Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

“What, and do you out of the fun of explaining everything to me? You’d never forgive me.”
    She turned slowly around in a circle, checking the corners and shadows. “I still don’t like this. It’s too easy. If I was as guilty of as many nasty things as Valentine, I’d want all my exits and entrances thoroughly guarded.”
    “He’s probably relying on the security systems. I did install the very best. And those souped-up satellites of his would hold off any normal ship.” “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Hazel. “What if they reported opening fire on us?”
    “What if they did? After the onslaught they handed out, they probably assumed we were so damaged we burned up during the descent.” “You keep using that word probably. There’s nothing very probable about Valentine Wolfe. He’s paranoid as hell; he doesn’t think the way the rest of us do.”
    “Hazel, trust me. This is my place, I know what I’m doing. Now, please put away that gun and grenade before you have an unfortunate and very loud accident. I want to take a look around here.”
    “What’s there to see?” said Hazel. “It’s just a cave.” “The first of several caves,” said Owen, carefully not watching as Hazel made the gun and grenade disappear about her person. “When I was in charge here, we used the extra caves to store all the items there wasn’t room for in the Standing proper. When a Family’s been around for as long as mine, you’d be amazed how much junk you accumulate. And of course you don’t dare throw any of it out for fear of future generations calling you a barbarian. Because you never know when some piece of centuries-old tatt might suddenly become fashionable again, or might come in handy to settle some ancient Family feud or argument. I used to display the best pieces in the castle itself and dump the rest in the caves down here. It’s all carefully catalogued. Somewhere.
    David said he was going to have a good clear-out once he moved in, but I don’t think he had time, in the end. Either way, I’ll feel better once I’ve checked. I don’t like surprises.”
    He moved off toward the back of the cave. Hazel rolled up her eyes briefly at the polished ceiling, and went after him, giving the parked yachts plenty of room in case they were armed with proximity alarms.
    In the end, Owen didn’t get far. He stood before the entrance to the next cave, which was now blocked off by a glowing force field. He was standing very still, and Hazel could tell by the tenseness in his stance that something was very wrong. She hurried over to join him, the gun back in her hand again. She moved in beside him and then stopped, and screwed up her face in disgust. Beyond the transparent energy field the cave was packed from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling with dead bodies. Not respectfully lying in state, on separate slabs or tables, but just crammed together, packed in as tightly as possible. A temperature gauge on the wall by the opening showed that a freezer unit was maintaining the bodies at near zero. Some of the faces looked out at Owen and Hazel, an almost lifelike gleam shining from the frost on their frozen eyeballs.
    “Well,” Owen said finally. “Now we know what they did with the bodies.”
    “Owen…”
    “Not now. I want to check the other caves.”
    And so they went from cave to cave, from opening to opening, and they were all filled to capacity with the refrigerated dead of Virimonde. Owen tried to estimate how many bodies there were, but even guessing at the massive size of the caves, he couldn’t grasp it. The numbers were just too big. He stopped before the opening to the last cave, and couldn’t go any farther. All the strength just went out of him. Hazel stood beside him and put a comforting hand on his arm, but he hardly felt it.
    “I feel like I ought to do something,” he said quietly. “But I don’t know what. They were my people.
    They’re still my people. Even if they are dead. But I don’t know what to do.”
    His hands had clenched into helpless fists. Hazel moved in close beside him, trying to support and comfort him by her proximity. “I don’t suppose this means much to you,” said Owen. “After all, you were a clonelegger.”
    “I never saw the bodies,” said Hazel. “But sometimes I had nightmares… Why do you suppose Valentine…?”
    “Who knows why Valentine does anything anymore?” Hazel hesitated, hearing the cold, bitter rage beneath his