by Jak Koke
Dhin was yelling now. "That missile is going to fry us in fifteen seconds unless Axler can take it out or confuse it." "I'm on it. I'm on it."
The ravine around them gave way to low hills covered by jungle. In a minute they'd be out over the water. Technically out of Aztlan. If they survived the missile hit.
"Chaff away now," Axler said.
Dhin pulled the T-bird into a short climb, and Ryan braced for impact. None came. But he didn't hear any explosion. "Blew past us," Dhin said. "Chaff confused its radar."
"Yes!" said Ryan. He found himself enjoying this.
"Don't celebrate!" Dhin said. "It's coming back around, and two more just locked on."
"Launch detected," came the computer.
"Bail in ten seconds," said Axler, standing up from her console to step into the central compartment and open the side door. Wind rushed in, and the scream of the T-bird's jets rasped in Ryan's head.
Grind and McFaren joined her, ready to jump. "Move, Ryan, move," Grind said. "We've only got one chance at this."
Ryan climbed down the minigun cupola and stepped up to the open side door. The jungle sped by just beneath them, the top of the canopy nearly brushing the base of the T-bird. The T-bird slowed suddenly, hovered for a second, then dropped. Ryan's stomach lurched as the big machine fell precipitately, down into a small clearing in the jungle that had been covered with camouflage netting.
"Now, Ryan, jump!"
Ryan followed the others out the side door, and Dhin came close behind them. Throwing himself out head first. Falling, falling. An odd feeling of deja vu crept over Ryan as he fell, as he flipped slowly in the air.
Falling, he saw the T-bird's huge jets spew fire. The machine lifted suddenly and accelerated into the sky, trying to continue its course southward. It didn't even reach the edge of the clearing before three missiles impacted with the reinforced steel frame, ripping it open. Blowing it into flaming hunks of red-hot metal.
Gone in an instant of violent chemicals. Vaporized.
The explosion's fireball singed Ryan's hair as he tucked himself into a ball. Shrapnel and sparks rained down around him. He landed in a huge camouflaged net, suspended from the trees at the edge of the clearing. The landing wasn't soft, but he was no worse for it. No bruises, no scrapes.
When he rolled out onto the jungle floor, he saw that he and the others were surrounded by men and women in jungle camouflage. Mercenaries, Ryan guessed. The rebels that Jane had contacted. One of the meres draped a poncho over Ryan's shoulders to hide him, and they were off through the jungle.
As they walked, Ryan catalogued their guides. He guessed there were no more than fifteen meres, most of them unaided by cybernetics or magic, but all well-trained in combat and field techniques. Axler told Ryan that these mercenaries worked with smugglers who brought in contraband from ships in the Canal region, across the border for eventual sale in Tenochtitlan. They were just as happy smuggling live contraband the other direction for some extra pesos.
Ryan heard the jets fly over once or twice as they hiked the kilometer to the border, but he couldn't see the aircraft through the jungle canopy, and he suspected the jet riggers would have just as hard a time spotting the camouflaged meres. The jungle canopy was just too dense. They slowed to a snail's pace as the undergrowth thickened up ahead, and as Ryan watched, the people ahead of him simply disappeared through some sort of veil. Vanished into the shadows.
Then Ryan too passed through the illusion. On the other side was a steeply sloping ravine covered over with vines and trees and undergrowth. It would be nearly impossible to see even without the magical illusion. The ravine cut down about twenty meters, the path at its base surprisingly level and well worn. Until it became a paved passageway. Concrete and cinderblock formed walls on either side and finally they entered a tunnel.
There was a guard at the tunnel entrance who detained them momentarily, speaking with one of the mercenaries before allowing them though. The underground passageway got them across the border and into the Panama Canal Zone. Out of Aztlan.
Axler stayed close to Ryan during the journey. She seemed to be in good spirits as the meres gave them new clothing to change into-California navy uniforms. They would be disguised as personnel operating off the Exeter helicopter carrier. Axler explained that California Free State had no navy to speak of, but its ships had been kept in use by the government and could be "rented" by the highest bidder. In this case, that meant Jane.
Their journey on to the Exeter went without a glitch. The mercenaries left them at a narrow beach on the south coast, where a small helicopter picked them up and flew them out over the water. Ryan was exhausted, but he felt almost safe again, though he didn't know why he should. The flight to the deck of the ship was brief, and as he stepped out of the helicopter, he was surprised to be greeted by one of the officers.
She was human, standing nearly as tall as Ryan. Broad shoulders and black skin. Her hair was cut utilitarian short. "Are you Quicksilver?" she asked.
He paused for a second, considering. Then he said, "Yes, I think so."
"Telecom for you," she said. "Urgent from Nadja Daviar."
"Thank you," he said, but he was wondering, Who is Nadja Daviar?
"You can take it below decks," she said. "This way."
Ryan followed her, with Axler and the others behind. He felt safe for the first time in a long time. He hadn't really felt safe in the clinic, though he was still not sure why. She led him down into the ship, through gray metal corridors, past gray metal rooms, until she stopped at a gray metal door.
"In here, Mr. Mercury," she said.
He stepped into the room, which was tiny, with only a narrow bunk and a fold-away tabletop. There was a telecom screen built into a wall, however. He touched the screen to activate it.
A woman's image appeared. Elven, with pale skin and black hair. She was beautiful and commanding. Deep green eyes sparkled under the sharp lines of her black brow. "Ryan," she said. "I've been worried about you, even though we agreed I'm not supposed to do that sort of thing." She smiled. "Are you all right?"
Ryan staggered back. She knew him intimately, that much was obvious. But he didn't remember her. There might be something familiar about her, but as much as he tried to remember, he came up blank. What had their relationship been? He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about her. Had they been friends? Lovers? He didn't know.
What he felt for her now was nothing. A void of emotion.
He could tell, too, that she would be hurt if she knew the indifference he felt toward her. And it scared him that he felt pleasure in withholding his feelings from her. It seemed to be true that the Ryan Mercury she knew would not lie to her.
But the new Ryan Mercury understood things in a different way. The new Ryan Mercury-the man with two pasts-knew that lying now might give him an edge in the future. This woman's concern for him, and his feigned interest in her, might just be the perfect way to manipulate her.
17
In front of Thomas Roxborough stood a boy of Mayan descent. Beautiful, golden brown skin, smooth and soft and without blemish. His large eyes were the color of cafe au lait, and his thick black hair had been cut short about his ears. His name was Alberto, and he was a Matrix creation from Roxborough's fantasies.
He was a reflection in Roxborough's mind, a virtual sculpture of his desires. Alberto was young and robust and muscled in all the right places. A boy who might, if he were real, grow up to have a body like that of Ryan Mercury.
Roxborough allowed himself a moment of pleasure in the thought, and was about to indulge his fantasy when he was interrupted by a call from Franklinson. Roxborough sighed; the boy would have to wait. He touched the boy's lips with his finger. "Pause," he said, and the boy's virtual presence froze. He would stay that way until Roxborough returned.
Roxborough looked in on Franklinson, his huge, ugly body sitting in the security room, surrounded by screens. A closed-circuit rigger was jacked into the console next t
o the troll. "Yes," Roxborough said, activating his screen icon.
"Sir," said Franklinson as he sat upright in the chair, "I believe we have prevented your spy from escaping Aztlan territory, but he is dead."
"Tell me about it."
"Four of our fighters intercepted them near the Panama Canal Zone border and shot them down. Their craft sustained massive damage when it impacted with the ground and exploded. We could find no survivors."
"Did you find the body?
"I'm afraid not. Everything was blown apart and burned
beyond recognition. We might recover some bone fragments. I'll let you know."
"Has a mage assensed the wreckage?"
"Yes, but the results are inconclusive, as are most things magical." Franklinson was not known for his trust of shamans and mages.
Roxborough frowned. "It is possible, then, that Mercury and the others escaped. Perhaps they weren't aboard when the T-bird exploded."
Franklinson's face remained impassive. "Possible," he said. "But not likely."
"Still, I will have Meyer continue his ritual magic, if only to determine whether Mercury is alive or not."
"Yes, sir," the troll said. He did not look happy.
Roxborough wanted to return to his encounter with the boy, Alberto, but he couldn't just yet. He activated the cameras in the sub-basement ritual room. Dim blue and violet light shone on the walls. Tall candles of black and red wax burned around the perimeter of a large ritual magic circle, their flames filling the chamber with the scent of anise. The circle itself had been created with chicken blood from fresh sacrifices, dripped from a cured goat stomach that Meyer used for all his ritual circles.
Meyer and two others sat cross-legged inside the circle, each one at an apex of an equilateral triangle that had been drawn in black ink on the duracrete floor. Roxborough did not want to interrupt, but Meyer must have noticed the cameras coming on because he addressed Roxborough.
The elf looked up at one of the cameras. "We're just about to begin the ritual," he said. "Unless you have news that will allow us to forgo this and get on with our real work."
"I'm sorry," said Roxborough. "Franklinson is not one hundred percent sure that Mercury is dead. I need certainty."
Meyer nodded. "You'll get it. If Mercury is alive in the world, we'll find him. If we do, we'll destroy him."
"Good, good," said Roxborough. "That's what I wanted to hear."
"Then we will begin." Meyer turned to speak with the others and soon they were lost in a trance-like state. Roxborough watched for a minute, then left them alone. Ritual
magic wasn't much to see, unless you could look into astral space. But it was quite effective.
It was with that thought in his head, the sensation of completion that came with a job well done, that Roxborough returned to his fantasy. To Alberto and his lovely gold-brown skin. Roxborough touched the boy's naked body, making him come alive and smile as he looked up with large, dark eyes.
"Now," Roxborough said to the boy, "shall we continue?"
18
In the small cabin on the Exeter, Ryan looked at the beautiful elven face on the telecom screen. Nadja Daviar. The gray metal room was an oppressive monochrome around him. "I'm just a little disoriented," he said. "It's been a rough day."
"Well, it's not over yet," she said. "You must get here as fast as possible. Jane's team will fly you to Lima, where you'll all catch a suborbital to Seattle. There, Jane's group will take you to their compound, and I'll have transportation waiting for you there."
And as she spoke, a spark of recognition flared inside Ryan. Something about her inflection or the way the corner of her mouth moved. The one endearing flaw in her otherwise perfect body. He couldn't quite pin down what it was.
"The whole trip shouldn't take more than four or five hours," she said. "I'll see you tonight."
"Good."
"Yeah, I have to make sure that all this nuyen I'm spending to get you out hasn't gone to waste. Nothing personal."
"Of course not," Ryan said. Nadja seemed guarded about something. Is she nervous about seeing me? he thought. Perhaps.
"See you later then," she said, but did not disconnect.
"Goodbye, Nadja," said Ryan, then cut the line.
Axler stepped in next to Ryan. "We've got to roll," she said. "Now." And she rushed him back up top and into a waiting helo-a big, double-rotored kind that flew them south across the water toward Peru.
The next four hours went exactly as Nadja had described. A suborbital jet awaited them on the tarmac when they landed in Lima. The logo emblazoned on the fuselage proclaimed it to be owned by Gavilan Industries, and they were the only passengers. Ryan wondered how Nadja or Jane had arranged that.
The flight to Seattle passed quickly. Ryan thought about Father-Roxborough's father actually. He remembered the large man, his red beard and balding pate. Father had been a moderately successful entrepreneur, and young Thomas Roxborough rarely saw him while his mother was alive. It was only after she'd died in a terrorist bombing in London that Father had taken an interest in shaping his son's life.
Ryan remembered one time when Father had promised to take him to an Arsenal football match at Highbury Stadium. Little Tommy Roxborough had been looking forward to seeing his favorite team play. A real live match! He'd been waiting for weeks in anticipation. Father said all he had to do was complete his programming homework, which he did brilliantly.
But something had come up at Father's work, an important meeting with the execs of another corp, Ryan couldn't remember which, and the promised match passed without Roxborough. Father had told him later that his meeting had made them over a million nuyen. Business, Father had said, was always more important.
It wasn't until years later that Roxborough truly understood what he had meant. Roxborough had been in the final stages of foreclosing on Tennessee Nitro Technologies-a company that owed him a sizable chunk of nuyen-when he learned that Father was in the hospital, dying of VITAS- Virally Induced Toxic Allergy Syndrome. Roxborough couldn't pass up his opportunity to destroy the company and put millions into his account. Timing was crucial.
He decided to postpone his visit to Father in the hospital.
Father died before he made his visit. But Roxborough was sure Father understood, even in those final moments, that his son had his priorities straight. Roxborough knew Father would be proud. He threw a fantastic funeral for Father. All the important people came.
Now, the suborbital shuttle was landing in Seattle. Ryan stretched and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that draped over his body like a blanket of shivers.
The postures of Axler, Grind, McFaren, and Dhin relaxed
somewhat after they stepped off the suborbital and onto the concrete of SeaTac airport. This was close to their home turf. They obviously felt much more safe and secure here, though as Ryan looked around, he got the sense that Seattle could be extremely dangerous.
A small jet took them to the compound, which Axler called Assets, Incorporated. It was a small airstrip in Salish Shidhe, the Indian nation that covered land previously known as Washington, Idaho, and British Colombia. Assets, Inc. lay hidden in the mountains above Hells Canyon, and Ryan gathered that it served as Axler and Company's base of operations.
The compound was bounded on one side by a sheer rock face that stretched up into the sky, and on the other by a precipice-a steep cliff face that fell into the canyon, over a kilometer to the bottom where the Snake River wound its way, a narrow, green ribbon in the distance below. The perimeter of Assets, Inc. was fenced, and there was a corrugated steel warehouse of some sort, but Ryan didn't get time to inspect either. He was ushered straight into another jet, larger and more luxurious this time, complete with its own pilot and security guards.
Axler had grown even colder toward him as their mission had come to an end. Jane had paid them through a deposit in their Zurich Orbital account, and Axler was all business. Grind and McFaren shook Ryan's h
and just before he stepped aboard, but Axler simply said, "Good luck," in her ultra-chill way, as if from a great emotional distance. Then she'd turned her back on him.
Biz completed. No attachments desired.
The security guards took position in the rear of the jet and Ryan was left alone in the plush cabin. Luxury and loneliness enveloping him.
Still there was some hope as the jet flew him out. They were taking him to meet Nadja, the woman who might have some answers about his past. A woman who he knew, but didn't remember. What was his relationship with her? He'd find out soon enough.
They flew north, and Ryan learned that they were going to Dunkelzahn's lair in Lake Louise-a dragon's lair. The rigger pilot knew him. Her name was Barb-a sleek-looking
elf with brown locks that hung to her nicely shaped behind. She told him that he worked with Black Angel and Dunkelzahn, that he was "jacked in" with the higher-ups.
So I work for a fragging dragon, he thought. It's all becoming perfectly clear… Not!
Ryan finally decided just to see what happened. It would all come back when he was least expecting it. He sat back in his seat and tried to relax by looking out the window at the passing landscape. The peaks of the Canadian Rocky Mountains stood majestic and raw, speaking to Ryan in a primal language as he gazed out the window. The ancient stone at once forbidding and enticing.
The plane landed on a short airstrip built on a high plain between two peaks. The sun reflected a blinding white off the snow-covered glaciers; the silver-blue glass buildings lower on the slope of the mountains sparkled like cut gems. It was awe-inspiring. Stark and beautiful.
She stood on the cold runway waiting for him to disembark. She was surrounded by guards, her black hair blowing wildly in the chill wind. He wrapped the coat they'd given him tighter around his body and stepped down the short staircase to meet her. Up close, he sensed that she was a very powerful woman. Confidence and poise radiated from her presence. From the sureness of her stance. The way she stood was inviting in a conspiratorial way, yet held a solid immutability. She would listen, but she would make the final decisions.