Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

damn planet, and hope we get as many of the inhuman bastards as possible before they can escape. Beckett out.”
    The viewscreen disappeared, taking Beckett with it. Parliament muttered quietly among itself. Gutman smiled down at Owen, who braced himself. Something bad was coming his way. He could just feel it.
    Gutman leaned forward, his voice entirely reasonable. “But before you leave us, sir Deathstalker, we feel there are a few questions we would like answered, concerning the various war criminals this House has sent you after. We can’t help noticing that you do tend to bring them in dead rather than alive.”
    “For some reason they don’t seem to think they’ll get a fair trial here on Golgotha,” said Owen. “The fact that not one accused war criminal has been found innocent by these trials of yours has not escaped them. So, not unexpectedly, they tend to fight to the death rather than be taken. Don’t blame us for a situation you’ve created.”
    “We prepare our cases very thoroughly,” said Gutman smoothly. “We find them guilty because they are guilty. Surely you don’t think I’d allow my fellow ex-aristocrats to be falsely accused?”
    “This from the man who killed his own father to get on,” said Hazel. “Pause, for sustained hollow laughter.”
    Gutman shrugged. “Things were different then. I am a different man now. Or don’t you believe people can change, my dear ex-pirate and ex-clonelegger?” Hazel scowled but said nothing, for which Owen
    was very grateful. “The war trials exist to show the people of the Empire that justice is being served,”
    said Gutman.
    “They exist because they’re popular,” said Owen. “People need scapegoats. What are you going to do when you run out of the real villains, Gutman? Going to start investigating anyone who dares disagree with this new order of yours?” “Only the guilty need fear the people’s justice,” said Gutman.
    “And you decide who’s guilty.”
    “Parliament decides.”
    “And you speak for Parliament,” said Owen. “How utterly convenient.” “Let us move on,” said Gutman.
    “Next on the agenda is a proposal which I think will guarantee some lively debate. I’m sure I don’t need to remind most of you that many seats will be contested shortly in the first free elections since the fall of the Iron Throne. What you may not be aware of is that many ex-aristocrats have expressed their intention to stand for many of these seats.” “No way in Hell!” said Owen, his voice rising sharply over the growing murmurs around him. “The deal Random made was clear; the Families renounced political power in return for being allowed to survive as financial institutions. Let them get into Parliament, through bribes and intimidation as likely as not, and they’ll just end up running things again!”
    “You really must learn to curb your paranoia, sir Deathstalker,” said a chilly voice, and everyone turned to look. Grace Shreck met their collective gaze with a mein of cool indifference, her nose stuck firmly in the air. Since Gregor’s forced withdrawal from public scrutiny, his older sister had taken over as head of the Family and, to everyone’s surprise, had done an excellent job of it. Toby and Evangeline had both been too busy and too reluctant to take over as the Shreck, so the position had fallen to Grace pretty much by default. Her time in the limelight seemed to have agreed with her.
    Long, tall, and more than fashionably thin, with a pale swan-like neck, a pinched face, and a massive pile of white hair stacked on top of her head in an old-fashioned and frankly precarious-looking style, Grace made a striking picture among the more colorful birds of prey surrounding her. Ancient and austere, Grace hadn’t been out in public regularly for years. She’d hated attending Court, and only did so when bulled into it by Gregor. But she’d taken to the less formal and infinitely less dangerous Parliament with astonishing ease, and was now a spokesperson for many of the older Families, who trusted her precisely because she’d been out of touch for so long, and therefore had no attachments to any particular Clan or cause. She wore clothes so old-fashioned they’d actually come back into style again, and possessed a quiet poise and brittle wit that had won her the respect of many. The acceptable face of the ex-aristocrats, the holo audiences adored her and would listen to arguments from her they would have shouted