Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

and smiling happily as his plans unfolded before him.
    Angelo Bellini sat in the chair next to him, intent and focused on the vidscreen, smiling now and again when he forgot himself. He had a drink in his hand but was so caught up in the drama of the events he'd help orchestrate, he kept forgetting the drink was there. Every now and again he would lean forward suddenly as he spotted a familiar face among the marchers, and loudly identify them to the rest of the room, who if truth be told weren't really all that interested. Angelo didn't notice, entirely wrapped up in himself and his own reactions. And every now and again, he would suddenly twitch or scratch himself, in an exaggerated fashion, and never know it wasn't by his own volition.
    Brett Random sneered at him, sitting slumped in a chair as far away from the others as he could get.
    He'd drunk the best part of a bottle of brandy in the past hour, but it hadn't done a thing to improve his disposition. Brett was in a foul mood and didn't care who knew it, though he still had enough sense to keep quiet whenever Finn glanced his way. His stomach still hurt, but now he had a throbbing headache to go along with it. Thanks to the esper drug, Brett had to spend a lot of his time tuning out the constant roar of all the minds thinking around him. It was slowly getting easier, and he had a feeling that eventually he'd be able to do it automatically. And somewhere off in the distance, in a direction he couldn't identify, he could see or hear or feel something . . . splendid. Something that shone like the sun. Something that felt like the home he'd never known. It was calling to him. He thought it might be the oversoul.
    It scared the crap out of him.
    He'd started to experiment with his new abilities. He'd already discovered that with a little concentration he could influence people around him. Make them do things. Nothing major, nothing important. But he could make Angelo's face twitch, and make him scratch an itch he didn't actually have. A cheap laugh admittedly, but in Finn's service you had to make do with what you could get. It wasn't the most useful of talents, but it was a start, he supposed. And it pleased him to have an ability Finn knew nothing about.
    Never knew when you might need a weapon for the future. An ace in the hole. Brett smiled, and drank his brandy.
    He'd tried out his new ability on Rose Constantine, but she immediately turned and looked right at him, so he didn't try that again. The last thing he wanted was to attract her attention. He was still trying to come to terms with that astonishing moment when their minds had briefly touched. Ever since, he'd felt differently about her, though he couldn't say how. Rose kept looking at him, and he couldn't read the expression on her face. It was a bit like waking up the next morning after a really good party, and discovering a stranger in bed with you. So that there was now someone new in your life that you'd been close to, but really didn't know at all. She'd drawn up her chair right next to his, almost uncomfortably close. And she kept looking at him. For the moment she was watching the events on the vidscreen, because Finn had told her to, but Brett could tell she wasn't interested in any of it. He just . . . knew that.
    "You did a good job, Angelo," Finn said suddenly, and Angelo and Brett both jumped, just a little. Finn smiled lazily. "Joining the Church and the Neumen at the hip was one of my more inspired ideas. Though I never dreamed they'd take to each other so completely, and so quickly."
    "It was surprisingly easy," Angelo admitted. "The right words in the right ears, at the right level, and suddenly people at the top on both sides became very receptive. It helped that both sides were frustrated with their lack of progress; once I showed them what they could achieve if they joined forces, they couldn't wait to get started. And of course, once word came down from on high, the lower orders were only too happy to go along. I've always been very good at pointing out to people where their best interests lie. And it's always been easier to get people to hate than to get them to love. Doesn't matter in the end whether it's religion or politics; people do so love to have a scapegoat, someone to blame for all the troubles and failures of their little lives. Someone other than themselves, of course. And what could be more other than aliens? I should have thought of this years ago."
    And then he broke off