Owen moved forward a few steps, looking carefully about him. Lots of computers and monitor screens and terminals, but no operators and no guards. Just Valentine, apparently unmoved. Nothing and no one standing between the Deathstalker and his vengeance. 'Get up, Wolfe,' he said softly, his voice cold and certain as death. 'It's all over. It ends here.'
'Oh, don't be so predictable, Owen,' said the Wolfe, casually folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. 'Do we really have to do what everyone expects of us? Act out the traditional roles of pure-hearted hero and dastardly villain? There's more to us than that. We have so much in common, you and I. We ought almost to be brothers in spirit.'
'I'm nothing like you, Wolfe,' said Owen flatly.
'Really? What have I done that you haven't, in your time as a rebel? I've no doubt your personal body count is much higher than mine, for all my efforts.'
'You were responsible for the death of this planet. For the wiping out of its population.'
'Well, I had help, but how many died at your instigation on Mistworld and Golgotha? How many good soldiers, just following orders and carrying out their duty? Who knew nothing of politics and were just enforcing the law? There's blood and death and horror on both our hands. But don't let it worry you. We're above such things. We're more than human now, and human limitations don't apply to us any longer.'
'It's not what we've done,' said Owen. 'It's why we did it. I killed when it was necessary, fought to see an end of killing. You did it for pleasure.'
'Are you saying you won't enjoy killing me?'
'No. I'm not saying that at all.'
'You see? Ordinary restrictions don't apply to us. We can do wonderful, terrible things, limited only by our imagination and the narrowness of our vision. We will do these things; we must, because we can. Don't stay mired in the past, Owen. In the man you used to be, before you were kicked awake. You're still concerned with small concepts, like duty and honor and law. Law is for the little people, honor for those afraid to be more than they are, and our only duty is to ourselves now; to explore the possibilities before us, to become everything that we can be. Anything less is a betrayal of what we've made of ourselves.'
'I've lost so much, had to give up so many things,' said Owen. 'I won't give up my humanity too.'
Valentine shrugged easily. 'Trust me, Owen. You'll be surprised how little you'll miss it. But I see there's no point in talking to you anymore at this point. You're not ready to hear the truth. When you've progressed as far as I have, you'll see things much more clearly. Still, I had to try. I see so much of myself in you. Now, I really must be leaving.'
'I don't think so,' said Owen. 'If I remember correctly, and I do, there's only one way in or out of this center, and I'm blocking it. You have to get past me first. And you were never that good.'
'Probably not. But I don't have to be. I've always relied on others to do the hard menial work for me. I am a Lord, after all. I have someone here who'd like to meet you, Deathstalker. Really, she's quite been looking forward to it. You went away and left her, and I'm afraid she carries something of a grudge. You never were very good with women, Owen.' The Wolfe looked off through an open door that led into an adjoining room. 'Do step in here and make yourself known, my dear.'
From the adjoining room came the sound of slow, stumbling footsteps. Owen's nose wrinkled as a smell came to him, dark and organic, quite out of place in the spotless high-tech security center. It was a smell of preservatives, and underneath that the sickly sweet stench of rot and decay. A cold prickling ran down Owen's spine, a premonition. And then the dead woman stepped into the room and stood trembling beside Valentine Wolfe. She was quite naked, but held a sword in her hand. She'd been in the ground for some time. The primitive undertakers of Virimonde had done their best, but the pale purple and gray skin had cracked apart all over the body, revealing implanted computers and servomechanisms. The big Y of an autopsy scar ran from her sunken breasts down to her groin, the stitches stretched and broken. A single death wound still showed clearly against the ribs. The face was taut and drawn, sunken down to the bone in places. The dead lips had torn free of their stitches and drawn back from the perfect teeth in an unwavering smile that had no humor in it. The eyes were deeply sunk in their sockets, and yellow as urine. The flat blond hair had grown longer in the grave. But Owen still recognized her, and horror closed around his heart like a fist.
'Cathy…'
'Got it in one, Deathstalker,' said Valentine Wolfe. 'Your old mistress, Cathy DeVries, from the days when you were young and carefree. Actually, she was really an Imperial spy, set to keep an eye on you, and you had to kill her in self-defense. Your first love, who died in your arms. Such a touching scene, I'm sure. And here she is again, my little present to you.
'You see, I've done my homework on you, Owen. I know what moves you, and what holds you back. I had dear Cathy dug up when I first came here, and had my people implant Ghost Warrior technology inside her. Just in case you tracked me here to trouble me again. Now, I think I'll leave you two lovebirds alone together. I'm sure you've got lots to talk about. And, Owen… just in case you can bring yourself to kill her again before she kills you, I've arranged another little surprise for you. No, don't bother to thank me. What are brothers for?'
He gestured at the dead woman, and she lurched forward, sword at the ready. Owen backed away, and the corpse of what had once been his mistress came after him. He tried to speak to her, but his mouth was too dry. This wasn't Cathy. Cathy was dead, and the computers currently inhabiting her body cared only for the orders programmed into them. Owen knew this, but he couldn't fight her. Not her. Killing Cathy had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do then, and he didn't think he could do it again. And so he allowed her to back him away from the open door, and Valentine Wolfe slipped easily past them, chuckling happily. He darted away down the corridor, still laughing, leaving Owen and what was left of his old mistress to sort out their differences together.
And in the computers of the security center, a program was slowly counting down to zero—Valentine's last gift to the Deathstalker.
Back in the main hall, Hazel d'Ark was bored. She sat in a chair with its back to the wall, so no one could sneak up on her, and watched the Romanov and the Kartakis sit quietly together. Hazel could have contacted Owen through his comm implant, to see how he was getting on, but she knew how snappish he could get if you interrupted him while he was in the middle of something. Hazel crossed her legs, just for something to do, and wished Owen would get on with killing the Wolfe. There was always the chance he'd go all soft-hearted again at the last minute, and insist on dragging the Wolfe back alive to stand trial, but she didn't think so. Not this time. Hazel crossed her legs again and sighed heavily. Boring, boring, boring.
She glared across at the two silent aristocrats, and only then realized that the Romanov had disappeared. His exoskeleton was still sitting where it had been, but he wasn't inside it anymore. Hazel was immediately on her feet, gun and sword in hand, eyes sweeping the great hall. How the hell could she have missed the Romanov getting loose? There was no way he could have clambered out of that much armor without her noticing, no matter how preoccupied she' d been with her boredom. Unless the body armor had built-in stealth technology—in which case the Romanov could have freed himself while hidden behind a projected holo illusion. And if the Romanov had dropped that illusion, it could only be because he was currently skulking somewhere in the hall, hidden again behind some projected holo disguise that rendered him, for all practical purposes, invisible. Wonderful.
Hazel held her sword out before her and spun around in a circle. She strained her ears for the slightest sound, but the hall seemed utterly silent. The Romanov could be anywhere in the damned hall… She shot a quick glare at the Kartakis, to warn him to stay put, and was cheered silently by the way he immediately sank back in his chair. And then an arm shot around her throat from behind, tightening its grip, shutting off her air. She struggled furiously against the choke hold, but couldn't shake the Romanov off. Strength wasn't enough to break a hold like this, one of the few holds that actually stood a chance against someone as strong as her. She still had some human weaknesses, after all. Hazel staggered back and forth, dragging the Romanov with her, desperate for air, furious with herself for letting her attention slip. She had to defeat the Romanov before Owen got back, or she'd never hear the end of it.
She snapped smartly forward at the waist, and the Romanov went flying forward over her head, his own weight and momentum breaking the stranglehold. She heard him hit the floor hard, and immediately turned and blasted the exoskeleton with her disrupter. The armor exploded with a satisfyingly large bang and went up in flames. The Romanov's holo illusion snapped off, and there he was before her, rising to his feet with a short but nasty-looking knife in his hand. She really should have searched him.
Hazel sucked the air back into her straining lungs, her sword held steadily out before her. The Romanov was
