Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

stories,” said Hazel. “Cut us, shoot us, burn us; we just keep coming back for more. Unless they stick a stake through our heart, cut off our head, burn it, and scatter the ashes. I don’t think even you could come back from that, Bonnie.”
    “I’d give it a bloody good try,” she said.
    “The Hadenmen,” said Midnight. “They’re the real monsters. Giving up their humanity for their love of tech. Perfectability isn’t achieved through the body but through the spirit. What honor is there in attacking a Mission full of sick people?”
    “They want something,” said Bonnie. “And they never let anything get in the way of what they want.
    Least of all morality. I can respect that. Sometimes, in order to achieve anything of value, you have to be prepared to sacrifice something else of value. Friends, honor, morality… love. I love my Owen with all my rotten heart, but I’d sacrifice him to save the Empire, and he knows it. Can you say you wouldn’t do the same?”
    “I lost my Owen,” said Midnight. “I would sacrifice the Empire and everything in it to have him in my arms again.”
    “But how would he feel about that?” said Hazel. “Oh, he’d be appalled,” said Midnight. “But then, Owen always was much more honorable than me.”
    “Where’s your Owen?” said Bonnie to Hazel.
    “Around,” she said. “He was overseeing the repairs to the wall, but I haven’t seen him for ages. Been too busy. I thought he was going to die today, but once again he pulled himself back from the brink.
    Man’s got more lives than a basket full of cats. But…just for a moment, while he was lying there in his own blood, I thought. What would I do without him? What would there be for me to live for with him gone?”
    “Why don’t you tell him that?” said Midnight softly. “If the Hadenmen come again, you might not get another chance.”
    “Later maybe,” said Hazel. “We’re still needed here.”
    “I can help out for a while,” said Bonnie. “Go find your Owen.” Hazel looked down at the ground before her. “I never wanted commitment. To be bound to any one person. I’ve spent my whole life fighting to be free, defying any kind of authority, just to be sure that no one ran my life but me. And then I met Owen, and fate bound us together no matter how much we struggled. I… admire him greatly. He’s brave and kind and honorable, and he loves me. I’ve always known that. But… I never loved anyone in my whole life. I don’t know if I have it in me to love anyone, even a man as fine as Owen. I’m not the loving kind.”
    “I thought that for a long time,” said Midnight. “I didn’t realize the truth till my Owen was dead and lost
    to me forever. Don’t make the mistake I did, and wait too long. We heroes tend to live tragically short lives.” “Go talk to the man,” said Bonnie. “I’ll cover for you with Saint Bea. Come on, Midnight; you hold them down and I’ll do the stitches.” They got up, squared their shoulders, and went back into the slaughterhouse.
    Hazel sat alone on the steps, staring out into the gloom.
    Owen Deathstalker moved through the open compound, anonymous again in his leper’s cloak and pulled-down hood, listening to the people talk. They sat in small clumps around open fires, passing their last few bottles of booze back and forth. It was supposed to have gone for the infirmary, for emergency use, but it hadn’t taken the lepers long to decide that if their current need wasn’t an emergency, they didn’t know what was, so they’d dug up the hidden bottles they’d stashed away for a dry day, and poured the stuff down their necks as fast as they could stand it. The cheer of their victory hadn’t blinded them to the reality of their situation. They knew they were just waiting for the next act. So they talked and laughed and sang, praised Saint Bea and the Sisters of Glory, and talked about the living legends who had come to lead and protect them. “They say the Deathstalker died and brought himself back to life,” said a leper with half his face eaten away.
    “Nah,” said another man, his face hidden in the shadows of a broad-brimmed hat. “When you’re dead, you’re dead, like the blessed Sister Kathleen. When you’re gone, you don’t come back.”
    “That’s for the likes of us,” said the third man at the fire, a tall, gangling sort, sitting hugging his bony knees to his chest. “We’re human. He isn’t. Not anymore.”
    “Of course