by Jak Koke
She moved her mouth up toward his.
A soft knock on the door made her pull away. She tensed and sat up, straightening her hair. "What is it?" she said.
Gordon Wu's voice sifted through. "Sorry to bother you, Ms. Daviar," he said. "But Damien Knight is on line one. He said it was urgent."
Nadja whispered, "Frag it." Then she raised her voice, giving Ryan an apologetic look. "Thank you, Gordon. I'll take it in here."
She sighed and reached over to the telecom on the small marble table next to the tub. She killed the tub's jets as well as the soft music that was playing, gave Ryan a "shh" gesture, then keyed line one, presumably with the video blanked.
Ryan leaned back into the hot suds. To wait. Such an interruption was inevitable, he supposed, given Nadja's position as Chairman of the Draco Foundation and current nominee for vice president of the United Canadian and American States. It was fragging annoying, though.
"Damien, my good friend," Nadja said.
Ryan knew that Nadja despised Damien Knight, who was a hardball corporate shark. He was one of the most powerful people in the world, and no matter what her personal feelings, not a person to be ignored.
"Nadja," came Damien's voice, "what, no video? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
The only time Ryan had met Knight was in Dunkelzahn's Lake Louise lair, at a birthday party the dragon had given for Nadja. Ryan remembered Knight as he greeted Nadja with a birthday kiss. He stood just shorter than Nadja's two meters, and he was broadly built, with salt and pepper hair and a rugged face. He also had hazel eyes and a platinum-plated datajack that gleamed discreetly on his temple, almost hidden under his perfectly coifed hair. He was very smooth and carried himself with the air of a man who was used to having his way. A man in control of his environment.
Nadja steeled herself, making her face a mask even though the video was blanked. "What do you want, Knight?"
"I was hoping you'd consider letting me vote your Gavilan shares."
Nadja smiled. "Ah, so you'd have control of thirty-four percent of Ares."
Ryan knew that Knight held twenty-two percent of Ares stock, the same as the Chairman of the Board, Leonard Aurelius. The two had been battling over control of the corporation for years. Since Nadja had just inherited Gavilan Ventures from Dunkelzahn, which included twelve percent of Ares stock, she was a prime target for internal corporate politics.
Nadja continued, "And what do I get out of it?"
"My blessing with the Scott commission and my influence in Congress to help get approval of your appointment as vice president."
"You have some influence there?" Nadja asked.
"There are those who appreciate my opinion."
Ryan didn't doubt it. Knight most likely had a third of the UCAS Congress in his pocket, and held substantial pull over most of the rest. Ares Macrotechnology was the single largest employer in all of UCAS and the nation's only "home" megacorp. Ares was based out of Detroit, while the headquarters of the other megas were located either in Japan, Germany, or Aztlan.
Nadja laughed. "What else?" •"Nadja, you drive a hard bargain." Knight's voice was a deep, smooth baritone. "I like that."
"If there's nothing else, Damien, my answer is no."
"Perhaps you need some time to think about it."
"Frankly, Damien, I can't see how twelve percent of Ares is equivalent to some political clout in FDC. I have no concerns here."
"Are you certain the Scott Commission will clear your name?" Knight asked. "It would be a shame for you to be indicted on conspiracy to assassinate the President. Something like that could be viewed in the media as equivalent to guilt."
Nadja didn't flinch at the implied threat. "I can handle the bureaucrats, Damien. Can you?"
Knight's deep laughter resonated from the telecom. "We should play chess sometime, Nadja. I think you'd be quite an opponent."
Nadja's smile showed teeth. "Yes, I think I might like that. As soon as I've beaten Mr. Aurelius, I'd be glad to start up a match with you."
"You've been in contact with Leonard?"
"Think about it, Damien."
Ryan didn't know if Nadja had been speaking with Aurelius or not, but even the possibility would make Knight nervous. Aurelius and Knight owned approximately equal shares of Ares. If Aurelius got control of Nadja's Gavilan shares, Knight's control of Ares would slip. He would undoubtedly be ousted as CEO.
Knight's voice was harsh. "You're playing in a very complex game of corporate politics, Nadja. A very dangerous game. If you give Leonard the proxy rights to your shares, Ares would splinter. The other megacorps would respond. The effects would be felt globally and the Draco Foundation would suffer. And so would UCAS."
Nadja's voice oozed sarcasm. "But you would prevent all that?"
Knight ignored her tone. "Dunkelzahn was informed, and he voted for the benefit of the corporation. Ninety percent of the time, his votes were the same as mine, you can check the data. But more than that, Nadja, he and I were friends. He trusted me. He would want you to trust me."
Ryan slipped further into the hot water. Knight might be right and he might be lying, probably a bit of both. / don't envy her, he thought looking at the lines of doubt now evident on Nadja's face. She has a tougher job than I'd ever want.
Nadja breathed an inaudible sigh. "I don't know what Dunkelzahn would have wanted, and neither do you. I have control of Gavilan now, for better or for worse, and the decision rests with me and me alone."
"Of course, I-"
"Now, I appreciate any support you can give as far as Congress and my vice-presidential nomination," she said. "And also with the Scott Commission-"
"Done."
"But I need to gather more information before I sign away the voting rights for Gavilan. You can understand the need to move cautiously, can't you?"
Knight gave a harsh laugh. "Certainly. We will talk again soon." The line went dead.
Nadja looked up and let out a long sigh. "I hate that man," she said.
Ryan keyed the jets, bringing bubbles and motion back into the water. "You were awesome," he said. "Knight doesn't know what hit him."
Nadja leaned back in the water, closed her eyes and let the fluid pummel her. Letting the tension drain from her body.
Ryan floated over beside her, drawing her into his arms. He poured some aromatic oil into his palm and massaged her shoulders with it. The sharp scent of ananya filled the room.
She responded with a smile, not opening her eyes.
Eventually, he worked all the tension from her muscles. She leaned back against him as he sank deeper into the water. The jets drove fists into his tight back as he kissed her neck. And as he worked his way up to her delicately pointed ear, he realized very slowly that she had fallen asleep.
Wonderful, he thought, resting her head against his shoulder. Now, how do I get out without waking her up?
10
In the depot's control house, Lethe's scream seared across Burnout's mind, almost causing him to freeze up. Like the howl of a trapped ghost, and it turned his circuits to ice.
The guard fired, and the massive pistol jerked from the recoil.
Burnout recovered barely in time to sidestep the shot with all his speed. Then he swept his foot upward, impossibly high, and shot his heel spike through the soft flesh of the man's exposed throat. With a downward jerk, the spike ripped the side of the guard's neck open in a spray of blood and cartilage.
The guard flopped to the pavement, clutching at his protruding wind pipe. He drowned in his own blood.
Burnout was already moving. The bored-looking attendants didn't look bored anymore. They were moving in Burnout's direction, pulling weapons from inside their coveralls.
These were no attendants, these were professionals, mercenaries. For a moment, Burnout wondered if Ryan had anticipated him, had lain a trap, but then instinct rode supreme, and the rotor-barreled M107, mounted on his articulate arm, was roaring above his head. Two short, controlled b
ursts, and the mercs blew backward as fist-sized holes appeared in their stomachs and chests.
That's that, thought Burnout.
The night was silent, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way much longer. He'd hoped to handle this situation with minimal noise, but even at this sparsely populated end of town, the sound of the M107 would make people sit up and take notice. In the sprawl, that was all right. So much drek went down that locals rarely got involved. In a little burg like this, Burnout guessed that the switchboard at the local law office was lighting up like a fire fight on a moonless night.
He moved swiftly into the control house, rounding the front counter and stepping back into the office. A schedule for the automated truck-trains was on the rear wall. The one currently fueling was due to depart in three minutes.
Perfect, thought Burnout.
"Was it necessary to kill them?"
Burnout had almost forgotten Lethe's interference. He left the office and ran to the depot's main electricity hook-up. "Let's get one thing straight here. Don't frag with me like that. You nearly got us geeked with that scream."
Lethe sounded genuinely sorry. "My apologies."
Burnout pulled the cables from the hook-up and looked them over. The power lines were big, and that meant the juice would flow fast. He'd have to watch it so he didn't short-circuit. He tore off the remains of his shirt and found the two power studs on his lower abdomen. He attached the cables and let the generator rip.
As the charge flowed fast and free, he spoke, "Why did you panic?'
There was a long pause, during which he checked his internal display, which told him his energy levels had reached maximum. He shut the generator down.
"Burnout, I did not intend to endanger you. I merely find unnecessary killing abhorrent."
Burnout snorted as he ran to the body of the nearest attendant and quickly traded clothes. "Unnecessary? Did you see the size of the barrel on that Predator? Big enough to drive a tank into. It was put-up-or-shut-up time."
Burnout tore the long duster from the dead guard. The clothing had blood on it, but it was better than what he'd been wearing. It fit too tight in the shoulders, so Burnout ripped the arms off. As he was putting the duster on, two sounds hit him. The first was the deep thrum of the automated truck-train as it powered up to head out.
The second sound was the high whine of distant sirens.
Burnout moved quickly to the tractor-a low-slung, gleaming snake in bright fluorescent. Its front scoop grill hung low, and its body profile was sleek and long. The bullet-shaped front engine was ten meters long, with two sets of triple-axled wheels. A sharp, black spoiler swept up from the rear of the engine compartment.
Each of the cargo trailers was a smooth-edged wedge shape, fitting so close to the one behind that if Burnout looked at the truck-train from an angle, it seemed like one long continuous body. The trailers also had spoilers to keep the vehicle from throwing itself off the road when it reached a cruising speed of more than two hundred kilometers per hour.
"Our taxi's waiting," he said, but Lethe didn't respond. Burnout didn't think the spirit had much sense of humor, and actually, now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever having much of one either. That is, before Lethe had come along.
He thought about that as he scoured the office for the records. He found a heads-up display that showed routes, fuel consumption, and final destinations. The rig was on its way to Billings, and wasn't scheduled for another stop till then.
As he looked at the side of the trailer truck out in the lot, and found the ID number on the side, he wondered at the change that had taken place in him since snapping awake on the banks of the Snake River. He felt so much more focused, so much more aware of everything. At first, he'd assumed it was the Heart that had brought the fresh clarity, the keener insights. But now he was unsure. Since discovering Lethe, things had been clicking into place for him.
Before, he had been in a constant internal war. When he wasn't in motion, acting out terrible violence, his anger boiled constantly inside. He couldn't stand still without becoming filled with hatred for anyone and anything. The automatic drug dispenser that numbed his nervous system when he was about to explode into violence hadn't triggered since before the fall.
Before, his superiors had even locked him out of certain weapons like his articulate arm and its mounted gun because they were afraid he might explode into sudden violence and use it against them.
Before, his IMS would spark memories for him. Keeping him from forgetting he was alive, which he sometimes did. But now the IMS only kicked in when Lethe spoke to him. Burnout felt more solidly alive, more centered than since before his cybermancy.
He didn't know how that could be possible, but whatever the reason, he was thankful. He was no longer spending all his waking hours in a haze.
With a high whine, the rig started to pull forward, just as Burnout had hoped it would. He dashed out the door, pausing only to scoop up the Predator as the rig began to pick up speed. Burnout jumped aboard, just as the tail end of the truck accelerated out of the last pool of light on the depot's tarmac.
He held tightly to the ladder, then climbed up behind the shield of the wide rear spoiler. He used his third arm to hook around one of the spoiler's struts and settled in. The ride wasn't going to take very long.
The sound of the sirens, which had been getting steadily louder, began to quickly fade again. That was good. With the ruin of the main terminal, the law boys would probably assume he had hightailed it for open country. Only a fool would try to ride one of these trains. A fool, or someone strong enough to hang on through the incredibly rough ride. Because the truck-trains were automated, they traveled at ferocious speeds, and their wide, low body-line made it possible for them to take curves at a pace fast enough to create a couple gees. No trip for the weak.
It would also take the law a while to replay the action on the depot's surveillance cams. By that time, Burnout would be off the rig and out of their jurisdiction. No doubt he'd have to worry about Ryan Mercury closing in, or those Azzie choppers, but by the time either of them managed to pick up his trail and track him, he would be prepared.
The wind began to howl in his ears as the truck-train reached its cruising speed. Burnout felt good, and it was the first time he remembered feeling that way in a long, long time.
"Do you mind if I ask where we are going?"
Burnout liked the spirit more and more with each passing day. He could feel the changes taking place within him. Before Lethe, he'd spent his time enraged or drugged. Always on the edge, never solid. Never in control of himself.
Now, with all the magic around him, inside him, he had grown aware. Where before he merely acted, now he understood. He knew the price of his cybermancy. Of his life beyond the pale. And he dreamed of regaining his magic.
He was reminded of old man Getty, the first mage he'd found who was willing to unteach all the shamanistic mumbo-jumbo the Kodiak had taught. Old man Getty had started young Billy Madson on the right road to his magic. It was Getty who had taught him to focus on method, not emotion, who had rapped his wrists with a long thin stick every time he slipped up. Getty had taught him to put the past behind him, to reach toward the future and everything it held.
Burnout touched his side, where the Heart rested under the duster. Pressed close to his side. He could taste the power that lay dormant there. Mana!
Burnout smiled. "I'll tell you where we're going, Lethe," he said. "We're going back to the time of old masters and new magic.
"Back to the beginning."
11
The moon hung just a sliver below full, shining in horizontal lines through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Sending ripples of light across the blankets. Ryan lay awake in the huge bed. He had slept only a few hours, awakened by dreams of Dunkelzahn's death.
He edged out of the bed and stood, naked in the moonlight. He looked down on the sleeping form of Nadja. Her, dark hair spilled over the white pillowcase,
and there was a slack, unbecoming expression on her face.
He smiled. Such innocence in sleep, he thought. If only I could forget for long enough to get that kind of rest.
Ryan turned away and walked to the wide French doors that opened onto the private balcony. He stepped out into the cool air and looked down on Nadja's personal courtyard, letting the cold marble caress his feet.
The wind blew gently across his skin, soothing his body, but leaving his mind in turmoil. He knew he needed sleep, but that elusive beast refused to let itself be trapped, and his mind refused to quit working. The meeting with Strapp still bothered him. As long as Ryan was a target of the investigation, the Secret Service was spending valuable manpower looking in the wrong direction.
Strapp was right in one thing. Ryan wanted to help with the investigation. Not only did he have resources the Secret Service didn't, he worried that even if they did discover who was behind the murder, they might not have the muscle to take the assassins down. Ryan could help them with that.
Strapp was a fool to think that one man could have pulled off the assassination, though it was possible that one person might have masterminded the whole thing. The way the assassination went down, it had to be a planned and coordinated effort. Vast resources would have been required, and perhaps inside help.
Ryan curled his left hand into a fist. It was so frustrating to watch others plod along on so important a task when he knew he could get the job done faster. He could organize a team before morning, be on the killer's trail before the week was out. Now that he felt as if his brain was clicking on all cylinders, he knew he could discover the killer if he just had a week to fully concentrate on it.
Some intensive digging, a little undercover time, and he'd come up with something concrete to give Strapp. An operation this big could never stay concealed forever, no matter how good the assassin proved to be.
He loosened his fist, and laughed. Who's the fool now? There were hundreds of people looking into finding Dunkelzahn's killer, and he was having a hard time tracking down a dead cyborg.