Favorite moments from Deathstalker War
In his private command center on the planet's surface, inside a great slow-moving armored vehicle well away from the main fighting, Valentine Wolfe sat at his ease in a comfortable chair and watched death and destruction and bloody butchery on the many monitor screens around him, and was content. All Empire commands and machine instructions were routed through his systems, allowing him overall awareness of the invasion as well as individual control of his war units. He was contained inside a solid steel isolation tank, surrounded by control systems, lit by the glowing monitor screens. The ten-foot cube packed with tech would have been a claustrophobe's nightmare, but it didn't bother Valentine. Very little did, these days.
Various drugs were racing through his veins, fighting for control of his mind and body, but his will held them all in check. Before coming to Virimonde, he'd finally yielded to tempation and taken the esper drug, and his dark mind had blossomed like a poisoned flower. He now had direct control of his own autonomic systems, balancing one chemical with another, so that he lived on the highest curl of a continuous wave. And if the universe and its people seemed a little less than real, well, they always had, to him. It was only a matter of degree. He could think faster, see farther, and plan in more detail than ever before, even as his emotions thundered within him, great storms of feeling that crashed against the unyielding rocks of self-control. Valentine Wolfe was out of his mind morning, noon, and night now, and he loved it. His brain chemistry was altered beyond recovery, and he couldn't have been happier.
People and events had become transparent to his super-charged insight, merely things and information to be manipulated to his best advantage. He could become Emperor, if he chose, but he wasn't sure if he could be bothered. For all his chemical highs, he was still dedicated to the search for the ultimate drug, the ultimate thrill and wonder. He wasn't sure what that was, or where he might find it, only that it was out there, and he hadn't found it yet. There was something still beyond his grasp, some further step to take; he could sense it. And he wanted it. To seize it and make it his, he would sacrifice every living thing in the Empire.
In the meantime, he occupied himself with the destruction of Virimonde. As a distraction, it had its pleasing moments. He watched his war machines destroy whole towns and slaughter their populations, and smiled quietly to himself, his wide crimson mouth like a would in the skull white of his face. He took an uncomplicated delight in the endless death and destruction, savoring it as a banquet of many courses. He was becoming a monster, and he kknew it. He gloried in it.
"Don't look at me," said Valentine. "I know a lost cause when I see one. I could fight for you, I suppose. I have drugs for that. But I really don't see the point. The rebellion's time has come. It would seem I jumped ship from the underground a little too early. So. I will withdraw to the sidelines and offer my services to whoever comes out on top. People like me are always useful."
"You're not fighting because you're afraid your makeup would get smudged," said Hazel.
Valentine smiled. "That too."
"Do you really think you can be forgiven for what your war machines did on Virimonde?" said Owen. "For the slaughter and suffering and horror you brought to a helpless farming people?"
The Wolfe shrugged. "I was only obeying orders. Not an original excuse, I'll admit, but then the old jokes are always the best. And I can be very loyal, for the right rewards. And I'm sure the underground leaders will recognize my worth. I know things, you see. Things the underground will need to know, if it's to take control of the Empire without unnecessary suffering and destruction. Which is more important to you, Deathstalker, seeing me punished or rebuilding the Empire with the minimum of bloodshed? No, they'll pardon me, no matter how much the rabble scream for my head. I'm just too valuable to waste. Not to worry, Deathstalker. You've still got Lionstone to kill. Enjoy yourself. Knock yourself out. It's not every day you get to murder an Empress."
"Execute," said Owen.
Valentine smiled. "Don't you just love euphemisms?"
Various drugs were racing through his veins, fighting for control of his mind and body, but his will held them all in check. Before coming to Virimonde, he'd finally yielded to tempation and taken the esper drug, and his dark mind had blossomed like a poisoned flower. He now had direct control of his own autonomic systems, balancing one chemical with another, so that he lived on the highest curl of a continuous wave. And if the universe and its people seemed a little less than real, well, they always had, to him. It was only a matter of degree. He could think faster, see farther, and plan in more detail than ever before, even as his emotions thundered within him, great storms of feeling that crashed against the unyielding rocks of self-control. Valentine Wolfe was out of his mind morning, noon, and night now, and he loved it. His brain chemistry was altered beyond recovery, and he couldn't have been happier.
People and events had become transparent to his super-charged insight, merely things and information to be manipulated to his best advantage. He could become Emperor, if he chose, but he wasn't sure if he could be bothered. For all his chemical highs, he was still dedicated to the search for the ultimate drug, the ultimate thrill and wonder. He wasn't sure what that was, or where he might find it, only that it was out there, and he hadn't found it yet. There was something still beyond his grasp, some further step to take; he could sense it. And he wanted it. To seize it and make it his, he would sacrifice every living thing in the Empire.
In the meantime, he occupied himself with the destruction of Virimonde. As a distraction, it had its pleasing moments. He watched his war machines destroy whole towns and slaughter their populations, and smiled quietly to himself, his wide crimson mouth like a would in the skull white of his face. He took an uncomplicated delight in the endless death and destruction, savoring it as a banquet of many courses. He was becoming a monster, and he kknew it. He gloried in it.
"Don't look at me," said Valentine. "I know a lost cause when I see one. I could fight for you, I suppose. I have drugs for that. But I really don't see the point. The rebellion's time has come. It would seem I jumped ship from the underground a little too early. So. I will withdraw to the sidelines and offer my services to whoever comes out on top. People like me are always useful."
"You're not fighting because you're afraid your makeup would get smudged," said Hazel.
Valentine smiled. "That too."
"Do you really think you can be forgiven for what your war machines did on Virimonde?" said Owen. "For the slaughter and suffering and horror you brought to a helpless farming people?"
The Wolfe shrugged. "I was only obeying orders. Not an original excuse, I'll admit, but then the old jokes are always the best. And I can be very loyal, for the right rewards. And I'm sure the underground leaders will recognize my worth. I know things, you see. Things the underground will need to know, if it's to take control of the Empire without unnecessary suffering and destruction. Which is more important to you, Deathstalker, seeing me punished or rebuilding the Empire with the minimum of bloodshed? No, they'll pardon me, no matter how much the rabble scream for my head. I'm just too valuable to waste. Not to worry, Deathstalker. You've still got Lionstone to kill. Enjoy yourself. Knock yourself out. It's not every day you get to murder an Empress."
"Execute," said Owen.
Valentine smiled. "Don't you just love euphemisms?"