Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

du Katt’s eye just that little bit worse. He considered the clone. It had a muscular body and a face that resembled his own famously good-looking features, but there were so many things wrong with the clone that Finn didn’t even know where to start. The arms were of different length, there was a slight but definite hump on the back, and all the bones of the face were enlarged and distorted. The clone looked like Finn’s idiot brother. Still, he held himself well, and his gaze seemed clear enough. Finn looked at du Katt, who flinched.
    “I told you, I warned you,” he said quickly. “Providing so many clones from just the one sample, in such a restricted time inevitably meant a certain deterioration in the template, and certain . . . tolerable defects.”
    “He looks like damaged goods,” said Finn, slowly circling the clone, who stood calmly, apparently unperturbed by the things being said about him. Finn sniffed loudly. “Can he fight?”
    “Of course, of course! Manual dexterity is well within acceptable limits. They have been programmed with knowledge of the sword and the gun, and to follow orders without question. As long as they’re not too complicated, of course . . . There was a certain amount of brain damage, just as I predicted . . . But you asked for simple brute soldiers, and that’s what you’ve got. He and his many brothers should be quite sufficient for the simple tasks you have in mind. Killing and property damage and . . . so on. They don’t have a lot of personality, but that’s probably just as well. You could have the whole of Batch One out on the streets tomorrow, if you wanted.”
    Finn considered the matter. “Details, du Katt. I require details. What exactly is wrong with them?”
    Du Katt sighed. “They all exhibit acceptable minor malfunctions of the body. You understand, these are the best of Batch One. Forty-seven percent of the entire batch were so malformed as to be useless for your purposes, and had to be scrapped and returned to the protein banks for recycling. Of the survivors, none of them are too bright, and they’ve all shown definite violent tendencies. A significant percentage exhibit some or all of the symptoms for schizophrenia. And they all score very low on empathy. None of this should be a problem, considering what you want to use them for.”
    “Quite,” said Finn. “You have done well, du Katt. Get this batch out on the streets immediately. I want order restored, and I don’t care how they do it. It might be best to issue them all face masks of some kind; I don’t want them identified as clones just yet. And their features . . . might still be recognized. My face is worshiped all across the Empire, and I won’t share that with anyone.”

    The first new Imperial guards, all dressed out in full body armor and featureless steel masks, appeared on the streets of Logres in under three hours, and quickly proved themselves every bit as brutal and merciless as the thrall peacekeepers. There had been parts of the Parade of the Endless that remained almost civilized, if not actually free, just because the thralls couldn’t be everywhere at once; but the new guards soon put a stop to that. Curfews were strictly enforced, all infringements of the law were punished by on the spot executions, and even the smallest signs of dissent or defiance were quickly stamped out. Sometimes literally. Joseph Wallace watched this new turn of events from within the safety of his bunker, and worried.
    He’d known Finn was working on a private project with du Katt, but the new guards still came as something of a surprise to him. More and more, Joseph was feeling left out of things, his power and influence much reduced. He was still nominally the head of Church Militant and Pure Humanity, but neither enjoyed the popular support they once had. No one believed in the religion or the politics anymore, given all the things Finn had done in their name. Just the hard-core fanatics remained, most of them personally loyal to the Emperor, not Joseph Wallace. People didn’t even go to church anymore . . . because they were afraid to go out. Joseph felt lost. The people had turned against everything he believed in, and turned against him. And therefore deserved everything that happened to them.
    Although he would never have admitted it to anyone, even himself, Joseph’s behavior had become increasingly erratic of late. He’d overseen the construction of a safe retreat for himself and