Find Your Own Truth

by Robert N. Charrette

  The reduced effectiveness of the weapons made her and Tsung, as magicians, the runners’ most potent offense. Fortunately, Spider’s minions only made short rushes followed by retreats. Had the monsters sustained any of their attacks, they would surely have overwhelmed the runners.

  When she commented on that to Ghost, he had said, “They don’t know any more about us than we do about them. Unless we tell them, they’ll never know how close they are to taking us. But then there may not be many more of them, either.” The growing volume of chittering and constant scrape of chidn on metal made a lie of that hope.

  The last skirmish had brought them to the edge. Janice had taken no crippling wounds; she would be fine shortly. Already the gashes were closing. Seemingly invulnerable as his namesake, Ghost was untouched, too, but Kham and Parker were both wounded. When Tsung had been staggered by a magical blast that seemed to come out of nowhere, Janice had barely been able to deflect the swirling energies and dissipate the mana before the ravening energy would have consumed the mage. As it was, Tsung’s flesh was purpling from subcutaneous bruises and her nose and ears were bleeding. She wouldn’t be in any shape to resist another attack.

  But they had reached the missile tubes.

  For the moment, the bugs seemed to be considering their next strategy. Now that they had an active magician on their side, Janice doubted they would remain inactive for long. Kham wandered down the line of silos, rapping each with his cyberarm.

  “Why not just pull de arming devices and take dem with us?”

  Ghost shook his head. “Burdened, we’d never make it back.”

  “May not anyway.” Kham spat. “Won’t for sure if we stay put. Dose tings are massing for anudder attack.”

  As though in confirmation of his words, a sudden scuttling sounded aft. The runners dropped into defensive crouches and pointed weapons. Janice strained her senses; the noise did not seem to be the beginning of a new attack. Kham cursed.

  “Frag it, Ghost! We’re hosed.”

  Though the Indian appeared to be listening, it was obviously not to the ork’s outburst. “They’re not coming yet. We’ve still got to set the spell.” He straightened from his crouch and moved forward to the engineer’s station. Looking up he asked, “Can Rabo bring the Searaven around to this maintenance hatch?”

  “Yeah. Take time, dough.” Kham spat again. “We ain’t got dat.”

  “Well, get him moving." Janice snapped. She was tired of the ork’s constant complaints.

  “I don’t take orders from you, furball." Kham snarled.

  “Just do it." Tsung said weakly.

  The ork grumbled under his breath, but slapped open the toggle that activated his comm link. He passed the orders to Rabo. The two orks exchanged a flurry of half-intelligible comments spiced with frequent profanity Kham finished his conversation with the rigger by snapping, “Just do it.” He limped back up the gangway. “What’s to keep dose tings from spoiling de spell if we pull out?”

  “Nothing." Ghost said.

  “I say we set the spell and go." Tsung said. “We can always try again another day.”

  “Sounds good." Kham agreed quickly.

  Ghost sighed. “There will be no other day. The magic must be used tonight.”

  “Since when did you become an expert?” Tsung drawled.

  "He’s right.” Janice hefted the beaded pouch in her hand. “If it's disturbed before the dance reaches the right phase, the magic won’t work.”

  “And how long’s dat?” Kham growled.

  “Too long." Janice said. “The bugs will come.”

  “Drek!” Kham slammed his fist into a bulkhead. “I didn’t sign on for a suicide run. I gotta wife! Kids! Dey ain’t gonna make it out dere widdout me. You know what happens ta ork kids dat ain’t got no daddy?”

  Ghost seemed about to say something, but held his peace.

  Janice had never thought that the ork might have a family. She could see that he was truly concerned for them. She knew what it was like to be an ork. Thinking about growing up as one made her see Kham in a new light.

  Silence fell on the runners. Distant scrabblings kept them nervous, but the bugs didn’t attack. Janice walked the gangway, chanting and scattering the dust from the pouch. Ghost walked with her, chanting the words along with her. Two minutes after they finished, the hull rang as the Searaven nudged up to the Wichita’s aft maintenance hatch.

  “They’ll have heard." Parker said.

  Kham looked up at the hatch glumly. “So he made it. Ain’t gonna do us any good unless we go now.”

  Ghost touched Kham on the arm. “Tell Rabo not to open the hatch unless he’s sure it’s for one of us. If we can hold them long enough, some of us might get out.”

  “Ain’t gonna be any of us left! You keep us here, and de bugs are gonna pick our bones. Where’s your bleeding magic gonna be den?”

  Janice stood and straightened as much as she could. “They may have waited too long to come for us. The Dance will be reaching its peak soon."

  “Some of us could board the Searaven now. The higher position will let somebody shoot down on any bugs coming from forward. Be a nasty surprise for the bugs. Then if we can’t hold the missile bay, at least some could get away.”

  “Your plan ain’t the best, but the time is getting closer." Ghost said. “Since the wounded will be of little use in a fight, they will board the Searaven now.”

  Tsung forced herself to her feet and confronted Ghost. “Making like a hero, Indian?”

  “Go, Sally. This is no time to talk.”

  “Was there ever?” She searched his eyes for a moment, then kissed him. “Crazy Indian.”

  She climbed up the ladder and crawled through the hatch into the Searaven.

  Kham shoved Parker toward the ladder. “Let’s do it, den. Move, move!” He stood with one foot on the first rung while the other ork climbed. Parker cleared the ladder, but Kham hesitated. He lowered his foot back to the deck and put his back to the ladder. Without looking at Janice or Ghost, he popped the magazine on his AK97, checked to see it was full, and snapped it back in. Janice could smell the fear on him, but it was clear that despite his previous bleating about leaving, he was planning to stay.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Without looking at her, Kham said, “It’s bad growing up widdout a dad, but it’s a lot better dan not growing up at all.”

  “You’re wounded, too. You won’t fight well." Ghost observed.

  “Orks is tough." Kham said with a shrug.

  “But they bleed and die like any man." Janice said. The bugs’ timidity had lasted longer than they had any right to expect. Every minute meant less of a need for sacrifice. “There’s no need for either of you to stay. I’ll hold them back.”

  “I will stay." Ghost said.

  Janice shook her head. “No, Wolf. Take Kham and go. You have other prey. There’s also a dog who needs someone to look after him.”

  “He won’t want to see me without you.”

  That might well be true. She could imagine Sam’s face when he learned that she had done this. Since they had found each other again, she had been so selfish . How could she have forgotten what it meant to be human? “He won’t appreciate your throwing yourself away.”

  “The same holds true for you. He hopes to make you better.”

  “I may already be better.” She laughed. “I’m sure that I’m better at fighting these bugs than you. Their claws do no permanent damage, and my magic wounds them more than your guns. Go, Wolf, while there’s still time.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity. At last, Ghost nodded slightly. “I will sing for you, Wolf shaman.”

  Kham and Ghost climbed into the Searaven, and Janice reached up behind them to close the Wichita’s hatch. Gripping the wheel with both hands, she used her strength to wrench it out of true. The bugs wouldn’t be getting through that anytime soon.

  A tingle in the mana flow told her that the insect
magician was stirring at last. Maybe he sensed that his prey was escaping. A sharp clacking announced the onslaught. The bugs rushed into the compartment from both ends, but she was ready. Mana bolts ripped through the leaders of each pack. The magician’s spells splintered on her defenses. She reached deep into herself and took the mana in her hands, howling her defiance at Spider.

  It was time.

  Wolf wins every fight except her last.

  * * *

  Gray Otter was the next dancer to be brought before the sprouting tree. Tears coursed steadily down Sam’s cheeks now, but the power grew. Another dancer came before him. Then another. Far and near, the dancers were giving of themselves. The energy surged bright and fiery, consuming another portion of the threat.

  The earth moved closer to safety.

  * * *

  Hart knew about Dexsarin.

  She threw herself at Georgie. The traitor merc hadn’t expected such a reaction and was slow in getting his weapon up. His first bullet caught her in the side. Ballistic armor protected her but the impact twisted her around, and she crashed into him clumsily. They fell heavily to the floor. She was on him instantly, clawing for his face. If she was going to go, so was he.

  The gas swirled around them, disturbed by more than their struggle. Aleph’s scream resonated in her being as the ally spirit fed her the knowledge that magic surrounded them. Wind—impossible in a closed vault—howled in her face as though she were in the midst of a gale. Her hair whipped wildly, stinging her eyes and lashing her skin.

  Georgie was caught in a gust that snapped one of the straps on his rebreather. The mask fell away and his struggles redoubled. He had lost his starlight goggles in Hart’s attack, and she could see his eyes go wide with fear.

  He knew about Dexsarin, too.

  But Dexsarin gas could never remain a compact cloud in the midst of a natural whirlwind. The bilious mist swirled up from the floor and wrapped itself around Georgie’s head. He snapped his mouth shut, but Hart opened it again with an elbow jab to his solar plexus. The man gasped, hauling in gas as he tried for air. The knowledge of what he was doing was clear in his eyes.

  Hart rolled away, equally fearful of the gas. The pocket hurricane roared and the noxious streamers grew thinner, dissipated, and were borne away on the magical wind. The tempest died.

  Hart was surprised to find that she hadn’t, but she knew she might yet.

  Gunfire sounded from outside the vault. She moved to the door and froze. From the warnings Sam had passed on from Urdli she knew what they might be, but had failed to imagine the horror of the half-insect, half-human things she saw swarming over the mercs. Before she could gather her magic three of the mercs were down, torn to pieces. She cut one thing down with a mana dart in time to save Julio from the creature’s attack, but the radio specialist was gutted almost instantly by another that crawled over the back of its dying fellow to strike at the merc.

  There were too many of them. Hart reached out for Aleph to join its power to hers, and in doing so felt a rippling surge in the mana flow around her. She grabbed it, forming it into the most powerful spell she could channel. Shaping it, she realized the strength of what she touched. It was far stronger than any magic she had ever experienced or seen, more powerful than a dragon’s. Maybe too powerful for her to use and live. But what choice did she have?

  The last merc went down and the bugs swarmed toward her. She stretched out her arms and let the mana flow through her. The world went white, and she felt the insect things scream as they shriveled. One, larger than any she had seen, staggered toward her. Its chitinous hide was burning, and it screamed in outrage and pain. It was dying, but was still driven to kill. Its claws caught her in mid-body, ripping through her armor. It tossed her back into the vault, and Hart felt broken.

  The mana had seared her nerves as she channeled it, but she had tasted Sam’s essence in the energy. It had been a glorious moment. He had seemed as tall as a mountain and filled with the power of the gods. He was dancing with the Dog and doing what needed to be done.

  He was beautiful.

  But he needed her still.

  She passed out three times before she managed to open the latch of her shoulder bag, and once more before she dragged the pouch free. The rest of the dust must be freed. Her numbing fingers managed to spread the thong. The bag tumbled from her grip and the dust puffed out.

  It was done.

  She fell into the darkness that seemed so eager to take her.

  40

  A young shaman wearing an eagle headdress came before Sam, his face sour as he crouched down. After a moment the Indian laid his hands on Sam’s head, then drew them down past his face and chest before spreading them wider to run them down Sam’s arms.

  “I beseech you, Dog. Turn your eyes from the realms of power and look to the land of the people. Think of the people here. We answered your call, answer ours. Preserve us from those who would harm us. Turn the power of the Dance on our enemies. They are your enemies as well.”

  Sam didn’t understand. “What are you talking about?”

  “I will show you.”

  The shaman spread wide his arms; they seemed plumed in golden feathers. Light flashed from the Indian’s eyes, and Sam saw a threat to the dancers flying toward him on whirling wings.

  * * *

  No precautions could have assured complete protection if Sato had accompanied the Red Samurai, so he had decided to remain in the mountain meadow from which they had staged their raid. He watched as the helicopters of his Red Samurai lifted off. From where he stood he could observe personally as the helicopters approached the valley where the ritual was under way.

  When Masamba’s astral reconnaissance had not proved satisfactory, Hohiro Sato had ordered a satellite download. The results were even more disappointing. Infrared had confirmed the presence of many people in the valley and the absence of any significant vehicles. Whoever was brewing the magic in the mountains was powerful, powerful enough to generate energy that blinded the satellite’s visual sensors as it passed over the site. Physical recon was the only recourse.

  He watched the flight bank toward its goal.

  One craft would have been enough for a reconnaissance, but he was concerned that an immediate response might be required. Thus two Ares Firedrake gunships accompanied the trio of Federated Boeing Griffin combat-insertion craft. If they uncovered any physical defense for the mysterious magicians, the firepower should be more than adequate. If they encountered a magical defense, Masamba was here to counter it. The mage had dropped the legs from his briefcase to form a table, opened it, and set up his tools. He had assured Sato that proximity to the site of the mysterious ritual would increase his effectiveness in countering effects, even if he could not pierce the magical veil.

  Once the site was secured, Sato and his aides would board the fourth Griffin and join the Samurai on the ground to inspect the victory. Very soon, he would have an answer to the question of w hat was going on in the next valley.

  He did not have long to wait.

  Rolling in with unnatural rapidity, thunderheads gathered over the surrounding peaks. The sky darkened and took on a greenish hue. The air grew still and charged. The helicopters flew stolidly on in the deepening gloom.

  With a roar that might have been the earth drawing a breath, the wind came. Thunder boomed and echoed from the mountainsides as the rushing air swept through the valley. The clouds roiled and began to spin ominously. A hole opened in the cloud cover, a hole into darkness. From the blackness came a swirling funnel that stretched toward the Samurai helicopters like the tentacle of a monster seeking food. The copters broke formation, but too late. All but one were caught in the cyclone, to whirl, tumbling within its cone. That one, a Firedrake, almost slipped free, but the funnel shifted and a down draft sucked it into a rock face. Gunship and crew perished in a fireball whose explosive fury was drowned by the rumbling thunder.

  “Do something!” he shouted at Masamba.

&
nbsp; The mage’s face was gray with effort, but nothing manifested itself physically. “I can’t." he gasped. “It’s too strong.”

  Sato backhanded him, sending him sprawling. As the mage fell, he struck the table, scattering its contents. Useless magical implements rained upon the grass and rocks. From among their litter, the guardian stone rolled to Sato’s feet. The opal glittered, almost glowing from within. Its rainbow of colors sparkled and seemed to flow.

  The magic was there. Who needed a worthless mage?

  He bent to retrieve the stone. When he touched it, he knew this was the final mistake in his war with Grandmother.

  “Crimson Sunset!” he screamed as the pain exploded through his body. She would pay. Even if he was not there to see, she would pay. Akabo was already running for the Griffin to pass the order.

  Sato doubled over as his side was scorched with acid heat. The skin over his shoulders and torso swelled and burst, freeing the arms that marked him as an avatar of the totem. The tide turned; what had been pain became pleasure, and he screamed again. He knew now that he had been lying to himself. He had been hers from the moment he had given her the first opening. There had never been any hope. The stone had been used to contain part of her for so long that she had bonded with it, using it as a channel to invade him and complete the possession begun when he had first accepted her offer of aid. He was filled with the terrible knowledge of her inevitable victory. Ecstasy flooded him as Spider entered his spirit and claimed the last vestiges for herself.

  Masamba recoiled from what Sato had become. The fool had never known what he had served, despite all the evidence before him. Blind, blind. Almost as blind as Sato had been. But Sato-Spider was not blind. He-she had eight glorious eyes with which to view the world in its etheric and mundane manifestations.

  The mage vanished from physical sight; Sato-Spider could still see him as he fled, but chose to ignore him. Such a one would be useless in the coming conflict. Later, his time would come. No matter how far or fast he ran he could never escape the web, for Spider wove too well. Once enmeshed, however peripherally, there was no escape. Any man-thing that touched the web would eventually be a victim. Just as Verner would soon be. A small part of Sato-Spider tasted anticipation of revenge as it learned the name the greater part had known all along. Resentment at the withholding of that knowledge surged briefly in the lesser part, only to submerge within the swelling intensity of the predator urge to destroy Verner and his works.