Deathstalker Legacy (76 page)

“Don’t go there, Lewis,” said Jesamine. “Trust me on this.”

Brett changed the scene on his screen and then sat up sharply, a wide grin spreading across his shifty features. “Well, hello! Oh, I do not believe this . . . I just tapped in a search on
Celebrities
, and I appear to have found a rather sporty scenario featuring a certain celebrity not a million miles from where I’m sitting . . .”

Jesamine was quickly on her feet in a flurry of silks, and she stormed across the bridge to glare over Brett’s shoulder. Lewis quickly joined her, peering over Brett’s other shoulder. The display screen showed what certainly seemed to be Jesamine Flowers and a half-alien woman getting very friendly with each other in a setting where clothing was clearly optional, if not downright discouraged. Lewis could feel his face heating up.

“That is not me!” Jesamine said firmly. “That is a look-alike, probably fresh out of the body shop. I did do a few . . . artistic studies, very early on in my career, but they were strictly solo poses, for the serious collector and appreciator of the nude form. I never did anything like
that
, even when I was touring in rep. I do have my standards, darling. And I haven’t been able to get my ankles that far behind my ears since I was nineteen. Who or what is that
person
she’s doing that with?”

“That is Nikki Sixteen,” Brett said happily. “An old acquaintance of mine. She’s half N’Jarr, all woman, and one hell of a performer. Go, girl, go!”

“Wait a minute,” said Lewis. “I thought the N’Jarr were those squishy little mushroom people?”

“That’s the larval stage,” Brett said patiently. “The final adult form is largely insectile. Exactly what Nikki’s human and N’Jarr parents ever saw in each other has always been a mystery to me. Presumably love really is blind after all. She’s called Nikki Sixteen because she’s one of sixteen broodmates. She’s the black sheep of the family, if you can apply the term to someone with antennae, compound eyes, and six breasts. God, look at her flex . . . What a healthy, enthusiastic, and limber soul she is . . . Are you sure that isn’t you, Jesamine?”

“That’s Miss Flowers to you, you degenerate. That is definitely not me, and I can prove it. I have a small purple birth-mark on my . . . person. It’s always covered with makeup when the role calls for stage nudity. And besides, that doesn’t even look like me, not really. My breasts aren’t that big, the nose is all wrong, and I wouldn’t do
that
if you paid me. Lewis . . . Lewis!”

“Sorry,” said Lewis. “I got distracted.”

“Go and sit down in your chair again, dear. And push your eyeballs back into their sockets. As for you, Random, I strongly suggest you find something else to look at, before I take that data crystal out of the viewer and ram it so far up your left nostril it will shoot out of your right ear.”

“All right, all right, I’m changing the scene!” said Brett. “Touchy, touchy . . . some people have no sense of humor.”

Jesamine gave Brett a long, thoughtful look. “Brett Random,” she said finally. “You know, I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before . . .”

Brett froze, his face automatically falling into innocent mode while all his internal systems panicked. His well-honed sense of paranoia was never far from overdrive at the best of times. He smiled winningly at Jesamine while his mind worked frantically, trying to remember if he’d ever run a scam on her or any of her people. He was pretty sure he hadn’t, but there was no denying he’d got around in his time. And given the sheer number of confidence tricks and stings he’d pulled down the years on any number of celebrities with more ego than common sense and who thought their position made them invulnerable . . .

“Oh, I’m sure I’d remember meeting such a great star as yourself, Miss Flowers,” he said smoothly. “I just have that sort of face. People always think they know me from somewhere.”

Jesamine sniffed, unconvinced, but let it go rather than get sucked into yet another argument. “I do meet a lot of people. Or at least, I did. I can’t believe my whole life went down the toilet so quickly. And I certainly don’t believe my fan base will accept any of the terrible things that bastard Finn has been saying about me on the news broadcasts. I mean, they’re my
fans
. What’s the point of having fans if they won’t stick with you? Some did. You saw them, Lewis, demonstrating against my imprisonment, outside Traitor’s Hall.”

“You said it yourself, Jes. The public can be very fickle. I couldn’t believe they’d turn on me so easily either.” Lewis tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully and frowned down at them. “You can bet Finn will have all his best propaganda people working day and night on discrediting both of us. They’ll dig into our respective pasts and dig up every bit of dirt they can find.”

“There’s dirt in your past, Sir Deathstalker?” said Brett. “I’m shocked. Shocked!”

“Shut up, Brett.”

“Shutting up right now, sir.”

“What they can’t find, they’ll probably make up,” said Lewis. “You can’t be an honest Paragon without making some enemies—people only too willing to tell tales about you, in the name of revenge. What about you, Jes? Is there much in your past they could find that they could use against you?”

“Well, rather a lot, actually,” said Jesamine. “I’ve never pretended to be a saint, darling. And a certain amount of bad behavior is expected of you when you’re a star. It’s affairs of the heart, and sort-of-secret assignations that keep your face in the gossip shows. If no one’s talking about you, how can you be a star? I admit it, I was a slut sometimes. It was good for business. And you have to throw the odd temper tantrum in public, or no one will take you seriously. You have to give the media stories, or they start making up their own.”

Lewis glowered in Brett’s direction. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you, is there?”

“None at all,” Brett said briskly. “I’m a scoundrel, and proud of it. The good Lord put me on Logres to shear the sheep, and I have been a busy, busy boy. Wherever rogues and villains gather, my name is on everyone’s lips. I am a Random’s Bastard, and I glory in it.”

“Then what are you doing here, with half the Empire after you?” Rose said calmly.

Brett pouted sulkily. “One moment of conscience in an otherwise spotless life, and my whole career is over. I could spit. I don’t even want to think what my old comrades will be saying when they discover I’ve hooked up with you.”

“I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of,” said Rose.

“Yes, but that covers a hell of a lot of ground,” said Brett. “Some of the things you did for the Durandal . . .”

“I came to be with Brett,” said Rose. “Or perhaps I’m here because fighting for the Durandal would have been too easy. I do so love a challenge. There’s no joy to be had in the slaughter of easy prey.”

“Oh, I do so agree,” said Saturday. “Just as I am here because siding with you offers me the best chance for killing and mass carnage.”

“I may puke,” said Brett. “Really. I’m not kidding.”

Simon R. Green
is a
New York Times
bestselling author. A resident of Bradford-on-Avon in England, he is currently working on the last
Deathstalker
novel.