Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

leader figure. Should the clone underground acquire such a rallying point, they could become dangerous. As things stand, I have to report that the underground remains a negligible threat to the Empire."
    "Yeah, well, that's mostly because you couldn't find your ass in the dark without using both hands and a map," snapped a third voice. The esper was suddenly scowling fiercely, his stance a defiant slouch. "This is Agent
    Rapunzel, on the Lord Dram's staff. I've been hanging out with the clone underground for three years now, and I'm telling you, these unnatural bastards are potentially the greatest threat the Empire's ever seen. They've got numbers, a rationale, and heavy-level funding and high-tech support from someone high up.
    And we're talking really high. Don't know who yet, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, these people want civil rights for clones, and they're prepared to do practically anything to get it. All right, they haven't got a charismatic leader yet to pull things together, but the way things are going, it's only a matter of time. Will someone please listen to me! The crunch is coming, and I want out of here!"
    "We will speak later," said Dram. "Now give the Empress back her esper."
    "Gladly," said the agent. "You wouldn't believe the state of this guy's mind.
    Doesn't anyone ever clean up around here?"
    "Now, Rapunzel."
    "No one ever appreciates you in this business," said the agent glumly, and the esper's face became clear and blank again.
    The court remained quiet while all this was going on. Clashes between the Empress' private agents and those belonging to the Lord High Dram were common, as both sides fought for the ear of the Empress. Their respective employers encouraged the rivalry to be sure they would continue to hear the things that mattered, whether they wanted to hear them or not. It occasionally came to blows, but as yet they'd stopped short of sabotage, though their clashing over the outlawing of Owen Deathstalker had come damn close. The Empress' agents had wanted it kept quiet, while Dram's agents, for their own as yet inscrutable reasons, had taken it upon themselves to broadcast the news to one and all. The
    argument was still going on.
    Agents lived brief professional lives of stealth and danger, switching identities and even personalities as they strove to dig up information while hiding their true motives in an age where nothing could remain hidden for long.
    Agents therefore tended to be professional but eccentric, not to mention quick on their toes. They never knew when their cover might be blown and they'd have to leg it for the nearest horizon with a hunting pack snapping at their heels.
    The Lords and the Members had their own agents, of course. Everyone did who could afford it, and a few who couldn't. Knowledge was power in Lionstone's court, especially if you got it before anyone else.
    The Empress looked at Dram, who looked right back at her, and then they both looked back at the court. Whatever disagreements they might have in private, they always presented a unified front in public. A great many people had invested a great deal of money into schemes intended to drive a wedge between them, to no avail. Didn't stop people trying, though. The Empress smiled out over the packed court and an anticipatory ripple spread through the waiting ranks. The Empress was finally getting to the meat of the matter: the reason why so many of Golgotha's movers and shakers had been summoned into the Imperial presence.
    "The problems facing our Empire grow more serious with every day that passes.
    New alien threats, rebel undergrounds and more. Now, more than ever, we must insist on the full support of our subjects. If the Empire were to fall, untold billions would die. Colonists on the outer worlds rely on the Empire for supplies, as the inner worlds rely on them for materials. Even we here on Golgotha, homeworld of the Empire, have become dependent on others. No man can fail to do his best, or the whole system that supports us all would collapse. I
    therefore have no choice but to call for a ten percent rise in the output of all our industries by the end of the year."
    There was a long pause. Ten percent was unheard of. It would mean longer work hours for everyone and cost both lords and members a great deal of money. The members looked at each other. Someone had to say something. After an uncomfortable silence pregnant with unspoken words, the member for Shadegate North cautiously