped that Daniel was wrong. He didn't want to have to kill his father again. And after the AIs had killed Daniel, perhaps they could be persuaded to return his body as a Ghost Warrior or a Fury. He'd make a useful ally at Court, without his mind to get in the way.
Stephanie, on the other hand, had disappeared without trace. No one seemed to know where she was, and Valentine found that disturbing. His sister wasn't the sort to be quiet and reflective. Particularly after such a setback. She'd want revenge on someone. Wherever she was, Valentine had no doubt she was plotting trouble for him. It ran in the Family. Though rather slowly in her case. Stephanie didn't have the patience for really intricate plots. For the moment. Valentine had agents out looking for her, with instructions to bring her back to him. Preferably in several small sacks.
The other fly in his ointment was Professor Ignatious Wax, cybernetics expert from the University of Golgotha. He'd been responsible for designing most of the war machines to be used on Virimonde, so Valentine had been forced to accept his assistance. Even though he knew the Professor was really only there to spy on him, to try and learn the source of the revolutionary new tech Valentine had provided. He posed no real threat. There was no way he'd be able to penetrate the mysteries of Shub technology. Even Valentine, with his chemically expanded mind, could do little more than operate the systems. Still, the man had proved to be very irritating, so Valentine had taken steps to ensure that the good Professor wouldn't distract him while he was working down on Virimonde. Very… amusing steps. Valentine smiled happily. He would lead his machines to victory on Virimonde, falling upon cities and razing them to the ground, and Lionstone would love him again. And then let his enemies beware.
In his cabin, the man who wasn't really the Lord High Dram paced up and down, scowling. This would be his first attempt at commanding troops in the field, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He'd studied up on it as best he could without raising suspicions, but no amount of theoretical knowledge could substitute for hands-on experience. The original Dram had led troops on many occasions, to great success, but the original Dram had been killed on Haden, also known as the Wolfling World. Now his clone had to carry on the role, lest anyone suspect the truth. He had to be Dram, do as he did. He was in charge of the pacification of the peasants, and Lionstone had made it very clear that he had to be successful, whatever the cost. Rather hard on the peasants, but it was their own fault for getting ideas above their station.
The man now known as Dram sighed deeply and sat down. The day had barely begun, and already he was having to run as fast as he could just to stay in place. He had to stay on top of everything, learning by doing, while giving every appearance of being an experienced man of war. It didn't help that his own men distrusted him anyway. Apparently the original Dram had been something of a monster, hard and unyielding, and always ready to sacrifice his own men if that was what it took to ensure victory. That was how he'd first acquired the whispered nickname Widowmaker. The new Dram wasn't sure he felt that way. Certainly he didn't approve of throwing away lives. But if he didn't act that way, or at the very least appear to, people might begin to suspect that he wasn't who he was supposed to be. There were already rumors in Court… And if he was ever revealed as a clone, his short life would come to an abrupt and violent end. A clone replacing a man of influence and power was one of the Lords' worst nightmares.
However, if he could bring this off—pacify the peasants, regain control of food production, and lead his troops to victory in the sight of all—Lionstone had promised he would be rewarded with the Lordship of Virimonde. David Deathstalker had forfeited that right the moment he allowed the beginnings of local democracy on his world. It wouldn't be much of a Lordship; Lionstone had plans for Virimonde that would make the Lordship little more than an honorary title. But for all Dram's standing at Court as Warrior Prime and official Consort, he'd always known that a Lord without a holding wasn't really a Lord. Virimonde would change all that. And the changes in store would eventually make him one of the richest men in the Empire. So he had a lot to play for.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He wished he could make the rest of his world disappear so easily. Valentine Wolfe's presence was a problem he could have done without. The Wolfe and the original Dram had dabbled secretly in the Golgotha underground, and had something of a shared history of which he, the clone, knew very little. Every time he spoke with Valentine he risked giving himself away by not recognizing a veiled reference, or a shared experience, so for the most part he kept a careful distance between himself and the Wolf, and let Valentine suppose what he would. A certain coldness was to be expected, since the original Dram had betrayed the underground to Golgotha Security forces. But what else might Valentine know about the original Dram that his clone
