Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

revenge that would quiet them.
    Finally he came to the single steel door that led to what had once been his security center. He reined back on his anger and his need, and made himself study the door carefully. It was inches-thick solid steel, with no visible lock mechanism, and undoubtably booby-trapped in a dozen ways, from hidden disrupters to primed explosives. Owen didn’t care.
    He concentrated, reaching down past his conscious mind, into the back brain, the undermind, and something there woke up and uncoiled, bursting outward without restraints. The mental pulse blew the solid steel door right out of its steel frame, and sent it flying backward into the room beyond. The hidden disrupters and explosives tried to arm themselves, but Owen shut them down with a single thought. His
    power was fully awake now, and burning brightly within him. Owen stepped through the empty doorway into the room, only to be stopped by the sound of quiet, ironic applause. At the far end of the room, almost hidden in shadows, Valentine Wolfe was sitting languidly in a swivel chair, clapping his long white hands together. Dressed in utter black, his corpse-pale face seemed to float unsupported on the gloom.
    “Marvelous entrance, Owen. You really have developed a sense of the dramatic. Such an improvement.
    You were always so proper and stuffy before you were outlawed. Really, it’s been the making of you.”
    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