Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

his head.
    "Fanatics. At least it saves the expense of trials. What matters is that they're all dead. Except… for you, sir."
    Tel Markham, the last surviving member of theShadow Court hierarchy, removed his black leather mask and bowed courteously to Finn. The Durandal raised a single eyebrow in surprise, and nodded back. Tel smiled easily. "I am no fanatic, Sir Champion. For me, it was always about me—what I was going to get out of it. I hope I can convince you that a show trial might not be the best thing in my case?"
    "Go on," said Finn. "Give it a try."
    Tel spoke smoothly, doing his best to appear calm and at ease despite his being covered with a whole bunch of energy guns. "I am a member of Parliament, Sir Durandal. And a member of Pure Humanity.
    And brother to Angelo Bellini, the Angel of Madraguda and current head of the Church Militant. That's a whole lot of people I could persuade to be more supportive of you. Plus, I know things, and I know people, all of which could be very useful to you."
    "Not bad," said Finn, after a moment. "I don't actually need you, or any of the things you offer, but you speak well, and I've missed having someone around to boast to, since Brett and Rose ran out on me, the wimps. You look like you're made of sterner stuff. So I think I'll adopt you. Assuming…"
    "Yes?" said Tel Markham.
    "Assuming that you, as sole surviving creator and producer of The Quality, agree to sign over all your interest in the show to me. I can use it to push my own propaganda—to influence and inflame popular opinion, as and when I find it necessary or amusing—and I can always use the money. I have so many people on the payroll these days. Really. You have no idea. Do you have any problem with giving me the show?"
    "Not in the least," said Tel, who knew a foregone conclusion when it was staring down the barrel of a disrupter aimed at him. At least Finn didn't know about his membership in the Hellfire Club. The tables might yet be turned someday, in all kinds of interesting ways.
    In the great House of Parliament, business went on as usual. Most of the MPs were present, mostly because they had nowhere else to be. The alien section was practically deserted. The clone representative was doing his best to look interested in the slow-moving debate. Shub watched it all through a single robot. And Douglas, King and Speaker to Parliament, sat slumped on his throne, thinking of something else. Business as usual in the House, in these last dog days of civilization.
    Meerah Puri, member for Malediction, took the floor. She held her head high and glared atDouglas , one hand gripping the throat of her sari so tightly that her knuckles showed white. She raised her voice, and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince slightly. Meerah Puri had no intention of being ignored by anyone. She had a speech to make on the people's rights, and the need for tolerance in the Empire, and everyone working together. She launched into it with all her skill and verve, and after a while the best she could say was at least the other members weren't jeering at her. It was a hot, close day, and perhaps they just didn't have the energy. A few heckled half-heartedly from the back benches, probably Neuman stooges trying to score points with their superiors.Douglas did nothing to stop them. Meerah plowed on with her speech, because… because someone had to say it. The House might not be what it once was, but there was still the chance it could be turned around, awakened to its responsibilities, by the right words, the right ideals. The House still mattered. Meerah Puri believed that, with all her heart and soul.
    She had to believe that, or her whole life meant nothing.
    (She remembered working doggedly with her limited staff, in their tiny official backstage office, rewriting and polishing her speech again and again, to make it as powerful as possible. She had to wake the sleeping conscience of the House… but she was tired, they were all tired, from struggling so hard against the current tides of public and private opinion. It was like all the world had gone mad. How could everything have gone so wrong, so quickly? It had been a Golden Age, and some would say it still was, but Meerah could see the tarnish.)
    She finished her speech with a clarion call to arms, to action, and looked about her expectantly, but the MPs just looked back at her. No one applauded, no one jeered. They just sat there and looked at her in silence. Some of