Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

they were in stasis, but there's no trace of any equipment."
    "They're preserved in some way," said Random. "I'd kill for a closer look at them."
    "No problem," said Moon, and smashed one of the glass sides with his fist.
    Owen whirled around, gun in hand, every muscle tensed for an attack that never came. He slowly relaxed and turned back to the Hadenman.
    "Moon, if I wanted a heart attack, I'd play Russian roulette with a fully-charged disrupter. Don't do anything else without checking with me first.
    You could have set off some kind of security system."
    "We need information," said Moon, entirely unfazed by the anger in Owen's voice.
    He stepped through the wreckage of the glass wall, splinters crunching under his boots, and studied the figures closely. Random moved in quickly after him, followed by Hazel and Ruby. Owen decided he wasn't doing any good just standing outside on his own, shook his head resignedly and entered the glass case himself. Up close, the three figures looked even more disturbing. Moon prodded one with his finger, and it rocked gently on its feet.
    "What the hell are they?" said Hazel quietly, as though afraid they might hear her. "It's not stasis, whatever it is."

    "They're preserved," said Moon. "They died, violently according to the evidence, and then their insides were removed, and some kind of preservative material was pumped inside them."
    "How can you tell?" said Random, sounding more intrigued than anything else.
    "I can smell the chemicals," said Moon. "And there are telltale signs in the skin, if you know what to look for."
    Owen decided not to ask how the Hadenman knew which signs to look for. He didn't think he really wanted to know.
    "Who do you suppose they were?" said Ruby.
    "According to the Family histories," Owen said slowly, "my ancestor, the original Deathstalker, was pursued here by three of the greatest mercenary assassins of their time: the infamous Shadow Men. They were never heard of again. Apparently they did catch up with their prey after all."
    You mean he killed them, and then had them preserved and mounted as trophies?"
    Hazel pulled a face. "Nasty sense of humor your ancestor had, Owen. Or was this usual, for the time?"
    "No," said Owen. "No, it wasn't."
    They left the shattered case and moved on, heading still deeper into the Standing. They all had a gun or a sword in their hands now. The emptiness of the rooms seemed somehow significant, even threatening. It was like walking through a gigantic trap, waiting for the punchline. Mechanical drones appeared from time to time, silent mechanisms of varying size, gliding through the empty rooms on unknown missions. They ignored the human intruders, who in turn gave the drones plenty of room. They varied in shape from simple spheres that rolled along the spotless floors to disturbingly human forms that tapped through the rooms on
    pointed toes, inhumanly graceful. Owen was frowning so much by now that his head ached, but he couldn't help it. No one made machines in the shape of men anymore. Not after the AI rebellion. So these androids had been here for more than nine hundred years, following programs laid down centuries before. No one now could make machines to last that long. It was a forgotten art. First the portals, now this. What other forgotten secrets were waiting for them in the heart of the Last Standing?
    They pressed on, moving cautiously now, blinking in and out of existence from room to room, and found themselves in a hall of mirrors. The mirrors stretched from floor to ceiling, forming a maze with no apparent pattern. They moved constantly, turning and twisting, light shimmering from every direction. There were reflections upon reflections, images within images. They merged and blended, and some reflections seemed to be moving independently of the people who cast them. Owen moved slowly forward, drifting between the mirrors, following hints and whispers and beckoning figures. He thought he saw his father, and his long-lost mother, and other faces from his past, and then himself, grown old and feeble. He saw himself at his wedding, beside a veiled bride, and then fighting alone on a bloody battlefield littered with the dead.
    He moved on, drawn by a need to see, to know more, and then Hazel was suddenly beside him, her hand on his arm.
    "Come away, Owen. It's not safe here. They're a trap; they show you what you want to see. Come away."
    Owen allowed her to tug him away, and the party stayed close