Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

dress, with a margarita in a frosted glass in one hand and a book of decadent French verse in the other. He was also wearing a long curly wig of purest gold, and wore subtle but artfully applied makeup. His work boots and sloppy trousers had been replaced by fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, and his fingernails had been painted a shocking pink. All in all, Flynn looked very pretty and completely at ease. Toby closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
    "Flynn, you promised me you wouldn't do this. We are not in civilized company now. They would not understand. And the representatives of the Church of Christ the Warrior definitely wouldn't understand. They'd execute you on the spot for deviancy and degeneracy, and shoot me as well just for knowing you. Now, get out
    of that gear and into something that won't get us both hanged. Mother Beatrice won't wait forever."
    "Rush, rush, rush," said Flynn. He drained the last of his margarita, slipped a bookmark into his poetry collection, and put glass and book carefully to one side before rising gracefully to his feet. "Very well, you wait outside while I change into something less comfortable. And bear in mind I wouldn't do this for anyone less than Mother Beatrice. That woman is a saint."
    Toby stepped outside and closed the door without actually shutting it, so he could continue the conversation or hiss if he saw anyone coming. He shook his head again. He could feel one of his headaches coming on. "Of all the cameramen, on all the worlds, I had to end up with you. Why me?"
    "Because you were desperate for a good cameraman, and no one else would work with you," said Flynn from inside. "After all, you only got your journalist's license because you were on the run from your Uncle Gregor. As it happens, I also felt the need to leave in a hurry. My last gentleman admirer was a high-ranking member of the Clans who also liked to dress up pretty in the privacy of his own quarters.
    "Wonderful man. Very interested in yodeling. Only lover I ever knew who could give you head, and sing you a song at the same time. My, how those low notes vibrated. And what that man could do with a vowel… Anyway, we had words and broke up, and he became rather concerned that I might tell all for the right price. And he couldn't have that. If word of his private proclivities were to get out, no one in the Families would ever take him seriously again. It's all right to be a degenerate if you're an aristocrat, but not if it's something silly.

    "So, seeing the way his mind was working, I decided it might be in my best interests to leave town for a while, and hole up somewhere suitably distant until he calmed down again. Which is the only reason I agreed to work with you, Toby Shreck. You have to realize, the word on you was not good: an aging PR
    flack with dreams of reporting and delusions of adequacy. Nothing personal, you understand. For what it's worth, you're doing all right here. I've worked with worse."
    Toby scowled, but said nothing. Flynn had most of it right. He'd spent most of his life working as a PR man and spin doctor for Gregor Shreck, despised by his peers and unappreciated by his Family. No one realized how much hard work went into good PR. But he'd always dreamed of being a real journalist, digging out the truth and exposing villainy and corruption in high places, instead of covering it up. But somehow he never had the courage to leave the safe haven of his job and Family. It took being kicked out to wake his ambitions again, and now that he was here on Technos III, he was going to do the best damn job he could. It was his chance to be someone in his own right, not just another of Gregor Shreck's shadows. A chance to finally acquire some self-respect. Mother Beatrice was renowned for not giving interviews, and the press corps took it seriously after she kneecapped a reporter with a meat tenderizer when he tried blackmailing a friend into talking about her. But she was probably the only person on Technos III who could and would tell him the whole story, the whole truth, and to hell where the shrapnel fell. And she had agreed to talk to him…
    Toby kicked the door frame viciously.
    "Flynn! Are you ready yet?"
    The door swung open and Flynn strolled out, looking like just another cameraman.
    The camera perched on his shoulder like a sleepy owl. Flynn did a quick twirl
    for Toby, to show off his baggy trousers and camouflage jacket. "Well? Will I pass?"
    "You've still got lipstick