Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

anyone who even thought about breaking the Quarantine, on the grounds that it would be a kinder fate than what the Maze would do to them."
    The Patriarch took another good swig of the brandy, and dealt with it rather better this time. His cheeks were practically glowing and his nervous tic had softened. His voice, on the other hand, was getting louder. "I've seen recordings of interviews with some of those whose minds were ... touched by the Maze. Very hush hush, you understand. Not available at all to the general public or lower orders . . .
    They were mad, no doubt, and barking with it, but they had been touched by Something. The things they said ... Anyway, the Church still demands access to the Maze. For properly prepared supplicants. This is a matter of Faith, not Science. If tens of thousands more have to die so that some may transcend, it will be worth it."
    "There are times," said St. Nick, "when you people are scarier than the Maze could ever be. Give me my brandy back. Now off you go and learn your lines. And no more nonsense about demanding access to the Maze, or I'll leave you a lump of coal for Christmas. And it won't be your stocking I'll stick it up."
    Not far away, a clump of carefully cheerful Members of Parliament had converged on a waiter bearing a tray of flutes of the very best vintage champagne. MPs were always on the lookout for freebies. The waiter made his escape with an empty tray and his bottom pinched twice, while the MPs toasted each other's health in almost convincing voices. Parliament's reputation was much greater than it had been, particularly in the days immediately following Lionstone's fall, when everyone had been struggling for power, and to hell with whoever got stepped on in the process. These days, most Members of Parliament seemed genuinely concerned with serving and promoting the best interests of the worlds they represented. And while they might (and frequently did) argue fiercely among themselves in and out of Parliament, there was one thing they were all agreed on. The last thing the political process needed was a well-meaning new King interfering in matters that were none of his business. A constitutional monarch should know his place.
    "At least Douglas has a good few years under his belt as Paragon," said Tel Markham, the Member for Madraguda. "Nothing like exposure to real people to knock all that idealism crap out of you. People on the whole may mean well, but as individuals they can be right little shits."
    "Your planetary Council's been questioning your expenses again, haven't they?" said Michel du Bois, Member for Virimonde. "I've always got on very well with individuals. It's when they start forming into special interest groups and forming agendas that I feel an urge to gather up my robes and sprint for the horizon. Still; if any individual could be said to be dangerous, Douglas would get my vote. He's always taken the King's Justice thing very seriously. The last thing Parliament needs is a King and Speaker preoccupied with justice. People don't want justice; they want mercy. And tax cuts."
    Markham nodded. "If Douglas can't, or won't, learn what his job really entails ... Well, people have been talking about doing away with the Monarchy and making the Empire into a Republic for years."
    'You mean your people have been talking about it," said Meerah Puri, Member for Malediction.
    "Personally, I've always felt it can be very useful to have a public face to take the flak when Parliament finds it necessary to take unpopular measures. I wouldn't worry. Douglas is a Campbell, and knows his duty. And you have to admit he looks the part. He'll make a good King for us, once we've broken him to harness."
    St. Nick gave them a loud Ho ho ho! in passing, so they wouldn't realize he'd been listening, and moved
    on to talk with the two humanoid robots representing the AIs of Shub. They were only roughly humanoid in shape, fashioned from gleaming blue steel, and so stylized they practically qualified as works of art.
    Their polished faces were blank, apart from two silver glows for eyes, so humans would have something to look at while they talked. Shub was anxious not to remind anyone of the Furies. The very human-seeming robots that had terrorized the Empire for so long, before the AIs learned Humanity from the esper saint Diana Vertue and in a flash of revelation declared themselves to be Humanity's children.
    They'd spent the last two hundred years repenting their former