Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

for?" said Kit, honestly shocked. "Peasants do as they're told.
    That's why they're peasants. Allowing them to make decisions for themselves is
    just asking for trouble. Not least from Lionstone. If she finds out…"
    "She won't do anything, as long as the food keeps coming," David said calmly.
    "The Empire relies on what we produce, and she knows it. As to why I'm encouraging the peasants, I admire their bravery, and I understand their need for a little personal independence. And it amuses me to think of Lionstone fuming helplessly. Besides, encouraging local democracy will keep the underground off our backs. Don't worry, Kit, I know what I'm doing. Encouraging the peasants and undermining the Steward's authority means I get to hear things I might otherwise not. No one's going to catch me napping like they did Owen."
    The meeting went well. The peasants bowed respectfully to David and to Kit, said all the right things, and put forward a few modest proposals. David pretended to consider them for a moment and then gave his approval. Local democracy was alive and well on Virimonde, the Steward was quietly fuming, and as far as David was concerned, all was well with the world. He liked to see the peasants happy and the Steward unhappy. He was, at heart, a man of simple pleasures. The peasants bowed again, satisfyingly deeply, and left, happy and smiling. David allowed himself to think of dinner again. And that was when the Steward sprang his little surprise.
    "What do you mean, more business?" snapped David.
    "I've signed everything that doesn't move, and talked to everything that does.
    Whatever's left can wait until after I've eaten, digested, and had a little nap."
    "I'm afraid not, my lord," said the Steward, unruffled. "There has been a communication from the Empress herself, concerning her plans for the future of Virimonde. Plans which, I regret to say, will render your assurances to the peasants both redundant and meaningless."

    David looked sharply at the Steward. This was the first time he'd heard of any plans for Virimonde's future. Especially from the Empress. He hadn't thought Lionstone even knew where Virimonde was. And as Lord of the planet and its people, he should have been contacted well in advance of any plans. And there had been something in the Steward's tone he hadn't liked at all. Something almost smug, and knowing. David scowled at the Steward, and sank back into his chair. If this was something the Steward didn't think he'd approve of, he wanted to know what it was right now.
    "All right. Steward, put it on the main screen. Let's see what the Iron Bitch has to say for herself."
    The Steward nodded serenely and moved over to activate the viewscreen controls.
    The screen lit up on the wall before David and Kit, and the nightmare began.
    Lionstone provided the voice-over, but the images on the screen were clear enough on their own. Virimonde was to become a completely automated world—one huge factory, from pole to pole. The towns and the villages and the great fields would vanish under miles-long sheds, with the livestock contained in pens, stacked hundreds high. Animals would be born in the cloning bays, live short, artificially fattened lives, and die in the attached slaughterhouses, without ever once seeing the outside world. Fed through tubes, lobotomized to keep them calm, slaughtered by machines. No more need for the countryside. No more need for farms or farmers. The computers would run everything. The peasants would be rounded up, transported to other worlds, and found useful work in factories. The projected meat production would rise thousands fold in the first year alone, and would pay for itself in ten years or less.
    And that was Lionstone's plan for Virimonde, a future with no place in it for
    human hands. The final scene on the viewscreen was a computer simulation of what the new world would look like. A landscape of endless sheds and factories, with thick black smoke belching up from the slaughterhouse incinerators, as bones and hooves and other nonessentials were melted down to make glue. Nothing would be wasted in the automated world. The screen went blank as the message ended, and the Steward coughed politely to remind them he was still there.
    "Any questions, my lord?"
    "Is she out of her tiny mind?" said David. "Does she really think I'll stand for this? You can't just destroy an entire world and its culture! The people here have traditions of service that go back