Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

long happy sigh. Home and safe. Or as safe as he ever was. He sank into a comfortable chair and stretched slowly. Living a double life was a tiring business. He smiled and dropped his esp disguise, and there in his chair sat the Lord High Dram, Warrior Prime of the Empire and head of the Empress' security. Right hand, confidant and lover to the Empress Lionstone herself.
    Now that he was finally able to relax and be himself, it occurred to him that by rights he ought to be as mad as hell. The security raid on the underground meeting had damn near caught him napping. Certainly they'd been none of his people. He'd gone to some lengths to ensure that they were preoccupied elsewhere. And since he hadn't sanctioned the raid, it must have originated with the Empress' own people. Presumably they'd found out about the meeting through their own agents and seized the chance to make him look negligent in her eyes.

    There was always a certain rivalry between his agents and hers, but he'd thought he had it safely under control. Apparently not. He'd have to do something about that. If he had been caught and identified, all the time and hard work he'd spent establishing his Hood persona would have been for nothing, and the Empress would have lost her best source on what was happening in the underground. More importantly, he'd have looked like a fool before the Empress, and all his own plans would have been ruined. But he hadn't been caught. Through luck, keeping a cool head and having the foresight to surround himself with the right people, he'd come out of it untouched. He'd light a candle in church as a sign of thanks. When he had the time.
    He stretched slowly again, enjoying it, and put his feet up on the padded footstool that hurried forward in time to catch his feet. Dram had always believed in keeping up with the latest little luxuries. One of the perquisites of living so deep in the palace, so close to the Empress. Your life or your freedom might be in danger now and again, but never your comforts. Even so, Dram's quarters were positively Spartan compared to most people of his rank and standing. Dram had never had much interest in personal possessions, unless they attended to his personal comfort. So there were padded chairs and a luxurious bed, thick carpets on the floor and a well-stocked drinks cabinet, but no cybernetic toys or diversions, no holo views or personalized illusions on his walls. Nothing expensively useless or ostentatious, just to show he could afford it. He'd always been basically inner-directed, and possessions seemed to him to be just something more to worry about. They slowed you down when you were in a hum, and distracted you when your mind should be focused on more important things. So mostly he did without them. His life was complicated enough as it was.

    He also had no time for the excesses and indulgences that so preoccupied others of his rank and station. Dram saw them as weaknesses, and he couldn't afford to be weak. He had too many enemies, and besides, it pleased him to be strong and in control at all times. Given time, he had every intention of extending that control as far and as wide as it would go. His only passion, apart from the Empress, long may she reign, was ambition. Though he was careful always to keep that to himself. Lover or no, Lionstone wouldn't hesitate to have him executed if she saw in him a threat to her position. She'd always been very single-minded in such matters. Dram admired that in her. He liked to think they had something in common out of bed.
    It was his ambition that had led him to recognize the potential in the newly developed esper drug. He'd immediately taken steps to place the scientists involved under his direct control. He cut them off from every outside influence and drove them mercilessly until he had a working sample. He tested it on expendable subjects for as long as his patience would allow, and then took it himself, just a small dose, and it was wonderful. Like a blind man seeing a swan for the first time, or a deaf man hearing music.
    He had everyone involved quietly killed, save for those few scientists necessary to produce and refine more of the drug. It was vital that he control it utterly.
    He knew even then that it could be his road to the Iron Throne itself. The clone underground would serve as further test subjects, and finally as his own private army of espers, loyal only to him. They would do anything for him in return for the drug, because