Deathstalker

Hostile Takeover

Finlay Campbell was late for the weekly Clan Campbell board meeting. He believed in being late; it made other people appreciate his presence that much more. And it had to be said that he wasn't looking forward to this particular meeting at all. Just lately everything seemed to be going wrong, and for the first time in his life he hadn't a clue as to what to do for the best. It had all got so damned complicated. The demands on him as the Masked Gladiator were growing all the time as his popularity increased, and the pressure on his secret identity was becoming intolerable. He was only able to lead his two lives because the Arena crowds and officials connived with him, but their curiosity was becoming more intense than their hero worship, and it was only a matter of time now before someone turned on him. The crowd always turns on its heroes eventually, for money or a moment's fame, or just to see the high brought low. If he had any sense he'd retire now, while he was still young and intact and it was still safe to do so, but being the Masked Gladiator was important to him. Certainly more than being that most renowned fop and dandy Finlay Campbell. He'd originally created the persona as a joke to draw attention away from the real him, but the joke wasn't funny anymore. If only because he wasn't entirely sure who the real him was now.

Only an hour earlier he'd stood beside his bed, quite naked, staring down at two outfits spread out before him. If he put on one set of clothes he was Finlay, and if he put on the other he was the Gladiator, but who was he right then, standing naked and alone without an outfit to define his identity? Who was he when he stared into a mirror and didn't recognize the face he saw there? He'd played his two roles so long and with such conviction that they almost seemed to exist apart from him, as people in their own right. The masks had fastened themselves to his face and wouldn't let go. He used to know who the real him was, and that was the man who loved Evangeline Shreck. But their time together was becoming increasingly limited, as their respective Families made more and more demands on them, and both Finlay and the Gladiator were needed elsewhere. He loved her and he needed her, but who did she love, really? And were any of the people she loved really him?

In the end he'd put on Finlay's clothes, because that was who the Family was expecting to see. It was another of his outrageous ensembles, designed to be as extreme and blindingly colorful as the naked eye could stand. He painted his face with a fluorescent stick, metallicized his hair with several quick sweeps, and set off for the board meeting with his thoughts roiling in his head like great waves tossed by a storm. He picked up his bodyguards at the front door and strode down the corridor at a quick pace so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. He still smiled and nodded to people he passed, as Finlay would, and they smiled and nodded back, apparently sensing no difference in him at all. Which didn't improve Finlay's opinion of them or him. Who's more foolish: the man who lives a lie, or those who believe it?

Finally he came to Tower Campbell and stood at its base, looking up. It was a long, tall stretch of glistening marble, towering above and over him like an emissary of doom, full of vague threat and menace. It stood unmatched among the pastel towers, rising up into the perfect sky, surrounded by the lesser buildings of lesser Clans and lesser people, a monument to money and power and arrogance. All Campbell business was conducted there, safe from the eyes and ears of outsiders, including some business that was never discussed outside the Family and would have shocked even the hardened Company of Lords. There were armed guards at the perimeter and at the door, and even more inside, and as Finlay crossed the wide and elegant lobby to the elevators, he wondered what had happened. Something must have. This level of security was unusual, even for a Family as paranoid as the Campbells. Finlay didn't approve. If nothing else, it was a sign to other Families that the Campbells had something worth guarding. Why give them ideas?

He saw the motionless figure standing by the elevator doors, and his unease grew. He'd never approved of the Clan having their own Investigator as a status symbol, never mind a cold-eyed killer like Razor. It was like walking around with a pet shark on a leash. Investigator Razor worked for Clan Campbell after the Service let him go, partly because they paid him extremely handsomely, but mostly because they offered him the best chance to legally kill people. It was rumored that he'd been thrown out of the Investigators because he was a complete bloody psychopath, which when he first heard it amused the hell out of Finlay, because he'd always thought that was how you got in. Having been around Razor for a while had taken most of the humor out of the joke.

He was an impressive sight with his hulking frame and bulging muscles, the best the body shop could provide, but his age showed in the shock of white hair that stood out defiantly against his dark skin. Age slowed a man, even an Investigator. An aged Investigator was a rare sight, if only because most of them didn't live long enough to retire. Of course he was still faster, stronger and deadlier than any other ten men put together, which was why the Campbells had been so happy to acquire him when the opportunity arose. And if they chose not to ask questions about that availability, that was their business. He looked great at court and was making a hell of a reputation for himself in the Arena. Personally, Finlay felt safer when the Investigator wasn't around. At the moment, he couldn't help wondering what threat had been so worrying that the Family had brought Razor out of the shadows to stand guard. Finlay nodded courteously to the Investigator as he waited for the elevator to arrive. Razor didn't nod back.

"Everything all right?" Finlay said breezily. "Everybody behaving themselves? It's not often we see you in bright daylight, Investigator."

"Your father thought it necessary," said Razor. He still wasn't looking at Finlay, his green eyes sweeping the lobby, and his voice was as flat and even as his gaze. "Security has been raised another level and placed under my direct control. There are men at every level of the tower, guarding the stairs and elevators. I am to escort you personally to the board meeting. Follow me."

The elevator doors opened as though they'd been waiting for Razor's permission, and he stepped into the elevator without looking to see if Finlay was following. Finlay pursed his lips and entered the elevator. He wouldn't have taken such behavior from anyone else, but Razor was an Investigator and therefore beyond such trifles as politeness and courtesy. It wasn't as if the man meant it personally; Razor despised anyone who wasn't an Investigator. The Campbells put up with him because he served a purpose. The moment that stopped. Razor would be booted out with such speed and venom it would make his head spin. No one slighted a Campbell and got away with it. Ever.

Finlay smiled at the thought and ostentatiously ignored the Investigator as the elevator rose smoothly toward the penthouse. The trip was calm and uneventful, for all Razor's intent vigilance, but he still made Finlay wait in the elevator while he checked with his people that the floor was secure. He escorted Finlay to the boardroom and stood outside the door on guard as Finlay opened it and went in. Good dog, thought Finlay.

Variously annoyed faces glared at him as he bowed briefly to the members of his Family who sat around the centuries-old table. The table was a great slab of ironwood, supposed to be older than the Clan itself, which was saying something. The Campbells were supposed to be one of the original founding Families of the Empire, and never let anyone forget it. The room they were currently using was far too large for them; the table stood alone in the middle of a vast space.

Crawford Campbell sat at the head of the table, short and squat and powerful. Head of the Family, by dint of seniority and strength of personality. And because he'd killed or intimidated anyone with a better claim than him, though of course this was never referred to. It was just how things were done in most Families. Sitting at his left hand was his son William, the accountant. He ran the Family's affairs, in as much as anyone did. At Crawford's right hand sat his youngest son, Gerald, the walking disaster area. It was said in Clan Campbell that there were a dozen ways of wasting your breath, and talking to Gerald were six of them. Beside him sat Finlay's wife, the redoubtable Adrienne. She wasn't really entitled to be there, being only a Campbell by marriage, but as usual no one had the nerve to throw her oat. Fin lay had a sneaking suspicion that even Razor might have found it difficult. He sat down opposite her, so that they could glare at each other more easily. Finlay looked around him, and then rather wished he hadn't. Given the high level of security, the open space surrounding the table seemed distinctly uncomfortable, even threatening. They could just as easily have held the board meeting in any of their private quarters, but the Campbell had insisted on this room. For Crawford, appearances were important, even when there was no one around to see them except other members of the Family.

Another new outfit?" said Adrienne sweetly to Finlay. "I swear you've got more clothes in your wardrobe than I have."

"And prettier," said Finlay. "Perhaps I should give you the name of my tailor. And my hairdresser; you must have really upset yours, considering what he's done to your hair."

"Just for once," said William heavily, "could we please put aside our differences and get on with the business at hand? We do have something important to discuss."

You always say that," said Adrienne. "And it always turns out to be something to do with taxes or investments."

"Right," said Gerald. As always, he'd been dragged away from drinking with his friends to attend this meeting, and he was sulking. "You don't need us here. You and Father will make all the decisions, and the rest of us will go along with you for the sake of peace and quiet. And even if we do vote against you, you just ignore us."

"Shut up, Gerald," said the Campbell, and Gerald sank a little deeper in his chair, his lower lip pouting angrily.

"It's really not very complicated," said William.

Finlay groaned. "Please, William, don't try and explain it. I can't bear it when you explain things. My head aches all day."

"Oh, yes," said Adrienne suddenly. "Robert sends his apologies. The poor lamb doesn't feel up to attending Family business just yet."

"I don't blame him," said Finlay. "But he's going to have to get back into the swim of things sooner or later. How's the search for a new Shreck bride going?"

"Slowly," said William. "Given the unfortunate circumstances of the last match, we're all being very careful this time. We can't afford another scandal. It must be said that Robert isn't helping by shutting himself away. He's refused to even look at the few names we have come up with. At least he's started eating again."

"Never liked the Shrecks," said Gerald. "Gregor's a pig, and the rest are worse."

"Shut up, Gerald," said Crawford.

"They're not all bad," said Finlay, and there was something in his voice that made the others look at him. He swore inwardly. He used to be better at keeping his identities separate than this. He smiled vaguely and carried on smoothly. "I mean, every Family has a few bad eggs. Even ours."

"He's looking at me," said Gerald. "Father, make him stop looking at me."

"Shut up, Gerald," said the Campbell.

"You like the Shrecks so much, you come up with a suitable match," said William. "I'm running out of choices."

"There's always Evangeline," said Adrienne.

"No," said Finlay. "She's the heir, remember?"

"Of course," said Adrienne. Finlay looked at her thoughtfully, but it seemed she had nothing more to say.

"This can all wait," Crawford said heavily. "We have more immediate problems. Tell them, William."

William cleared his throat unhappily. "Despite extensive investigations, we're no nearer identifying which Clan has discovered our links with the rogue AIs on Shub. If they weren't so positive someone has, I'd be tempted to put it down to paranoia. Assuming Artificial Intelligences can be paranoid. Anyway, even if someone has found out, they've made no move to take advantage of it. So far."

"I have to say I'm still not happy that we are collaborating with Shub," said Finlay. "I mean, they are the Enemies of Humanity, after all. I don't trust them."

"We need them," said Crawford Campbell flatly. "As long as we have business in common, it's in their interest to play fair. The trick will be for us to bail out before they lower the boom on us. It's not going to be easy, but I didn't build this House up by taking the easy options. Keep putting the pressure on, William. Someone will talk eventually. Someone always talks."

"I want to talk more about this," said Finlay.

"The subject is closed," snapped the Campbell, and glared round the table to prove it.

"Then what are we doing here?" said Finlay. "If you're not interested in our opinions, and we're not allowed to discuss anything, we might as well not be here."

"I said that," said Gerald.

"Shut up, Gerald," said William.

"You're here so I can keep you informed on what's happening," said Crawford. "So shut up and pay attention. I don't know what's got into you lately, Finlay."

"Yes," said Adrienne. "This isn't like you, Finlay. It's an improvement, but it isn't like you."

Finlay forced himself to relax, sank back in his chair, and made a vague elegant gesture with his hand. "Do carry on, Father. Far be it for me to rock the boat. Only do try and hurry it up. I've got a fitting for a new coat in an hour. It's very daring. You'll hate it."

"The next order of business," said William, doggedly, "concerns the difficulties we're experiencing in our bid for the mass-production contracts on the new stardrive. The Wolfes are increasing their pressure, despite the advantage Shub technology gives us."

"To hell with the Wolfes," growled the Campbell. "We can handle them."

"It's the coincidence I don't like," said William. "Someone finds out about Shub, and suddenly the Wolfes are putting the pressure on."

The Campbell grunted, and leaned over the table. "Horus, talk to me."

Monitor screens set into the wood of the table lit up before each member of the Family. The Campbells' AI was in charge of all the Clan records, including those that officially didn't exist. Horus' face was a computer simulation: perfect in form but lacking in personality. Crawford didn't believe in machines that imitated human emotions. Or that talked back. Finlay studied the AI's face thoughtfully. He'd noticed before that the AI showed a slightly different face according to who it was talking to; an individually tailored image. Finlay couldn't help wondering if it also tailored its information according to who was asking the questions. It was no secret that the Campbell kept information from other members of the Family, but then so did all the Family. Standard survival policy. Never knew when you might need an ace or three up your sleeve. Finlay also found himself wondering what the AI was showing poor bored Gerald. Maybe it just showed him pretty pictures to keep him quiet.

"Horus online," said the AI politely. "All functions are available. How may I serve you, sir?"

"Are our files still secure?" said Crawford. "Have there been any attempts to break into them?"

"There are always attempts, sir, but so far none have succeeded. But I feel I should point out that things are getting just a little strange in the Matrix these days, and nothing is as secure as it once was."

The Campbell frowned. "Be specific."

"There are strange forms in the Matrix that come and go. Strange forces that cannot be predicted. There are signs and portents and faces in the sky. The overlords are coming. Fuzzy parameters, limited logic, shifting allegiances in the data banks… Sir, I don't feel very well. I…"

And then its mouth stretched impossibly as the AI screamed. Everyone jerked back in their seats as the insane howl rose in volume, and then cut off sharply. The face on the monitor screens twisted in on itself and then fell apart in smudges of shifting colors. It tried to reform and then disappeared completely, replaced after a few seconds of static by a mocking metallic face.

"Hard luck, Campbells. Your AI has just been scrambled, courtesy of the cyberats. Your businesses have just gone belly up, your security is a mess, and your credit rating is currently slightly lower than that of a dead clone with leprosy. And if you think this is bad news, wait till you see what's coming next."

The fact disappeared from the screens, but its laughter went on and on until Crawford shut off the monitors. Everyone started to talk at once, until the Campbell's voice rose above them through sheer volume and force of personality.

"Shut the hell up! Whoever's behind this wants us to panic! We're safe here; there are guards in place throughout the tower, and it would take an army to get past them and reach us up here. We have to think. Who's behind this? What do they want?"

He stopped and looked round. In the sudden quiet, they could all hear the piercing whine of approaching engines. Adrienne jump to her feet and pointed out the window. They all turned to look, just in time to see a crowd of gravity sleds shooting toward the tower's top floor, hanging in the bright sky like shining birds of prey. Crawford shouted for the security shutters, and only then remembered all the systems were down. He drew his disrupter and activated the force shield on his arm. It hummed loudly, a solid reassuring sound, and everyone else was reaching for their guns when the first gravity sled came smashing through the picture window.

Glass flew in all directions, and the Campbells crouched down, sheltering behind their shields. Armored men jumped down from the hovering sleds, brandishing swords and guns. There seemed to be no end to the sleds as they came crashing in. The door burst open and Razor came running in with his troops. There were armed men everywhere on both sides, and suddenly the great room wasn't big enough. Finlay calmly aimed his gun and shot an intruder through the head. The dead man's blood and brains flew on the air, and in a moment everyone was firing. Energy beams crossed the room, ricocheting from shield to shield, burning through unprotected limbs and heads, and the air was full of screams and the stink of burnt meat. The flurry was almost over as soon as it had begun, and people quickly bolstered their guns to give full attention to their swords. It would be a good two minutes before the disrupters energy crystals recharged, and a lot could happen in two minutes.

Finlay activated the personal force shield on his arm and moved forward confidently, sword and shield at the ready. Part of him admired the attack, and the professional way it had been set up. The cyberats had knocked out the security systems that would have warned of the approaching gravity sleds, which in turn bypassed Razor's forces inside the tower. An esper would have seen it all coming, but the Campbell had insisted on an esp-blocker to keep the Family's secrets safe. Finlay could hear more troops pouring up through the tower and hoped they were Razor's. He clashed swords with the first man he reached and cut him down almost casually. It didn't surprise him at all to see the man wore a Wolfe emblem on his chest.

He felt a fleeting annoyance that whatever else happened his carefully cultivated fop persona was now at an end. He'd put a lot of work into being a fop. But he needed the Masked Gladiator now to survive, and he'd worry about the consequences later. If there was a later. The odds were not good.

The great room was now a mass of heaving bodies, with barely any room to swing a sword, and more gravity sleds were nosing through the shattered windows all the time, bringing more fighters. And with them came their masters, the Wolfes themselves.

Jacob Wolfe jumped down into the fray, a great bull of a man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He swung his sword with brutal efficiency, cutting his way through the crush toward the Campbells. Behind him came Valentine, with his painted face and scarlet smile, and Daniel, young and eager with a sword in each hand. And after them came Kit Summerlsle, Kid Death, the smiling killer, with his new friend the young Deathstalker, already moving so fast that his boosted movements were little more than a blur. We are in deep trouble, thought Finlay. He parried a blow on his shield and looked quickly around for the nearest exit.

The room was now filled from wall to wall with a mass of fighting bodies, surging this way and that. Wolfe troops clashed with Campbell guards, and the two Clans fought to get at each other. Crawford Campbell went after Kit Summerlsle, bellowing his anger. He couldn't look at Kid Death without remembering how the smiling killer had cut down his own grandfather, Roderik Summerlsle. Crawford hadn't realized how much a friend Roderik had been till he didn't have him anymore. He'd lost a lot of things he cared for in his life, and Roderik had been one too many. He was going to have his revenge now if it killed him. The sheer fury of his attack threw Kit back on the defense, but he didn't concede an inch. The Kid stood his ground and waited patiently for the Campbell's arm to tire, smiling all the while.

Valentine Wolfe had triggered his battle drugs the moment Tower Campbell came in sight, and now they roared through his system like an unending bolt of lightning. Everyone else seemed slow and clumsy, their every swordstroke obvious and predictable. He cut a bloody path through the crush and threw himself on Finlay Campbell, who parried the lightning blows with surprising speed and skill. Valentine laughed breathlessly, eyes wide, and pressed the attack, thunder in his arms.

Daniel Wolfe went after Gerald Campbell, seeing the notorious fool as an easy target, and was startled to find Gerald a swift and cunning fighter. He might not be the brightest of men, but he was a Campbell, after all. Daniel sniffed, and buckled down to some hard fighting. He was a Wolfe. They slammed together again and again, swords clashing and flying back from raised shields in a flurry of sparks. There wasn't much room to fight in the crowd, and in the end it was luck as much as skill that ended the match. Gerald was just a moment too late in recovering from a lunge, and Daniel's sword slipped past the Campbell's defense and punched right through Gerald's ribs. He looked more surprised than hurt, and then he coughed blood suddenly and fell to one knee. Daniel pulled his sword free and cut Gerald's throat with a single economical stroke. Blood spurted, and Gerald fell to be trampled under uncaring feet. William Campbell cried out in shock and loss and threw himself upon Daniel, who met the new challenge with a broad grin and calm efficiency. He was a Wolfe, and today he would prove it in blood and slaughter.

Jacob Wolfe saw Investigator Razor working his way through the crowd toward him and immediately looked around for a lesser foe. Let some other fool tackle the Investigator; someone who was tired of living. He saw Finlay and Valentine pulled apart by the surging tides of the crowd and went after the young fop. Kill him, and Crawford's morale would shatter. He closed in, expecting an easy victory, and was actually shocked to discover that Finlay Campbell was a master swordsman. There hadn't been a hint of these skills in the intelligence reports, but it was too late to back away. He'd committed himself. A cold foreboding curled within Jacob's gut. If a dandy like Finlay could turn out to be a great swordsman, what else might the reports have been wrong about?

The crowd surged forward again, pushing them apart. Jacob was glad to see Finlay go. He looked around and saw Crawford swept away from Kid Death. A sense of destiny burned in Jacob as he fought his way through the press of bodies to engage Crawford. They came together, sword to sword, with a sense of relief that the preliminaries were finally over. Wolfe fought Campbell, eyes locked together, cutting and thrusting as though they were the only ones in the room. Their swords slammed together and leapt apart, and for a moment they seemed equally matched, but Jacob quickly took the advantage. Crawford was overweight and softened by too much easy living, while Jacob had always taken pride in maintaining his fighting skills. Crawford began to back away, and Jacob went after him, refusing to allow the shirting crowd to rescue his foe. And in the end, the Wolfe simply battered the Campbell's sword aside with his superior strength and ran him through. Crawford fell to the floor, and Jacob kicked him in the face as he lay dying. The Wolfe never saw his son Valentine move silently in behind him and thrust a dagger between his ribs. The blade was in and out in a moment, unseen by anyone, and Valentine was already moving away as Jacob Wolfe fell dying to the floor beside the body of his rival, the Campbell.

David Deathstalker, full of the thrill of the boost, went head-to-head with Investigator Razor. Their swords flew impossibly fast, and neither of them gave an inch. Kid Death moved in close with William Campbell and stuck him in the groin with a hidden dagger. William screamed in pain and horror as blood coursed down his legs, and Kit Summerlsle ran him through. While his sword was still trapped in William's body, Adrienne stuck a knife in his back, just above the kidney. Kit swung round, his sword a bloody blur as he jerked it out of William's chest and slammed it into Adrienne's belly. Her legs buckled as he pulled the blade free in a gush of blood. Kid Death drew back his sword for the killing blow, and Finlay was suddenly there between them, intercepting the blow with his force shield. The press of bodies separated them, and Kit reluctantly went to help the Deathstalker against the Investigator. He left the knife where it was in his back. He had more important things to think about.

Finlay half led and half carried Adrienne away from the main action, put their backs against a wall and lowered her to the floor. She was holding her stomach with both hands, and blood pumped from between her fingers. Her face was deathly white, her mouth stretched in a grimace like a hideous smile. She was breathing in short grunts, and her eyes were squeezed shut. Finlay looked around him desperately, and his gaze fastened on the nearby window. He grabbed Adrienne by the arms and pulled her to her feet again, and she cried out in pain despite herself.

"Hold on, Addie," said Finlay. "We're leaving."

She didn't have the breath for an answer. Finlay got her moving toward the shattered window, cursing and encouraging her as necessary. A moment before, when he'd thought she was dead, his first thought had been that he was finally free of her, but he couldn't just stand by and watch her die, if only because he'd feel so guilty. Two Wolfe troops got in his way, and he cut them down almost without thinking. His mind was racing now, his body the finely tuned fighting machine of the Masked Gladiator. He manhandled Adrienne over to the gaping window, glanced down and then jumped out, taking Adrienne with him. They fell together for a heartstopping moment, and then slammed into the gravity sled hovering just below the window, abandoned by its troops.

Finlay turned his body so that it shielded Adrienne from the worst of the impact, but it was still enough to knock the breath out of her. He checked briefly for a pulse, grunted at how weak it was, and then scrambled over to the sled's controls. He had to get her to a doctor fast, but he wasn't sure where would be safe now. Campbell-dominated territories were undoubtedly under Wolfe control by now. That only left the underground. Finlay got the sled moving and headed away from the tower at full speed. He'd seen his father the, and it occurred to him that he was the Campbell now. He didn't give a damn. Gerald and William were dead, too, but he'd mourn them later. He looked back at Adrienne, but she was lost in her own world of shock and pain. He was alone, the last of the Campbells, with all hands turned against him. No other Clan would support him; the Families had no time for losers. So let Finlay die too now; that life was over. All that was left was the Gladiator, the underground… and Evangeline Shreck. That last thought calmed him, and he turned the sled in a new direction. Evangeline would help him and Adrienne. She had to.

Back in Tower Campbell, Valentine Wolfe fought on, the battle drugs singing in his veins as he cut down foe after foe. There didn't seem as many as there had been before, but still he cut and hacked with bloody abandon, his scarlet mouth stretched in a death's-head grin. And then hands grabbed his arms, holding him still despite all his efforts, and a familiar face loomed up before him. Valentine breathed harshly as his gaze cleared, and there was Daniel, standing a cautious distance away. He glared at Valentine.

"Are you back with us now, Valentine? Do you know what you've done?"

Valentine concentrated, and new chemicals ran through his system, purging out the battle drugs. His mind cleared quickly, and he looked warily at Daniel. How much did his brother know? He slowly realized that the fighting was over, and that the men holding him were all wearing Wolfe emblems. They didn't look at all pleased with him.

"All right," he said calmly. "I'm back. What's the situation, Daniel? We did win, I take it?"

"We won some time ago," said Daniel. "The Campbells are dead or fled, and their men surrendered. But you were so out of your mind, you couldn't tell. You've spent the last few minutes cutting down our own men!"

"Ah," said Valentine. "Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away. What are our losses?"

"Apart from the men you just butchered?"

"I said I was sorry. Where's Father?"

Daniels' face suddenly crumpled as the anger went out of it, replaced by what seemed to Valentine to be honest grief. Daniel gestured harshly to the men holding Valentine, and they reluctantly released him. They didn't move far away, though, and they kept their hands near their guns. Valentine ostentatiously sheathed his sword. Daniel gestured at the bodies lying scattered across the room and made his way slowly through them.

"Father is dead. We found him lying beside the body of the Campbell. They must have killed each other. All the Campbells are dead except Finlay, and possibly Adrienne. They got away on a gravity sled. Our people aren't far behind them. Either way, Clan Campbell is broken forever." He stopped and knelt beside the body of Jacob Wolfe. "He should never have come with us. He was getting too old for this, but he wouldn't listen. He never listened. What are we going to tell Constance?"

"I'll tell her," said Valentine. "I'm the Wolfe now, regrettable though that may be." He waited for Daniel to object, but all the strength seemed to have gone out of him, and he remained kneeling beside his dead father. Valentine turned away, and his gaze fell upon Razor. The Investigator still had his sword in his hand, but he was surrounded by men armed with disrupters. He didn't look at all beaten, just outnumbered. Valentine moved across to him, carefully stepping over the bodies, and bowed courteously.

"I congratulate you on your survival. Investigator. It would be a shame to lose such talents as yours."

"David and I finally dueled him to a standstill," said Kit Summerlsle. "Took everything we had, though."

"You will both be rewarded," said Valentine. "Clan Wolfe remembers its friends." He looked back at Razor. "Be our friend, Investigator. Your fight here is over. Clan Campbell is broken and dispersed. You are free to join us, or leave, as you wish."

Razor nodded once, sheathed his sword, and walked toward the door. Valentine gestured, and everyone fell back to give Razor plenty of room. He left and shut the door behind him, and everyone in the room relaxed a little. No one had really wanted to take on an Investigator again; not even Kid Death and the Deathstalker, both of whom had a sneaking suspicion Razor had really only surrendered because he saw the main fight was over. Valentine looked thoughtfully at the surviving Campbell troops and gestured at the door, and they filed out quickly before he changed his mind. Valentine smiled. He could have had them killed, but it was important to establish the new Wolfe as an honorable man. Besides, he might need to hire them someday, or others like them, and it never hurt to build up a little good will among the mercenary community.

Especially after cutting down some of his own men.

"You fought well. Valentine," said Kit. "If a trifle indiscriminately. I have to say you did much better than your reputation led me to believe, given your… unusual lifestyle."

Valentine smiled easily. "Battle drugs. The very latest, fresh off the military shelf. I've always believed there's a chemical for every occasion."

The young Deathstalker sniffed. "Drugs again. I might have known."

He might have been going to say something more, but at that point he saw the look in Valentine's mascaraed eyes and decided he'd said enough. For all the garish paint on his face, this new Valentine seemed altogether more forceful and self-assured. He also seemed a damn sight more dangerous. It was as though the vague, inconsequential dreamer they'd known up till now had been nothing but a mask, discarded now that it was no longer needed, to reveal the true face beneath. David Deathstalker lowered his eyes, unable to meet Valentine's gaze. Kid Death studied the new Wolfe thoughtfully and said nothing. Valentine smiled and turned to his troops.

"You've done well. There will be bonuses for all of you. Now start clearing up. I want the bodies taken out, and the carpenters brought in. As from now, this is Tower Wolfe, and I want all the mess out of here and the windows replaced before tonight. I think I'm going to move in here. There's a marvelous view."

"What about Finlay?" said Kit.

"What about him?"

"He escaped, alive and intact. He's out there somewhere, the last surviving Campbell of note. He'll make a dangerous loose end. There's always the chance he might gather the lesser Campbell cousins around him and unite them against you."

"Even assuming our people don't catch up with him, he won't start anything. He knows he'd lose. Dear Finlay will follow the better part of valor and go to ground. He'll take a new face and a new identity, and that will be the end of Clan Campbell, bad cess to the name. Though it must be said the court will seem a far duller place without his delightful outfits to brighten it up. Fashion will never be the same again."

"Good," said Kid Death. He looked around at the devastation and the dead, and smiled. "I'm glad I got the chance to see Crawford brought down. He never liked me."

"We were glad to have you with us," said Valentine. "It was, after all, your links with the cyberat underground that enabled us to take the Campbells by surprise. The Wolfes owe you a debt; you will not find us ungrateful."

"I'd better not," said Kit, his voice calm and easy and not threatening at all. He turned away and clapped David on the shoulder. "I told you you'd see some real action if you stuck with me. Now, I don't know about you, but somewhere a long cold drink is calling my name. Let's go and find it."

"Damn right," said the young Deathstalker. "Nothing like honest work to give you a thirst."

They walked out together, David laughing at some comment of Kit's. Valentine watched them go, and Daniel moved in beside him.

"Shouldn't we have said something about the knife in Summerlsle's back?"

"Oh, I'm sure someone will mention it to him."

Daniel sniffed. "Since when did those two become such good friends? I didn't think Kid Death had any friends."

"It's a fairly recent phenomenon, from what I hear," said Valentine. "Presumably they have similar interests. Blood and slaughter and the like." He shrugged dismissively and moved over to the great wooden table, miraculously unscathed by the recent conflict. He looked down into one of the monitors, and a cyberat face grinned back at him. Valentine nodded courteously. "My thanks for your help in this. You have my word as Wolfe that as soon as the Campbells' advanced technology is in our hands, it will be made available to you, so that we can both share in its uses."

"That's all we ever wanted," said the cyberat. "We'd have been just as happy to make a deal with the Campbells, but they just turned up their noses and wouldn't talk to the likes of us. Serves them right. No one does that to the cyberats and gets away with it. Nobody. Talk to you later, Wolfe."

The monitor screen went blank. Valentine nodded thoughtfully. The cyberat's threat hadn't been particularly subtle, but then, cyberats weren't particularly subtle people away from their machines. Valentine found that rather refreshing after the double meanings and hidden purposes of what passed for conversation at court. He looked up and gestured to Daniel, who moved over to join him.

"I'd really like to be alone now, Daniel. Just for a while. This has all been very sudden and unexpected, and I need some time to put my thoughts in order. Will you take the news back to Constance and Stephanie after all? I think they might take it better from you."

"If that's what you want. Will you be long?"

"I shouldn't think so. Take the troops with you. They can start work later."

Daniel nodded, and looked back at their father's body. The troops had laid it out respectfully to one side, away from the carnage. "I often wished he was dead," Daniel said quietly, "but I never really… I never really thought he would die. That he'd always be there, looking out for us and messing with our lives. He was always so alone… I don't know what I'm going to say to Constance."

"You'll think of something," said Valentine. "You're a Wolfe."

Daniel realized after a pause that Valentine had said all he was going to say. He nodded quickly, gathered up the troops with his eyes and left the room without looking back. The troops followed him out, and Valentine waited patiently till they were all gone. He strolled over to the chair at the head of the table and sat down. He stretched out his legs and smiled slowly. For the moment, Daniel was too shocked to do anything but go along with him. That wouldn't last long, once he'd explained the situation to Stephanie. She'd put some backbone into him. And then they'd start jostling for position to see what they could get away with under the new Wolfe. Valentine's scarlet smile widened. They were in for a few surprises.

Just like dear dead Dad, who never once imagined that his useless and despised son might be the instrument of his death. Valentine ran the memory through again, savoring it. The knife and the blood and the look on Jacob's face as he crumpled to the ground. He'd only caught a glimpse of it, but a glimpse had been enough. It had all been so easy, in the end. A quick thrust of a dagger, noticed by no one, and he was the Wolfe, head of the Family. He should have done it years ago.

He'd made a good start, but there was still much to be done. He commanded the Clan by the right of inheritance, but he still had to consolidate his power base. There were any number of lesser cousins who'd be happy to support a claim by Daniel or Stephanie, if they thought they could profit by it. But he had a powerful ally in the cyberats, only too ready to support him in return for access to the Campbell technology. Carefully rationed, that should keep them on a string for some time to come. The remnants of the Campbells would be too scattered to present any real threat, and a quiet policy of assassination should help the situation along nicely. The contracts for the new stardrive would fall into his hands now that the main competition had been eliminated. And he had taken the first steps on a road that might yet lead to the Iron Throne itself. Particularly once he had the underground united behind him: an army of esper clones at his beck and call because he controlled the drug that made them espers. And not forgetting the AIs on Shub, who would no doubt be just as happy to deal with him as they had with the Campbells. He'd always known a good intelligence network would pay off.

Valentine smiled. Life was good.