Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

remained untouched and unaffected. It surged forward, and Ruby went to meet it with her bare fists.
    Her blows dented metal where they hit, and her boosted speed was easily the match of the machine's. But it felt no pain, and took no real damage from her blows, while its steel fists broke Ruby's skin and cracked the bones beneath.
    Blood ran thickly from her broken nose and a crushed mouth, but Ruby just grinned with scarlet teeth and fought on, glorying savagely in the battle. She'd wanted a distraction from her main job of tracking down Jack Random, and a chance to go one-on-one with a possible Fury had been too good to turn down. She needed something to take out her frustrations on. So she pounded away at the metal head and frame, blood dripping from her cracked knuckles, damaging the shell but not hurting the machine.
    All too soon she realized she couldn't beat it that way. She was dodging most of its blows, but the ones that got through were doing her real harm. She'd heal, of course, but it might weaken her enough for the Fury to escape, and she couldn't risk that. Her reputation would never recover. So she reached inside herself, deep down into the back brain, the undermind, and hauled up the power that lived there. She concentrated her heat into a single glowing fireball that materialized floating on the air between her and the Fury, blazing so brightly she could hardly bear to look at it. The machine hesitated, confused by the unexpected phenomenon, and that was all the time Ruby needed to take the concentrated heat and blast it right through the Fury's metal chest and out its back, destroying the link between the Fury and the controlling AIs back on Shub.
    The empty steel frame tottered on its feet and finally fell backward, landing
    stiff and unmoving on the floor with a deafening crash.
    "Nice one," said Kid Death, applauding softly.
    Clarissa dived into Toby's arms again, and they held each other tightly. "Dear Toby," she said, her voice muffled against her shoulder. "I knew you'd come for me."
    Toby hugged her back, and looked over her shoulder at Flynn.
    "Don't worry, Boss," said the cameraman. "I got it all."

    Everyone was summoned to attend Parliament, and everyone came. Whether he or she wanted to or not. Armed guards accompanied the invitations, and they escorted the invited right to the doors of Parliament, just to make sure that they didn't get lost along the way and accidentally end up somewhere else. More than a few people arrived with bruises and bloody heads, but everyone sent for finally arrived on the floor of the House, crammed together into a very dissatisfied and loudly objecting crowd. Not least the Members of Parliament, who weren't allowed to take their usual seats, but instead had to stand on the floor along with everyone else. The guards lined the walls, their guns trained unwaveringly on the crowd.
    The roar of outraged voices filled the House, from MPs and movers and shakers from all levels of society. Anyone who was anyone, in all the many spheres of influence and intrigue, had been summoned, and only some of them suspected why.
    There were Family members, industrial giants, clones and espers, standing reluctantly shoulder to shoulder, united for once in their shared anger and confusion. Gradually people became aware that the Speaker's chair was empty, and there was no sign anywhere of Elias Gutman. Instead, Robert Campbell and
    Constance Wolfe stood on the raised dais, on either side of the empty chair.
    They looked calm and determined, as though waiting to carry out some unpleasant but necessary duty. And standing before the dais, those two most notable killers, Ruby Journey and Kit SummerIsle, who gave every indication of looking forward to some unpleasant and excessively violent duty.
    When the last few summoned had been shoved onto the floor of the House by their guards, the main doors were closed and locked behind them. More guards appeared in the public galleries overhead, training energy and projectile weapons on the crowd below. Even more disturbing, thirty or forty elves appeared in the galleries too, standing tall and arrogant in their battered leathers and gaudy colours, studying the crowd below with piercing eyes. Now and again, one would murmur something to a guard, who would nod and make a note. The tone of the crowd's raised voice changed slowly from anger to querulous unease. They'd seen such shows of force before, back in Lionstone's day, and such displays had