Stranger souls s-26

by Jak Koke

  The man's pupils widened when he saw Burnout, and he tried to call out. His cries were muffled, and he stopped completely when Burnout placed the barrel of his silenced Predator II to his face. A quick, hard punch to the gut knocked the man's wind out and left him gasping while Burnout sealed his mouth with his stash of fiber tape, then bound his hands and feet with the same.

  Two more things. First, the dog. A quick twist broke its neck. Second, escape. That might be a little tougher.

  Burnout glanced around. No disturbances, no trace of alarm. He jacked up the gain on his hearing, but came up with nothing more than the sound of a helicopter motor clicking as it cooled and the amplified hum of his own microhydraulics.

  The guard thrashed a little when Burnout picked him up and slung the man's bulk over his shoulder. Made holding difficult. Burnout was not happy. This human must be controlled. Burnout quietly set the guard on the ground, then grabbed the man's foot with one hand. He used his other hand to place a hard sideways punch to the guard's knee, snapping the bone in several places.

  The guard's scream was nicely muffled. Very effective tape. And he didn't squirm so much when Burnout slung him up to his shoulder the second time. Burnout jumped back over the fence with his human cargo. Then he raced off into the trees. No sound from the drones. He had made it out.

  "You broke his leg?" Slaver asked when Burnout dumped the guard in the snow.

  Burnout just nodded.

  "Was that necessary?" But Slaver didn't let Burnout respond. He knelt down next to the guard, putting its hands on the man's face. The man's chest heaved as Slaver scanned his mind with magic. The screams of agony stuck in his throat.

  After a few minutes, Slaver looked up. The guard had passed out. "Mercury is no longer here," he said. "He left with Nadja Daviar. They went to Washington FDC."

  He rose and dusted himself off. "Now kill him and let's go," he said to Burnout.

  Burnout bent down and grabbed the man's head with a iron-grip. He was already unconscious, so this wouldn't hurt. Besides, this was the most effective and humane way. A sudden brutal twist snapped the man's neck, severing his spinal cord. He was dead instantly.

  28

  The anger percolated inside Ryan, simmering just below the surface as he watched prismatic light wash over the wall above the bed. The colors coming through the window from the manastorm outside-fine wavy lines of red, orange, yellow, blue, and violet forming mesmerizing patterns on the antique white paint of the suite.

  Dunkelzahn was dead, gone? It slotted him off. How could the dragon be so fragging vulnerable? How could he not see it coming? Stupid fragger!

  Nadja sprawled next to him, sleeping soundly. Innocence showing in her slack expression. Serenity in her restful slumber.

  Not so Ryan. He couldn't sleep. Too much going on in his head. Too fragging much to think about.

  Nadja's peace wormed its way into his mind. Why was she blessed with the ability to forget her worries while he could not?

  Ryan had never slept well. Neither of his past selves had restful, natural sleep. As Roxborough, he'd been able to rest only by taking drugs or drinking alcohol. As Ryan, his sleep had been induced by magic, a forced rest period that was often interrupted by a crisis of some sort.

  Now, he had neither the desire nor the inclination to induce that state. It wouldn't be the child's sleep that Nadja enjoyed. It would just be maintenance.

  Ryan was coming to realize that he was no longer the same as either of his past selves. He was not the subservient creature that Ryan Mercury used to be. If anything he was more like the old Thomas Roxborough inside. Tougher, more resilient mentally. He relied on no one but himself for emotional support.

  Ryan decided he wanted to be like that. And he knew suddenly that it did no good to maintain his anger toward Dunkelzahn. It was counterproductive. Stupid even.

  The plain and simple truth is that Dunkelzahn just doesn 't mean that much to me anymore, Ryan thought, trying to convince himself that it was true. It was a trick from his Roxborough past. Therapy through devaluation. And it worked wonderfully.

  Ryan took a slow breath. The constriction in his chest had come first with the realization that Dunkelzahn was truly gone, the grief he had felt. The tightness had intensified when his grief had given way to anger. Now it was gone, and he could breath almost normally.

  Dunkelzahn is no longer a part of my life. I must move on.

  He felt much better already. / don't need the dragon, he thought. / can be an island. I need no one.

  He looked down at Nadja, at the lovely hollow of her neck white against the blue satin sheets. Black hair around her head like a pool of dark ink.

  An image came into his mind then. A memory?

  The woman in the vision was different, but the position of her body was the same. Lying on her back, head tilted slightly left. The arch of her neck so alluring, the skin of it soft to his touch. Dark pool of hair around her head.

  Then he imagined his fingers brushing over her throat, delicately so as not to wake her. Wouldn't want to disturb her peaceful repose. He imagined encircling her neck with his two hands, palms angled out, thumbs hovering over her trachea. The marks he made didn't show right away-the bruises that would form where he grabbed her suddenly and squeezed, pressing the ball of his thumbs into the soft spot of her throat, just below the jaw.

  In the vision, the dark pool changed from hair to blood. The thick coppery fluid gushing from the split in her skull where he had been forced to slam her head against the bedpost. And in the silent moments after the small struggle, before the bruises faded into view, she lay there exactly as if she slept. Just as peaceful. Just as serene.

  Mocking him from beyond the pale.

  The vision passed, and Ryan shook his head. Nadja lay there, untouched and very much alive. It wasn't a memory,

  he knew now. It was a fantasy from Roxborough's distant past. The woman's name was Eva Thorinson, someone he knew back in college. She had been his girlfriend for about three months. Three very intense months.

  He had fallen in love with her, but she not with him. She had wanted him only for sex and money. She had used him! Ryan felt anger at the thought. She had used him and had left just when he'd proposed moving in together. Eva had stared into his eyes, her face set in stone, and she had told him that she felt trapped by him.

  Ha, that he scared her. Of all the stupid fragging lies. He treated her like royalty, bought her anything and everything she wanted. That ungrateful slitch! He wanted to kill her, but he'd never had the confidence he could pull it off.

  Nadja's neck glimmered in the prismatic light. Beckoning him to touch it. She would do the same as Eva. No doubt in his mind. This elf whore would use him for this worthless mission, and keep him for sex, but afterward, he would be forgotten for the next man. For someone who could stay at home.

  Wait a minute, Ryan thought. What am I doing? He drew his hand back; it had been hovering just over her throat.

  He could kill her easily; he knew many ways. Crushing her trachea would be painful, but suffocation was appropriate. Roxborough knew what that felt like. Now she would too.

  He reached out with his hand, holding it just over her neck. The move would have to be quick. Decisive, and powerful. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

  Ryan lowered his hand a fraction of a centimeter. Still not touching, but so very close. So close he could feel the warmth of her skin. He could detect the microvibrations of air as her breath passed in and out of her throat.

  Ah, that delicate throat. So fine. So fragile. How could he bring himself to mar such beauty?

  His wristphone beeped, and he jerked his hand back. Silence. No movement from Nadja.

  It beeped again and he slid out of bed to answer it. "This is Quicksilver," he said, his voice low.

  "Jane."

  "Verify, Jane."

  Her identification code came through and registered on his wristphone. "Good," he said. "It's late. What do you have?"

/>   "The stat-feed from your phone indicated you were awake," Jane said.

  "So I am," Ryan's response was too quick. "Get to it, chummer. What've you got?"

  "I've got some leads on the item you're looking for."

  "Are we secure?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "You know who stole the Dragon Heart?" "I believe so."

  Something entered the room just then. A presence that Ryan felt like a palpable energy, even though he couldn't see anything. He spun around, searching the room, but he saw nothing unusual. Nadja still slept peacefully despite his low conversation.

  "Hold on," he said. Ryan concentrated, shifting his sight so that he could see into the astral plane. The astral came into view, blinding him. In the center of the room shone a brilliant gold beacon of astral energy, dimming and brightening as he looked at it.

  A spirit?

  Ryan adjusted his astral sight in an attempt to take in what he was seeing. Around the yellow sphere of energy was a nearly transparent fluctuation, a distortion of astral space like a heat shimmer. Flashes of energy arced out from the glowing center through the distortion, like gold lightning. Ryan couldn't tell if the shimmer was part of the entity in front of him or an effect of the central core, but the distortion passed through the walls and out of Ryan's sight. Too large to fit into the confines of the room. Ryan had never seen an astral creature this big.

  What the frag-?

  29

  Lethe hovered in the hotel suite, looking at the man in front of him. In the physical world, the man was large for a human, and extremely fit, with strong muscles, all natural. He stood completely naked except for a small device on his wrist into which he had been speaking. His hair was reddish brown, his eyes were blue, strangely adorned with silver flecks that gave them a metallic look.

  In the astral, a war flared inside this man. His aura was strongly magical, and there was a foundation of solidity, but within that foundation it seemed that fluctuations were forming. Discontinuities that Lethe could see plainly. This person was something other than he seemed, and was changing by the moment.

  The human seemed to be able to perceive Lethe's presence. Perhaps Lethe would be able to communicate with him without having to possess someone. Maybe he was like Thayla in that regard. Lethe extended his will. "You can see me."

  "Yes," said the human.

  "You can hear me?"

  "What are you?"

  "I am what you call a spirit," it said. "My name is Lethe." "What do you want?" "I want to talk to the elf, Nadja Daviar." "Ryan?" It was Nadja's voice. She was waking up. "There is a powerful spirit in the room, Nadja," Ryan said. "Calls itself Lethe." Nadja bolted upright in the bed. "What does it want?" "To talk to you," Ryan told her. "Last time it talked to me, someone died." "That was an accident," Lethe said."I had never possessed

  anyone before, and I did not realize what would happen. I am truly sorry." Ryan relayed the words to Nadja.

  "This is the spirit I was telling you about," she said. "The one who told me about the Dragon Heart theft." "You know of the Dragon Heart?" Ryan asked. "Yes. I seek it."

  "Why?" Open suspicion in the human's voice.

  "A woman named Thayla asked me to bring it to her," Lethe said. "She is protecting the world from destruction, but there are those in this world who try to erode her defenses."

  The human looked stunned. "Incredible," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have been given the same task."

  "By whom?"

  "Dunkelzahn," Ryan said.

  Excellent! Lethe thought. An ally! This human must be competent enough to complete the task if Dunkelzahn gave it to him… "I'd like to help," Lethe said. "I know where the item is."

  "You do?" Ryan said. "Where?"

  "The elves who stole it brought it to a city called Eugene, in a land known as Tir Tairngire. It is in a heavily guarded building where many items are kept and studied."

  Ryan lifted his hand and spoke into the device. "Jane, this spirit says it knows where the Dragon Heart is.

  "Where?" came a tinny, synthesized voice.

  "A well-guarded building in Eugene, Tir Tairngire."

  Jane did not respond immediately, perhaps considering the possibilities. "That scans," she said finally. "It could be right."

  "What've you come up with?"

  "The runners who took the Dragon Heart belong to a group called the Mystic Crusaders. I don't have much on why their organization exists, but one thing they do is provide security, and runners, for the Atlantean Foundation."

  Lethe knew none of this, but Ryan was nodding his head.

  "I know about AF," Ryan said. "Go on."

  "You do?" Jane sounded surprised. "Did you get your memory back?"

  Ryan smiled. "It's been a mixed blessing, believe me."

  "Anyway, I did a surface run on the AF main host. They do have a research facility in Eugene. It's one of three highly secure sites. The majority of their facilities are warehouses, office buildings, and low-security museums. I scanned their shipment logs, but came up blank. According to their databanks, they haven't checked in a new item for over two weeks."

  This Jane woman is very resourceful, thought Lethe. A definite asset. "Even if they've moved the item," he said to Ryan, "I will be able to find it."

  "How?"

  "I don't know exactly. I'm attuned to its signature and can locate it by the signs of where it passed. Do you understand?"

  Ryan shook his head. "I've never heard of anything like that, but it sounds a little like ritual magic."

  Nadja slid across the bed and stood up, wrapping her silk robe around her. She came over and put her arms around Ryan. "What are you talking about?" she said. She couldn't hear any of what Lethe said, and this human hadn't been translating everything.

  Ryan turned to her. "I think Lethe here is going to help me find the Dragon Heart," he said.

  "The spirit's data is consistent with mine," Jane said. "I'm not going to be able to pin it down further than three possible places. Might as well try Eugene first."

  Ryan nodded. "Let's do it then. Who can we get for backup?"

  "How about Axler and her team at Assets, Incorporated?" "Can they pull it off?" "They got you out of Aztlan, didn't they?" "I suppose they did," Ryan said. "Nearly killed me a few times, too."

  Jane's tone was dead serious. "They're the best I know."

  "Okay, are they available?"

  "I think so," said Jane.

  "Check it out, would you?"

  "Sure thing, chummer."

  "Thanks, Jane," Ryan said.

  "See you down the screaming highway," Jane said, then disconnected.

  Lethe listened, fascinated by the conversation. Intent on piecing together the meaning. He thought he understood what Ryan said, but he found that his perception was greatly enhanced by his ability to see Ryan's astral image. It gave him clues about meaning and sincerity. But deciphering Jane's idioms and slang spoken in a fake voice from an electronic universe was nigh impossible.

  Ryan looked at Lethe again. "Will you come along?"

  "I see no way you can stop me," Lethe said, meaning no disrespect. But as soon as he said it, a puzzled look crossed Ryan's features. His aura flared blue for a moment.

  Ryan laughed. "Why would we want to?" he said. But Lethe could tell that the laughter was forced. Ryan was less than one-hundred percent sincere. Lethe saw that as a fatal flaw. Ryan was competent; he was willing. But was he committed? Was he prepared to risk his life for his mission?

  Lethe judged not. Lethe determined that Ryan could end up a liability. Lethe would go along for now. He would help Ryan get the Dragon Heart. But he was wary. He knew a time might come when he and Ryan Mercury would be at odds. When that happened, Lethe would be ready.

  15 August 2057

  30

  In the dim pre-dawn light, Burnout stood on the roof of the Howard Johnson's across the street from the Watergate Hotel listening intently to the sound comin
g from the laser microphone. The roof guard lay dead a short distance away, a trickle of blood leaking from the side of his open mouth. Burnout had shot him from the Aztechnology diplomatic rotorcraft as it descended to land on the helipad. The night flight from Lake Louise had brought them here, and now a reward was soon to come. Burnout could smell it.

  Slaver sat next to him, cross-legged in his idea of street clothes-loose-fitting Guatemalan pants, brightly striped in purples and yellows. His shirt matched, very reflective and simple to spot even at night. An easy target in combat. Slaver's tattooed skull gleamed in the prismatic light coming from the street below, the coiled serpent seeming to dance in the shifting rainbow.

  The light originated from the magical phenomenon that hovered over the center of the road below. The manastorm, Slaver had called it. An eerie sight that reminded Burnout of astral space, the world he could no longer see. Reminded him of his lost dream.

  The manastorm had been setting the blood spirit, La Sangre, on edge ever since they'd come near it. The spirit said nothing, but he obviously seethed at Slaver, who had sent the spirit over into the hotel room at first. La Sangre had come back in terror, ranting about an invisible spirit in that room, a spirit with such power it could banish him with a thought. Now, La Sangre huddled next to the knee-high cement ledge and whimpered.

  Burnout saw hatred of the mage in the spirit's eyes, and it wasn't the first time he'd seen that. Burnout wondered if

  Slaver knew that the spirit wanted to kill him. Now, Slaver seemed to ignore the increasing discomfort his ally spirit felt in the presence of the manastorm. Slaver had asked for silence so that he could listen.

  The laser microphone used a light beam to detect the vibrations on the window glass of the hotel suite across the street. Any sound that hit the glass was amplified by the microphone that Burnout held in his hand; the servo mount built into his wrist kept the heavy device steady. The curtains of the chosen room were drawn and any view inside was obscured.

  Several voices came through the speakers. Two voices seemed to be coming from the room, one male and one female. Another voice sounded technologically created, like it came from a telecom or a trideo. Burnout had heard the male's voice before; it matched the pattern in his memory of the human he'd fought with back in San Marcos. In the helicopter. This one fought very well, surprisingly quick and stronger than he looked.