Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

smiling at each other. Flynn coughed politely, and then smiled and nodded to Clarissa.
    “Hello, Flynn,” she said, bathing him in her smile too. “How are you?” “Working overtime when I should be safe at home relaxing, thanks to my brute of a boss. Are you settling in happily here?”
    “Hard to tell,” said Grace, looking firmly at the tea things. “She spends most of her time in her room, and jumps every time she hears a loud noise. Only person she talks to is Tobias, and that only over the viewscreen.” “She’s been through a lot,” Toby said defensively. “It’s bound to take her some time to…
    readjust. You haven’t been bullying her, have you?” “Oh, no,” Clarissa said quickly. “She’s been very supportive. I just… don’t feel like meeting anyone yet. Not till I’m all the way back to who I was, before Lionstone had me changed into one of her damned bodyguards. Then I’ll think about mixing with people again.”
    “Of course,” said Toby. “Don’t rush yourself. Take all the time you need.” “I sometimes hear from other maids who were rescued,” said Clarissa, looking down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Several of us have gone mad, and three have killed themselves rather than remember what they were, and what they did. I could never do that. It would be like giving Lionstone the final victory. But… I understand why they did it. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life now. Even after the surgeons have finished with me, I don’t think I could go back to what I was before. I need to do something with my new life, something that matters.”
    “Why not come and work with me, at Imperial News?” said Toby. “The rebellion showed how much influence a truly free press can have. The news matters these days, and you could be a part of that.”
    “Yes,” said Clarissa, smiling even more widely at him. “I think I’d like that.” And then Toby’s comm implant chimed imperiously in his ear, and he listened for a long moment, frowning fiercely, before rising abruptly to his feet. “Sorry, Clarissa, Auntie, but Flynn and I have to go, right now. Word is coming in that Robert Campbell has given up his Captaincy, resigned from the Fleet, and come home to Golgotha to reestablish his Clan. He’s due to arrive at the starport here anytime now, and every news station in the city will be there to cover it. I’ve got a couple of stringers in place to represent us just in case he gets in early, but this is something I really should be covering myself. If anyone can make the Campbells big again, it’s a war hero like Robert. Come on, Flynn. Clarissa, I’ll call you later.”
    “But I’ve just poured tea!” said Grace.
    “Oh, dear,” said Toby. “What a pity.”
    Robert Campbell stood very still in front of the full-length mirror and sighed deeply. He’d forgotten what a pain civilian clothes could be. The tailor fussed around him with a mouthful of pins, tugging here and adjusting there with just a little more familiarity than Robert felt was strictly called for. Of course, a computer could have measured him and run up as many sets of clothes as he wanted, but in Society it was considered essential that such things were done by hand, so as to allow for artistic insight on matters
    of taste. Fashion was far too important to be left to machines.
    So Robert kept his opinions to himself, sighed a lot, and let them get on with it. Things had been very different in the Fleet. One uniform, another for spare, and a dress uniform for special occasions would see you through your entire career. But now he was a civilian and a Campbell again, he’d already been fitted for twelve different outfits, and they hadn’t even got to evening wear yet. “Is all this really necessary?” he appealed plaintively to the servant he’d taken on to advise him in such things.
    “It is a matter of fashion, sir,” said the butler, Baxter, entirely unmoved. “And therefore a matter of utmost necessity. If you wish to be taken seriously as head of your Clan, it is imperative that you look the part.” “My Clan currently consists of a few dozen cousins and a handful of blood relatives. Barely enough for a decent soccer match, never mind a Clan.” “All the more important, then, that you look the part, sir.
    Society will take its cue from you. The more impressive you are, the more they will respect your Clan.
    Rebuilding your Family will be possible only with the support of the