TEXT: SHADOWRUN
  CLOCKWORK ASYLUM
  Book 2 of the Dragon Heart Saga
  Jak Koke
  A ROC BOOK
  ROC
  Published by the Penguin Group
  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,
  London W8 5TZ, England
  Penguin Books Australia Ltd,
  Ringwood, Victoria, Australia
  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
  Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
  Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road,
  Auckland 10, New Zealand
  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
  First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.
  First Printing, November, 1997
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  Copyright © FASA Corporation, 1997 All rights reserved
  Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Legend of Thayla: Tom Dowd Cover art: Doug Anderson
  p|?3    REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
  SHADOWRUN,  FASA,  and  the  distinctive  SHADOWRUN  and  FASA  logos  are  registered  trademarks  of the  FASA  Corporation,  1100  W.  Cermak,  Suite  B305,
  Chicago, IL 60608.
  Printed in the United States of America
  Without  limiting  the  rights  under  copyright  reserved  above,  no  part  of this  publica-tion  may be  reproduced,  stored  in  or  introduced  into  a  retrieval  system,  or
  trans-mitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both  the  copyright
  owner and the above publisher of this book.
  BOOKS  ARE  AVAILABLE  AT  QUANTITY  DISCOUNTS  WHEN  USED  TO  PROMOTE  PROD-UCTS  OR  SERVICES.  FOR  INFORMATION  PLEASE  WRITE  TO  PREMIUM
  MARKETING DIVI-SION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NY 10014.
  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be  aware  that  this  book  is  stolen  property.  It  was  reported  as  "unsold  and  destroyed"  to  the  publisher  and
  nei-ther the author nor the publisher has received" any payment for this "stripped book."
  For Frances Cogan, who showed me love for the written word,
  
  and for Thomas Lindell, who encouraged me to try it myself.
  This book would not have been possible except for the generosity  of Jonathan  Bond. The effort he put forth for me
  was indispensable, especially on the outline and the first draft. Credit should  also go to Mike Mulvihill for his great
  help with the plots and characters in this trilogy.
  I'd also like to thank Tom Lindell, Nicole Brown, Seana Davidson, Don  Gerrard,  and  Marsh Cassady  for their
  insightful critiques of the manuscript. My appreciation also goes  to Donna Ippolito at FASA, who originally made it
  possible for me to play in this wonderful uni-verse, and who has kept me focused on character and clarity.
  The year is 2057
  And  magic  has  returned  to  the  earth  after  an  absence  of  many  thousands  of  years.  What  the  Mayan
  calendar  called  the Fifth World has given way to the Sixth, a new cycle of magic, marked  by  the  waking  of  the
  great dragon Ryumyo in the year 2011. The Sixth World is an age of magic and technology. An Awakened age.
  The rising magic has caused the archaic races to re-emerge. Metahumanity. First came the elves, tall and slender
  with pointed ears and almond eyes. They were born to human parents, just as were dwarfs shortly there-after. Then
  later came the orks and the trolls, some born changed, like  elves and dwarfs, but others goblinized— transformed
  from human form into their true nature as the rising magic activated their DNA. Manifesting as larger bodies,
  heavily muscled with tusked mouths and warty skin.
  Even the most ancient and intelligent of beings, the great dragons, have come out of their long hiding. Only a few
  of these creatures are known to exist, and most of them have chosen a life of isolation and secrecy. But some, able to
  assume  human  form,  have  integrated  themselves  into  the  affairs  of  metahumanity.  They  have  used  their  ancient
  intellect, their powerful magic, and their innate cunning to ascend to positions of power.
  One  is  known  to  own  and  run  Saeder-Krupp —the  largest  megacorporation  in  the  world.  Another—
  Dunkel-zahn—is the most controversial creature to ever to have been elected to the presidency of the United
  Canadian and American States. Dunkelzahn was assassinated in a myste-rious explosion on August 9, 2057
  —the night of his inau-guration.
  The Sixth  World is afar cry from the mundane environ-ment of the Fifth. It is exotic and  strange,  a  paradoxical
  blend  of  the  scientific  and  the  arcane.  The  advance  of  technology  has  reached  a  feverish  pace.  The  distinction
  between man and machine is becoming blurred by the advent of direct neural interfacing. Cyberware. Machine  and
  computer implants are commonplace, making metal of flesh, pulsing electrons into neurons at the speed of thought.
  People of the Sixth World are a new breed— stronger, smarter, faster. Less human.
  The Matrix has grown like  a phoenix  out of the  ashes  of  the  old  global  computer  network.  A  virtual  world  of
  computer-generated  reality  has  emerged  a  universe  of  electrons  and  CPU  cycles  controlled  and
  manipulated  by those with the fastest cyberdecks,  with the hottest  new code.
  It  is  an  era  where  information  is  power,  where  data  and  money  are  one  and  the  same.  Multinational
  mega-corporations have replaced superpower governments as the true forces on the planet.  In a world where cities
  have grown into huge sprawls  of  concrete  and  steel,  walled-off  corporate  enclaves  and  massive  arcologies  have
  super-seded  two-car  garages,  vegetable  gardens,  and  white  picket  fences.  The  megacorps  exploit  masses  of
  wage-slaves for the profit of a lucky and ruthless few.
  But in the shadows of the mammoth corporate  arcolo-gies live the SINless. Those without  System  Identification
  Numbers  are  not  recognized  by  the  machinery  of  society,  by  the  bureaucracy  that  has  grown  so  massive  and
  com-plex that nobody  understands  it completely. Among the  SINless  are  the  shadowrunners,  traffickers  in  stolen
  data and hot information, mercenaries of the street—discreet, effective, and untraceable.
  The Sixth  World is full of surprises, not the least of which is the recent discovery of a Locus by Aztechnology,  a
  megacorporation  with a dark  and bloody  core. The Locus serves as a focus for metahuman sacrifices.  It  gives  the
  puppeteers who control Aztechnology the power they need to construct  their metaplanar  bridge to the tzitzi-mine—
  demons who live off torture and suffering. When
  the  bridge  is  completed,  the  demons  will  come  into  this  world  and  ravage  it.  Aztechnology  believes  it  will  be
  rewarded as the tzitzimine scourge the land, bringing a millennium of pain.
  Only Ryan Mercury can stop them. He is an undercover operative who worked for the recently assassinated  great
  dragon,  Dunkelzahn.  Ryan  must  take  the  Dragon  Heart—  a  magical  item  of  immeasurable  power—to  the
  meta-planar bridge and give it to Thayla, the woman  whose  song  protects  the  world  from  the  demons  she
  calls the Enemy. The Dragon Heart will give Thayla the power to destroy the bridge.
  Recently, Thayla's power over the bridge was breached  by  Aztechnology.  And  at  the  same  time  Ryan  Mercury
  struggled to overcome the selfish personality inside that inspired him to keep the Dragon Heart for himself. The evil
  part of him that allowed the cyberzombie, Burnout, to steal the artifact.
  Ryan  defeated  Burnout,  throwing  him  into  the  depths  of  Hells  Canyon,  but  the  cyberzombie  reached  out  and
  snatched the Dragon Heart. Burnout plummeted into the chasm, taking the salvation of the world with him.
  
  Now, Ryan Mercury must get the Dragon Heart back.
  Prologue
  Lethe fell.
  The last crimson rays of the waning sunset  painted the walls of Hells  Canyon.  The  dark  scar  of  the  Snake  River
  below grew thicker as he plummeted toward it. He willed himself to follow Burnout into the abyss,  pushing  his spirit
  close as the cyberzombie dropped. The cliffs on either side narrowed, and the universe contracted  around Lethe as he
  fell after the cyberzombie called Burnout.
  The cyberzombie looked human for the most part, but Lethe felt a cold, inhuman radiance from him. In the physical
  world, Burnout was very big, at least two and a half meters, with a density  to him that spoke of cybernetic limbs and
  torso.  His bald head was perfectly symmetrical and looked tiny  on  his  massive  shoulders  and  chest.  His  legs  were
  strangely proportioned, with elongated shins and shortened, overly muscled thighs.
  This ... creature is perhaps the opposite of me, Lethe thought.  Lethe was pure spirit, and unable to manifest in the
  physical world at all.
  In  the  astral,  Lethe  saw  that  most  of  Burnout's  spirit  was  gone.  His  aura  was  a  dark  shadow  amid  a  glowing
  constellation of magic and spells. His true spirit was somehow separated from his body. Out of phase.
  Lethe had never seen anything like it. He noticed a slight hazing in the astral wherever the cyberzombie passed. This
  creature was polluting astral space by its mere existence. Highly unnatural.
  In one hand, Burnout clutched the Dragon Heart—an artifact that glowed gold and white-hot in the astral. Very
  powerful magic.
  Lethe willed himself into Burnout's body of metal and
  flesh. He possessed  the cyberzombie and overwhelmed the  man's  spirit,  which  flickered  like  a  weak  candle,
  barely tethered to the meager amount of natural flesh that remained inside the machinery.
  I must protect the Dragon Heart, Lethe thought. I can still save Thayla.
  Burnout's body  crashed into the cliff wall, bouncing  off with a grinding crunch. Lethe tried to extend  his  will  into
  Burnout's cybernetic arms, to make the man bring the Dragon Heart close to his chest. To protect it. Despite massive
  exertion, Lethe could not influence the creature's metal parts.
  That brought the first wave of panic. Lethe was a pow-erful spirit, a creature of will and energy who was not bound
  by flesh and could not influence the physical world except by possessing  the bodies of living creatures. He had only
  tried it twice before, that he could remember, and only in emergencies, but each time he had gained full control over the
  host body.
  Here he was merely an observer. A passenger.
  The canyon walls closed around him. Narrower and narrower. It was pitch dark; Lethe didn't know when he would
  hit bottom. Burnout was falling like a  bullet  now,  his  metal  growing  hot  from  the  speed.  He  impacted  on  the  rock
  again,  smashing  his  left  shoulder.  And  again,  scraping  a  wide  patch  of  skin  off  the  shiny  metal
  sheathing.
  Still  he  did  not  drop  the  Dragon  Heart.  Lethe  felt  its  power  close.  Saw  it  through  the  cyborg's  artificial  eyes.
  Somehow that visual information made its way into the organic brain and Lethe could tap into it.
  Burnout hit the black water and should  have died. Water like duracrete. His hot metal casing warped under
  the impact, and Lethe knew that much of his cybernetics were destroyed.  But whether it was Lethe's presence  or the
  Dragon Heart, the man's spirit decided to stay with his remaining flesh.
  As  Burnout's body  sank into the depths  of the  Snake  River,  Lethe  panicked  once  again,  not  in  fear  for  his  own
  existence,  but  because   he  couldn't  imagine  anyone
  finding Burnout's body in time to get the Heart to Thayla at the magical spike.
  The memory of Thayla came to him as he sank. He remembered when he had first awakened and been named by her,
  the  goddess  of  the  light  and  the  song.  Thayla  had  stopped  her  singing  to  speak  to  him.  A  song  so  perfect,  so
  painfully wonderful that he could not move.
  She  had  stood  on  the  hard,  cracked  ground  of  a  stone  outcropping,  framed  by  a  colorless  sky.  A  deep  chasm
  surrounded  her on three sides, the chasm dropping away in front of her precipitously. Lethe had no  concept  of  the
  depth of this chasm; he could not see the bottom. The out-cropping thickened into a broad arc as it stretched  away
  behind them, widening ever so slightly as it extended. Until finally it connected with solid land in the distance.
  "This outcropping is the result of unnaturally high magic," Thayla had said. "The Chasm, here, is the gap between
  our worlds and those of the ...  the ..." She fal-tered, pain evident in her speech.
  Lethe  remembered  looking  out  across  the  abyss.  In  the  absence  of  Thayla's  song,  wind  roared  around  them,
  throwing her hair across her face. The far side of the chasm was barely visible in the blowing distance, but Lethe could
  make out a similar cliff at the reaches of his perception. He could see  a  similar  outcropping  protruding  toward  them
  from the land on that side. Darkness clung to the distant  cliff, and as Lethe looked across  that space, revulsion rose
  inside him. A desperate nausea as he glimpsed the creatures writhing on the other side.
  "I am here to prevent them from completing their bridge," Thayla continued. "They are evil and horrifying and more
  
  powerful than we can imagine. If they can finish the  bridge,  they  will  come  in  droves.  And  when  they  come,
  they will destroy everything they can touch. They will torture us. They will make us all do things  ..."  Again her voice
  wavered.
  Lethe shivered at her distress. Her voice was powerful even in shock.
  Thayla took a breath and composed herself. "As the natural cycle of mana increases, the Chasm will grow nar-rower.
    But  these  outcroppings  are  unnatural—spikes
  above the normal mana level. The result of blood magic. Our worlds are not ready."
  "But your singing .. ."
  She smiled at him, the light beaming from her and warming him. "My song  stops  them. You see, they cannot  stand
  to hear it, and my voice carries even across the Chasm."
  Lethe knew it to be true: her song was the light.
  "There are those on our side who are working to accel-erate the completion of the bridge, those who are puppets  of
  the Enemy and who are trying to hasten their coming. Look." She pointed back down the outcropping.
  At first Lethe didn't see it because  it  was  so  small,  a  shadow  among  shadows.  But  when  Thayla  began  to  sing
  again, filling the world with light and beauty, a tiny blemish of darkness  remained. It was almost insignificant, and it
  lasted only briefly, but Lethe had seen it—a flaw in her song.
  "They have found one who can withstand the song,"  she said. "She is not strong  enough  to stay  long, but I fear
  her strength will grow. And when it does, others will come. They will kill me."
  Lethe's spirit sank as Thayla's song died away.
  "Unless you stop them," she said.
  "How?"
  "You must find the great dragon called Dunkelzahn. He came to me not long ago and told me that I would not be
  able to hold off the Enemy's forces for longer than a few hundred years. He said they would find a weakness in  my
  song. He said he needed more time.
  "Dunkelzahn promised to create an item that would keep the Enemy from crossing  over  prematurely.  The  Dragon
  Heart."
  Thayla  bowed  her  head.  "But  that  was  some  time  ago,  and  the  dark  spot  is  growing.  I  fear  something  has
  hap-pened. Will you go and find Dunkelzahn? Will you bring the Dragon Heart to me?"
  "I will," Lethe had said. "I promise."
  Now, trapped inside Burnout's metal husk, sinking toward the cold heart of the river, Lethe wondered how he
  would be able to keep his promise. He couldn't move the cyberzombie and he had no one to help him.
  Ryan Mercury certainly couldn't be trusted.  Lethe had seen the human claim the Heart for  his  own.  Mercury  had
  succumbed  to the power of the Heart; he had simply jetti-soned any pretense  of carrying out the quest  Dunkelzahn
  had given him. He had refused to take the Dragon Heart to Thayla, and Lethe would never trust him again.
  Perhaps the other gifted one, Nadja Daviar, could be convinced to help him get the Dragon Heart to Thayla. She had
  always helped him in the past. Yes, he thought, I will go to her.
  Lethe willed himself to flee Burnout's body.
  Nothing happened. He couldn't move.
  By the goddess! What is going on?
  Lethe kept sinking inside the unconscious  metal corpse. Then he noticed a spectral mesh of magic, barely visible.
  Like a gossamer web of fine strands,  the mesh held  Burnout's  spirit  to  his  body.  The  web  kept  Burnout's
  spirit from leaving the too little flesh. It was part of the cybermancy that allowed the man to be alive even with all this
  hardware.
  Now that same magic blocked Lethe from getting out.
  Lethe  struggled,  exerting  all  his  power  against  the  magic that held him.  The  gossamer  strands  stretched
  and bulged, but they would not break. Lethe was trapped.
  An inmate inside this metal asylum. This clockwork prison.
  20 August 2057
  1
  The air in Hells Canyon blew hot and dry even in first rays of the morning sun. The fiery ball crested the peaks behind
  him  as  Ryan  Mercury  walked  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff  face.  The  sun  battered  down  on  him  with  its  relent-less
  scorching blaze.
  Ryan stood on the edge of the Assets Incorporated airstrip, a hidden ledge of rock cut into the eastern cliff face of
  Hells Canyon—deep in Salish-Shidhe Council lands on the border of what used to be Oregon and Idaho. The
  compound  included  a  modest  underground  shelter,  an  old  corrugated  metal  hangar,  and  some
  ramshackle storage sheds. Ryan had commissioned the expansion of the underground facilities, but so far
  
  only the command room had been completed. There was a lot of work to be done.
  He looked over the edge of the cliff and down at the thin line of the Snake River a thousand  meters below, taking a
  long drink from his water bottle and forcing him-self to chew a soy  protein bar. He wasn't  hungry,  and  his  stomach
  hurt so bad he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to hold anything down.
  Ryan was two meters and 130 kilos of well-conditioned muscle, magically enhanced and accelerated flesh. No cyber,
  no bio. He swallowed, knowing he needed to eat in order to keep up his strength.
  The buzz of Dhin's drones  came to his ears. The ork rigger was remote-piloting the surveillance vehicles, scouring
  the canyon floor. Burnout must be down there, Ryan thought, and he must have the Dragon Heart with him. But why
  can't we find him?
  Ryan and the  Assets Incorporated team had been
  searching for the cyberzombie's body and the Dragon Heart for almost three days, with no progress.  It was as if they
  had simply disappeared, swallowed into astral space  or disintegrated into their constituent  atoms and blown away in
  the hot wind.
  The memory of his final battle with Burnout flashed into Ryan's mind. The colors of sunset, the sounds of wind. The
  canyon walls glowed deep crimson in his memory, and Burnout's chromed parts reflected the blood-colored light.
  It was two days  ago in the memory. A hurricane of wind blew through  the open side door of  the  Hughes  Airstar
  helicopter as Ryan had fought with the cyber-zombie. As Ryan's final kick sent  the overlarge metal body  sailing out
  into the air.
  Burnout plummeted, falling into the black fissure of Hells Canyon, an expression of sheer hatred flashing across  his
  inhuman face.
  At the last second,  the cyborg's  telescoping fingers had shot  out from  his  bloodied  hands.  The  prehensile  metal
  snakes  flashed toward Ryan. Aiming  for  Ryan's  belt.  They curled their sharp and mangled ends  around the
  nylon net bag that held the Dragon Heart. And when they snapped  taut, the whole weight of  Burnout's  body  came
  down like an anchor.
  Ryan jerked forward at the waist, pulled off his feet, flying for the door. He scrabbled for a hold, frantically grabbing
  for anything. He found nothing but grooved flooring. He fell out the side door, the hot air of Hell baking around him as
  he followed the cyberzombie down.
  The  helicopter's  runner  caught  Ryan  in  the  gut,  knocking  the  breath  from  his  chest.  But  it  slowed  him
  enough  so  that  his  hands  found  purchase,  wrapping  around  the  hot  metal.  Then  he  slid  over,  and  their
  com-bined weight pulled at his grasp, his sweaty fingers slip-ping on the runner. White-hot needles jabbed the back of
  his hands and arms as he tried to focus, tried to hold on.
  "I will have your magic, Ryan Mercury," said Burnout from below, his voice the grating of metal on metal.
  Ryan looked down. Below him, Burnout hung sus-pended, his metal parts tinged with the pink of the dying
  sun. Framed by the impenetrable black of the abyss.  Ryan felt his fingers giving way, slipping on the smooth round
  metal as his strength waned.
  Then the nylon web bag tore, ripping away from his belt. And Burnout fell into the dark canyon  below. He made no
  sound as he fell. He simply disappeared, a dark silhouette melting into the inky void. The Dragon Heart went with him,
  his chrome fingers still clutching it. Still gripping the one thing Dunkelzahn had said could save the world.
  The Dragon Heart was an orb of solid orichalcum, shaped  like a real four-chambered heart. It was a magical tool of
  such  awesome  power  that  Ryan  couldn't  even  comprehend  its  true  purpose.  Dunkelzahn  had  left  Ryan  with
  instructions  to take it to the metaplanes, to the site where the magic level had spiked artificially  high  after  the  Great
  Ghost Dance. He was supposed to give the Dragon Heart to the woman who protected the site, to Thayla.
  Now,  standing  on  the  cliff  edge,  and  breathing  in  the  hot  morning  air,  Ryan  gave  a  harsh  laugh.  Dunkelzahn
  couldn't even save himself, he thought. If a great dragon can't prevent himself from being  assassinated, how does he
  expect a simple human to save the whole fragging world?
  Ryan  hard-swallowed  a  bite  of  his  protein  bar  and  tried  to  push  all  the  images  and  distractions  from  his  mind.
  Dunkelzahn was dead and no  amount  of  bitterness  and  anger  would  bring  him  back.  It  was  better  to  try  and  stay
  focused on the task at hand.
  Burnout's body will show up, he thought. Can't hide that much metal forever.
  In addition to Dhin's drones, the decker Jane-in-the-box was using satellites to scan for the machine corpse. Plus the
  two samurais, Axler and Grind, had set up remote surveillance sites.
  We 'II find him when he drifts into a shallow area.
  But it was hard to stay focused. The mood around the compound was starting to get ugly. Even though  Axler and
  company were some of the most pro-level merce-naries it had been Ryan's pleasure to work with, they
  were shadowrunners,  not a search and rescue team. They wanted action, not the numbing task of trying to find  the
  proverbial needle in the fragging haystack.
  Ryan couldn't agree more. The last thing he wanted was to waste any more time in the search for Burnout and the
  Dragon Heart. He wanted to finish the construction on the Assets compound, hire some more mercs and runners, and
  get his forces gathered. He wanted to organize and begin delving into the assassination of Dunkelzahn. So far, no one
  had any clue to who did it.
  And it slotted Ryan off that he was stuck here when he could be helping bring the assassins to justice.
  His wristphone beeped, pulling him from his angry self-recrimination. He looked at the small screen, which indicated
  that it was Jane-in-the-box on the line. Dunkel-zahn's decker and a sometime member of the Assets,  Inc. team. He took
  a breath and punched the connect.
  
  Instantly,  the  tiny  vidscreen  filled  with  a  cartoon  image—a tangle of  lion-blonde  locks,  doe-innocent
  blue eyes, and a set of the largest breasts this side of a BTL porn chip, barely  covered  by  a  black  leather
  halter laced up the front with tiny silver chains. The  icon  was  a  sharp  contrast  to  the  Jane-in-the-box
  Ryan knew from real life—a plain-looking human woman of about thirty-five with scraggly brown hair and a
  skinny body.
  Ryan  knew  that  Jane's  physical  location  was  deep  inside Dunkelzahn's lair in Lake Louise. She rarely left
  the lair, nestled deep in the stone  heart of the old Cana-dian Rockies, now part of the Athabaskan  Council. Frag, she
  rarely left the cavernous  room where she had decked for Dunkelzahn all those  years. She even had  food  deliv-ered-
  —when she ate at all.
  Ryan had seen her custom set of decks and gadgetry; he had seen her enter the trance that allowed Dunkelzahn to
  see the Matrix through her mind, telepathically. He had even ridden along once.
  "Hello, Jane," he said.
  Jane's Matrix icon smiled at Ryan, flashing perfectly white teeth. "Ryan, it's good  to  see  you  eating  some-thing."
  Her full, gloss-black lips turned downward in a sneer. "Even if it is that soy-supplement drek."
  Ryan looked down at the remainder of his protein bar and absently  shoved  the last of it into his mouth.  Through
  chews, he spoke, "You're advising me on diet? That's rich."
  Jane laughed.
  "What's biz, Jane?"
  "Couple bits. First, I followed up on the magical sup-port you requested, though the pickings are slim right now. All
  the top names on my A-list are otherwise occu-pied, but I managed to contact  one of the top names on  my  B-list.  I
  think you know her actually."
  "What's her name?"
  "Miranda."
  Ryan thought.  "I don't know any runners by that name."
  Jane  smiled  at  him.  "She  has  only  recently  joined  the  ranks  of  the  independently  employed.  Which  is  the  main
  reason  she hasn't  been moved up to my A-list. By all accounts,  she can light up the mana with the very best  of  the
  best, but she's green about the shadows. Up until a month ago, she worked as a high-placed wage mage for Fuchi IE."
  "Miranda Everli?" Ryan asked.
  "Just Miranda now," Jane said.
  Ryan took a breath, remembering his two-month under-cover stint at Fuchi under the false name of Travis W. Saint
  John. He recalled working alongside some of the best scientists and mages in the corporate world. One of those  mages
  was Miranda Everli, a petite human with Nihonese features.
  Ryan  had  liked  her,  and  under  other  circumstances,  they  might  have  been  close.  But  he  was  an  undercover
  opera-tive, and knew better than to form emotional attachments to anyone.
  Miranda hadn't been a typical corporate. She had a wild, independent streak to her. And perhaps  that was
  why  they  had  become  friends.  After  several  weeks  of  working  closely  together,  she  had  finally  confessed  her
  frustration with the corp bureaucracy.
  Ryan's cover hadn't allowed him to admit he sympa-thized. Hadn't allowed him to tell her he was planning
  to be extracted by shadowrunners and placed inside Aztechnology.
  Ryan was glad she'd made it out.  He'd  be  happy  to  see  her,  but  he  was  concerned  about  her  ability  to  perform
  outside the corporate environment. He looked at his wrist-phone. "Is she the best you can come up with?"
  Jane nodded,  sending  her blonde locks flying. "I know this isn't a good  time to be breaking in someone new,  but
  with McFaren gone, you need a magical arm."
  Ryan knew she was right. McFaren had been the Assets  mage  until  a  few  days  ago  when  he'd  died  in  the
  run  against  the Atlantean  Foundation—an  organization  reportedly  searching  for  the  lost  city  of  Atlantis,  but
  that seemed more interested in recovering all kinds of magical artifacts. By whatever means necessary.
  Members of the Atlantean Foundation had stolen the Dragon Heart from Dunkelzahn's lair, and McFaren had been
  instrumental in helping Ryan get it back.
  Jane went on. "Miranda's the best  you're going to get right now. The shadows  are hot in the shakedown from the
  Big D's death, and good mages are even rarer than normal since they have their pick of assignments."
  Ryan nodded. "Thanks, Jane. Any news on Lethe?"
  Lethe, named after the river of forgetfulness, was a powerful free spirit with a mysterious past. He had also helped
  Ryan recover the Dragon Heart from the Atlantean Foundation. Lethe had been missing for several days now.
  "Sorry, chummer," Jane said. "I haven't heard a frag-ging thing."
  Ryan wasn't sure  what  to  make  of  that,  but  Lethe  was  a  spirit.  Who  knew  why  a  spirit  might  suddenly  up  and
  dis-appear? "Okay, what else?"
  Jane's frown turned into a soft smile. "I have a message from Nadja."
  Ryan winced as the pain in his gut doubled. "All right, give it to me."
  Jane  nodded,  then  vanished.  In  her  place,  the  delicate  oval  of  Nadja  Daviar's  elven  face  filled  the  screen.  Her
  emerald eyes were set wide, compelling and beautiful. Honest. Her long raven hair hung  loose over her pointed ears.
  Her magenta-tinted lips curved into a delicious
  smile. "Ryan," she said, "I'm sorry this message had to be recorded. Things have gotten  hectic, and it's very early in
  the morning here. I haven't slept yet and probably won't get to bed tonight."
  To Ryan, the tenor of her voice was like the seductive  sound  of a slow-moving stream, gentle  and  caressing.  He
  
  couldn't take his eyes from her.
  "Ryan, I know you're troubled about what happened a few days ago. I know you; you're not going to rest until you
  come to terms with what you did. About  what  it  has  done  to  us.  So  I  think  it  would  be  best  if  you  let  the  others
  continue the search and you came to Washington. We need to talk."
  Ryan shook his head. She was right. They needed to have a serious heart to heart about  what he had done to her.
  But right now? He couldn't even let himself think about leaving. The temptation was too great.
  On the screen, Nadja's face smiled softly. "Ryan, I know you think this is a bad idea, but you need some clo-sure on
  this issue. We need to get it behind us, and . . . and there are other needs  we should  talk about. Like my need to have
  you near. If you've seen the news, you know things  have gone over the top around here, and I need to talk to you,
  face to face."
  Ryan's heart was breaking. Since Nadja had returned to Washington  a few days  ago, he hadn't been watching the
  news, had actually been trying to avoid any thought of her at all. He had been trying to convince himself that nothing
  mattered but his mission, nothing mattered except finding Burnout's body  and recovering the Dragon Heart. Still, he
  hadn't  been  able  to  stop  thinking  about  Nadja  and  the  fact  that  he'd  nearly  killed  her  for  the  Heart.  His
  thoughts  were filled with shame and regret, but it seemed as if there was nothing he could do about it.
  "Ryan, I know it would be hard for you to leave right now, but please consider my proposal. A break might be just
  the thing you need to put yourself in the right frame of mind to find the Heart and accomplish your goal."
  Ryan found himself listening not so much to her words, but to that soothing tone. Maybe she was right.
  "I am right about this. Think about what Dunkelzahn would have advised if he were here."
  That was the key, Ryan knew. Because he didn't have any slotting clue what Dunkelzahn would have advised.
  Perhaps Nadja 's right, he thought. Perhaps she knows what the dragon wanted better than I.
  Nadja leaned in close, the  screen  filling  up  with  just  her  eyes,  sparkling  like  dew-covered  drops  of  green  glass.
  "Please, for both of our sakes, come back for a few days."
  The screen went dark, and Ryan found that he held his wristphone very close to his face. Instead of Nadja's face, he
  caught  his own reflection in the black screen. Huge, bruise-colored crescents  seemed to  swallow  his  silver-flecked
  blue eyes, telling of days  without sleep. His rugged face held the beginnings  of a beard, but that did nothing
  to hide the gaunt hollow of his cheeks and the tight grimace that chiseled lines into his mouth and jaw.
  Ryan's  wiry  auburn  hair  was  unkempt,  and  he  ran  thick,  callused  fingers  through  the  tangle  to  smooth
  down some of the more errant strands. He looked like someone who needed a break.
  Suddenly, Grind's raspy voice came over the Phillips tacticom earphone—a tiny unit that fit snugly into his ear
  and linked by mimetic tape to a flesh-toned throat mic  and  transmitter  unit  at  his  belt.  The  Phillips  was  a
  military-type  system  capable  of  scrambling  transmissions  with  encryptions  that  were  very  hard  to  break.
  "Quicksilver," Grind said, calling Ryan by his code name. "We got com-pany coming."
  Ryan looked around, concentrating on his magically heightened sense of hearing. There, just over the rush of wind
  roaring  through  the  canyon,  he  could  make  out  the  distinctive  rhythmic  thrum  of  helicopter  rotors.  "Number  and
  distance?"
  Grind was a dwarf, a combat and weapons expert who had served  in  a  number  of  mercenary  efforts  before
  catching the attention  of Dunkelzahn a few years ago. He was currently manning the  compound's  defenses.  "Three
  bogeys just passed the southern radar. They're coming fast, attack formation, heading directly for us."
  Ryan started running back to the entrance to the under-
  ground compound. "Have Dhin pull back his drones. Get Axler out of the canyon. I don't know who these  slots  are,
  but I want to be ready for them."
  "Copy," Grind said, with just a hint of excitement in his voice.
  Ryan made it to the newly cut entrance to the  com-pound  just  as  Axler  swept  up  over  the  lip  of  the  cliff  in  the
  Northrup Wasp single-man chopper. Axler landed the helo and climbed out. She walked to meet Ryan at the entrance.
  Axler was a human woman of about twenty-five. Very attractive with shoulder-length  blonde hair and  doe-
  brown eyes. Ryan knew she bore a great many cybernetic enhancements  under her plycra  bodysuit,  but  none  were
  visible on the surface. All very discreet.
  Axler's usually hard-set expression was slack from fatigue. "I got the buzz from  Grind,"  she  said.  A  hint  of  strain
  behind her words told Ryan just how hard she'd been pushing herself. She was nearing the edge.
  Grind appeared at the door next to Axler. The black-skinned dwarf came up to her elbow, but was easily as wide. He
  was heavily muscled with obvious cyberarms painted the matte-gray color of old navy ships. Grind's afro hair was cut
  close to his head.
  "You two ready to lock and load?"
  "I was ready the day they cut me out of my mama's belly," said Grind, with a laugh.
  "Axler?"
  Her tone was cool. "Ready if you are."
  Ryan  didn't  bother  to  respond  to  the  subtle  insult  behind  her  words.  She  hadn't  given  him  her
  complete trust since he'd tried to take sole possession of the Dragon Heart and had faced off with Nadja. And
  Axler  was  slotted  off because  he had taken the leadership of Assets  Inc. away from her. She hadn't said  anything
  overt, but Ryan knew. Axler was an excellent general, but not such a good soldier.
  Ryan put all that  out  of  his  mind  and  got  to  biz.  "All  right,"  he  said.  "We've  got  three  unknown  bogeys  in  an
  offensive posture. If they attack from the air, we'll blow them out of the sky. Dhin?"
  The ork rigger's voice sounded calm and steady over the tacticom. "Ready to go drones-up at your signal."
  
  "Copy. If they're hostile, Dhin's drones will take point, and we'll smoke them in a standard  one by two, starting with
  the lead craft."
  "Copy," said Grind and Axler in unison.
  "If they land, we'll play it straight. Remember, Jane has registered us as an official weather observation  station. So
  we'll take that angle."
  Suddenly, the three helicopters broke the horizon, coming up over the  rim  of  the  canyon  wall.  And  they  weren't
  ordinary helos. Ryan recognized all three as Aztechnology Aguilar-EX military choppers.  Very high-powered, lots of
  weapons  and extremely expensive. They had  ridden  with  sound  suppression  and  had  come  in  against  the
  wind so that Ryan hadn't known they were so close until it was too late.
  These people are professionals.
  "Frag it!" Ryan keyed his wristphone. "Dhin, you got them?"
  Dhin's rumbling growl wasn't quite as calm as it had been. "Yeah. What the frag are they doing here already?"
  "I got a bad feeling about  this, folks. Stay sharp. Espe-cially  you,  Dhin.  If  things  get  ugly,  you  need  to
  put enough firepower in the air to stop that drek from getting anywhere near us."
  "Making no promises, Bossman. The Azzies build one tough  bird, but at the very least, I'll  be  able  to  slow  them
  down."
  Ryan watched as the three attack helicopters made their first pass. Like giant insects they buzzed past  the cliff face,
  the red jaguars painted on their sides glittering in the sun. They broke from their attack formation. The lead helicopter
  made for the landing pad, while the other two took up defensive positions, hovering near the far wall of the canyon.
  Dust from the landing pad twisted into a small cyclone as the big chopper settled its weight on the duracrete. The
  pilot  cut  the  engines,  and  the  flying  dirt  settled  back  to  earth.  The  small  hatch  on  the  near  side  of  the
  chopper
  popped upward, and a small man stepped out, followed by two other humans.
  Ryan concentrated,  and his vision shifted to the astral. Chromed,  almost  beyond  the  pale,  he  thought  as
  he watched the dead parts of their aura. He relaxed and his vision shifted to normal.
  "Smiles, everybody," he whispered. "We're playing it straight. If things get sticky, go to diversion plan beta."
  With Axler and Grind at his back, Ryan stepped for-ward, forcing his lips into a wide grin.
  The man in front was short, less than a meter and a half, stocky and muscled like  a  very  large  dwarf,  but  he  was
  human. He walked briskly, his spine straight, his shoul-ders back, and he wore a black jumpsuit that didn't quite cover
  the heavy body armor underneath. The red Jaguar patch looked like a spot of dried blood over his heart.
  Everything about him screamed military, as did the bearing of the two warriors behind him. The shorter man stepped
  up to Ryan, his charcoal eyes sizing him up in much the same way Ryan was doing to him.
  His weather-burned face was dark, swarthy, and his toothy grin was wide, even though  there was no humor behind
  those black eyes. The man stretched out his hand. "I'm sorry for disturbing your work, Senor," he said in a deep voice,
  heavy with an Aztlan accent. "This won't take long."
  Ryan shook the man's hand, which was dry and warm, the grip relaxed and friendly. Ryan forced himself to match
  the man's grin. "I'm in charge of station  security. We don't get too many visitors. It's  a  nice  break  from  the  routine.
  How can we help you?"
  They both dropped the handshake at the same time. Ryan looked over the man's head to the two guards, who were
  scanning the area like professionals. Their body  pos-ture held a high-tension  stiffness. They were ready for battle at
  the slightest provocation.
  Ryan just hoped Axler and Grind were pulling off the relaxed look better than their counterparts.
  The man's smile dropped. "This is a very delicate situa-tion, and I hope I can count on your discretion."
  Ryan looked over at the Aztechnology attack chopper
  and nodded. "Seems like you've come quite a distance, maybe a bit too far, but I'm sure we can keep this visit quiet.
  As long as you're not here to ...  acquire any infor-mation regarding our weather satellites."
  The  short  man  laughed,  a  clipped,  strangled  sound,  as  if  his  throat  was  unused  to  the  action.  "I  am  General
  Dentado, and I can assure you, Mister .. ."
  Ryan forced his grin again, "Deacon, Phillip Deacon."
  The smaller man smiled, a slow secretive gesture  that indicated he saw through  Ryan's facade. "I can assure  you,
  Mister Deacon, that we have no interest in your satellites." He looked at Azler and Grind. "May I have a word  with
  you ...  in private?"
  Ryan nodded, and the two walked to the edge of the cliff.
  "Mister Deacon, my country has lost a very valuable piece of hardware, and I'll be honest with you, our last trace of
  him was near this very site. I have no idea what he was doing here, or why, but we do know he was here."
  Ryan shook his head. "I thought you said you lost a piece of hardware."
  "I did."
  "Then  why are you referring to your hardware as a 'he'?"
  Dentado's smile was tight and dangerous. "Once again, I'm going to be forced to rely on your discretion. Have you
  seen  anyone  out of the ordinary around here in the last couple of  days?  He  would  be  hard  to  miss,  as  he  is  quite
  large."
  Ryan stopped walking. "I still don't get it. Did this guy steal some hardware from you?"
  The smaller man's face took on a look of impatience. "Just answer the question, Mister Deacon."
  Behind  him,  Ryan  heard  the  rustle  of  clothing  and  the  distinctive  sound  of  an  automatic  weapon's  slide  being
  
  pulled. Both he and the Azzie turned, the smaller man just a bit slower than Ryan.
  The  picture  before  Ryan  was  a  still  tableau  of  impending  violence.  Axler  and  one  of  the  Aztechnology
  guards stood face to face, the muzzle of Axler's Predator
  digging a groove in the man's neck as the guard's pistol jammed into her sternum.
  Grind had dropped to one knee, his Colt Manhunter dead-set  on the second  guard's forehead. The  second
   guard was trying to play it cool, but Ryan could tell he was jumpy.
  "Nobody move!" yelled Ryan.
  "At ease!" said General Dentado.
  Ryan turned to the small man. "Have your men back off. We don't want any trouble."
  The swarthy man looked up at him with a cocked eye-brow. "For a man who is so large, you seem to have a fear of
  direct confrontation. Tell me what I wish to know or I will have all of you killed. It is as simple as that."
  Ryan nodded.  "All right, yeah,  your  guy  was  here.  About  three  days  ago.  He  stole  a  chopper  and  bugged  out
  before we could catch him."
  Dentado looked Ryan over, and for a second Ryan felt that his aura was being scanned. Then Dentado nodded  and
  turned to his men. "Rico, stand down."
  The man who was face to face with Axler didn't take his eyes off her as he said, "But, General, this woman is—"
  "I don't care, Captain. Stand down!"
  The man slowly removed his pistol from Axler's chest.
  "Axler," called Ryan. "Back off."
  With a deadly smile, she lowered the  Predator.  "This  is  a  dangerous  place,  Captain,"  Axler  said.  "It  would  be  a
  shame if something happened to you."
  Both Axler and Grind stepped back to a little more than five meters, but both still held their weapons at the ready.
  General Dentado turned back to Ryan. "I appreciate your cooperation, and I apologize for the overzealousness  of
  my officers. You should also count yourself lucky that you were not able to intercept the man in question, other-wise I
  would have been having this pleasant little discus-sion with a corpse."
  Ryan shook his head. "You got what you came for, now get the frag out. If I see your ships  on the radar again, I'll
  be on the horn to my government so fast they'll take you down before you hit the canyon."
  General Dentado smiled. "I'd expected nothing less. By
  the way, I hope your ... weather research goes well. Good day, Mister . . . Deckerd."
  "Deacon."
  "Of course. My apologies." With that, the short  man headed for the chopper, followed closely by the two guards,
  who walked backward, weapons still drawn.
  Within minutes, they were gone.
  Ryan walked over to Axler and Grind, who were talking and laughing. "Nicely played, you two."
  Grind turned. "Thanks, Quicksilver. I think we were about a half beat too late, but it was difficult to read your body
  language."
  Ryan shook his head and smiled. "No, any sooner  and he would have known something was  up.  You  were  both
  right on."
  Axler shook her head. "Those boys were good. When we made our move, I would stake all the chrome I've got that
  they were just waiting for us to make a play."
  Ryan nodded, and looked at the skyline where the choppers had disappeared. "I got the same feeling."
  "They were looking for Burnout, weren't they?" said Grind.
  "Yeah. Probably want to recover his tech. That drek is expensive." Ryan winced. "They know we were lying about
  this  being  a  weather  station,"  he  said.  "But  I  think  they  bought  our  story  about  him  hitting  us  and
  disappearing."
  Axler shook her head again. "I got the distinct feeling we'll be seeing those boys again."
  "Me, too," said Grind.
  Ryan  turned  his  back  on  them,  the  familiar  pain  working  at  his  gut.  Fatigue  hitting  him  suddenly  in  the
  pouring sunshine. He was tired of the unending search for Burnout. Tired of staring into the unchanging  maw of Hells
  Canyon. He was tired of the mission Dunkelzahn had left him.
  Maybe Nadja 's right. Maybe I should take a break  from this place and settle things  with her. Maybe that's what
  Dunkelzahn would have told me to do.
  In the sky, the sun rose high into the washed-out blue above the mountains. But can I afford to leave now? What
  if General Dentado finds Burnout before I do? What if Aztechnology gets the Dragon Heart?
  He didn't know what to do. He was unused  to indeci-sion; he was a man of focused  action. A weapon, guided by
  Dunkelzahn.
  Nadja will know, he thought. She will help me think this all through.
  Provided she doesn't hate me for almost killing her.
  2
  
  It had been a long and rough trek from the depths  of Hell, beginning several days  ago. Lethe would never  forget  it.
  The sensation of drowning as Burnout's body sank to the bottom of the Snake River, until his compressed air
   supply automatically kicked in to keep the organic parts oxygenated.
  It was incredible that this body was still alive, if barely. The cyberzombie had a number of built-in devices like the air
  tank nestled into his artificial torso, all designed  to keep it going  under  adverse  conditions.  In  fact,  as  far  as  Lethe
  could tell, the only natural tissue remaining were Burnout's spinal column and part of his organic brain. His limbs were
  mechanical, his torso was man-made, and all his internal organs had been replaced with a battery pack and a system of
  some sort to deliver food and oxygen to the organic nervous system.
  A dull sound had come then to Burnout's cybernetic ears, and Lethe had heard it. Lethe listened to the muted throb
  and realized that it was a boat. If he could move the metal limbs enough to push to the surface, perhaps  he could latch
  on and save the Dragon Heart.
  Lethe  discovered  that,  with  Burnout  unconscious,  the  body  obeyed  his  will.  He  pushed  off  the  bottom  and
  suc-ceeded in latching onto the jet boat. They traveled nearly forty-five kilometers upriver in less than an hour. It was
  dark when the boat docked, and Burnout's compressed air supply was quickly vanishing.
  Lethe had made the body stagger onto a gravel beach and hide among a jumble of boulders. The moon rose a few
  hours later—a bloated, blood-colored thing that clung to the horizon like a maleficent boil.
  Burnout had slowly drifted back into consciousness. And as the man's spirit awakened, Lethe lost control over the
  machine. He became a trapped passenger  again, an inmate in the body  of a chrome killing machine. Burnout seemed
  confused, lost, for the first few minutes after he regained consciousness. He had no idea where he was or how he had
  gotten there.
  It took Lethe a moment to realize that the cyberzombie believed himself to be dead, that the machineman had fully
  expected the fall to kill him. Even though  Burnout had come to rely on the near indestructibility of his metal coil, his
  mind still found it inconceivable that anything, even a being such as himself, could survive that fall.
  Lethe sensed  a great feeling of relief in Burnout at this thought,  that  some  great  weight  had  been  lifted  from  the
  man's shoulders. But then Burnout became fully aware of his surroundings,  exerted his  will,  and  called  up  an
  internal mechanism he referred to as his GPS—Global Position System.
  Within seconds, Burnout had his exact coordinates, took in the entire situation, and formulated a crude plan. That
  was  when  the  Dragon  Heart  made  its  presence  felt, still clutched in the twisted chrome remains of Burnout's
  telescoping fingers.
  For a moment, Burnout remained rigidly still, then began to laugh. It started  as a low chuckle and gradually grew to
  a shrill whooping screech until Lethe couldn't tell if it was laughter or a cry of pain. It continued  for long enough  that
  Lethe began to wonder if the fall had not somehow unhinged the creature's frail mind.
  Lethe nearly panicked again. Being trapped was torture enough,  but to be prison mates with an insane animal . .. It
  was  horrifying.  Lethe  focused  his  will  and  tried  to  exert  control  over  the  body,  and  actually  managed  a  faltering
  half-step before Burnout's laughter stuttered and wound down to a dry chuckle.
  The man didn't seemed to notice  his  own  involuntary  movement,  but  simply  lifted  the  Dragon  Heart  and  held  it
  before him at arm's length. The blood light of the moon shone  on the heart-shaped  orb of  golden  orichalcum.  "So  I
  beat you after all, Ryan Mercury," Burnout said softly.
  "I'll give you credit—you were the closest thing to a chal-lenge I've had in years, but in the end, I stole
  your magic."
  Then something changed  in him. Lethe could sense  a coldness  radiating  from  the  man's  aura,  a  sense  of
  flowing rage. "No. I came away with the prize, but you still beat me, didn't you?"
  Lethe couldn't understand the icy hatred he felt coming from Burnout. After all, Burnout had defeated Ryan, and in
  the  final  counting  he  had  the  Dragon  Heart.  Suddenly,  it  came  to  him,  almost  as  if  he  could  discern  the  intense
  thoughts in Burnout's mind. Burnout had snatched  this victory  from  the  jaws  of  defeat,  and  the  man  hadn't
  known defeat in combat since becoming  this  nightmare  of  magical  metal  contradiction.  To  him,  victory  was  almost
  more important than gaining the Heart.
  Lethe also understood one thing more, something he guessed  was just sinking into Burnout's mind. Ryan was still
  out there, in possession  of resources,  manpower,  and  weapons  that  even  the  cyberzombie,  killing  machine  that  he
  was, couldn't hope to match. Burnout was on his own, while Ryan had a veritable army with which to trace, track, and
  finally run to ground even the most formidable enemy.
  Burnout was beginning to realize he hadn't come close to winning yet, and victory would never truly be  his  until
  Ryan Mercury had been ground to dust  beneath  his heel. Quickly, Burnout wrapped the Dragon  Heart  in  a  strip  of
  camouflage that he tore from his vest  and lashed to his belt. He then took a rapid inventory of himself, discov-ering
  that  he was in surprisingly good  shape, all things  considered.  His  telescoping  fingers  were  jammed  or  sheared  off,
  essentially  useless,  and  his  left  shoulder  showed  a  slight  limit  in  motion  due  to  a  bent  servo.  His  magnetic
  generator  wasn't  functioning,  either.  In  the  places  where  his  body  plating  showed  through  the  ruin  of  his
  black outer garments, his vat-grown skin had been abraded down to the dermal sheathing,  which gleamed red in the
  light of the full moon.
  
  "Not too slotting bad," he muttered to himself. "In fact, I feel more coherent and human than I've felt since . . .
  since I sold my soul to those Azzie hatchetmen. Maybe it's the Heart."
  Burnout continued checking himself over. "What's this?" he said. "I have access  to my articulate arm." Lethe felt a
  thrill of excitement pass  through  Burnout as a third arm tore itself from the fabric covering the man's back and arced
  into position above his head. A rotor-barreled weapon sat on the end of it, the cartridges of ammo full and ready to
  fire. "That fall must have short-circuited the lockout."
  The cyborg activated the weapon, and the barrel whined as it spun,  but he didn't fire any bullets. Then he
  seemed to notice something else, and he shut  down his arm and stowed it away into its cavity in his back. "Need to
  power up soon,"  he  said.  "Battery  reserves  will  only  last  another  few  days  of  travel.  Considering  the  terrain,  that
  should be just about enough."
  Lethe found it  comforting  when  Burnout  spoke  his  thoughts  aloud.  It  gave  the  spirit  a  way  to  judge  the  man's
  constantly shifting aura.
  They had begun  to  travel  then,  making  incredibly  fast  time,  given  the  rough  ground  they  were  forced  to  cover.
  Swiftly, they journeyed up a narrow crevice to the top of the canyon's precipice.
  They had traveled day and night, without rest. Only pausing  when Burnout's hypersensitive  hearing told of an air
  vehicle passing overhead. At these  times, Burnout bur-rowed into whatever soft earth was available, digging himself
  in like an animal, covering himself in as much vegetation  as possible to  mask  his  presence  from  sensors  that  could
  detect his heat, from magic that could trace his aura.  He  knew  such  efforts  were  feeble  at  best,  but  thought
  every possible measure might just be the one that left him undetected.
  By the second day, they had come over the mountains and down to the edge  of  the  Salmon  River,  a  broad
  expanse  of  water  sluicing  by  the  lush  bank  like  a  serene  serpent.  Burnout  hesitated  long  enough  to  fill  his  liquid
  reserve tank. And as he bent to the languid water, Burnout got the first clear picture of what was left of his face. What
  stared  back at him out of the dark water didn't
  resemble anything living. It was a gruesome mixture of scarred chrome and bits of dried, hanging vat flesh.
  The sight horrified Lethe,  but  for  some  reason  Burnout  found  the  picture  grimly  amusing.  "All  right,  Mercury."
  Again, his voice was soft, dangerously gentle. "You've thrown your best at me, and I'm still here. But the next time we
  come face to face, it won't be Burnout you're looking at. I'm the boogie man now. I'm your worst nightmare, come to
  life. One look at me, and you'll know Death has come knocking."
  Then he laughed and continued filling his tanks.
  It seemed to Lethe at the time that he had become mere baggage. Any chance he had of controlling Burnout only
  occurred  when  the  man's  consciousness  was  gone  or  when  his  focus  slipped  so  much  that  he
  ceased  to be aware of his surroundings. Only then could Lethe slip through  the neural connection  to make contact
  with the silicon interface.
  However, as they crossed  the river, Burnout's attention  focused  on moving as  swiftly  as  possible  over  the  long
  stretch of open ground to get back under the cover of the dense  pines. In those  moments, Lethe sensed  something
  approaching them, something traveling on the astral, something dark, dangerous, and malignant.
  When Lethe turned to face the presence, he knew it for what it was. It was a two-legged creature that seemed to be
  formed of clotted blood. The thing came after them in a low, shuffling crouch.
  Where the monster's skin showed cracks, dark blood oozed like crimson oil from the crevices. It was a blood spirit,
  summoned from the sacrificed remains of a living metahuman. As spirits went, it was paltry, especially in comparison
  to Lethe, and with free movement, banishing it  would  have  been  a  simple  task.  However,  trapped  within the
  confines of the spirit net, Lethe could not bring his power to bear.
  "Be gone," Lethe told the spirit. "This being is none of your concern and soon  will be gone. Let us pass  in
   peace."
  It must have been sent to find Burnout, he thought. Lethe realized that the spirit had been able to track them
  by the smudge of polluted astral space  Burnout left behind him wherever he traveled.
  "Be gone," Lethe told the spirit. "This being is none of your concern and soon  will be gone. Let us pass  in
   peace."
  A dry, barking roar was all the response he got.
  Burnout still ran across the asphalt, moving at extreme speed, dodging deep craters and broken rock with grace and
  ease. He was totally oblivious to the spirit swiftly overtaking him. Unaware that he was being hunted  by a power that
  could destroy him no matter what physical prowess he had.
  As the creature approached, Lethe became desperate.  Desperate to let Burnout know what was happening, hoping
  the wily human had just one more trick he could pull out of thin air. Lethe exerted his will on Burnout, trying to alter
  the cyberzombie's path so he would be able to take notice of what was gaining on them, but Burnout was too focused,
  too intent on his goal.
  The stench of the spirit threatened to overwhelm Lethe with its palpable reek of pure evil, and it was just  a
   few  meters  from  Burnout,  manifested  in  the  physical  planes,  its  long  rock  hands  outstretched  to  grab,  rend,  and
  destroy.
  "Burnout! Behind you!" It was an involuntary cry. And like a distant  echo, Lethe heard  the  ringing  of  his  words
  deep in Burnout's mind.
  The  cyberzombie  didn't  even  hesitate.  With  action  faster  than  thought,  he  threw  himself  to  the  side,
  mid-stride, and rolled, coming to rest into a crouch. Chrome blades snapped  from his forearms, and his articulate third
  arm  emerged  from  its  cavity  and  swept  up  into  position  above  his  head.  The  machine  gun  began  to  whine,  and
  
  suddenly the still air was filled with the roar of gunfire as the weapon belched rounds in an almost continuous spray.
  The blood spirit roared. It was a sound of surprise and anger, but held no note of pain, despite the barrage of heavy
  rounds  disappearing into the gelatinous red flesh. Then it was on them. In one ungainly leap, it  landed  on  the  spot
  where Burnout had been crouching moments before.
  The cyberzombie moved, anticipating the attack, dodging away in a reverse one-handed  cartwheel.  He  slashed  at
  the  blood  spirit  with  the  blade  of  his  cyberspur  as  he  retreated.  The  machine  gun  quickly  rotated  to  keep  up  its
  punishing barrage of lead.
  While bullets seemed to have minimal effect, Burnout's blades swept along the surface of the inside of the spirit's
  thigh, and Lethe saw a thin gash  appear, and more dark ooze seeped  from  the  wound.  This  time  when  the  creature
  howled, the true sound of pain was unmistakable.
  The creature counter-attacked in a burst of blinding speed. The blood spirit dove at Burnout, its arms out-stretched.
  It caught Burnout around the waist.
  Suddenly every part of Lethe was on fire. The evil burned at his core, tortured his very essence.  He screamed, and
  his cry was matched by Burnout's as the spirit began to squeeze, ignoring the swift mechanical slashing of Burnout's
  oral spurs along its neck and face.
  Lethe struggled, pushed  like never before, straining to get away from the pain. The putrid  evil.  He  pushed  at  the
  confines of the gossamer mesh that held him inside Burnout. Lethe focused his entire being in one direction,
  straining to break even just one of the magical strands.
  The  strand  didn't  break,  but  instead,  it  stretched.  Pushing  away from the physical confines of Burnout's
  body, away from the pain. Lethe concentrated his effort, and suddenly he came into contact with the Dragon Heart.
  Like cool water in the desert, the Heart soothed his parched being, filling him with its glorious, pure power. Without
  thinking, Lethe used the Heart as a conduit for his power, lashing out with a blaze of pure energy, searing the  blood
  spirit into bits, scattering its essence  to the astral wind.
  Burnout  dropped  to  the  earth,  and  lay  still  for  a  moment. Then he  spoke,  loudly.  "I  know  a  banishment
  when I see one. Where are you? Show yourself."
  Lethe was slowly pulled back into the confines  of  the  magical  net.  He  tried  to  remember  just  what  he'd  done  to
  communicate his earlier warning to Burnout. He directed his speech into Burnout's memory. "There is no need to fear."
  A cybernetic circuit kicked in this time, and Lethe sensed his words dropping into the man's mind via the interface.
  Instead of relaxing, this only made Burnout roll into a crouch again, the weapon on his third arm turning this way
  and that, searching for his nonexistent opponent.  "How the frag are  you  activating  my  IMS?  I  don't  take  kindly  to
  people fragging with my mind, or my cyber. Now show yourself."
  "I am called Lethe, Burnout, and am incapable of showing myself because I have no physical body."
  "A damn ghost." Burnout muttered as he stood. "Never heard of a damn ghost  wielding that kind of power before.
  Well, wherever you are, I guess I owe you one, both for the warning, as well as the banishment."
  The machine translated. "I'm no ghost,  and I'm guessing you might be less thankful when you learn the real
  truth."
  "Don't  frag  with  me,  you  ethereal  slot.  I  gave  my  thanks,  now  I'll  be  on  my  way.  Stop  me  if  you  can,
  other-wise leave me alone."
  Lethe sighed, not really expecting  the  machine  to  trans-late  the  sound,  but  wasn't  surprised  when  it  did.  "I  can
  neither stop you, nor can I leave you alone. Had I sus-pected I could use this IMS device inside you to commu-nicate,
  I would have made my presence known days ago."
  "Invoked Memory Stimulator," Burnout muttered as he pushed himself into motion again.
  "What?"
  "The IMS," Burnout said. "It stimulates my memories when my spirit starts to drift. Or at least that's  what they said
  it does. Hasn't kicked in since the fall."
  "Maybe that's because of me."
  "Tell me about it."
  As they moved, Lethe unraveled the story of the fall. How he had possessed  Burnout to protect the Dragon Heart.
  How he was trapped inside. Lethe spoke about  being  able  to  move  Burnout's  body  when  the  cyber-zombie
  lost consciousness, about latching onto the jet boat and pulling them out of the river.
  "So that's how I escaped Mercury. I guess I owe you
  more than just one." Burnout's tone was happy  for  the  first  time.  But  he  didn't  speak  again  for  a  long  time,  and  it
  seemed to Lethe as though the man was thinking.
  "Burnout," Lethe said. "I think that blood spirit was sent to find you. But I don't think it was sent by Ryan."
  "So the Azzies are looking for me, too," Burnout said. "That scans  true. The spirit was trying to knock me out. I'm
  worth a lot to them."
  "I've started to mask the trail you leave in the astral," Lethe said. "It's not invisible, but it'll be a lot harder for spirits
  and mages to find us."
  "You can do that?"
  "My strength is limited in here, but I'll do my best."
  "Thanks," Burnout said. "Though I don't like owing debts to anyone."
  For the first time, Burnout made a camp of sorts that night at the bottom of a sheer rock face that stretched  sev-eral
  hundred  meters up into the air. They talked until  almost  dawn,  speaking  of  how  to  best  evade  discovery  by  Ryan
  Mercury or Aztechnology. They also discussed where they could find a safe haven, but never strayed too far from the
  
  topic of the Dragon  Heart.  Burnout  was  fasci-nated  by  the  artifact,  by  the  power  that  he  could  feel,  could  almost
  touch, but that remained just beyond his grasp.
  "When the blood spirit got me," Burnout said, "and you banished him, I felt the power. Almost like I was part of the
  magic. I haven't felt that familiar tingle since ..."
  Burnout sat bolt upright. "Of course. I should have thought of that before."
  Lethe sensed excitement build inside Burnout, anticipa-tion.
  Burnout stood, and looked up at the stars. "I wasn't always like this. That sounds  obvious,  but the truth isn't. You
  see, I used to be a mage. I used to talk with spirits like yourself, used to control those spirits."
  This admission stunned  Lethe. He knew that the  metal  in  Burnout's  body  decimated  magical  ability  and  couldn't
  understand  how any mage would sacrifice magic to become this abomination. "Why did you change?"
  Burnout's voice turned far away. "It wasn't purposeful.
  Just a progression of small adjustments, each seemingly innocuous. Until my magic was as dry as the desert wind. I've
  always been the best at what I do, so when all I had left was my physical abilities, I taught  myself how to kill with my
  hands. I learned how to use weapons, and even-tually, I sold myself to Aztechnology in exchange for ...  for this life.
  If you can call it that." Burnout shook his head. "I haven't thought about it much since the cyber-mantic operations. In
  fact, I haven't thought much at all."
  "I'm sorry."
  Burnout's voice was harsh with furor. "Don't pity me, spirit. I can't stomach it."
  "But you feel some of the magic now?"
  "Yes,  it  feels  the  same  as  just  before  I  first  learned  to  tap  into  my  Art.  And  that  is  why  we're  going  to  Pony
  Mountain. To see the Kodiak."
  "The Kodiak?"
  "Yes. He is a very powerful shaman who follows the Bear totem. He was the first to recognize  the  magic  in  me.  I
  lived with him for a few months when I was a child."
  Lethe was confused again. "A few months? Seems too short for a student to learn magic."
  Burnout shrugged, and sat again, propping his back against the cliff face. "Well, things didn't work out quite like the
  Kodiak had hoped. Even though  I tried my best,  I  couldn't  contact  any  form  of  totem.  Something  seemed  off  kilter
  about his methods of magic. Finally he told me I would have to leave. Almost broke my heart. I thought  I was a failure.
  But he took me by the hand, and led me to top of Pony Mountain. We looked out on the deep valley, and he told me
  that there was more than one avenue to power. That my gift was different from his, and if I wanted to tap that
  gift, I would have to find a new teacher. One who practiced my form of the craft."
  Lethe sighed. "Why do you wish to go back now?"
  "Don't you see? The  Heart  is  like  this  universal  piece  of  magic,  something  either  shaman  or  mage  can  tap  into.
  Maybe all I need to do is relearn the path. Maybe the Kodiak can teach me a new path so I could tap into its power."
  Lethe remained silent, but he was deeply troubled.
  Burnout  was  talking  just  like  Ryan  Mercury  now.  How-ever,  a  glimmer  of  hope  remained.  If  this  shaman  was  as
  powerful and kind as Burnout had suggested,  perhaps  he could  be  persuaded  to  help  extricate  Lethe  from
  Burnout's body  or even to take the Dragon Heart to Thayla.
  "What you say has merit, though it also seems as if you are setting yourself up for disappointment."
  Burnout didn't respond.
  "The Dragon Heart is powerful, perhaps the most pow-erful magical artifact that exists in the world today. But there
  is so much dead material inside you . . ."
  Burnout  nodded,  and  Lethe  realized  that  if  the  cyber-zombie  had  human  eyes  still,  he  would  be  crying.  "Yes.  I
  kissed it all away. But I have to try. Even if there's only the slimmest chance, it'd be worth it.
  "Besides, I'm up against a wall here. This is the only path that would give me an edge over Ryan. I know his type.
  He's not going to stop. He's going to keep coming, with more and more firepower until I go down. I have to do this."
  Just then, the sun peeked over the edge of the cliff, sending brilliant light into the chilly, crystalline clear air smelling
  crisply of pine trees. Burnout climbed to his feet, extending thirty-centimeter blades from his forearm as he reached for
  the rock. The blades shot into the rock and anchored. Burnout put one foot up against the rock and held it as a long
  spike shot out of his heel and anchored into the rock.
  "Time to move," said Burnout. Then he pulled himself up, and anchored the next step, beginning his assault  on the
  cliff face.
  They were about halfway up when they heard the unmistakable subsonic thrum of approaching helicopters.
  3
  In the approaching Lear-Cessna Platinum III, Ryan  looked  through  the  scratched  macroglass.  The  flight  from  Hells
  Canyon had been uneventful and relatively smooth, giving him time to get nervous about seeing Nadja.
  Can we ever be close again? he wondered.
  The endless city sprawled over the land below. Corporate arcologies and Federal high-rises of blue and silver glass
  
  clustered  together  in  the  distance  as  the  jet  approached,  their  shine  dulled  by  the  haze  of  blood-colored  smog.
  Darkening in the late-afternoon sun.
  Surrounding the cluster, the sprawl lay like a tiger . . . brought down by a pack of hyenas.  The huge beast  had been
  harried and scarred by a thousand tiny wounds, until it lacked the strength to fight or flee. It merely lay there bleeding
  its life into the rust-colored Potomac.
  Riot-caused fires burned all over the ruined areas of the city, sending  black smoke into the air. Outside the central
  cluster, tenements and low-slung office buildings were boarded up. Few residents  walked the streets  in the after-math
  of Dunkelzahn's assassination.  The only pedestrians  to be seen were rioters,  tight  groups  of  heavily  armed  Federal
  police, and corporate security.
  Ryan knew this city was not  unique;  it  could  be  any  of  a  thousand  just  like  it.  A  thousand  individual  names—
  Newark, Philadelphia, Baltimore—but all one stretch of concrete and rebar. One never-ending metropolis that
  ranged from Boston to Atlanta.
  It could be any city, but it wasn't. It was Washington  FDC, the seat of  government  for  the  United  Canadian  and
  American States. The city where Dunkelzahn was assassi-nated.  Until  his  untimely  death  two  weeks  earlier,
  the
  great  dragon  Dunkelzahn  had  been  Ryan's  master—his  benefactor,  teacher,  father  figure,  and  friend.  Ryan
  missed the old wyrm.
  "Bossman, we're going in to National Airport. Heart of the Federal cluster, and it looks  like  there  are  limos
  waiting on the runway. Miss Daviar must have pulled some serious strings  to bypass  security like that." Dhin's tusky
  growl was full of good  humor this afternoon. Happy to have a break from the exhausting routine of Hells Canyon. "I
  just love having friends in high places."
  Ryan nodded,  though  Dhin couldn't see him. Nadja, sweet Nadja, with all the  shakedown  from  Dunkelzahn's  will,
  she had enough clout to pull strings all over the world. Before Dunkelzahn's death, she had been the dragon's  voice,
  translating his  telepathic  speech  into  vocals  for  the  world.  She  had  also  managed  his  presiden-tial  campaign  with
  intensity and extreme intelligence.
  But  now,  in  the  aftermath  of  the  assassination,  Nadja  had  become  the  head  of  the  Draco  Foundation,  a  new
  megacorporation founded from the dragon's  major hold-ings. She was also the current nominee for vice-president of
  UCAS. One tiny tug from her immaculately manicured fingers, and people in  the  farthest  corners  of  the  Awak-ened
  Earth jumped to do her bidding.
  Ryan smiled as he thought about  Nadja, the beauty  of her face, her curvaceous  body, her hard-line sense  of duty,
  her keen intellect and ordered mind, her aura of command. All these  things  she had, and all of these  things  she  had
  offered  to  him  without  reservation,  with  a  deep  abiding  love  and  trust  that  threatened  to  take  his  breath  away.  It
  stunned him that a woman of such  personal prowess could turn so gentle, so tender in those  few moments they had
  alone together.
  At least that was the way it had been before ...
  With a dull thump and the high  whine  of  braking  jets,  the  Platinum  III  kissed  the  tarmac.  Ryan  gathered  up  his
  suitcase,  and  stood,  buttoning  his  double-breasted  shark-skin  suit  coat.  On  the  outside,  he  looked  like  any  other
  high-powered  exec,  but  underneath  the  corporate  broker  disguise,  Ryan  was  unadulterated  flesh  and  magically
  enhanced muscle. Beneath the Armante tailoring was an
  arsenal to make a weapon-fetishist drool with envy. Guns and darts, grenades and knives, all hidden from view.
  The jet rolled to a stop,  and Ryan moved to the front of the cabin, meeting Dhin as the  ork  exited  the  cockpit.  In
  Dhin's gnarled face, Ryan saw a mirror of his own exhaustion. Dhin was dressed  in a brown suit that seemed a bit too
  small for the big ork, straining at the bulge of his chest  and arms, but Ryan knew that was deceptive.  The  suit  very
  effectively hid the twin nickel-plated Savalette Guardian pistols under each armpit. Dhin's scarred lips cracked into  a
  grin, showing yellow fangs and a broken left tusk. "End of the line—everybody off."
  The big ork pressed  the stud  that triggered the pressure  door. Dull, wet heat swam into the cool cabin, bringing a
  familiar stench  to Ryan's magically enhanced  sense  of smell. It was the stink of the battlefield, a burned, dead  scent
  that bespoke tremendous violence and suffering.
  Dhin wrinkled his flat nose, wide nostrils flaring. "Smells like something died out there."
  Ryan nodded. "Something did." Then he stepped into the humid, oppressive afternoon.
  As  he  descended  the  short  steps  to  the  hot  tarmac,  Ryan  was  aware  of  Dhin  following  closely  behind,  could
  pic-ture the ork's body  posture,  eyes scanning  the  runway  for  possible  trouble,  one  meaty  hand  buried  in  his  suit
  jacket, ready to pull a Guardian at the first sign of something amiss. Playing his corporate bodyguard role to the hilt.
  Ryan reached the ground, training and instinct sending his body into full alert, his senses  testing  every turn of the
  foul breeze, cataloging every possible vantage  point from the nearby  buildings  where  a  sniper  could  find  an  attack
  position,  infrared  vision  scanning  for  heat  signatures  in  places  where  there  shouldn't  be  any.  His  hearing
  automat-ically tuned  out the dull  background  noises  that  come  standard  with  a  bustling  airport,  searching  for  that
  elusive sound, the one that didn't belong, the one that spelled danger.
  Ryan  concentrated  as  he  stepped  toward  the  two  limou-sines,  and  his  vision  shifted  into  the  astral,
  searching and scanning for threats. He found nothing out of the ordinary.
  The  limos  were  jet-black  Mitsubishi  Nightskys,  their  sleek  bodies  glossed  to  a  high  shine  that  fractured  the
  sun-light  into  a  rainbow  of  reflection.  The  side  doors  were  embossed  with  the  Draco  Foundation  logo,  the  image
  lasered and holographic, making it three-dimensional.
  Ryan shook his head. He would rather have landed at one of the smaller, less prestigious airfields, and jour-neyed to
  
  Dunkelzahn's Georgetown  estate  in  something  a  little  less  flashy.  Like  an  armored  step-van.  But  in  corpo-rate  and
  federal dominated downtown DC, this cover was less conspicuous than anything else.
  The near passenger door of the lead limo opened, and a thin human with white hair stepped  up to meet them. The
  man  was  dressed  in  a  suit  similar  to  Ryan's,  though  it  hung  loose  on  the  older  man's  whipcord  frame.  He  smiled.
  "Mister Mercury?"
  Ryan nodded and took the man's outstretched hand, which gripped his own like a dead fish—limp, damp,
   and soft.
  "I'm Maxwell Hersh, assistant  to Miss Carla Brooks. She wanted to greet you personally, but her new position on
  the Scott Commission  has  made  her  extremely  busy.  She  sends  her  regards,  and  hopes  your  trip  was  smooth  and
  uneventful."
  Ryan  grinned  for  the  first  time  that  day.  Carla  Brooks,  a.k.a.  Black  Angel—Dunkelzahn's  former  head  of
  secu-rity—had never composed a sentence half that long which didn't contain  at  least  six  expletives.  Now,
  Carla  served  as  chief  of  security  for  Nadja  and  the  Draco  Foundation  as  well  as  being  part  of  the  Scott
  Commission—a primarily political committee that was  investigating  Dunkelzahn's  assassination.  Ryan  was
  glad of it. There was no one better.
  Maxwell returned the grin as though he understood Ryan's thoughts  about  the political correctness  of  his
   boss.  "She also left me  some  instructions,  though  she  said  you  would  probably  countermand  them,  saying  that  I
  should persist, just up to the point where you are about  to beat me half to death, then allow you to do whatever you
  feel is best. If it's all right with you, we'll skip the verbal
  sparring and get right to the point where you do what you want. Agreed?"
  Behind Ryan, Dhin's barking laughter carried in the sluggish air.
  Ryan smiled again; he felt better than he had in days. "Agreed," he said. "What were your instructions?"
  Maxwell  gestured  to  the  limo.  "The  cars  each  come  with  a  rigger.  Under  no  circumstances  am  I  to  allow  your
  companion to drive the limos. Miss Brooks seems to believe that  if  you're  left  to  your  own  devices,  you'll  get  into
  mischief of some kind. And .. ." Maxwell looked from Ryan to Dhin, sizing the ork up in one casual sweep, "And  she
  also seems to think that if your companion is allowed in command of the controls, the Draco Founda-tion will soon  be
  minus a very expensive luxury auto."
  Dhin snorted. "Like they couldn't afford it."
  Ryan stepped up to Maxwell and put his massive arm around the thin man's shoulders,  turning him in the direc-tion
  of the limo. "I'll be sure and tell your boss that you did your best to dissuade me from deviating from her schedule, and
  that  you even threw your body  in front of  the  limo  to  prevent  us  from  doing  anything  foolish.  How-ever,  as  Carla
  correctly anticipated, my companion will drive. I assume you can find your way in the other vehicle."
  Maxwell nodded and opened the rear door of the lead Nightsky for Ryan.
  Dhin had already stepped  to  the  driver's  door,  opened  it,  and  motioned  for  the  waiting  driver  to  exit,  which  the
  woman did without so much as a blink.
  "Many thanks, Maxwell. It was a pleasure meeting you."
  "Likewise, Mister Mercury. May your journey be swift and its rewards be great."
  Ryan smiled and closed the door. Within seconds, the heavy limo was exiting the front gate and pulling out into the
  sparse  traffic of the corporate cluster. Alone in the rich interior, nestled into  the  plush  seat  that  seemed  to  mold  to
  every contour of Ryan's body, his good feeling started to fade. His mind refused to shut down, refused to let him relax.
  Everything had gone wrong with the recovery  of  the  Dragon  Heart,  and  for  the  first  time  since  the  death  of  his
  parents, Ryan had failed. It was not a feeling he was used  to, one he did not want to get used  to. His stomach was in
  knots, and dull pain wracked his gut.
  Dunkelzahn's  message  came  back  to  him.  The  message  relayed  to  Ryan  several  days  ago  by  a  spirit  that  had
  somehow been bound even after the dragon's death.
  "Your  mission,"  the  spirit  had  said,  speaking  in  a  voice  like  Dunkelzahn's,  "is  to  take  the  Dragon  Heart  to  the
  metaplanes and give it to the  one  whose  song  protects  the  spike  created  by  the  Great  Ghost  Dance.  She  is  called
  Thayla. I will repeat this  once,  Ryanthusar,  because  it  is  so  important.  Retrieve  the  Dragon  Heart  and  deliver  it  to
  Thayla—the bridge must not be finished.
  "In order to complete your task, you must enlist the ser-vice of a powerful mage who knows the ritual that can carry
  you and the Dragon Heart into the metaplanes. This mage must also be absolutely committed to this endeavor. Of all
  my friends, only two fit these criteria . . .
  "I have taught you of the cycles of magic, but no one has  dared  manipulate  them  as  our  enemies  do  now,
  bringing this age to the brink of destruction so early in the mana cycle. The discovery of the Locus by Darke may be
  the single most devastating event in all of history. If the metaplanar Chasm is breached before we are ready, we will all
  suffer. All beings will die.
  "All beings."
  "My fellow dragons are overconfident, thinking they can hide in their lairs as they have always done. But when the
  Enemy comes, the monsters will be able  to  use  the  technology  of  our  own  time  to  locate  and  breach  our  lairs.  No
  sentient creature is safe this time. When the mana level gets high enough,  the chasm will grow narrower and narrower
  until the Enemy can cross without any bridge. But there will be no hiding this time. Technology  changes  everything.
  No magic can protect against it.
  "This time there will be no hiding. There will only be war. We must build up our defenses;  we must gain the time we
  need to build up our technology so that we have the ability to fight the Enemy when it can cross. But to
  
  gain that time  we  must  protect  our  natural  defenses.  They  must  not  be  allowed  to  fail,  and  the  Dragon  Heart  will
  ensure that they don't. Thayla will know how to use it. Get it to her before it is too late."
  The spirit had vanished  then, its task completed. And Ryan had been  stunned.  How  could  he  be  entrusted  with
  such a responsibility?
  I don't want it.
  Ryan took a deep breath and sank into the cushions.  The mission was too much, too daunting  a task, and one he
  had no idea how to even begin.
  Ryan had always been a weapon, wielded with extreme precision by the great dragon Dunkelzahn.
  Now Dunkelzahn was dead. Gone in a massive explo-sion. Vaporized.
  And while Ryan's edge was still sharp enough to cut, there was no hand to guide him. No hand but his own.
  Ever since his ordeal with Roxborough, Ryan had been thinking on his own more and more. Thinking about  what he
   wanted from life. Thinking about the comforts of life that other people had. Comforts like a home, a loving and stable
  relationship.
  Comforts that Ryan had never allowed himself.
  Dhin's  voice  cut  the  air  of  the  limo's  cabin.  "Were  you  expecting  company,  Bossman?  Seems  we've  picked
  our-selves up a tail."
  Ryan sat upright. He took a breath and said, "Thanks, Dhin. Keep them in sight."
  He touched  his wristphone, punching  in the code for Carla Brooks. After a second,  the tiny screen filled with the
  platinum white hair, black skin, and sharp elven fea-tures. Her smile was warm, even though  her tone was dry. "Well,
  well, Quicksilver, I see you still like to do things your way. I just got off the line with Maxwell—"
  "No time for chat, Black Angel. Did you anticipate my actions and assign covert escort?"
  Carla's  smile  faded,  and  her  eyes  narrowed.  "You  know  me  better  than  that.  Those  are  not  the  kind  of
  games  you  and  I  play  with  each  other.  I  take  it  by  the  look  on  your  face  that  you've  picked  up  some
  unwelcome company."
  Ryan nodded.
  Carla's face took on a look of concern. "You want me to send an intercept team?"
  Ryan shook his head. "We'll take care of them. Dhin's going to feed you the vehicle specs  and all the info he's got
  on it. Track it from your end. If I don't hear back from you in three minutes, we'll move on them."
  "Got it, Quicksilver. Good hunting." Carla's face faded from the screen.
  Ryan took a second  to remove his  suit  jacket,  roll  up  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  pull  the  matte-black  Ingram  Warrior
  machine  pistol  from  its  trim  pouch  at  his  waist.  He  checked  the  slide  clip,  thirty  rounds  ready,  one  in  the
  chamber.  Ryan  slid  the  silencer  from  its  holster  and  screwed  it  onto  the  Ingram's  barrel.  As  a  physical  adept,  he
  followed the Silent Way, moving with silence and stealth whenever possible.
  Ryan set the silenced Ingram on the seat beside him, then reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat for his MGL
  mini-6 grenade  pistol,  again  popping  the  clip  and  checking  the  load.  Six high-explosive  rounds.  By  feel,  he  pulled
  another grenade clip from the pocket. Six white phosphorous grenades.
  He jammed the WP clip home, and stuffed the clip of explosive rounds  into  the  pouch  that  had  held  the  Ingram.
  Ryan still had his usual bandolier of narcotic throwing darts that he would use preferentially. But if things didn't go the
  way he expected them to, the white phosphorous  would burn his pursuers  out of their vehicle, and the Ingram would
  do the rest. He just hoped it didn't come to that.
  Three minutes passed  without a word from Carla Brooks. Ryan looked into the front seat and spoke, "Dhin,
  status."
  "They're still with us."
  "Range?"
  "They're hanging back about a quarter-klick."
  They hadn't closed the distance;  that in itself was strange. They must have known Ryan had tagged them.
  Something  nagged  at  the  back  of  Ryan's  mind,  some-thing  he  wasn't  getting.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and
  cursed
  himself for not getting more sleep. He wasn't as sharp as he needed to be, and in the world of covert ops, a dulled edge
  was as good as a quick death.
  In their place, Ryan would have done one of two things. Either split off and let a back-up team take over, provided
  there was one, and Ryan had to assume there was. If no back-up team was available, Ryan  would  have  moved  into
  strike position before the quarry had time to set up a defensive posture.
  That nagging itch refused to go away,  a  familiar  twitch  he  couldn't  pin  down.  Almost  a  feeling  of  deja  vu.  This
  set-up tasted familiar, but Ryan just couldn't place the flavor.
  "Is there any chance of losing them?" Ryan asked.
  Dhin's chuckle was cold and humorless. "In this boat? They're driving a modified Eurocar. Sleek, fast, and sur-prise,
  surprise, lightly armored. No chance we'd outrun or outmaneuver it."
  "Do we have any drones aboard?"
  After a pause, "Yeah. One."
  "Surveillance or assault?"
  Dhin laughed again. "Well, I guess assault would sum it up, 'cause that's all it can do. It's a modified Stealth Sniper
  II,  but  somebody  with  a  firepower  fetish  has  stripped  all  its  armor  off  and  replaced  the  sniper  rifle  with  a
  minigun. She's packing hot loads, which should cut that Eurocar in half, armor or no armor, but one hit with so much as
  
  a fly swatter, and the drone will go down."
  Ryan smiled.
  "Bossman, you want me to force them off the road?"
  Ryan gave that option quick consideration before dis-carding it. "No, the outcome would be too uncertain. Besides,
  in the downtown cluster, that's going to attract a lot of very unwelcome local heat."
  Ryan leaned forward to the telecom  and  called  up  a  street  map  of  the  heart  of  the  DC  sprawl.  The  contour  grid
  appeared,  showing  their  position  on  the  George  Mason  Memorial  Bridge.  If  Ryan  took  the  time  to  look  out  the
  Nightsky's  window,  he  knew  he  would  see  the  smog-clouded  sunlight  sparkling  off  the  polluted  waters  of  the
  Potomac.
  "All right, Dhin, here's the plan. Just after the Jefferson Memorial, take Fourteenth up past the White House."
  "You going to have the Federal Police take care of them?" Dhin's voice held a note of incredulity.
  "No, continue on up to K Street."
  Dhin slaved his screen to Ryan's telecom display so that he could see what Ryan was talking about.
  "See the corner here, right at Fifteenth?"
  "Got it."
  "Just before we get there, punch it. Take the corner as fast as this boat will travel. If I've got their MO down, they'll
  accelerate to try and keep pace. As you round the  corner,  pop  the  drone.  The  high-rise  should  shield  the  action.
  Round the far corner here."  Ryan  highlighted  the next comer one block up, which crossed  toward Fif-teenth.
  "But make sure you do it slow enough for them to play catch up. At that point, hit this alley."
  "Playing cat and mouse, Bossman?"
  "Yeah, but this time the mice have very sharp teeth. The instant  you hit the alley, stand  on the brakes, and I'll bail
  out. Then punch  it to the far mouth of the alley and stop,  blocking the exit. When they round the corner, we'll have
  them in a vice. On my signal, hit them with the drone's minigun. Disable the car, but make sure the occu-pants  are still
  able to walk and talk when you get through with them."
  Dhin whistled. "Poor slots aren't even going to know what hit them."
  "I hope you're right."
  A minute later, Dhin spoke. "We're closing in on target area. Tail vehicle running true to form."
  "Ready."
  "Here we go!"
  Ryan heard the dim squeal of tires on pavement as the acceleration pressed  him back into the cushions.  With one
  hand he grabbed the Ingram off the seat beside him, with the other he lifted the mini-6 from his lap.
  "First corner!"
  Even leaning into the turn, Ryan found himself slammed into the door as the limo fishtailed around the
  corner. Then he heard the sharp click as the drone was sprung from the trunk.
  "Tail vehicle accelerating. Second corner!"
  Ryan grabbed the door handle and prepared himself to bail.
  "Alley entrance!"
  Ryan rocked sideways and forward as Dhin took the corner and slammed on the brakes. Ryan pulled the handle and
  rolled with the motion of the limo out into the dim, dirty alley. He kept rolling until he crashed into a trash dumpster.
  Pain wracked his shoulder, but he ignored it and scurried behind the dumpster, using magic to mask himself and blend
  with the dank surroundings.
  He did a quick weapons check as Dhin accelerated down the alley. Everything was still in its proper place.
  A second set of tires squealed  as the nimble Eurocar shot  past  him. Ryan saw two figures in the vehicle, and from
  their heat signatures, he guessed the driver to be an ork and the passenger to be human.
  Dhin screeched to a halt at the far end of the alley, causing blue-gray smoke to pour from the tortured tires of the
  limo. The Eurocar did the same, and for a long moment, everything was silent.
  Then the back-up lights on the Eurocar glowed white, and the little car shot backward.
  Ryan keyed his wrist phone. "Now!"
  The high-pitched whine of the minigun's rotating barrel screamed from five meters overhead as Ryan stepped  into
  the middle of the alley, weapons raised. The thunder of hot rounds  hitting armor roared through  the narrow con-fines
  of the alleyway, deafening Ryan.
  He  watched  as  the  front  of  the  Eurocar  disintegrated  before  his  eyes.  Metal  and  sparks  showered  the  flanking
  buildings  as  the  minigun  perforated  the  car's  engine  com-partment  like  hail  through  thin  glass.  In  less  than  five
  sec-onds, it was all over. The Eurocar's engine surgically separated from the rest of the vehicle.
  Ryan heard the minigun's barrel whine to a stop, and once again silence filled the alley. The after-echo of vio-lence
  rang in his ears.
  He stepped forward, Ingram raised. "Occupants of the
  vehicle!" he shouted. "Step out of your car and keep your hands where I can see them."
  There was a long pause, and slowly, the passenger-side  door opened, and out stepped  a tall, heavily built man of
  about  forty-five, gray hair closely cropped to his skull. He wore light body  armor covered by a  short  trooper's  vest.
  The man's hands  were above his head, and his brown eyes danced with a humor that was mirrored by the delighted
  grin on his face.
  "Mister Mercury!" he said with a laugh, his familiar voice relaxed, comfortable. "It's lucky for us you hap-pened  by.
  There seems to be something wrong with our car. I told the management boys  not to buy foreign—the damn things
  
  always seem to break down."
  Oh, drek, thought Ryan as he lowered the Ingram. Sud-denly he knew what that nagging itch had been trying to tell
  him. That sense of deja vu.
  4
  Lucero's spirit walked the metaplanes with her master. She paced around inside a stained circle on a cracked plane of
  rock. The outcropping of magic that was pro-tected by the song of the goddess.
  She was the dark spot  in the sea of light. She was its nucleus, its genesis.  And somewhere in the recesses  of her
  mind, she knew the stain of shadow could only exist against the onslaught of white because of her.
  Earlier, she had thought that perhaps it was the voice of Quetzalcoatl singing, trying to cleanse her innate evil. But
  she doubted that even his power could rid her of the taint,, the curse of her blood desire. Her yearning for its power.
  Her blood addiction.
  That dark stain on her soul refused to be washed away.
  Lucero was in her astral form, much like her physical body. Naked skin covered with runic scars, shaved head. Once
  beautiful, now hideous.
  She stopped pacing at the center of the blood-blackened earth. It was a tiny island of silence amid a sea of song.
  Beautiful music on an arching outcropping of stone.
  The ground under Lucero's scarred feet was soaked with sticky, thick fluid that drenched her skin up to her ankles.
  Everything around her held the iron stench of the freshly dead.
  A smooth, lifeless hand touched her leg with an almost erotic sensation, and she shuddered as she looked down at
  the grinning wound beneath the dead girl's throat. So young, thought Lucero. So much life unlived.
  Lucero  was  drawn  by  a  dark  fascination.  She  knelt  by  the  young  girl  and  touched  her  fingers  to  the
  gaping
  wound, which still pulsed with the last quaver of life. This was the freshest victim, and her body radiated heat.
  Lucero watched in detached, morbid fascination as her own fingers touched  inside the viscous  slash  on the girl's
  neck. She felt slick warmth, and drew  her  hand  back  almost  against  her  will,  her  fingers  rising  to  her  lips.  Fin-gers
  covered in what was left of the child's blood.
  A thrill of ecstasy  shimmered through  her as she smelled the iron tang, as she felt the dwindling life energy
  in the child's blood. Lucero could resist no longer and she plunged her fingers into her mouth, sucking greedily at the
  metal-tasting liquid that covered them. A hunger con-sumed  her,  and  she  found  her  fingers  dipping  again  into  the
  wound, found herself licking desperately at the blood that spilled down her hand.
  As  if in response,  the music outside  the small, dark shell rose to a crescendo  so beautiful, so  painful  that  Lucero
  stopped  herself so that she could listen. The song  spoke to her like the voice  of  goodness,  revealing  the  horror  of
  what she had been doing. It choked the hunger out of her.
  Lucero stood, quickly, not risking a look down at the scatter of dead bodies that stretched  around her. She was not
  alone in the circle of the dead. Senor Oscuro, her master, was with her, working feverishly. His blood-drenched  blade
  flashed across throat after throat as the sweat streamed down his forehead and cheeks to drip into his dark beard.
  Power radiated  from  his  black  eyes.  His  raven  hair  reflected  the  red  glow  of  the  blood  power  he  drew  from  the
  victims he summoned from the physical world. Trans-porting them here by magic before making a sacrifice of their life
  energy.
  Lucero watched as Oscuro approached  and  pulled  the  young  girl's  body  up  by  the  feet.  He  dragged  her  to  the
  furthest  edge of the circle, positioning the girl's  head  so  that  the  blind,  lifeless  eyes  looked  outward,  guarding  the
  perimeter.
  Lucero stood, numb. In her heart, she longed for the searing beautiful pain of the music. The purity that let her
  forget about the dark blotch on her soul, the cancer of her addiction.
  Oscuro returned to the center of the circle, and called  to  her.  "Lucero?"  His  soft  voice  seemed  to  ooze  over  her
  flesh,  making  it  crawl.  Yet  part  of  her  was  comforted  by  the  sheer  evil  she  felt  there.  Hearing  his  voice  made  her
  corrupted soul feel more at ease.
  She stepped  forward, until she could smell the stench  of blood and sweat that poured off the bearded man. "Yes,
  Master," Lucero said, with head bowed.
  He touched a blood-smeared hand to her cheek. The feeling brought revulsion, even as the smell of the blood woke
  her hunger again, tearing at her mind, her sanity. "I must return to  the  physical  world  now,"  he  said,  tracing  blood
  along both her cheeks, then her forehead, and lastly to her lips.
  He seemed to be tempting her deliberately. She strained not to open her mouth, to lap at the fluid that stained his
  fingertips. "Yes, Master," she whispered, and slowly licked her bottom lip.
  "The Gestalt has weakened to the point of collapse. The Locus is only partially active  and  it  can  only  help  them
  sustain me in this metaplanar location for so long. Now is the time for the test. I believe that I have done enough  of the
  work to keep you here, but you must concentrate. You must keep the link open."
  Lucero nodded.
  
  "Be strong, child. Our work is nearly complete. Soon we will have reached the tip  of  the  outcropping.  And
  when we do, we will feel the power of the tzitzitmine. They will help us finish the bridge and bring our allies across."
  His voice grew forceful. "Ah, that will be a glo-rious day. Our allies from across the Chasm will help us rule the world."
  With that, he vanished. Traveling back to the physical world.
  Lucero longed to be with him. Her master. She knew where he went in the physical world. He would appear in his
  body, high inside the step-pyramid teocalli in San Marcos. The temple's rock surface would be radiating
  warmth from the day's heat. The night hanging still and hot.
  In Lucero's memory, the old amusement park tower stabbed  up into the sky directly across  from the teocalli,  like a
  stiletto dipped in black blood. And below that was the spring-fed lake; it glowed a  blue-green  from  the  sub-merged
  floodlights. In the center of the lights was the Locus, a sharply chiseled stone of obsidian black.
  Power emanated from the Locus. Even partially active, its force was palpable and crisp.
  Lucero longed to tap into the stone's strength.  An untainted  magic that brought  her hope that she might wield the
  mana again. That she might be as she once was, a manipulator of life energy. A mage.
  If only  I  had  another  chance,  she  thought.  /  would  not  accept  the  taint.  The  addiction  to  blood  magic.  The
  des-perate need that stains my soul.
  Now,  in  the  metaplanes,  anchored  on  the  bloody  cracked rock in the middle of  a  black  circle  of  corpses,
  Lucero collapsed. She stumbled and fell, landing on the first ring of bodies, her cheek resting on the childish breasts of
  an older girl. Her mouth just centimeters from a drying dollop of blood that rested on the girl's collarbone.
  The  music  came  again,  roaring  over  the  darkness.  It  punished  her  as  it  pleased  her,  its  white  heat  purging  all
  thoughts of evil from her mind. Oh, great spirits, she thought. If only it could go on forever.
  The light cast garish shadows among the dead, its flick-ering making the young  bodies seem to sway and dance in
  time to the music. To Lucero the shadows  meant the piecemeal destruction  of the light and the music—some-thing
  so perfect, so painfully beautiful that she felt unworthy to be in its presence.
  It's my fault, she cried silently. I've done this to you through my blood lust. Without me, you would be safe, whole.
  Tears ran down her face. She cursed the darkness in her, and for the first time in her life, she prayed to some-thing
  other than Quetzalcoatl, the great feathered one. She prayed  now  to  the  light.  She  prayed  for  it  to  kill  her
  before Oscuro could use her to create more destruction.
  Something happened  in that moment.  The  pain  of  the  song  diminished,  though  the  song  itself  grew  louder.  Her
  breathing eased. She gazed about in wonder. The dead were even more revolting than they had been a moment before,
  but the light...  the light was glorious.
  Her mind and heart rang with the beauty of it. It was still painful, but the pain had lessened  to the point where she
  could think of other things besides her own delicious tor-ment. She looked inwardly, and saw what she already knew
  to be true. The dark spot of her addiction was still there, perhaps it always would be, but it was different now.
  The song was cleansing her soul. Turning her black heart to gray.
  5
  "Dhin," Ryan called to the far end of the alley. "Home the drone. Everything's chill."
  Ryan watched as the sunlight flashed off the drone's carapace. The thing looked like a huge beetle, buzzing in the
  dirty air. Dhin guided it smoothly into a compartment in the trunk.
  "Uh, Mercury?" The voice was deep southern  molasses now. "You mind if I put my hands  down? I'm not getting
  any younger, and I think all the blood is rushing to my heart.  Be  a  tragedy  if  I  keeled  over  before  we  had  a
  chance to catch up."
  Ryan turned to the speaker. The broad grin had turned into a wry, crooked smile, and the deep brown eyes held a
  certain intensity Ryan found vaguely disturbing.
  "Frag you, Matthews. What's the Secret Service trying to do? Get you killed? If I'd played this differently, you'd be
  dead, and I'd be up to my short hairs in bureaucratic drek."
  Matthews lowered his meaty hands, and dropped the smile  as  well.  "Got  to  hand  it  to  you,  Mercury.  You
  learned everything I taught  you, and then just a mite more. Almost made a mess of my suit when I saw that
  limo come to a stop."
  Suddenly Ryan felt tired. More tired than he could ever remember. The  adrenaline  rush  was  wearing  off,  and  the
  shakes  were setting  in. His shoulder hurt, his gut hurt, and he felt an uneasy  nausea  creep into his stomach. "Yeah,
  whatever. I'm just glad this situation didn't get too ugly."
  Matthews' smile was grim. "Well, actually, old friend, it's a tad uglier than I think you—"
  He was interrupted by the sound of the Eurocar driver's
  door opening. An ork stepped out, and Ryan watched in mild wonder. For her metatype, she was huge. It seemed like
  more and more of her just kept coming until Ryan couldn't believe she could possibly  have fit into the car in the first
  place.
  Well over two meters, she dwarfed the vehicle, and wore an outfit similar to Matthews. On her, however, it stretched
  and bulged, showing rippled muscles. She had a deep, ugly scar that stretched  from the left corner of her mouth and
  
  traveled up to the ruin of her left ear. It looked like one of those wounds that should have killed.
  "Ah, Mercury, I'd like you to meet my new partner." Matthews gestured  from Ryan to the huge ork. "Mercury, this
  is Agent Phelps. Phelps, this is the infamous Ryan Mercury. Best student I ever had, even if he doesn't  seem to realize
  it's bad form for the student to show up his teacher."
  "New  partner?"  Ryan  grinned.  "So  Edgefield  finally  got  that  elusive  Secret  Service  desk  job  he  kept
  talking about."
  Matthews turned back to Ryan with a slow deliberate motion of his head. The intense look had returned.
  Ryan's grin faltered.
  "We put Bob in the ground two weeks ago. Had a big memorial service just day before yesterday. Should have been
  there, Mercury. It was real nice, lots of tears, lots of flowers."
  The hair on the back of  Ryan's  neck  started  to  rise,  and  some  primal  warning  instinct  flared.  "I  didn't  know.  I'm
  sorry."
  Matthews  arched one eyebrow. "You didn't know? I thought  you were more in touch  with  the  dirty  underside  of
  things in this fair city."
  "I've been out of town for a while."
  "You must have been far-side-of-the-solar-system out of town to have missed the trid coverage."
  "He died in the assassination explosion?"
  Matthews just nodded.
  Ryan felt his shoulders sag. "Listen, I'm very sorry about Bob."
  "Get the driver out of your vehicle." It was the first
  time Phelps had spoken, and her deep ork  voice  dropped  into  the  alley  like  a  sheet  of  napalm.  It  was  the  voice  of
  someone used to command, someone used to having those commands obeyed, and the implied threat in her tone made
  Ryan smile.
  "We're going to wrap this up in a moment, Agent Phelps," Ryan said, "so just relax."
  Then, in a movement so swift it was almost a blur, Phelps drew her Czech-made 88V assault  rifle.  A  stubby,  ugly
  weapon under the best of circumstances, the 88V looked even worse from the receiving end.
  It took every drop of Ryan's control  to  stop  himself  from  geeking  her  with  a  quick  burst  from  his  Ingram.  She'd
  moved fast, surprisingly fast, but he'd caught  the tiny back step, the bunching  of her  neck  muscles.  He  could  have
  dusted her, and almost had, on instinct.
  Phelps spoke again, "I'll repeat myself only once. Have your driver step  out of the vehicle." This time there was no
  menace in the tone, and her voice was soft.
  Ryan turned to Matthews and gave him a pleading look.
  Matthews just shrugged.
  Ryan felt the rush of adrenaline hit him again. Instantly, his mind shifted into overdrive. The dumpster was
  still at his back. He knew he could move faster than the ork  could  follow.  Could  be  behind  cover  before  she  could
  possibly  track  him  and  pull  the  trigger.  Matthews'  hands  were  empty,  but  Ryan  knew  that  meant  nothing.  From
  personal experience Ryan rated Matthews, even open-handed, as a greater threat than the ork.
  Once again, he forced himself to relax. He didn't have a beef with the Secret Service, and he wanted to keep it that
  way.
  "Dhin! Step out into the heat. The nice Secret Service lady wants a look at you."
  Dhin did as he was told and climbed out of the limo. Ryan noticed that his jacket was unbuttoned,  and both hands
  were a tad far out to his sides. He was ready to rock and roll, and Ryan knew he had to be careful not to give Dhin any
  false clues, or two nickel-plated Guardian pis-tols would be blazing.
  Ryan turned back to Matthews.  "All  right,  we're
  playing it your way, now let's cut the drek. Why were you following me? If you wanted to talk—"
  Once again, Phelps  interrupted.  "If  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  lose  your  weapons,  Mister  Mercury,  we  would
  greatly appreciate it."
  Ryan looked  at  Matthews,  who  turned  to  Phelps.  "Don't push  him too hard, Phelps. He could have killed
  you  when you pulled that damn rifle. Probably would have geeked you without even realizing it if he was  any  more
  tired. Besides, from what I've seen of him in action, he might be even more dangerous with his hands free. Leave it."
  "Agent Matthews, I'm sure you think you're right, but I refer you to Suspect Interrogation Code six-eight—"
  Matthews  turned  to  face  her,  voice  tight,  angry.  "Stow  it!  You've  pushed  Mister  Mercury's  patience,  and  now
  you're pushing mine."
  Ryan felt the first real twinges of anger tighten the muscles in his shoulders.  "Suspect  Interrogation?  Frag
   it,  Matthews,  is  that  what  this  is  all  about?  You  think  I  had  something  to  do  with  Dunkelzahn's  ...  with  the
  assassination?"
  Matthews turned back to Ryan. "Calm down, friend. I know how this must sound.  I also know how loyal you were
  to the old wyrm, but you got to understand  the Secret Service's predicament here. Somebody killed a dragon,
  chummer. A fragging great dragon."
  Ryan shook his head. "That dragon was the  closest  thing I had to a father since I was ten. I'd have killed
  myself before I did anything to harm him."
  "You're not  getting  my  point,  Mercury.  No  one  can  even  figure  just  how  the  assassin  killed  President
  Dunkelzahn, let alone who might have been behind it."
  "You're not telling me anything  I don't know, Matthews, and you're beginning to slot me off."
  
  Matthews  held up his hands  in a placating gesture. "Then let me break it  down  for  you.  With  nothing  to  go  on,
  we're left with one course of action—investigating anyone or any group with the ability to pull it off."
  Ryan nodded. It made a lot of sense. Killing a dragon took more than just motive. It took exceptional talent and
  resources,  magical  as  well  as  mundane.  It  would  take  cun-ning  and  intricate  planning.  Ryan  had  been  too  busy
  searching for Burnout to do any investigating himself so he had no idea how it had been pulled off.
  The fact was, however, that very few people could have executed the  assassination.  After  weeding  out  all  those
  without the means, the Secret Service would be left with only a select few to investigate.
  Matthews' smile was grim. "There are those who say you should head the list."
  Ryan looked Matthews in the eye, saw the disturbing questions  there, and returned the grim smile. "That's  a pretty
  dubious honor; one I'd just as soon do without."
  Matthews stepped close, close enough that Ryan could smell the man's sweat and aftershave. "Listen, old friend, I
  know you didn't do it. But you're one of maybe three individuals on this planet with the know-how, the skill, and the
  cojones to pull off something this massive. Not  to  mention  that  you  were  close  to  the  dragon,  and  that  gives  you
  access.  The  clincher  is  that  the  Service's  intelligence  division  has  about  eighty  percent  surety  that  the  president
  received a call from you just before he drastically altered his scheduled itinerary—"
  "Yes, I made that call. But I was out of the country at that time."
  "Doing what?"
  "Routine business."
  Ryan could feel the sudden  flash of anger from Matthews. "Don't lie to me, friend. You don't do routine."
  "All right, then let's just say that my business had nothing to do with—"
  Ryan's wristphone beeped. He gave Matthews a ques-tioning look.
  Matthews nodded.
  Ryan hit the connect button, and the voice of Carla Brooks floated into the still, rotted air of the alley. "I just got off
  the line with Quentin Strapp, the special investi-gator for the Scott Commission. Whatever you do, don't slot around
  with that tail. It's Secret Service, and Strapp says it's routine."
  Matthews threw back his head and laughed.
  Ryan couldn't help but grin. "Uh, Black Angel? I already figured that out. But thanks for the scan."
  "Frag me, Quicksilver, you haven't gone and done any-thing . . . regrettable, have you?"
  Ryan looked at Phelps, who hadn't moved a muscle. The assault rifle was still centered on his chest. "Not any-thing
  irreparable. Thanks for your concern."
  Carla's voice took on the dry tone of a doctor giving a terminal patient the bad news. "Don't thank me yet. When I
  talked to Strapp, he said for me to detain you until he arrived. He's on his way to the mansion right now."
  "Detain?"
  "Those were his words, not mine, Quicksilver."
  "I don't like those kind of words, Black Angel."
  "Me neither. Something's going down, and it looks like they want to take you along for the ride."
  6
  The afternoon sun shone down on the cliff face, warming the rock with its heat as Lethe listened to the unmistak-able
  rhythm of helicopter blades. Getting louder.
  Lethe fought down the urge to flee from the approaching helicopters. Instead  he concentrated  on  making  himself
  and Burnout invisible to both physical and astral surveillance. The cyberzombie pressed  his huge and very noticeable
  body tight into a narrow rock crevice and looked out at the three Aztechnology Aguilar-EX helicopters that swooped
  past. Flying confident in attack formation. Sure of their own fire power.
  "They  are certain to see me," Burnout said. "I will try to  take  them  down."  He  anchored  himself  into  the
  crevasse with his heel spikes and brought automatic weapons to bear on the incoming helos.
  "Wait!" said Lethe. "I have hidden us."
  Burnout hesitated, and the three helos flew past  and out of sight, never hesitating. Burnout waited twenty minutes
  before climbing out of the crack in the cliff face and con-tinuing the ascent. "How did you keep them from seeing us?"
  he asked.
  "I have the ability to  mask  myself  to  all  but  the  most  perceptive,"  Lethe  said.  "I  simply  extended  that  ability  to
  include both of us."
  "I  am  further  in  your  debt."  And  that  was  the  last  Burnout  would  say  despite  all  efforts  by  Lethe  to
  continue the conversation.
  They reached the top of the cliff and passed  quickly down the gentle slope on the other side, covered with pines.
  "Just in time," Burnout said as he loped down through the forest.
  "What do you mean?"
  Burnout  chuckled.  "I've  been  running  on  reserve  energy  since  the  fight  with  that  blood  spirit.  My
  cyber-netic parts need electricity to function. That's most  of  me  these  days.  Another  day  without  charge,  and  this
  
  would have been a lot of work for nothing. We'd have froze up and died where we fell."
  "You can get 'charge' here?" Lethe could see nothing around them but tall pines.
  Burnout laughed. "Power, yes. Listen."
  Lethe  concentrated  on  Burnout's  hearing,  and  suddenly  through  the  soft  noises  of  the  wild,  he  could
  faintly hear the sound of someone blaring a horn of some kind. "Civilization."
  "Ain't it sweet? But it gets better. According to my GPS, the town right in front of us is a tiny little fly speck called
  Kooskia. It sits right on the junction of Highways Thirteen  and  Twelve.  It  also  happens  to  be  a  fuel  depot  for  the
  automated truck trains that cruise the freeway. More charge than I would know what to do with. We can just go in and
  take as much as we need."
  Lethe thought  about  that. "The depot  will be  manned,  will  it  not?  I  doubt  that  the  attendants  will  just  give  you
  power without some form of reimbursement."
  Burnout laughed. "I'd like to see them stop  me. One look at this face,  and  they'll  probably  go  screaming  into  the
  night. The ones that don't will die."
  Lethe didn't like the idea of hurting innocents, and was about to make his viewpoint very clear, when something else
  occurred to him. "Burnout, something troubles me. In my short association with the man known as Ryan, I learned that
  he is quite meticulous, smart, and extremely methodical. Isn't this just the sort of clue he'll be look-ing for?"
  Burnout shrugged.  "It's a risk I'm going to have to take. We've been lucky he hasn't  found us yet, and I'll
  try to get in and out without anyone  noticing,  but  I  must  have  power  to  move.  I  have  to  get  to  the  Kodiak  soon.
  Besides, even if he does pick up the scent here, we'll lose him soon enough when we hit the open road."
  A few minutes later, under the darkness of oppressive
  cloud  cover,  Burnout  approached  the  small  town.  They  circumnavigated  the  small  cluster  of  houses  and  roads,
  moving around to the southern end of the village where the refueling depot rested in the white glare of lithium lights.
  Burnout scanned  the lay of things, pointing  them  out  to  Lethe.  "Just  there,  on  the  far  side  of  that  big  patch  of
  tarmac," he said, pointing to a small square building with a red neon sign above the doorway. The sign read DEPOT in
  fanciful curlicues. "Not a very original name for a depot, but it must cut down on any potential confusion,"  Burnout
  said with a dry chuckle.
  Lethe didn't understand why Burnout should find that humorous. It seemed perfectly logical that a depot  should  be
  called a depot. However, he decided not to make any further comment.
  "Look  there.  We  got  one  guard  by  the  building's  entrance, simple service pistol that probably has half  a
  kilo of rust in the barrel. No track-mounted drones  and only minimal video surveillance. Only three attendants.  All of
  them look very bored. Bored is good."
  Burnout moved swiftly, circling around the huge pools of cold blue light. Within minutes, they were at the rear of
  the building. Moving along the wall in silence. He peeked around the end of the structure, looking out onto the broad
  expanse of tarmac.
  One of the massive truck trains had pulled in for  refu-eling.  The  unmanned  tractor  in  the  lead  was  a  sleek  black
  Nordkapp-Conestoga Bergen and looked more like it belonged on tracks than wheels. The tractor was con-trolled by a
  dogbrain neural network, and behind it were seven  self-propelled trailers, each  the  size  of  a  boxcar.  The  attendants
  were busy hooking up fuel lines to the monstrosity.
  Without  warning,  Burnout  stepped  into  the  light  just  as  a  guard  walked  leisurely  past  them.  The  man
  turned toward them in what seemed like slow motion. Burnout had closed the distance before the man's expression
  changed and had snapped the guard's neck a fraction of a second later.
  Lethe was stunned. Such sudden violence. How could it be necessary?
  Burnout stashed the guard's body behind the building before anyone saw him. He searched  the man's clothing and
  found an ID card. "This," he said, "should get me access to their power grid."
  Burnout  quickly  moved  out  into  the  light  again,  dashed  across  the  short  space  to  the  building's  entrance,  and
  scanned  the card through  the maglock scanner. The door popped  and  they  were  in  a  small  room  filled  with
  machines and cameras and . . .
  An alert guard.
  Burnout and Lethe found themselves staring down the yawning barrel of an Ares Predator II.
  The guard gave an involuntary start when he saw the ruin of Burnout's face, but the gun  never  wavered  from  its
  mark. "On your belly, freakshow. Now!" The guard's voice didn't even quiver.
  Lethe knew what was going to happen, and even as Burnout moved, he screamed in the cyberzombie's mind. "No!"
  Then the night lit up with a muzzle flash and the thunder of gunfire.
  7
  Ryan and Matthews made the ride to the mansion in rela-tive quiet. Phelps had stayed  with the destroyed  vehicle, to
  wait for a Secret Service tow-truck, and Matthews didn't seem too interested in talking. That suited Ryan just fine. He
  wasn't at all happy  being the target of any investigation, let alone  one  in  which  he  might  be  accused  of  murdering
  Dunkelzahn.
  
  The next thirty minutes would be very telling. He thought of Nadja, and his apprehension grew. They hadn't spoken
  directly since the incident at Hells Canyon, and the messages he'd received had been too short. Too businesslike.
  Ryan's  smile  was  grim.  Well,  he  thought,  /  guess  having  the man you love hold you hostage  and  nearly
  get you killed just might put a damper on the warm fuzzies.
  Matthews,  sitting opposite  him,  caught  the  smile.  "Don't  worry,  Mercury.  Strapp's  had  a  chip  on
  his shoulder ever since he got off the booze, but for the most part, he's a good man. They pulled him out of retirement
  for this. His last major investigation was over ten years ago, and he's been a bit tense  since  this  whole  thing
  started. But he's no match for you when you turn on the charm."
  Ryan  rubbed  his  fingers  in  slow  circles  around  his  temples.  "I'm  not  feeling  too  fragging  charming  right  this
  minute."
  Matthews grinned. "You? Not charming? Just look at the way you charmed me out of my car and right into your big
  old limo. You're not even my type."
  Ryan laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Matthews. Believe me, it's appreciated."
  "Null  sheen,  old  friend.  Just  cooperate  with  Strapp,  and  everything  will  work  out.  Besides,  you're  not  the  most
  politically correct suspect."
  Ryan leaned forward. "What does that mean?"
  Matthews sighed. "Much as it bugs me, not to mention how much it bothers Strapp, politics are playing a big part in
  this investigation." People like you aren't even sup-posed  to exist. Independent.  . . trouble  shooters like yourself are
  the megacorps' worst nightmare. The corp boys like to think they've got a lock on all the muscle; that all others are just
  puppets they can push around when they need a pacifier for the populace."
  "That's supposed to make me feel better?" Ryan said. "That would make me the perfect fall guy. I can just see the
  trid talk shows screaming about a deranged operative, working solo."
  Matthews nodded. "On the surface, you're correct. But the corps would much rather have it be some terrorist group,
  preferably someone big. If they could pin it on the Azzies, that would be a wet dream come true. But to have to admit
  that one man, no matter how well-trained, could slot things up like this, and leave an entire planet baffled, scares  them
  even more than the possibility that it might be true. Even if you had done it, that story would never go to press. They'd
  still publicly blame it on some fringe group, like Alamos 20K, then kill you in your sleep."
  Ryan sat back. "You can't imagine how much better I feel."
  He looked out the window  and  saw  that  they  were  finally pulling up to the mansion's front gate. A Draco
  Foundation  security team, undoubtedly  trained by Carla Brooks,  combined  with  a  small  Secret  Service  unit
  stopped them for a moment to double-check their identi-ties before allowing them through  the old-fashioned wrought
  iron gate.
  Security here was heavier than it had ever been, and Ryan knew it was tighter even than it looked. There  was  an
  invisible monowire mesh interwoven with the iron bars while hidden cameras and drone weapons  continually scanned
  the perimeter.
  The gate pivoted, and Dhin rolled up the circular drive,
  past  the  long  grove  of  cherry  trees  that  were  still  in  full  bloom.  Ryan  had  never  figured  out  how  the  mansion's
  gardener did that, keeping everything blooming well into the late summer and fall. The only thing Ryan could come up
  with was that the man must have some latent druidic ability because  the things  he did with plants were nothing short
  of miraculous.
  Ryan's gut clenched up into a tight  ball  as  the  limou-sine  approached  the  entrance  to  the  main  building.  She  'II
  never be able to forgive me.
  Then the Nightsky limo was rolling to a stop, and Ryan stepped out into the warm sunshine.  For the first time since
  arriving in the Federal District, the air smelled of something besides  rot, death, and burned plastic. The smell from the
  cherry blossoms was a lurid, sweet fra-grance that almost overwhelmed the delicate aroma of the lush  Mr.  Lincoln
  tea roses  lining the marble steps  of the mansion.
  The mansion itself was a rolling colonial structure, made mostly  of  red  brick,  but  re-faced  in  the  front  with  huge
  marble columns. The steps leading up to the main entrance were shallow and very wide. They sprawled up to the front
  doors, which had been re-done when Dunkelzahn had bought the place. The doors were massive and made of real oak,
  inlaid with bands of wrought iron. Each door was nearly ten meters tall, extending to the roof of the high-ceilinged first
  floor, and three meters wide. Just the right size for a dragon to enter and exit without having to change form.
  As Matthews climbed from the limo, Ryan stood trans-fixed. All worry forgotten.
  Nadja,  in  a  simple  loose-fitting  dress  of  emerald  green,  was  walking  down  the  steps.  Tall  and  thin.  Her  elven
  fea-tures more gorgeous  than he had remembered. She'd done something different with her hair; its ebony  darkness
  curved around the china doll skin of her heart-shaped face.
  Without thinking, Ryan was moving. His whole mind swam at the sight of her, watching for any kind of sign from
  her. Then, she was in his arms, and his face was buried in the curve of her neck, taking in the subtle scent of her skin.
  "I've missed you," he said, as her arms went around his neck. "I'm so sorry."
  Nadja's delicate hand stroked his head. "Shush now, my love. All is forgiven."
  He pressed her supple body to his, nearly crushing her in an effort to touch all of her at once. She kissed him, a soft,
  intimate thing that made a mockery of his rugged embrace.
  The moment was ruined by a voice from further up the steps—a slow drawl that bespoke a childhood spent in
  the Confederate American States. "Well, y'all, I hate to break up this touching scene, but time is short."
  Ryan pulled back from Nadja. On the top step  stood  a man of about  forty.  Thick  black  hair,  marred  with  a  single
  
  shock of white sprouting from his sharp widow's peak. His face was broad, with a strong  jaw and chin, and very thin
  lips. Bushy eyebrows grew together in between dark-brown eyes that were constantly  moving, looking every-where.
  Not missing a thing.
  Suddenly, those  eyes focused  on Matthews. "Ah, Agent  Matthews.  I  see  you're  taking  your  surveillance  duties
  seriously, though I had assumed" you would tail Mr. Mer-cury in a separate vehicle. And what has happened  to your
  partner?"
  Matthews, squinting in the sunlight, shrugged. "Had some trouble with the car. Mister Mercury was kind enough  to
  give me a lift while Phelps stayed with the vehicle."
  Quentin Strapp's thick eyebrows narrowed. "We'll talk more about this later."
  Matthews smiled. "I'm sure we will, sir. I look forward to it."
  Nadja  took  Ryan's  hand  and  led  him  up  the  steps.  Up  close,  Quentin  Strapp  was  a  short  man,  but  broad  and
  powerful. Without thinking, Ryan's vision shifted to the astral, where he was surprised to see that Strapp's aura was
  whole. With the exception of a datajack just behind his right ear, the man was completely unenhanced. Per-haps he's a
  mage.
  "Quentin Strapp," Nadja's voice was pure honey, snap-ping Ryan back to the conversation, "I'd like you to meet
  Ryan  Mercury.  Ryan,  this  is  Quentin  Strapp.  Mister  Strapp has rearranged his busy  schedule  to meet  with
  you this afternoon."
  Ryan took her cue. She was on full political alert, all defenses  up,  all  polish  on  the  surface.  He  smiled  and
  stuck out his  hand.  "Glad  to  meet  you.  I've  heard  good  things  about  you.  They  say  if  anyone  can  find  out  what
  happened to the President, you're the man."
  Strapp took Ryan's hand, shook it precisely once, then dropped it. "Shall  we  go  inside?  These  damn  flowers  are
  giving me a. sinus headache."
  Nadja smiled, and motioned toward the  doorway,  giving  Ryan's  hand  a  squeeze  before  letting  go.
  "Of  course.  Won't  you  please  come  inside."  She  turned  toward  the  entrance,  and  for  the  first  time  Ryan
  noticed  Nadja's  aide,  Gordon  Wu,  standing  just  inside  the  door,  watching  everything  with  an  alert  intensity.  The
  demure Asian man gave Ryan a slight nod of recognition. He was no doubt recording everything on his headcamera.
  Nadja  looked  at  Wu  as  she  led  Strapp  into  the  house.  "My  study  should  give  us  adequate  privacy  for  this
  con-versation."
  Ryan got the message. Strapp was dangerous,  extremely dangerous.  For Nadja to take them into the  study  was  a
  sign  of  just  how  dangerous.  She  was  trying  to  make  him  feel  as  comfortable  as  possible  without  giving  him  any
  control. It was a ploy she usually reserved for people of Damien Knight's caliber.
  Damien Knight was CEO of Ares Macrotechnology,  one of the eight  transnational  megacorporations.  He  was  an
  extremely  important  individual,  someone  whose  sup-port  was  critical  and  whose  anger  could  have  devastating
  consequences. If Strapp was anywhere near as dangerous, Ryan would need to be in top form.
  They entered the long main hall. Thick Persian rugs covered the shiny green and black marble floor, and an eclectic
  collection of art adorned the hallway. It consisted  mostly of mosaics from the late Ottoman Empire period, mixed with
  modern sculpture from Africa. They passed the broad, curved staircase sweeping up the left-hand
  wall. Nadja took the lead, followed by Strapp and Ryan. Gordon Wu brought up the rear.
  The air grew imperceptibly warm and humid as they passed the ornate double glass doors that led to the arboretum.
  The doors  were dragon scale and inlaid  with  pewter  in  the  pattern  of  huge  ferns.  Ryan  breathed  deeply  and  grew
  melancholic for a minute as he remembered the times he and Dunkelzahn had trained together inside the arboretum.
  He recalled the room's massive proportions, fifteen meters high with a clear ceiling made of sheets  of  macro-glass
  held up by eight huge marble pillars. The pillars were ornately carved to look like trees, and they came complete with
  huge  stone  branches  and roots. Dunkelzahn grew prize orchids and tropical trees in there, but he'd also liked to use
  the room for training Ryan in the Silent Way.
  Ryan remembered  one  time  when  the  dragon  had  taken  human  form,  looking  exactly  like  Michelangelo's  David.
  Youthful face, brown curls, perfectly proportioned body.
  In the memory, the dragon's words came into Ryan's mind. We fight now. Then Dunkelzahn had disappeared into the
  forest of marble trees.
  Ryan  had  drawn  a  slow  breath  in  his  black  nightsuit  and  had  taken  cover  himself.  It  was  dark,  and
  moonlight shone  through  the stone  branches, casting skeleton shadows  across  the floor. In the hot,
  humid  air  Ryan  wiped the  sweat  from  his  brow  and  tried  to  center  himself,  to  gain  focus  so  that  he  could  hear
  Dunkelzahn. Could pinpoint his location by sound.
  One of the keys to the Silent  Way is the ability  to remain absolutely quiet, and to use that silence against
  your adversaries. Never reveal your position, Ryanthusar. Until you are ready to strike.
  Hearing nothing, Ryan began to edge around the tree. He glanced at the shadows of the tree trunks, hoping to see a
  bulge or a distortion that would betray Dunkelzahn's posi-tion. His own shadow was hidden by the tree at his left.
  In this way, the Silent Way is like chess. A game of mis-direction and cunning.
  There it was, the narrow shadow of a knee and leg, jutting slightly from the silhouette of the branch overhead. Ryan
  made the quick calculation and rushed to Dunkelzahn's position, ready to strike.
  No one was there.
  A follower of the Silent  Way uses the terrain to  his  advantage,  Ryanthusar.  Uses  all  his  assets  in  a  fight,  even
  those that seem to be lost.
  Ryan heard nothing, but felt the slight air  pressure  change  as  Dunkelzahn  moved  into  position  behind  him.  The
  
  shadow had been a lure. A trap.
  Even in his human form, the dragon struck quickly and with enough force to send Ryan flying across the room. Pain
  scissored through Ryan as he landed across a stone bench. Pain was the price for failure.
  Come, Ryanthusar, Dunkelzahn said in Ryan's mind, let's try again.
  They did it again until Ryan got it right. Until he was able to fight Dunkelzahn to a standstill. He'd never beaten the
  wyrm, but as time went on he lost less and less often.
  The memory faded. And in its place, Ryan felt anger fill him. He was furious at Strapp for interfering with his return
  home. Ryan quickly stifled his anger as they entered Nadja's study. Now was not the time.
  The cluttered atmosphere spoke volumes about  just how tight Nadja's schedule  had become since Dunkel-zahn's
  death. Sim-recorded depositions  lay scattered  across  her huge desk  while  several  of  the  room's  end
  tables  were  piled  neatly  with  hardcopy  requests,  all  sent  to  the  Draco  Foundation.  Memos  from  President  Kyle
  Haeffner's  office  were  arranged  in  stacks  by  date.  No  doubt  these  had  to  do  with  her  nomination  for  the  vacant
  vice-presidential spot.
  Nadja 's been very busy.
  Ryan looked closely at her as she turned, trying to be objective, and not see her through  eyes clouded by emo-tion.
  Yes, he could see the strain there, the pressure  she was  under.  She  still  looked  lovely,  but  the  exhaustion  was  like
  some monster lurking just below the surface of a placid, beautiful lake. It could explode out of the water at any moment.
  "Mister Strapp, you're welcome to have a seat." Nadja
  gestured to one of the two high-backed leather chairs facing her desk as she walked around and sat in her own.
  Ryan took a seat, but Strapp remained standing.  "Thanks just the same, but this  won't  take  long."
  He pulled out a small audio recorder and showed it to Nadja and Ryan. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"
  "Not at all."
  Gordon Wu closed the door and stood just inside.
  Strapp turned to face Ryan. "Mister Mercury, I'm sure you have some idea why I'm here."
  Ryan nodded. "Of course, and I'll help in any way I can. Finding the President's assassin is of paramount importance
  to the country generally, as well as to myself personally." Ryan allowed himself a frown. "Dunkelzahn and I were close,
  and I feel guilty for not being there when it happened. I keep thinking I could have done something. I'm not sure what,
  but I still believe that if I'd been here, instead of out of the country, I might have been able to prevent what happened."
  Strapp stood silent for a moment, his intense eyes never leaving Ryan's face. "Of course. Still, I'd like to ask you a
  few questions about where you were at the time of the assassination.  Simply routine, you understand,  but I must tell
  you that I'm a mage and skilled in truth detection."
  Ryan met his eyes and saw nothing but cold calculation there, despite the warm tone. "Of course."
  "All right, then let's get down to it. You say you were out of the country. Is that correct?"
  "Yes."
  "Where?"
  Ryan smiled. "I was looking out for some of Dunkel-zahn's business interests in Aztlan."
  Strapp smiled. "Really? That's pretty dark country for a simple business trip."
  Ryan nodded. "I won't try and fool you. The trip wasn't without its risks."
  "Is there someone who can confirm where you were? Someone who was with you perhaps?"
  Ryan frowned. "I was alone."
  "I see."
  "Carla Brooks can vouch for me, Mr. Strapp."
  "Yes, perhaps that is so, but Ms. Brooks was in Wash-ington at the time of the assassination."
  "I spoke with her by telecom just before the explosion."
  Strapp smiled, showing yellow teeth behind his thin lips. "Is this the same call the President received just prior to
  the assassination?"'
  Again, Ryan nodded.  "Yes, Carla patched  me through  to Dunkelzahn. I had discovered what he'd sent  me to  find
  out, and I'd been given strict instructions to call him immediately. I follow orders."
  Strapp's stare intensified. "What did you discover?"
  Ryan shook his head. "As much as I'd like to tell you, it isn't information I have the authority to pass along."
  Strapp  turned  abruptly,  and  began  a  casual  inspection  of  the  ancient  hardcopy  books  that  lined  the
  study's  shelves.  "Mister  Mercury,  you  disappeared  for  a  few  days  following  the  President's  death.  Where  were
  you?"
  Ryan smiled, letting his exhaustion show through. "Well, my pride would like to say I was in hiding after reporting
  in, but I guess I'm not quite as good at covert operations as I'd like to be. I was caught just after sending  the message.
  I was detained for several days before being rescued."
  Strapp  turned  back  slowly,  open  disbelief  on  his  face.  "You  were  caught?  Why  do  I  find  that  just  a  bit  too
  convenient?"
  Ryan let some anger show through. "You wouldn't have found it so convenient  if you'd been in my place,
  Mr. Strapp. It was no party."
  "Perhaps not, but is there a record of your incarcera-tion? Is there someone who can corroborate your story?"
  Ryan felt the anger well inside him. He remembered waking up in Roxborough's delta  clinic.  Not  knowing  who  he
  was, trusting the face on the screen. The boyish face of Thomas Roxborough. Ryan had believed he was Roxborough.
  He had wanted to help free Roxborough from his vat; he had felt sorry for the man.
  
  Roxborough  had  used  the  drug  laes  to  erase  Ryan's  memory.  And  his  scientists  had  implanted  gengineered
  retroviruses to encode Roxborough's memories and per-sonality onto Ryan's mind. All as part of a plan to transfer
  Roxborough's spirit out of his disintegrating body and into Ryan's.
  The image of Roxborough's vat body  came to Ryan's mind, the tendrils of brain matter floating in the thick saline
  like dreadlocks. Wires and cybernetics shone  among the translucent pink, connected to the heavy black cords
  that  led out of his tank to his Matrix interface.  Bits  of  re-differentiated  tissue  scattered  throughout  his  amor-phous
  flesh. Bone and muscle and organ.
  That man's ruthless personality had almost overcome Ryan, and it had been Nadja's love that had brought  back his
  own memories. And later, it had been Nadja's love again, combined with Dunkelzahn's teachings, that had helped Ryan
  battle Roxborough's evil desire inside him. Desire to keep the Dragon Heart and all the power that came with it.
  Now, Ryan shook off the memory and glared at Strapp. "No," he said, grinding his teeth.  "I  was  held  in  custody
  alone, and I doubt you'll find records of my stay."
  Strapp nodded and perhaps he sensed how edgy Ryan was getting because he changed tactics. "All right, let's take
  this from a different angle. Do you suppose that what you found down there could have prompted the Azzies to take
  action against the President."
  Ryan shrugged. He'd mentioned nothing specific about the Aztlan government or Aztechnology thus  far, but there
  was no point in playing games with Strapp.  He  was  just  as  anxious  to  see  Dunkelzahn's  killer  apprehended.  "I  see
  where you're heading, but I don't think so. Make no mis-take, the Azzies never liked Dunkelzahn and may have wanted
  him dead. But they would have needed weeks of planning and, as I understand  things, the assassination  hap-pened
  only minutes after I called in. Unless they had planned on doing it anyway, my being discovered couldn't  have  had
  anything to do with the assassination."
  Strapp scratched at the stubble on his chin. "My thoughts  exactly, but I had to ask. What else did you talk to the
  President about during the phone conversation?"
  "Nothing."
  Strapp nodded and paced back around behind Ryan.
  "All right, next question. How well do you know Damien Knight?"
  For the first time, Ryan was actually taken by surprise. "Knight? Not well at all. I've met him once, but it was brief
  and informal."
  "What do you think of Dunkelzahn's and Damien Knight's relationship."
  Ryan chuckled. "Not much. Dunkelzahn respected Knight, I think. They played chess, which means Knight must be
  a slotting good master of the board. Other than that, I didn't pay it much attention. Why?"
  "I'm  just  checking  out  all  leads.  As  CEO  of  Ares,  Knight  certainly  had  the  resources  to  pull  off  the
  assassi-nation,  as would any high-level megacorp executive. But Knight seems to have been closer to the  President
  than  most others. Dunkelzahn's will has been difficult to sort through, but I noticed Knight received a chess  set—a
  much more personal item than nuyen, and indicating a long-term relationship. Anyone who could play chess
  with a great dragon might be able to kill him."
  "You suspect him?"
  Strapp gave Ryan  a  hard  stare.  "Not  anymore  than  I  suspect  you,  Mr.  Mercury.  Aren't  you  the  'Ryanthusar'  to
  whom Dunkelzahn willed his Heart?"
  Ryan took a step back. "Yes, but—"
  "And what is this Heart? Is it an ancient magical arti-fact? Is it a small personal item? It doesn't  matter either way,
  Mr. Mercury, because it incriminates you regardless. It gives you motive."
  "But I—"
  Strapp interrupted, scanning from Ryan to Nadja. "You both have motive, inheriting billions of nuyen, and per-haps
  powerful  magic.  You  were  both  personally  close  to  the  President,  and  you,  Mr.  Mercury"—Strapp  pointed  at
  Ryan—"you had the resources to pull it off. You have an alibi, but it's far from airtight. You could have made
  that telecom call from Aztlan or from around the corner, you have no one to vouch for  your  being  captured,
  and per-haps you were just lying low until you could eliminate the evidence."
  Ryan clapped. "Wonderful story, Mr. Strapp, but it
  would hardly hold up." But he was thinking, This man might be able to pin the assassination  on Nadja and me, even
  though we had nothing to do with it.
  Strapp lost the hard-line stare. "Perhaps  not yet, but more digging will tell." Abruptly, he turned to Nadja. "Thank
  you  for being so understanding,  I know your schedule  made  this  meeting  a  bit  difficult."  Then  he  turned
  back to Ryan. "You've been very cooperative, and I thank you for that."
  Lying right through his teeth, thought Ryan.
  "I trust you'll inform my office if you decide to make any travel plans."
  Ryan stood, forced himself to maintain the appearance of civility, and stretched  out his hand. "Of course. If there's
  anything else, give me a call. As I said before, I'm more than happy to help in any way possible."
  Strapp didn't bother taking Ryan's hand, but simply looked at them both as if from far away. "I will figure out who
  killed the president," he said. "And I just hope for your sakes, you had nothing to do with it, because  if you did, I will
  bury you."
  Ryan  ignored  the  threat.  "Whoever  killed  Dunkelzahn,"  he  said,  "is  strong  and  cunning  enough  to  have
  assassi-nated  one of the most powerful creatures to ever have existed. Even if  you  do  figure  it  out  without  getting
  your-self killed, how do you propose to bring the culprits to justice?"
  
  Strapp smiled. "I have the UCAS military.  And  I  sup-pose  you  and  the  Draco  Foundation  as  well  as  about  two
  hundred million angry UCAS citizens would also like to help?"
  "You got it, chummer," Ryan said. "Count me in."
  8
  Alice was bored. Moody.
  Tall buildings of concrete and mirrored glass reached up into a night sky around her, but there was no traffic on the
  street  as she walked through  Wonderland City. Street lamps illuminated the sidewalk, reflected in  silver  streaks  that
  rose up the chrome windows of the buildings. But there were no people.
  Only  Alice,  a  gentle  breeze,  and  the  absolute  silence  of  the  vacant  city.  Wonderland  City  was  her  private  little
  ultraviolet electronic universe. A personal section of the interconnected computer systems that spanned the world.
  To  herself,  Alice  appeared  the  way  she  had  when  she'd  had  a  physical  body.  When  her  consciousness  had
  inhab-ited a natural neural  network  called  a  human  brain.  Now  her  consciousness  lived  in  ...  well,  it  spanned  the
  Matrix really. Alice looked like a young woman, human, about  twenty-five years old with shoulder-length  blonde hair,
  fair skin, and blue eyes. She wore black jeans and a plain white halter top.
  She took a drag on  her  cigarette  and  folded  a  section  of  Matrix  space  into  her.  The  man  in  her  mind's  eye  was
  standing naked in a grove of trees, his obese, naked body  seemed to ripple and shake with the passing  wind. Next to
  him, in a small clearing, a mad tea party was underway. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare sat at opposite  ends  of a
  large table.
  Oh, the plans she had for Thomas Roxborough. Just thinking of them sent a delicious little shiver through  her. Ryan
  Mercury had given her the access codes to Rox's system in Panama. It had tipped the balance so she could
  trap his consciousness  in her virtual reality. A place where she made the rules.
  Rox had  designed  the  system  in  which  she  had  been  flatlined  so  many  years  ago.  This  was  her  revenge.  She
  laughed, and the sound of her good humor rang through the dark city around her like a chuckle in the wind.
  Roxborough  looked  around  at  the  glen,  and  his  sneer  changed  to  a  look  of  mild  admiration.  "Well,  well.  This
  certainly is impressive." He stretched out his hand and touched it to the March Hare's fur.
  "I say! Keep your mitts to yourself, old man. Would you like some tea? Well, you can't have any." With that, the
  Hatter and the Hare quickly gathered up everything from the table and went into the small shack.
  "Alice? I don't know where you are, but my compli-ments. This is the most solid code I've ever come across."
  "Welcome to Wonderland, Rox."
  Roxborough looked around the grove, trying to pin down the location of Alice's voice. Suddenly, he looked directly
  at Alice as she first made her wide grin, then her head, then her tail appear on the table  top.  She  left  every-thing  in
  between transparent.
  Roxborough smiled, showing wide, flat buck teeth. "Alice?"
  "Yesss."
  "I  thought  there  might  be  more  to  it,  Cat.  The  city  up  above  is  well  done,  but  this  ...  this,  however,  is  simply
  delightful."
  Alice's Cheshire grin widened into a vicious, predatory leer. "The city above is for the sane. You, Rox, are the most
  deluded case of megalomania it has ever been my displea-sure to encounter. I thought  you might feel right at home.
  However, you might be interested in knowing something. Lewis Carroll's Alice was very lucky. Wonderland is full of
  dangerous, deadly little surprises, and even a full-blown homicidal sociopath  such  as yourself could get into trouble
  very quickly."
  Roxborough gave his toothy grin again. "Homicidal sociopath?  My dear Alice, you're not still going on about  that
  bygone Crash virus are you? You really should get some help for your obsessive  behavior. Why don't you
  program yourself a nice little Freudian psychoanalyst? It would do wonders for your state of mind."
  The disembodied tail began to twitch. "Rox, you are in a very precarious position  at  this  moment.  I  suggest  you
  cooperate."
  Roxborough sat in the chair recently vacated by the Mad  Hatter.  "Cooperation  is  a  wonderful  thing,  Cat.
  Makes the world go 'round, don't you know? But you've given me nothing to cooperate with. You make accusa-tions
  and veiled threats, but you've failed to tell me just what you want."
  Alice let the rest of her icon slowly take shape. "An admission of guilt would be a start."
  Roxborough crossed his arms over his naked chest. "An admission of guilt for what? I've done nothing."
  Alice pulled the Wonderland universe closer to her, jerking Roxborough out of the chair. "Don't toy with me, Rox. I
  know your system came to the aid of the Crash entity the day it flatlined my meat body, so an admission of attempted
  murder would be a good place to begin. We'll go from there."
  Roxborough looked up at her, a glint in his rabbit-brown eyes. "My dear, you are tragically mistaken. I had nothing
  to do with the viral attack, and if you believe my system came to its aid, then I'm guessing  there isn't any-thing I can
  say to dissuade you. However, it simply isn't true."
  Alice  smiled.  "Okay,  you  won't  confess.  Still,  you  might be interested to know that the Crash entity was
  
  never destroyed  by the Echo Mirage team. It was damaged and chased  away. But it  could  still  be  out  there,  hiding
  somewhere. Learning and growing with each passing cycle. Getting smarter, faster, more deadly. I don't know where it
  is, but I intend to locate and destroy it."
  Roxborough's knee suddenly gave out and he fell to the ground with a cry of anguish. "Alice!"
  "It is beginning," she said. "You are reliving your dis-ease." Several years ago, Roxborough had been struck with
  systemic lupus—a degenerative disease that had eventually forced him to live out the remainder of his life in  a
  vat, connected to tubes and the Matrix. Ever since
  then, Roxborough had been obsessed with getting out of his vat and into a real body.
  "Alice, I swear I had nothing to do with the Crash."
  "I've pinned the origin of the virus to three possible hosts.  Your system at Acquisition Technologies, Gos-samer
  Threads, or the old NASA mainframes. Both Dunkelzahn, who owned Gossamer Threads before his death, and NASA
  lost a great many assets  during the crash. You, however, only lost data pertaining to one corporation. That in itself
  points a lot of blame in your direction."
  "Luck," said Roxborough, with a laugh. "Simple blind luck."
  "That kind of luck doesn't exist."
  Roxborough sobered, and for a second his eyes lit up. "For the most part, I would agree with you. And maybe even
  in this case as well. You want an admission? All right. I'll tell you what I know."
  In the cityscape, Alice took a drag from her cigarette and waited.
  Roxborough sat on the grass and rubbed his knee. "A long time back, I was attempting a buyout  of a corpora-tion
  that  belonged to Dunkelzahn, though  I  didn't  realize  he  owned  it  at  the  time.  It  looked  like  a  ripe  salvage  pro-ject,
  dabbled a  bit  in  code  research  and  some  minor  hard-ware  production.  I  saw  what  I  thought  was  a  lot  of
  untapped potential. So I checked it out."
  "Checked it out?"
  "Yeah,  I  hired  someone  to  hack  into  his  system.  Old  terminology,  I  know,  but  this  was  before  cyberdecks  and
  ASIST technology. I wanted to see if I could find any tid-bits of leverage when I presented  the offer. The hacker went
  too  deep  and  found  something  that  scared  me.  Her  system  got  fried,  but  she  managed  to  salvage  some  of  the
  downloaded data."
  "Who was it?"
  "The hacker?"
  "Yes?"
  "Her name was Eva Thorinson,"  Roxborough said. "But I think she died a few years back."
  "Convenient for you," Alice said with a grin. "What did the data show?"
  "The file contained only a bit of code, but its implica-tions were staggering. I firmly believe that what burned  her
  computer was a precursor of the Crash virus. That's all the information I have, and the only admission you'll get."
  In the grove of trees,  Alice's  cat  tail  twitched  again.  "That  doesn't  scan,"  she  said.  "Dunkelzahn  lost  billions  of
  nuyen  in  the  Crash  of  '29.  Why  would  he  sponsor  something  that  would  cause  so  much  damage  to  nearly  every
  company he owned? Dragons aren't in the habit of tossing away fortunes like that."
  Roxborough  sighed.  "For  such  a  smart  little  cat,  you're  hopelessly  stupid.  Two  plausible  possibilities  present
  themselves. One, that whoever was doing the program-ming lost control of it, allowing the Crash virus to  escape.  It
  could have been inadvertent."
  Alice mused on that for a second. "That doesn't absolve you of responsibility. What's the second possibility?"
  "Just that you're dealing with a dragon."
  "What's that supposed to mean?"
  "Simple,  my  dear.  Dragons  don't  throw  anything  away  without  a  reason,  but  you're  talking  about  the  most
  intelli-gent, far-thinking, Machiavellian bastards  on the face of the Earth. Who can ever say why they do  what  they
  do? Maybe the Crash was just part of an enormously complex plot  on  the  wyrm's  part.  A  plan  with  rewards
  great enough to be worth the losses."
  Alice had to admit that Roxborough had a point, even though it galled her to think he might be innocent. "I'm going
  to check out your story. I hope for your sake you've told me the truth."
  Roxborough nodded at the disappearing cat icon. Then Alice pushed that section of the Matrix away from her, back
  to run its course while she contemplated what Rox-borough had told her.
  A light drizzle drifted down, making the streets  of Wonderland City shine and glow. Reflecting Alice's inner mood.
  Dark gray sky above mirrored in the buildings.
  If Dunkelzahn had engineered the computer entity that had caused both the infamous Crash of 2029 and the death
  of Alice's meat body, she was going to make sure everyone knew about  it. That news would affect the entire
  world, most of whom loved the  old  dragon.  If  it  was  true,  Dunkelzahn's  image  and  everything  associated  with  him
  would suffer greatly.
  She hoped, with everything human left in her, that Rox-borough was lying.
  9
  
  Ryan breathed a sigh of relief after Quentin Strapp left Nadja's study.  He hated being so high-profile. He didn't want
  anyone  knowing where he was and what he was up to.
  Nadja stood and looked at Gordon Wu. "I'll be indis-posed for a little while," she told her aide.
  Gordon nodded, then turned and walked silently out the door into the adjacent office.
  Nadja looked up at Ryan, a mischievous smile forming on her lovely face. "Come on," she said, taking his hand. She
  led him to the dining room, a spacious  chamber with marble floors covered by Indonesian  throw rugs and fur-nished
  sparingly with antiques of polished rosewood.
  The table was a huge marble slab upon which was laid a sumptuous meal. As Nadja indicated for him to take a seat,
  he suddenly realized that he was very hungry. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Ryan enjoying the rich taste  of
  his real steak.
  As  he ate, Ryan remembered the scene  at Hells Canyon  when  he  had  been  under  the  influence  of  Roxborough's
  personality. When he had been drunk with the power of the newly acquired Dragon Heart.
  Nadja had arrived at the airstrip in her jet. She had come to try to persuade  him  to  give  up  the  Dragon  Heart,  to
  continue  with  Dunkelzahn's  mission.  He  had  run,  trying  to  get  to  the  helicopter.  Trying  to  escape  so  he
  didn't have to talk to her. Didn't have to justify his actions.
  She had come between him and his escape, standing with her guards. Blocking his way to the helo.
  Possessed by Roxborough's personality, he had yelled
  at her, spitting obscenities. Roxborough's voice ringing through his own. The evil voice inside that had become a part
  of him since the memory transfer in Aztlan. The dark  part  of  him  wanted  to  keep  the  Dragon  Heart,  use  it  him-self
  instead of giving it up as Dunkelzahn had asked.
  Lost  to  Roxborough,  Ryan  had  surprised  Nadja's  secu-rity  force,  moving  faster  than  any  of  them  could  track,
  slipping past them to grab Nadja and hold his gun to her head. He had threatened to kill her if they didn't let him leave.
  And all the while she had spoken to him, soothed him. She had kept her calm under the threat of instant death.
  Until  finally,  Ryan  had  remembered  himself  and  col-lapsed,  begging  for  her  forgiveness.  And  she  had  held  him
  close, whispering her support.
  Now, he pushed his empty plate away and looked up at Nadja. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm sorry about  every-thing.
  How could I have done that? How could I have let Roxborough's personality get control and threaten you?"
  She held his gaze in silence.
  "I want us to stay close," he said. "I want. . .  I want to get past this."
  "And now?" she asked. "Are you still in control?"
  "Yes," he said. "Firmly. There are occasional flashes of Roxborough's  memory,  but  I  no  longer  act  on  his
  impulses."
  "You've changed," she said. And there was something like sadness in her expression.
  Ryan nodded. "Yes, I don't think I'll ever be the same as before." He sipped his red wine. "I'm not the blind sol-dier I
  once was. I think about the big picture too much now. I think too much period. In fact, I'm plagued with indecision."
  Ryan looked up at her, his gaze a soft caress. "But my essential core is the same."
  "I know," she said. "The part I care about is still there."
  "You think so?"
  She smiled and gave him a slow nod. Ryan felt a surge of affection. He loved her. On impulse he leaned close and
  tried to kiss her.
  She pulled back and laughed.
  "What?"
  Between laughs, she said, "I'm sorry, Ryan. You need a shower and perhaps  a shave. You're  in  civilization  now."
  She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.
  Ryan stood. "All right, a bath then. Join me in the big tub?"
  Nadja threw her head back in joy. "Sure."
  They went into the master bathroom and drew a hot bubble bath and turned on the jets. The tub was huge and very
  deep, big enough for three trolls to use without crowding. Ryan stripped and settled into the hot water, leaning  back
  to let the jets massage his aching and exhausted muscles.
  Nadja joined him a minute later, stepping through the door in her white terry cloth robe. She looked into his eyes as
  she disrobed, purposely holding his gaze on her face. He was tempted to look lower, to follow the curves of her elven
  body down past her waist to her toes. But he resisted. There was time enough for that later.
  She entered the water and slipped in next to him. He ducked his head under to wet his hair, to wash his face. Spirits,
  it  feels  good  to  focus  on  getting  clean.  As  he  lifted  his  head  from  the  water,  she  was  on  him,  her  arms
  wrapped around his neck, her body pressed close.
  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 per-sonal 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
  inher-ited 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 influ-ence in Congress  to help get approval of your appoint-ment
  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. Some-thing 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 approxi-mately 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 dan-gerous
  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
  mas-saged 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,
  impos-sibly 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  atten-dants  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  bursts,  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 auto-mated 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 kilo-meters 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
  trig-gered since before the fall.
  Before, his superiors had even locked him out of cer-tain 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 what-ever  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 auto-mated, 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 man-aged 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
  con-trol 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 hori-zontal 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 moon-light. 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 court-yard, 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 dis-cover 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 frus-trating 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.
  His thoughts  were interrupted when his wristphone beeped. He punched  the connect, and all of Jane's  wom-anly
  charms filled the small screen. "Jane, talk to me."
  Jane smiled, somehow still managing a slight pout on her full lips. "Rather abrupt way to greet a messenger bearing
  good tidings."
  The muscles along Ryan's back tensed  up. "You've found him." It was a statement, not a question.  "And  he's not
  dead."
  Jane  nodded,  throwing  blonde  tangles  everywhere.  "Seems  General  Dentado  and  his  Azzie  cronies  warned  the
  area  truck-train  fuel  depots  that  they  were  likely  targets  for  our  cyberzombie.  The  depot's  security
  open-contracted some pro-level heavies to work the place undercover. I've checked the stats  on these  chummers, and
  they were hot. Desert War mercs with years of experi-ence. Yet Burnout sliced and diced them like they were newbie
  runners."
  Ryan felt the skin on his back crawl. "You get trid on it?"
  Jane smiled again. "In glorious color. He looks like something right out of an old horror vid, Ryan. You did
  quite a number on him. Unfortunately, the damage seems mostly cosmetic. He moved so damn fast, I had to replay the
  trid three times just to see what the hell he did."
  Ryan cursed. He'd come to grips with the fact that Burnout was still alive, but he'd hoped  the cyberzombie would at
  least have been hurt.
  "Ryan, forgive me saying this, but there's a drekload of bad juju about this chummer."
  Roxborough's self-doubt crept from hiding, but Ryan squashed  it. "You're right, Jane. He's one bad son  of a slitch.
  But he's got something of mine and I plan to get it back. If I play this right, he'll go down fast and hard, and we'll have
  this bit of business out of the way quickly."
  Jane's frown deepened. "And if you play it wrong?"
  Ryan smiled. "Then you'll be the new owner of Assets."
  Jane shook her head. "I'll pass."
  "Okay, Jane. Can you prep Axler and the team? And arrange for something inconspicuous  in the way of air travel
  for me?"
  "On it."
  He  cut  the  connection,  then  punched  in  Carla  Brooks'  private  line.  She  answered  immediately,  her  white  hair
  rumpled, and her eyes tired. "Well, Quicksilver, I see I'm not the only one who's having a hard time sleeping."
  
  "Black Angel, I need some official transport out of the mansion. Not too flashy, maybe as part of some guard detail.
  I also need you to cover for me with the Secret Service."
  Brooks' eyes widened. "This have to do with your mission?"
  Ryan shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, conscious for the first time that he was naked. "Yes, and
  we've got a hot trail to follow."
  Brooks nodded.  "Consider it arranged. Be ready to roll in less than an hour. I'll coordinate with Jane. I'm not  sure
  what I'm going to tell Strapp, but I'll think of something."
  "Thanks, Black Angel. I knew I could count on you." He cut the connection, and stood  still  for  a  moment,
  before becoming aware of the presence at his back. He smiled as Nadja's arms circled his bare waist.
  Ryan turned in her grasp. She'd wrapped the sheet around herself and looked like a goddess standing  on the marble
  balcony in the moonlight. He put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to his. He was surprised to find tears on
  her cheeks.
  "Going so soon?" she said.
  Ryan nodded. "I wish I didn't have to."
  Nadja pulled her face from his hand, and looked at the floor of the  balcony.  "I  reserved  an  island  beach  in
  Georgia," she said. "Thought  maybe we could spend  a few days  there.  You  know,  after  Congress  votes  on  my  VP
  nomination." Her eyes turned upward from under moist lashes.
  Ryan looked at her face. The monster of exhaustion that he'd noticed earlier was closer to the surface than he'd ever
  seen before. "I won't be long," he said.
  Nadja shook her head, sending small drops of sadness flying from her cheeks. "I don't believe that."
  Ryan stepped up to her as she turned away from him. He put his big arms around her delicate shoulders.  Leaned his
  head into the nape of her neck. Her scent was nearly overwhelming.
  Her voice was small, tired. "I feel like I'm swimming in a rushing river,  and  no  matter  how  hard  I  try,  the  cur-rent
  keeps pulling me down. The meetings, the schedules,  the appointments.  People  demanding  things  from  me,  making
  accusations."
  Ryan held her tightly, kissed her neck.
  "When I saw you get out of the limo today, it felt like I'd caught  ahold of a life raft. Like for the first time, I didn't
  have to do it all by myself. That there was someone who understood  how I felt. Someone who was here  to  support
  me."
  She turned to look up at him, and her cheeks were soaked with tears. "And  now you're leaving again. I'm not sure I
  can handle all this by myself."
  Ryan felt his love for her like a blow to the chest. She was so strong,  so dedicated, and for her to  admit  that  she
  might not be strong  enough  took a lot. He turned her around  to  face  him,  kissed  her  forehead,  her  velvet
  cheeks, the soft flush of her mouth.
  "You are the strongest person I've ever known, Nadja. You will make it, I know you will. There's nothing I'd rather
  do than  stay  in  Washington  to  be  with  you  and  run  down  some  leads  on  Dunkelzahn's  assassin."  Ryan
  sighed. "But you know  I  should  do  this.  It's  what  Dunkelzahn wanted me to do ...  I have to see this thing
  through." There was no conviction in his voice and he knew it.
  She didn't seem to notice. She nodded, and smiled through her tears. "I know, Ryan. I know. You're right, of course.
  You always knew how to make the tough deci-sions; it's no wonder you were the old dragon's favorite."
  Ryan laughed, and inside he was thinking. I feel more like the decisions are making me.
  "No, Nadja, you're the tough one. I always thought you didn't need anyone."
  "I don't."
  Ryan's laughter grew, and he wiped the moisture from her cheeks. "Spirits, I love you."
  Her smile became more seductive. "How long until you have to leave?"
  Ryan looked at the time display on his wristphone. "Just under an hour."
  Nadja stepped back, and let her sheet  fall to the floor. Her full breasts  swayed, her brown nipples standing  rigid in
  the breeze. She turned toward the door, and Ryan admired the graceful curves of her naked body  as she moved back
  inside. "That's not much time. I guess we'll just have to make the best of it."
  He grinned and followed her inside.
  12
  Blood and music on the metaplanes.
  Music, the sweet hurting light, growing dim.
  Blood, the dank whispering darkness, spreading fast.
  Lucero stood in her astral form. Just at the edge of the dark circle of black blood  and  basked  in  the  painful
  beauty of the music and the light.
  Alone.
  She longed to take that final step. That ultimate plunge into brightness. Purity.
  
  She edged closer. Closer. Until. . .
  Without warning, Senor Oscuro appeared next to her. He collapsed  down  on  one  knee  as  if  he  were  being
  crushed by a tremendous weight. Sweat prickled on his forehead, and the muscles in his face tensed in agony.
  He gritted his teeth and stood.  It seemed to take all his effort to touch  her,  though  when  he  did,  that  touch  was
  gentle. He pulled her back toward the center of the dark circle.
  Where the blood was deepest.
  "You . . . you are . . .  holding up . . .  well," he said.
  Lucero almost screamed at the sound of that voice, but she forced herself to be calm. "If it please you, Master."
  "It. . . pleases me."
  The smell of blood filled her nostrils as the sound  and the  light  from  outside  waned.  Lucero  felt  the  desire  swell
  inside her again, but she resisted. She focused on the blinding light, on the terrible purity of the wondrous song.
  So dull now. So distant.
  A young boy appeared in the space next to Oscuro—a small boy of no more than thirteen with a rash of acne
  across his cheeks. The vacant look seemed to leave the
  child's eyes for a moment as Oscuro  laid  him  down  on  an altar he'd constructed  from the bodies of the first
  ten victims.
  Oscuro grabbed a handful of the boy's hair, and pulled back viciously, exposing the soft young throat.
  This one actually had time to emit a short, high-pitched whine before Oscuro's hand fell. The blood-covered knife
  cleaved the sound from the child's mouth, letting it end in a shrill whistle coming from the gaping windpipe.
  Oscuro slapped his rough hand over the wound, slowing the flow of blood, and lifted the boy by the neck.
  Ignoring the twitches, he carried the body to the edge of the outer circle.
  The strain was  evident  in  the  corded  muscles  of  Oscuro's gore-drenched arms. Everything he did seemed
  to be a tremendous effort now, as if he had to fight the music just to keep moving. When Oscuro reached the edge of
  the outer circle, he removed his hand from the child's throat and let the blood flow. He traced the final meters of the
  circle in the thick gurgle of young life. When the circle was closed, the bright music faded even more.
  Lucero  did  not  know  how  much  time  passed  as  more  and  more  sacrifices  piled  up  along  the  edge  of  the
  ever-widening circle. All she knew was that in her heart she longed to leave this place. She wished  to  be  given  the
  strength to throw herself clear of the blood stain. Through the wall of darkness  that stretched  up at the edge of the
  stain. She yearned to plunge herself into the light.
  Finally, Oscuro walked over to her as she crouched among the corpses. She was stunned  and nearly catatonic from
  the shock of all the death, but as she looked at the dark human, she saw that he was worse.
  Oscuro was in incredible pain, his face wracked with strain. As the dark part of her lightened, his struggle became
  harder. "Back at the teocalli, the Gestalt is weak-ening again," he said. "Too much . .. drain will kill them. They need to
   ...  rest."
  Lucero nodded.
  "You will...  stay. I'll return when ...  when the Gestalt is stronger."
  Then he was gone again.
  More time passed  around  her.  She  knew  not  how  much  as  she  crawled  her  way  gently  over  the  strewn  bodies,
  reaching the outer circle. She stopped at the edge, unable to move farther. She spoke to the light. "He is wrong," she
  said. "I am not strong. You have given me a strength far better than any blood magic. You have shown me that things
  can work for a greater good  than I have ever known."
  The music washed over her again, and she knew the dark spot  inside her had lightened again. She heard the song
  and for a  moment,  she  understood.  The  words  were  muffled,  indistinct,  but  she  knew  that  the  song  was
  holding back forces of horror and terrible  evil.  The  song  told  her  that  the  outcropping  must  never  be  made  into  a
  bridge.
  The  song  reached  into  her  mind  and  revealed  that  the  dark  circle  threatened  the  light.  The  dark  circle  must  be
  destroyed. Lucero must accept the stain on her soul and forgive herself.
  She had passed the first challenge, had not let the bearded man seduce  her. As she tried to hear more of the song,
  she  knelt over the corpse at  the  edge  of  the  bloody  circle  and  reached  out  a  hand  to  touch  the  outer  barrier.  She
  longed to stand and step from the circle, drown her-self in that light, the music.
  Lucero shook her head, and pulled back her hand. She knew that would accomplish nothing but alert Oscuro to her
  intent. "I will not fail you," she told the music. "I will stop this evil no matter what the cost."
  21 August 2057
  13
  In the early  morning  shadows,  deep  in  the  heart  of  Hells  Canyon,  Ryan  felt  an  edge  of  annoyance  as  Dhin  made
  another pass over the landing site. The monstrous rock shelf that housed the Assets, Inc. compound three-quarters of
  
  the way up the sheer cliff face was torn by heavy winds that ripped through  the canyon  and played havoc with the
  plane's vertical touch-down.
  The aircraft was an Embraer-Dassault Mistral—a fat-bellied cargo shuttle. The wind pushed her around like  a
  cat toying with a mouse. In the cockpit, Ryan watched as the ground came close. Wind hammered at the fat
  body  of  the  Mistral,  threatening  to  push  the  heavy  commuter  craft  off  the  landing  mark  and  out  into  the
  canyon.
  "Touch-down," said Dhin.
  Ryan had to give the big ork credit. He  barely  seemed  to  feel  the  impact.  He  turned  as  he  unbuckled  his  safety
  straps.  "You're a steady  chummer," Ryan said. "One second  I thought  we were going to take a big plunge,  the  next
  you got us down on the tarmac, safe and solid."
  Dhin pulled the jack from his neck and sat upright. "You don't know how close we came to chewing rocks. Next time
  you want to head out in the middle of the night, scan me first. I'd have told Jane this old boat was too tight a fit for the
  landing pad here. This slitch handles like a street sam with too much liquor in him."
  Ryan nodded. "Deal."
  The ork finally grinned. "Let's get inside."
  As  they  climbed  from  the  seats,  Ryan  caught  sight  of  Axler  standing  just  outside  the  doorway  to  the  main
  building. Wind tugged  at her blonde hair and made the
  tail of her black trench coat flap. But no wind could mess with the impression of cool self-confidence she radiated.
  Ryan gave her a grin she didn't return. All biz.
  Ryan  wasn't  really  looking  forward  to  the  next  couple  of  hours.  The  runners  still  didn't  completely  trust  his
  leadership, and were  obviously  annoyed  that  their  only  decent  night's  sleep  in  a  week  had  been  cut  short  by  his
  telecom call.
  Dhin had been more than a little upset about being rousted in the middle of the night, and his female ork companion
  hadn't seemed too thrilled either.
  Secret Service agent Phelps had looked even more  impressive  naked  than  she  had  in  her  body  armor,  and  Ryan
  couldn't help but wonder just where she'd hidden the Ingram SMG.  But  there  she  was,  just  behind  the  door  when
  he'd entered. She hadn't bothered  to lower the Ingram until Dhin, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, told her to
  knock it off.
  On their way to the airport yesterday, the big ork had said something about  going back to the alley to  help
   Phelps with the decimated Eurocar. One thing had led to another, and another, and then another.
  Ryan had been angry, not really at Dhin, but more at himself.  Now  that  Phelps  knew  he  was  leaving  the
  country, the Secret Service would be alerted. That meant Strapp would be all over Carla Brooks' hoop  in  a  matter  of
  hours. Still, it couldn't be helped.
  Ryan  followed  Dhin  down  onto  the  hard  tarmac,  and  walked  across  to  meet  Axler,  who  stood  by  the  newly
  constructed entrance to the underground facilities.
  Axler  came  forward  to  meet  them.  "Ryan,  were  you  serious  when  you  said  Burnout  survived  the  fall  into  the
  canyon?"
  "Jane got vid of him a good hundred klicks from here."
  "Frag," she said. "I never would've thought."
  "Me neither, chummer. Me neither."
  "You got details?"
  "A few," Ryan said. "But I've got some things to say first. What's the status here?"
  She talked as they headed back to the building, her tone formal. The modifications Ryan had ordered to the com-
  pound were far from complete. It would take the mining crew at least another week to finish cutting the medical facility
  out, and then about two days until all the equip-ment arrived. The crew was on leave until the following day, and they
  were being bunked in Dhin's workshop.
  Ryan  nodded  his  approval.  When  Dunkelzahn  had  left  Assets  to  Ryan  in  his  will,  it  was  only  a  ramshackle
  col-lection of buildings on the narrow ledge. Some improve-ments had been made by Axler, but Ryan had decided to
  go a few steps further.
  Once the search for Burnout was in full swing, Ryan had ordered a discreet mining company to cut into the canyon
  with the ultimate goal of enlarging the compound to four times its original size. His plans included provi-sions  for  a
  cybersurgery  lab, a mage library, and a training facility that would be the envy of Knight Errant.
  In the back of Ryan's mind, he'd started  planning again. If this mission didn't kill him, he had to think to the
  future. His intention for Assets  was  to  make  it  the  most  effective,  far  reaching  organization  of  shadowrunners  the
  world had ever known.
  If Dunkelzahn wasn't here to put together an army, Ryan would do it for him. At least part of it.  The  voice  of  the
  spirit that had carried Dunkelzahn's instructions  came back  to  him.  After  Axler  and  company  had  freed  him
  from Roxborough's clinic in Panama, Ryan had met with Nadja in Dunkelzahn's Lake Louise lair in the Canadian Rocky
  Mountains, in what used to be British Colombia.
  
  Nadja had taken Ryan to a sealed chamber deep inside the lair where he would be protected  from any ritual-magic
  assassination attempts. A spirit spoke to him in Dunkelzahn's voice, like a ghost  of the old wyrm, telling Ryan of his
  mission, of taking the Dragon Heart to the metaplanar spike created by the Great Ghost Dance.
  There will be no hiding  this time, the spirit had said. There will only be war. We must build  up our defenses; we
  must gain the time we need to build  up our technology  so that we have the ability  to fight the Enemy when it can
  cross.
  The Dragon Heart would give them the time, but now Ryan figured he'd help prepare for the war by making
  Assets the covert-operations arm of the Draco Founda-tion. And the plan was going smoothly so far.
  As they stepped inside, he brushed the hair out of his eyes, silently thanking the spirits that at least something was
  going smoothly. He turned to Axler. "Is there power in the command room yet?"
  Axler nodded. "It's all set up, and we're on-line with Jane. Grind and I finished the equipment installation last night
  after the wind made further recon of the canyon impossible."
  "How's the new mage?"
  Axler snorted. "Miranda's still got too much of a cor-porate attitude, left over from her days at Fuchi. But otherwise,
  she's chill and she knows her biz."
  Dhin came in, bringing dust and wind with him, and dropped Ryan's bag to the floor. "What's the schedule?"
  Ryan looked from Dhin to Axler. "I want the whole team assembled in the command room in five minutes. We're on a
  tight schedule."
  Axler turned away. "On it."
  Dhin nodded and headed over to the command room.
  Ryan picked up his own bag and moved deeper into the rock face of the canyon. The miners had strung crude lights
  down the hall, but when he stepped into his private quarters, he was pleasantly surprised.
  Still spare in the furnishings department, the large room consisted of a single bed, a small bathroom, and a desk with
  a Fuchi Cyber-6 cyberdeck and a telecom set up and ready to roll. Ryan never cruised the Matrix himself, but he did
  run tactical simulations and made use of some of Jane's smartframes from time to time.
  After splashing some water over his face, he stepped  back out into the corridor and turned left, going even further
  into the rock. He came to the massive double doors. They were heat-shielded and  made  from  twenty  centimeters  of
  duracrete, backed by another twenty of plexan. They could take a direct hit by anything  short  of an antitank  missile
  and not even scratch.
  Ryan hit the palm lock, and the doors slid silently open.
  The command room was a cavernous circle, dominated by a huge oval table. The table itself contained a powerful
  holographic generator that could either display a main presentation to the whole table or act as a heads up dis-play for
  each individual seat.
  It was a testimony to Ryan's far-reaching plan that the table could easily seat fifty.
  The runners were scattered around the large area, and Ryan picked up the immediate clue by how they were seated.
  They're tired of the boring search.
  Nearer the door, Axler and  the  dwarf  Grind  sat  together. They glanced up as Ryan entered, but continued
  to talk in low tones. Dhin sat opposite them, and he gave a grin and a shrug.
  The new mage, Miranda, was seated by herself at the far end of the room. She was a small human with a broad oval
  face and a shock of jet black hair streaming down her back. She cradled a steaming  cup  of  coffee  in  her  hands  and
  looked as though she was barely awake.
  Ryan stepped into the room. "Miranda?"
  She looked up, startled. "Travis? Travis, is it really you?"
  Ryan smiled. "You look good, Miranda," he said. "But my name's not Travis. It's Quicksilver or Ryan.  And  I  lead
  this team of shadowrunners."
  "And at Fuchi..."
  "I was working undercover."
  Miranda scowled. "You left so suddenly.  They said  you'd  been  transferred  to  Kyoto,  but  I  couldn't  get  word  to
  you."
  "No," Ryan said. "It was just a temporary assignment so that I'd have a solid identity when Aztechnology stole me
  away. It's a lot harder to infiltrate the Azzies."
  Miranda sighed and took a sip of her coffee. "You went to Aztechnology? That's heavy drek," she said. Then with a
  glowing, intimate smile, she said, "I'm glad you made it out alive."
  Ryan  remembered  working  next  to  her  in  the  labs  at  Fuchi.  She  was  all  professional  on  the  surface,  toeing  the
  corporate  line  on  the  outside.  But  he'd  seen  something  underneath,  something  that  had  come  through  in  the  few
  moments when they'd had a chance to get closer. A hidden wild undercurrent.
  Ryan had never let himself become intimate with her; he'd been in love with Nadja even back then. Even if he hadn't
  been,  he  never  allowed  himself  to  get  too  close  to  anyone  during  the  time  he  was  undercover.  He  and
  Miranda had become friends. Friends on the verge of more.
  There was something alluring about  her life—the cor-porate life. The safety and simplicity  of it, protected  by
  the huge corporation. A life of carefree happiness.
  Ryari could never let himself think that such  an  exis-tence  would  even  be  remotely  satisfying.  He'd  left
  abruptly and without a word, regretting he couldn't say goodbye. That he couldn't give her an explanation.
  "I'm going to talk about what happened," Ryan said, walking to the head of the table. "Jane, you with us?"
  
  "In the next best thing to the flesh, Quicksilver." Jane's voice came through the room's speakers.
  "Good, let's get this show rolling," Ryan said. "Time is short, and we've got a lot of ground to cover. First of all, I
  have something to say."
  He got  nods  from  Axler  and  Grind.  Dhin  grunted,  and  Miranda  peered  through  the  steamy  haze  rising  from  her
  coffee.
  Ryan looked hard at Axler and Grind. "I want to offer an explanation for  my  actions  over  the  past  few  days.  I've
  taken over control of Assets  and haven't given any of you much input. I've been driving  you  hard  without  a  lot  of
  explanation.  I've  also  been  acting  erratically  and  it  probably seems like I'm on the edge of losing  control.  I
  can  understand  if  you  think  I'm  deranged.  You  might  even think I'm not capable of  effectively  leading  this
  group."
  He saw Axler nod her assent.
  "There is an explanation for my strange behavior, and I'm going give it to you. I know I couldn't work with anyone  I
  thought was a liability."
  Axler's  look  softened.  "We  don't  think  you're  a  lia-bility,  Ryan.  But  you  haven't  been  yourself,  not  since  we
  scooped  you up from the Azzies. You've made some bad choices, decisions  you  wouldn't  have  made  three  months
  ago. It's got us worried."
  Ryan took a deep breath. "When I was at the delta
  clinic  in  Panama,  they  tried  to  erase  my  mind  and  remap  it  with  another  personality.  Ever  heard  of  Thomas
  Rox-borough—the vatcase megalomaniac who owns a big hunk of Aztechnology? It was his mind they tried to
  map  over  mine.  You  saved  my  hoop  just  in  time,  but  they'd  nearly  erased  my  memory,  and  there  was  a
  period of adjustment that was very confusing. It was like I had no control over what I was doing, even though I
  knew it was wrong. Can you understand that?"
  Miranda gave a low whistle. "Aztechnology is one of the bloodier corps, and Roxborough has a reputation for utter
  ruthlessness. That's some serious drek."
  Ryan's smile was tight. "To put it mildly. But things are different now. Roxborough is still with me, but Quick-silver's
  on top."
  Axler frowned. "How do we know that? You've taken leadership away from me and Jane; that's  not something the
  old Ryan would do. Assets was running smoothly before you made your 'improvements.' "
  Jane came on over the speakers. "I have to agree with Axler, Quicksilver. I especially resent my current role in the
  scheme of things. I'm not officially part of Assets,  but I've always been in control of any runs  I  do  decide  to  make.
  From here in my box, with my virtual re-creation of all the data, it's much easier for me to form a complete picture  of
  what's going down than it is for anyone  on-site."
  "Jane, I—"
  "I  take  inputs  from  each  runner,  plus  Matrix  data.  I  can  make  better-informed  decisions,  and  I  can  make  them
  quicker."
  "Jane, I value your expertise and I'm going to need it more than ever. Especially during the next few runs. But I'm
  going to be leading the team. I've got combat training that you don't, and I refuse to shirk that responsibility." Ryan
  turned to Axler. "I want you to be my lieutenant, and I'll need your advice. I know it's going to be hard to adjust, but I
  think it will improve things in the long run."
  Silence engulfed the room in the wake of Ryan's speech.
  "Okay," Ryan went on, "I don't want anyone to stay
  who isn't satisfied with the arrangement. Now's your chance to bail out of Assets if you want to. Anyone  who thinks
  I'm going to get him or her killed can walk. There's twenty thousand nuyen in a numbered account  for each of
  you. I'll give you the code, and you go with my blessing."
  Dhin shook his head slowly, but no one spoke.
  "You all know that Roxborough would never have given you walking papers," Ryan said finally.
  Axler nodded.
  Ryan looked around the room, pausing  when he got to Dhin. "So, do I have  any  takers?  'Cause  if  you  decide  to
  stay  on board, you're on all the way. I've got some serious plans for this organization, plans that are going to
  ask shadowrunners to play a serious part in protecting the future of the world."
  Axler sat up. "I  know  a  lot  of  runners  who  want  to  make a difference," she said. "But in our line of work
  run-ners don't have much to say about whether we're on the right side or the wrong side. Shadowrunners have to do
  whatever the Johnsons want, and a lot of times don't even know whose side they're on. How can you change that?"
  Ryan smiled. "We don't have to please anyone  but our-selves. We've got independent  funding and the means  to
  make a difference."
  "Under your leadership?" Axler asked.
  "That's  right," said Ryan. "You're going to have to trust me." He looked around the room, challenging any
  of them to get up and walk out.
  Dhin answered first. "You got me, Bossman. I'm not going anywhere."
  Miranda had a feral smile on her face, beaming at Ryan in that way he remembered from back at Fuchi when she was
  excited about an upcoming project. "Me too."
  Grind looked at Axler, then laughed. "I'm in," he said.
  Ryan gave Axler a hard stare. "I need you, chummer. You're my fragging lieutenant."
  Axler smiled. "I'm here, Ryan. Slot it, I'll be here to the end. Let's get on with this run."
  
  Ryan's eyes flicked toward the speakers. "How about you Jane?"
  A sweet, chiming laugh filled the room. "You have to ask?"
  "For the record, yes."
  "Well, then, for the record, I'm with you. We may have some disagreements, but we'll work those  out after
  this run."
  Ryan nodded,  and an invisible weight fell from his shoulders.  "Good. Now that we're  all  on-line,  let's  get  back  to
  business.  As  I  said,  Burnout  survived.  Not  only  did  he  come  through  the  fall  in  one  piece,  he  managed  to
  outmaneuver us."
  Grind nodded. "That's one tough piece of tech."
  Ryan nodded. "Jane, roll the trid."
  The hologenerator in the table hummed quietly to life, and suddenly, there in the center of the table, the scene  from
  the depot  played itself out in slow motion. When it was over, Ryan looked around the room. "Any  com-ments?"  he
  asked.
  Axler nodded.  "This not only gives us a clue to Burnout's location, but it also shows us just how tough  he
  is. Despite the apparent damage to his good looks, he took that fall into the canyon like a pleasure cruise."
  "Yes," said Ryan. "We're going to have to assume that Burnout is still fully functional. He's  fast,  he's  mean,  and
  he's well armed."
  Dhin cleared his throat. "How long ago was this?"
  "About eight hours, give or take."
  Dhin shook his wide head. "That's a lot of time for a chummer like that. He could be almost anywhere."
  Ryan smiled. "That's  true, but  thankfully  unimportant.  Burnout  leaves  a  trail  through  astral  space,  kind  of  like  a
  polluted scent. I've smelled it."
  Axler scanned from Miranda to Ryan, her voice cool. "So you can pick up his spoor and track him in astral space?"
  "Exactly. After that, it's just a matter of time until we run him to ground."
  Grind leered. "And then? You better have an army on hand to take that boy down."
  Ryan smiled. "I don't need an army. I have you guys. We're not going to go head to head with him. I really
  don't care what happens to him, though my preference would be to throw his metal hoop  into a waste compactor. No,
  the important thing is the Dragon Heart."
  Axler cleared her throat. "You've fought him twice. What's the best way to take him down?"
  Ryan shook his head. "There is no best way. But the fact is he was built to kill. He's tactically sharp, but his thinking
  seems to be a bit linear. I think we can use that to our advantage."
  Axler  nodded.  "He's  also  out  of  options.  Our  kind  visitor,  General  Dentado,  indicated  that  Burnout  has
  gone rogue. He can't count on any backup from the Azzies. He's solo."
  "That's good," said Grind. "Five on one is my kind of odds."
  Ryan smiled. "I must emphasize that the Dragon Heart is our goal, killing Burnout is gravy. Once we have the Heart,
  we can hunt him down at our leisure."
  "Right," said Dhin, "I can take him out from nine hun-dred meters up."
  "Yes," Ryan said, "but unfortunately, we can't fire a missile at him until after we've taken the Dragon Heart away. I
  don't now how much destructive force it can tol-erate, and we absolutely cannot risk destroying it."
  Around the room, four heads seemed to nod in unison.
  "All right, we go wheels up in forty-five minutes. Full combat gear. Now let's head out."
  The room cleared, all except for Dhin. He approached  slowly and put his callused hand  on  Ryan's  shoulder.  "I've
  been rigging for most of fifteen years. Rigged more kinds of drek than I can remember. For the first  time,  your  story
  about  Roxborough has got me wondering just  what  it  would  be  like  to  have  somebody  else  rigging  me.  Wel-come
  back, Bossman."
  Dhin turned and left.
  Ryan stood  alone in the command room. "Jane?"  he said.
  There  was  a  moment  of  solemn  silence,  then  Jane's  voice  came  on  grave.  "I'm  sorry  about  what  happened,
  Quicksilver. I don't think you're totally clean of Rox-
  borough yet, but I'm committed to this run, and I'm going to see it through."
  "Good, I need your expertise and your support."
  Jane's voice held more conviction now. "You've got it, let's take this fragger out."
  "Thanks."  Ryan made his way quickly back to his quar-ters,  and  opened  the  door  to  find  that  someone
  had already laid out his gear. Within minutes, his body was encased  in his armored nightsuit, form-fitting plycra with
  Kevlar  III  panels  intercalated  to  maintain  flexibility  and  absolute  freedom  of  movement.  Ryan  needed  to  maintain
  silence and stealth even in heavy combat situations.
  He checked his vest for his grenade pistol and narcotic throwing darts. The darts were habit; he brought  them even
  knowing they wouldn't be much use against the cyberzombie. The clips of explosive and armor-piercing bullets for his
  Ingram should more than make up for it.
  When he was ready and had achieved focus, Ryan pressed  the earpiece for the Phillips tacticom into his right ear
  and attached the adhesive wire microphone to his throat. When it was all connected,  he triggered the unit on his belt.
  "Everyone ready to roll?"
  Axler's  voice  was  full  of  droll  humor.  "Everyone  except  you,  Quicksilver.  We're  suited  up  and  boarded
  already."
  
  Ryan chuckled. "Be right there."
  The wind whistled in his ears as he made his way to the LAV. The Saeder-Krupp Phoenix II was a huge low-altitude
  vehicle, sitting where the Mistral had been an hour before. Ryan stepped under the Phoenix's wedge-shaped  nose  and
  walked back toward its tiny stub wings, to the ramp. Inside, the rest of his team was outfitted in matte-black Esprit full
  battle armor, including helmet and integral commlink.
  Miranda was the exception. She was wearing camo T-shirt and pants and combat boots. On closer inspection, Ryan
  could see the yellow smiley faces on her  socks  where they stuck out just above the boot tops.  She carried a
  small  jeweled  cane,  and  her  wrists  and  neck  seemed  overloaded  with  charms  and  foci.  The  matte-black
  headset looked out of place on the small woman's head.
  Miranda looked up and noticed Ryan's inspection. She shrugged. "You said full combat gear."
  Axler hefted a Panther assault cannon and checked its clip. "We're ready to go wheels up on your mark," she said.
  Behind Ryan, the ramp started to close, and he turned toward  the  cockpit.  Dhin  wore  his  armor,  minus  the
  helmet, and he was jacked in—slumped low in the cush-ioned seat.
  "Jane give you the locale grid?"
  Dhin's  lax  body  didn't  respond,  but  his  voice  came  over Ryan's headset.  "Copy. But I hope this is a fast
  trip. The sat-feed says  we  got  God's  own  thunderstorm  heading this way. It's going to cover the whole area
  just around noon."
  Ryan nodded. "Wheels up."
  The Phoenix roared to life, and Ryan barely had time to find his seat before the vehicle screamed into the air.
  14
  In  the  pre-dawn  gray,  the  bulky  Ford  Canada  Bison's  off-road  tires  caught  the  loose  gravel  at  the  edge  of  the
  pave-ment, kicking up rock and dust. Burnout leaned into the turn, swiveled to the left and lashed out with his foot.
  The driver's-side door, which had refused to latch after Burnout's forced entry, sailed into the chill air, landing with a
  crash as the Bison accelerated down the cracked asphalt of old Highway 83. Wind swept through the big cargo truck's
  interior, sending candy wrappers and bits of refuse through the cab.
  In the hours since he'd bailed from the track-train, Burnout's mood had grown foul. The constant  presence  of Lethe
  inside made him think too much about everything, and it was starting to slot him off something fierce.
  "She was a pig," Burnout muttered to himself, not  really expecting Lethe to have any comment. The spirit
  was still angry over the way Burnout had geeked the Bison's driver.
  "She was an innocent." Lethe's voice dropped into his head like Burnout's long-forgotten conscience.
  Burnout grunted. "Innocent, my hoop. You think that old  slitch  was  out  for  a  pleasure  cruise  at  oh-four-
  hundred? Ten-to-one we jacked ourselves a drekload of red-hot BTL chips headed for Seattle or Spokane. If it makes
  you  feel  any  better,  we  probably  just  saved  the  lives  of  fifty  chipheads."  Burnout  didn't  give  a  frag  for  anyone
  addicted to Better Than Life simsense, but he wasn't sure if Lethe would know that or not.
  There was a long pause, then, "No, it does not make me feel any better."
  Burnout laughed.   "That's  what I  love about you.
  Everything's so black  and  white.  Well,  here's  a  reality  check  for  you,  chummer.  The  world  doesn't  work  that  way.
  There's no such thing as good and evil, just different shades of gray."
  "Explain yourself."
  Burnout  sighed  and  pushed  the  Bison  up  another  twenty  klicks  an  hour.  According  to  his  GPS,  they
  should  reach the abandoned  mail road in less than forty minutes, provided he could keep  this  tub  on  the  roadway.
  "There are always reasons for apparently evil acts."
  "Justifiable homicide?"
  "Yes."
  "No such thing."
  Burnout slammed his fist into the dash, trying to con-tain his anger. "All right, let's just forget for a minute that our
  little old lady was a piece of trash who has made the world a better place with her hasty departure."
  Lethe chuckled, a low soft thing that Burnout found oddly comforting. "All right, it is forgotten."
  Burnout nodded.  "That's  better. Let's say she was a granny out for a joyride to visit her brat's brats. I  chose  this
  vehicle for a reason. It's been years since I've been along this route. I don't know just how the terrain has changed. I
  passed up two Jackrabbits and a Westwind before this ride came along."
  "You have lost me again."
  "Then  listen, slot it! Granny comes along in the perfect vehicle for our purposes.  Now,  it  doesn't  matter  that  she
  hadn't been doing anything wrong, that she'd led an inno-cent life. We needed this truck, right?"
  Lethe chuckled again. "Well, at least I am still fol-lowing you."
  Burnout slowed to take a long, winding curve, then punched  it in the short  straight-away. "Now suppose  we  left
  Granny alive. What's the first thing she's going to do when the next car comes by?"
  Lethe's voice took on the cautious  tone Burnout had noticed him using whenever he was beginning to fall behind
  
  Burnout's logic. "She would signal the car to pick her up?"
  Burnout laughed. "Fragging right. And when that car stopped, what's the next thing she would have done?"
  "I think I begin to see your reasoning. She would have notified the authorities of our activities."
  "Score one for the spirit. I think you're getting it. You see, even if she hadn't been a smuggler, I'd still have had to
  geek her to keep Mercury from picking up our trail."
  Another long pause. "That is, of course, where your reasoning goes astray."
  Burnout grunted and slowed the Bison to maneuver around  some  deep  potholes.  "Astray?  And  what  do
  you mean? My logic is rock-solid. I had to do what I had to do."
  "Maybe  I'm  being  a  bit  presumptive,  and  forgive  me  if  I've  not  followed  everything  exactly,  but  if  she  was  a
  smuggler, then . . ."
  Burnout's supply of patience finally dried up. "Then what? Spit it out!'"
  "If the woman was a smuggler, then, if I judge things correctly, the last people she would want to contact  would be
  the authorities. So, by your reasoning, you could have left her alive and in no way jeopardized your agenda."
  Burnout sat in the howling wind, realization drifting into his mind. He nearly missed the tight arc in the road way. He
  fought the Bison back into the curve, hearing the sound  of branches  snapping  as the big tires caught  and shredded
  some of the shrubs in the ditch.
  In the long moments that followed, Burnout replayed everything in his mind. The squeal of the Bison's  tires  as  it
  screeched  to a halt in  front  of  him,  the  stench  of  burned  rubber  and  tar.  The  woman's  shout,  the  feel  of  the  door
  rending under his chrome fingers, the sight of the Predator as she pulled it from beneath  the seat, and finally
  the sound of her neck snapping, dull and wet, her body going limp under him.
  Now, Burnout had regained control of the big truck. He spoke in a soft voice, barely audible under the roar of the
  wind  whipping  in  the  open  door.  A  normal  person  couldn't have heard him say, "You know, I hate  it  when
  you do that."
  Lethe's voice was contrite. "My apologies. I did not
  mean to anger you. It is simply that I dislike death in all forms, and unnecessary death—"
  "I've heard the speech. Frag, I hate this."
  "Again, I apologize."
  They came to a long stretch  of straight road, just as the sun  started  to poke its head over the top of  the  eastern
  range. Burnout floored the accelerator, causing the big rig to jump forward like a live thing. "Well, I don't. I don't think
  I was wrong to nix her, even knowing that I could have left her alive. Even if she was a smuggler, Ryan has a pretty
  long arm. It might have taken him a bit longer, but he still would have found out what happened.  But that's  not the
  point, I guess. The point is that I made a split-second decision. When she pulled the Predator, I had two choices."
  "Yes," Lethe said. "You have made  your  reasons  clear.  Even  though,  in  hindsight,  they  may  not  have  been  as
  sound  as  you  would  have  liked  them  to  be,  I  understand  that  you  did  not  make  your  decision  lightly.  I
  underesti-mated you, and you deserve better. Please accept, the apology."
  A  feeling  ran  through  Burnout  then,  something  he  hadn't  felt  in  years.  In  all  his  previous  time  under
  Slaver's command, he'd been treated as nothing more than a  killing machine. Something to be pointed at the
  enemy and let go, and when there was no enemy present, Slaver had treated him as if he didn't exist, as if he was less
  than nothing.
  He recognized the feeling. Respect. It felt better than any killing rush, or drug high. It was almost intoxicating.
  He smiled. "Apology accepted."
  They traveled for another twenty minutes in silence,
  because the road had deteriorated to such a level it took
  every ounce of Burnout's skill just to maintain speed.
  Finally, Burnout's GPS indicated that this was the spot,
  and he pulled the Bison to the edge of the road.
  In the early sunlight, a wide glen stretched  off to either side of the highway. To his right, Burnout could  see  the
  charred remains of an old church in a far corner of the field. Across the narrow dirt road, an even older log cabin
  slumped toward the ground, years of neglect having finally taken their toll.
  "This is it," said Burnout.
  "This is what?"
  "This  is  where  the  turn-off  is  supposed  to  be.  That  burnt building was still a little  white  church  when  I
  was  a  kid.  The  Kodiak  once  told  me  that  old  cabin  belonged  to  his  great-grandfather,  way  back  before  the
  Awakening."
  Burnout turned his head to the left, and let the Bison roll slowly forward. "The old mail route used  to be right here."
  On the left of the vehicle, there was nothing but dry, yellow wheat grass, stretching up to the tree line.
  "There!" Burnout pointed to a break in the trees, which had been invisible from any angle but dead on. He turned
  the truck off the highway and coaxed it over the grass-land. As they  entered  the  forest,  the  overgrown  road  could
  only be made out as two separate ruts, too narrow for the Bison's big tires.
  Burnout pushed  the speed  up as high as he dared, and for the next hour, they climbed. Higher and higher, taking
  switchbacks with deft, fishtail cranks of the wheel. The air  grew  thinner,  and  the  soft  breeze  pushing  in  the
  doorway grew warmer as the sun heated up the afternoon.
  The road, which had started out as a minimal thing, turned slowly worse, until even the Bison couldn't navi-gate the
  narrow, slippery track anymore. Finally, Burnout halted the vehicle.
  
  "This is as far as the boat will go," he said as he shut off the engine. Actually he was surprised that they had made
  it this far up into the Montana Rocky Mountains. In the early morning sunlight, he could see the majestic, jagged rock
  face of Swan Mountain off to his right, and above, the rounded, pine-covered dome of Pony Mountain loomed.  The
  scent  of honeysuckle  and huckleberries filled the air as a starling broke from cover and shot into the sky.
  Burnout collected what remained of his gear. In the rear storage  compartment, he found extra rounds  for  the  twin
  Predators he now carried. Something about the rear space seemed wrong to him, the dimensions off by almost a meter.
  He  leaned  forward,  grabbed  the  carpeting  off  the  rear  wall  of  the  compartment,  and  found  the  locked,  hidden
  compartment. One swing of his fist and the heavy lock shattered.
  Hundreds  of  BTL  chips  flew  everywhere.  Better-Than-Life  were  highly  addictive  simsense  chips  with  sensory
  limits well beyond legal. Harder than drugs, and more addictive, these  silicon babies burned users  out, and many of
  them died.
  Burnout shook his head. "Told you she was low-life. Now are you happy?"
  "Luck."
  It  was  a  simple  word,  but  it  lodged  deep  inside  Burnout's  psyche  and  refused  to  be  pushed  away.  He
  didn't respond, trying to concentrate on the tasks  at hand. He shut  the rear compartment, stuffed the extra clips into
  the duster's pockets. Checked the Heart to make sure it was secure at his side, then strode into the brush.
  They climbed fast, Burnout's legs pistoning, his hands  snatching  for a hold on anything. Rocks and trees flashed
  by as he moved, his entire focus bent  on  covering  ground.  He  disregarded  the  path  they  crossed  after  about  ten
  min-utes of climbing. "That's  the way I went when I was a child.  I'm  pleased  to  see  it's  still  in  good  shape,
  that  means the Kodiak has been using it regularly."
  The IMS kicked in. "What  if it is being used  by someone other than your friend? It is possible he has died
  and that someone a bit less helpful has taken up residence on the mountain top."
  Burnout grunted and caught  the lower limb of a tree to pull himself up a  sharp  incline.  "Possible,  but  not  likely.
  Besides, we'll know when we get there, and that shouldn't be much longer."
  Despite his glib response, Burnout found that Lethe's comment brought  more than a bit of doubt  with  it.  If
   ^the Kodiak wasn't there, then Burnout's list of options dwindled considerably.
  As he ran, he realized that he was nervous.  Something he hadn't experienced since the day he discovered the full
  extent of his power at age seventeen.
  He wasn't so much nervous that the Kodiak would be
  dead, but more that the old man might just as well decide against helping them, or even worse, might tell Burnout that
  he was unable to help. That the Heart would remain forever just beyond his grasp.
  What's happening  to me? he wondered. Before Lethe, this kind of self-doubt was a dim feeling easily quashed  or
  alleviated  by  action.  Now,  with  an  expanding  aware-ness  of  the  world  around  him  came  a  deeper
  under-standing  of how dangerous  this whole situation had become.
  Lethe's comments about  the smuggler still bothered  him, but he didn't know why.  Her  death  had  been  more  than
  warranted. Maybe it was remorse. Maybe it was that he hadn't thought  it through  completely. That Lethe was right;
  Burnout had gotten lucky. In this game, against these  odds,  and  with  such  high  stakes,  luck  just  didn't  cut
  it.
  He'd have to be more careful in the future, maybe even talk to Lethe when he made a plan.
  The very idea of consulting someone before making a move caused  an itch in a place he just couldn't scratch. But
  the truth of it was that the spirit looked at things from a whole different angle. And it was a viewpoint that could prove
  valuable.
  Burnout was still considering this when they crested a nearly vertical rise and then stepped  out onto the edge of a
  small lake. Almost four  hundred  meters  across  and  ringed  on  three  sides  by  dense  forest,  the  placid  green  waters
  looked cool and clean. Just off shore, Burnout saw a fish jump, a huge salmon that he suspected  had fought its way
  back up the streams to the lake to spawn and die.
  "This is Cat Lake," he said. "The Kodiak ice-fishes here when the lean season makes hunting hard."
  "It is beautiful."
  Burnout said nothing, but simply circled the lake to where the rocky ground sloped up gently from the shore. As he
  scrambled up the rise, he looked out over the vast  valley that fell away to his side, and for just an instant, he was a
  boy  again,  clinging  to  his  mother's  hand,  fright-ened,  tired,  but  filled  with  awe  as  he  looked  out  into  the  vast
  wilderness.
  His whole childhood had been spent within the con-fines of the sprawl, and even though  he'd been told such  wild
  places still existed, he'd never really been able to imagine just how awe-inspiring they could be. He had  gripped  his
  mother's hand tightly, laughing with a giddy, intoxicated humor.
  His mother had just kept pulling him onward.
  Now, his nervousness increased as they crested the small rise, and Burnout stopped.
  Just  a hundred meters ahead, across  smooth granite, the tower rose into the sky,  its  rough-timber  skeleton  frame
  topped with a circular turret. At the base of the tower, a cabin had been built using the huge main struts  as a sup-port
  base.
  From the small smokestack on the cabin's roof, a pale gray cloud puffed skyward until it was caught  by the breeze
  and dispelled. Burnout's cybernetic sense of smell caught the scent, and for the first time since beginning his journey,
  a  tremendous  weight  fell  from  his  shoulders.  He  knew  that  musky  scent,  and  it  brought  with  it  many  memories,
  flooding him and leaving him with one feeling.
  
  It smelled like home.
  Suddenly, he heard a sound  echo from deep within the  tree  line.  Burnout  readied  himself  and  within  a  minute,  a
  huge  shambling  form  bearing  an  impossibly  huge  armload  of  firewood  pushed  through  the  trees,  heading  for  the
  cabin.  The  form  was  that  of  a  man,  taller  even  than  Burnout,  though  the  cyberzombie  remembered  him  as
  being much bigger.
  The man wore loose-fitting linens and a dark fur coat. The clothing only added to the impression of vast  size and
  power, though  the man's clothing did nothing to  hide  the  bulging  gut.  A  snow-white  beard  rolled  down  his  chest,
  joining in a glorious snarl with the salt and pepper locks coming from the man's head.
  The man took two more steps before stopping. He tilted his head high. Wide nostrils flared, sniffing.
  Then, with a move so fast it seemed impossible for so much mass to move so swiftly, the man dropped the wood
  and turned in Burnout's direction. The large double-
  headed axe, which had been hanging from the man's belt, seemed to materialize in his huge paws.
  He sniffed again, his tiny eyes closed. Then, in a deep growl, the old man spoke. "I don't know your scent, and you
  don't belong here. Leave the way you came."
  Burnout felt a strange tremor run though his body, something that told him not to disobey. He laughed.
  "Old Kodiak, it's me. Burn . . . Billy Madson.  It's been a long time since you first taught  me the beginning ways of
  the path. My mother brought me, remember?"
  The  old  man's  defensive  posture  didn't  falter.  "I  remember  my  own,  creature.  Billy  Madson  was
  very gifted, headstrong, and impatient. You are not him. Leave now."
  Burnout  took  a  step  forward.  "Old  Kodiak,  things  have  changed,  more  than  I'd  like  to  admit.  But  it  is  me,  Billy
  Madson.  I've returned to you because  I need your help, and you are the last option I have. Please, you must
  help me."
  The old man's eyes finally focused on Burnout. They seemed to grow bright, and Burnout knew he was looking into
  the astral. The Kodiak stared for a minute, then stepped  back. "Billy, my  son,  what  has  been  done  to  you?"
  The deep growl took on the  slightest  quail  of  despair. "There is so little of you left, and even that frac-tured
  bit of spirit is completely overwhelmed by some-thing golden that is trapped inside you."
  The old man stepped forward. "Have you come for me to free your spirit from this abomination? To set things  right
  with you again?"
  Burnout shook his head sadly, abruptly aware of his chrome body, suddenly  more than a bit ashamed of what he'd
  become. "No, Kodiak. I've laid my bets, and I don't doubt that the end will come soon. But first I must talk to you."
  The old man frowned. "My son, what could one who has forsaken everything the fates meant  him  to  be  have  to
  say?"
  Burnout felt those words like a blow, but still a smile came to his lips as his hands dipped into the cloth at his waist.
  "What I have to say can wait. First, it's what I have to show you." Burnout held the Heart out toward the old man,
  the sunlight catching the perfection of its creation, sending out a dazzling wash of golden light that made the sun seem
  pale.
  Under the sparkle of the Heart's light, the old man sank to his knees. "Oh, my son. I fear for you, for you hold the
  beginning, or possibly  the end, of the world in your hands."
  15
  Ryan sank into the bottom of his seat as the Phoenix II LAV accelerated into the air. The wind had little effect on the
  heavy vehicle, and the ride was solid, if a little jerky as Dhin tried to keep them below local radar.
  Dhin's voice came over the tacticom. "ETA forty-three minutes."
  Ryan nodded. "Copy," he said. "Jane, you on-line?"
  "I'm in my virtual steel box and ready to integrate everybody's feed," came her digital voice.
  "Excellent, you'll be my clairvoyance for the others. What's the situation on site?"
  "Well, Quicksilver, you're not going to like this. The whole  place  is  crawling  with  local  law.  They're  still
  freaked  over  Burnout,  and  they've  got  traffic  closed  off  from  all  directions.  Some  local  shaman  is  doing  a  lot  of
  mumbo-jumbo, but he doesn't  seem to be getting any-where. If anything, that's  spooking  the  local  cops  even  more.
  You roll in there the wrong way and things could get ugly."
  Axler cut in. "Ready for plan beta, Quicksilver?"
  Plan Beta was a simple diversionary tactic, which would call for Dhin setting  down somewhere outside  the
  perimeter, then both he and Jane arranging for a distrac-tion while the primary team got in and got out.
  Ryan thought about it, then laughed. "No. Dhin, fly straight in. Land on an open stretch  of pavement by the depot
  building."
  Axler laughed. "What,  you planning on just buzzing in and pushing  all the law kids  around  like  you  were  Daniel
  Howling Coyote jumped up from the burial ground?"
  Ryan nodded. "That's exactly what I plan on doing. Jane, can you get me Nadja on a private channel?"
  "Sure, Quicksilver. Connecting now."
  
  Ryan waited in silence for a moment. Then Nadja's sleepy, concerned voice filled his ears. "Ryan? Is every-thing all
  right?"
  A dull, empty ache filled Ryan's chest. "Yes, every-thing's fine. I need a favor."
  "Name it."
  "We're headed into a hot situation near Kooskia in the Salish-Shidhe Council lands. We need some big official pull,
  because were short on time and long on jurisdiction. I don't want some second-rate cop telling us that we can't inspect
  the site. Think you can help us out?"
  Nadja's voice was no longer concerned, it was all busi-ness now. "What's the time frame?"
  "Twenty minutes, give or take."
  Nadja sighed. "The Native American Nations loved Dunkelzahn, and Salish-Shidhe is no exception. You'll have the
  full cooperation of their entire government."
  "Thanks. It'll save us valuable time."
  "You're welcome," Nadja said. "And Ryan?" The con-cern was back in her voice.
  "Yes?"
  "Do you know what you're doing?"
  Ryan smiled. "I'm taking care of business as fast as I can so I can get back to you."
  Nadja laughed. "Good answer."
  The line went dead.
  Grind's voice filled his ears. "Frag, Ryan. You have to keep teaching us the basic rules of shadowrunning?"
  Miranda looked across the small cabin of the Phoenix. "What basic rule?"
  Axler's voice held a note of impatience. "Use all your talents, even if some of them are legal."
  The rest of the trip went quickly, and  as  the  team  checked their equipment one last time, the LAV howled
  into hover position and descended. With a soft thump, they were down, and Dhin cut the engines. The doors  hissed
  open, and the team hit dirt to find themselves staring into the barrels of more than twenty assault rifles.
  A big man stepped  forward into the still-blowing jet wash from the Phoenix. The dark skin of his face declared his
  Amerind heritage, and his tusked mouth showed his ork metatype. "Name and business, or we open fire."
  Ryan  didn't  even  slow  his  advance.  "Check  with  your  superiors.  I  have  clearance  to  take  charge  of  this  crime
  scene."  Ryan's magically enhanced  senses  were at full alert, and he felt  confident.  "I  don't  need  you  getting  in  the
  way. Now get these guns out of my face, or I'll have your badge."
  On the tacticom, Ryan heard Grind whisper, "Cojones of pure titanium."
  The big ork didn't back down. "I said, name and busi-ness, or we—"
  Ryan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I heard you the first time. Get  on  the  horn  to  your  commanding
  officer, then get out of our way. I'll give you one minute."
  Ryan could see the hesitation in the ork's eyes.
  The cop stared at Ryan as if  to  judge  his  sincerity.  "Frag!"  he  said  finally,  then  turned  away.  "Get  me  Cap-tain
  Novak on the line. Now!"
  The  ork  walked  to  his  vehicle,  and  spoke  quickly  through  his  commlink  for  a  few  moments.  The
  conversa-tion  seemed heated. Within a minute he returned, his back stiff, his  face  flushed.  "My  apologies  for  your
  reception, sir. My entire force is at your disposal, of course."
  Ryan signaled for the rest  of  his  team  to  move  out.  "Just  tell your boys  to stay  out of our way. We'll be
  gone in a few minutes."
  He didn't wait for the man's response,  but signaled Miranda to take the far end of the compound, then shifted his
  sight to the astral as he walked toward the station. It only took a minute for Ryan to see that Burnout had been here.
  The whole area was polluted. But as he searched, he could not see any trails leading away from the depot.
  "Miranda, you see anything?"
  Miranda's  voice  came  over  the  tacticom.  "This  is  odd  ...  I  see  a  lot  of  background,  but  no  definite  trail.  If  a
  cyberzombie was here, the evidence should be plain."
  Just then, Jane cut in. "Quicksilver," she said, "I've picked up buzz of a murder at the junction of I-200 and
  Old Route 83. It's got Burnout written all over it. Local law also found the  door  to  a  Ford  Canada  Bison  just  a  few
  minutes up 83."
  "Just the door?"
  "Yeah, mangled pretty good, too. Ripped right off the hinges. Looks like our metal monster ditched the truck-train
  and carjacked himself some wheels."
  Ryan turned, whirling his arm above his head in the signal to rally up and return to the Phoenix. "Let's roll," he said,
  running toward it. "Thanks, Jane. Pipe the coordi-nates to Dhin. We're on our way."
  Then he was through  the doors  of the LAV,  and  they  were  firing  into  the  air.  Through  the  small  window,  Ryan
  looked down at the upturned faces of the local law boys. Their confusion was so apparent, he couldn't help but laugh
  as the Phoenix II shot into the morning sky.
  A few minutes later, Dhin's voice came over the tacticom. "Approaching location."
  Ryan peered out the thick macroglass side window. He could make out a few cop cars and a lot of backed up traffic,
  but there wasn't much to see. He pushed  his vision into the astral, looking around for the telltale signs  of Burnout's
  passage.
  The trail was subtle, like a shimmering wave, heat interference outlined with a green sparkle. It was much less visible
  than  it should  be,  which  answered  the  ques-tions  of  why  Ryan  couldn't  pick  it  up  back  at  the  depot.  It  was  only
  
  because the astral background was a lot dimmer out here that Ryan could perceive it at all.
  Burnout is somehow masking his aura, Ryan thought. Perhaps it's an accidental effect of the Dragon Heart.
  "I think I've picked up the trail," Miranda said. "But it's nothing like the slime path of a cyberzombie."
  Ryan refocused on the physical and turned toward her. "Can you follow it?"
  "I  think  so,"  Miranda  said.  "Let  me  see."  Then  her  body  slumped  as  she  went  astral.  Miranda  was
  projecting  her  consciousness  into  the  astral  plane  and  following  the  trail  left  by  Burnout.  It  was  something  Ryan
  couldn't do. As a physical adept, he could see into the astral plane, but
  he couldn't separate his consciousness from his physical being.
  Axler and Grind sat ready, their eyes riveted to Miranda's slumped form. Suddenly Miranda's eyes
   opened. "The trail is straight. He's headed north."
  Ryan's fists unclenched. He'd worried that Burnout might have doubled back on them, which would have meant he
  knew he was being pursued. As it was, the cyberzombie was making a buzz line for his destination, and unless  he had
  a very big card left to play, in the form of some heavy friends to help him out, he was unaware of how close the team
  had gotten.
  All the better. If Burnout had time to prepare, their reception  could  get  hot,  but  if  they  managed  to  take  him  by
  surprise, they might just smoke him out before he knew what hit him.
  Ryan looked at Miranda. "Track him in the astral. Let's pin him down."
  Miranda nodded and closed her eyes again.
  "Dhin," said Ryan.
  "Yes?"
  "North, until I tell you differently."
  "Copy."
  In  the  cabin,  the  roar  of  rockets  thundered  as  the  Phoenix  II  leapt  forward.  They  traveled  like  that  for
  another  five minutes, until Miranda opened  her eyes again. "Frag, that boy travels well."
  Ryan took the seat facing the mage. "You got him locked?"
  Miranda nodded.  "Yes, but there's something you should know."
  "What?"
  "There's a shaman and some kind of spirit with him."
  Ryan, who had been lost in his own thoughts  for a moment, was snatched  back to reality. "What  spirit?" He had a
  sinking feeling inside.
  "Don't know," Miranda said. "But it's the most pow-erful one I've ever seen, and it's inside our cyberzombie."
  Lethe, Ryan thought. Who else could it be?
  16
  In the heavy morning air, the smoke from the small camp-fire sent dim, gray smoke into the canopy  of pines. Off to the
  east, Burnout saw the dark mass of clouds, growing larger. A storm was coming, he could feel its tension in the muggy
  stillness.
  It's nearly upon us, he thought.
  On the other side of the campfire, the Kodiak knelt on a gigantic bearskin, which just fit inside  the  large  circle  of
  talismana he had laid out on the rocky soil. His medicine lodge. Next to the Kodiak sat the Heart, gleaming yellow in a
  giant bear's claw. The Heart seemed to glow dully in the darkening morning.
  Burnout glanced up at the Kodiak. The old man had started his spiritual journey almost an hour ago, beginning with
  soft chants accompanied by the rhythmic rattle of a bone shaker. Now, his painted face was streaked with sweat, and
  he didn't speak; instead, he simply swayed to some internal beat only he could hear.
  Just like old times, thought Burnout.
  Since the start of the ceremony, Lethe had said nothing, though  Burnout could almost sense  the spirit communing
  outside his perception. The longer they stayed together, the more attuned he and the Lethe seemed to be.
  Burnout watched the approaching storm, and a feeling of apprehension grew in him. It felt like . . . like . . .
  Mercury comes.
  Burnout looked down at his ravaged body, the skin of his hands flayed to the chrome, the dermal sheathing  poking
  through a ragged hole in his coveralls. The tele-scoping fingers that had served him so well were mangled
  and twisted, severed in places and unable to effectively retract.
  Burnout  knew  he  was  the  most  efficient  killing  machine  tech  and  magic  could  produce.  Both  times  he'd
  gone  up  against  Ryan,  the  simple  human—with  no  chrome Burnout could discern—had proven  tougher
  than  anything  Burnout  could  have  imagined.  Each  time,  the  man  had  scarred  Burnout  and  come  through
  alive.
  Questions  plagued Burnout with their  unanswerable  intensity.  Why  had  this  man  been  chosen  by  Dunkelzahn?
  What lay hidden beneath Mercury's human exterior that made him a match for the best  that science and the dark arts
  could produce?
  
  In his peripheral vision, he saw that the  Kodiak  had  stopped  swaying  and  had  opened  his  eyes.  The  Heart  had
  darkened, and it lay quiet. The Kodiak heaved a heavy sigh and sat upright on the bearskin. Exhaustion lined his face
  as he spoke. "I have talked with Bear, my son. He has shown me the truth of things, both seen and unseen."
  Burnout leaned forward hungrily. "Yes, what did Bear tell you about the Heart?"
  The Kodiak's narrow eyes looked sad. "Of the artifact you call the Heart, Bear said simply that  it  follows  its  own
  destiny. It isn't for you or any man to possess and control. It has a place in the sacred dance, and though  it might be
  useful to you for now, it will fulfill its destiny."
  Burnout sat back, unsure of how to take what the old man had said. "Does that mean I can tap into it? That I can—"
  The  old  man  waved  him  off.  "Your  relationship  to  the . . .  Heart is nebulous  at best.  You  can  do  with  it
  what you can. It cannot give you back the gift you have thrown away."
  Burnout nodded.  He had longed to feel the power of the magic arts he had once wielded with pleasure. Now  that
  yearning faded with a grim sigh.
  "As the Heart makes its moves according to the sacred dance, you might be able to connect  with it. That's all I can
  tell you."
  Burnout knew it was all he could have hoped for and more than he deserved. He was about to stand, when the
  Kodiak spoke again. "The Bear has spoken to me of the spirit that travels with you."
  Once again, Burnout found himself leaning forward.
  "The  one  you  call  Lethe  is  directly  tied  to  the  Heart  and  its  sacred  dance.  Though  now,  through  methods
  unspeak-able, it is also tied to you. Bear does  not think the two of you can be separated  at this time. And even if  it
  were pos-sible, it would most likely kill one, if not both, of you."
  Burnout wondered how Lethe felt about being a pris-oner inside him.
  The Kodiak chuckled. "So I suggest  you get used  to him, son. It looks as if this Lethe is going to be with you for
  some time."
  Burnout nodded. "I don't want to get rid of Lethe, Kodiak. He's proven himself, and I trust him."
  The old man closed his eyes and gave a tired smile. "That's good, my son, because  the spirit's presence  is the only
  thing that makes you human. The abomination you've become is tempered by the proximity of Lethe. With him
  near,  you  become  more  than  the  sum  of  your  parts.  Without  him,  any  chance  you  might  have  of  con-tacting  the
  essence of the Heart will disappear."
  Again  Burnout  nodded,  though  this  time  more  to  him-self.  It  was  just  as  he'd  thought.  Lethe  was  the  one
  responsible for his heightened awareness, his increased memory retention.
  The old man's face became grave. "Bear also told me of another who is tied to you and the Heart."
  "Another?"
  "One who tracks you."
  Ryan. So my gut hunch was right.
  Burnout stood, suddenly anxious. "Yes, the one called Ryan Mercury."
  "Bear told me that the one you call Mercury is even now in pursuit of the Heart that you carry."
  So Mercury  is  coming,  for  sure.  Burnout  felt  the  familiar anticipation roll through  him. I will be ready for
  you, Mercury. You may be the best I've met, but I will destroy you like I have the others.
  "This one stalking you, this Mercury, you are aware how powerful he is?"
  Burnout nodded. "He is the most formidable opponent I have ever faced, and each time we meet he gets  better. He
  learns more and more of my capabilities, but always seems to be able to surprise me."
  The old man stroked his thick beard. "Bear has told me that he is even more powerful than you can imagine."
  Burnout gave him a hard look. "In what way?"
  The Kodiak frowned. "Bear did not reveal specifics, saying only that the being named Mercury is powerful enough
  that  you, even as ...  altered as you've become, are no match for him.  There  is  one  thing  that  can  be  used  to  your
  advantage, however."
  Burnout looked down at the rain of his body. "Give it to me. I can use all the help I can get."
  "Mercury has no idea just how powerful he is."
  Burnout looked up sharply. "What?"
  "Mercury has come nowhere close to realizing his full potential."
  Burnout grinned. "He can't use what he doesn't know about. He is only as strong as he thinks he is."
  "He will be here soon,"  the Kodiak said. "And  he comes ready for battle."
  Burnout stood. "Then I better prepare. I think Mercury is in for a few surprises when he arrives."
  The old man rose as well. "My son, he comes in force. No matter how well prepared you are, there is no way you will
  stand against his onslaught alone."
  Burnout shrugged. "Thanks for the advice, Kodiak. But I'm tired of  running,  and  I  don't  have  anywhere  to
  go even if I had the stomach for it."
  The old man's voice grew compassionate. "I said you could not stand up to him alone. But this is my mountain, my
  home. No matter what dark paths you have chosen to follow, you were once my student,  and that makes you as much
  of a son  to me as any blood tie. No one harms my children in my  home.  I  am  not  as  young  as  I  once  was,  but  my
  powers have not waned. I am far more powerful today  than when you came to me all  those  years  ago.  You  will  not
  stand alone when Mercury arrives."
  Burnout looked at the old man. "Thank you," he said. "For everything;"
  Into Burnout's mind came Lethe's voice filled with fierce determination. "No. You will not stand  alone. The Kodiak
  
  and I will be here with you. Ryan has already tried once to take the Heart for his own. He abandoned  his devotion  to
  his ancient master, and it was only by your intervention that the Dragon Heart was  torn  from  his  selfish  hands.  He
  must never be allowed to take it back."
  17
  Ryan sat in the Phoenix II's cabin, cruising above Old Route 83, listening to the roar of the engines. Outside, the winds
  of the approaching thunderstorm howled like a banshee. The hole in his gut grew hollow as he listened to Miranda.
  "It's like Burnout is possessed, but not quite. His aura looks nothing like what I've seen in other cyberzombies. It's
  as though  there's another spirit hovering in and around him, and one big fragger too. Never seen a pres-ence
  like that."
  Axler turned to Ryan. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
  Ryan nodded. "Lethe."
  Axler's fine eyebrows drew tight. "Never did trust that astral piece of drek."
  Ryan sighed. "That also explains why Burnout's aura is masked and his trail is hard to follow. Where are they?"
  "He's on a mountain top, not far from here."
  Ryan stood and looked down at Miranda. "You said there was a shaman with him?"
  "I think so. I've gotten good at identifying them. He was certainly a gifted old man, but he could have been a mage."
  "Did the shaman tag you when you made your pass?"
  Miranda smiled, showing white teeth. "Null chance. I was very discreet."
  "I'm counting on it," Ryan said. "If Burnout has any idea we're coming, he'll be prepared. Or gone." Ryan turned and
  spoke into the tacticom. "Dhin?"
  "Yes?"
  "Give me the status  on that storm you've been promising me."
  "Look out the window, Bossman. One picture is worth a thousand lines of code."
  Ryan ducked to the macroglass  porthole.  Massive  black clouds were spreading rapidly, lit with flashes of
  lightning. The LAV was headed for the heart of the darkness.
  AH right, thought Ryan. The tactician in him took over. The storm should  hit in the next hour, and his team would
  follow it in, by-the-book assault.
  He turned, "Jane?"
  Her voice sounded in his earphone. "Here, Quicksilver."
  "You got satellite imagery of Pony Mountain?"
  "I  just  decked  into  the  weather  feeds,  courtesy  of  Ares  Macrotechnology,"  Jane  said.  "They're  not
  military-grade, but should do for our assault. And they come in glorious full-color, three-D topographical."
  "Thanks," Ryan said. In the rear of the cabin, the small holographic display lit up with a three-dimensional terrain
  map of the surrounding area.
  Ryan turned to Miranda. "Can you pinpoint him?"
  Miranda's almond eyes fixed on Ryan, and she smiled. "Of course."
  Ryan stepped back to the holo display. "Show me."
  Miranda pointed to the display. "This ridge line here.  Pony  Mountain.  There's  a  tower  of  some  sort  right  at  the
  southeast edge."
  Ryan nodded, studying the terrain of the mountain top, which was shaped like an upside-down triangle.
  Grind whistled. "That's a rough piece of ground there, Ryan. Sheer cliff faces on two sides, dense  forest and open
  ground on the others."
  Axler stepped  up to the display. "The only landing zone is this spot  of barren ground just up from this  tiny  lake.
  Unless we want to hike in?"
  Miranda was shaking her head. "Not if we can help it."
  Axler went on. "The ground practically funnels us straight toward the tower. If he's ready for us or if the noise  of
  this bird alerts him too soon,  he could take us
  out with a few missiles before we get three hundred meters."
  Ryan looked at the map for a moment, then the plan came to him. "Okay, this is how it's going down."
  Grind edged in next to him. "You're going in? I know you're a good  tactician, Quicksilver, but this is prime ground
  for an ambush. Standard strategy would suggest forcing his hand, forcing him off the mountain and into a position of
  our choosing, not his."
  Ryan looked at the dwarf. "You spooked by our cyberzombie?"
  "He's a killing machine, Ryan."
  "Yes, but I've got a plan."
  Axler spoke. "Spill it, Ryan. We're with you."
  Ryan  smiled  and  turned  back  to  the  holo  display.  "Twice  I've  almost  died  because  I
  underestimated Burnout. I'm not going to make that mistake a third time."
  
  The rest of the team gathered around him and the display.
  "All right," said Ryan "Here's how this goes down."
  He looked at the rest of them. "Axler, you and Miranda are Alpha team. Grind and I will be Beta." He turned back to
  the map. "Grind was right. The terrain works against us  here.  We  have  to  assume  that  Burnout  chose  this  spot  to
  minimize the risk of being outflanked."
  Axler nodded.  "Taking the only avenue to the tower is like walking down a dragon's  throat. He'll chew us up  and
  spit us right back out."
  Ryan smiled. "Yes, except we won't be taking that avenue."
  Axler looked at Ryan coldly. "How else?"
  Ryan pointed to the cliff face on the far side of the clearing. "Here."
  "Pretty fragging dangerous," Axler said.
  "Hear me out," Ryan said. "This plan has its draw-backs, but at least listen to it before you pick it apart. Burnout is
  smart, and he's tough. It's going to  take  all  of  us  working  together  to  make  sure  this  comes  off  without  any  of  us
  getting iced."
  Axler waited. "Go ahead."
  Ryan nodded and turned back to the map. "Burnout's
  got incredible hearing and will most likely notice the Phoenix before we clear a thousand  meters. Even with the storm.
  Now, this craft has all the aerodynamics of a large rock when you cut the engines.  She  falls,  and  she  falls  fast.  I'm
  going to have Dhin take her up to her max alti-tude—about two thousand meters, if I'm correct. Situate us above
  the cliff edge, here."
  He pointed again to the sheer rock face.
  "Dhin will then cut  the  engines.  We'll  freefall  to  just  below  the  cliff's  edge,  and  he'll  hit  the  engines.  Given  the
  amount of thrust needed to bank our fall, it should sound just like a thunderclap rolling through the valley."
  Ryan looked around at them. Both Axler and Grind  were  nodding,  smiling.  Only  Miranda  looked  apprehen-sive.
  "In the few seconds  following, Alpha  and  Beta  teams will debark on the cliff's edge. Then Dhin will take the
  Phoenix up and over, landing at the LZ here, in the clearing just where Burnout would expect us to be."
  Ryan pointed to the south edge of the ridge. "Alpha team  will  skirt  the  cliff  here,  while  Beta  team  moves
  along this slope." He pointed to the north side, facing the lake.
  "During this, Dhin will land and send  out the  two  drones;  one air, one ground, to head toward the cabin.
  Making just enough noise so Burnout will think we're prime targets for the ambush."
  Grind's face pulled into a snarled grin. "Simple cut and sweep. Very nice."
  "Thanks. The first team to tag Burnout calls it. Hope-fully, it will be the drones, but if not, whichever team tags  him
  does nothing until the other team is in position. Got it?"
  Miranda's apprehension came to the surface. "What if Burnout makes contact first?"
  Ryan nodded.  "Good question.  If unavoidable contact  happens,  Dhin  will  use  the  drones  to  keep  him  occupied
  until reinforcements arrive. Any questions?"
  Axler brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. "Yeah. What about the shaman? He could have some pretty
  nasty surprises in store for us."
  Miranda laughed. "Leave the old man to me. Ain't no backwoods piece of drek gonna  spoil our play. I'll eat him for
  lunch."
  Ryan winced. Miranda was an excellent mage, espe-cially in  theory  and  experimental  spell  design,  but  could  she
  slice and dice in the non-corporate world? He didn't know. "I sure hope you're right, Miranda. 'Cause if not, this whole
  mission is going to turn to drek."
  Miranda fingered the large ruby pendant that hung  from her neck. "Trust  me. The old man is going to find out the
  hard way just how well I know what I'm doing."
  Ryan  stared  at  her,  searching  for  clues  to  what  lay  under  the  arrogance.  "You  got  something
  against  shamans?"
  Miranda shook her head.  "Undisciplined  slots,"  she  snarled,  giving  Ryan  a  sly  smile.  "No,  got  nothing  against
  them. I'm just juiced up for a fight. It's been a long time since I felt the pleasure of raging mana."
  Ryan smiled. "Just don't burn it all too soon."
  Her smile faded. "You handle the tactics, I'll deal with the arcana."
  Her attitude bothered him, but he really didn't have much choice but to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Okay," he
  said, looking around at the others. "Any fur-ther questions?"
  They all shook their heads.
  "Dhin?"
  "Yes?"
  "You ready for action?"
  There was laughter over Ryan's earpiece. "I'm already into position for the power dive. The storm is really starting
  to kick things around down there. Better strap yourselves in. This is going to be a hell of a ride."
  Ryan shut off the topographical display. "Jane?"
  "Ready to coordinate tacticom and vid from here, Quicksilver."
  "All right, everybody strap in."
  In the next few seconds, the team strapped themselves in to their crash harnesses  and made one last check
  of
  
  their weapons and ammunition. When they were all ready, Ryan said, "Dhin. Take us down."
  The steady rocket roar, a constant background noise until now, went silent. Ryan's stomach shot  into his throat as
  the Phoenix II began to fall, picking up speed as it dropped from the sky.
  18
  On the far  edge  of  the  Matrix,  in  a  deep  pocket  of  pure  ultraviolet  information,  the  world  of  Wonderland
  stretched  tendrils out into cyberspace.  Alice  rarely  trav-eled  through  the  Matrix  to  find  what  she  wanted.  Instead,
  Wonderland pulled that information into itself.
  Alice and Wonderland were one and the same. Two facets of the same gem. Two manifestations of the same code.
  In this case, she was checking out Rox's story about Dunkelzahn's role in the Crash of '29.
  The  shining  city  stretched  up  into  a  glossy  black  sky  around  her  as  she  walked.  Moody  and  smoking  more
  ciga-rettes than she should. Virtual smokes didn't have the drawbacks of the real thing, but the narcotic effects were
  programmed in. The city street felt like a canyon  of  mir-rored  blue  glass,  a  trench  of  glistening  mist  over  an  empty
  urban landscape. No people, only buildings. This was her city and she rarely shared it.
  Guess I'll have to deal with Rox sooner or later. Wonder-land had checked out his story, but had turned up a few
  inconsistencies. Anomalies. Alice didn't like anomalies.
  She opened  a window and peered through  into the land programmed to run  like  Lewis  Carroll's  Wonderland.  She
  faded herself into that reality as the Cheshire cat, noticing that Rox had survived to reach a carefully sculptured garden
  of white roses, some of which seemed to have been painted red.
  On the far side of the garden, a game of croquet was in  progress.  Man-sized  playing  cards,  each  with  swords  at
  their flat sides, leaned on each other to form crude bridges.
  A huge woman, dressed in an ornate red frock and
  wearing  a  crystal  tiara  in  her  high-piled  hair,  was  screaming at the top of her lungs. " 'Off with his head!' I
  said, 'Off with his head!' "
  The guards, who had tumbled to the ground when she began screaming, rushed about in a frenzy, trying to find the
  offending party. Unfortunately, the Queen of Hearts seemed to be pointing in all directions, one right after the other.
  She even pointed to a rose bush  that an over-zealous guard had lopped to the ground.
  The Queen looked at the bush and wailed, "Now, off with his head."  This time she had finally settled on the guard
  who had chopped down the roses.
  The other two grabbed the third and hauled him away.
  Alice looked around for Roxborough, finally spotting  him near the garden entrance. Tucked under his arm, a great
  pink flamingo struggled  to get free while Rox-borough tried to  get  the  small  hedgehog  at  his  feet  to  stay  still  long
  enough for him to use the flamingo to hit the poor creature.
  Roxborough  looked  years  older  than  he  had  the  last  time,  and  he  had  covered  his  fat  body  with  a  table  cloth,
  wrapped around like a towel and tucked to stay  up under his arms. He winced in  pain  as  he  moved,  bending  down
  slowly.
  Alice knew the lupus was extremely painful, and would continue to worsen if her program was  allowed  to  run  its
  course.
  Roxborough  grimaced  and  dropped  the  flamingo,  which  jumped  away  from  him  in  an  explosion  of  pink
  feathers.  He  screamed  suddenly  and  collapsed  to  the  ground  in  a  heap.  The  small  hedgehog  unrolled  from  its
  protective ball and scampered after the flamingo.
  Roxborough spotted  Alice's Cheshire cat icon and glared at her. "Damn it, Alice! I've told you everything I
  know."
  "Oh, I hardly believe that, Rox. In fact, you've been very naughty."
  "Naughty? Get bent, Alice."
  Alice settled in the tree above him. "You seemed to have left out a pulse or two of data regarding the story  of your
  alleged attempt to purchase Gossamer Threads."
  Roxborough  looked  at  her,  then  shook  his  head.  He  was  in  obvious  pain,  though  he  was  trying  to  pretend
  other-wise. "It's a pity you had to show up just now. I'd  finally  gotten  the  hang  of  this  game.  I  think  I  could  have
  actually beaten the Queen  this  round.  That  damn  flamingo  was  a  dud,  though.  Wouldn't  even  keep  his  neck  stiff.
  Every time his head hit the hedgehog, the little bugger rolled less than a meter."
  Alice's tone was soft. "Rox, stick to the subject, or you'll be the next one to lose your head here."
  "Did I hear someone say lose your head?"
  The Queen waddled up to the tree, breathing hard. "Hello, Cat. You want me to take this little bastard's head?"
  Alice grinned at Roxborough.
  "It would be my pleasure, you understand. We haven't had a good beheading in quite a while."
  Roxborough snorted. "You just took the guardsman's head a few moments ago."
  The Queen looked baffled. "Isn't that what I said? We haven't had a beheading in quite a while."
  Roxborough  gave  Alice  a  pleading  look.  "All  right,  Cat.  As  you  said,  back  to  the  subject.  Just  what  are  you
  
  accusing me of?"
  "Lying for one. You told me you were trying to buy Gossamer Threads. What you left out was how that was being
  done. And last, if not the most damning, is that you kind of changed the order of how things went down."
  Roxborough raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
  Rage filled Alice. "You told me that you had your hacker hit the place after you had already decided to buy it out. I
  just double  checked  that.  Eva  Thorinson  was  working  for  Acquisition  Technologies,  doing  routine  runs  against  a
  number  of  small  companies.  It  wasn't  until  after  Thorinson's  equipment  got  fried  that  you  attempted  to  acquire
  Gossamer Threads. And you didn't try to buy it. There was no bargaining table for you to go to. You tried a hostile
  take-over."
  "Whatever protection they had was good enough to keep Eva out, and I wanted it," Rox said with a nervous
  glance at the Queen of Hearts, who was watching the con-versation with detached fascination.
  Alice grinned. "However, you forgot that most important rule. Don't deal with a dragon, and better yet, never
  try to frag one over. Dunkelzahn burned you good on that
  deal."
  *
  Roxborough looked  up  at  her,  wincing.  "Look,  Alice.  Let's  take  this  step  by  step.  All  right,  I  wasn't  completely
  honest, but that doesn't matter. Dunkelzahn was the one with the code. Not me."
  "I don't believe you. I think it's just as likely that you created the Crash entity and used  it to try to get a hold on a
  number of companies. Maybe it just backfired on you."
  "You don't believe me? Why don't you check with your old friend Damien Knight. He was so sure the Big
  D was behind that whole mess that he's been working on a way to kill the old lizard for years." Roxborough let out a
  harsh laugh. "And he might just have been the one to succeed."
  Alice felt as if she had just been punched in the gut. "Knight?"
  "Why  not?  Look  at  their  entire  relationship.  Deadly  moves  on  a  chessboard  that  uses  human  pawns.  Damien
  profited a good deal from the dragon's death. His lackey, Kyle Haeffner, is now in the White House."
  Alice was stunned.  Damien was a close friend of hers, he'd  kept  her  alive  after  the  Crash  virus  had  flatlined  her.
  Damien had  saved  her,  kept  her  sane  for  a  while.  And  the  mention  of  Kyle's  name  brought  memories  crashing  in.
  Memories of her young, human body. Of love and mar-riage, of a life so far removed from the here and now that it felt
  alien to her. Twenty-eight years ago she had been married to Kyle Haeffner.
  The queen spoke, "This one!" She pointed to Rox-borough. "Off with his head!"
  "No! Alice, think about  it. Damien had the money, the time, the access,  and more than enough  motive. Like I said,
  Knight always thought Dunkelzahn was responsible for the Crash. Knight lost a lot more than money."
  Alice stood stunned for a moment. She didn't believe
  Roxborough, but without checking, things seemed to fit together too well for her to disregard his information.
  Guards surrounded Roxborough and carried him off with great effort. The queen was smiling, her flushed face aglow
  with delight. "Finally, a beheading to remember."
  "Alice!" Roxborough yelled. "Alice, at least give me a chance here."
  But Alice had faded out again. She stood in the hissing rain, the glossy  street lamps reflecting off the looking-glass
  surfaces all around. The black ice streets, the mirror buildings that spiked into the sky.
  She walked, letting the rain soak her through. Until she was chilled and  miserable.  Wonderland  would  search  the
  Matrix for confirmation of Roxborough's claims, and in the meantime, she walked. Alone except for the empty city and
  the static of rain.
  19
  As the Phoenix II fell through  the stormy black sky, Grind and  Axler  howled,  grins  of  delight  on  their  faces.
  Miranda's eyes were closed, and she looked relaxed for the first time since Ryan had outlined the assault plan.
  As they plummeted, the boom of thunder grew deaf-ening until it seemed as if they were under attack. Ryan could
  see white flashes all around the LAV as they fell through the growing darkness.
  "Everybody brace yourselves! This is going to be a quick stop." Dhin sounded calm.
  There was an explosion,  bigger  than  the  rest,  and  serious  gee forces slammed the runners deep into their
  cushioned seats. Ryan felt as though all the breath had been knocked out of him.
  "Cliffs edge!" shouted Dhin. "Go, go, go!"
  Ryan was the first out of his restraints. He jumped to the door and triggered it.
  Cold rain slashed at his face as the door swung out, and a devil's fork of lightning lit up the black sky outside. The
  LAV hovered just at the cliff's edge, and the world was a dim gray in the torrential rain.
  "Great  job,  Dhin,"  Ryan  yelled  into  the  tacticom.  "We  won't  need  to  rappel."  He  jumped,  landing  on  a  wet
  out-cropping of rock. Miranda was next, then Axler and Grind leapt simultaneously, landing with weapons drawn.
  "Everyone's down," said Ryan.
  The  Phoenix  II's  doors  closed  themselves  as  Dhin  pulsed  the  jets  and  maneuvered  the  big  machine
  upward. He shot over their heads, going east.
  
  As Axler and Miranda headed south and Ryan and Grind started north, they could hear the sound of the LAV
  burning brush  in an attack  landing.  Hopefully,  Burnout  would  believe  that  the  runners  were  still  aboard  and  react
  accordingly.
  "Deploying drones," said Dhin.
  Then there was nothing but the sound of thunder, the flash of electricity, and the chill of rain.
  Ryan and Grind moved quickly over the rocky terrain. Just to their right, far below, they could see the black mirror
  surface of Cat Lake, rippled with the pounding water of the storm.
  Miranda's voice came nervously  through  the comm. "I can't see drek in this rain," she said. "And  I've lost the old
  man."
  Axler came on. "Stay chill," she said. "Focus on the objective. The shaman will show."
  Ryan nodded  silently to her advice. Axler was right on. A good  leader, and the one who would be in charge if he
  weren't here. Grind and Ryan had made it a hundred meters, and were just getting into position to make their sweep at
  the tower.
  Suddenly, through the hissing rainstorm came a crash and a rumble that wasn't thunder.
  "Frag, Miranda! Watch it!"
  Axler's voice.
  There was a short  scream, which was cut off mid-breath.
  "We have contact. Miranda's down!"
  "We're coming," Ryan said, breaking into a fast run. Grind came just behind him. As they ran, they could hear the
  sound of Dhin's drones opening fire.
  "Jane, did you get a feed from one of them? What happened?"
  Jane's voice sounded angry over the tacticom. "A log jam fell on Axler and Miranda," she said. "Axler dove out just
  in time, but Miranda is still down. Don't know how bad it is, but I don't think she's gone yet."
  "I hope she's all right," Ryan said. "We need her."
  Jane interrupted. "Axler's engaging some huge creature I can't quite make out. Looks like a bear or something. She
  might need help taking it down."
  Ryan concentrated on his magic and increased his
  speed. Like wind through  the trees he moved. Barely touching  the ground, weaving through  the trunks of the pines.
  He pulled out in front of Grind and was ten meters ahead when the ground erupted at his feet.
  Like an explosion from the earth, a creature of roots  and dirt and humus popped  to the surface before  him.  Ryan
  threw himself to the left just before the thing's metal blades sliced the air where he had been.
  He tumbled and fired his Ingram. In front of him was something out a nightmare. Burnout, naked to the waist,  his
  body covered in mud, like some undead creature crawling from the grave, leapt out of the hole in the earth.
  "Ambush!" yelled Grind, then he opened fire.
  But  Burnout  was  no  longer  where  he  had  been.  With  reflexes  so  swift  Ryan  could  barely  follow  him,  the
  cyber-zombie sprang  almost three meters straight up. While Burnout was still in  the  air,  and  in  a  flash  of  lightning,
  Ryan could see the mechanical third arm sweep upward, its mounted weapon sighting in on Grind.
  Grind was on the move, the mounted weapon chewing up the ground where the dwarf had just been.
  Ryan kept rolling as the cyberzombie flew. He looked into  the  astral,  trying  to  see  the  Dragon  Heart.  Did
  Burnout still have it?
  Ryan found what he was looking for instantly. The Dragon Heart glowed amid the bright astral flares that made up
  Burnout's  aura.  And  Miranda  had  been  right,  Lethe  was  here  as  well—like  a  stabilizing  energy  that  served  to
  anchor  the  cyberzombie's  spirit.  Is  the  spirit  trapped  inside,  Ryan  wondered,  or  a  willing  possessor?  Or
  perhaps he has taken control?
  A split second passed before Ryan brought himself back. "Target engaged!"
  Jane came on. "Dhin's Stealth Sniper is coming your way, Quicksilver."
  "Copy, Jane."
  Grind came up behind Ryan, laying down a sheet  of lead at the airborne body  of  Burnout,  trying  not  to  give  the
  cyberzombie any clear shots.
  As  Ryan rolled to his feet, he saw Grind take a burst  to the  chest.  The  dwarf  was  thrown  to  the  ground.
  Ryan
  didn't hesitate. He knew he had to engage Burnout hand to hand;  the weapon mounted on his third arm packed too
  much punch for open-ground combat.
  Ryan moved, lightning-quick, and was on Burnout before he could react. A round from one of the twin Predators
  Burnout held took meat off Ryan's shoulder, but he ignored it, channeling the pain away as he tackled the bigger man.
  He grabbed Burnout's third arm and twisted with all his strength.  The twist, combined with the  momentum  of  the
  cyberzombie landing, wrenched the weapon upward, its servos straining. Metal bent, hydraulics screamed, and the big
  gun went dead.
  Ryan felt a stabbing pain in his side, and shifted just fast enough  to avoid the entire length of a sharp metal spike
  jutting from the heel of Burnout's foot. The weapon penetrated  through  his ribs, but not far enough  to puncture  any
  internal organs.
  Too fragging close! Ryan ignored the pain and brought his Ingram up, triggering it as he raised his arm toward the
  cyberzombie's torso.
  Burnout twisted violently out of Ryan's grasp, dodging the shots. Then he struck at the gun hand, making Ryan jerk
  
  it out of aim. The pain in his gut faded slowly as he concentrated  with his magic. Ryan jumped for Burnout, a flying
  kick to the head. He connected, just as the cyber-zombie's hands clasped Ryan's knee.
  Pain exploded in Ryan's calf muscles, but the kick knocked Burnout backward. The cyberzombie somer-saulted and
  landed on his feet, then rushed Ryan, who was on the ground.
  Ryan rose to one knee, covered in mud and blood, bringing the Ingram up. He knew he wouldn't make it.
  He reached out with his magic, trying to touch the Dragon Heart, trying to draw strength  from it. He could sense  its
  presence like a small mana sun, but he couldn't tap into the power. His telekinetic strike barely made Burnout flinch.
  The cyberzombie crashed into Ryan, monoblades snap-ping out of his forearms and targeting Ryan's head.
  Ryan planted his feet on the man's metal torso and
  rolled with the impact, then pushed  off and sent  him flying through the air behind him. One of the blades left
  a deep cut in his Kevlar. Then the air around him was lit up with muzzle flash, and he became aware of the whine of
  Dhin's air drone as it peppered Burnout with light rounds.
  That seemed to slow him down, but he dodged  and grabbed the flying drone in a move so fast Ryan almost didn't
  catch it. Burnout jammed his hand into the whirling blades and destroyed the drone.
  Ryan struggled up, bringing the Ingram up again, this time with the grenade gun in his other hand. He let loose with
  the armor-piercing clip and caught Burnout full in the shoulder. A clean hit that obviously hurt the cyborg.
  Burnout gave Ryan a pained look, then faded from sight. What the frag? Ryan looked into the astral and saw  the
  trail  left  by  the  cyberzombie,  barely  visible  as  it  stretched  away  into  the  darkness.  How  did  he  pull  off  that
  disappearing act?
  Ryan  knew  it  wasn't  mimetic  or  camouflage  tech-nology.  Nothing  like  that  existed.  Must  be  magic,  he  thought.
  Which means Lethe. That made sense; he knew Lethe could hide himself in the astral, but Ryan also knew how to see
  him. It took a little more concentration  and attention  to detail, but Ryan had seen the spirit before and he could find
  Burnout now, regardless.
  Behind Ryan, Grind stood, his body armor in tattered ruins all the way down to the thin trickles of blood cas-cading
  down his chest. It was quickly washed clean by the falling rain.
  Ryan went to him. "You look like soggy drek."
  "I'm solid. Saved again by Esprit combat armor. It hurts, though."
  Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."
  There was a short scream through the tacticom.
  "We're getting battered here," came Axler's panting voice. "Miranda banished  two nature spirits before this thing
  that  looked  like  a  bear-man  burst  past  me  and  mauled her. If we don't get help soon,  there's not going to be
  much left to take home."
  Jane's voice cut in. "Miranda's lost her tacticom, and from Axler's visual, I'd say they need help, pronto."
  "On it," said Ryan, breaking into a run. "Spell out the situation."
  "Axler  tried  to  draw  the  bear-thing  and  the  nature  spirits  back  to  the  clearing  where  she  and  Miranda
  would have some open ground to finish them. Looks like she got a bit more than she bargained for. You better hurry,
  Quicksilver. I'm worried about Miranda."
  Ryan ran in disbelief. How bad could it  be?  Axler  was  combat  supreme.  Hand  to  hand,  one  of  the
  best  fighters he'd ever seen. And what happened to Miranda's confidence?
  Ryan hit the grassy  knoll that led up to the rocky clearing. Two hundred meters up, the Phoenix II sat like a
  monstrous bug cowering from the rain. Its running lights glared, but couldn't match the almost continual lightning that
  danced around them. Thunderclaps split the night sky with searing booms.
  As Ryan moved forward, a huge tongue of flame shot from off to his left. In  the  afterglow,  he  saw  the  fire
  engulf Miranda.
  He angled toward her, running.
  Ahead, the rigid, flaming form of Miranda was hedged in by two shapes  that blocked Ryan's view. Both looked like
  huge masses of fur and plant material. They were manifesting nature spirits, obviously summoned by the shaman.
  Suddenly, Axler flashed into his line of sight, coming around from behind a tree a hundred meters ahead. In front of
  her  were  two  more  spirits—tall,  tree-looking  spirits,  moving  faster  than  should  be  possible  for  such  large
  plant-based creatures. Axler backed away from them as Dhin's Steel Lynx drone peppered the spirits
  with rounds from its minigun.
  "Dhin!" Ryan yelled. "The drone will have null effect on  the  spirits.  Find  the  shaman  and  concentrate  fire
  there."
  Axler broke in, panting her words. "The shaman looks like a  bear,"  she  said.  "Maybe  some  sort  of  shapechange
  spell."
  Something  about  Axler  looked  wrong,  then  Ryan  realized  she  was  missing  part  of  her  left  arm.
  Chrome
  glistened, and Ryan could see sparks flash from the hole in her elbow socket. Ryan was still twenty meters away when
  Axler moved suddenly, striking at a huge form that Ryan had thought was part of the trees.
  The bear-man.
  In the flashes of lightning, Ryan's infrared vision couldn't keep up, but once the bear-man moved, he could see the
  faint signature under the heavy cloak. The bear-man bled from  many  tiny  cuts  and  bullet  holes,  though  he  seemed
  unaffected by them.
  He roared, going berserk and striking hard with a huge paw. The attack caught Axler mid-jump and sent her flying.
  
  Axler sailed twelve meters in the air and slammed into the  trunk  of  a  huge  pine.  Her  limp  body  slid  down  to  the
  ground.
  Ryan heard Miranda scream. The two tree spirits who fought her shredded into wood pulp. She staggered  then, the
  flames flickering out on her body, and  collapsed  from  the  drain  of  using  so  much  magic.  It  was  just  a  momen-tary
  pause, but it was enough.
  "No!" Ryan screamed.
  The bear-man crossed  the distance in three steps,  insanely fast. One huge paw grabbed Miranda's right thigh, the
  other clawed her neck.
  The thing held her above its head, and a dull whoofing roar sounded in the clearing.
  Miranda thrashed in the shaman's grip, struggling, bat-tering the creature with her free arm. To no avail.
  Ryan  brought  his  Ingram  on  target  and  opened  fire.  The  first  few  rounds  hit  home,  but  then  a  nature  spirit
  mani-fested, blocking his line of sight. Ryan adjusted immedi-ately; he drew up and circled to gain a clear shot. He fired
  another short burst, then moved again as the spirit mani-fested again.
  The bear-man was hit, dropping to one knee. He held Miranda raised over his head.
  Struggling.
  The creature roared again, and in that second, Ryan knew what it was going to do. He dove for a shot around
  the spirit. Aimed higher, the burst taking the bear-man's right arm off at the elbow.
  It was already too late.
  Ryan watched helplessly as the bear-man slammed Miranda down.
  20
  Against  the  flowing  blood,  the  music  refused  to  dim.  The  song  sounded  strong  and  bright,  beating  against  the
  ever-widening circle of blood and sacrifices.
  Lucero stood at the edge of the dark patch, oblivious to the limbs of the dead that lay slippery under her feet. Her
  heart strained toward the music, toward the light, even as her need struggled backward, behind her to the familiar form
  of Senor Oscuro as he spilled more blood.
  Something  was  different  this  time.  Even  with  the  Gestalt,  even  with  the  tapped  power  of  the  Locus,  his
  work was far more difficult than before. He grimaced in pain as he worked, wincing in the struggle just to move around.
  Lucero turned to watch him, with a feeling of fear and pity. He could never understand the music, could never know
  its beauty, because unlike Lucero, his entire soul was a wasteland of silence and darkness.
  Oscuro had given up on single sacrifices, and had brought  several acolytes with him. He was killing them two at a
  time. His muscular forearm rippled as he made the slash, and the two girls lying side by side on the flesh altar sprayed
  blood.
  Oscuro's face was a mask of pain as he used the skull of one of the dead as a crude Chac-Mool, catching the blood
  of the sacrifices in the hollowed-out cavity. Once the Chac-Mool was filled, Oscuro staggered to the edge of the circle
  just meters from Lucero.
  Pulling his hand from the skull's empty eye sockets, he let blood splash out, completing the circle.
  Suddenly, the air grew darker, and the music dimmed.
  I'm sorry, she prayed to the light. Please forgive me for what is being done to you.
  With that thought,  she felt the gray spot  in her soul grow lighter,  and  with  it,  the  music  raised  in  volume  just  a
  notch.
  Oscuro fell to one knee, and his panting breath could be  heard  over  the  sound  of  the  singing.  He  looked  up  at
  Lucero and smiled, the look in his eyes chilling her gut.
  "That was a close one, my child. I thought the slitch would take me before I finished the barrier."
  His tone was ragged, as if he had just run a long dis-tance, and he wiped dark liquid away from his forehead.
  He's sweating blood, realized Lucero. She had thought he was just covered in the blood of his sacrifices, but where
  he'd wiped the blood away, she could see fresh blood bead up on the pale, sickly looking skin.
  He looked her in the eye, studying her for a moment, and Lucero was filled with panic. He knows! she  thought.  How
  could he not know? I'm the reason he has to struggle so hard. Now, he's looked  into my eyes and seen my love for
  the music, my desire for the light.
  He sees the graying of my soul.
  Oscuro smiled. "Help me to stand, child. I know you cannot help the sacrifices because  of the delicate balance you
  have to maintain, but that does not mean you can't give your master a hand to his feet."
  Lucero swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, and stepped forward to the bearded man.
  He stretched  forward a bloody hand, and with a shudder, she grabbed it in her own and pulled.
  Oscuro stood, keeping her hand in his. Eye to eye, Lucero became acutely aware of the stench  of blood, the sweet
  aroma of her addiction. She licked her lips ner-vously as her hunger grew.
  Suddenly, a smile formed on Oscuro's face—a smile full of gentleness and concern. Lucero's fear faded, and
  she couldn't understand how she had ever felt pity for the amazing man.
  
  "Little  one,  you  have  withstood  so  much,  and  have  accomplished  so  much  for  me.  You  are  truly  a  remarkable
  servant."
  She bowed her head. "Thank you, Master."
  His bloody hand slipped under her chin, and raised her head to look him in the eyes.
  To her, he took on the look of something dangerously  beautiful. The blood that covered him beckoned to her, and
  she found herself wishing she could kiss him, could lick the blood from his face, from his hands.
  The music rose.
  No! she thought. I will resist the blood temptation.
  Pain flashed across Oscuro's face and he took a step away from her.
  Lucero looked down at herself, and she could see the dull glow coming from inside. She was lightening the circle!
  The  dull  glow  filtered  outward  from  her,  forcing  Oscuro  away.  His  expression  went  from  pain  to
  determi-nation. "I must go now."
  She stood in awe of what was happening to her. The music grew louder and louder to her, until Oscuro had to yell
  to be heard.
  "You will come with me."
  Her voice cracked as she said, "Why?"
  He forced a smile. "Your spirit is strong, but the bal-ance is upset. You will not be allowed to go into the light. It will
  destroy you." He had backed away almost to the piled corpses at the edge of the dark circle.
  Then, just as Lucero's dim light reached the  brittle  edge  of  the  dark  circle,  Oscuro  waved  his  hand  in  the  air.  A
  casual gesture that made a funnel of the world. The funnel sucked her down into a river of darkness.
  Behind her, the music and the light plowed over the dark circle, purifying it. Bathing out its filth  with  beauty  and
  perfect harmony. Brilliant and pure white.
  But she was too far away to touch  it, to hear it. She rushed  down the flow of dark current and screamed. And she
  was still screaming as her spirit slammed into her meat body.
  21
  In the cold rain, Ryan watched Miranda fall. The bear-man brought her down across his knee, and the crack of her back
  as she landed ripped through the clearing.
  Miranda's scream held  a  note  of  agony,  and  for  a  moment, the gray world around Ryan went still. He felt
  rain on his face, pain in his shoulder and gut, but it all seemed so distant.
  Focus  returned with Miranda's second  scream, snap-ping  Ryan  back  to  reality.  He  clicked  into  full  alert,
  senses heightened, reflexes as taut as mono wire. He ran at the bear-man, easily ducking inside the nature spirit.
  Once close, Ryan fired his Ingram and prepared to close the final meters.
  No spirits manifested to block the barrage of bullets, and the man came apart, erupting in a spray of  crimson  that
  painted the trees. The bear-man began to turn, but only made it halfway around when Ryan's burst  took out his knees
  and he crumpled into a heap. Freed, the spirits vanished into astral space.
  Dead.
  Then Ryan was on him, pushing around him to get to Miranda.
  She lay like a broken doll, her legs jutting away from the rest of her torso  in an impossible position. Her face was
  streaked with blood and grime; her hair, where it hadn't been burned off, was plastered to her head, like a dirty helmet.
  Blood came from her mouth, and she was missing sev-eral teeth.
  Ryan almost couldn't bear the sight. There was a sharp pain in his heart, and he accepted responsibility. "Dhin,
  I'm bringing Miranda in. Get ready to take her for emer-gency medical treatment."
  "On it."
  "Axler?"
  "I'm here, Quicksilver," came Axler's voice. "Chewed up but not spit out."
  "You going to make it?"
  Axler chuckled. "It's nothing a few hundred kay nuyen won't fix."
  "Glad to hear it," Ryan said. "Sit tight and keep your Nikons peeled for Burnout. He's still out there."
  Miranda opened her eyes and looked at him. Her voice was like that of a child, soft and breathless. "Ryan."
  Ryan knelt. "I'm here, Miranda."
  "No . . . invasive treatment."
  Ryan nodded. For a mage, putting metal into the body, any kind of invasive treatment, meant losing power.
  She swallowed, and more blood escaped her lips. "Fragger dead?"
  Ryan turned and rolled the huge form over, and stared in surprise. Huge, the destroyed face was still ringed by dirty
  white whiskers. The top of the man's head was com-pletely gone. "He's dead," Ryan said.
  Miranda smiled and closed her eyes.
  Ryan's vision shifted to the astral. She still lived, but her grasp on this world was becoming more tenuous  by the
  moment.
  
  "Jane,  contact  DocWagon  and  give  me  an  estimate  on  how  soon  we  can  rendezvous  with  one  of  their
  para-medical teams."
  "Already on it, Quicksilver. There's a small branch clinic in Poison. Ten minutes away in the Phoenix."
  "Let's do it," he said. "And get me an on-line first-aid program, one of those virtual doctors."
  "You want me to talk you through patching her up?"
  "Yeah, she's not gonna make ten minutes like this."
  Grind came limping over.
  Ryan looked up at him. "You okay?"
  Grind nodded.
  "Tend to Axler," Ryan said. "Help her to the LAV."
  "On it."
  "Dhin, bring the stretcher. I'm pretty sure her back is broken."
  "Coming, Bossman."
  First, stop the bleeding, Ryan thought. He pulled a huge combat knife from his boot and cut several strips from his
  nightsuit. He used them to tie over her wounds.
  Dhin returned with the stretcher and helped Ryan slide it under Miranda. They carried her the  fifty  meters  to  the
  Phoenix  II  and  laid  her  gently  on  the  floor.  Ryan  gritted  his  teeth  and  continued  patching  the  wounds,  following
  instructions from Jane.
  Grind and Axler hobbled in, the dwarf supporting Axler's weight since her right leg seemed to be broken just below
  the knee. Her bad arm hung  strangely askew, broken off at the elbow. She was a mess, but seemed to be  in  minimal
  pain.
  "Ryan." It was Miranda again, her voice even more faint.
  "I'm still here, Miranda."
  She looked at him, her eyes going in and out of focus. "You get the cyborg?"
  Ryan looked at her for a moment, and considered lying. Then he shook his head. "Sorry. But we will."
  She tried to speak again, but clenched up as pain from her back shot through her..
  Dhin shot her full of Syndorphin.
  Her body went slack and she passed out.
  "All right, Dhin. You go wheels up. Now."
  "What about you, Bossman?"
  "I'm staying to finish it with Burnout," he said.
  Grind made an effort to stand. "If you're staying, then I'm staying."
  From the corner of his eye, Ryan caught  movement. So fast it was a blur, streaked by rain. He  turned,  pulling  his
  Ingram, but even as he raised the weapon, he knew it was too late.
  A hulking form disappeared into the darkness. Burnout, but he was carrying something. The shaman. Burnout had
  stole the shaman's body out from under their noses.
  Grind was already down the ramp, running.
  "Dhin! Get Miranda and Axler to the clinic." Then Ryan was running as well.
  He and Grind came barreling around the grove of pines, and found themselves running along the second  cliff face.
  A steep slope of loose shale. Utterly impossible to tra-verse because  the rock was so slippery, and small land-slides
  of shale sheets  continued  to slip down the mountain.
  They careened around an outcropping  of rock to find Burnout in front of them. The cyberzombie had jammed  his
  now useless third arm around the dead man's waist, and was using him as a shield of sorts.  He fired his Preda-tors  at
  Grind, catching the dwarf in the shoulder. Knocking Grind back.
  Lightning flashed, close. The  thunderclap  completely  drowned  out  the  barrage  of  fire  from  Ryan's  Ingram  as  he
  opened up.
  The  shaman's  body  absorbed  the  bulk  of  the  burst,  but  Burnout  took  two  rounds  to  the  thigh  and
  staggered backward.
  Then Burnout's Predator barked again, and Ryan dodged  to the side. He  hit  the  ground,  and  came
  to a rolling crouch, his Ingram spraying the space where Burnout had stood a moment before.
  The cyberzombie was gone. Disappeared  again,  and  for  a  moment  Ryan  wondered  if  Lethe  had  hidden  him.  But
  after  the  crash  of  thunder  faded  from  Ryan's  ears,  he  heard  the  distinct  sound  of  a  rock  slide.  Burnout
  thrashing as he plummeted down the cliff face.
  Ryan jumped to his feet and ran the few meters to the cliff's edge. When he looked down, there was nothing but a
  steep  shale cliff, reaching all the way down to a small dark lake, hundreds  of meters below. A wash of stones  fell all
  across the face of the mountain, but the thick rain made it hard to see Burnout, if he was even down there.
  Frag, he thought. Not again.
  22
  
  Inside Burnout's body, Lethe fell. The slippery flat shale was like a jagged slide beneath  them as they plummeted. The
  rain-slick stones formed an avalanche wave in front of them, rippling out on either side to bring down tons of rock.
  Burnout used the Kodiak's body as a cushion  of sorts,  trying to maintain an edge of control as they fell. The cold
  brittle air was chilling and wet around them. The wind like a wall of ice needles. Lethe felt everything Burnout felt with
  absolute clarity. His spirit was ensconced now. Irretrievably tied to Burnout.
  For now, it is perhaps for the best, he thought.
  Burnout's mind was full of anger, hate  toward  Ryan  Mercury  for  the  death  of  the  Kodiak.  Lethe  could  taste  the
  emotion like a palpable scent. He could feel Burnout's thoughts and emotions almost like they were his own. In fact, he
  found them harder and harder to ignore.
  The anger filled him, and brought with it an image. An elf with a painted face, lounging in a French  garden.
   Walls of ancient masonry surrounded the courtyard. Salt air and the dull roar of the sea. Blue sky and water of cobalt.
  Anger and frustration boiled inside, overwhelming.
  The elf smiled, but his eyes glared. "This is an unex-pected visit," he said.
  Angry, heated words were exchanged. A conversation that blended into an emotional collage.
  Then the scene faded from Lethe's mind, and he could not recall anymore.
  "What was that?" Burnout asked, digging his heels as he tried to slow their fall.
  "You saw that, too?"
  "Yes."
  "I don't know," Lethe said. "I think it was a memory."
  "A memory of what?"
  "I don't know. Maybe it's one of mine."
  Burnout said nothing.
  The lake came up like a black wall, like an impene-trable slab of the darkest asphalt. But Burnout had dug in with his
  heels and his claws in an effort to slow them down. The dark water slammed into them. Shaking their body  to the metal
  core. Then the chill came as they drifted to the bottom, swallowed whole by the icy liquid.
  23
  Ryan stood  in the  pouring  rain,  looking  down  at  the  black-hole  surface  of  the  lake  three  hundred  meters
  below. Burnout planned this escape, he thought. He left himself a way out.
  Ryan knew that spoke volumes about  the cyber-zombie's psyche. It meant Burnout valued his own life, and
  that was unusual.
  Cyberzombies held a fragile and tenuous grip on life. Sometimes the cybermantic blood magic that tricked the spirit
  into  staying  with  the  body  simply  failed.  Many  early  attempts  had  died  spontaneously.  For  Burnout  to  have
  developed a sense of self-preservation meant he was thinking as an individual. It must be the influence of the Dragon
  Heart, Ryan thought. Or perhaps Lethe.
  Ryan spoke into the tacticom mike attached  to his throat. "Dhin, you airborne yet?"
  "Firing up now."
  "Wait ten seconds. Grind and I are coming with you."
  Grind was standing three meters away, and he looked over. "You don't want to search for him?"
  "I want to see this thing through,"  Ryan  said.  "But  everything  in  due  time.  Right  now,  we  need  to  take  care  of
  Miranda and Axler." He turned and ran back to the clearing and climbed into the Phoenix II.
  Grind was just behind him. "I'm in," the dwarf said. "Go! Go!"
  The  jets  screamed,  and  the  LAV  lifted  into  the  boiling  black  sky.  "I've  contacted  DocWagon  in  Poison,"  came
  Jane's voice. "They'll rendezvous with you in five minutes."
  "Excellent," said Ryan, kneeling beside Miranda. He held the scarred flesh of her burned arm.
  She woke then, her eyes defocused from the drug-induced sleep. Her voice was a whisper. "I was .. . dreaming."
  Ryan's voice dried in the back of his throat.
  "I dreamed that you . .. that you got to me in time, Travis. I mean Quicksilver."
  Ryan squeezed her hand gently.
  Miranda smiled. "You get him?"
  Again, Ryan wanted to lie, wanted to tell her that Burnout was a twisted mass of charred chrome. He looked into her
  eyes, saw the agony  and  couldn't  deceive  her.  He  shook  his  head.  "We  lost  him.  He  used  the  shale  rock  slide  to
  escape."
  Miranda laid her head back into the folded tarp that Dhin had given her for a pillow.
  
  "But we'll get him," Ryan said. "You and me. We'll get him together, and we'll make him pay for this."
  Miranda smiled, making her cracked lips bleed. "No lies, Quicksilver, not ... for you and me. I'm not gonna  make it."
  A wracking cough got hold of her then, and blood came out of her mouth in a fine mist.
  Ryan  stroked  her  head  gently,  feeling  the  blistered  skin  under  his  hand.  "You  rest  now.  Save  your
  strength.  You've come this far, and we're going to patch you up better than new."
  "Even if I ...  stay alive. I'm not gonna be ...  in any condition to. .."—Miranda's breath  came  in  hacking
   gasps—"fight Burnout," she finished.
  "Shh," Ryan said. "Burnout and I are tied together by the Dragon Heart; we'll meet again."
  Her eyes  clouded.  "Travis,"  she  said.  She  was  becoming delirious. "Travis, thanks for . . . helping me get
  out."
  "Ssh, Miranda."
  "It was because of you that I...  left Fuchi. I have you to ...  thank."
  Miranda smiled again, and the blood from her mouth ran down her cheeks. "It's been quite a ride period." She
  laughed, a choking rattling sound that started another coughing fit.
  "Try not to talk." Ryan felt cold anger swelling inside him.
  She sighed, the sound bubbling in her chest. "Promise me ...  one . .. thing."
  Ryan's vision blurred from his anger. "Anything."
  She motioned him closer, and as he leaned in, she  whis-pered,  "Promise  that  it  won't..  .  have  been  for  nothing."
  Miranda collapsed into unconsciousness.
  Ryan clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. "I promise," he said, his voice flat, cold. "Burnout will pay, and the Dragon
  Heart will reach its resting place. I promise you that, Miranda."
  Ryan wiped his eyes as Dhin landed the Phoenix II. As the DocWagon parameds  swarmed  in  to  take  her.  It  was
  going to be close, they said. She was in a coma now; brain-death imminent.
  Ryan concentrated  with his astral sight, looking for her aura as the parameds worked on her, but it  was  faint  and
  growing weaker.
  The anger clawed inside him like a trapped beast, and his whisper was a harsh, barren sound  in his throat. "If she
  dies, Burnout will pay."
  24
  In blackness, deep below the surface of Cat Lake's still waters, Burnout clung to a huge rock, waiting patiently in the
  lake's icy womb. Several times during the afternoon, he'd resurfaced to fill his air tank, careful not to be seen.
  Ryan Mercury .and his team seemed to have left, but Burnout didn't want to take any chances.  Lethe didn't either,
  and he touched the Heart and used its power to mask Burnout's presence.
  Finally, after six hours had passed, Burnout decided the danger had passed. Ryan and his team weren't coming back
  right away. He released his hold on the rock, and pulled the limp form of the shaman from its resting place under  two
  large rocks. Together, they drifted to the surface.
  Burnout  broke  the  water's  mirror  like  some  techno-logical  nightmare  leviathan,  a  robotic  grim  reaper.  He  looked
  nothing like a human anymore. Any remaining flesh  had  been  ripped  and  soaked  to  gray,  wrinkled  patches
  that clung to small portions of his metal frame. To his banded synthetic muscles.
  As  he reached out to grab the shaman's body, he caught  sight of  his  forearm  in  the  morning  light.  He'd  had  the
  name Burnout scarred into the flesh as a reminder to him-self of everything he'd lost, but even that was mostly gone.
  Now the "out" had been scraped away, and all that remained of his name was the "Burn." It seemed fitting.
  The Kodiak's body bobbled up beside him, and he qui-etly pulled it ashore. He stopped  on the rocky shale bank in
  the shadow of a large boulder, all senses alert. The eve-ning air hung chill and gray over the surface of Cat Lake.
  The taint of cordite was fading, but still clung to the trees and rocks. A subtle reminder of death and destruction.
  There might still be danger, and Burnout was taking no chances.  Ryan had come at him like the pro Burnout knew
  him to be. If the Kodiak hadn't stood  by him, Ryan would have beaten Burnout, and this small lake would probably
  have been his grave.
  Burnout reached behind his back and grabbed hold of the dysfunctional cyberarm that hung, bent and twisted, just
  over  his  head.  His  estimation  of  Ryan's  physical  strength  went  up  another  few  notches.  Even  accounting  for  the
  centrifugal force involved, no mere human would have been able to bend the titanium struts.
  With  a  grunt,  Burnout  finished  Ryan's  work,  and  ripped the arm off at the base, leaving a jagged  stump.
  Without looking at it, he tossed it over his shoulder to land in the lake with a quiet splash.
  Without a word, Burnout hoisted the Kodiak's body onto his shoulder and fought his way back up the slope. Lethe
  was silent during the two-hour climb, and Burnout was glad for it. He was thinking about  the Kodiak's sacri-fice. He
  was no criminal like the old lady, and though Burnout hadn't actually pulled the trigger that had caused  his death, he
  felt no less responsible.
  "The Kodiak chose his own fate," Lethe said.
  Reading my mind?
  
  No response.
  "I know," Burnout said. "But I drew Ryan here. He came for the Heart."
  "You did not ask for the Kodiak's help. He gave it will-ingly. You are not to blame."
  "I don't blame myself," Burnout said, his words acid with vehemence. "I blame Ryan Mercury." He reached the top
  and stood. "But I am not without responsibility in the matter."
  Standing on the rim of the cliff, the dead man's body  at his feet, Burnout looked around. The trees were bent and
  broken, trunks chewed from heavy gunfire. The once peaceful place looked like a war zone.
  He walked to the tower and stepped inside the cabin resting under the tower's protection. With a minimum of
  excess movement, Burnout gathered all of the Kodiak's magical trinkets and supplies, the deerskin cloak the old man
  had worn, and took them all outside.
  He walked to the long, rickety ladder that led to the top of the tower and hauled everything up the hundred meters
  to the open platform at the top. A small perch, the tower top was a simple platform empty except for the swivel chair
  someone had bolted to the wooden planks centuries before.'
  The chair was rusted  into a position facing eastward, and was covered  by  the  skin  of  a  cougar.  Burnout  remem-
  bered the Kodiak killing that cougar  so  many  years  before. This had been the Kodiak's favorite place in the
  world. He had told  Burnout  that  there  Bear  often  showed  him  mysteries  that  ground-bound  followers  could  never
  hope to see.
  From this height, Burnout looked far into the next valley, seeing the sunset  peeking its fiery eye just below the last
  tatters of the storm clouds. Brilliant streaks of blazing red burned the sky, like tongues of fire.
  Very fitting.
  Burnout went back down the ladder, pulled the shaman's body  over his shoulder, and then returned to the
  top. He set the dead man in the chair, propping the soggy  body  upright so his faceless head looked into the heart of
  the setting sun. Then Burnout laid all of the shaman's possessions  around him, and finally covered the old man with
  the deerskin.
  He climbed back down the ladder, went into the cabin, and began a fire in the old shack's potbelly stove.  When he
  had a nice blaze going, he took some kindling and ignited  the  shaman's  bedding.  Then  he  stepped  back  out
  into the morning air just as the roof of the shack caught fire.
  He retreated to a safe distance and watched the tower burn.
  "My friend, you gave your life for me, and now I com-mend your soul to Bear. May he tend to you."
  It only took minutes for the ancient wood of the tower to catch, and suddenly, it seemed as if the structure was a
  pillar of pure flame. Smoke rocketed skyward, seeming to ignore the slight breeze that had begun to blow.
  After a half-hour, the huge structure  collapsed to the ground  with  a  rumbling  crash  like  rolling  thunder.
  Burning rubble flew up and gouts  of flame shot  into the sky.
  "A fitting pyre," Lethe said.
  Burnout nodded and continued to watch the remains of the tower burn. Because of the recent rain, the fire refused
  to spread to the surrounding vegetation. It confined itself to  the  tower,  and  as  that  structure  was  consumed,
  it slowly dwindled. It was almost as if the blaze knew its purpose.
  "I've been thinking," Lethe said.
  Burnout watched the trails of smoke strain for the sky, and thought  about  those  last few hours  before the attack.
  "Well, that makes one of us."
  "Perhaps  all this death could have been  averted.  Per-haps  if  I  had  killed  Ryan  Mercury  when  I  had  the  chance.
  When I first realized that he wanted the Heart for his selfish purposes."
  Burnout  shook  his  head.  "In  this  game,  everybody  makes their own  choices.  I  chose  to  steal  the  Heart,
  Mer-cury chose to track me to take it back. Ryan Mercury and I are to blame for the death. No one else."
  Burnout turned away from the smoking wreckage and scrambled  to  the  shallow  hunting  blind  he'd  made
  yesterday  afternoon. The one he'd waited in to surprise Mercury. It had been a surprise, all right. For  both  of  them.
  Mercury had run true to form ...  his tactical ability besting  Burnout's fighting prowess by enough  to keep them at a
  stalemate.
  Burnout had expected Mercury to come down the funnel and land in the clearing. Then he and the Kodiak
  would have crushed  the enemy between them. Instead  of catching their prey in a vice, they'd found themselves in a
  much wider pincer. Still, their positioning had caught Ryan by surprise.
  He  gathered  up  the  small  amount  of  supplies  he'd  stashed  in  the  hole,  the  spare  ammo,  and  the
  extra Predator. Then he began his trek down the mountain side.
  Mercury would  be  back  before  long,  his  desire  for  the  Heart  fueled  by  the  losses  he'd  suffered.  Burnout
  intended to be long gone when Mercury showed up with reinforcements.
  "Ryan Mercury is the key," Lethe said. "He is the only obstacle to—"
  "What the frag are you going on about? Of course Mer-cury is the key."
  "Did I say that aloud?"
  "I heard it."
  Lethe was silent for minute. Then, "I'd like to help you kill Ryan Mercury."
  25
  
  Back  at  Assets,  Inc.  Ryan's  fogged  mind  responded  to  the  needle  shower's  stinging  jets  the  way  a  blind
  beggar would respond to the scent of a hearty meal. He turned his body so the steaming water could hit every part of
  him, the force of the spray cleansing the blood and the scent of death from his body.
  Miranda had died before reaching the clinic. Her body had given out under the strain.
  Ryan had made the short flight back to Assets with Dhin and Grind in the Phoenix II. Axler remained at the clinic for
  an arm and a leg replacement.  Transfusions  of  Syndorphin  had  taken  away  the  physical  pain,  but  she  was  just  as
  slotted off about Miranda's death as Ryan.
  Ryan had stayed for a while, trying to cheer Axler up by distracting her with cyberware catalogs, trying to get her to
  pick out her favorite mods on her new 'ware. It was going to cost a lot of nuyen, but Ryan didn't care. Axler was worth
  whatever she wanted.
  Now, he rubbed soap  around the wound Burnout had left in his ribs. Ryan knew that without medical atten-
  tion the injury would have been fatal for any other man, but he had already felt the healing begin during the
  afternoon.
  By the time Dhin got a chance to take a look at his injuries, the wound had already sealed over. Dhin had looked at
  the amount of blood on his clothing and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, making his brutish face seem somehow refined.
  "I've always been a fast healer," Ryan replied to the unspoken question.
  Now, as he rubbed at the quickly forming scar tissue,
  he  wondered  about  that.  He  knew  that  magic  had  some-thing  to  do  with  it,  something  to  do  with  his  speed,  his
  strength, but that didn't seem to explain it anymore.
  Ryan knew plenty of others  like himself. Physical adepts  who mastered their bodies magically and pushed
  past  limits  no  norm  could  hope  to  match.  He'd  even  known  one  other  person  who  followed  the  Invisible
  Way,  which  was  similar  to  the  Silent  Way  that  Dunkelzahn  had  taught  him.  She  was  extremely  advanced  in  her
  technique, and he had learned some valuable things from her.
  Still, she couldn't compete with him in combat. Not even  close.  He  would  always  fall  back  on  his  lessons
  in the arboretum, the battles with Dunkelzahn in the darkness  and stillness of  the  spectral  shadows.  Those  lessons
  and his innate magic gave him the edge in every fight.
  It had taken every effort of machine and magic to make a viable opponent for him.
  How can that be possible?
  Ryan shook his head, sending a spray of water against the wall. Dunkelzahn had always told him that  even
   among his own kind, he was special. It was for that reason that the dragon had rescued him the day his parents  died,
  because of his special gift.
  Ryan felt a wave of self-disgust. And like a good little soldier, I didn't ask questions. Now it's too late to ask them,
  and I don't seem to have any answers.
  He was about to shut off the shower, when his wrist-phone beeped. Ryan looked at the screen to see Jane's code.
  He didn't care if Jane saw him in the shower. After all, she'd seen him in worse places.
  Ryan thumbed the receiver, "Hello, Jane, I was—"
  He stopped short. The face that filled the screen wasn't Jane's. For just a moment, his breath caught  in his throat. It
  was the face of a woman he never expected to hear from again.
  Deep in his heart, the part of him that was Roxborough felt a shiver of fear.
  Ryan quelled the feeling and gave  a  warm  smile.  "Alice, so good  to see you. Sorry about  the shower, but
  you should be more honest when you call."
  Alice's small mouth grew from a smile to a lascivious grin. "You don't know how long it's been since I've sur-prised a
  man in the shower. My, my, aren't we a big boy? And in all the right places too."
  Ryan laughed, and it felt good even though it hurt. "What's biz?"
  "I  thought  you  should  know  that  I've  gone  into  Rox's  host  in  Panama  and  wiped  all  the  files  pertaining  to  his
  spirit-transfer procedure. Everything about memory encoding and personality remapping. It's all been wiped."
  "I'm grateful, Alice. Thank you."
  Alice  grew  somber.  "You're  welcome,"  she  said.  "Though  I  didn't  really  do  it  for  you.  Now  I  have  a
  question."
  "Yes?"
  "How's your Rox?"
  Ryan grunted. "Still there, but with each day, he seems a  bit  dimmer  in  my  head,  and  lately,  I  can  tell  my
  thoughts from his."
  "That's good." Alice took a drag of her cigarette. "But you still have his memories?"
  "I think so."
  "Ryan, I've come into possession of some very dis-turbing information lately, and I'd like you to confirm or deny it,
  based on Rox's memories."
  "What is it?"
  "Remember that Roxborough is the source of this info so it's highly suspect.  But so far it scans  true with what I've
  
  been able to pull from the Matrix. Be forewarned, it's very disturbing."
  Suddenly,  Ryan  was  tired  again.  He  didn't  want  any  more  disturbing  information,  he  didn't  want  any  more
  responsibility. His load was too heavy already. "Consider me forewarned," he said.
  Alice smiled. "I like a man with guts,"  she said, and before Ryan could respond,  she continued. "The informa-tion
  concerns Dunkelzahn's assassination. It may even be enough to get you to the person responsible."
  Ryan's attention snapped into full awareness, his whole body tensed, and the hair on the back of his neck stood  on
  end. "Spill it, and you better not be fragging with me."
  Alice gave him a cool look. "I assume that threat was made  in  jest.  Either  that,  or  you're  an  idiot  and  I've
  severely overestimated you."
  Ryan forced himself to take a deep breath, forced his muscles to unwind. "My apologies, Alice. Things have been a
  bit haywire lately."
  She  smiled.  "Forgiven.  Believe  me,  I've  been  keeping  tabs  on  you,  and  I  know  the  stress  you're  under.  If  this
  information was any less important, I would simply let you continue on your way and tell you later."
  "I understand. Now, please, tell me what Rox told you. If I remember anything that either confirms or denies what he
  said, I'll let you know."
  Alice nodded.  "During the Crash of '29, a man named Major David Gavilan discovered information that led him to
  believe that a corporation called Gossamer Threads was responsible for the programming that led to the cre-ation of
  the Crash virus."
  Ryan was stunned. "What? Are you saying Dunkelzahn was behind the Crash?"
  Alice  shook  her  head.  "No,  I'm  not  saying  anything  of  the  sort.  I'm  simply  saying  that  David  discovered
  infor-mation that led him to believe that Gossamer Threads was working on the virus, just prior to the breakdown."
  "David?"
  "An old friend," Alice said, and there was note of sad-ness in her voice. "You might know him as Damien Knight."
  Ryan sucked air. "Damien Knight was head of Echo Mirage?"
  "His name was David Gavilan back then."
  "None of this rings any bells in my Roxborough memo-ries," Ryan said. "And  I don't see how Dunkelzahn fac-tors
  into the whole Crash scenario. He lost billions. Even Gossamer Threads went belly up."
  Alice  sighed.  "I  know,  and  frankly  I'd  like  to  believe  that  Dunkelzahn  wouldn't  have  indulged  in  such  an  evil
  venture." She paused, forcing her voice to sound impar-tial, but Ryan could tell that it was difficult for her to dis-cuss
  the Crash without anger.  "Still,"  she went on,
  "you're missing the point, again. It doesn't matter who was actually responsible as long as you understand that David
  thought it was Dunkelzahn."
  Ryan nodded. "I'm following."
  "Good, now for a bit of history. Damien Knight rose to the head of Ares Macrotechnology  in something called the
  Nanosecond Buyout. You've heard of it?"
  Ryan nodded. "You can stop treating me like I'm men-tally challenged, Alice. Everyone who's anyone  knows about
  the instant takeover."
  Alice arched her eyebrows. "Well, what everyone doesn't  know is that in all  likelihood  it  was  Dunkelzahn's  help
  that made the buyout a success."
  "I believe it," Ryan said. "Knight had to have help from someone with a healthy cred-line."
  "Perhaps Dunkelzahn helped him out to make up for the damage caused by the Crash."
  "He felt responsible?" Ryan asked.
  "Why not?"
  Ryan  shook  his  head.  "Not  Dunkelzahn's  MO.  He  might've  helped  Knight  accomplish  the  Nanosecond
  Buyout, but I doubt it was out of guilt. In my experience, guilt is not an emotion that dragons feel strongly."
  "Maybe Knight knew about Dunkelzahn's connection to the Crash and was blackmailing him."
  "More likely, but very dangerous for Knight."
  Alice's ocean-blue eyes sparkled. "Remember that the two of them had on ongoing chess  match, and Knight  did
  not always lose. He had the dragon's respect."
  Ryan nodded, and suddenly a nagging itch got him. It was the memory of Quentin Strapp standing  in Nadja's office.
  He was so smooth, hitting Ryan with hard ques-tions,  then abruptly changing tactics, suddenly  asking  him  ¦ about
  Damien Knight.
  "You still with me, Ryan?"
  Ryan shook off the memory, but couldn't quite stifle the rage that was beginning to fill him. "Yeah, still here. I'll tell
  you as soon as you're finished. Go on."
  "Let me take this step by step. One: David Gavilan, head of Echo Mirage, defeats the Crash entity, but loses
  close friends and comes under the scrutiny of the media. His personal life is ruined, and he is forced to disappear and
  change identities just to keep living. This I know because I was there.
  "Two: He becomes Damien Knight and uses some of the cutting-edge  technology  created to defeat the Crash, plus
  his  knowledge  of  corporate  raiding,  to  concoct  the  scheme  behind  the  Nanosecond  Buyout.  He  knows  of
  Dunkelzahn's involvement with the crash, whatever it was, and he threatens  to expose it unless  the dragon funds  his
  plan.
  "The Nanosecond Buyout works brilliantly and David is now the major shareholder in Ares Macrotechnology,  one
  of  the  top  megacorporations.  Only  he  didn't  count  on  the  fact  that  Dunkelzahn  was  better  at  corporate
  
  maneuvering."
  "You're talking about Gavilan Ventures," Ryan said, and the story  was becoming clear to him, sending  chills down
  his spine despite the hot water.
  "Yes, when the dust  settled from the buyout,  David owned twenty-two percent of Ares, almost the  exact  amount
  owned by the previous CEO, Leonard Aurelius. But Dunkelzahn owned  Gavilan  Ventures  and  its  twelve  percent  of
  Ares.  With  Aurelius  and  Knight  constantly  voting  their  shares  against  one  another,  Dunkelzahn's  twelve  percent
  became the determining voting block. The dragon controlled a lot of the corp. In effect, the dragon held a measure of
  leverage over Knight."
  Ryan smiled. "Someone like Knight would hate that."
  "I think he did. I think he harbored a secret hatred of the wyrm for years. Damien Knight is  the  perhaps  the  only
  person who might have been able to hide his feelings from the dragon. After all, their chess matches went on for days,
  even weeks at a time."
  Ryan nodded. She's making sense.
  "So, over the years, Knight waits, plots, and comes up with the perfect plan."
  Ryan snorted. "And just what plan might that be? Do you have details? Out-plotting a dragon is a little like trying to
  move a mountain one rock at a time. No matter
  how many stones you take away, there always seems to be one more."
  She smiled. "Granted, but you're talking about Damien Knight here. No, I don't have details on how he did it. Not yet
  anyway. But I know him in a way you don't, and I can attest  to just how brilliant and twisted he is. Think about  how
  much he's gained by Dunkelzahn's death. He chose the perfect moment."
  "How's that?"
  "When Dunkelzahn died, Kyle Haeffner became Presi-dent of the UCAS."
  "And . . . "
  "Kyle was my husband before I flatlined. He and David were great friends. Thick as thieves for years."
  The water chilled on Ryan's skin, and he had to remember to breathe.
  "After the Crash entity hit me, Kyle was devastated. David did everything in his power to keep my meat body  alive.
  David felt responsible for my condition, and he bent over backward to make it up to Kyle."
  Alice's voice grew sharp. "As  a result, Kyle became David's lackey  and  faithful  lap  dog.  Stayed  in  contact  when
  David  changed  names,  picked  up  a  tidy  sum  in  the  Nanosecond  Buyout,  and  went  on  to  become  quite  the
  entrepreneur. Even remarried." Alice said that last with acid in her voice.
  Ryan's jaw muscles clenched. "And  now, Knight's lap dog is president of UCAS. In a position to pull any strings
  that might be helpful to Knight."
  Alice shrugged. "It looks that way."
  "Frag."
  Alice held up a hand. "Ryan, I haven't spoken to David about  this, but I'm certain he would deny any involve-ment
  with the assassination. I was hoping your recollec-tion of what Rox knew of the events might provide some clue."
  Ryan  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  remember,  but  all  that  came  back  were  some  fragments.  Acquisition
  Technolo-gies. The name popped into his head. It was one of Rox-borough's corporations at the time of the Crash. "I'm
  still having a hard time putting his past  into context," Ryan
  said. "And frankly, I've been concerned with other things recently."
  "I'm sorry about Miranda," Alice said.
  Frag, is there anything you don't know about, Alice?
  Ryan felt the anger rising inside, and his hands  balled into fists. "Thanks for the info, Alice.  I'll  let  you  know  if  I
  remember anything."
  "And if I learn any more about how he might have pulled it off, I'll get in touch."
  Ryan nodded. "Please do."
  Then she was gone. Like a ghost in the machine.
  Ryan shut off the water, suddenly drained. His mind filled with blood,  and  rage  ran  through  his  veins.  He
  could picture himself ripping Knight  limb  from  limb.  Revenge  for  destroying  the  creature  who  had  shown
  Ryan love.
  But what about Burnout?
  Ryan knew he couldn't give up on finding the Dragon Heart, but he knew he had to act on this information quickly.
  If Knight was half as smart as Alice believed him to be, every moment lost was another moment for Knight to rewrite
  history so that his role in the assassination was erased.
  I don't know what to do.
  Even as that thought thundered through his head, he realized that it was wrong. He did know what to do. This was
  the break he'd been waiting for, his chance to avenge Dunkelzahn. He wasn't about to let it slide by.
  He quickly punched up Jane's code.
  "Quicksilver, naked again?"
  "At least you still notice. Any news?"
  "The satellite images showed the tower on Pony Moun-tain go up in flames an hour ago. Looks like our boy's  on
  the move again."
  "Jane, I need you to assemble a team."
  Jane looked startled. "Who? You don't have a mage, Axler's out for a day or two, Grind is still recovering, and Dhin
  
  is dog-tired. I'd say Assets is pretty bad off. They need some down time."
  Ryan  shook  his  head  violently.   "I'm  not  talking
  about Assets. It can be anyone. They just have to be mage-heavy."
  Jane frowned. "What for?"
  Ryan smiled. "I need them to track Burnout for a while. Dhin and Grind are going to Washington with me."
  26
  Burnout descended the Pony Mountain path in silence, thinking about  what Lethe had just said. He was making his
  way  in  the  ever-darkening  night  toward  the  Ford  Bison truck he'd  left  halfway  down  the  mountain.  Lethe's
  words came back over and over.
  I'd like to help you kill Ryan Mercury.
  Burnout could feel the tension roll through him. A tiny shiver of anticipation hit him then, and he laughed.
  "Do you find my decision to seek someone's death as humorous?"
  "In a sick way," Burnout said. "It's ironic."
  "Ironic or not, my offer should not be taken lightly. And it does not come without a price."
  "What  price? I don't have anything  left to give but my life, and that would kind of defeat the purpose,  don't  you
  think?"
  "You are not entirely devoid of possessions."
  For the first time since discovering the spirit, some-thing in its voice brought  a chill to Burnout's circuitry.  "Keep
  talking."
  "Let me tell you a story."
  Burnout climbed down a  sharp  incline,  sliding  in  the  wet  soil.  "Just  get  to  the  point,  Lethe.  I'm  not  in  the  most
  patient mood."
  "Indulge me, Burnout. You are lacking information that  could  make  the  difference  between  life  and  death  for  the
  entire world, and I think it's time you knew the whole truth."
  Burnout stopped  in his tracks. "I thought  you were always  honest  with  me.  That  I  could  trust  you.  Now
  you're telling me you've been holding out on me?"
  Lethe's voice was stern. "Since the time our association began, I have come to respect you as a warrior and to value
  you in many other ways. Even as a friend. However, the information I'm about  to impart to you is of such  mag-nitude
  that I could not have shared it until now. Even as close as we've become, I only tell you this because  the situation is
  desperate."
  Burnout grunted, and continued  his journey back down the mountain side. He hoped  Ryan hadn't discovered the
  Ford Bison. Without the truck, traveling would be much slower and far more exhausting. "All right," he said. "You've
  got my attention."
  "You are familiar with the Great Ghost Dance?"
  Burnout snorted.  "I used  to be a mage, remember." From what Burnout could recall, the Great Ghost Dance was a
  massive sacrifice led by Daniel Howling Coyote in the early years of magic. Many shamans had sacrificed themselves
  in order to power the ritual magic that had wakened the Earth and caused many volcanoes to erupt.
  Lethe's voice dropped through Burnout's IMS. "When magic of such magnitude is performed, it has an effect on the
  other planes of existence. It raises the level of mana into a spike that travels across the metaplanes."
  "You're losing me, spirit."
  "Let me try to show you."
  Lethe was silent for a minute. An image welled into Burnout's memory. He stood  on a gigantic outcropping  of rock.
  The outcropping stretched for an unimaginable dis-tance, spanning a bottomless abyss.
  Across the abyss at the farthest reaches of his sight, he noticed the other side. And he felt revulsion as he looked.
  A revulsion that grew into terror. Into horror, until he knew that the distant, tiny figures that writhed around on  the
  opposite cliff were utterly evil.
  Then came a glorious sound. The beautiful song  of a goddess  who stood  on the very tip of the outcropping. Just
  over the Chasm. She sang and a bright white light spread out from her, immobilizing him. In the glory of her song,  he
  forgot who he was, he did not care. He merely was. Blissful. Content.
  Basking in the perfection.
  The vision faded.
  "I see now," Burnout said after a minute. He ducked his head to avoid low branches, and scrambled down a grassy
  hill. "But what does it have to do with me?"
  "Let me finish. The occurrence of the Great Ghost Dance has upset  a very delicate balance in the meta-planes. As
  the level of magic rises, our plane and the plane of these  creatures grows slowly closer. In time, the distance will be
  close enough that the evil will be able to cross unaided."
  "How long?"
  Lethe sighed. "A few thousand years, at the least."
  
  Burnout grunted again. "So we go back to my original question. What's this got to do with me?"
  "The Dance has created a bridge of sorts. It spans  some of the distance to the other side. Even now, the creatures
  are building a bridge of their own. If they are allowed to complete the narrow gap that remains, they will invade this
  world in force, thousands of years too soon. Well before mankind is prepared for the upcoming war."
  Burnout whistled. "Frag. How long until that happens?"
  "Could be tomorrow, could be a thousand years."
  Once again, Burnout stopped in his tracks. "You're telling me that at any moment our world could be overrun by a
  metaplanar enemy?"
  A long pause followed. "Perhaps, but there is one who stands against them."
  "The goddess."
  "Yes. Her name is Thayla, and her song  is so beautiful that it is like fire to them. Thayla's song  is of perfect purity
  and goodness; it is a golden light of such power that normal beings are trapped in its beauty and cannot  move. To the
  creatures from the other side, it is the most painful thing they can imagine. While she sings, they cannot  move forward
  with the construction of their side of the bridge."
  "So as long as she keeps singing, this world is safe."
  "Yes."
  "That still doesn't answer where I fit in."
  "There are those on our side of the Chasm who are
  trying to silence her song, and she is weakening. She needs the Dragon Heart to destroy the bridge."
  Burnout didn't respond  for a moment, he just kept  moving.  They  were  almost  to  the  Bison.  "So  the  Kodiak  was
  correct when he said that the Heart was either the sal-vation—or the destruction—-of the world."
  "Yes."
  Burnout grunted. "Well, frag 'em. This world hasn't done me any favors."
  "I am truly sorry about that," Lethe said. "But this is important, and it means a great deal to me."
  Burnout held up his hand for quiet. They had reached the Bison.
  The vehicle sat exactly as they'd left it. Burnout scanned the ground with his low-light vision jacked up all
  the way. There were footprints all around the vehicle. He circled the Bison, but couldn't discern any booby  traps. No
  hanging wires, no infrared detectors.
  He stepped  closer, and through  the hole where the front door had been he could see the small note  taped  to  the
  vehicle controls. Cautiously, he walked to the side of the vehicle, all his enhanced senses attuned.
  "You notice any magic tricks on the vehicle?" he asked Lethe.
  "No. There are no wards or magical traps of any kind."
  He reached into the vehicle and gingerly pulled the note from the controls. And in the light of the just-rising moon,
  he read it.
  "It's not over,  Burnout.  I've  got  your  number.  And  some time, when you least expect it, I'm going to pay
  you a visit. You've got no cover, you've  got  no  identity,  you've  got nowhere to run. Hide, if you think that
  will do you any good, but you've got to know I'll find you. When I do, Burnout, I promise, you'll die slowly. Circuit by
  cir-cuit, synapse by synapse. You have no idea what you've done, and for that you have my pity. Still, pity won't save
  you, chummer.
  "Until we meet again. By the way, tell Lethe hello. If I have my way, he'll burn in Hell right beside you for betraying
  the cause."
  Burnout crumpled the note in his hand, rage boiling
  through him. But this rage was different from the hot anger he was used to. This was a cold hunger that would only be
  sated by Ryan's lifeless body bleeding at his feet.
  Burnout stood in the moonshadow of the great pines, the dappled silver playing over the ground. "All right, Lethe.
  You're right. The Heart is no good  to me, at least not without you, and Mercury isn't  going  to  rest  until  we're  both
  history. Tell me about this deal."
  "It's simple really," the spirit said. "Though  I think your hatred for this man is beginning to affect me. The deal is:
  you promise to help me take the Dragon Heart to Thayla, and I will deliver Ryan Mercury into your hands."
  Burnout laughed. "What makes you think you can do what I can't?"
  "Burnout, my friend, you do not know Mercury in the way  I  do.  I  have  fought  alongside  him,  I  know  his
  strengths  and his weaknesses.  I  was  there  when  he  suc-cumbed  to  the  seductive  power  of  the  Dragon  Heart  and
  claimed it for himself. I knew then that he could never be trusted  to carry the Heart to Thayla. Without that his life is
  forfeit to my goal."
  "How do we defeat him?"
  "Whenever  you  have  faced  him,  you  have  confronted  his  strength.  As  much  as  I  dislike  the  idea,  it's  time  to
  confront him where he is the weakest."
  "And just where would that be? As far as I can tell, Ryan Mercury doesn't have any weaknesses."
  "In the sprawl named Washington FDC there lives a woman named Nadja Daviar. She is Mercury's one weak-ness.
  If you have her, then you have him."
  Burnout's laughter carried in the night air, and all around the Bison the woods were deathly still. "Deal!"
  27
  
  Ryan woke from a nightmare, cold sweat streaming down his face, soaking his shirt and the cushion  of the Mistral's
  passenger seat beneath him. He straightened up, then leaned forward and put his head against his knees.
  His mind refused to let go of the dream. The pouring rain back at the top of Pony Mountain. The dense  forest lit by
  flashes of lightning, shaken by thunder. Ryan fought Burnout again, but this time, the cyberzombie had gone  down
  before his onslaught.
  In his battle rage, Ryan lifted the metal body  over his head and  threw  it  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Instead  of
  feeling relief, the sound of Burnout's spine cracking had brought horror, and he'd rushed  to the man's side, turned him
  over, and screamed.
  It was Miranda's face looking back up at him.
  Ryan screamed, a  high-pitched  wail  that  had  become  the  sound  of  the  engines  as  his  subconscious  reluctantly
  released its hold on his mind. Don't need an interpreter to divine the meaning behind that one, thought Ryan.
  Ryan sat up in the Mistral's dark cabin, making the deja vu landing back into National Airport in FDC. He blinked
  away the tears and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Everything was  set  for  keeping  track  of  Burnout.  Jane  had
  put together a small group consisting of two mages and a samurai.
  Ryan had left the note on the Bison  as  a  last-second  whim,  a  bit  of  psychological  warfare  to  throw  Burnout  off
  balance.
  Miranda's death was hitting him harder than it should, he knew that. Runs like this were dangerous  and some-times
  people died. Maybe I'm going soft. Regardless, he
  wanted out now. Dunkelzahn's mission would have to take a back seat to Ryan's persecution of Damien Knight.
  Dhin's drowsy voice filtered through the cabin. "We'll be on the ground in five."
  Ryan nodded. Readied his gear as they landed. The trip from the airport to the mansion was made in a haze. Ryan
  was dimly aware of the limo ride and of  the  smell  of  cherry blossoms, but everything else was clouded by a
  distant fog.
  It wasn't until Nadja stood  before him on the  mansion  steps,  her  hair  pulled  back  into  a  loose  ponytail,  her  soft
  cotton  robe pulled snugly  about  her, that Ryan came back to reality.  He  tried  to  ask  her  about  the  meeting  he  had
  arranged with her and Carla Brooks and Jane-in-the-box.
  "Shh," she said. "Tomorrow." Then she took him by the hand and led him into the house,  upstairs  to the bed-room
  and beyond into the master bath.
  A huge tub full of steaming water waited for him, and as she stripped his clothes from his body, he thought  of Pony
  Mountain in the hard wash of the rain.
  Nadja dropped her robe, revealing her tightly muscled stomach, her hardening brown  nipples.  She  gazed  into  his
  eyes and led him into the hot water.
  As  the heat robbed the strength  from his muscles, easing the knots even as it stung  his crudely bandaged
  wounds, Nadja kissed him softly. His forehead, his neck, his eyes, his lips.
  She kissed him to hardness, and in the lazy liquid, she wrapped herself around him.
  With a tenderness  he'd never known, she made love to him. Carrying him to sweet oblivion. He let  himself  forget
  about Miranda, about Burnout. About Damien Knight. His cares and worries melted into the embrace with the woman
  he loved, giving him a measure of peace he'd seldom known.
  After, he slept without dreams for the first time in his life.
  22 August 2057
  28
  In  the  first  gray  light  of  the  morning,  Burnout  belly-crawled  through  the  boggy  field  at  the  end  of  the  Missoula
  International  Airport.  The  sound  of  VTOL  transports  screamed  through  the  sky  overhead  as  he
  moved toward the perimeter fencing.
  Behind him, the abandoned Ford Bison slowly slipped beneath the surface of the swamp.
  It had been a long and difficult drive from Pony Moun-tain in the dark. The distance was only about  two hundred
  and fifty klicks, but the terrain was mountainous and extremely rugged. They'd come south  on the eastern side of the
  Swan Mountains, then over the pass  to the outskirts of  Missoula,  using  abandoned  and  washed-out  roads
  where people hadn't driven in over a decade.
  As  they'd  approached  civilization,  Burnout  had  used  the  Bison's  on-board  telecom  to  call  the  airfield  and  get  a
  rundown  of  all  departing  suborbitals  bound  for  the  FDC  sprawl.  Armed  with  that  information,  he  and  Lethe  had
  
  managed to get to the far end of the strip, courtesy of Burnout's still functional GPS.
  Now,  he  was  moving  silently  toward  the  small  guard  post.  The  station  was  a  crude  corrugated  steel  structure,
  roughly the size of a small storage  shed. It looked like an ancient outhouse,  and the only thing that belied the image
  was the small satellite dish mounted on the roof.
  The soft twang of some country singer filtered through  the  open  windows,  lilting  about  lost  loves,  dearly
  departed  dogs,  and missing money.  One  guard  was  a  dwarf with a huge paunch, seated  with his feet up on
  the  desk,  snoring  loudly,  almost  in  rhythm  to  the  slide  guitar.  The  other  guard  was  a  young  human  with
  Amerind
  features who took furtive drinks from a bottle inside a paper sack and kept paging through a Playtrog magazine.
  Burnout scanned for cameras and stationary or track-mounted drones, but could find none.
  "There are two watcher spirits," Lethe said. "But they won't see us."
  "Good." Burnout moved up to the window in silence. He slipped inside, and with the butt of  his  Predator  hit  the
  human's temple, sending  the body  flying. The guard crashed into the metal wall, his magazine fluttering to the floor.
  As the man sank into unconsciousness, a small trickle of blood seeped from the side of his head.
  The  sleeping  guard  woke,  but  it  was  too  late.  Burnout  had  lifted  him  up  by  the  neck  and  removed  his  Colt
  Man-hunter. "Help me and you won't die."
  The dwarf's eyes  snapped  open  and  filled  with  horror.  Burnout  could  see  the  wheels  turning  behind  them.  The
  dwarf nodded.
  Holding the guard, Burnout took a quick inventory. The desk,  which  was  cluttered  with  hardcopy  reports
  and candy wrappers, also held a small cyberdeck. That would be useful. Burnout turned. Something was nagging at
  him, and it took him a moment to place it.
  He looked behind him, found the small radio on the big filing cabinet,  just  above  him.  Whining  steel  guitars  and
  slow country vocals. With a quick swipe of his hand, the radio  sailed  across  the  room,  shattering  against  the  door
  frame.
  The night went silent.
  "Never could stomach that drek." He set the dwarf back in his chair,  but  didn't  let  go  of  his  neck.  "Now,  tell  me
  about runway security."
  The guard shivered. "I can't."
  Burnout just tightened his grip. "You can tell, or I can find it on the cyberdeck after you're dead."
  "Ack!" the dwarf choked. "All right, I'll tell you."
  "Each corp has twenty people on the tarmac, but most of them watch the baggage. We don't get much traffic here,
  and it's mostly tribal."
  "Good, come with me, and if you make noise, you die."
  A quick nod from the dwarf and Burnout was loping
  across the tarmac in the lightening gray morning. He spoke under his breath to Lethe. "In less than twelve min-utes,
  you and I will be airborne, and a few hours after that, we'll be touching down in Washington FDC."
  Lethe's voice dropped into his mind. "How do you plan on bypassing  FDC security? I don't know for sure,  but  it
  would seem reasonable that any of the airports there will be heavily secured. If you intend to hijack an aircraft, won't
  they be waiting for us when we land?"
  Burnout laughed and lifted the dwarf  so  that  movement  would  be  quicker.  "If  I  was  going  to  hijack  the  aircraft,
  they'd be all over us, and this would be the shortest trip in history. Security at all the major FDC airports is defi-nitely
  triple  A.  Even  if  I  was  planning  to  stow  away  some-where  inside  the  vehicle,  we'd  probably  get  nabbed
  within half a minute of landing."
  Lethe's tone was dry. "I take it, then, that you plan to do neither of these things."
  "That's right."
  "What then?"
  "Can't you read my mind yet, spirit?"
  Lethe chuckled. "Not quite," he said. "I'm getting some of your thoughts, however."
  Burnout said nothing as he came up behind a small hangar and stood in the shadow of some storage  dumpsters. He
  peered around the corner. Across  a hundred meters of runway and taxiway  sat  the  main  terminal  building.  Jets  and
  suborbitals clustered around it like flies on drek. "Now, dwarf," Burnout said, "show  me where the security is, and if
  you lie, I will know and you will die."
  The dwarf gave  Burnout  the  information  he  needed  and was rewarded with a precise blow to the back of
  the head. The small man's body sagged  into unconsciousness,  and Burnout tucked it away inside one of the storage
  dumpsters.
  Then he made his way toward the terminal, carefully skirting the highly secure areas. He didn't have much time; the
  Transworld flight he needed to board was just beginning its taxi.
  "If you're not going to hijack an aircraft and you're not going to stow away, what are you planning?" Lethe said.
  "The TransWorld plane is a Federated-Boeing 3800. She's got no VTOL capabilities, but she's  fast.  She's  got  the
  quadruple rear wheels like the old jumbo jets so the wheel wells are huge."
  "You're planning to ride in with the landing gear?"
  "Right."
  "What happens when the pilot retracts the wheels?"
  "I'll have to puncture one of the tires to make sure we aren't crushed." They were nearing the terminal now, and just
  
  ahead, the monstrous, single-wing jetcraft loomed as it began forward thrust.
  "I think that this plan sounds ..."
  "Yeah? Sounds how?"
  "It sounds like if you're not careful, you might just do Ryan Mercury's job for him."
  Burnout laughed again. "Relax, I've done it before. Can't say as I enjoyed it, and there's no in-flight movie, but it will
  get us there." He accelerated, dodged  under the belly  of  the  craft,  and  jumped  past  the  huge  balloon  tires,  rapidly
  picking up speed. He latched onto one of the legs and climbed into the small landing gear cavity.
  Within minutes he could see the ground rocketing underneath  them, then pulling away. I'm coming for you, Ryan
  Mercury. And now I know how to hit you where it will hurt the most.
  And her name is Nadja Daviar.
  29
  A sweet voice came to his ears. "Wake up, dear."
  Ryan rolled in the soft silk  sheets  and  slowly  opened  one  eye.  The  display  on  his  wristphone  read  0912  hours.
  Nearly nine hours uninterrupted  sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so deeply, or for that duration.
  No wonder my brain doesn't want to wake up, he thought.
  Nadja's kiss fell gently on his cheek. "Gordon brought up breakfast for us," she said. "I've already eaten, have some
  early business to deal with. Also, Carla is here; we can start the meeting as soon as you're ready."
  Ryan's eyes snapped open. The meeting! Yes, he had much to tell them of Damien Knight. How could he have slept
  so long?
  He sat up and swung his legs out of the big bed. The smell of real eggs and fresh bacon drifted in the air. The coffee
  aroma was pungent and strong.
  Ryan's stomach rumbled. "We'll meet in a half-hour if that's okay. After I eat."
  Nadja smiled. "In my study,"  she said. "I'll notify Jane." Then she was gone, leaving him in the room with
  the breakfast.
  Ryan ate and showered, wishing he could take time to enjoy both activities. But he was anxious for this  meeting.
  Anxious to hear what Carla and Nadja and Jane would have to say. He dressed  quickly  in  comfortable  pants  and  a
  loose cotton shirt and walked down to Nadja's study.
  Gordon Wu met him outside. "I'll tell her you're here," he said, turning to the telecom.
  "Is her study secure?" Ryan asked.
  The man gave him a puzzled look. "Of course, sir," he
  said. "It is swept by the Secret Service once a day." Wu winked. "And  after they leave, Miss Brooks' staff sweeps  it
  again." He gestured for Ryan to enter.
  "Thanks." Ryan stepped through the door and into Nadja's private workspace.
  In front of her desk, which was still piled with papers and disks, Nadja had arranged three high-back leather chairs in
  a semi-circle around a huge tridscreen. Two of the chairs were occupied, and the trid screen  showed  a  fourth  chair,
  identical except for the fact that it existed only in the virtual reality of the Matrix.
  Carla Brooks looked up to meet Ryan's gaze as he entered.  Her  white  hair  was  cut  close  to  her  scalp,  a
  dusting of platinum stubble over her deep black skin. She wore a sharp Zoe business  suit and was carrying weapons
  underneath.  "Hello, Quicksilver," she said. "It's good  to see you  back  alive.  I  think  Quentin  Strapp  has  some  more
  questions for you, and he'd be very upset if he had to ask them of a corpse."
  Ryan laughed. "Good to see you too, Black Angel. After this meeting, I think we'll have something to  tell  Strapp
  that will make him very happy."
  Jane looked out through  the tridscreen, her blonde hair shining. Her puffed-out cartoon lips pouted  as she spoke.
  "And just what is that?"
  Ryan met her eyes as he walked over to take his chair with the three women. "I know who killed Dunkelzahn," he
  said.
  Nobody said a word.
  And  in the silence, Ryan's magically enhanced  hearing could actually pick out the individual heartbeats  of two of
  the three people sitting around him. The only reason he couldn't pick out the third was because while the trid did Jane
  enough  justice that Ryan could hear the  minute  squeak of red leather when it rubbed against red vinyl, Jane
  hadn't bothered programming in a pulse for herself.
  It was Carla who finally broke the silence. "How?" It was a whisper.
  Ryan leaned back in the comfortable chair. "Let me tell you a story,"  he said. "It starts  way back before the Crash
  of'29 ...  "
  Ryan  spilled  the  whole  scenario  to  them.  Everything  Alice  had  told  him  about  Damien  Knight's  hatred  for
  Dunkelzahn. All about the Nanosecond Buyout and the hold Knight had over Kyle Haeffner.
  Jane listened with anger evident on her face. That anger growing as Ryan unraveled the story.
  Carla watched him in silence, a look of astonishment dawning on her dark features.
  
  Nadja simply gazed at him and nodded.  Ryan could see her sharp mind making various connections,  could see all
  the  implications  of  what  he'd  said  fall  into  place.  "Ryan,  you  of  course  realize  the  vast  repercussions  of  your
  accu-sations. What surety do you have?"
  Carla broke in.  "Yes,  even  if  your  information  is  accu-rate,  it's  all  circumstantial.  You've  established  motive.  We
  know he had the capability and the opportunity. But that doesn't mean he did it."
  "Ryan," Nadja said, "do you have any specifics on how it was pulled off? How did he plant the bomb or the magic
  ritual or whatever it was that killed Dunkelzahn?"
  Ryan gave her a pleading look. "None. Carla's right. All the evidence is circumstantial, but with someone of Damien
  Knight's power and influence, I doubt any direct evidence will ever  present  itself.  He's  too  smart,  too  savvy
  to ever leave any discernible link that would point to him."
  Carla straightened up. "The evidence is compelling, and it should  be reported to Strapp and the Scott Commis-sion
  immediately. But I don't want it getting to the press."
  Jane's icon  looked  at  her.  "Tell  Strapp?  Tell  the  Scott  Commission?  And  just  what  do  you  intend  to  say?  Hey,
  Quentin, one of your primary suspects just told me that someone else did it. So how about we stop investigating Ryan,
  and start investigating Damien Knight, someone who has a rock-solid alibi? After they threw you off the Commission,
  they'd lock you up in an asylum."
  Carla started to respond, but Nadja cut her off. "Jane's right. We all know Ryan, and we know enough  to trust him
  completely, but that's  not going to cut it with Strapp."
  Ryan smiled at her. "My gut says this is the right
  direction to be looking in, but I doubt we can expect any sort of official backup on it."
  Carla gave Jane a sharp glance. "So what do you sug-gest instead?"
  Jane's icon looked up. Her huge, pouty lips were set in a firm line. "Covert hit."
  The stunned look hit Carla again. "You out of your fragging mind? Assassinate Damien Knight? Even with the best
  team you could put together, I wouldn't attempt that in a thousand  years. There's only one person  I know who could
  . . . "  She looked at Ryan and fell silent.
  Ryan laughed, softly. "Yes, Carla, I could probably do it. But I think you're right. An ice job just doesn't  feel right.
  At least not yet."
  Jane shook her head. "People, think about it for a moment. I trust Quicksilver more than any other meat walking the
  planet. If he says Knight killed our beloved dragon, then I know he's right. But I also know that no Scott Commission,
  no government force is going to have the balls or the muscle to bring Knight to justice. He'll skate and leave someone
  else to take the fall. The only way to make him pay is to wipe every trace of him off the face of the earth."
  There was a pause while everyone took in just what Jane had said.
  "Which, of course, is why we can't take him down," Nadja said, her voice like a granite gavel coming down. Not to
  be denied.
  Ryan turned to her. "I know that tone," he said. "Explain."
  Nadja smiled. "On one hand, Jane is completely cor-rect. However, two  things  are  working  against  us  here.  One,
  even if we kill him, that won't solve our biggest problem. Both Ryan and I would still be under suspicion  for murdering
  Dunkelzahn. Considering what we know about Strapp's line of reasoning, he might just believe that Ryan, Knight, and
  I were all working together, but had a falling out.
  "Two, Ryan said it himself. All the evidence is circum-stantial. Even he's not sure  just  how  far  to  trust  his  infor-
  mant. So if we ice Knight, and we're wrong, then the
  fallout will be heavy enough  to bury us all. We need  to  be  absolutely  sure.  If  we  knew  for  a  fact  that  Knight  was
  behind it, I would vote for geeking him, then digging hard into his actions prior to the assassination.  With him dead,
  there would be no one to thwart our efforts. Still, I need more proof before I can agree to such drastic actions."
  Carla leaned forward, passion  flashing on her face. "You've  all  gone  off  the  fragging  deep  end!  This  is  a
  witch  hunt.  We  have  no  concrete  evidence  that  implicates  anyone.  I know  what  security  measures  were  taken  to
  pro-tect Dunkelzahn. I've gone over and over possible weak-nesses, the nature of the blast. And I'll do it again, but the
  real evidence is too slim to reach any kind of conclusion. You have no proof."
  "Carla—"
  "Quicksilver, of all people, you should know how rash and  dangerous  it  is  just  to  have  this  conversation,
  let alone contemplate carrying all this drek out. Killing someone of Damien Knight's station  will shake the world to its
  very core, especially after the assassination of Dunkelzahn. We're talking widespread paranoia. Killing mid-level execs
  don't mean drek, but you start axing people like Knight, the corps will seize up in a panic."
  Ryan help up his hands. "Easy, Carla. No one is doing anything yet. This is just a strategy meeting. You and I know
  that  when you're trying to come  up  with  a  plan,  you  start  at  the  most  extreme  and  work  down  to  something  more
  manageable. Don't take it so personally. I need you calm and  thinking  straight.  The  second  you  decide  some-thing
  can't be done, then you can't do it, and that may limit your options down the line."
  Carla took a deep breath, then nodded and leaned back.
  Ryan turned to face the other women. "Okay, give me alternatives."
  Jane arched a monofilament-thin eyebrow. "Such as? You say you can ice Knight, I say it needs  to be done. What
  else is there to talk about?"
  Ryan turned to Jane's icon. "Such as the fact that I'm not sure it needs to be done. I don't kill without reason, and no
  matter my feelings about Knight, I don't intend to start now."
  "Finally, the voice of reason," said Carla, with a tired clap.
  
  Ryan frowned. "Don't  get  too  comfortable  with  that,  Carla.  I  said  I  don't  kill  without  reason.  I  haven't
  absolutely  confirmed my information, and to be honest,  that  is  the  main  thing  keeping  Damien  walking  and
  talking right now. I like Nadja's idea. We find out more, then decide on a course of action."
  Nadja  looked  up  from  her  desk  top,  where  she'd  been  typing  for  the  last  minute.  "Ryan,  Damien  will  be  at  the
  Watergate  Hotel  this  afternoon.  At  a  luncheon  party  to  garner  support  for  my  vice-presidential  bid.  He  probably
  wants to pick my brain on how I'll be voting my Gavilan stock."
  Ryan nodded.
  Nadja went on. "I could have a private meet with him, try and force his hand. Maybe he'll toss us a bone."
  Jane snorted. "Yeah, and maybe blue monkeys will fly out of my hoop."
  Ryan laughed. "Jane's got it right. He'll never drop anything  to you. He'll have so many personal defenses  up, it'll
  probably take him an hour just to mentally pre-pare for the luncheon."
  Carla shrugged.  "Then what? We kidnap him and brainwash him into confessing?"  Her voice  indicated  sar-casm,
  but Ryan considered the request seriously for a minute before discarding it.
  Ryan stood and paced around, stopping  at the window. He looked out over the immaculately sculptured  grounds.
  Something from Roxborough's past  was surfacing to haunt him.
  Roxborough was in London, at a party for the CEO of Intellynx, a mid-level corp that he wanted to buy out. Ryan
  remembered feeling nervous, almost shaking with apprehension.  But he also felt a thrill of excitement, the titillation of
  the hunt.
  He had spent  over an hour flattering the CEO's private secretary, Ryan couldn't recall her name. After a lifetime of
  getting her just drunk enough  that she forgot who he was, and what his presence  meant, Roxborough had recorded
  her graphic tales of the sexual orgies, fetish par-
  ties, and under-the-desk encounters she'd participated in. All at the command of her boss, a happily married CEO.
  All he had to do was play the chip once, and the CEO was literally on his knees. Begging Roxborough to take what
  he wanted, just not to play the chip to his wife.
  Ryan smiled and turned from the window. "No, Knight will never let anything  show to you.  However"—he
   turned to Nadja, where she sat at the desk—"do you have a date for this afternoon?"
  Jane's eyes began to gleam, and Nadja smiled. "Why, Ryan, are you asking me on a date?"
  "I still think you're all crazy." Carla was slumped in her chair, a look of defeat on her finely chiseled features.
  Ryan turned to her. "Carla, I promise you this. If, and that's a very large if, Damien is foolish enough to let any-thing
  leak out today, we'll convene for another meeting before any action is taken. If we have any concrete evi-dence to take
  to Strapp or the Scott Commission, then that's the way we'll play it. If not, then we'll choose  a course of action at that
  time. Agreed?"
  After a long pause, Carla nodded her head. "No," she said. "I won't go along with it." She stood  and walked to the
  door. "Quicksilver, if you want to proceed with this, I won't get in  your  way,  but  even  by  turning  a  blind  eye,  I'm
  sticking my neck out here. Don't frag with me. Okay?"
  She was out the door before he had a chance to respond. Well, Ryan thought. That's better than nothing,  I
  suppose.
  Suddenly,  Jane  sat  upright.  "Quicksilver,  gotta  go  too.  Got  some  new  feedback  on  our  special  project.
  Seems the ... man you had them follow is on the move." Then she vanished.
  Ryan  turned  to  Nadja,  who  was  already  delving  into  the  multitude  of  duties  she  had  to  accomplish  before  the
  lun-cheon. He went to her, putting his arms around her shoul-ders. He wanted to know that she was still on his side.
  "Just a nano," she said, shaking him off. "Let me finish this."
  She didn't mean anything by it, but it left him feeling
  cold. He released her and walked to the window and looked out at the azalea bushes in full flower.
  "Don't brood," Nadja said a minute later, coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist.
  He turned in her grasp, and seeing the smile on her face,  he  laughed.  "I'm  not  brooding,"  he  said.  "Just
  unsure if I'm doing the right thing."
  She kissed him. "Don't let Carla spook you. She's  got  a  government  position  now  and  can't  afford  conspiracies.
  She's giving you all she can."
  Ryan smiled. Nadja was right, of course.
  Her  tone  became  serious.  "If  Damien  Knight  did  kill  Dunkelzahn,  then  he's  more  dangerous  than  we  ever
  thought..."  She let the sentence  hang, knowing she didn't need to finish it.
  "He's always been dangerous," Ryan said. "He's the king snake, but I'm the mongoose."
  Nadja smiled. "Just be more careful than you've ever been in your life. I almost lost you once, and it will slot me off
  something fierce if you were to get yourself geeked this time."
  Ryan laughed. "You know I would do anything  to avoid facing your anger."
  30
  The morning sun shone like an inferno down through the open shutters  and into Lucero's small room. She was in the
  
  physical world, the teocalli in San Marcos. It seemed like  ages  since  she'd  been  physical,  and  she  trembled
  from weakness.
  She  knelt  on  the  stone  floor  by  the  edge  of  her  small  cot,  her  naked,  scarred  body  covered  in  sweat.  She  was
  emaciated and malnourished, only just starting to regain her strength after her long stay in the metaplanes.
  "Senor Oscuro is ready for you now," said one of the temple attendants.
  Two young  acolytes helped her walk. She knew she had outlived her usefulness,  that she had  succumbed  to  the
  light. She had embraced the beauty of the song and was now being taken to be sacrificed to Quetzalcoatl.
  Oscuro knows,  she  thought.  He knows  I've turned against him, and I'm going to be sacrificed.
  Somewhere in that thought, Lucero found a certain comfort. At least, if she were dead, she could no longer help in
  the dark destruction of the light.
  They  took  her  through  the  sanctuary  and  outside,  up  the  long  stairs  of  the  step-pyramid  temple  that  was  the
  teocalli devoted to the Great Feathered Serpent, Quetzal-coatl. Lucero took one long last look at the world around her
  as she ascended  toward the Blood Mage Gestalt at the apex.
  How many times had she been part of their ritual when she  was a member of the Gestalt herself? How  many
   times had an old and burned-out  member been brought  as  sacrifice  to  power  a  ritual  sending?  Too  many  times  to
  remember.
  Now it is my turn. It would all have been so simple  before  she  had  been  touched  by  the  light.  But  now,  all  this
  seemed evil to her, a perversion of magic. To use life energy for such  purposes,  to destroy  innocent lives in order to
  achieve power and domination.
  The landscape  around the temple had changed  in the days  she had spent  at the  metaplanar  spike.  Far  below  the
  temple  and  down  the  hill,  a  huge  crowd  of  people  had  gathered  around  the  lake  where  the  Locus  had  been
  dis-covered. Drawn to its power.
  Lucero found herself hypnotized by the allure of the huge black stone. Its glossy  surface was cut perfectly flat, like
  the facet of an onyx diamond, and it seemed to absorb  all  light  around  it.  Like  a  magical  black  hole,  it  was
  pulling people into its vortex.
  The lake itself had been drained, the water channeled away by huge pipes, and security fences  had  been  set  up.
  And in the dry lake bed, Lucero could make out the foun-dations of a new teocalli.  They were building it right on top
  of the Locus.
  In the distance, Lucero saw many more people coming. Thousands  and thousands  of people migrating to be near
  the Locus. They camped in huge tent cities, chanting and celebrating the end of the Aztec Fifth Sun.
  Which,  she  knew,  meant  the  coming  of  tzitzimine— demons  who  would  devour  the  world.  A  shiver  passed
  through her. Had she seen those demons across the Chasm?
  Senor Oscuro met her at the temple's apex. He looked her over closely and whispered in her ear. "There has been a
  change in you, my child."
  For a moment, Lucero was close to fainting.
  "Even as your flesh grew weak, something in your spirit grew stronger. You overused your gift and burned
  it out. Somehow, your time  at  the  bridge  seems  to  have  healed  you  to  a  certain  extent.  Today,  you  will  take  your
  rightful place in a blood ceremony to help speed your healing."
  At first, Lucero could barely comprehend the words Oscuro spoke, but as the truth gradually dawned on her,
  she wept for joy. In her deepest heart of hearts, she willed a silent prayer of thanks to the light for this gift.
  She had dreamed of rejoining the Gestalt.
  The ten of them stood and looked at her. They were all human, their skin a mosaic of tattoos and runic scars just like
  hers. There were thick needle-track marks on their necks and a dark emptiness in their eyes.
  They  wore  crimson  robes  and  were  attended  by  the  healers  and  technicians  who  connected  their  veins  to  the
  blood-circulating machines, then to each Gestalt member through heavy-gauge catheters in their necks.
  Oscuro motioned for her to take her place among them, and she complied, allowing herself to  become  part  of  the
  blood circle. But as the ceremony began, something in her changed again. As the blood coursed through  her, the dark
  spot  on her soul turned foul and rank, blacker than it had ever  been.  Her  lust  for  blood  consumed  her,  and
  she  began to thrash on the floor, breaking the connecting tube, and circumventing the pattern of blood flow.
  The rest of the gathered Gestalt looked at her, a mixture of horror and anger  vying  for  dominance  on  their  faces.
  Only Oscuro showed no reaction. Moving as if nothing were happening, Oscuro took the first of the chosen  vic-tims,
  and moved the girl into the circle.
  Instead of placing her on the altar, Oscuro made the girl kneel at Lucero's feet. As Lucero stood,  panting, wild-eyed
  above the sacrifice, Oscuro had used the tip of his ornamental dagger to draw the finest cut over her jugular vein.
  A thin spray of blood shot out, showering Lucero's chest and stomach.
  The smell of it, oh, the smell, thought Lucero.
  Even as a small part of her mind rebelled, trying to maintain control over her  addiction,  the  rest  of  her  spirit  was
  consumed. In her frail condition, Lucero literally ripped the little girl apart.
  Her fingers were like steel claws, her teeth mono-filament razors. She chewed her way through  the girl's neck while
  
  her fingers ripped open the child's gut. Lucero was filled with the delicious scent  of the young  one's death, and she
  reveled in the orgy of sensations.
  She  lost  control  then,  absorbing  the  sheer  power  of  the  girl's  life  energy,  pulling  it  into  herself  like  sweet
  nour-ishment. She came to a few minutes later to find herself rolling on the floor in a large circle of bone and blood and
  intestine.
  Horror filled her then, and she looked around the circle of mages, her glance finally falling on Oscuro. He stood  over
  her, his face beaming, like a proud father.
  An attendant was ordered to take her back to her room while the rest of the Gestalt finished the ceremony. And as
  she stumbled the way to her small room, the realization of what she'd done, of what she'd become, hit her.
  I am just like Oscuro. A monster.
  She had betrayed the light, had let her addiction con-sume again. And now, there was something more. Some dark
  power had entered her, had taken over that secret place in her where her true self belonged.
  She looked around the room that she had once found so comfortable, where she had always found solace. Now, all
  she saw was tainted by hatred, as if the very things she had found good about this place had turned foul.
  Is this how Oscuro sees the world?
  Lucero thought  it  might  just  be.  Everything  good  seemed disgusting,  everything dark and putrid seemed
  lovely and desirable. Her mind told her to surrender to it, accept it.
  After the acolytes left her, Lucero staggered  to her feet, still quivering with the power of the girl's life energy. She
  stumbled to the small foot locker at the base of her bed and  tossed  the  contents  on  the  floor.  After  a  frantic
  moment of searching, Lucero held the large carved dagger aloft to the light.
  It had been a gift from her teacher on the day  she  had  been  accepted  to  the  Gestalt.  The  blade  was  edged  with
  orichalcum, and it was  virgin.  The  dagger  had  never  tasted  blood, and it brought  a grim smile to her lips to
  think that its first victim would be its owner.
  Lucero knelt on the floor next to the cot and positioned the blade so that the butt of the handle rested on the bed's
  wooden frame, the tip pointed to the ceiling. She posi-tioned her chin against the tip, steadying the blade with
  her hand. All she had to do was relax her posture  and the razor-sharp tip would drive straight through  her throat and
  up into her brain.
  As she knelt, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. They weren't  tears  of  fear  or  self-pity,  they  were  tears
  of  sorrow. "I'm sorry," she whispered to her memory of the music, to the light. "Because of me, you  have  suffered,
  and I can't bear to let it continue."
  Just as she started to relax her stance, and felt the tip penetrate her skin, the heavy door at her back swung inward.
  No!
  She tried to throw herself on the blade, but found her-self frozen in place.
  Lucero waited there, her blood dripping down the knife's edge, and could see him out of the corner of her
  eye. His dark hand reached beneath her chin and lifted her head.
  The knife fell free and dropped to the bed.
  His narrow dark eyes held a glint of amusement, and with his free hand, he stroked his thin beard. "My child, you
  have borne so much. But it is time. You are healed enough for you to return. Body and soul."
  Oscuro smiled, and suddenly her heart was glad. She couldn't understand what she'd been thinking. How could she
  be sc selfish as to try and take her own life when there was so much work to be done?
  Oscuro helped her to her feet and cleaned the blood off her scarred body with a damp towel. He smiled all the while,
  and never said a word about how he had found her.
  She realized then that he had expected her attempt at self-sacrifice. That he had perhaps  orchestrated  it. Now, the
  foul part of her soul, which had spread to engulf her, was retreating to a small core.
  "You are the balance, my child," he said. "The crux, and I hold you very dear."
  She found herself admiring him even more, liking the way the dim light cast its shadow over his sharp features. He
  dressed her in a robe of white linen, and then stood  before  her  holding  out  his  hand.  Beckoning  for  her  to
  join him.
  They walked from the room, and as they headed for the altar, Lucero wondered if perhaps  Oscuro had planned the
  whole ordeal. She wondered if maybe he knew that the spot  on her soul had become so dark during her  blood  orgy
  that she would be unable to return to the bridge. So he had planned her little attempt at redemption just to fur-ther his
  own designs.
  She wondered just which thoughts  in her head were her own and which had  been  placed  there  by  Oscuro.  Then
  there was no more time for wondering because they had entered the altar room, and it was time for her to return.
  Like her master had said, there was so much work to be done.
  31
  Ryan sat next to Nadja in the Draco Foundation Mit-subishi Nightsky as they drove past  the front of the Watergate
  Hotel.  The  area  was  surrounded  by  a  huge  crowd  of  people—tourists,  mourners,  media  hounds,  and  even
  
  worshippers who considered Dunkelzahn a martyred saint. The blast crater was a massive hole in the center
  of the boulevard, blocked off by five-meter-tall hurricane fencing and protected by federal security agents.
  Above  the  crater  hovered  a  prismatic  cloud  that  glowed  with  energy.  It  writhed  and  morphed,  roiling  like  an
  undu-lating droplet of oil on water, sending out a rainbow of light that was visible even in the middle of the afternoon.
  Ryan knew that the fabric of physical space had been torn away here. When Dunkelzahn had died in the explosion, the
  barrier to astral space had been eliminated.
  The limo continued its slow and arduous way, through the crowd and up the circle drive to the hotel doors. What a
  mess, thought Ryan. As gala events go, the intimate gathering at the hotel was a news coverage nightmare.
  When  the  tridsnoops  had  found  out  that  all  press  was  barred  from  the  gathering,  they  began  spouting  about
  freedom of the press. When that didn't get anywhere, they tried to infiltrate the private luncheon as everything from
  security personnel to wait staff.
  Unfortunately for them, Carla Brooks was in rare form. She  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  personally
  checking the staff and going over every detail with her hand-picked security squad.  She was ruthless  in weeding out
  anyone  who didn't belong, and even snoops  she'd worked with before, people who  thought  they  might  have  some
  pull with her, found themselves shut out.
  Jane-in-the-box had quashed three attempts by deckers to pirate the security-camera feed, sending some artisti-cally
  nasty bits of IC back along the line to fry the runners as a warning. By one o'clock, the word was out. This party was
  off limits. If the news services were going  to  get  anything,  they  would  have  to  wait  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel  like
  everyone else and take whatever prepared state-ments the party's attendants were willing to give.
  Needless to say, this slotted off more than one self-important investigative news team, and the mood out in front of
  the hotel was getting ugly by the time Ryan and Nadja rolled up to the front door in the Draco Foundation Mitsubishi
  Nightsky.
  Ryan stepped out first, immediately flanked by several of  Carla's  security  personnel.  Ryan  caught  sight  of
  Matthews standing guard up near the double glass doors of the entrance. The old man gave him a secret grin.
  Ryan never thought his disguise—complete with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and three glued-on datajacks
  on his temple—would fool anyone who knew him person-ally, but he still  didn't like having his picture taken.
  The slight changes were enough to make a bystander pass over him without a glance, however.
  To  the  tridsnoops  lining  the  carpet  that  rolled  up  to  the  door,  he  was  just  another  Draco  Foundation
  heavy, guarding Miss Daviar. He wore a simple black tuxedo that fit him in a way that didn't let him pack any heavy
  hard-ware. The only concessions he'd made were the Walther PB-100 pistol strapped  to his right calf and a miniature
  camera hidden in the third fake datajack. He was on a remote feed, straight to Jane, who would be monitoring him at all
  times.
  As Ryan forcefully cleared a small space on the side-walk, Nadja stepped out behind him. He could almost hear the
  collective gasp  of  the  people  back  home  watching. She had pulled out all the stops  today. Dressed in a ruby
  red gown flown in from Paris, she was adorned at the neck and wrist with flowing strands of natural pearls.
  The gleaming white beads  tumbled between her breasts, casting a glow over her flesh that seemed almost
  translucent in the harsh lights of the camera crews. Her raven hair flowed down the bare part of her upper back, and
  as she moved, it seemed to caress  her skin like a lover.
  As  Ryan stood  amid the flashing  glare  of  the  cameras,  Nadja  stopped  and  spoke  briefly  with  the  reporters.  She
  laughed at some questions one of them asked, and her brilliant white teeth flashed.
  Oh-so-tridogenic, thought Ryan. It's no wonder the country's in love with her. He smiled. It's no wonder I'm in love
  with her.
  "We'll  just  have  to  wait  and  see,  won't  we?"  she  responded  to  the  reporter.  "If  my  country  needs  my
  ser-vices, I'll be more than happy to accept this nomination. However, if a more suitable candidate is found, I will give
  my full support."
  She got misty-eyed, right on cue, her voice taking on a lilting, hypnotic  tone. "Dunkelzahn would have wanted the
  vice president to be the best  person  for the job, someone who could do the most good  for the country. Right
  now, I just feel honored that the citizens, and Presi-dent Haeffner, think I might be right for the job."
  A  din  of  shouts  followed  this  last  comment,  but  Nadja simply held up her hand,  and  all  went  quiet.  "No
  more questions, please. I'll hold a formal press conference tomorrow, but now is not the time for making statements."
  With  that,  she  swept  through  the  double  glass  doors,  following  closely  on  Ryan's  heels,  leaving  a  strangely
  subdued  crowd behind her. As Ryan stepped  past  Matthews, he could hear the old man whisper, "Frag, she's
  good."
  Ryan smiled and gave him a wink.
  They entered the hotel and waited for the security detail to clear an elevator. Then they were up to the penthouse
  suite. Ryan dropped the bodyguard role and drew up alongside Nadja as they walked.
  The penthouse  suite was as beautiful as it was cozy, providing a stunning  view of the downtown cluster and the
  Potomac. A full bar provided refreshment, and the pool sparkled with reflected sun  on the patio. Small
  tables, surrounded  by comfortable chairs, had been care-fully positioned  so  that  intimate  groups  could  congregate
  
  and talk with a relative feeling of privacy.
  Damien Knight  was  already  there  when  Ryan  and  Nadja made their entrance. As were President Haeffner
  and many members of Congress, all accompanied by their respective security entourages.  One or two people in this
  room had had dealings with the infamous Quicksilver in the past, and Ryan was pleased by the sense of discomfort he
  felt flutter through the room as Nadja took his arm in intimate fashion.
  She  made  whispering  sounds  in  his  ear,  and  on  cue,  he  laughed  softly.  All  their  moves  had  been  worked  out
  beforehand, and like a veteran team, they executed them flawlessly.
  They made a beautiful couple, and Ryan was acutely aware of the impact they had when together. In fact, he was
  counting on it.
  With a kiss on his cheek, Nadja excused herself and began to mingle.
  Ryan stepped up to the bar that was being tended by a big ork. To Ryan, the gnarled face screamed Secret Ser-vice,
  but that was to be expected. He hoped the poor man knew how to mix a drink, or everyone else would know just how
  thorough Brooks had been.
  "What can I get you, sir?"
  Ryan smiled. He hadn't allowed himself a drink in over a year.  There  had  been  too  much  to  do,  with  no  time  for
  relaxation or the risk of being caught  off guard. He didn't really enjoy the effects of alcohol, but over the years he'd
  learned how to appreciate the taste. Now, the situation demanded that he seem casual and relaxed, and he didn't mind
  what he had to do.
  "Double Remy, heated."
  He watched the big man gracefully pour scalding water into the crystal snifter, to warm the glass. Then he drained
  the  water  and  poured  in  a  generous  amount  of  the  amber  liquid.  Ryan  took  it  and  raised  the  glass  to  his  nose,
  sud-denly aware of someone standing directly behind him.
  He didn't turn, but merely inhaled the heady scent of
  his drink, savoring the rich smell. He took a sip of the hot cognac, letting it steep down his throat.
  "A fine brandy, if you like that kind of thing."
  Just a bit a head of schedule, Ryan thought, recog-nizing the voice.
  He turned, feigning surprise, and noticed that Knight had left his aide, Gerrold Watkins, with the rest of the Ares
  contingent. So this little conversation is going to be off the record.
  "Mr. Knight," Ryan said. "I'm sorry, you've caught  me enjoying  one  of  my  secret  vices."  He  grinned,  and
  Damien Knight's return smile was well-practiced enough to seem genuine.
  "Oh, Mister Mercury, we all have our little secrets, don't we?"
  Ryan shrugged. "You appreciate a fine cognac, Mr. Knight?"
  Knight's smile softened.  "Actually, about  a year or so back, I stumbled onto a  hidden  reserve  of  a  brandy  called
  Germain Robin. They stopped  production sometime around the turn of the century. Twenty-five bottles of the
  closest thing to heaven on this planet. You should stop by some evening. We'll pop one."
  Ryan forced a wide smile. "That would be wonderful. I happen  to have some fat Honduras cigars  that  go  so  well
  with a good brandy."
  Damien frowned. "Actually, if you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk to you."
  Come to me, you little fly. Come, step into my web.
  Ryan kept his face neutral, hiding his relief.
  "Of course. Would you like to sit?"
  It had been a calculated risk, showing up here and dis-playing his and Nadja's relationship so openly. However, the
  idea had occurred to Ryan because he knew that the only way to get anything from Knight was to make the man come
  to him.
  Under normal circumstances, Knight would have kept half the  room  between  himself  and  Ryan.  A  snake  doesn't
  slither too close to the mongoose unless  it wishes to do battle. Or, unless  the viper thinks it's fast enough  to kill the
  mongoose with one quick strike.
  Ryan knew Knight wasn't here to kill, he was here to do a little dance, to try and hypnotize the mongoose. Knight
  wanted to use Ryan. For someone so dangerous, Knight, you 're refreshingly predictable.
  Damien led him to one of the small, unoccupied  tables. Ryan noticed how several people shifted to get out of their
  way. Some of them were frightened by Knight, and the others  knew just a bit too much about  Ryan Mercury to feel
  safe without some distance.
  They sat, and Ryan took another sip of his cognac. "What can I do for you, Mister Knight?"
  Knight propped his elbows on the table and leaned for-ward. "I'm surprised to see you here, Mercury.  Especially
  coming as Miss Daviar's escort. Don't you realize you could cost her the nomination?"
  Ryan smiled. "Well, I'm not so sure she really wants it anyway. She's got so much on her hands  right now, the VP
  would only add to a schedule that's already over-full."
  Knight sat back, and his expression grew thoughtful. "You know, I've always had a difficult time reading you."
  Here it comes, thought Ryan. Draw me in, then cut me off at the knees.
  "What's  to read? Nadja's busy,  and might not  even  have the time for this whole political gig. Dunkelzahn
  left her to stir quite a few pots, so to speak."
  Knight's smile was tight. "Yes, he did. That doesn't seem like it would leave much time for a romantic life, does it?"
  Ryan shrugged.  "We both have tight schedules,  but  that  just  makes  the  time  we  have  together  that  much  more
  special."
  
  Knight looked as if he were going to be ill.
  "Yes, I can see how it would. However, with such lim-ited time in the day, I could see where Nadja might be unable
  to give her attention to some of the finer details."
  Ryan gave him a questioning look. "I'm not sure I follow?"
  Damien smiled like a shark. "Well, she's been left quite a few different positions  to fill. Not  a  problem  for  a
  dragon, but somewhat overwhelming for a simple metahuman, wouldn't you agree?"
  Ryan followed his lead. "Oh, yes. In fact, she and I were just talking about  all the company stock she now has to
  vote. She's not even that familiar with the workings of quite a few of them. I mean, she's  got a pretty good  hang  on
  stuff like the Gavilan stock, but other things are a bit esoteric."
  And the fly lands, thought  Ryan, watching Knight's eyes light up.
  "Exactly," Knight said. "In fact, I have a meeting with her in about half an hour to discuss that particular stock."
  "Really, I was unaware."
  Knight said nothing and for just a  moment  Ryan  thought  he might have been a bit heavy-handed.  Knight
  leaned back, and his face went still.
  Knight seemed to be thinking hard, and Ryan could see when he reached a decision. "Ryan, just between you and
  me,  I'm  worried  about  Miss  Daviar.  Especially  in  relation  to  her  dealings  with  Gavilan.  There's  so  much  political
  back-stabbing going on there right now that I'm afraid it might be a bit much for her."
  Ryan leaned forward, doing his best impersonation of a little kid being told a secret. "Really? I guess  that's  not so
  surprising after what happened to Dunkelzahn."
  Knight nodded,  playing his fatherly role to the hilt. "You know, I just thought  of  something.  In  my  meeting  with
  Daviar, I'm going to suggest that she give me tempo-rary proxy rights to Gavilan. Just until she comes to know who all
  the main players are and where they stand. That way, she won't do anything she might regret later."
  Ryan smiled. "That's very kind of you."
  Knight's face turned conspiratorial again. "However, you, better than anyone, should  know how strong-willed she
  is. I'm just afraid she'll misinterpret my offer. I would hate for her to refuse me, then kick herself for it later."
  "How can I help?"
  Knight actually leaned over and patted his arm. "Just talk to her. I'm sure she trusts you, and if you give her a gentle
  nudge in the right direction, we might just be able to avoid a big mess."
  Ryan smiled. "You got it. I'll do anything for her."
  Knight smiled and stretched out his hand. "It was a pleasure talking to you."
  Ryan took the offered hand, but didn't release it. He let  his  face  turn  thoughtful.  "You  know,  I  heard  your  name
  come up in conversation the other day."
  Knight, realizing he wasn't going to get his hand back, sat. His smile faded, replaced by a cautious look. "Oh, really?
  In what context?"
  Ryan grinned and turned loose of Knight's hand. "Oh, I think it was an ex-employee of yours."
  Knight's grin was thin, strained. "Someone you 'helped' relocate?"
  Ryan shook his head. "No, no, no. It was someone you worked with before my time."
  Knight's thin smile turned positively painful. "I hope this person had good things to say."
  Ryan's smile grew predatory. "Oh, good and bad. She said you had some secrets,  but she also said you were good
  in the sack."
  It was a shot in the dark—something in Alice's tone when she'd talked about "David"—and Ryan was pleased
  with the results.
  Knight turned white. "Her name?"
  Ryan tapped  his forefinger on his chin. "Let me see, I think  it  was  .  ..  Alice.  Yes,  that's  it.  It  was  Alice
  Haeffner. Quite a nice lady, actually."
  Knight looked as if someone had kicked the wind out him. "You spoke to her?"
  Ryan's  smile  softened.  "Yes.  Seems  she'd  been  speaking  to  another  old  friend  of  yours,  a  Thomas
  Rox-borough. They have some pretty interesting views of your relationship with my former employer."
  Knight was actually shaking. "Mister Mercury, thank you for the conversation, but I do have other people to talk to.
  If you'll excuse me."
  As  he was standing,  Ryan dropped the  bomb.  "It  seems  that  both  Alice  and  Roxborough  think  you  might  have
  blamed Dunkelzahn for the Crash. That maybe you've held a grudge for more than two decades,  and  that  pos-sibly,
  just possibly, you might have finally gotten your revenge."
  It was just a simple tick of the eye, but from someone as professional as  Knight  it  was  like  a  signed  confession.
  Without another word, Knight left the table.
  Ryan took another sip of his  cognac,  which  had  gone  lukewarm.  He  turned  and  found  Nadja's  eyes  on  him.  He
  blinked, slowly, their prearranged signal, and stood.
  It took Ryan almost twenty minutes to extract himself from the gathering and make it to the back stairwell. Then he
  was past security and out the fire door.
  He keyed his wristphone. "Jane, you get all that?"
  Jane's voice floated into the concrete doorway. "In glo-rious color. That was a thing of beauty, Quicksilver."
  Ryan  reached  the  ground  floor,  and  Brooks  cleared  him  with  security.  Her  face  was  grim  when  she  bade  him
  goodbye. Ryan made his way to the small Eurocar he had stashed in the employee parking lot.
  "Jane, can you get tabs on Knight?"
  
  "No problem there, Quicksilver. However, even in light of how surprisingly successful your evening was, you might
  want to drop it for now."
  "What's up?"
  "That call I got earlier was from the team you had me hire  to  watch  Burnout.  You  called  it  correctly.  He's
  heading straight for you, and he'll be there soon."
  "Jane, we're going to have to be careful. Get tabs  on Knight, and get Grind and Dhin prepped. Damien hosed  up,
  and he knows it, but the proof will be in what he does  next,  and  when  he  gives  me  that  proof,  I  want  to  be
  there."
  "Copy," Jane said. "Grind and Dhin are ready to roll, and Knight is still at the party."
  "Good. Keep me informed."
  He cut the connection, and reached the dark blue Eurocar. He was just leaning over to open the door when
  his senses screamed danger.
  Ryan spun, clicking into high gear as he scanned for escape routes.
  Rows of parked cars. Pillars and low roof of gray duracrete. Not a lot of room to maneuver.
  Twelve men seemed to melt from the shadows.  Coming at  him  fast.  They  were  heavily  armored,  packing
  Ares
  military weaponry, and they moved like complete pros. If it hadn't been for the small Knight Errant logo on each Kevlar
  Ill-covered chest, Ryan could have taken them for high-paid assassins.
  Frag! I've underestimated Knight again.
  He looked to the metal door that led to the staircase, fif-teen meters away. Too far.
  The twelve armored men formed a wide circle around him. One of them spoke. "If you would be so kind as to drop to
  your face, Mister Mercury, it would be greatly appreciated. We have orders not to kill you unless we really feel like it."
  Ryan shook his head. He might get three, maybe four of them, but there were too many. By the time he got his gun
  out, they'd have cut out his knees. Unless. . .
  Ryan held his hands up in surrender. "I don't want trouble," he said. "I'm unarmed."
  "On the ground!"
  Suddenly, and without warning, Ryan dove for the Eurocar, flattening himself to slide under the belly of the vehicle.
  His would-be  captors  were  caught  off-guard,  moving  as  if  in  slow  motion.  They  fired,  but  too  late.  Ryan  heard
  bullets ricochet off the car as he rolled, reaching into his calf  holster  for  his  pistol  as  he  crossed  the  narrow  space
  between the Eurocar and a Chrysler-Nissan Jackrabbit.
  A plan formed in his mind as he moved. He almost had his gun and would use it to. ..
  Sharp pain erupted in Ryan's chest and the side of his head as a burst of gel-pack bullets hit home.
  Drek, he thought, and for a moment blackness threat-ened to engulf him.
  Several  seconds  must  have  passed  because  Ryan  found  himself  being  dragged  out  from  under  the  Jackrabbit.
  Drifting in and out of consciousness.
  The man who had spoken stepped  forward, quickly and decisively. "This is going to hurt you  more  than  it  hurts
  me," the man said with an abrupt laugh.
  Pain exploded behind Ryan's right ear, and everything went black.
  32
  The Federated-Boeing 3800 arched down from the dark-ening sky, coming closer and closer to the  sea  of  twin-kling
  lights that seemed to stretch past the horizon. As the 3800 touched down, tires smoking on hot tarmac, Burnout rolled
  from the wheel well, hit the pavement in a shower of sparks, and skidded to a stop as the 3800 shot past him.
  In less than a second,  he was on his feet, running for the lightly wooded area just to the side of the landing strip.
  "So far so good."
  "Yes, so far so good. Remind me not to travel with you very often." Lethe's tone was dry and sardonic.
  Burnout grinned. "Hey, you made a joke. And here I thought you were hopeless."
  "I was not joking."
  Burnout laughed as he dashed between thin maple trees and made for the long-term parking structure. A mam-moth
  four-story building constructed  of five slabs  of duracrete stacked on top of each other, the long-term parking  was
  full of cars, but otherwise completely deserted.
  Burnout skirted the building until he had the positions  of all the surveillance equipment scoped  out. He found the
  vehicle he wanted, a late-model Ford Americar. It was situated  perfectly  between  two  of  the  cameras'  blind
  spots, and the third camera only covered the car once a minute.
  Plenty of time, thought Burnout.
  Just  as the camera made its sweep, Burnout rushed  from his hiding place, leapt over the low duracrete wall,
  and hit the Americar. It took him less than five seconds  to open the door, another eight  seconds  to  disable  the  car
  alarm, and twenty more to hot-wire the big sedan.
  As  the engine roared to life, Burnout swung his chrome elbow in a vicious  arc,  smashing  it  into  the  back  of  the
  
  driver's seat.
  With  a  tortured  whine,  the  seat  snapped  off  at  the  base  of  the  upright,  allowing  Burnout  to  sit
  comfortably, without being cramped against the windshield.
  Burnout backed the car out of its space  and pulled up to the automated  gate.  He  found  the  parking  stub  on  the
  dash,  fed  it  into  the  machine,  grinned  his  metal  smile  into  the  surveillance  camera,  and  waited  as  the  gate
  electroni-cally deducted forty-six nuyen from the account of Eliza-beth Farley.
  As the long arm levered upward, Burnout accelerated out into the night. The streets  were crowded, despite all the
  violence that had occurred recently, and Burnout had to keep his head down to avoid frightening the other dri-vers on
  the George Mason Bridge.
  As traffic thinned out coming into the city, Burnout began to feel uneasy.  It wasn't anything  specific, just a vague
  tightening of the chrome parts where his gut should have been.
  Lethe's voice dropped through his IMS. "I sense you are ill at ease. Is there a problem?"
  Burnout didn't answer for a moment. It was strange how close he and Lethe had become. The spirit was becoming
  uncannily  good  at  reading  his  moods,  at  sensing  his  thoughts.  In  a  way,  it  was  comforting.  He  shared  a
  bond  with Lethe that he'd never experienced with any other creature in his life. Still, it was spooky  at times. He
  shrugged. "Nothing I can pin down. Maybe I'm just having a problem with there not being a problem."
  Lethe sighed. "Your statement is as cryptic as usual, but I think I follow. You are wondering why Ryan hasn't  been
  dogging your every footstep, why he hasn't been hiding behind every tree, every doorway."
  Burnout nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's it. This all seems too easy, like we're walking into a trap."
  Lethe chuckled. "In a manner of speaking, we are."
  "What?"
  "Do you think Ryan doesn't know we're here?"
  Burnout's voice was bitter. "Well, I was kind of hoping. I thought  maybe you were clouding my trail so he
  wouldn't know we're coming."
  Lethe laughed. "Don't you see? We want Ryan to know we're coming. He left you that note in hopes of drawing you
  out. He wanted you to come for him.  Every  time  he's  tried  to  track  you,  you  have  defeated  him,  and  the  cost  was
  becoming very high for him. He needs to get you on his home ground, in a place where he controls all the ele-ments.
  He wants you to come for him."
  Burnout  frowned.  "Why  doesn't  that  make  me  feel  any  better?  I've  been  letting  you  call  the  shots  since  Pony
  Mountain, and suddenly, I have a feeling I'm fragged."
  "Not by any stretch of the imagination. I thought the logic here would be self-evident."
  "Well, it's not," Burnout snarled.
  "All right, my friend. Let me explain. You are walking into a trap. Mercury thinks he's got you. I'm sure we've been
  under astral surveillance since we left the mountain. That's how he works. However, he's failed to take  a  few  things
  into account."
  "Like?"
  "Like the fact that you aren't coming for him."
  "I know that." Burnout was feeling some of his  old  rage  resurface.  "We're  coming  for  the  Daviar  slitch.  So  how
  exactly does that help us?"
  Lethe sighed again, a deep, tired thing. "You have been under so much pressure, I think you are over-analyzing the
  situation. It's quite simple. Mercury thinks you are coming for him. He'll be ready, prepared. If  we  cared  to  look,  I'm
  sure we could easily dig up clues as to where Mercury is to be found. He wants you to find him. But he doesn't  realize
  that you know about Daviar. He won't be near her, and so doesn't  comprehend that she's  in danger."
  Suddenly, the tight knot in Burnout's stomach disap-peared. "Damn, you're right. This is so simple, it's almost
  child's play, but you're right. Ryan seems to be a straight-on fighter, and from what he knows of me, he expects me to
  be the same."
  Lethe's voice was soft. "Feel better?"
  "Much. You've used Ryan's own smarts against him. If he'd tried to stop  us from coming, he probably could have
  whittled us down bit by bit. This way . . ."
  "Exactly."
  With Lethe and his GPS as a guide, Burnout pulled up outside  the front gate of Dunkelzahn's mansion in less than
  half an hour. He drove the car a half-kilometer down the road and into a tree-covered ditch. Then they made the hike
  back to the estate in silence and darkness.
  "I think the security here is fairly tight," said Lethe. "Though I didn't worry about that sort of thing when I was here
  last."
  "Can you give me specifics?"
  "Yes," Lethe said. "There are watchers and elementals. The fence is laced with monowire and there are cameras and
  track-mounted  drones  with  rotary  cannons  packing  stun  ammo.  Maybe  paranormal  guard  dogs  of  some  sort,  but
  nothing we can't handle."
  "How do you know all this?"
  "When  I was here last, I possessed  a member of secu-rity so that I could speak with Nadja Daviar. I read  all  that
  from his mind."
  Burnout nodded. "What about the slitch? How's she rate on the danger scale."
  Lethe's voice was cold. "She is not a threat. Nadja Daviar is a remarkable woman, and I would like for you to promise
  
  me that no harm will come to her."
  "I can't promise that."
  "I realize that circumstances might get out of your con-trol, but I would like for you to promise that you will not take
  any  action  against  her  yourself.  If  she  . . .  if  some-thing  happens  to  her  during  the  course  of  events,  that  is
  unavoidable. However, I would like for you to take all the precautions available to you to ensure her safety."
  Burnout nodded. "I've got no quarrel with her, and absolutely no reason to kill her. I won't kill her unless  Mercury
  forces my hand. Or if she gets in the way."
  "I guess that is all I can ask."
  Just  then, the sound  of a big engine racing down the street  toward  them  caught  Burnout's  attention.  He
  crouched in the darkness of low-hanging pine branches across the street.
  The  Nightsky  limo  burned  rubber  as  it  turned  at  the  entrance  and  accelerated  down  the  circular  drive.  With  a
  screech, the big car slammed to a halt by the door.
  Burnout cranked up the gain on his low-light vision. He saw the figure of a young  woman with the build of an elf.
  She  had  dark  hair  and  wore  a  flowing  red  evening  gown.  She  dashed  up  the  broad  steps  to  the  house.  Within
  sec-onds, she was inside, and the limo pulled away.
  "Looks like someone's party didn't go quite as planned."
  Lethe laughed. "Most likely Ryan has gotten word of our arrival, and has sent her to a place he believes is safe. Just
  as I knew he would."
  "Excellent, now let's rock and roll. Give me the layout of this place."
  33
  Out of the darkness floated a pinpoint of white light. It swam toward him in an unsteady  stream, finally reaching him
  and bringing pain. Ryan used his magic to channel the pain away, and the throbbing in the back of his head vanished.
  He opened his eyes, and immediately shut them again.
  White room. Mirrored walls.
  With his eyes closed, he took a mental inventory of his body. The blow to the head wasn't the only thing his body
  had suffered. He  had  been  beaten,  though  not  severely,  and  his  scalp  itched  where  someone  had  ripped  the  fake
  datajacks off.
  He was naked, he could tell that by the light breeze blowing over his bare skin from the air-conditioning and the chill
  of the metal chair on his back. His hands were cuffed behind his knees.
  He turned his senses  outward. Hearing told him that he shared the  room  with  two  others,  both  large,  who  stood
  behind him. Smell told him that one of the guards liked clove cigarettes and that the other wore an offensive amount of
  aftershave.
  He forced his mind to focus, counting backward from ten. When he had centered himself, he slowly opened his eyes
  again.
  The room was sterile white, nearly five meters wide, and half again as long. Directly in front of Ryan sat a small table
  bolted to the floor and holding a small deck and a telecom. On the other side of that was a utilitarian desk chair, empty.
  Without  turning his head Ryan could see observation  mirrors reflecting his image back to him  on  each  of  the  three
  walls. His and the images of the two
  trolls who towered behind him, their battle uniforms looking well-used and their automatic rifles pointed directly at his
  head.
  They hadn't bothered  to clean him up. Dried blood ran down his neck to a point just above his right nipple. Ryan
  watched the forward observation mirror, his infrared vision telling him that two others watched him.
  Ryan smiled at the two figures and mouthed the words, "Long time no see, Knight."
  One  figure  nodded,  then  moved  out  of  Ryan's  line  of  sight.  Within  a  few  moments,  a  doorway  at  Ryan's  back
  opened, and in the mirror's reflection, Ryan watched Damien Knight step through.
  He hadn't changed since the party, and the look on his face was bemused, almost whimsical. Knight stepped  around
  Ryan, making sure he was well out of reach, despite Ryan's handicapped position. He circled the deck, and with a sigh,
  sat in the chair.
  Knight leaned back, crossed  his legs, and steepled his fingers under his chin. For some reason, his  body  posture
  reminded Ryan of Nadja. Then he realized it was that of someone totally in control, completely in his element.
  For most of five minutes, he and Knight stared  at  each  other.  Finally,  Knight  slowly  shook  his  head.  "I've  been
  trying to figure out just where I went wrong with you, Mercury."
  Ryan shrugged. "Maybe it was when you showed no appreciation for good aged cognac."
  Knight laughed. "Touche. You're right. I can't stomach the stuff, myself."
  "Then  I  guess  you  were  just  kidding  about  the  offer  to  come  to  your  place  and  sample  some  of  that  vintage
  Ger-main Robin."
  Knight fixed him with  an  intense  stare.  "Yes,  I  think  I  know  where  I  went  wrong.  During  my  dealings  with  you
  before,  I  formed  a  picture  of  an  immaculate  warrior,  someone  of  incredible  ability  who  had  been  hand-
  
  groomed  by  an  immortal.  Unfortunately,  the  times  I  had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  your  crafty  side,  I  made  the
  assumption  that Dunkelzahn was your brain, that any
  spark of ingenuity you possessed was programmed by your master."
  He's right and he doesn't even know it.
  Ryan was Dunkelzahn's weapon. Always had been. And without the dragon to wield him, to direct his edge, Ryan
  felt lost. Unsure.
  Knight stood. "Mercury, much as I'd like to sit around exchanging pleasantries with you all night, I didn't ask you
  here for a social call."
  Ryan smiled, tight and dangerous. "You didn't ask me here, Knight. You panicked."
  Knight returned the smile, and if anything, his grin was even more predatory. "Quite correct. You see, you left the
  gathering this afternoon under some very explosive mis-conceptions. I've brought  you here to disabuse  you of those
  misconceptions before you do something rash and potentially . .. destructive."
  Ryan kept his face impassive.
  Knight sat on the edge of the desk. "I'll admit, you took me for quite a turn when you mentioned Alice and
  Roxborough."
  "I'll bet."
  Knight nodded. "Yes, a lot of your information is quite correct, though  even that data is enough  to get you killed.
  And I have to remind you, you're getting that information from a deranged vat freak and a ghost  in the machine. You
  see, Alice flatlined and went into a coma many years ago, though both her husband and I did everything in our power
  to save her."
  Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You're going somewhere with all this, I hope."
  Knight leaned forward. "You talked tonight about  holding a grudge for decades.  Well, you're right. A grudge has
  been held, but not by me. You've been duped  by Alice, but unfortunately, you played your cards so well that
  I fell right in line with what certain people would like you to believe."
  Ryan sneered. "So you're telling me that you had nothing to do with the death of Dunkelzahn?"
  Knight stood and walked around to the chair and sat again. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."
  "You'll have to do a lot better than that, Knight. At least Alice and Roxborough gave me some evidence to back up
  their story."
  Knight sighed. "I was afraid it would come down to this. And I won't deny that I often wanted the old wyrm to butt
  out with all his behind-the-scenes manipulation. It espe-cially slotted me off when I had to sell him VisionQuest.
  "I may have even wished for his death more than once. Frankly, he was on the hit list of all the megacorps. But we
  didn't all cause that explosion. I'm not even sure how it could have been done."
  Ryan laughed. "Your words  are  like  sand  in  the  desert, Knight. There are a whole lot of them, and they're
  worthless."
  Knight nodded.  "Then I'm very sorry that you don't believe  me,  Mister  Mercury.  I  can't  give  you  the  proof  you
  need, and I can't afford to have someone as dan-gerous as you wandering around plotting my demise."
  Knight nodded to one of the trolls behind Ryan. "Kill him quickly, and painlessly."
  34
  Burnout cleared the wall with a quick flex of his hydraulic legs. He landed behind some trimmed azalea bushes  and fell
  to his belly, listening intently for the telltale sounds of alarms or guard animals.
  Nothing but the distant chirping of birds and the chatter of squirrels.
  Burnout had seen a number of Secret Servicemen, and he knew that if this took too long, many of them would die
  and he might be prevented from getting to Daviar.
  That was why his plan was based on speed.
  "I'm masking our auras," Lethe said. "And doing my best to make us invisible in the physical as well."
  Burnout didn't respond with physical speech, but Lethe seemed to understand his answer. Good.
  "When  I was here last, she was in her office,"  Lethe  said.  "That  window,  straight  ahead.  First  floor,  next  to  the
  arboretum."
  For the most part, the mansion was a huge red brick structure  with a shingled roof, but just ahead, across  a short
  section  of groomed lawn,  Burnout  noticed  the  elabo-rate  greenhouse.  The  walls  were  in  style  with  the  rest  of  the
  house,  but the roof was made of glass  or some other clear composite. The glass  was held  up  by  the  huge  limbs  of
  stone trees. Very ornate and beautiful.
  And very likely, complex on the inside. A great place for a confrontation.
  Burnout  scanned  left  and  caught  sight  of  the  elf  woman,  Daviar,  through  the  panes  of  a  tall
  window straight ahead. It was multi-paned and most likely bullet-proof, but even plexan could be defeated with the
  right weaponry. Burnout didn't hesitate for a second; he sprang
  to his feet and launched himself into a full-out run, straight for the window.
  In  the  thirty  meters  between  the  hedge  and  the  house,  Burnout  accelerated  to  nearly  sixty  klicks  per  hour.  He
  
  pulled the Predators and fired into the window as his legs hurtled the two of them toward the window. And
  Daviar.
  Bullets  ricocheted  off  the  glass  at  first,  then  they  cracked  it.  Burnout  emptied  both  clips  into  the  clear
  polymer, forming a nearly perfect circle of cracks. Then he launched himself head first into the house.
  The glass  exploded in a shower  of  glittering  shards  as  Burnout  burst  through  and  rolled  on  carpeting,  snapped
  himself up and lunged for a startled Nadja Daviar. She pulled away from him, faster than he expected, nearly reaching
  the door.
  But his ravaged metal body  slammed into her, and she crumpled beneath  his weight. Alarms sounded  throughout
  the  mansion,  relentless  and  annoying.  Burnout  pushed  himself  to  his  feet  just  as  three  guards  in  dark  suits  and
  sunglasses rushed through the door.
  Burnout lifted the elf, Daviar, holding her in front of  him  with  one  large  and  gruesome  hand  encircling  her  neck.
  "Back off! Or she dies."
  The woman straightened and regained her composure. Remarkably fast. "Please," she said. "Tell us what you want,
  and I'll make sure you get it."
  Burnout allowed himself a smile. "Yes, you will."
  "What do you want with me?"
  "First, tell these suits to kindly leave the building."
  Nadja nodded toward the security team.
  "We can't just leave you in here with this thing," said one of the suits.
  "You can and you will, Mister," Nadja said, her voice ringing with authority.
  The suits  retreated, and when they were gone, Burnout  turned  her  toward  him.  She  was  the  picture  of  unmarred
  flesh, so fragile in her unblemished beauty. And he was a tableau of gore-covered metal and bundled Kevlar III fibers.
  So very little flesh left, even his outer coating of vatgrown skin had mostly peeled away or rotted off.
  Opposites, they stared at each other for a brief moment.
  Then Burnout spoke. "There is only one person who can save you, and I suggest  you get him here. He must come
  at once. And he must come alone."
  35
  Sweat dripped down  Ryan's  naked  chest  as  he  sat  in  the  cold  metal  chair.  As  he  readied  himself  for  the  next  few
  seconds. In the observation mirror, he saw the big troll guard move forward slightly. Ready to pull the trigger.
  Ryan tensed his legs and tried to focus. There wasn't any way he could take both the trolls, but he wasn't going to
  die without taking Knight down with him. He could use his telekinetic thrust  to deflect the gun barrel so that
   the bullets would hit Knight, but timing was going to be crucial.
  As the huge man pressed the barrel of the automatic to the side of Ryan's neck, time seemed to slow down. His mind
  was filled with the image of Dunkelzahn in his natural form. Huge and sinuous, with metallic blue scales. I'm sorry. I've
  failed you again.
  Ryan was just about  to make his move when the telecom on the desk came to life.
  Knight held up his hand, and the troll stopped,  the muzzle of his weapon digging a circular ring just under Ryan's
  ear. Knight hit the connect and looked at the face on the screen in surprise.
  The voice that came over the line was faint, barely audible to Ryan's ears. "Do you have him?"
  Knight looked up at Ryan. "It's for you."
  Ryan didn't like the look of glee in the old man's eyes.
  Knight smiled, and turned the telecom around, and Ryan found himself looking at  an  extreme  close-up  of  Nadja's
  face.
  Her features filled the entire screen, blocking any clue as to where she was. She looks worried, Ryan thought.
  "Hello, dear," said Ryan. "Am I out after my curfew?"
  Ryan watched as Nadja shot a glance to her left, then looked back at him. The message was clear, she wasn't alone.
  She looks scared.
  "Ryan, I need you to come home right now." The panic in her voice sent every muscle in Ryan's body jumping.
  He forced himself to be calm. Losing control wouldn't help anyone. With as much nonchalance  as he could muster,
  Ryan looked down at his naked condition, then back up to the screen. "Well, dear, and this might be a tired cliche, but
  as you can see, I'm a bit tied up right now."
  One of the trolls behind Ryan laughed.
  Nadja's composure came as close to cracking as Ryan had ever seen. "I'm sorry, Ryan. But it's imperative that you
  return to the mansion at once."
  Knight turned the screen in his direction, "Miss Daviar, how good of you to call. It seems as if you just might have
  tuned in at a very advantageous time for everyone."
  There was something in Knight's tone that bothered Ryan. It was almost as if the man had been expecting her call,
  as if this was just another step in a very intricate dance.
  
  Ryan couldn't quite hear Nadja's reply, but Knight nodded. "Why, of course I'll send  Mister Mercury on his way to
  you immediately. However, in this world of quid pro quo, I must ask something in return."
  Nadja said something, but the only word Ryan could make out was "Bastard."
  Knight laughed. "How gracious of you to notice. Still, that's off the subject. What I had in mind has to do with the
  disposition of your Gavilan stock."
  Knight paused,  then shook his head. "Something a bit more permanent. In exchange for the  hasty  return  of  your
  pet muscle boy, I thought  maybe a two-year non-retractable voting proxy wouldn't be too much to ask."
  The strain in Nadja's voice was evident, even if Ryan couldn't make out the words.
  Finally, Knight said, "Very wise choice, my dear. This conversation  has  been  notarized,  and  if  you  would  be  so
  good as to give the code for your retinal scan, we can make it legal and binding."
  Knight hit a button,  then grinned up at the screen. "My dear, I would suggest  refraining from  trying  to  void  this
  agreement by claiming it was made under duress. Not only will I tie you up in corporate court for years, negating your
  access to the stock, I will also make sure you—"
  Knight's  grin  widened  as  Nadja  spoke.  Then,  "Well,  my  dear,  I'm  glad  you  see  the  sense  of  sticking  to  the
  agreement."
  Four quiet beeps  sounded  from the telecom,  then  Knight  looked  up  at  one  of  the  trolls.  "Get  this
  trash  his clothes and gear, and deposit him at Dunkelzahn's mansion."
  As  Ryan felt the cuffs being pulled from his wrists, Knight returned his  attention  to  the  telecom.  "Of  course,  my
  dear. We'll have to do this again some time. It's been ever so much more enjoyable than our usual sparring matches."
  He cut the connection  and turned to Ryan. "Don't even think  about  reprisals,  Mercury.  I  respect  you  enough  to
  know  how  determined  and  ruthless  you  can  be  when  given the chance. However,  you're  in  way  over  your
  head dealing with Alice and Roxborough. Do yourself a favor and forget them."
  Ryan smiled. "We have something in common after all, Knight."
  Knight looked offended. "And  just what would that be?"
  "We  both have a long memory. You really should  kill me now, because  I'll  never  forget,  and  one  day,  out  of  the
  darkness, your worst nightmare will come calling."
  Knight laughed softly. "Have a wonderful evening, Mister Mercury. Considering the circumstances I believe you'll
  find yourself in very soon, I doubt you'll have time to worry about petty vengeance."
  Ryan just continued to smile at him until the big trolls led him out of the room. They returned his clothing and his
  wristphone, then drove him in an armored stepvan to the mansion.
  36
  Alice looked  over  at  the  flesh  blob  that  was  Thomas  Rox-borough.  His  disease  had  nearly  run  its  course  and  his
  organs were coming apart. If he didn't get help soon, he would die.
  Roxborough had other problems as well. His head lay across  an elaborate chopping  block  that  was  situated  on  a
  huge stage surrounded by gardens of white roses and a deck of royal guards. A huge, ugly guard with a hood over his
  head wielded a gigantic axe.
  Alice grinned her Cheshire grin. "So it comes down to this," she said. "Do you have any last words?"
  "Alice!" Roxborough bellowed.
  The executioner swung the axe behind his head.
  "David denies killing Dunkelzahn, and I can't find any concrete evidence that ties him to the explosion."
  "He had motive."
  "He had some interesting things to say about that, too."
  The axe rose in a wide arc over his head.
  "Alice!"
  "He said you were responsible for the Crash, not Dunkelzahn. Just as I suspected  originally. For  some  reason  he
  was reluctant to tell me."
  The axe fell.
  "Stop, stop! I admit it. I had something to do with it, but I wasn't alone." .
  The blade made a clean cut through  Roxborough's neck  and  struck  the  wood  chopping  block  with  a  resounding
  thunk! Roxborough's head fell onto the wooden planks and rolled over next to the fading cat.
  Alice smiled down at him. "I thought you might have more to say."
  "I'm still alive," said Roxborough's disembodied head. "I'm still alive."
  "Surprise! Now finish your little confession, and I'll let you live a few moments longer."
  Roxborough grimaced. "Okay, it begins way back with my corporation, Acquisition Technologies."
  "Yes?"
  "It was a small corp, but we had a drek-hot program-ming department. I ran it, and David Gavilan was my top code
  maestro."
  Alice drew breath through her sharp teeth.
  
  "Dunkelzahn had very little to do with the corporation except that he owned a small portion. Until one day, I learned
  that the wyrm was planning to hire Gavilan away from us. This started a little corporate data war.
  "I  instructed  my  programming  team  to  come  up  with  the  most  deadly  computer  virus  ever  constructed.  My
  intention  was  to  destroy  the  data  cores  of  Dunkelzahn's  Gossamer  Threads  Corporation.  Nothing  more.  Gavilan
  worked on the project, everyone did."
  "I don't believe you."
  Roxborough's disembodied face wrinkled into a pained grimace. "Finally, the truth and you don't buy it."
  "What happened?"
  "We tried a small corp first to see if the virus would work. We unleashed it on Effexx Studios and it destroyed  them
  completely. At first we were overjoyed, but then something happened.  It was a complicated program, self-replicating,
  self-correcting, all that. It got out in the old Internet and infected hundreds of computer systems."
  "I remember," said Alice. Perhaps, she thought, this is finally the truth.
  "It was an accident, don't you see? We never intended to hurt anyone."
  "What happened to David?"
  "Dunkelzahn  met  with  him  to  discuss  moving  to  Gos-samer  Threads,  and  he  saw  the  virus  in  David's  mind.
  Dunkelzahn knew what we had done and he convinced David to quit Acquisition Technologies and go to work for
  the UCAS government to fight the virus. The rest of us were busy trying to hide our involvement, and with
  all the computer systems crashing, that wasn't too hard to do."
  Alice looked at Roxborough with pity. "You deserve your fate,"  she  said.  "You  deserve  to  be  a  brain  in  a
  bottle. But I never did anything wrong. I came in as an innocent ..."
  "Look, I'm very sorry. I helped fund Echo Mirage. We all fought the Crash virus."
  "It mutated and grew into something else, did it not?"
  "I don't know."
  "Is it still out there?" Alice asked.
  "Honestly, I don't know."
  Alice faded herself out of Wonderland and into the shining city.
  Roxborough's cries fell away into the distance. "You can't leave me like this.  I'm  a  disembodied  head,  for  Ghost's
  sake.','
  Alice ignored him. He was still alive. He should be thankful.
  37
  Ryan stood on the street, a chill wind playing through his hair, and looked at the mansion. The Dragon Heart was near,
  he could sense its power calling out to him.
  Nadja, I hope you 're all right.
  Carla Brooks had arrived a few minutes earlier and had surrounded  the perimeter of the mansion grounds  with sec
  troops. She was around the other side now, getting an infiltration plan worked out in case Ryan was unsuc-cessful.
  His wristphone beeped. He looked at the tiny screen to see Alice's liquid blue eyes. "This is not a good time, Alice."
  Alice gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry about circum-stances, Ryan," she said. "This won't take long."
  "Go ahead."
  "I have new information that  Damien  Knight  never  thought  Dunkelzahn  was  responsible  for  the  Crash.
  Knight did not have a long-burning hatred and probably didn't have a strong motive to kill him."
  Ryan just shook his head. "Now you tell me."
  "I sincerely apologize," she said.
  "I'll want to discuss this further," Ryan said. "But now is not the time."
  Alice nodded. "Agreed."
  Then  she  was  gone  and  Ryan  took  a  moment  to  center  himself.  He  remembered  his  interrogation  with  Quentin
  Strapp. Strapp had grilled him, had made it look like Ryan could have killed Dunkelzahn, and Ryan had done the same
  thing with Knight.
  I guess the appearance of guilt doesn't equal culpability.
  Ryan took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts
  from his mind. Time enough for that after Nadja was safe. He keyed in Jane's number, and her familiar icon faded onto
  the small screen.
  "Ryan, about fragging time."
  Ryan kept his voice quiet. "Give me the situation report, and this better be good."
  The blonde caricature shrugged. "He's got her in the arboretum. She's tied up in the southeast corner, under the last
  plant table. Almost like he was trying to keep her clear of the action."
  Ryan nodded. "What about Dhin and Grind?"
  "With the exception of Nadja showing up, everything  went  just  like  you  thought  it  would.  Dhin  is  in  the  Secret
  Service van, rigging surveillance and assault  drones. Grind is high up in the branches  of one of the huge red-woods
  
  adjacent to the property. He hasn't had a clear shot yet."
  Ryan took a deep breath. He thought  about  the way Nadja had looked during her call, about  the hidden fear  he'd
  seen there. He would save her, there was no other choice, but under that realization came another. He would get the
  Dragon Heart today or he would die trying. For the first time since losing the Heart to Burnout, Ryan had no doubts
  about his mission.
  His indecision was gone, his uncertainty vanished.
  There would be no strategic retreat this time, no fighting to a draw. He finally knew where to strike, and he
  was willing to sacrifice himself if necessary.
  "Ryan, your gear is stored just in front of the main entrance. Get going, and we'll switch over to the Phillips tacticom
  on your signal."
  Ryan nodded and cut the connection. He crossed  the street, his every nerve on fire, his hyperaware senses  going
  into maximum alert. He found the gear pack just to the side of the front staircase, under a rose bush.
  Quickly, and with a minimum of excess movement, he laid  out  the  gear.  It  consisted  of  light  body  armor,  a  small
  tacticom unit, a Vindicator minigun, and a shoulder hol-ster with a Colt Manhunter.
  Ryan suited up quickly and checked the load in his weapons. Ready and willing. He pulled the Vindicator's
  strap over his head, slung the ammo belt, and switched off its safety.
  Then he inserted the light earpiece into his left ear and used  the mimetic tape to fasten the tiny mic to  his  throat.
  "System up," he subvocalized.
  "Check," said Jane in Ryan's ear.
  "Check," came Grind's voice.
  "Check," said Dhin, and there was an edge of humor in the big ork's voice. "Bossman, thought we'd lost you."
  "Not quite. What's your position?"
  "You drove past me on the way in. I'm in the black stepvan. Got a Condor II in the air to keep track of our chummer if
  he happens to come out, plus a Rotodrone with heavy armament package ready to rock and roll on your mark."
  "Good. Grind?"
  "I'm playing birdy in this fragging tree. Me and my Barret one-two-one. Can't tag him unless  you move him into the
  middle of the room."
  Ryan paused, mentally arranging his chess pieces.
  "Jane?"
  "Copy."
  "You got control of the house systems?"
  "Stupid question, Ryan, but I guess you had to ask."
  "Lay it out for me."
  "Quicksilver, he's smart. He's keeping to cover under the third stone tree from the rear exit. That way, he has Daviar
  between him and that exit, and can cover the other two at his leisure."
  Grind came on. "I almost got him when he dumped Daviar under the table, but even with this high-powered scope,
  the infrastructure of the building is playing havoc with me. I can't get a clear shot  at him as long  as  all  those  stone
  branches are in the way."
  Ryan nodded again. The arboretum was a huge struc-ture with two gigantic sheets of macroglass for a roof to allow
  the sunlight in. In the name of artistic decor, the macroglass  was  supported  by  ornately  carved  marble  trees.
  Eight of them, complete with stone roots and inter-twining branches, stretched upward to create a canopy.
  "Jane, talk to me about the arboretum. It's got auto sprinklers in case of fire, right?"
  "Affirmative."
  Ryan thought about it, and suddenly everything came into focus.
  "Jane, what's the oxygen content in there?"
  There was a pause, and Ryan could tell the question had taken her by surprise.
  "Dunkelzahn converted the arboretum into a green-house  of sorts,  said he wanted to raise orchids, so the oxygen
  content is higher than normal. Why?"
  "You control that as well?"
  "Affirmative."
  Ryan grinned. "I want you to slowly increase the oxygen content."
  "How high?"
  "Just keep it going, but try and make it subtle."
  Dhin's voice sounded concerned. "Bossman, you mind filling us in on what you've got planned?"
  Ryan forced his voice to remain calm. "Grind can't get a clear shot with that roof over our boy, so I'm going to blow
  these stone trees sky high."
  "Ryan," said Jane, "I've never asked this before, and I hope I won't ever ask it again, but do you know what the frag
  you're doing?"
  A picture of Nadja's face filled his mind. "I've never been so sure. I'll give  you  the  signal.  Just  before  I  blow  the
  place, I want you to selectively activate the sprinkler systems over Nadja and myself. Turn them on full blast."
  Jane chuckled. "I think I'm getting the picture. What about the Heart?"
  "I'm going to take it from him before the place blows."
  "I'll track it and make sure the sprinklers protect as much as possible."
  Ryan nodded. "All right, people, this is one for the record books. Let's keep it clean. Grind, you know what to do."
  
  "Check."
  "If things get ugly in there, I want Nadja out. She's first priority. After that comes the Dragon Heart, then me. That
  clear?"
  There was no answer needed, and none came. Each member of the team knew just what was at stake.
  "Jane, if things don't go as planned, there are coded instructions in my safe at Assets. Follow them to the letter."
  Silence.
  He stood and walked quickly up the steps  to the front door. There was no need for stealth. Burnout knew he was
  coming and had the entrances covered. There was no chance for surprise.
  "Now, Jane," he said.
  "Increasing oxygen content. It should reach a flam-mable level in just under five minutes."
  With that he entered the house.
  Ryan walked through the quiet darkness, and even though  he knew that he was never more than fifty meters from
  another member of his team, he felt utterly alone. As he stepped past  priceless art, he found himself growing nervous.
  Roxborough's self-doubt creeping in.
  Ryan took several deep and cleansing breaths, trying to bring calm. But by the time he reached the sealed double
  glass doors of the arboretum, an edge of agitation had gripped him again. And it refused to let go.
  Taking a slow breath, he keyed the palmlock, and the doors slid backward.
  Humid heat smothered him, and he immediately began to sweat. The rich smell of fertile soil and blooming plant life
  hit him, and for just a second, he was sad that Burnout had chosen  this spot.  In just a few minutes, nothing would be
  left of the beauty around him.
  It had been a  while  since  Ryan  had  come  to  the  arboretum, and for just a second,  he stopped  and looked
  around, as if he were seeing it for the last time.
  Sculpted marble trees strained for the ceiling, their intertwined branches making up the supports  for the twin sheets
  of macroglass that made up the roof. Each of the stone  trees were completely wreathed in ivy, giving the impression
  that they were alive.
  "So, we're finally alone together." The chilly voice dropped out of the air, echoing in the damp stillness.
  Ryan immediately put his back to the wall, pulling the
  Vindicator up to ready position. Something was wrong, something in the back of his mind told him  he  wasn't  going
  about this in the right way.
  "Not quite, Burnout," he said. "This is between you and me. Let Nadja go."
  Burnout's laughter rang through  the room, turning Ryan's blood cold.  "Between  you  and  me,  Mercury?  It  hasn't
  been between you and me since you killed the Kodiak."
  Ryan remembered the bear shaman, Miranda held high over his  head.  He  shifted  on  the  balls  of  his  feet,  slowly
  inching his way into the dark room. Burnout didn't give much of a heat signature, so Ryan was going to have to rely
  on other means.
  "Jane," he subvocalized.
  "Copy," came the woman's voice in his ear.
  "Position."
  "He hasn't moved."
  Ryan took a quick, silent step, and put one of the marble trees between him-and Burnout's location. "Jane,
  what's the count?"
  "Another four minutes, but Ryan, when you blow it, you're going to have to be near the corner of the room where I
  can cover you with the sprinklers. Otherwise, you're going to take as much damage as he does, and I don't think I have
  to remind you that you are flesh and blood."
  Ryan smiled in the darkness. "Don't worry about me. Just keep that oxygen rising."
  There was a pause. "Ryan, you do realize that if shots  are fired after the oxygen level gets  high enough,  the room
  will go ahead of schedule."
  "I've already got it figured, Jane. Just be ready."
  Burnout's modulated voice dropped into the room. "Mercury? Where are your friends? Don't tell me  you  actually
  did what I wanted. I would be so disappointed if you came to the party by yourself."
  Ryan stepped out into the open. "I guess I'm just going to have to disappoint you, Burnout. It's just me."
  There was another long laugh.
  "Quicksilver! He's on the move. He's got you targeted,
  and he's making his way toward you, just on your two o'clock."
  "Yes, Burnout. I'm here all alone, just like that night in Aztlan. It's just you and me. You think you're chill
  enough to take me?"
  "My, my. What's that I see?  Looks like a Vindicator  minigun.  That's  some  pretty  heavy  rock  and  roll,
  Mer-cury. And what a pity, I'm totally unarmed."
  Ryan turned to his two o'clock, and Burnout's metal form drifted out of the shadows and into a patch of
  sunlight.
  Grind sounded frustrated. "Frag those branches! I can't get a clean shot. Just another  two  meters,  and
  he's mine."
  Ryan looked at Burnout's ravaged frame, and whistled low. "You look pretty bad, Burnout."
  
  Burnout smiled, and in the filtered light, it was the metal smile of some chromed grim  reaper.  "Yeah,  I
  ain't so pretty as I was, Mercury. I guess I owe my new look to you."
  Something clicked in Ryan's mind, and he knew what had been nagging. He was alone in the arboretum,
  but he wasn't using the Silent Way. He had been ignoring Dunkelzahn's teachings since  losing  the  Heart,
  and he knew he wouldn't survive this unless he focused on his training. On who he was.
  Ryan slowly knelt down on the floor, and laid the Vin-dicator on the warm marble. "Burnout,  it  doesn't
  have to come to this. You know I have you outgunned, and you know from our past encounters that even in
  a straight fight, I can give you a run for your nuyen. But this is fool-ishness. We don't have to fight."
  Burnout smiled. "I know we don't have to, Mercury, but I want to. I want to feel your skull  crack  and
  collapse under my fingers. I've come a long way to watch you die."
  Ryan held up  his  hands.  "Listen.  You  stole  something  that  doesn't  belong  to  you,  something  you  can't
  even understand. There's an easy way out of this where both of us leave this place alive. All you have to
  do is put the Dragon Heart on the ground and walk away."
  Burnout cocked his head, as if he was listening to
  something inside his own skull. Then the smile returned. "Look at me, Mercury. You've left me with nothing. And for
  what? The Heart. You think I'm going to give up the only thing that makes all this worthwhile? Still, there is a way to
  end this easily."
  "I'm listening."
  "Why  don't you lie down on the floor and let me kill you quickly. That  way  you  won't  have  the  shame  of  being
  beaten before you die. It would save you a lot of emo-tional distress." Then that scary laugh again.
  Ryan shook his head. "So that's it, then. Neither one of us is going to give in."
  Burnout went into a fighter's crouch. "That's it, Mer-cury. Let's dance, shall we?"
  His movement was a blur, the fastest thing Ryan had ever seen. Burnout crossed the distance in the blink of an eye,
  and Ryan had just enough time to throw himself to the side as Burnout came rumbling at him like a tractor train out of
  control.
  Except Burnout was in complete control. As Ryan leapt to the left, Burnout's right hand swung, open-handed,  and
  caught Ryan across the chest.
  The impact hit Ryan like a sledgehammer, and his body  was lifted high into the air. Instinct made him roll with the
  fall.
  Ryan came to his feet, a full three meters from where he'd been standing.  His chest  was on fire, and he magi-cally
  channeled the pain away. When he could breathe again, he felt his ribcage, and realized that his body  armor had been
  sliced to within a millimeter of the skin. Burnout was nowhere in sight.
  "What the frag just happened?"  Grind sounded  com-pletely confused.  "One second  he was in my sights,  the next
  second he was gone. That fragger can move!"
  "Position?" Ryan subvocalized.
  "Wait a minute. Wait, I got him! Ryan, he's—"
  "You still think you're a match for me, Mercury?"
  Ryan spun to face the voice behind him, and just barely managed to deflect the high kick aimed for his head. The
  kick landed hard against his arm.
  Ryan's left forearm went numb, and he rolled again,
  using  the momentum of the kick to push  himself out of  harm's  way.  He  staggered  to  his  feet  and  forced  himself  to
  center.
  Burnout was casually leaning against the trunk of the tree across the large center walkway.
  Ryan stepped backward until his back was against a tree trunk. He could feel the cool ivy leaves rustling against his
  neck.
  "You like how that feels, Mercury? To have your back against the proverbial wall?"
  Ryan flexed his left arm, feeling the life come back in painful prickles. He smiled. "Not so much. The big differ-ence is
  that  I didn't put your back up against any wall, you did. You  messed  in  business  that  didn't  concern  you  and  you
  thought you could get away with it."
  "Just  get  him  to  move  another  half  a  meter,  Quick-silver,  and  I've  got  the  shot."  Grind's  voice  was  soft,  full  of
  concentration.
  Jane broke in. "You got another minute and a half until lift off. Make whatever you're going to do count, 'cause if
  you're still standing at your present position when that room goes, I don't think even you could live through it."
  The feeling in Ryan's arm was back to normal, and he smiled at Burnout. "I  came  in  here  to  try  and  settle  things
  without  anyone  getting  hurt,  especially  the  innocent  woman  you've  got  tied  up.  But  I  guess  that
  time is through." Ryan forced his will to be calm, and felt the power channel down his arms to his hands.
  "All  right,  Burnout.  You  want  to  dance,  I'll  dance  with  you."  With  that,  Ryan  threw  out  his  hands,  sending  a
  bat-tering ram of force straight at the cyberzombie.
  Burnout tried to move, but even with his speed, he was way  too  late.  The  magical  wall  smashed  into  him,
  catching him in the chest  and sending  him flying. The marble  tree  he'd  been  leaning  against  cracked  with  a
  sound like thunder and tilted slightly to the side.
  The cyberzombie rolled with the impact, turning his air time into a series of backward somersaults.
  
  While Burnout was still in the air, Ryan moved. He leapt the first table of flowers in a graceful kicking
  motion. As Burnout hit the ground,  catlike,  with  his  feet  under  him,  Ryan's  foot  smashed  into  the  side  of
  Burnout's head.
  Ryan used  the impact to drop himself back into a fighting stance,  and Burnout fell with  the  sound
  of rending metal.
  Ryan pulled his Manhunter  and was about  to pull the trigger when he heard Jane's voice in his ear. "Ryan, no! If
  you spark it now, I won't even be able to save Nadja. You're too close to her."
  Burnout looked up and suddenly  was scrambling toward him.
  Ryan threw his body backward, catching the edge of the table directly behind him with his left hand.
  He pulled his legs in tightly, and pushed  off with his hand,  causing  him  to  flip  over  back  into  the  center
  walkway.
  Ryan stood for a second in the silence. Once again, Burnout had disappeared on him.
  "Position?"
  "He's standing right next to Daviar. He knows you won't  pull  the  trigger  if  there's  a  chance  you  might  hit
  her."
  "Burnout!" Ryan called. "You talk big, but  when  push  comes  to  shove,  your  cowardice  shows  through.  Taking
  refuge behind a hostage, that takes guts. Yes, sir."
  Out the corner of his eye, Ryan saw the form hurtling through  the air, and he turned, the Manhunter  ready to fire,
  but he never got the chance.
  With a scream of rage, Burnout slammed into him. One metal hand grabbed the pistol's barrel, another caught Ryan's
  throat.
  As  they  fell,  Ryan  slammed  his  free  hand  into  Burnout's  chest,  packing  a  magical,  as  well  as  physical
  punch,  and Burnout's body  twisted in mid-air. The cyber-zombie's momentum carried him over  Ryan's  head,  but  the
  metal man kept his grip on Ryan's neck, and Ryan felt himself start to black out as his body  was wrenched back-ward
  and down.
  Ryan's grip on the Manhunter  loosened  for just a moment, and it was gone from his grasp.
  Damn, he's strong.
  Choking, he let his legs go over his head, and he found himself on top of Burnout's prone form, straddling the man's
  huge artificial torso.
  Holding Ryan at arm's length above him, Burnout tightened  his grasp, and a sparkling blackness began to close at
  the edges  of Ryan's vision. Ryan struggled, his hands  battering at Burnout's chrome body, bashing  deep dents  into
  the scarred metal. His legs thrashing, searching for purchase.
  Then, just as his strength started to fail him, his flailing hands felt the Dragon Heart, tied to Burnout's waist.
  Ryan touched it with his mind, and he felt its power surge through him.
  "So we meet again, Ryan Mercury."
  The voice dropped into Ryan's mind like an old lover, so familiar, yet so hostile.
  I thought I might find you here, Lethe.
  38
  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The words had become a mantra in Lucero's mind and she couldn't shake them. She was
  back in the dark stain, at the metaplanar outcrop-ping of stone. She sat at the edge of the newly recon-structed  wedge
  of blackness, her back propped against the body of a young boy, his smooth skin cold against her spine.
  Directly in front of her, Senor Oscuro was pulling another docile young  girl toward the new altar of  corpses.  The
  pretty raven-haired child slipped on the blood of the latest victim" and dropped to her knees.
  It  had  taken  Oscuro  a  fraction  of  the  time  to  create  the  new  wedge-shaped  stain  near  the  tip  of  the
  outcrop-ping. He worked with a renewed vigor that made Lucero ill, spilling blood and carving up corpses  against the
  music. Pressing forward until the dark barrier came very close to the singer of the song.
  The black line edging just around the source of the light.
  Now, with all the grace of a prince at a royal ball, Oscuro gently took the girl's hand and helped her to her feet.
  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. With each repetition, Lucero imagined that the blood stain in her soul grew fainter and
  fainter, until it was nearly gone. Gone also was her strange  blood lust, the twisted, manipulated mani-festation of her
  craving for the power the blood could bring.
  Lucero shivered in revulsion when she thought  about  the  things  she  had  done,  when  she  thought  about
  how
  Oscuro had magically turned her lust for blood power into some strange, sick obsession for the blood itself.
  She knew now that Oscuro had been using her all along.  Everything  he  had  done,  and  everything
  he'd  caused  her to do, had been a trick  to  keep  her  soul  riding  that  fine  line  between  light  and  darkness.  He  had
  managed to maintain that balance so Lucero would remain func-tional as the link between the real world and this one.
  But was the stain on her soul really growing lighter? Could the mantra truly erase her sins?
  
  She could tell by Oscuro's ease of movement. Before, when the black spot on her soul had lightened, it had strained
  Oscuro to the limit just to complete the sacrifices. Now, Oscuro moved as if he were taking a relaxing walk through  a
  quiet park.
  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
  As  the raven-haired girl lay back on the bloody mound of dead bodies, Lucero became aware of her  own  scarred
  hands, clutching her knees. She was rocking back and forth in beat to her litany of apologies.
  Oscuro  looked  over  at  Lucero  and  grinned,  a  track  of  spattered  blood  dripping  down  the  side  of  his  face.  His
  violently shadowed face watched her, not the sacrifice, as he raised the gore-covered blade and let it fall.
  The young  girl's head nearly came away from her body  as the knife cleaved the delicate skin, splitting tissue  and
  cartilage with equal ease.
  Oscuro had brought a real Chac-mool with him this time, and he bent to catch the spurting flow of life in the black
  granite bowl.
  "We  are  almost  there,  my  child,  we  are  on  the  edge  of  the  bridge,"  said  Oscuro,  his  gaze  still  fixed  on  Lucero.
  "Soon,  all  of  your  struggle,  all  of  your  suffering  will  reach  fruition.  Soon,  you  will  have  the  release  you
  crave."
  Even the sound of his voice made the bile rise in the back of Lucero's throat.
  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Lucero rocked faster, the words echoing in her mind until they started to run together,
  to become a blur of supplication.
  Oscuro turned  from the  still  twitching body,  and
  delicately picked his way over the jumbled tangle of life-less limbs.
  He reached the last small section of the uncompleted wedge. Very near the power of the song,  at the sharp edge of
  the outcropping, right next to the tip. But instead of fin-ishing the wedge and bringing the dark stain to the tip of the
  spike, Oscuro turned back to Lucero. "Come, my child. This is a grand moment, a momentous occasion. I think
  it would be fitting if I shared it with the one who made it possible."
  Lucero continued to rock, continued her mantra as stark horror filled her soul.
  Oscuro  smiled  softly.  "As  you  wish,  my  dear.  I  can  understand  how  this  glorious  achievement  might  be  a  bit
  overwhelming for one so young." With that, he turned back toward the tip of the outcropping and raised the bowl.
  No! Lucero struggled to her feet. She had to stop him, she had to keep him from completing the wedge. Dread filled
  her, and her soul quaked before it.
  She staggered across the corpses, stumbling with every step  as the flaccid limbs of dead children seemed to catch
  at her flesh, to block her steps.
  Oscuro held his position, Chac-mool raised high, until she  was  only  five  meters  from  him.  Then  he  tipped
  the bowl.
  The thick burgundy  liquid poured out, searing the cracked earth with its stain. Completing the wedge. And as the
  wedge closed, Lucero could hear Oscuro say in a deep booming voice, "My masters, Darke welcomes you."
  A tiny sliver of darkness  had edged past  the singer and reached the tip of the outcropping. A mere splinter. Yet it
  was enough.
  An icy chill crept into her limbs then,  a  dark,  barren,  numbing  cold  that  froze  her  mid-step,  that  clenched  all  the
  muscles in her body as her very flesh revolted against the touch  of pure evil. This was despair at its true depths,  this
  was hatred in its most refined form. The only thing that kept her from losing her mind completely was the muted sound
  of the music.
  Lucero's stomach muscles seized up and she vomited
  blood. It splattered on  the  ground,  mixing  with  the  blood  of  those  who  had  died  before,  and  began  to  sizzle.  She
  continued to wretch and gag until nothing more would come out of her. With a  shaking  hand,  she  wiped  the
  muck from her chin and slowly raised her head.
  Oscuro knelt before her, a bemused smile on his dark face. "Impressive, no?"
  Lucero wanted to vomit again, wanted to spew her insides all over this hateful creature in front of her, but she was
  too weak to even spit in his face.
  His smile turned to a grin. "And, as they used to say back when I was still young, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
  Oscuro stood, and walked behind her, and it took every ounce of strength for Lucero to sit back and watch him. He
  stood as close to the tip of the spike as he could and raised his arms in welcome. "Masters,  Darke bids you to come.
  Crush the light that has held you back for so long. Come and take what is rightfully yours."
  At first, Lucero thought  she was hallucinating. The mean cold deepened  for  a  moment,  and  it  felt  as  if  she  were
  suffocating, then something moved at the corner of her vision. She  turned  her  head,  just  in  time  to  see  one  of  the
  corpses, a brown-haired girl, stagger to her feet.
  The girl's head toppled to the side and stayed  that way, the  half-moon  wound  on  her  throat  gaping  like  a
  hangman's  leer.  Then  Lucero  became  aware  of  movement  all  around  her  as  the  dead  came  to  life  and  pushed
  them-selves to their feet.
  With a quick movement, Oscuro lifted the sacrificial dagger from the altar, and raised it. With two deft slashes,  he
  cut  diagonal  wounds  along  his  upper  left  forearm.  Then he transferred the knife to his opposite  hand,  and
  repeated the process on the right forearm.
  No blood flowed from those wounds. Oscuro began chanting in a tongue Lucero couldn't understand,  but that hurt
  her ears.
  Several of the zombie-corpses around her began to transform.  They  doubled  over  in  pain  as  huge  sharp
  
  bristles of spiny black hair pierced out of their skin. Their legs and arms changed  into furry tentacles, multiplying until
  there were four on either side of their now-hideous
  bodies. Their heads  flattened, and massive insect mandibles jutted with a gooey crunch sound  from the base
  of their jaws as their eyes split and divided. That was all Lucero had time  to  see,  because  at  that  moment,  she  was
  slammed  with  the  full  force  of  the  evil  across  the  Chasm.  It  was  a  raver's  madness,  a  lunatic's  cruelty,  a
  rapist's glee at the subjugation of all it surveyed.
  I'm sorry. I'm sor-—
  As  Lucero's  consciousness  faded,  the  knowledge  that  her  sins  had  allowed  this  to  happen  struck  her  with
  des-perate force. The hollow, cadaver sound  of Oscuro's laughter echoed around her as his new forces made a slow
  advance toward the light.
  Lucero knew it was only a matter of time before the song was silenced. The light quenched.
  And like herself, the beauty turned to ugliness.
  Abomination.
  39
  On the floor of the arboretum, Ryan straddled the cyborg body  covered  in  gore,  feeling  as  if  time  stood  still
  as Burnout's cold metal fingers squeezed down on his throat. Blackness crept in like ink on the  periphery  of  Ryan's
  vision as the power of the Dragon Heart surged through him.
  Suddenly, Ryan felt Lethe bring his influence to bear, pushing against Ryan's hold on the Dragon Heart.
  Ryan knew Lethe wasn't able to use all of his magical strength, because  Ryan would never have been able to resist
  the spirit's full force.
  Lethe, why are you doing this? I thought you wanted to help.
  "Help you to attain the Dragon Heart so you could keep it  for  your  own?  I  would  much  rather  this  man  of
  wretched metal have the Heart. At least he can be rea-soned with, at least he is honorable."
  Ryan struggled to understand what Lethe was saying. Then he understood.  Lethe, I know  what you 're thinking,
  but you're wrong.
  "Am I?" The deep voice was grave. "Even now, I can sense your desire for the Dragon Heart."
  Yes, I have a desire for the Heart; its power is seduc-tive, and any man could  justify  that  desire  by  saying  how
  much good he could accomplish with it. But if you can sense that desire in me, then you've got to be able to sense
  the fact that I will not keep the Heart for my own.
  There  was  a  short  pause,  and  Ryan  became  aware  of  Burnout's  grasp  on  his  throat,  of  the  cyberzombie's
  slow-motion movement to bring the Manhunter on target.
  "Even though I sense what you say is true, why should
  I surrender  this  man,  who  for  the  small  price  of  your  death, will put forth his entire  effort  into  helping  me
  transport the Dragon Heart to Thayla? You, on the other hand, might still succumb to your own base desires."
  Ryan grew desperate.  The barrel of the Manhunter  was swinging toward his chest, as if in slow motion, targeting
  the spot where his armor had already been damaged.
  Lethe, there is more. Things you don't  know.  Listen to the truth in my  mind.  There  are  only  two  people  on  this
  planet who have the knowledge and the trustworthiness  to carry the Dragon Heart across to the astral plane. Two
  mages  specified  by  Dunkelzahn.  Neither  of  them  would  have  anything  to  do  with  Burnout.  Everything  we  are
  fighting for will have been for nothing.
  In that moment, the odds were put on the scales, the risks  were  calculated.  Ryan  could  sense  the  spirit's
  thoughts turning as Lethe made his decision.
  "You  have  still  not  convinced  me  that  you  are  devoted  to  taking  the  Dragon  Heart  to  Thayla,"  came
  Lethe's reply. "I will honor my agreement with Burnout."
  Ryan  couldn't  breathe,  and  he  felt  the  power  of  the  Dragon  Heart  fading  with  the  last  of  his  strength.  Tiny
  splotches of black touched his vision, like droplets of dark oil on his eyes. I'm going down.
  Burnout targeted the Manhunter, his finger poised on the trigger. But  he  didn't  fire.  "I  have  detected  the  rise  in
  oxygen," he said. "Any  spark would blow this whole room. I think I'll move outside before I riddle your flesh
  with bullets."
  Into  Ryan's  mind  came  Dunkelzahn's  voice.  A  follower  of  the  Silent  Way  uses  the  terrain  to  his  advantage,
  Ryan-thusar. Uses all his assets in a fight, even those that seem to be lost.
  Grind's voice came dimly, as if from a great distance, yelling, "Get off him, Ryan! I've got the shot! Get clear!"
  "Negative, Dhin," came Jane's voice. "At his current position, Quicksilver is not covered by sprinklers. Even if you
  don't hit him with the sniper gun, he'll buy it in the explosion."
  Ryan felt the zen of the Silent Way creep over him as he centered himself. It had been too long since he had felt
  this way, ever since Roxborough had taken control. Now, as he focused, his spirit meshed with  his  body  in  perfect
  synchrony. And he knew what to do.
  Ryan closed his hands over the Dragon Heart, hanging from Burnout's waist in its  cloth  sling.  He  brought
  
  all of his strength to bear, making sure that his grip was iron-tight.
  Then he concentrated  and used  his telekinetic magic. Ryan nudged  Burnout's trigger finger with a  focused  magic
  push.
  The  Manhunter  roared,  and  Ryan  could  see  the  muzzle  flash  just  as  he  heard  the  distant  sound  of  Grind's
  heavy-caliber sniper rifle.
  Ryan felt the Manhunter bullet blow through his armor and throw him back, knocking the breath from his chest.
  Then everything turned the nightmare orange color of Hell. The exposed flesh of his face and hands  began to sizzle
  and cook as he flew through the air. The pain was too great, the force too strong.
  Ryan lost his grip on the Dragon Heart.
  The skin of Ryan's eyelids split and began to bleed as he closed them against the roaring wall of flame that engulfed
  him.
  His blistering ears could hear the sound of glass shat-tering above him as the roof blew outward.
  Ryan drew on every reserve of strength he possessed, and focused to hold his flesh together.
  And  he heard the sound  of something heavy, something metal, hit the floor just  beside  him,  and  he  knew  it  was
  Burnout.
  Something pushed Ryan violently across the room and into the soothing  cool of the sprinklers. Jets of cold water,
  which at first simply turned to steam, finally  fought  their  way  through  the  fire  on  Ryan's  skin  to  gently  caress  his
  wounds and soothe them.
  Then it was all over.
  Ryan opened his eyes, which were covered with a film of red, making the purgatory scene  in front of him even more
  lurid. Am I still alive ?
  The small pockets of flame that still remained were hissing and smoking under the constant spray of water.
  As  Ryan rolled slowly, trying to get to his feet, he could feel the huge  blisters  on  his  cheeks  break  open  on  the
  blackened marble floor.
  Across the room lay the motionless, charred body  of Burnout like some child's fallen nightmare, a huge hole in his
  chest from the sniper round.
  "You have won, Ryan Mercury." Lethe's voice was weak, distant.
  You saved me? That push into the water spray was you?
  "I saw your willingness to sacrifice yourself. I see the truth that you have changed."
  Thank you, Lethe.
  "Just fulfill your promise. Take the Dragon Heart to Thayla."
  I will. But I could use your help.
  "I have used up the last of my strength."
  What do you mean ?
  "Ryan Mercury, we all make mistakes, and we all pay for them. When this fragile mortal coil dies, I will die with it."
  Don't die, Lethe. You have to help me take the Dragon Heart to Thayla.
  No response.
  Lethe?
  There was a crash behind Ryan, and Secret Service agents stormed into the room, weapons ready. Grind fol-lowed a
  minute later and rushed up to Ryan's side. The dwarf took one look at Ryan and spoke into the air. "Jane, get that Doc
  Wagon crew in here pronto. Quicksilver's so fragged up I'm not sure why he's still alive."
  The only answer Ryan could hear on his melted ear-phones was distant static.
  "Ryan?" The voice came from behind him.
  Floating into his  vision  came  Nadja.  She  was  sopping  wet,  her  ruined  gown  clinging  to  her.  Her  black  hair  was
  plastered to her soot-smudged  face.  Standing  there,  like  some  war  zone  survivor,  Ryan  thought  she  was  the  most
  beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
  40
  In the swirling darkness  of the interface between  Burnout's meat body  and his cyber, Lethe found the silver
  cord—the trail Burnout's soul left as it struggled to find an exit from the magic that held it trapped. The cord
  draped downward into Burnout's inner darkness.
  Without hesitating, Lethe plunged into the blackness, following the cord as fast as he could.
  It didn't take him long to find Burnout's essence.
  To Lethe, it looked like a  small  human  boy,  with  skin  of  liquid  silver  that  shimmered  as  the  boy  trudged  slowly
  downward.
  "Burnout?"
  The boy did not run, did not slow his descent.
  "Burnout?" Lethe said, again.
  The boy turned slowly and looked at Lethe with dull, tired eyes. Eyes that spoke of  a  weariness  no  child  should
  
  have to suffer. "There is no Burnout here. He is dead. I am all that is left. Now leave me alone."
  Lethe moved closer. "If you are not Burnout, then who are you?"
  The boy turned away, but called over his shoulder, "My friends call me Billy. Billy Madson."
  Lethe continued to follow him. "Where are you going, Billy?"
  "Go away. I'm going to rest. I'm so tired."
  Lethe thought about it for a moment. There had to be something that would draw Burnout's soul back to his metal
  body,  something this young  boy would find enticing.
  Then it came to him.
  "Billy, you want to see a magic place?"
  The small figure stopped. Turned. For a moment, Lethe could see the excitement behind the exhaustion in the boy's
  eyes. Then a look of suspicion crossed the young face. "What magic place?"
  Lethe came up close. "There is a place in the meta-planes, a spike of mana. There's so much magic there that it fills
  your whole spirit."
  Billy's eyes narrowed. "I've heard of that place. A lot of people died there. What's  the magic  in  dying?  I  mean,  if
  you're dead, how're you going to enjoy it?"
  Lethe laughed. "Billy, I can show you a side to that place that very few people ever get to see."
  "Oh, yeah?"
  "Look." Lethe formed an image of Thayla in his mind. He drew from his memory of her song, of the sheer per-fection
  of her beautiful magic. He showed Billy the power of the white light that radiated from her.
  The small boy drew breath as the vision took him.
  After a minute, the vision faded.
  The boy looked up at Lethe. "You've been to this place?"
  Lethe nodded.
  "And this is a real place, not just something you made up?"
  Again, Lethe nodded.
  "It's wonderful."
  Lethe laughed. "Yes, it is. Would you like to see it?"
  A small fire seemed to light behind the weary eyes. "You could take me there?"
  "We can only go together. You have to come back with me, back the way you came."
  The  small  boy  looked  upward,  his  eyes  trailing  the  silver  cord  that  stretched  out  of  sight  into  the  darkness
  overhead. Then he looked downward, in the direction he'd been heading, and such longing filled the boy's  eyes that it
  made Lethe's heart hurt.
  "But I'm so tired," said Billy, in a tiny, child's whisper.
  "I know you are, Billy. But this place is worth it. I promise."
  They stood there like that for a moment, then Billy looked up and faced Lethe. "All right, if you promise."
  Together they struggled back up along the silver strand.
  41
  Ryan woke to the sound of crickets.
  For a long moment, he didn't open his eyes, he simply savored the feeling of clean sheets beneath him and the smell
  of fresh air.
  Even the dull pain in his chest and on his hands and face was welcome.
  I'm alive.
  He opened  his  eyes  to  silvery  moonlight  peeking  through  the miniblinds. The window was open, and the
  blinds rocked gently in the soft breeze blowing into the room.
  Ryan felt good. Sore, tired, spent,  but good  none-theless.
  He  was  in  one  of  the  small  guest  rooms  in  the  man-sion's  west  wing,  the  walls  were  a  soft  magenta  with  oak
  wainscoting stretching  up from the floor for about  a meter.
  A nice, simple room, compared to the luxury of the rest of the place. It suited Ryan just fine.
  Ryan turned to the oak night stand  next to the bed,  and  there,  lying  on  a  cushioned  bed  of  real  velvet,  was  the
  Dragon Heart. Ryan could feel its power, feel the pulse that drew him to it like the proverbial moth to the all-consuming
  flame.
  Ryan stretched out a bandaged hand and clumsily grasped the Heart. He pulled it to his chest.
  With a thought,  he tapped  into its power. Instantly, he felt the healing of his body  accelerate at such  a rapid  rate
  that he found himself sitting upright without any com-plaint from his chest.
  Ryan looked down and saw a piece of elegant sta-tionery resting next to the velvet.
  With care, Ryan peeled the bandages  off his left hand. Even though  the skin of his hand was  fully  healed,  small,
  circular scars remained. He felt his face. It was covered in bandages as well.
  He picked up the paper. There was a note inside, and he recognized the handwriting immediately. He leaned back
  
  against the pillows and read the flowing script.
  My sweet Ryan,
  I hope I am able to be there when you wake, but if
  not, I wanted you to know how much I love you, Ryan
  Mercury. I love you more than I can say, more than I
  will ever be able to express.
  v
  There are still dark days ahead, for both of us, but I know we will succeed.  You have a mission that you must
  finish, I understand that, but even when the path seems dark, know this: there is one who loves you more than
  life itself.
  I'll wait for you, Ryan. Unfaltering, unwavering, because  I  know  you  will  return,  just  as  I  knew  you  would
  come for me in the arboretum.
  With all my love, Nadja.
  Ryan smiled, feeling the tightness of his newly healed skin.
  He looked down at the Dragon Heart and thought  about  Nadja's words. She  wasn't  completely  correct.  He  didn't
  have to leave if he didn't want to.
  Ryan felt the Heart's power fill him.
  I could keep it.
  The idea made him giddy, just as it had the last time. When he had been consumed by Roxborough's person-ality
  and had decided to keep the Heart. To have all this power at his command, the wonders he could do.
  Then, without bidding it, Miranda's face slipped into his mind. Her final request had been to make sure her sac-rifice
  had meant something, that all the ruin and destruc-tion hadn't been for nothing.
  Ryan knew he was more than a little responsible for her
  death. He looked down at the new scar tissue  on his hand, and that hand balled into a fist. Those  scars  brought  the
  image of Nadja, soaking wet, nearly killed because of Burnout's desire for the Heart.
  And my own.
  As  long as he kept it, he knew that wouldn't stop.  There would  always  be  those  who  desired  it,  and  one
  day someone would come along with enough power to take it away from him.
  Then it would all have been for nothing.
  Ryan felt the Dragon Heart's power wane inside him. With it, his desire to possess the artifact faded as well.
  Ryan looked out the window at the beautiful sunshine.
  "Don't worry, Dunkelzahn, you're going to get  your  way,  as  usual.  Even  dead,  you're  still  going  to  get
  your way. But there's a difference this time, you bastard. I'm not doing this for  you  anymore.  I'm  not  doing  this  for
  some holy crusade to save the fragging world either. I'm doing this for me, Dunkelzahn.  You  hear  me?  I'm  going  to
  finish this thing for me, and for everything and everyone I hold dear."
  Ryan smiled to himself. "But you knew that,  didn't  you, old wyrm? You knew this would be the only way
  I'd take on the mission. By making it my own."
  Ryan carefully set the Dragon Heart back on its velvet bed, and watched the breeze gently rock the blinds. "Be at
  peace, you old lizard."
  Ryan smiled, as a single tear fell from his eye to be quickly absorbed in the bandages on his face. "I miss you."
  42
  The  steady  drizzle  of  rain  spread  a  glossy  sheen  over  the  mirrored  glass  skyscrapers  of  Wonderland  City.  Alice
  brooded, her head bent as she watched the ground, seeing the reflection of the buildings  in  the  shiny  black  of  the
  street.
  She stopped suddenly, taking a long drag from her cigarette. She gave up, admitting to herself that she didn't know
  what to do. I need outside counsel.
  Wonderland placed the call for her.
  "Hello?"  came  the  man's  voice,  remarkably  alert  con-sidering  what  he  had  been  through.  And  his  image  came
  on-line. White bandages  covered his head and face, though his silver-flecked blue eyes shone  like glittering
  jewels.
  "Ryan," Alice said. "Are you all right?"
  "I've seen better days."
  "I need your advice."
  "You need my advice?"
  "I don't know what to do with Rox."
  "What have you done already?"
  Alice told him about locking Roxborough in Wonder-land, about torturing him with his own disease, and when she
  
  was finished, Ryan sank back into the pillows of the bed he was in.
  "I know exactly what to do," he said. "The only thing worse than anything you've already done.
  "What?"
  "Let him go," he said.
  "What? Ryan, are you insane?"
  "Send him back to his miserable life."
  "But. . ." Alice couldn't believe that Ryan of all people would want Rox released.
  "Think about it, Alice. He hates his life, hates being trapped in the Matrix. It's his clockwork asylum. A mechanical
  prison of his own creation. All I want is to make sure he doesn't  continue his spirit-transfer experi-ments, and you've
  already wiped that data."
  "I also had his head scientist transferred to Saeder-Krupp."
  Ryan laughed. "Perfect."
  Alice was silent for a few minutes. She took a drag from her cigarette as she thought  about  it.  Maybe  Ryan  was
  right. Roxborough would never be happy unless he was in a physical body, and Alice had taken away his ability to do
  that. At least for many years.
  She looked at Ryan. "All right, I'll let him go. I know his system inside and out now, and I've riddled it  with  back
  doors for myself. He'll never be able to lock me out unless he isolates himself so completely that he's totally alone."
  "He hates being alone more than anything."
  "Exactly."
  "Glad I could be of help," Ryan said.
  "Perhaps I can return the favor."
  "What do you mean?"
  Alice  had  not  meant  to  share  her  knowledge  of  Ryan's  mission,  but  she  owed  him,  and  Alice  made  a  point  of
  repaying her debts  generously. She had accidentally misled him with the bogus  Damien Knight information,
  and she wanted to make up for that. From what Alice knew, which was almost everything, Ryan's mission was far from
  over, and it was going to get a lot more dan-gerous very soon. He could use all the help he could get.
  "Just  be  cautious,  Ryan.  There  is  data  to  indicate  that  Dunkelzahn  and  Harlequin  were  long-time  associates,
  perhaps friends, perhaps enemies. Going way back.
  "Alice, how do you know this?"
  Ryan, come on, I have access to nearly every source of information in the cybersphere. Harlequin is very pow-erful
  and quite possibly a long-time enemy of the dragon. He's high on my current list of assassination suspects."
  Ryan shuddered. "Thanks for the warning, Alice, but I need to ask his help. Dunkelzahn specified it."
  "I know," Alice said. "I just wanted you to go in with your eyes open."
  "I appreciate it."
  "Get some rest, Ryan Mercury. You'll need it."
  Ryan leaned back in his bed. "I'll do that," he said, "Give my best to Roxborough. I just wish I could see the look on
  his face when he realizes you've wiped all his data."
  "I'll record it for you," Alice said. Then she discon-nected  and felt a thrill of excitement race over her  skin  as  she
  thought  about  Rox's reaction. She was anticipating the joy Rox  would  feel  when  he  found  himself  back  in  his  own
  system. Home. And then the severe disappointment that followed when he realized that his hopes  for escape  from the
  Matrix were crushed.
  Alice smiled the Cheshire grin of the Cat, jumping up and down in excitement. This is going to be so much fun.
  MEMO
  FROM: JANE-IN-THE-BOX TO: NADJA DAVIAR DATE: 20 AUGUST 2057 RE:
  THE LEGEND OF THAYLA
  Dunkelzahn's  histitute  of  Magical  Research  just  unearthed  this  document.  Thought  you'd  be  interested.
  Text follows:
  Ages  ago,  before  written  memory  began,  lived  a  queen  of  great  beauty  and  even  greater  heart.  Thayla
  reigned over a rich green valley nestled between two mountain ranges that rose like spikes into the heavens.
  Under her rule, the land she loved prospered, and her people lived their days in joy.
  Each morning Thayla greeted the rising sun with a Song. She sang in a voice as clear as the air and  as
  bright as the great burning orb itself. Nothing foul or dark could prosper in her land, for her voice was too pure
  for such abominations to bear.
  One night an army of dark creatures made to enter the valley, seeking to overrun the prosperous land and
  cor-rupt it with their vile presence. Thayla rose that morning as she always did, and upon  seeing  the  black
  army, sang. Her voice filled the valley with power and hope.
  The evil horde, shown the depravity of their existence by her voice, had no choice but to flee. And as they
  did— running and flying with wild abandon for refuge beyond the valley—one black soldier slowed and, for the
  
  briefest of moments, listened to Thayla's Song.
  Days passed, and the terrible army remained beyond the valley, fearful of the Song. Finally, driven by their
  dark mas-ters, they surged forward again. And again Thayla sang.
  As before the foul creatures fell back blindly, unable to stand even a few pure notes of her voice. But again
  the lone, tall warrior with hair and eyes of dark fire lin-gered and listened, if only for a few  moments,  before
  fleeing the valley.
  The next time the creatures approached Thayla's domain, less of the army came. The rest were unable to
  marshal the will needed to enter the valley. But again, the lone dark soldier fell back last, so that  he  could
  hear her Song.
  Finally, not one of the black army would come. Not even the terrible threats of their vile masters could push
  them forward. But still a single warrior in ebony and red armor would slip into the valley before each dawn and
  listen, and after a time, watch as well.
  The  black  figure  advanced  to  where  he  could  see  Thayla  standing  high  upon  the  terraces  of  the  great
  sprawling city  that surrounded her palace. And he would watch her every morning as she rose  and  greeted
  the new day with the Song. And as he listened, blood flowed from his ears and  his  skin  blistered  from  the
  powerful purity of her voice, but he would not turn aside. He would not flee from her Song. And so he stood,
  listened, and watched.
  Then one night, the dark warrior slipped into the city  as Thayla slept. He crept into her citadel, sat at the
  foot of her bed and watched her.
  When she woke and found him there, she called for her guards, but none were strong enough to move the
  dark warrior. She  called  her  sorcerers,  but  none  were  wise  enough  to  banish  him.  She  sang  to  drive  him
  away, but though his body and spirit were wracked with pain,  he  stood  strong  and  firm,  enraptured  by  her
  beauty.
  Unable to drive him away, the great Queen Thayla decided to ignore him. Though he stood at her side, she
  ate without speaking to him. Though he ran along-side as she took her horses out for exercise, she did not
  look at him. And though he stood silently nearby as she slept, she did not acknowledge his presence.
  Each morning she would rise and greet the sun,
  singing loud and strong so that the dark army waiting beyond the valley could not enter. And each morning
  he stood beside her and cried tears of blood and fire at the pain and joy her voice gave him.
  And  so  this  went  on  for  some  time.  Thayla  slept,  sang,  and  performed  her  royal  duties.  But  the  black
  warrior stayed at her side, and slowly the land began to darken from his presence. The animals of the  field
  sick-ened, as did the people. The crops would not grow, and dark and terrible clouds filled the sky  over the
  valley.
  Thayla knew the black soldier was the cause of all these things, and so she asked him to leave. He did not
  even answer her. She tried to trick him into leaving, but he would not be fooled. Then she tried to force him
  away, but he could not be broken. Finally, she begged him to leave.
  "But I do not wish to leave," he replied. These were the first words he had ever spoken to her, and his voice
  was like dried leaves blown on the autumn wind. "Your beauty is like none I have ever seen."
  "But you cannot stay," she told him. "Your presence is destroying my land and my people."
  "I care not for your land or its people," the warrior told her. "I care only for you."
  Faced  with  his  determination,  Thayla  wept.  Slowly  her  people  died.  Finally,  she  called  her  greatest
  advi-sors together and told them what they must do.
  "As  you  know,  the  presence  of  the  dark  warrior  is destroying our land and our people," she  said.
  "However, he will not leave my side. We cannot make him leave, and so I must leave the land and take him
  with me."
  Her advisors wailed at her words. "But you cannot! It is only your voice that holds the black army at bay! If
  you leave, we will certainly die!"
  Thayla nodded, for she knew this to be true, but said, "I will leave, but my voice will remain." And with that
  she charged her most powerful sorcerers with the task of placing her voice in a songbird that would greet the
  rising sun each morning as she had.
  They searched the land and found the finest song-bird of all. And as the sun rose, they performed the ritual.
  When the first light appeared the next morn, the bird sang with Thayla's Voice, and the Song held the dark
  army at bay.
  The sorcerers rejoiced at this, but when they turned to congratulate Thayla, she and her dark shadow had
  gone. They searched the land but could find neither of them.
  But the Songbird rose each morning. And with a voice as pure as the clear air itself, it sang the Song, and
  the black army trembled in its tracks, unable to enter the valley.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/Shadowrun Novels/Clockwork Asylum [FASA 5631].pdf