Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

course, or at least not officially; but there was still Society, old money and new, new and old fame, and celebrity in all its many forms. They lived their lives in public, in the camera and all the glossy magazines, deciding on a whim who or what was In or Out, while the public watched and loved every minute of it. Bright as rainbows, gaudy as peacocks, Society paraded back and forth across the floor of the Court, thrusting aside lesser souls to ostentatiously kiss the
    air near each others cheeks and chat loudly about nothing of importance. Brittle bon mots and vicious put downs were the order of the day, and the floating cameras of the officially sanctioned media broadcast it all live to a spellbound Empire.
    After all, there's nothing more splendid and romantic than the Coronation of a new King. Unless it's a Royal wedding. And already, there were rumors . . .
    King William had gone to great pains to ensure that only the most sympathetic media companies were allowed access to the great day. He understood that the best publicity is the kind you made, or at the very least, controlled, yourself. He was determined that his son's Coronation was going to be presented in the best possible light, and the media had been so desperate for exclusive access that he'd been able to impose whatever terms he wanted; and he had.
    The Christmas motif in the Court had been his idea too. An old idea made new again, first Society and then the Empire had embraced the concept of the old-fashioned Christmas with great enthusiasm. So now the whole Court was one big Santa's Grotto, complete with dwarfs in merry costumes, gengineered intelligent reindeer, a towering tree bedecked with ornaments and lights and shimmering tinsel, and even St. Nicholas himself, fat and jolly in his red and white suit, bestowing his blessings on one and all, and jovially enquiring of Members of Parliament whether they'd been good or bad that year. St. Nick was being played by one Samuel Chevron, a merchant trader and old friend and adviser to King William. He rarely appeared in public, and his appearence at the Ceremony was a great coup for William.
    St. Nicholas was currently talking with the Church Patriarch, who was now so nervous that his hands were visibly shaking, and he'd developed a twitch. St. Nick produced a brandy flask from inside his red coat and persuaded the Patriarch to take a healthy swig. The young man looked quickly around to check there wasn't a camera on him, and took a good long drink. He then had a coughing fit and had to be slapped on the back, but it seemed to do him some good. Certainly at least now he had a little color in his cheeks.
    "Well, of course it's a great honor and I'm very proud to have been chosen," the Patriarch said miserably. "But there's so much to remember, all the lines and gestures and remembering to bow in the right places. They won't even allow one of my people to prompt me through my comm implant. Security reasons; all private comm channels will be shut down for the duration. Bastards. And it's not as if anyone here cares. Bet half of these Death By Fashion heathens have never seen the inside of a Church in their lives. But we couldn't say no. It is traditional . . . you know what the Church wants, don't you?"
    "Access to the Madness Maze," said St. Nick, nodding slowly.
    Though given that every schoolboy knows that the first, and indeed last, ten thousand people to enter the Maze all died or went horribly insane . . ."
    "The Church feels very strongly that total Quarantine was an overreaction," the Patriarch said immediately, his voice firmer now that he was on more familiar doctrinal grounds. "The blessed Deathstalker and his companions survived and were transformed. They became more than Man, and thus closer to Jesus and to God. This is Humanity's destiny. We can all transcend our base selves, as Jesus did. We can't let ourselves be put off, just because all those years ago, the original supplicants lacked . . .
    faith."
    "Parliament seems very firm on the issue," said St. Nick, carefully non-commital. "No one is to be allowed anywhere near the Maze again, until the scientists studying it, from what they fervently hope is a safe distance, can come up with some idea as to why Owen survived and ten thousand others didn't. You
    must have heard the rumors about what the Maze did to them; people turned inside out or horribly rearranged. Last I heard, the marines guarding the Maze were under strict orders to shoot