Paradigm Clutch

Stalking Horse

 

Qwyn faced Zed’s anger undaunted. “He stays here.”

“Fine,” Zed shot back. She glared up at Qwyn, fists on hips. Her eyes glowed, and the air seemed to ripple around her. “So do I.”

“Zerene, listen to reason,” Wylam entreated.

Zed whirled on him. By no means a coward, Wylam still couldn’t match his mentor’s stony aplomb. He blinked and stepped back at the lambent apparition before him.

“You listen!” she told him. “I’ve more right to hate him than any here!” She waved a hand in Nicholas’ direction. For his part, he simply stood inscrutably by. “We’ve made amends. He’s as good a Seeker as anybody here. We need every trained hand and eye on this.”

Zed turned back to Qwyn. “I say all this, and you say he stays here. So you favor old grudges over my word. If you’ve so little trust in my judgment, then I’ve no place on this hunt, either!”

“It’s not just what he did, Zerene!” Wylam persisted. “Yes, he’s good for an Earthside Seeker. His blood alone would see to that. But he’s had none of our training, nor is he Named! How can he even know what plants are safe, let alone hunt?”

“He survived four days in the Kudara Wilds,” Bolt interjected cheerfully, “with naught but his underwear and his wits.”

“Our link is as strong as if it had never been cut,” Zed pointed out. “Anything I know, he’s already learned! If anybody else here is worried about trusting my brother,” she looked around at the assembly in the amphitheatre, “Bolt and I’ll take him with us!”

They all deferred to Qwyn. Zed could feel the ranks close in favor of the Huntmaster’s judgment. Any other time, she’d have been with them. They were her family, and it grated on her to stand against them.

Nor could she argue that their animosity toward Nicholas was groundless. After all, he had knowingly and deliberately severed a psychic link which had connected himself and Zed. To a society in which psychic abilities were accepted and valued, his actions were as heinous as if he’d mutilated the two of them physically.

But he didn’t understand what he was doing, damn it! I’ve told them that! And he’s spent ten years since then, alone and regretting what he did! They’re wrong, as wrong as I was to hate him these years past, to blame him for Momma and Poppa’s deaths, and everything else! He’s family too! How dare they condemn him, exclude him!

Her outrage bled into the air around her. She felt it, but was too lost in it to pull it back. It washed around and through mental shields. In twos and threes, the others in the ampitheatre blinked and stared at Zed, some stepping back from the strength of her radiated emotion. Even Qwyn’s graven expression cracked, shocked both at her outburst, and the display of raw, shield-piercing power.

A downpour of calm suddenly washed over Zed’s fury, dousing its blue-white heat in cool azure tranquility. Like a flare dropped into an abyss, her anger still burned, but was now surrounded and contained. This isn’t the time to fight this fight, Nicholas’ words echoed in her head.

It isn’t right, she argued, though with much less fervor.

Maybe not, he allowed. But right now it’s more important that everybody focus on finding and killing that thing, and coming back alive. The last thing they need is the distraction of what I might do, if I go along.

She smirked at him. You always argued me out of beating up the bullies too badly, even when they deserved it.

Guilty, he returned with a similar grin. Give them a chance to cure their ignorance, after the hunt.

Zed returned her attention outward. She nodded to Qwyn, by implicit extension including everybody else present. “Apologies,” she said, quietly but distinctly. “I am at your disposal, Huntmaster. What’s the plan?”

“You are key to it, Zerene,” Qwyn told her. “The encounter in the tunnel indicates that you alone may be able to sense the shient’va while it is hidden. We will reopen the main tunnel, and all go out. The rest of us will conceal ourselves, while you remain in the open. As soon as you feel its presence, point the rest of the party toward it. At the very least, use the time gained to get yourself clear of its attack. All the lore we have on its kind says it must become visible at the moment of attack. While its attention is on you, we will flank it and attack its vulnerable spots.”

Qwyn scowled at his own summation. “Far from an ideal plan, I know. Too many if’s and maybe’s.”

“So we close the gap with skill,” Bolt counseled, with his usual unbreakable optimism. “After all, how many’ve even ever thought about hunting a shient’va? The Ladies smile on the audacious, even if only ‘cause they like a good joke!”

Qwyn acknowledged Bolt’s reassurance with a nod, though he obviously took it as small comfort. “We move with the dawn. Until then, everybody do what it takes to get some sleep.”

Zed sat quietly as people began drifting from the amphitheatre. Nicholas tapped her on the shoulder. “You heard the man. Bed.”

“Right,” Bolt agreed. “Ye’ve got that ‘What day is it’ glaze on ye. Stalking horses need sleep, too.”

Zed nodded and stood. Sudden recollection made her shoot a glance at Nicholas, then she smiled and grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she invited. “You’ll want to see this!”

She led the way through the Vale’s warren of corridors. Nicholas was struck again by the level of polish and workmanship in the cliffside arcology. His relatives had started with the network of natural passages left by the caldera’s volcanic history, but they had not been content to leave their home rough-hewn. Floors had been leveled, walls straightened, ceilings carved to a high arch. The main avenues were wide and tall enough for even Bolt to walk comfortably, though others sometimes had to turn sideways as they passed him. And where natural light failed for illumination, glowing crystals were set low along the walls or sometimes into the floor.

Zed stopped in front of a solid wood door. Its height and width were twice that of other doors in the corridor. In the middle of the surface, just below eye level, a rune was inlaid in leystone. Zed traced a finger over it, and the inlay glowed briefly where her finger passed. She then pushed gently, and the door slid easily to one side.

“Welcome home,” she invited Nicholas.

The architecture of the suite was the same as all the rest of Kandaler Vale. Smoothly finished basalt was accented with veneers of wood or other types of stone. Wide doorways and high ceilings gave a sense of openness, to counter the innate claustrophobia of the subterranean locale.

Nicholas swiftly absorbed and dismissed the native decor. His attention was riveted by…

I thought it was all gone.

Photographs.

Jackson and Alicia Chandler, in tuxedo and gown (he wore the tuxedo), exchanging first bites of their wedding cake.

Alicia Chandler, belly swollen with twin children, unabashedly modeling a two-piece swimsuit on the beach, the Hotel del Coronado in all its whitewashed and red-tile glory in the background.

Jackson Chandler cuddling his wife, both of them haggard but happy and holding a pair of swaddled, squalling, mahogany-faced bundles of life, in the master bedroom of Mangrove Cottage.

Jackson, Alicia, Zerene, and Nicholas Chandler standing on the front step of Mangrove Cottage. The photo was obviously posed, and intended to be a traditional, serious family photo. That intent was destroyed by the sidelong glances and suppressed smirks exchanged between Zerene and Nicholas, the affectionate yet exasperated ‘Your children!’ glare Alicia shot her husband, and the ‘What, me worry?’ grin splitting Jackson’s beard.

Athletic trophies, engraved with the name of Zerene Chandler.

Science fair plaques, displaying the name Nicholas Chandler.

In one corner an antique rocking chair sat, its sturdy wooden frame spilling over with memories of crooned lullabies and bedtime stories.

A melange of imported Earthside herbs from the balcony planter washed in on the coastal breeze. The salty ocean tang made a different accent from the peaty smell of the Louisiana bayou, but the underlying theme rang true.

For Zed, these rooms had been a home away from home, away from home. She was a child of Earth, but for the decade past her solace had been the Feyside backroads and wilderness. Kandaler Vale had been her stay when the camaraderie of Black Lake Valley or her bond with Bolt didn’t drive deeply enough. This suite and its contents had been her sanctuary when she needed to remember life before Shenn.

Acknowledging all that, Zed was still caught off-guard by the upwelling of nostalgia and grief she felt from her brother, as he surveyed the collection of memorabilia from their childhood home. You shouldn’t be surprised, she rebuked herself. This is all familiar to you. The closest to home and family he’s had for ten years has been a top-secret colony of science geeks, or… Nathan.

Nicholas looked around the room, and felt his eyes burn. His body moved of its own volition. Legs carried him from one memento to the next, fingers drifted over the carved wood of the rocking chair and the brazen cast of the trophies, and breath drew deeply of the aroma from the herb garden.

His tour took him at length to the balcony, with it terraced planters of bell pepper, celery, onion, and other plants, both domestic and exotic. There he sat on a carved bench and looked at Zed. His cheeks were wet, and he didn’t care.

“You saved it,” he told her.

She shook her head as she crossed the suite to him. Her own throat tightened. “Not me,” she told him. “Momma brought it all over.”

“But you kept it!” he whispered.

Zed sat down next to him. I had to, she told him silently, her own eyes wet. It was all that was left of us.

Bolt stood near the door. Zerene had long ago explained to him the origin of the curios spotting her rooms. When he first saw Nicholas’ reaction to them, he’d surreptitiously reached a rear hoof back, keeping the door from sliding all the way shut. Now, as he watched Zerene and Nicholas embrace on the balcony, he gently shoved the door, opening it just wide enough to pass his girth. He backed out into the hall, neither a scuff nor click of hoof betraying his exit. If Zerene sensed his departure, she gave no indication.

Wylam Kandaler stood in the hall. Bolt grinned down at him. “Oy, Wylam,” he hailed. “Sleepin’ in the hall, then, are ye?”

“Greetings, Bolt,” Wylam returned. “I meant to speak to Zerene and Niklas before they retired.”

“Did ye now?” Bolt acknowledged. “Don’t ye think ye said yer piece and then some, in the meetin’?”

“You and Zerene have been partners since she left the Vale,” Wylam pointed out. “She loves you enough to argue for your entry here. Why, then, are you in the hall?”

Bolt’s grin didn’t falter. “As ye say, Wylam. She’s had ta wake up to my face fer nigh on twelve years. Won’t hurt them none, t’ have some time t’ each other after bein’ apart so long.”

“Apart because of him!” Wylam amended with more heat. “I know Tantareli are mind-deaf. But I also know there’s more to you than muscle and speed, Bolt. You must understand what he did to her! Aren’t you bothered by how easily she’s taken him back?”

Bolt planted his fists on his hips. The motion settled his shoulders, making them seem even wider than normal. His grin was still friendly, but widened just enough to show more teeth. The whole impression was an immovable, possibly carnivorous barrier to Zerene’s door. “Less than I am,” he told Wylam, “that the Huntmaster’s second’s defyin’ his master’s command t’ get some sleep, ‘cause he’s fretted that a long-lost brother n’ sister’ve settled past sins, in order t’ make th’ most of what time they’ve got left.”

An apt pupil of Huntmaster Qwyn, Wylam understood the importance of backing away when the quarry turned and showed its teeth. There would be time enough in the morning, to find and seize an opportunity to make his case with Zerene, without interference.

“As you say, Bolt,” he acquiesced. “This is a time better spent in rest than conversation. I hope you find a comfortable place.”

“I’m a Seeker,” Bolt reminded him. “There’s no better bed’n the trail fer th’ likes of me. Why, I might just crash right here in the hall!” And he folded his legs under him, settling his bulk across Zerene’s door, giving evidence to his boast. “Rest ye well, Wylam.”

“Rest you well, Bolt,” Wylam returned, then turned and walked off.

The door slid open, revealing Zerene and Nicholas. Nicholas looked amused. Zerene’s face showed equal parts exasperation and affection as she regarded Bolt.

“Oy, Spoons,” Bolt greeted her over one shoulder.

“Get in here,” she commanded without ceremony, but without any heat. “I’m not about to have one brother in, but leave the other in the cold.”

“I’d advise against arguing with her,” Nicholas contributed.

“Right,” Bolt agreed, rising and turning. “Th’ floor in there looks softer anyway!”

 

The woman’s name was Rebecca. Naturally, she volunteered no surname. She was evidently an old business associate of Kamal. Along with her band of ex-soldiers, adventurers, and disenfranchised technicians, she delivered a variety of services, either overt or clandestine as circumstances demanded, by contract to a number of clients.

Kamal must have a high opinion of her abilities, Nathan thought, to consider using her to break into a Struyck Worldwide secure research facility! Or have they a secret weapon, perhaps?

“I’m all for romantic intrigue,” Grisham raised a complaining note. “But shouldn’t we discuss details of the operation back at your suite, Kamal?”

Kamal chuckled. “My dear Carlton, this establishment is as secure as the deepest windowless room of my tower! I should know – I designed it! This booth is reserved for my use alone, and is also to my specifications. See how muted the noise is outside? We can speak in the most hushed tones, as we are doing now, without difficulty. The beaded curtains refract light outside, so nobody can read our lips or bounce a laser beam off the wall. And the walls are soundproofed. Why, if that elfin chimera passed out in the booth next door were actually awake, even he could not hear anything!”

If an elfin chimera were all I am, that might be true, Nathan gibed to himself.

“Besides,” Kamal concluded, “in light of the prosperous enterprise before us, discussing it in festive surroundings can only invite favorable spirits! Relax, Carlton!”

Nathan listened to them plotting, meanwhile formulating and discarding plans of his own.

He didn’t want Grisham dead. By some modern legal standards, the heinous acts the man had orchestrated and from which he had profited showed such disregard for his anybody’s welfare save his own, that a capital penalty would be considered appropriate. Justifiable homicide was much more widely accepted as a defense against murder, another souvenir of the chaos following Cantionis Terra. Nathan himself had no compunction against taking another life, given the right circumstances, even before he’d become the predator.

There is this limitation to killing, he reflected. Once you’ve taken another’s life, there’s nothing else you can do to them. For some people, death is too merciful.

Nathan’s original plan had been to simply ‘extract’ Grisham, and transport him via Morphy’s marvelous new capabilities back to the United States. There he’d turn him over to the authorities. Grisham’s flight from justice had automatically escalated the penalty for his actions to merit adjustment.

Adjustment. Such an innocuous term, for the selective stripping of choice. I wonder if its introduction on this side of the Veil is coincidence, or if one of my fellow expatriates imported the idea.

In Shenn’s telepathic society, the mind had lost much of its mystique. Like eyes, arms, or the heart, the mind was simply another organ, irrelevant of its ephemeral nature. It could be attacked, injured, healed, restrained, and altered. Madness no longer required hit-and-miss therapy or medication, simply rearrangement. For the unrepentant criminal, an implanted aversion to the offense was an alternative to incarceration or execution.

Earthside, the advent of cognitive computing and psychic abilities had also unlocked many of the mind’s mysteries, with similar results. Rather than the expense and risk of locking groups of violent, maladjusted offenders together away from society, the ability to commit the crime was simply removed from the convict.

They do it a little differently here, Nathan reflected. Feyside, the criminal no longer wishes to commit the crime. On Earth the will remains, only the ability is removed. Respect for free will, or a more subtle sadism? Either way, a fitting fate for a monster like Carlton Grisham.

As he continued to eavesdrop on the conspirators, Nathan learned something else about Grisham: the man was an unapologetic egomaniac. As long as the Longbow raider racket had been successful, Grisham had been happy to take full credit for its design and operation. That the scheme had been exposed and broken had nothing to do with the concept; the failure lie in the ineptitude of the underlings who couldn’t detect a stalking horse, even when it trod on their feet. The plan to steal Stargrave from Struyck and reverse-engineer her universal assembler was genius. If it were foiled, that would be due to a lapse on Kamal’s or Rebecca’s ability to follow through on Grisham’s inspiration.

He maintains his delusion by keeping himself distant from the actual execution of his plans, Nathan realized. That same separation also grants him plausible deniability, because there’s nothing to directly implicate him. That’s how he avoided punishment for the raider operation. And if the Stargrave extraction fails, he’ll avoid any punishment for that, as well. The only way he could be tied to it… is if it succeeded, and he was caught red-handed.

Xander would never agree. Nathan allowed himself a small, evil grin. But what he doesn’t know, et cetera.

The meat of their conversation was over, the basic framework for the extraction laid out. Nathan roused himself as they were observing the formalities of farewells, and strode from the club before they’d left the booth. I can’t very well be seen following them out, can I?

Outside, Nathan waited until the doorman, valets, and customers were all looking away from him for just a second. He didn’t need levitation to reach the roof of The Blue Parrot – his muscles were more than equal to the task. Even if anybody had been looking his direction, the leap was made in the space of a blink.

He knew where Kamal and Grisham were headed. For the time being, they were not his concern. If he were to make sure their scheme succeeded, he’d need to know more about Rebecca and her organization.

The three of them emerged from the club, and a valet sprinted away to retrieve Kamal’s car. Rebecca evidently intended to walk to her destination; bidding the two men good night, she turned and strode away. She stopped as she reached the corner, and pressed quickly into the shrubbery encircling the building. A blaring of music, heavily accented with a thumping back-beat, heralded the headlong approach of a crowd of teenagers, speeding down the sidewalk on roller blades.

They were a motley gang, human and chimera, full of youthful vigor but without any specific direction. There was even a centaur, speeding along on four single-axle skates! Their like thronged the sidewalks of most modern cities, annoying more sedate citizenry but posing no actual threat. Popular experience had taught that the best reaction to them was to simply stand still and let them speed past. This is exactly how most of the people in front of The Blue Parrot reacted.

Two husky youths on rollerblades flanked Grisham. Without warning, each one grabbed one of the fugitive’s arms. Their other hands reached out and joined low on the back of Grisham’s thighs. The maneuver was deft and well-rehearsed. In a moment, Carlton Grisham was speeding into the night, carried on a seat of muscle and bone, arms manacled by strong, young hands. The loud music cut off abruptly as the gang skidded around another corner and vanished from sight.

Most of the people in front of The Blue Parrot were unaware anything had happened. Nathan found himself caught completely flat-footed by the abduction. After a second’s numb shock, the first emotion that welled up him was professional admiration. That’s as smooth and fast an extraction as I’ve ever seen.

Kamal’s reaction was less charitable. He cursed loudly, his face twisted in rage. As with most Earthsiders in such a state, his surface thoughts weren’t just easy to read – it took effort to avoid them.

He knows them! Nathan realized. More than that, at one time he was as a father to them!

And I thought this was going to be easy, he rebuked himself sarcastically as he lifted into the night sky, in the direction he’d last seen the gang vanish.

 

A Deadly Serious Sport

 

The hunting grounds were empty. The animals she had not killed had fled during the night. Only the birds remained, turning and gliding overhead. She watched them with one eye turned skyward, and hated them because she could not touch them. Though in truth, they were only a diversion.

Time and again she returned to the sealed tunnel. It had become habit. She’d tried shoving at it, scoring it with her claws, to no effect. It was as impervious as the forest nearby, whose trees and vines drew even more tightly together at her approach.

They were in there. She could neither smell nor hear them through the heavy stone. But she knew they lay beyond it.

The noise in her head agreed they needed to die. Not to feed her, nor to protect the pattern. She herself was now outside the pattern. She no longer cared about it. Their blood should spray and their flesh tear, for the simple joy of hate.

Stone ground against stone. She turned one eye toward the tunnel, then the other. A tremor rumbled through the ground and vibrated against her pads. She saw the score marks left by her claws rising. The stone was lifting! Deadly anticipation burned in her muscles. No doubt the mad humans thought to come out and attack her!

She positioned herself in the trench leading to the tunnel, and tried to wrap her gift around herself. It was a struggle. In order to use her her gift, she needed to be calm. It had always been so, from the first time she learned to do it. The blaze in her muscles and the noise in her head would not pause for even a single breath. How could she slip between beams of light, waves of sound, and the pull of the world? She was betrayed by her own body, her own mind!

Rage exploded from one end of her to the other. First she was cut off from her inherited memories, now her gift! Would she leave herself nothing?

The stone thudded out of sight into the tunnel roof. She leaped forward, peeling her lips back and letting her jaws drop. Her gift was not needed for this. She wanted the humans to see her!

They were not there.

No sounds echoed from beneath. The scents which clung to the tunnel were from the previous day.

Back here.

The shining one!

She pulled her head from the tunnel mouth, leaped, and spun completely around in one fluid motion. The ground shook from the impact of her landing. Both eyes locked on the slender strip of meat that faced her from the top of the trench.

Come on, the human taunted her. Or was it an invitation?

She closed the gap in a single leap, jaws snapping shut.

She’d missed.

Her teeth clacked together, but nothing tore or crunched between them. Her right eye automatically swivelled to track her quarry. Hair flashed like spraying blood in the morning sun, as the shining one flipped and rolled from feet to hands and back again.

She hadn’t missed since she was a cub. She blinked and stared in disbelief. The air near the human suddenly flashed, and a creature nearly as large as herself seemed to emerge from the very ground.

Centaur.

It reached a hand down to the shining one. She accepted it readily, and in a moment was atop the centaur. They spun as if to run away, but stopped and both looked over their shoulders at her.

Coming? the shining one taunted. This time there was no mistaking it. In a spray of grass and dirt, they were gone.

HATE.

Her roar of rage trailed in her wake as she sprang completely up from the trench and raced across the grassland. She couldn’t see the centaur and the human themselves, but their trail was plain enough. She rounded a corner of the living forest’s boundary, and saw the human again. She was alone this time, no sign of her centaur companion.

Had she not been so filled with fury, or more accustomed to the idea of other creatures fighting her, she might have wondered where the centaur had got to. As it was, the only thought filling her mind at that moment was getting this infuriating human between her jaws, under her claws, or both at the same time!

Her only warning was a sound like a massive wind. Then agony lit one entire side of her, and her feet left the ground without her telling them to. One eye swung around, and she caught a glimpse of the centaur skidding away at an angle. He’d… hit her?

She cried out in pain as she twisted in midair, and felt ribs rub against each other. Still she managed to land on her feet.

Suddenly she was beset from all sides. Claws pierced or ranked her sides, blows buffeted her head and joints.

But from where?

She spun, letting her tail swing with its spine out, hissing in fury and confusion. But for the shining human and the centaur, she was alone in the grass. Yet she was torn and beaten by a host of opponents!

This was not right! She was the hunter, she the killer! It was her place to bring the prey down, to tear at it until it lay strewn about her! She was not the one to be drawn into a trap, cornered and attacked by creatures that should flee in terror at her very appearance!

She howled and charged forward. What lay in front of her did not matter, only that she escape from this inexplicable torment!

Cool, dark green was all around her. Branch and vine rustled and moved on all sides, but none of them touched her. She was inside the forest, the place that closed against all intruders. How had it admitted her?

She had left her attackers behind for the moment, but she could hear them shouting. Surely they would give chase!

The voice in her head screamed gibberish, but her muscles seemed to know what to do. They pumped her blood, filled her lungs, kept her legs moving There would be time for thought and reflection later. For now, she had to run.

 

Kandaler Dodgeball

* Divide the field into two courts.

* Divide the players into two teams.

* Each team must stay within its own court, unless the player is disqualified.

* Each player starts with one ball.

* The game starts with the first thrown ball. Any player may throw the first ball.

* Any player hit with a ball is disqualified, and must leave the court.

* Disqualified players may retrieve balls which have gone out of bounds.

* The game ends when one team has no players left in their court.

* The team with one player left wins.

* Retrieved balls must be returned to the court by being thrown high in the air. They cannot be deliberately returned to your team’s own court.

* You may not hold more than one ball at one time.

* You may catch a ball thrown at you.

* You can block a ball thrown at you, but only by deflecting it with your own ball.

* You can intercept a ball thrown at a teammate, but only by throwing your ball at it.

“You’re cheating!” Tycee Ringlet accused Nicholas.

Nicholas looked down at the youngster. “Excuse me?”

Tycee launched the ball in her hands across the field, narrowly missing one of the children in the opposing court. Then she returned her accusing glare to Nicholas, tossing the cap of rebellious curls that had prompted her surname. “No, I won’t!” she replied, taking his response literally. “Why are you trying to help them win?”

Nicholas caught an incoming ball in one hand, spun, and returned it to its previous wielder in one motion. The resilient rubber sphere bounced harmlessly off the boy’s shoulder, eliciting a cry of surprise and dismay. “I’m not,” he told Tycee.

“Not that time, you didn’t,” she agreed. “But the whole game, you’ve been holding back! If you don’t do your best, you’re helping them win, and that’s cheating!”

Nicholas nodded, fathoming her logic. “I’m trying to be fair,” he told her. “Duck!” Both of them dropped to a crouch as another ball shot overhead. “My body is… enhanced, well beyond normal ability. If I went all out, the other team wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tycee grinned. “So? Their mistake for not picking you!” Her eyes widened, and she rolled to one side. Nicholas picked up her cue, and followed suit. Another ball bounced off the trampled grass where they’d crouched.

“Hey, Karac!” Tycee shouted at a boy in the opposing court. From Nicholas’ perspective, Karac and Tycee simply exchanged gazes for two or three seconds. Amazingly, neither of them was targeted by any of the hail of rubber balls volleying between the two courts.

Then Nicholas felt Karac’s mind touch his own. What passed between the boy and himself was not conversation. Nicholas’ technologically_oriented frame of reference compared it to file transfer, in which concepts were shared wholesale, rather than a word at a time.

Karac lacked the background to understand molecular technology. The idea of performance enhancement came through clearly, though. It shouldn’t surprise me, Nicholas reflected. More and more, this world seems a case of synchronicitous innovation. In turn, Karac showed why Nicholas’ attempt at keeping the play field level was dishonest, according to Kandaler thinking.

Everybody has their own gifts. Using less than the full measure of yourself is lying, and disrespectful to your opponent. Fair play is when everybody uses everything they have to win. If you find yourself outmatched, you didn’t gauge the contest well enough.

Nicholas blinked, and grinned. I understand.

Until that moment, the game had gone evenly. Both teams had suffered losses, and the number of players crowding around the sidelines, catching and returning balls gone out of bounds, had grown slowly.

Suddenly, one team began hemorrhaging players. Balls flew in smooth ballistic arcs, hitting targets both stationary and moving with unerring accuracy. Shots aimed at the opposing team were intercepted. The author of those phenomenal throws was quickly identified, and became Target #1. But he proved such an elusive target as to seem ethereal. Some balls missed their mark entirely, though often by scant margins. Others bounced off the ball in Nicholas’ hands. On a few occasions, the deflection was so perfect, the ball actually returned to its launcher!

Rather than crying foul or becoming demoralized, the besieged team rallied, hooting and laughing in exhilaration at such an unexpected challenge. They formed and tried new strategies on the fly. Balls were gathered and held, then released in salvos. The salvos were staggered, with the idea of hitting Nicholas while he was busy dodging or deflecting other shots. The more their tactics were thwarted, the more delighted they seemed to grow.

Nicholas surprised himself with the sound of his own laughter. He was well_acquainted with the range of his abilities, and had pushed them to their limits on many occasions. Normally, he reserved such displays only for when they were needed. Radical human augmentation was still a controversial subject on Earth, and most of those who went in for it pursued careers in which risk to life and limb was an occupational hazard, so a little extra speed or durability was an asset. People prefer supermen safely between the covers of comic books, Nicholas thought, not rubbing elbows at the bar. He’d never before had such an opportunity, to cut loose and push to his limits where the stakes were not vital, and where his display was greeted with admiration and approval, even from his opponents!

The moment came to a screaming end. Literally.

A nightmare exploded onto the field.

Eight meters long. Quadrupedal. Sleek reptilian hide. Independently-focusing eyes. A muzzle like a cuttlefish, with tentacles wrapped around a hidden mouth. A long, sinuous tail.

It had already been through a fight. Its hide was bruised and marred with gouges and cuts. Dark blood spattered the skin, making it difficult to tell what color the thing might be under all the gore.

Time inhaled and held it, as the creature traded surprised stares with the children, teenagers, and single adult on the field. Then the tentacles curled back, and a set of jaws which consisted of naked bone and glistening teeth parted. Bony spikes sprang from the crown of its skull, its spine, elbows, and knees. Claws extended from all four feet, and a long, swordlike spike grew out of the tail.

Then with a roar, it charged.

Kandalers they were, but they were also children. They were not immune to complacency. For longer than any of them could remember, Kandaler Vale had been a secret haven, known by name only to the rest of Shenn. None had ever come to it but by invitation. Forbidding cliffs stretched for miles in both directions, without the slightest suggestion of beach or passable rocks. Sea passage was shrouded by constant fog and bounded on both sides by jagged, hull-tearing rocks. Most of all, the dark, whispering depths of The Green hid and defended against unwanted intrusion from any other direction. Betrayal by such an impervious barrier would jar even the steadiest nerve.

Yet even as they screamed and fled, their training showed. None of them stood and stared. They did not run blindly, but sprinted for the tunnel entrances that led to the Vale proper. Nobody stumbled and fell, or wasted time looking over their shoulder. Their screams were as much warnings to each other as expressions of terror. If one lagged behind, others helped with a supporting hand under an arm, or by lifting and carrying them bodily. Against any other menace, they’d have gained the safety of the tunnels easily.

The shient’va blurred into a run, closing the gap to the nearest knot of children with terrifying speed. Its tail flicked forward, and a girl with long, straight hair that reminded Nicholas of Zed as a child screamed and fell. Her leg was flayed from hip to ankle, and he glimpsed a white flash of bone. As the monster closed, other children skidded to a stop. Telepathy flew thick and fast between them. Oh no, Rinna! Get her! It’ll kill us too! We can’t leave her! No chance!

A hard rubber ball flew like a bullet, bouncing off the shient’va’s right eye. The air-filled sphere didn’t cause any actual damage, but the shock of impact threw the beast off its stride. The great head turned just as a second ball struck the crown of spikes atop its head, and exploded with an ear-jarring BANG.

Get her clear! Nicholas commanded, satisfied that he now had the monster’s attention. Karac, Tycee, and a third youngster darted forward and dragged the injured girl toward the tunnels. Their motion drew the shient’va’s notice, and it started after them again. Adults appeared from the tunnels, and portals spun open to disgorge more rescuers.

This should qualify as the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, Nicholas thought as he sprinted at the beast. The thing’s as big as Bolt, a walking cutlery shop, mad, and probably toxic.

Nicholas scooped up a ball in each hand as he ran, and leaped at the shient’va’s head. He impaled both balls on the crest of spines, for additional distraction. His feet came down on its muzzle, just above the row of backward-curled tentacles. He kicked down as he landed. The shient’va’s muzzle was jammed downward, and plowed into the grassy soil. Momentum drove the rest of its body forward and up, bending its neck at an agonizing angle. For a creature less massively-muscled, the result would have been a broken neck.

Pushing off, Nicholas somersaulted and twisted in midair. Now for the dangerous part, he thought, spreading his legs as he came down. He landed on the shient’va’s neck, just behind the crest of spines. The bony protrusions poked out nearly perpendicular to the head, so as long as Nicholas watched himself there was little danger of impalement. He reached to each side and grabbed a spine. Hope this thing steers like a horse.

The shient’va jerked its head out of the soil and howled in outrage. The sudden weight on its neck appeared to confuse it, and it swung its head from side to side. Nicholas wrenched sharply on the spines in his hands, shoving the left side forward and yanking back on the right. At the same time, he dug the heel of his right foot in to the muscles of the shient’va’s neck. The beast spun to the right with satisfying speed. Nicholas kicked with both heels, and the shient’va sprang forward.

Delara Kandaler leaped from a portal, and stopped. Her initial intent was to make sure all of the children got inside safely. Even so, she could not resist a few seconds’ stare at the creature that all knew of, but few had ever seen.

Suddenly, Delara realized the shient’va had a passenger. At first, she thought a ghost had come to the rescue. Her mouth formed the phoneme ‘Ja…’ before she realized how impossible was that idea. Jaxon Kandaler was dead. Delara knew Nicholas had returned to the Vale, but she hadn’t seen him since his last childhood visit. So much like his father! she marveled. And not just in appearance. Only Jaxon would be foolhardy enough to ride the Killing Spirit! Well, apparently not!

The shient’va reared, its rage-filled roars echoing across the field. Nicholas held on tight, kicking its withers again. With a sudden lurch it cooperated and broke into a loping run, headed the direction he pointed its head.

Kandaler Vale’s upper field was a large, natural meadow which had never been overtaken by The Green. Why the living forest had left the clearing undisturbed was known only to itself. Kandalers had made the field their own, culling out thorns, keeping it clear of rocks. Where the grassy slope dropped away to the edge of the Vale’s cliff-face, a wall had been built to avert potentially tragic falls. It wasn’t so high to obstruct the view of the ocean or the wind-defying fog bank. A determined child could climb it, and walking along it was a favorite dare.

At the moment, only two questions about the wall occupied Nicholas’ mind. Could the shient’va clear it? And could he jump clear before he went over the side with it? He flexed his legs, preparing to gather them under himself for his leap.

Suddenly, the spines in his hands slid. The shient’va was retracting its crest! Nicholas squeezed the bony protrusions as hard as he could, but the shient’va’s muscles were stronger. The spikes vanished back into their sphincters, leaving only a row of bumps around the base of the beast’s skull. Now he had only the grip of his legs to keep him upright, and no way to steer the thing!

Just keep going straight, he pleaded silently. Jump that wall!

Again he was denied. The shient’va dug in its claws and skidded. So sudden was the loss of speed that Nicholas’ legs lost their precarious hold. He pitched forward along its muzzle, straddling it with his torso. His legs lay straight out and spread behind him. The shient’va’s body continued its skid, spinning slowly to one side. Nicholas threw his arms forward, looking for any purchase. He found the row of tightly-curled tentacles, and dug his fingers in.

They were obviously sensitive. The shient’va screamed in fresh pain, insult, or both, and broke into a run again. Except now, it was running parallel to the cliff wall.

Agony exploded through both of Nicholas’ calves. Nerve editors dulled the pain to tolerable levels. Nicholas suddenly realized what had happened: whether deliberately or in response to his grabbing its tentacles, the shient’va had shot the crest of spikes out around its head again. Two of them now pierced completely through each of his calves.

The shient’va was obviously no happier with the new arrangement than was Nicholas. It ignored the remaining refugees on the field, running headlong once more, heading once more for The Green.

A fresh crop of portals spun open, Zed, Bolt, and the Kandaler hunting party jumping through. Weapons were leveled at the fleeing monster, but it and its rider vanished once more into the inexplicably-recoiling Green before they could be brought to bear.

Stunned silence echoed across the field. Everybody stared at the section of The Green which had swallowed Nicholas and the shient’va.

 

No Angels Here

 

“We’re being followed,” Anya whispered.

None of the Gamin questioned her certainty. Anya’s clairvoyance had been accepted fact since they had first met. To Anya herself it was a source of occasional annoyance, especially at Christmas and her birthday. On the job, it was an invaluable asset, that had ensured survival and payment more than once.

“It’s not Kamal,” Matthias replied in similar tone, pressing two fingers against his earpiece. The gesture was reflexive and unnecessary. The only sounds in the dark, narrow tunnel were their own footsteps. They’d doffed the skates and rollerblades as soon as they’d gone underground. The uneven, detritus-strewn tunnel was unforgiving to wheels. “He’s using his normal channels. They’ve sealed the airport, and are working on the harbor, rail stations, and roads. He has teams in the tunnels, but there’s no word of us or the decoys yet.”

Cui-Fen cursed in Arabic. Chinese by birth, she’d been orphaned in Casablanca by Cantionis Terra. She preferred to believe the word ‘orphaned.’ It was more comforting than ‘abandoned by parents who didn’t want a horse-legged freak for a baby.’

“Just what we need,” she muttered. “Another player.” Barely louder, she asked, “How close, Anya?”

Anya knitted her fine brows. “Not,” she replied. “Above ground, far above.” Her eyes widened. “But unfailing. He… yes, he – uses neither sight nor scent to track us.”

“Psi,” Cui-Fen concluded. “But not one of Kamal’s.”

“How do you know?” Matthias demanded.

Cui-Fen smiled at the boy. “Because if he were, they’d be converging on us, and you’d be hearing about it.”

Her expression clouded over again. Unless he’s caught wise to Alice, she thought, and has channels she doesn’t know about. She kept the possibility to herself.

Cui-Fen adjusted her goggles as they continued their brisk pace through the tunnel. The eyewear was mounted with tiny but powerful ultraviolet LEDs. All of the teams navigating the tunnels beneath Casablanca had been issued identical gear. Thus equipped, they saw the lightless tunnel as clearly as a sunlit street.

Without breaking stride, Cui-Fen looked over her shoulder at her passenger. They’d doped the American before going into the tunnels that snaked under Casablanca’s streets. He sagged against Cui-Fen’s back, his arms held in place around her torso with a pair of cuffs. Manacles likewise passed under her barrel, securing his feet. It was a precarious and uncomfortable way to transport him, but with each of the twins split off to provide muscle to the decoy teams, she was the only Gamin left who could carry a full-grown man.

Two hundred thousand, she thought. And all we have to do is get your lily-white ass out of Morocco. Past everything Kamal thinks to send after us. This will be either the Gamin’s biggest payday, or the end of us.

“Contact!” Matthias hissed. “Team Two versus Kamal, Inc! Fight!”

“How does it sound?” Cui-Fen asked calmly.

Matthias grinned. “Rosalita’s having the time of her life.”

Cui-Fen nodded. “Just so long as they make the rendezvous.”

“You won’t leave them behind?” Anya demanded.

Cui-Fen shook her head emphatically. “The Gamin go together,” she reassured the slender Slavic beauty. “Whether to prison, or paradise.”

“Team Three has moved,” Matthias reported. “Ready to back up Team Two if needed. Team Four is still clear.”

Anya suddenly pulled on Cui-Fen’s arm. Looking down, Cui-Fen saw that the other girl had stopped, and had her finger over her lips. Once she saw she had Cui-Fen’s attention, Anya put the palms of her hands against each other, and waggled her spread fingers. The gesture was clear: danger lurked ahead, with many legs and keen senses.

Cui-Fen scowled. They’d swept and cleared the tunnels that morning. The infestation of Casablanca’s underground by aggressive, carnivorous vermin deterred all but the bravest, foolhardy, or well-armed. Kamal used them in his earlier days, but as his influence in shipping circles and local government had grown, he’d abandoned them for more convenient routes. Not really a surprise, she allowed at the idea that a new predator had already moved in. But damned inconvenient.

She glanced meaningfully at Matthias, who in turn was already busy on his wrist terminal. His thick, black curls drooped over his goggles as he did so, and Cui-Fen wondered (not for the first time) how he managed to see like that.

How far has it been, she wondered as he worked, since the last branch? A fair distance. Too far to backtrack? Which will be worse, facing what lies ahead, or going back and meeting Kamal’s men?

Matthias turned his back to her and held his arm high, bringing the monitor of his wrist terminal in easy view of Cui-Fen. A Matthias-eye view of the tunnel they were in ran quickly backward, numbers in the lower left corner representing meters rolling upward. When the rewind stopped on an image of a branching tunnel, the readout measured 66 meters.

Matthias’ head suddenly jerked at something coming over his earpiece. Cui-Fen wished they’d had enough money to buy everybody radios, but the need for the UV goggles outweighed that convenience.

She didn’t need to ask him what he’d heard, though. The image on his wrist terminal monitor blinked and changed to a live feed. Instead of Matthias’ camera, the small screen showed a circle of grim-faced men and women, human and chimera. All were armed and armored, eyes hidden by UV goggles. Their automatic weapons were leveled at the camera’s wearer. The view panned from one side to the other, showing the members of Teams Two and Three standing in a sullen, rebellious knot.

Slowly, as if the person transmitting the images were trying to avoid being seen typing, a message superimposed over the screen.

GO ON.

Anya grabbed Cui-Fen’s arm again, azure eyes pleading. Cui-Fen’s own previous words about Gamin unity echoed in her ears. She itched to race through the labyrinth, burst into the room where the only family she’d ever known were at gunpoint, and lay about herself. Certainty born of bitter experience held her fast. There was no way they could reach them in time. Even if they could, all they would achieve is delivering three more hostages and the McGuffin into Kamal’s hands. Their own weapons were no match for modern body armor. And where did he get them? she demanded silently.

A shift in Anya’s grip on her arm made Cui-Fen look at the slender girl. The panicked strain on Anya’s face gave way to surprised delight. She suddenly smiled, then jabbed a finger at the screen of Matthias’ wrist terminal. Cui-Fen and Matthias stared incredulously.

Kamal’s mercenaries were suddenly in disarray, pointing and firing their weapons. The captured Gamin had the good sense to drop below the line of fire. Here and there, a blur showed in the grey UV light, passing by a merc. Where it passed, the unhappy minion suddenly fetched hard against a wall, or jerked as if struck before sagging to the floor

The clock display in the corner of Matthias’ screen showed that only six seconds had passed since the attack. One mercenary was left, having tucked himself into a corner. His face was twisted in a grimace of terror and fury. With no other target, he leveled his machinegun at the crouching Gamin, determined to salvage something out of the sudden reversal.

An apparition appeared in front of him, between him and the viewer. What it did couldn’t be seen, but the mercenary’s legs buckled and he slid to the ground. Then the strange savior turned toward the viewer.

Tall. Long, light-colored hair. Broad shoulders, long arms, lean hips, sheathed in something dark and tight. A face of aching, androgynous beauty. Eyes that reflected the UV so intensely they seemed to glow. And wings. Great, narrow, feathered wings, of a darker color than the hair.

He smiled and bowed with a small flourish.

Then he vanished.

But I don’t believe in angels, Cui-Fen thought.

She turned an accusatory, interrogative glare down at Anya. In response, Anya smiled beatifically. She took Matthias’ arm, the one on which he wore his wrist terminal, and typed on the keypad. NEW FRIEND, WILL HELP DELIVER PKG.

Cui-Fen reached over to the keypad. Matthias obligingly held his arm still while she typed. N XCHANGE 4?

Anya typed back: NO SHARE. VENDETTA.

Cui-Fen weighed the idea. The stranger was obviously well-favored by the Warp. If he wanted the American for himself, there was little they could do to stop him. And Anya trusted him.

She typed: KEEP HIM W/ T2&3.

Anya nodded, telepathically relayed the directive to the stranger, then nodded confirmation of his acceptance to Cui-Fen.

Even if he isn’t planning any mischief, Cui-Fen thought, no sense in letting him near the package if we don’t have to. When dining with the devil, make sure your place is set at the far end of the table.

With that thought she drew a pistol from her jacket, and stalked forward toward the thing that lurked beyond the range of the UV goggles.

 

Kamal wondered how everything had gone wrong so quickly. He was also at a loss for what had possessed the Gamin to counter him directly.

Back in his tower, he sourly surveyed a bank of monitors. Several displayed variations on a disquieting theme: askew points of view, at ground level or not far above, of a tunnel chamber strewn with still bodies and discarded weapons. It took little imagination to realize that all of the scenes were different angles on the same scene.

Other monitors showed moving views of other tunnels, and armored forms moving through the stygian warren.

“Foolhardy children, these Gamin,” Rebecca commented, also scrutinizing the bank of monitors. “Or perhaps their past adventures have caused us to underestimate them. They certainly turned the game on your people quickly enough.”

“I am torn,” Kamal admitted. “They are at once a constant source of aggravation, disappointment, and pride.”

“Then the stories are true?” Rebecca asked, studying Kamal’s profile. “They and you have a history?”

“Gold Squad to Jackal,” interjected a man’s voice, from a speaker in the console below the monitors.

“Jackal receiving,” Kamal replied. “Report.”

“We’ve reached Silver Squad,” the voice said. The scenes on some of the moving monitors as well as the askew ones illustrated his words, respectively showing the fallen soldiers as well as the legs of the new arrivals. They quickly stooped, checking their fellows.

“Casualties?” Kamal demanded sharply. He had personally screened and hired each of his people. He knew them by name, their preferences in food and drink, their birthdays, the names of their spouses and children. Mercenaries they might be by name, but the Jackal also made friends of his minions. Worry that any of them had been seriously injured in the ambush, or had fallen prey to the things that infested the tunnels, added a rasp to his voice.

“Nothing serious,” Gold Squad Leader came back. An Israeli whose real name was coincidentally Ephraim Gold, he was one of Kamal’s top lieutenants. “Bumps, bruises. Probably lots of nerve strikes.”

“No creatures?” Kamal asked. It occurred to him, even as he asked the question, that he hadn’t seen any of the creeping, crawling, ravening abominations come into view from the fallen soldiers’ cameras.

“None,” Gold replied, obviously as mystified as Kamal. “We found some carcasses in the tunnel, but — Jesus Christ!” His voice rose a half-notch with the invocation.

Despite the grim circumstances, Kamal could never resist a grin at hearing Gold, a faithful Judaist, use a Christian oath. As he turned his eyes to the monitor showing the view from the squad leader’s helmet camera, a chill stole the quirk from his lips and ran down his spine with it.

A pair of glowing, yellow-green eyes, and a grinning mouth split around a wealth of gleaming, white teeth accented by needle-sharp fangs. No other features showed around them, and they faded into the darkness of a tunnel after a second. It was just a glimpse, but he’d see it when he shut his eyes at night for days to come.

“Get them on their feet,” he ordered hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Get them to safety, then pick up the Gamins’ trail again.”

“Yes, sir,” Gold acknowledged.

“That was one of your Gamin?” Rebecca demanded, having also seen the apparition. The monitors showed a flurry of activity, as the ambush victims were evacuated from the tunnels.

Kamal shook his head. “No,” he answered quietly. “I cannot say what that was. But it was not of the Gamin.”

Rebecca stood quietly, watching the evacuation and the continuing hunt. At length she asked, “Do you hunt them because they abducted your guest, or because you wish to pursue Grisham’s scheme of stealing Stargrave?”

“Both,” Kamal answered.

Rebecca nodded. “My people are at your disposal,” she said, “to help with the hunt. Standard rates. For the rest, you will have to find another contractor.”

Kamal blinked and looked at her. “You seemed interested enough earlier. Surely, you are not cowed by spectres!”

“Grisham is convinced of his game,” Rebecca explained, “and he is persuasive. He claims to have an insider at Struyck’s facility. And the prize is rich enough.” She waved a hand at the monitors. “But if this is the result of him fleeing simple negligence charges, what storm will we bring upon ourselves if we stay allied with him? Will we even have the time to exploit Stargrave’s assembler, once we have it?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Think less of me if you will, Kamal. I will keep my dreams smaller, and my skin longer.”

Kamal returned the smile, his hawkish features softening slightly. “I deny no one the right to follow their own heart. And I thank you for the offer of your services.” His eyes widened, and sparkled with sudden inspiration. “In point of fact, I do have need of your people. A special service, for which they are especially well-suited.”

 

The thing blocking their progress came into range of the UV LEDs, and Cui-Fen’s heart sank. No way are we getting past that intact.

Like the labyrinth itself, the wildlife infesting the passages honeycombing Casablanca’s bedrock had been only partially catalogued in the decade since the Warp had brought them into existence. The vermin were exclusively arthropods, and uniformly aggressive. Beyond that, nearly every foray into the tunnels promised an encounter with another giant oh-my-god-what-is-it-I’ve-never-seen-anything-like-that-before construct of chitin, legs, and venom.

This one was hexapodal, its half-dozen legs arching sharply on either side of its middle segment. In a horrific mix of the familiar and the alien, it actually had a humanoid face – one pair of eyes, a nose, and a single jaw. But the mouth seemed to be set sideways, with swollen, rubbery lips festooned with fangs.

That wasn’t the worst part. The thing was broody. Its abdominal segment wriggled with a host of ravenous, miniature versions of itself. They could empty their pistols into the mother, and its spawn would be all over them before they could reload.

All praise to Allah, Cui-Fen prayed, and to Mohammed His prophet. I know you did not bring us this far, only for this thing to block us!

She heard Matthias’ breath catch as he too caught sight of the thing. Fortunately the range of their goggles was further than the creature’s senses, as it showed no awareness of them. It crouched in the middle of the passage, waiting for prey.

Anya alone seemed undaunted by the thing’s appearance. She laid a hand on Cui-Fen’s arm to get her attention. When she saw her leader’s face turn in her direction, the willowy sensitive held up her other hand in the universal gesture to halt. She’s got that look on her face, Cui-Fen realized. ‘Just wait, you’re going to love this.’ What’s it like, to see the world like that?

With the same hand that she’d used to signal waiting, Anya now pointed ahead of them. Cui-Fen turned toward where the creature crouched. Her eyes bugged behind her goggles.

The broody crawler now cowered to one side of the passage, all six of its legs drawn in as tightly as it could manage. The spawn on its abdomen held absolutely still. The creature’s human-shaped eyes stared upward, wide with apparent fear.

Their newfound ally stood just beyond the creature, staring down at it. His eyes reflected the UV light brilliantly. There was no threat in his expression or posture, only a calm assurance and absolute lack of fear. Yet he exuded invincibility. There was no doubt in anybody present that if violence broke out, he would emerge unscathed, while his opponent would be left in very small pieces.

Come, his voice bypassed their ears and echoed in their minds. You’ve nothing to fear from the grepar, here. She knows her place. He beckoned to them with one hand, reinforcing the invitation. The thing he’d named ‘grepar’ visibly flinched at his motion.

Despite the stranger’s demonstrated intimidation of the grepar, all three Gamin pressed against the opposite wall as they passed it. Cui-Fen held the American’s arms tight against her chest, to keep him balanced behind her.

The stranger retreated as they passed the grepar, stopping when they were well away from it. His face broke into a wide smile. He bowed gracefully, obviously comfortable with the gesture. Please don’t blame Anya for my disobedience, his voice again spoke in Cui-Fen’s mind. I had every intention of providing escort for your comrades, but when I learned what you three were facing, I knew you’d need assistance. But say the word, and I’ll return to their side.

“Who are you?” Cui-Fen whispered.

Again, I beg forgiveness for my lapse, he replied. Nathan St. John, at your disposal.

Cui-Fen turned her head toward Matthias. “Status,” she whispered. “All teams.”

Matthias’ curls again dipped in his face as he typed swiftly on his wrist terminal keypad. “Team Four is at the rendezvous,” he reported. “Two and Three report ETA six minutes. Our ETA is nine.”

Cui-Fen considered. Teams Two and Three together comprised eight Gamin, including four of their best fighters. Even if they encountered Kamal’s minions again, or anything short of the worst monsters in the tunnels, they should at least be able to hold their ground long enough for Nathan St. John to reach them. Especially given how fast he must be, she amended, suddenly realizing how swiftly he’d reached them, through a hundred meters of monster-infested tunnels.

“Can you do – what you did back there – to anything else we might meet?” she whispered to St. John.

He smiled and bowed again. From anybody else, the gesture would have been fake. He did it as though it were second nature. Your servant, milady. Lead on, and I promise safe passage.

He wasn’t boasting. Four more times they confronted denizens of the Casablanca tunnels, each hungry for bleeding flesh. Four times Nathan St. John stepped forward and did his top-of-the-food-chain trick, and the creature in question either fled or cowered, letting them pass without protest. Of Kamal’s forces they saw no trace, nor did Anya sense them. Teams Two and Three reported three skirmishes with tunnel wildlife, to which they were more than equal.

With such smooth progress, all of the Gamin were reunited at the rendezvous eight minutes later. Cui-Fen breathed a prayer of thanks, adding a plea that the next leg of their journey would be as smooth.

Nathan surveyed the situation. The Gamin’s rendezvous was a spot where Casablanca’s underworld gave onto the harbor, hidden under projecting battlements. They had a boat moored there. ‘Moored’ was a loose description. There was not the slightest suggestion of a dock or tie-up. Instead, one of the Gamin secured the boat’s position through mass and brawn. A chimera with the features of an adolescent ogre, she dug her heels in and held fast to the rope, immovable.

He arched an eyebrow. The boat was a tug, just over ten meters long, with the markings and logo of the Casablanca Port Authority. A more inconspicuous craft would be hard to imagine. What surprised him was the crowd aboard. In addition to the teams that had participated in the extraction and run through the tunnels, there were at least a dozen more. They ranged in age from preteen to young adult. All of them were dressed for travel.

This is not just an operation, Nathan realized. It’s an exodus.

Cui-Fen held still while Grisham was unshackled and removed from her back, hauled aboard, and stowed below. Then she gingerly stepped onto the deck. The ogress, named Cinnamon, leaped aboard holding the rope, and they were off.

I’m too old and cynical for my own good, Nathan thought. It can’t be so easy.

 

Echoing Down the Ages

 

Bolt ducked his head through the doorway. “How is she?” he asked.

Delara looked up, haggard. “Which one?” she retorted.

Bolt looked faintly abashed. “Um, both.”

Delara sighed. To one side lay the girl Rinna, who bore the sole injury actually inflicted by the shient’va. Bolt could see that she did not look well. Her skin was flushed and blotchy, with what looked like faint bruises forming under the flesh. She was unconscious, but not resting. Her breath was shallow and ragged, and from time to time her limbs spasmed. “We closed her wound easily enough,” Delara said. “But the poison is in her, beyond any craft known. She has only madness and death in her future.”

Bolt looked toward the other side of the room. Zerene was in a chair, gathered into a ball. Her ankles were crossed, arms wrapped around her legs. Her chin was tucked into her chest, and her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. “Zerene is either in withdrawal, or deep concentration,” Delara said. “I can’t tell which.” She shook her head. “I can’t even begin to penetrate her shields.”

Bolt squeezed into the room as far as he dared. These weren’t Zerene’s chambers, so neither the entrance nor the room was large enough to accommodate him. “Spoons?” he called softly. “Oy, Spoons!”

“I hope she’s in deep trance, searching for Niklas,” Delara said. “If she’s in shock from his death, I don’t know that she’ll ever come out.”

“He’s not dead.”

The words were slightly muffled by Zerene’s posture, but stated with such emphasis that they carried clearly.

Bolt’s expression brightened. “Spoons!” he cried. “Y’are awake!”

Zerene uncoiled from the chair and stood. She reached her arms high above her head and stood on tiptoe, stretching all over. Then she arched backward until her hands were flat on the floor behind her feet, and performed a languid walkover. “With a noise like you in the room, who could sleep?” she rebuked.

“You can still feel Niklas, then?” Delara asked, sitting forward. She looked starved for any morsel of hope.

Zerene nodded, scowling. “He’s still alive, and still on this side of the Veil. But I can’t tell any more than that. Something is interfering with our link!” She crossed her arms fiercely in front of her, all but jamming her hands through her elbows. “I have to go after him,” she stated. “But I don’t know which way to go!” She saw Bolt and Delara both wince from the palpable waves of frustration seething from herself, and sighed. “Sorry,” she apologized, and struggled to rein in her emotion.

To distract herself, she concentrated on Rinna. It didn’t help. I can feel the poison in her. Not really poison, though. It’s craft, or the remains of it. Strong, and all twisted up with hate, fear, and pain. The worst part was, she could feel the weave of it. She fathomed its structure with an ease she’d never before known. In the same way she’d understood the spell which had linked a revenant to the children it had abducted, she could feel how this force had come together. I can see it, she fumed. But I can’t move it!

She remembered a few days ago, a similar situation. The Academy of Mages, in its paranoid intent to eradicate any trace of the vampirism plaguing Rock Bend, was set to destroy the entire village. She and Nicholas, their minds intertwined in a way impossible for anybody else, grabbed the Academy’s spell. Nick provided the base and the power, she recalled, while I took it apart and put it back together different, so it erased the vampirism but left the town. Her eyes widened. We could cure her! If Nick were here… dammit!

“How’d this happen inna first place?” Bolt wanted to know. “I always heard nothing ever came back from th’ Blasted Lands!”

“Impossible just means not yet done,’” Zerene quoted. She turned to Delara. “I’ve heard about the Blasted Lands ever since I moved to Shenn,” she told her. “But all I’ve ever heard is how deadly they are, and that they have something to do with the Steel War. Other than that, everybody seems to prefer to forget they exist.” She sharpened her gaze, silently demanding answers. Behind her eyes, she wrestled with her power as it struggled to slip its leash and delve the older woman’s mind for the information.

Delara sighed again. She understood that Zerene’s unspoken question was as much to distract herself from the current situation as it was a search for knowledge. “You know most of it,” she told them. “The Steel War was started by Lord Most High Arianus Fehr of House Fehr, in an attempt to draw all the aerin Houses together under his banner, whether they wanted to or not. It was an aerin war, but the rest of Shenn couldn’t avoid being swept up in it.

“The Blasted Lands used to be the center of House Fehr’s demesnes.” Delara closed her eyes, as if to see a memory more clearly. “The war had already turned against House Fehr by then. Arianus’ secret allies had been revealed, and House Arasidhe had destroyed most of his spy network. Arianus himself had retreated back to his keep along with his highest councilors. Some called it a retreat, but Arianus had sprung many deadly surprises during the war, and most were afraid he had more in store. They refused to give him the chance to prove them wrong.”

“Arianus destroyed his own lands?” Bolt guessed.

Delara opened her eyes and favored him with a wan smile. “He did his share,” she confirmed. “But he wasn’t the only one. The other Houses and their allies had had their fill of his ‘War of Unification.’ Who cast the first spell is a question for military historians. But both sides gave it their all. Spells whose like Shenn had never seen, and if Ladies Smile will never be seen again were crafted and cast. Not just energies of this world, but the chaos of the Veil was tapped.”

“Ladies!” Bolt swore. “Madness!”

Delara nodded. “Just so. By the time it was done, the verdant acres of House Fehr lands were wasted and poisoned. In some places, it’s said the Veil was torn, and things that don’t belong here crawl the wastes. And all of Shenn has paid the price ever since.”

 

The forest folded away before her as she ran.

Her mind screeched and jangled. The whispering voice was gone, cacophony reigned Her body moved of its own accord, as if locked into the last coherent direction given it.

She had always been the hunter, she the killer. Challenging prey might score her hide before it died bloody under her fangs and claws, but none had ever turned her charge.

These mad humans! Their strange attacks cut and beat her, while they flickered in and out beyond the reach of her own weapons. The whispering forest had given sanctuary, and the discovery of their young promised revenge. Only the promise had been a lie, and now she again retreated under the spur of another new emotion: panic.

The weight of the human on her head seemed to press right through her skull, squeezing her brain. If she ran fast enough it would fall off, then she could turn and kill it. But it wasn’t falling off! So she had to run faster, faster!

 

This is definitely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, Nicholas thought.

Gingerly, he pushed back with his hands, gathering his legs under himself. The process was difficult because of the rocking, thudding pace of his unintentional mount. Without his modifications, it would have been impossible. Of course, without my modifications, I wouldn’t have been able to jump on this beast at all.

There was no pain – the carbon-based processor which comprised the top of his spinal cord intercepted the impulses and translated them to a buzzing sensation, something insistent but not crippling. Each motion brought the unfiltered sensation of bone on bone, as the shient’va’s spines rubbed between the bones of Nicholas’ calves. His face was set in hard lines of strain.

He ended in a crouch, his legs folded tightly under himself, his buttocks pressed against the spines which had impaled his calves. He looked down to survey the damage. Each spine had passed neatly between the tibia and fibula. Still intact, the bones now vised around the spines, preventing them from retracting. That same grip prevented Nicholas from pulling himself free.

No bleeding, of course; internal triage systems had already constricted blood vessels around the wounds, and pumped platelets to seal off any smaller breaks. So he couldn’t fall off, or bleed to death.

The shient’va loped through the Green, turning and veering at random as trees or thickets appeared in their way. Incredibly, some of the creepers and bushes pulled aside as they passed. He might have thought it a trick of their speed, but Nicholas remembered the stories Nathan and Zed had told of this place. But why is it letting us pass? The Green is supposed to be anathema to anything not at peace with itself, and this thing definitely qualifies.

Because it’s toxic. Enough that just touching it is dangerous.

Oh, hell.

Suddenly they broke through the edge of the Green. The shient’va’s pace didn’t slacken. It raced across the grasslands, its pace so breakneck that Nicholas had to lean back and hook his arms behind him, around the extended spines, to avoid falling headlong across its muzzle again.

What’s that?

Nicholas reflexively turned his head to one side, though the source of his distraction was not auditory.

A whisper, on the edge of consciousness.

Hate.

Tear.

Kill.

It nibbled at the seams of his mind, a subtle, bloody seduction.

He kills, feeds, is sated. You dare not.

They took her from you.

She killed, fed. She frightened you, loved you.

She fed from you.

You tore her from yourself.

She took from you, until….

You tore.

Her.

Tear again.

Hate again.

Kill.

Again.

It drilled through his memories. Every insult, every snub, every tiny slight, intended or not, recalled, unearthed. Brought to light, fed, fortified.

They don’t trust you.

They hate you.

For what you did. To her.

They call you.

Monster.

You are.

Monster.

Killer.

You killed her once.

Kill her.

Again.

Lucidity struck through. She died for you once already. So did you.

She lives.

Will you?

For her?

For him?

Yes.

Two points of light sparked against the swirling shadow. One was the green of an argon laser, a faint but definite luminescence. The other burned brilliant blue, like magnesium in carbon dioxide. Both cut through the gathering darkness, offering salvation from the murderous, shadowy whispers.

Nathan.

Zed.

Mindlinks!

He grabbed for them. The link with Nathan was slippery, attenuated. Because he’s Earthside, of course. Zed’s mental light was steady and strong, so Nicholas focused his efforts there. He centered himself on it, using its connection to separate his own thoughts from the encroaching madness. Even with Zed’s link as a lifeline, he needed all his concentration for the task. The insanity was insidious. It didn’t create hallucinations; instead it took Nicholas’ own memories and emotions, and twisted them, suppressing some aspects and highlighting others. The core reality was untouched, but the details were mutated into a nightmare lifetime of alienation, hatred, and rage.

That’s real. That’s not what they meant. She didn’t say it that way. Yes, that happened. That was an accident. That was for my own good, I was wrong.

Suddenly, the clean brilliance of his link to Zed flickered. At first, Nicholas thought it was weakening. Then he realized the truth was even more horrible. The toxic, shadowy madness was infiltrating the link! The insanity would infect Zed!

Frantically, Nicholas squeezed his end of the link shut as tightly as he could. Not all the way, that was impossible. At the same time, he fought to maintain his resistance against the madness with the remaining light. Whatever it takes, he vowed, I won’t let it take Zed, too!

The shadows took advantage of his defense, creeping closer. Desperately, Nicholas cast about for some other mental anchor-point.

At the edge of his consciousness, something else flickered. It felt…

Old.

Calm.

Strong.

Fierce.

Clean.

Any port in a storm.

He reached for it, sank a portion of his mind into it.

I have always been the hunter. The guardian of the pattern.

For that was I made.

I remember….

Shenn and Earth have always been connected. They shared a tide of ley energy which ebbed and flowed alternately from one world to the other. Then…

What happened?

The Far Side has been struck. The fragment was too large for the shield to catch.

What about our people there?

All dead. The natives also. No sentient life is left.

A meteor-strike on Earth, that killed all sentient life. Are they talking about the K-T Extinction Event? That was sixty-five million years ago!

The pressure is rising! It’s cracking the planet’s surface, breaking through entirely in places!

The impact reversed the flow. The Far Side has lost nearly all its energy.

While we are overwhelmed!

The tide will stabilize, but it will be slow.

Steps must be taken. Otherwise, by the time the flow settles, there will be nothing left here, either. See how the animals are already being affected!

These spires tap into the deepest currents.

So tall!

Deliberately. They absorb energy just to maintain themselves, otherwise they would collapse under their own mass. In addition, they draw from the flow and diffuse it across the planet. This will equalize the pressure, and prevent any more fractures.

That will increase the occurrence of mutations.

Mutation is unavoidable as long as the tide is so high.

Diffusing the backflow will slow the tide’s restoration.

If we allow the tide to settle itself, the planet will fragment completely.

We could tap directly into the Veil, and drain the flow directly.

We discussed that. Maintaining a tap into the Veil is too dangerous.

So this is our best option. Otherwise our home is will die just like The Far Side.

How long will it take before the tide can resume its proper flow?

With the spires diffusing the pressure, at least six million years.

In that time, even we will mutate beyond recognition!

We have to accept that our race in its current form is doomed. Our only hope for any sort of survival is to adapt. Once the tide resumes, we can choose new forms for our race, that will be compatible with the new environment. Until then, we will reduce ourselves to the lowest state of existence, and pass oblivious through the flood.

We will need somebody to keep watch, to awaken us when it is safe. Somebody who will keep all that we are within themselves.

That will take more than one. We embrace six virtues. In order to preserve them, a vessel will be needed for each virtue.

Here are six, each of whom embody one of our virtues.

We six will take in all the power and knowledge of our race . We will hold it, preserve it until our race can safely rise again.

What about the rest of the world? Already dozens of new races have come into being and gained sentience. They fight among themselves for domination, but they will only destroy each other! This cannot be allowed!

The six Virtues could eliminate the more virulent mutations.

They dare not risk themselves. To lose any of them would be to lose part of ourselves.

Here is a design for a creature. A race of them could be charged with policing the rest. With the right controls, they will see how each group fits into the overall pattern, strengthen their performance in their roles, and make sure that none overstep their bounds.

This is a good plan.

This is not a plan at all. It is an exercise in channelling panic. Its best quality is that we cannot devise anything better in the time we have.

Let us be about it.

Amazing.

Why are these memories in the back-brain of this thing? Were they intended as off-site backups, in case the Virtues weren’t able to awaken the others? Or did something go wrong?

The memories end just before they implemented their plan. Of course. There would have been nobody left to update them afterward.

There’s more. Every memory of every shient’va, since the first generation. No wonder they’re such phenomenal hunters. Elegant design, backed up by a continuously-updating communal database!

She uses the other memories to help her hunt. I don’t think she’s aware of the data about her origins. And her conscious mind is cut off from everything by… what is that? An induced mental block?

Of course! The madness works by alienating the victim from everybody and everything they care about. If she still had access to these shared memories, she might be able to fight the psychosis, the same as I’m doing!

Hm.

Cool, blue brilliance stabbed outward from the back of her mind, where her inherited memories used to echo. It blew through her thoughts like a winter gale, chilling panic, freezing rage.

She understood what it was immediately. More than once had she touched minds with her kind, exchanging each other’s knowledge and experience, adding to the gestalt of their shared memories.

This mind was not of her race. That was new. Likewise the effect it had on her. She could feel the noise of madness still, but it was held in check for the moment, allowing her to think clearly.

It was the mind of the human riding her!

“Nice to meet you,” he greeted. “My name is Nicholas. What is yours?”

“I am the hunter,” she replied. “How are you doing this?”

“Not really sure,” he admitted. “Do you agree that we have more important concerns than that, at the moment?”

Reality twisted one time too many for her to keep up. She physically stumbled, skidded, and came to rest with her muzzle buried in grass and loam. Her impact was such that he again fetched forward and sprawled across her nose. Only the grip between her spines and his legs kept him from being flung headlong before her.

What are you? she demanded. Her eyes crossed to focus on him. He looked no different from the others of his breed that she and her kind had encountered.

Just a man, he replied. Who, at the moment, shares a common cause with you. Specifically, preservation of personal life, and defense of the surrounding environment against the contamination we both carry.

She knew what a man was. Her experience did not counter his addition of the modifier ‘just.’ Her previous experiences with his breed were memorable, but not enough to give pause. Unpredictable humans might be, but they died as readily as other creatures. The idea that she might share a goal with such an absurd race would have been infuriating, were she capable of fury in this moment.

I am a monster, she told him. The poisoned place made me so. I live to hate. To kill.

I understand, he replied. The same voice whispers in my mind. It wants me to destroy everything I ever loved, until only I am left. Then, I guess, it will make me destroy myself.

He did understand! The voice was frozen along with everything else in her mind. She could stand away from it, examine it from a distance as she might any prey. Its entire existence was based on hatred. It hated itself most of all, but diverted the rage outward as long as there were other things around.

Its tendrils sank deep into her mind, as an aggressive weed overtook a meadow. It walled off her inherited memories, because hate came easier if she had no historical context to offer defense for the world around her. It would be sated only when nothing was left to hate, including itself.

The human’s calming chill held it in check only for the moment. Even as she inspected it, it blazed against his restraints. Soon it would break free again, and they would both be consumed by it.

They were both doomed. For herself this was no concern. So long as her flesh was consumed without danger to another, she was content to seek her own end. Self-sacrifice came naturally to her breed.

Not so the human! True, he faced his own destruction as readily as she, and for the same reason. He cared nothing for himself, only for the good of those he –

Loved.

She reached into the frosty, azure shine of his mind, and held up the strange thing that made him put others before himself. Not because it served any sort of higher purpose, though he counted extra benefit if that were so.

Why so eagerly face your own end, she demanded, if by doing so you know these few others may live more than another day?

Surprise flickered in his thoughts. His answer was ready nonetheless. Two reasons, he explained. One rational, one not. The rational one – I have a fair estimate of my own possibilities. If I survive, I pretty well know what I’ll achieve. Their potential is essentially unlimited, especially if they carry the memory of my death on their behalf. That’s the rational reason.

And the other? she asked.

His reply was tinged with a wry mix of sorrow and mirth. I’d rather they live without me than to live without them.

On first review, his words were nonsense. Possibility had never merited consideration from her. Either a thing was, or was not. If it violated the rhythm of the pattern, it had to be removed.

Why?

The pattern was not static. She understood that. It could grow and change. It had to, if it were to survive. Life of any kind included growth, and the pattern was nothing more than a path of growth. The role of her kind had been to protect and guide, to make sure it was protected and strengthened along its path.

That protection had often involved elimination of impending changes. She remembered the spriggan. One among them had advocated the idea of eliminating other hunters, in order to ease his own race’s ability to hunt the prey animals. She had eliminated him, and sent a message to his race that they were overstepping their role in the pattern.

Were they?

Or had she? In dissuading them from removing their competition, had she not removed a challenge which would have strengthened all the hunter breeds, in the interest of preserving a strict idea of how each breed fit into the pattern?

She had massacred the spriggan in madness. But in preventing them from expanding their role as hunter, had she already hindered their growth?

Had she been a monster all along?

Rage and madness began to thaw, as the poison infiltrated the human’s own mind. Soon, she knew she would once more be nothing more than a ravening, killing thing, bent ultimately on her own destruction.

There was only one place where she knew she would not endanger anything else.

Her muscles and bones ached. She knew the poison was eating her alive. Before long she would be as palsied and crippled as the breeder that had infected her. Before that happened, she had to remove the threat she presented to everything that mattered.

Once again, she ran. Only this time, she had a specific destination.

 

Saintly Scoundrels

 

Ingenious, Nathan thought. We might as well be invisible!

The tug boat nosed through the harbor, engine thrumming stolidly. No exhaust spouted from its chimney – though the hull and superstructure were sea-worn wood encased in too many layers of paint, the power-plant was a modern neoperi-driven impeller jet. The low cost of manufacturing such engines due to the advent of molecular assembly methods made retrofitting pre-Warp craft like this very economical. The end result was a creaky antique with enough power to outrun nearly enything else in the water. As long as the hull doesn’t shred, Nathan qualified, wincing at an especially agonizing grate of old timber flexing against the waves.

For the moment, the Gamin’s escape craft sought to avoid pursuit by camouflage rather than speed. All of the children had gone belowdecks as soon as they left the harbor-wall where the tunnels had come out. Only Nathan, Cui-Fen, and the pilot stood were visible through the wheelhouse windows. The pilot was a portian chimera, a big-boned, compact, muscular girl with tight brown curls, eyes the same color, a light dusting of freckles across a button nose, and a flashing, brilliant smile. She bore the sobriquet of Yasmin, though she looked no more Middle Eastern than Nathan himself.

The nature of the Warp, Nathan reflected. No matter your original heritage, after it’s done with you, you’re something far different.

A passing harbor patrol boat swept past the tug. Its spotlight briefly illumined the wheelhouse. “Move aft,” Cui-Fen directed with a wave to Nathan. “They know to look for me, and you stand out anywhere.”

Nathan seated himself against the edge of the table at the rear of the wheelhouse. The table was surrounded on three sides by a continuous cushioned bench, lining the walls of the room. Cui-Fen stood, balancing herself against the away of the water with practiced ease.

“You run a very impressive operation,” Nathan opened, essaying a winning smile. “The streetside extraction without a single vehicle was especially audacious.”

“Save your praises,” Cui-Fen told him. “I accept your help because Anya recommends you. Don’t think for a second that makes us partners, much less friends.”

Nathan nodded, unabashed. “Of course not,” he agreed easily. “We share a common cause for this moment only. Once to your port, we may once again go separate paths and never meet again. We may even end up enemies, though I hope not.” He smiled again, without artifice. “Still, it costs the soul nothing to give credit where due. Nor do you owe me anything by acknowledging the truth of your own competence.” His eyes were half-lidded, which somehow made his catlike gaze even more piercing.

Cui-Fen tried to match him. She set her jaw hard and glared, her dark eyes locked on his light ones. He returned languidness for fierceness, humoring the contest long enough to show he could. Then, just when Cui-Fen realized with a small tremor that it would take almost no effort for him to overcome her will, he blinked and conceded.

Cui-Fen relaxed. “You’re right,” she admitted. “Thank you.”

“Sounded as though that hurt,” Nathan couldn’t resist the small poke. “Not easy, proving to the adults that you’re as good as they.”

She nodded, affording him a tight, bitter smile. “Especially when you’re fighting your way out of The Jackal’s shadow.”

“Yes,” Nathan conceded with a nod. “Anya hinted at that your group has more than a passing connection to Kamal LeChacal. If I’m not entitled to know the story, please stop right here and we’ll happily pass the time discussing something harmless, such as my views on European fascist politics of the 1930s.”

Cui-Fen couldn’t help but soften her expression. Damn it, but he was charming! “You could call it a connection,” she conceded. “Given that he pulled us from the sewers of the worst spots in Africa and the Mediterranean, gave us a home and family that meant more than being shat out from between your mother’s thighs to work a field, if they wanted you at all.” She swallowed, and a touch of nostalgia made her voice hoarse. “Some of us he literally bought. But he never treated us as slaves, or anything less than his children.”

“What happened?” Nathan asked softly.

“Parts and Labor,” Cui-Fen answered, a harsh edge reentering her tone. “When the market first opened Kamal was against it. He didn’t like the karma of it. He never said what changed his mind. I know he didn’t like it, because he wouldn’t let us help him with it. We weren’t even sure what it was, at first. It was the first secret he ever kept from us.”

“He was trying to protect you,” Nathan murmured, as much to himself as to her.

“Of course he was!” Cui-Fen shouted suddenly. She jerked her head over her shoulder at Yasmin, then returned her glare to Nathan. “Do you think I didn’t realize that?” she hissed in a quieter tone. “From the night I stole into the only warehouse he’d forbade us to enter! I opened one of the tanks, that’s where we got Anya! Her parents had already been sent on, and broken apart! Do you want to know why she’d been spared?”

“She was psi,” Nathan answered.

Cui-Fen blinked. She’d meant the question to be rhetorical. “He was waiting for a higher bid on her,” she retorted. “Why waste a psi as a slave or donor, when they’re worth so much more intact and trained?”

“What was his defense?” Nathan asked.

“I wasn’t going to ask him at first,” she answered. “I was so angry, I didn’t want to know. Some of the others insisted. So we all went to him together.” The tug crossed the wake of a departing freighter, and Cui-Fen splayed her legs to keep her balance against the swell. “He explained that he got into the business to see that it was run right.”

Nathan cocked his head to one side, arching his eyebrows. “Certainly higher-minded than simple greed.”

“He avoided it at first,” she explained. “Then he started hearing stories about other dealers selling people to cruel owners, where they were beaten, raped, chained. Others were breaking up parts donors without anesthetic. Kamal said he knew he couldn’t eliminate the demand, so the most humane thing he could do was control the supply. He used his own soldiers and Rebecca’s to track down and eliminate the other smugglers, then moved in to take their place. He refused to sell to customers who were known to abuse their slaves. Donors were broken up without ever waking from suspension.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Later, he even bought adjustment systems on the black market, and adjusted all the slaves to forget their previous lives, and be content with their new ones.”

Nathan hid his own internal conflict. On the one hand, Cui-Fen’s account of Kamal’s defense was sensible, practical, and logical. On the other, he recoiled that a man could profit from human misery, and rationalize it so callously. “I understand why you left him,” he said.

Cui-Fen grinned suddenly. “No,” she cried, “you don’t! We didn’t leave him! He sent us away!”

Nathan maintained his outward expression of polite but faintly sardonic interest. Inside, he was goggling. “Sent you away?” he managed to echo.

“You don’t understand,” Cui-Fen repeated. “He’s right. People in this part of the world don’t trust Xander Struyck and his miracles of nanotechnology. They still blame the West for the Warp. They want their cake and to eat it, the best of the old ways and what they trust of the new.”

“And what they trust of the new is only that which is based on the old,” Nathan interjected. “Organ transplants have been around for a century, slavery is as old as the species. Growing a whole new arm to replace one lost? Fantasy at best, dark magic at worst. Injections that let you stay young? Blasphemy! And everybody still wants to know why reality went mad for two days, ten years ago.”

Cui-Fen nodded, her smile softening. “Surprisingly enlightened. Kamal could have refused to do business with the slavers and organleggers. But he saw that if he kept the moral high ground, the market would have been taken over by others who don’t care about anybody except for what they can make off them.”

“So he damned himself to see that the victims would at least have a peaceful end,” Nathan said softly. “And he kept it secret from you as long as he could, then sent you away when you found out, so you would not be tainted by his corruption.”

Cui-Fen’s eyebrows arched, and her smile was wide. “Once again, Anya’s gifts do her proud. I might almost believe you are an angel, Mr. St. John.”

Nathan grinned widely. “Don’t believe it, Miss Cui-Fen. I’m really a consummate scoundrel.”

“Going dark,” Yasmin interjected, flicking switches on the helm. “We’re approaching the harbor mouth.”

Their conversation died with the cabin and running lights. The silence was unnecessary, as their voices wouldn’t have carried far over the noise of the harbor behind and the breakers ahead. But this was the critical point of their escape. A tug boat could tool around the entire harbor without drawing attention. But the Gamin’s stubby relic was not built for ocean travel, and would never have left the harbor on any sort of official errand.

Nathan analyzed their predicament. Being where we do not belong carries risks other than discovery. The Molecular Age hasn’t fully reached this part of the world, so the bulk shipping business is alive and well. Even at dead slow, a hundred-plus tons of hull and cargo would crush us with barely a ruffle in their wake. Even if they knew to watch for us, they’d not see us until it was too late. He gazed out the port next to him, easily picking out the harbor promontory less than forty meters away. And in these straits, there’s precious little room to maneuver.

He blinked suddenly, and for a moment doubted his senses. A woman stood on the point of the promontory. Her long, pale hair blew loose in the sea breeze, which also whipped the edges of her cloak. Under the protective garment she wore a heavy shirt, and a pair of sensible slacks tucked into boots. Nathan could see clearly that her face was bare of any vision-enhancing gear, so the tugboat should have been invisible to her at this range. But she appeared to stare straight at it.

As he focused more intently on her, he realized she glowed! A faint but distinct aura of silvery light suffused her. So, Sinjinklaer, he mused, what odds do you give that on a night such as this, on an errand such as this, an Earthside mage is looking most intently in your direction, simply by chance?

Cui-Fen was looking out the opposite side, at the shadowy colossus of an inbound freighter as far starboard as the promontory was to port. A little preventative medicine first, Nathan thought, sliding one hand into a flat pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers deftly parted the layers of vegetative matter stored there, and drew out a single leaf. Though long separated from its tree, the piece of foliage was still supple. It was thick and slightly spongy to the touch, nearly the size of his hand. If there had been any light in the wheelhouse, it would have been seen as a dark, smoky purple in color.

Ysrin.

Nathan quickly popped the leaf into his mouth, chewing discretely. It was juicy, and triggered his salivary response so that he had to swallow repeatedly. The aromatic oils also released by the action drifted across his palate with a pungent, spicy-sweet scent.

Sweet fire swept through his nerves. His nostrils flared, his eyes felt as though they were steaming, and his mind lit as if its glow might leak out through his ears.

Parts of his mind that spent much of their time in a semi-conscious state for the past ten years awoke. Most of the time he was an Irien, a nemesis to every breed of undead on Earth. But before he’d become a vampire, he’d been something quite different. Sinjinklair Naethn Arasidhe of House Arasidhe. Ausin.

Storm Kin.

Heh.

Andrea Tatoupoulos watched the small tugboat skulk through the straits of Casablanca Harbor. Eyes bolstered by the cat-fetish on her necklace, she saw the rickety-looking craft clearly. Audacity to the point of stupidity, she thought. Braving the Atlantic, or even the Mediterranean, in such a craft! We may not need to capture them, after all. We may end up rescuing them!

Suddenly a clear, strong voice echoed through her mind. Can you swim, dear lady?

The strength of the psychic voice and the non sequitur it posed startled Andrea. Memories surfaced from reflex, of hours spent in the warm summer waters off Santorini.

I’m so glad, the voice replied, obviously privy to her unintentional reverie.

The sea breeze which had gently tossed Andrea’s hair and cloak suddenly ripened. A gale-force wind slammed into her. Before she could think of bracing herself against the squall, she was lifted bodily off the stones of the promontory. Her cloak acted as a crude parachute, guiding her ungraceful flight clear of the dredged rocks, before dumping her into the harbor.

Andrea fought to the surface and stroked frantically for the promontory, gasping and coughing. The wind faded as suddenly as it had risen, by the time she gained purchase on the stones. She clambered to the top, shivering against the night breeze.

The tugboat was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Are you unharmed?” Rebecca demanded. She exchanged looks with Kamal as she received Andrea’s report. The two of them stood on the deck of one of Kamal’s smuggling boats. The ‘Shadowrunners,’ as Kamal called them, were long, sleek craft with blunt, angular bows and low superstructures. Their molycarb hulls were a nonreflective, smoky gray. Impellers growled quietly as the craft slid through the waves without a light showing.

“Soaked, frozen, but intact,” Andrea’s voice replied from the speaker of Rebecca’s headset. “My apologies, mistress. I lost sight of them.”

“The fault’s not yours,” Rebecca told her, eyeing Kamal. “Our intel wasn’t quite up-to-date, which is my responsibility. Return to the hall, get a hot bath and dry clothes. I’ll call if you’re needed again.”

“Yes, mistress.” The connection severed with an audible click.

“Your prodigals are keeping interesting company, these days,” Rebecca commented dryly to Kamal.

Kamal appeared visibly bothered. “I never forbade them any interest in sorcery,” he assured her. “But neither did any of them show such interest. They must have recruited a mage.”

“Not just any mage!” Rebecca retorted. “A wind so sudden and strong can only come from an elemental. Only the most elite mages deal with elementals.” She scowled. “Which in turn begs the question of what price will be asked of your children. Be on guard, Kamal. This is not minor sorcery. The greater the spell, the sharper the bargain.”

Kamal scowled. “Then may God favor us, that your witches lead us to them before they have to ask too great a favor from their ally.”

Rebecca favored him with a tight smile, then spoke into her microphone. “Sisters, listen up. The targets have a mage. Check your wards, and no active scries. If you get touched, retreat. The mage has an elemental, so don’t try to match it.”

Across the dark waters raced six other boats. Each was crewed by Kamal’s people, plus one of Rebecca’s.

Captain Akilah Essa stood next to the pilot’s chair of Shadowrunner Three. Night-vision goggles hid her eyes as she scanned for their quarry. For extra balance she rested her arm on the back of the pilot’s chair, though ‘rested’ was a deceptive description. The pallor of her knuckles betrayed her tension. Nor was her edginess due only to the business that brought them out here.

“The Jackal knows his business,” she murmured just loud enough for the pilot to hear. “But I dislike the methods he chooses for this task.”

The pilot, a weathered old veteran named Rakim Shamon, knew what his captain meant. He took his eyes from the water ahead long enough to glance at the slender man who balanced on the foredeck. The witch held a long, slender wire in each hand, and moved only in response to the boat’s rocking. “The wise hunter is prepared to use every arrow in his quiver,” Rakim axiomized.

Akilah snorted. “A crooked arrow is worse than an empty quiver,” she retorted. “We have radar, night vision, and speed. If necessary, we could even get satellite time. Why do we need dowsing rods and crystals?”

“It would be different if they were psi,” Rakim agreed. “Psi use only their own gifts, like any decent person. But witches!” He shook his head, then shrugged. “The Jackal would dine with any devil to get his guest back. His reputation depends on that.”

“True,” Akilah allowed. “Allah grant that his spoon is long enough.”

Sentiments vented, captain and pilot fell silent once more, searching for their quarry. Behind them shone the night lights of transformed Casablanca. Ahead, the darkness of the Atlantic glowed eerily in the night-vision goggles.

Suddenly the witch on their bow sprawled awkwardly to one side. Akilah was about to snort derisively, thinking that the man had lost his balance and fallen overboard. Then Archangel Michael landed on the bow, and brought his thunder with him.

Rationality returned a moment later. The winged humanoid with the achingly beautiful face and whipping, storm-colored hair could not be an archangel! Though he could play one on TV! quipped a corner of Akilah’s mind. So he must be a chimera, a child of the Warp, and by his actions allied with their prey. But he was no child, which meant that Kamal’s injunction against deadly force on this operation didn’t apply.

Her pistol cleared its holster with practiced speed, drawing a bead on the intruder barely a moment later. Akilah allowed herself a short inhalation to steady her aim, as his wings spread a little wider–

Everything went light and then dark. Akilah swore, and heard her epithet echoed by Rakim. Surrounding them an acrid cacophony of overloading circuits and burning insulation crackled, spat, and hissed. Beneath the noise and smell, Akilah felt a sudden stillness through the deck as the engines quit.

“E-M-P!” Rakim snapped, making an oath of the acronym. “He shut us down!” He tore off his useless goggles and stabbed at the console. The pulse had even overloaded the emergency lights and radio.

Akilah removed her own goggles, staring out at the empty foredeck. “What have those children gotten into now?” she murmured.

Aboard the Gamin’s tugboat, which now skipped across the Atlantic waves like an ill-balanced stone as Yasmin opened the throttle wide, Cui-Fen wondered the same thing. Anya trusts him, she repeated to herself, and she’s never been wrong. All the same, the memory of the crazy grin which had lit Nathan St. John’s face, and the way those great, grey wings had spread right out of his back as he’d leaped over the rail! Cui-Fen fought it, but could not resist adding a qualifier to her statement of trust. Before.

Nathan reeled in the pre-dawn sky, searching for fresh prey. To accuse him of being high was unfair. The ysrin energized him, offsetting the dampening effects of both his Irienity and the relatively magic-poor Earthside environment. For as long as the ysrin burned in his system, the Ausin abilities which had been his from birth were in full force.

I keep forgetting, he reveled, as he zeroed in on the electricity in another of Kamal’s boats. To not only feel the wind and rain and thunder, but to grab and shape them! Our gifts from the Ladies themselves! If only I were not forced to choose between these and the powers of an Irien!

“Number Five just went dark, sir!” reported the radioman at Kamal’s elbow. “No transponder, no comms at all!”

Kamal cursed. Two boats in three minutes! He glared at Rebecca, though she was not the target of his rancor. “What is happening?” he demanded.

Rebecca’s eyes were shut in concentration. “A chimera,” she reported, filtering the psychic messages from her people on the disabled boats. “Humanoid, winged, elf. Generating huge amounts of electricity, knocking out all power with electromagnetic pulse. Even backup and emergency systems are down.”

Kamal swore again, more colorfully. “First mages and elemental, now electric chimera! These children will be the death of me!”

“Which brings up another tender point,” Rebecca said. “You stated that no lethal force was to be used by your people or mine. What if your children do not exercise similar restraint?”

Kamal’s face showed open conflict at the question. Rebellious and wayward they might have become, but he was as much at fault for that as they. He had recruited the first of them solely for his own benefit. Even in post-Warp Africa, children were often not taken seriously, or dismissed altogether. This made them ideal scouts and couriers. And they were expendable. The streets of Casablanca were infested with lost or abandoned children, willing to do anything to have any semblance of family.

But it didn’t stay that way, did it, you old jackal? Like the thieves you taught them to be, they stole into your soul and made off with your crusty old heart. Kamal couldn’t help a small quirk at one corner of his mouth at his own self-recriminations. You even drove them away, rather than let them share in your damnation. Such a hard-bitten, mercenary old scavenger you are!

“Kamal?” Rebecca prompted him.

There was really only one reasonable answer. As with the Parts & Labor market, he’d brought himself to this rubicon. “We will not start anything,” he declared, “but should it start, we will most definitely finish it.”

“Sir, Number Two and Number Four report positive contact!” the radioman cried. “The target just passed into international waters. They’ve set off a beacon!”

“Close and board!” Kamal barked. “First priority is to kill that beacon! But no, I repeat, NO lethal force…” he paused, thinking of sudden gusts of wind and winged, electrical chimeras, “…unless you have no other options!” He spun to the pilot. “Do you have their position?”

“I do, sir,” she replied, twisting the joystick onto a new course, anticipating Kamal’s next order.

Kamal spun back to the radioman. “All Shadowrunners, converge!” he commanded, then turned to Rebecca. “I don’t care what spells your witches cast,” he told her. “Mage, elemental, or chimera, I want their allies contained!”

“You’ll owe us a bonus for this,” Rebecca retorted mildly, relaying the orders.

“Nathan,” Morphy’s voice sounded in Nathan’s earpiece. “Kamal has located the Gamin. His remaining boats are converging on them now.”

“Blast,” Nathan cursed, coming to a hover. “I’d hoped to shut more of them down before this. Any response to the Gamin’s beacon?”

“Yes,” Morphy replied. “A single craft has replied to their ping, and is closing on their position as well.”

“Cui-Fen never did say who they were meeting,” Nathan murmured. Tilting one wing, he dipped and curved back toward the tugboat. The fine edge of the ysrin had faded, but his Kin powers were undiminished.

“A low-orbit surveillance satellite diverted course to monitor this sector,” Morphy supplied. “It is owned by Struyck Worldwide.”

“Worldwide Strikeforce,” Nathan drew the obvious conclusion. “That could work in our favor, if they sent a big enough boat.”

“I’ve accessed the satellite’s surveillance channel,” Morphy told him. “Eliminating the Gamin’s and Kamal’s craft, the only boat in the vicinity is a research vessel, the Adelaar.”

“Backtrack through registries and whatnot, Morphy,” Nathan instructed. “Who really mans the Adelaar’s helm?”

“Of course,” Morphy answered.

Such a fine tableau, Nathan quipped to himself. As he came in for a landing atop the wheelhouse of the tug, he radiated the same glamour he’d used to avoid notice in The Blue Parrot. Let’s see how this plays out without my interference.

Kamal’s boats had encircled the Gamin’s craft, and landed grapples on it. Cui-Fen herself stood defiantly on the tug’s aft deck, flanked by a beefy pair of teenage boys with long, curly hair and identically grim faces. Kamal’s minions had already encircled them, static stunguns drawn. The scene was lit by spotlights from each of the Shadowrunners. Safely in international waters, Kamal obviously had no worry about being observed.

Another craft pulled up and moored, disgorging Kamal himself. The plain-featured woman Nathan remembered from the Blue Parrot stayed behind.

“Unhappy child!” Kamal scolded Cui-Fen. “This is how you observe my lesssons on hospitality!”

“No such thing, Father!” Cui-Fen replied. “We are doing what loving children should. We are saving you from your own damnation!”

Kamal scowled. “Respectful children obey their parents’ wishes, even if they don’t agree with them,” he growled.

“And we have!” Cui-Fen answered. “When you sent us away, we didn’t try to come back. We didn’t interfere with your operations. We were careful. We passed on contracts that would have been very profitable, because we knew they crossed your purposes.”

“Yet here you are,” Kamal countered with a wave of his hand. “Taking hostage my guest, and my partner in a new enterprise!”

“He is no fit guest, Kamal,” Anya spoke from the wheelhouse door. One of the soldiers spun in surprise, leveling his stungun at the slender girl. In response, one of the muscular boys flanking Cui-Fen stepped to one side, interposing himself between the weapon and Anya. The soldier took a startled step back and leveled his stungun at the boy.

Kamal moved with deceptive speed, grabbing the gunbarrel and forcing it down. “Only on my order!” he hissed, his gaze stabbing right through the soldier. The other man blanched, and he swallowed in the face of his master’s fury.

When Kamal was sure the situation was defused, he turned to Anya. “What do you know, child?”

“Nathan,” Morphy hailed. “The Adelaar is a covert operations craft, ultimately owned by Struyck Worldwide. Officially, she’s conducting oceanographic studies along the coast of North Africa.”

“How Cold War,” Nathan replied. “Morphy, I need you to make a phone call.”

“I am not one of your Gamin,” Anya reminded him. “I have every reason to hate you. You are one of the monsters who destroyed my family. You would have enslaved my mind, sold me, and forgotten me.” Her eyes were huge and luminous, her skin pale in the spotlights of the Shadowrunner boats. She seemed so ethereal that she might evaporate in a strong breeze. The darkened cabin behind her grew thick with shadows, as other children pressed up the stairs into the wheelhouse, anxious to see the encounter.

Anya’s voice carried strongly. “But through their eyes I see the nobility of your actions. I don’t forgive you for what you’ve done to me, but I don’t hate you. Listen to me, Kamal the Jackal. You think you are damned now? If you follow the American, you’ll know what damnation really is. He offers a prize richer than anything you’ve ever known, but he has no intention of sharing it with you. From the first hint he dangled under your nose, he has planned to betray you.”

“You owe the American no courtesy, Father,” Cui-Fen spoke up. “He’s already broken the laws of hospitality.”

“I will be the master of what I do and do not owe!” Kamal snapped. “And to whom!”

“Sir!” Ephraim Gold cried. He had come aboard with the rest of the boarding party. “Unidentified craft approaching at high speed!”

“Ahoy, Kamal leChacal!” an electronically amplified voice carried across the water. “This is the private vessel Adelaar! You will stand down while we execute the international warrant for your arrest! Force will be met with force! I repeat, stand down!”

“Civilian vessel, my eye!” Kamal muttered, listening to the approaching craft’s motors. He aimed his gaze at Cui-Fen. “Friends of yours?”

She nodded, anxiety on her face. “But only for the American! You weren’t supposed to be here! You must go!”

“She’s right, sir!” Ephraim Gold agreed. “We’re in international waters! We must get you away from here!” He grabbed Kamal’s arm to urge him back aboard Shadowrunner One.

A sudden calm washed over Kamal as he surveyed the tangle of grapples which held his surviving boats to the tug. He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “We’d never get clear in time to outrun them,” he told Gold. To Cui-Fen he said, “Well done. You’ll collect two handsome bounties this night, and the reputation for having brought Kamal the Jackal to ground at last.”

Cui-Fen’s heart sank at Kamal’s tone. There was no mockery or condemnation in it – he was honestly praising their accomplishment! “I never wanted this,” she told him, fighting to keep her voice steady.

Kamal watched as the Adelaar seemed to burst from the darkness as her own deck lights and spot lights came on. Her impellers whined as they reversed, bringing her alongside the conjoined vessels. Her traditional white hull and utilitarian superstructure certainly indicated a focus on scientific research. Kamal traced her lines with an experienced smuggler’s eye, and corroborated what his ear had heard: the Adelaar was an interceptor, and still had what she needed to chase the fastest craft. Including a good pilot, he thought to himself, noting the smoothness with which the ship coasted to a stop.

“We want what we want,” he told Cui-Fen. “What we get is the gods’ will.”

“To which I answer: Screw that!”

Carlton Grisham looked a mess. His fashionably long hair had come partially loose from its immaculate braid, sandy strands drifting askew in the pre-dawn breeze. His custom-fabricated suit was rumpled as though he’d slept in it, because he had. He shuffled awkwardly from around the wheelhouse, manacles dragging at his ankles.

The savage state of his wardrobe and coif was underscored by the cockeyed, crazy leer that pulled his lips away from gleaming teeth. He pushed Matthias ahead of him, one hand pinning his arms behind him, the other gripping his throat. The boy’s gangly frame was a barely-adequate shield, but Grisham made the most of it.

“S-sorry, Cui-Fen,” Matthias gasped. “Sorry, Father. I was distracted.”

“Release him, Carlton!” Kamal commanded. “It’s over for all of us.”

“For you, maybe!” Grisham scoffed. “From where I stand, I still have options!”

“That’s a Worldwide Strikeforce interceptor,” Cui-Fen pointed out, nodding at the new arrival. “Even if you take a Shadowrunner, they’ll track you by satellite and chase you down. What can you do?”

“What can I do?” Grisham echoed. “I can make you all stand still and watch me go. Or I can tear this idiot’s throat out. Question is, what’s it worth to you for me to not do that?”

“Tell me one thing, Carlton,” Kamal demanded. “The Gamin trust Anya’s gifts, but I want to hear it from your own lips. Would you have betrayed me?”

Grisham cocked his head at Kamal, face full of contempt. “Don’t play that with me. Of course I’d have cut you out! For a prize like a universal assembler, who wouldn’t?”

“Once, perhaps,” Kamal nodded. “Ten years ago or more. How have you come so far since then, without realizing that the world has changed?”

“I’d love to stay and debate that with you, Kamal,” Grisham retorted. “Because I’m sure I could open your eyes. But I really don’t have the time.” His hand tightened around Matthias’ windpipe, and he edged toward the rail. “Time to go.”

Suddenly, Grisham convulsed and fell back against the rail. His eyes bugged, and his leer stretched into a grotesque grimace. His hand spasmed on Matthias’ throat, as if about to make good on his earlier threat.

A flash of white flew from Kamal’s hand, and the razor-sharp ceramic blade embedded itself in Grisham’s wrist. The throw was precise, and severed the flexor tendon neatly. Grisham’s grip fell slack, and Matthias fought free, stumbling backward away from him.

“Taser suit FTW!” Matthias shouted exultantly.

Kamal leaped forward, pressing another knife to Grisham’s throat. “I warned you about my teeth,” he hissed. “Don’t ever threaten my children again.”

“Stand down, leChacal,” commanded the hard-faced man who’d come aboard from the Adelaar. His hand was steady on the grip of his holstered pistol. From the rail of the interceptor, crewmen held the high ground with enough firepower to scour the decks.

“No!” Cui-Fen cried. “Our deal was only for Grisham! Let Kamal go!”

“Not a chance,” the man replied, not taking his eyes from Kamal. “There’s a warrant for leChacal, too. And we have specific orders to collect him.”

Kamal blinked, stepping away from Grisham. “Orders?” he asked. “Who knew I would be here?”

The man’s face cracked in a crooked smirk. “I imagine you’ll find out soon enough. Come on.”

“Sir?” Ephraim Gold asked Kamal. He knew he and his soldiers were outgunned, but was prepared to give his all against those odds if Kamal ordered it.

Kamal shook his head, smiling both at Gold and Cui-Fen. “No, Ephraim.” To the other man he said, “What about my people?”

The man shrugged. “My orders only mentioned you.” Without taking his eyes from Kamal, his tone changed, making it clear he was speaking to somebody else. “Case to Adelaar. All clear here. Come collect them.”

 

What Price Redemption?

 

Bolt galloped along the edge of the Green at a delicate pace. Delicate, that is, for a Tantareli stallion. He was still a blur to most creatures, but kept himself to a speed that allowed him to spy their quarry’s spoor.

Zed sprawled across his barrel, restrained on a gurney normally reserved for the severely injured. Her eyes were shut, her expression set in a faint scowl of concentration. You’re out there, Etti, she ‘pathed. Damn it, let me find you!

She’d gotten a trace on him earlier, after Delara had explained the history of the Blasted Lands. It had been just a brief flash, cool blue quickly doused. Zed was familiar enough with psychic sensations to recognize the feel of shields closing. What I don’t understand is why? she complained.

He’d passed through the Green, that much she’d been able to discern. But the border of the eldritch forest stretched for miles. If they missed his egress point by a few feet, they might never find him in time.

That’s the real enemy, time. In their brief contact, Zed had felt something wrong with Nicholas, beyond the obvious predicament of being trapped astride a maddened shient’va. He’d felt tainted, infected. The same thing that’s killing Rinna, the deduction was obvious.

Zed’s scowl deepened. I’m not going to lose you again.

Hampering her ability to search was the nearness of the Green. Zed hadn’t feared it for years, ever since she’d learned the secret of passing safely through it. But its incessant whispering was a distraction. Part of her yearned to turn from the quest for the faintest trace of her brother, and delve into the collective awareness formed by the union of every living creature and plant within the sylvan

depths.

The Green would know where they left it.

Her eyes snapped open at the realization. She might not fear the Green, but she respected the fact that even a stray thought could provoke a deadly response from it. The best she’d ever managed was to make it ignore her. What would it do if she tried to ask it a question?

Only one way to find out.

“Hold up, Pony,” she said.

Bolt skidded to a stop. “What?” he asked, twisting his torso completely around.

“Just need you to hold still.” She shut her eyes.

“Right,” he acknowledged, and did just that. Some people wouldn’t have believed it possible for the kinetic centaur to stay in one place for more than a minute, let alone hold absolutely still. Those who knew him better would not have been surprised at his motionlessness.

Zed lowered her shields, but kept her power on a leash. She let it sniff cautiously at the Green, extending the subtlest of probes into the forest’s communal mind.

She needn’t have bothered. The Green was so agitated that it paid no mind to her intrusion. It didn’t remember in terms of time, but of experience. Never before had it retreated before an intruder, but now it had been forced to do so twice! The poison the intruder carried was so potent, absorbing it as the Green did all others would have destroyed large parts of itself. It gingerly knit itself back together over the toxic trails the intruder had left, being sure to excise any contamination to its borders.

The confusion and outrage flowed through the entire forest on a current which was seductively primal. Zed couldn’t help identifying with the basic feelings of intrusion and violation. It was as if she herself had been forced to submit to a violent, intimate assault. Out of reflex she reached out to the Green, wanting to soothe it, heal it. Deeper she sank…

“Oy, Spoons!”

The hail was accompanied by a gentle shake from one of Bolt’s huge hands. Zed started, and blinked her eyes open. Her companion’s mismatched eyes stared down at her in concern.

“What?” she asked.

“Dunno,” Bolt answered. “But ye were startin’ t’ make some odd sounds, even by yer standards. Was like…”

“Like what?” Zed felt through her muscle memories, and couldn’t recall any physical reaction. Of course, psychically she’d been very deep in.

Bolt looked uncomfortably toward the Green. “Whisperin.’”

Zed remembered the first time she’d blundered into the Green. It had nearly consumed her then, in reaction to the turmoil of her own thoughts. She realized now that she’d just had nearly as close a call. She’d been so caught up in the Green’s uncharacteristic bedlam, she was being drawn in, just as the Green absorbed physical intruders.

She smiled up at Bolt. “Thanks, Pony.”

Bolt grinned. “Was it worth it?”

She nodded. “I know where they came out.”

“Point the way!” Bolt replied exultantly.

“Ahead,” she told him, “about two points to the right.”

He set off at a faster pace. Just a few seconds later they came upon a patch of torn loam, as if something had stumbled and fell from a headlong pace. The uprooted grass was already withering.

Bolt wrinkled his nose. “Stinks,” he complained. He stepped cautiously, careful to avoid any of the disturbed soil.

“Find a trail?” Zed asked.

“Not much o’ one,” he replied. “You?”

She shut her eyes again to concentrate. This would be so much easier if I could get down and touch where it was! But of course she couldn’t. Aside from the danger of physical contact with the shient’va’s poisoned spoor, her need for deep concentration to trace Nicholas made being strapped to the gurney the only practical course.

Surprisingly, a mental trace of two minds pinged clearly against her empathic senses. One was Nicholas, the other….

The shient’va’s sentient?!

“Three points to your right,” she told Bolt.

“Aye, that matches,” he confirmed, and noted the surprised tone in her voice. “What?”

“The shient’va,” she answered. “It’s sentient.”

“Oh, aye?” Bolt responded in turn. “Interestin.’ Hopefully it’ll work in our favor.” He grinned again. “No worries, Spoons,” he proclaimed reassuringly as he set off once more. “We’ll get ‘im back!”

Despite his optimism, after the initial burst their progress again slowed. The shient’va’s tracks would lope across the countryside for a distance, then vanish utterly, forcing them to cast about until they picked it up again, often many paces distant. It was as if the beast – No, Zed corrected herself, it’s intelligent, not an animal – suddenly leaped vast distances, or even more incredibly, portaled the intervening space.

Zed recalled the translation of the shient’va’s name. The Killing Spirit. It attacks from nothing, with no warning. It can’t be tracked, even with psychic senses, unless it wants to be. It’s strong, tough, fast, and now smart. It has so many advantages, it defies even Shenn’s idea of evolution!

Admire it later, Zerene, she rebuked herself. Find it first.

 

 

She knew what she was.

She knew her beginnings.

She had been made for a purpose.

She could no longer fulfill that purpose. Worse, she had become the very thing she had been made to destroy.

The solution was simple.

She reveled at feeling once more the sweet purity of purpose which had eluded her in recent days. She was even able to wrap herself in her gifts again, if only for short distances! She saw further back than ever before, to the beginning of her kind and beyond. The pattern she had been created to preserve stretched endlessly before her, complex and beautiful. She had spent her life nurturing it, helping it grow. Now it was time for one last act of defense.

Nicholas Chandler was by nature a quiet man, even in anger. Zed’s ire burned like a magnesium flame, his like liquid nitrogen. One of the most certain ways to arouse his displeasure was to keep information from him, that affected him directly.

The shient’va was on a headlong pace once more. Only now she ran toward something, not away. His hold over her had melted, but she had harnessed her own mania. She drove it now, instead of letting herself be driven. But toward what?

Further stoking his fury were the blackouts. Every few hundred meters he would be wrapped in silent, numb darkness. It would last for several seconds, and when it lifted they were traversing a different stretch of landscape. Is this another symptom of the poison? Intermittent sensory deprivation? Is she suffering it too? If so, she didn’t seem hampered by it. Each time the world crashed back in around them, her pace continued unhindered. Is she somehow responsible? The lack of answers would have been aggravating at the best of times. Right now it makes my teeth itch. When I can feel my teeth!

Listen to me, he hissed, making no effort to dull the glacial edge in his tone. Either you tell me where we are going and why, right now, or I will stop you in your tracks again.

We go to where this began. To the poisoned place.

She was taking them to the Blasted Lands! She meant to kill them both!

Not damn likely.

His chilling wind blew through her mind again, stronger than before. She already had her madness firmly in her jaws this time, so all he achieved was to further strengthen her hold on it. Buttressed as she was by the memories not only of all her own kind, but of those who had made them, the horrible, hateful loneliness that had whispered evil in her head was stilled at last. Her pace faltered slightly at the shock of his attack, but she did not stumble.

Nicholas’ fury dropped to Absolute Zero. You resisted me!

I did, she admitted. You have taken my madness into yourself. I will save us both from it.

Suicide is not an option! he protested.

If our end protects the pattern, she declared with infuriating assurance, it is.

The greater good. Nicholas understood the idea too well. More than once since April 2 1992, he had encountered situations in which the price of saving a community, a world, was the blood of one who deserved a more peaceful end.

Like Cherise.

Memory ignited grief.

Grief mixed with rage.

Rage/grief delved back into memory to gather strength.

Grief/rage emerged bolstered, ready to storm the shient’va’s defenses. Overwhelm, and break them down. Inexperienced in psychic combat, Nicholas focused all his determination on breaking the shient’va’s resolve, but let his own shields slip.

There you are!

Blue-white incandescence flared star-bright across his mind. Rage/grief halted in mid-step before sublimating into oblivion. As Nicholas’ earlier intrusion into the shient’va’s mind had frozen its madness in place, now Zed’s breach through their unguarded link dazzled the psychosis ruling Nicholas’ thoughts. Zed’s assault didn’t stop there – suddenly face-to-face with a supernova, Nicholas’ insanity burned away in a flash and fizzle.

The madness was only a symptom, though. Nicholas watched in horror as the psychic toxins crept into his link to Zed, intent on infecting and consuming her, as well. Zed, no! Get clear! he screamed silently.

In his mind, Zed roiled with streamers of power, like burning magnesium cables. She glared at the currents of poison creeping around her.

No, she declared, but not in response to Nicholas’ warning.

Her power flared. Where it touched the toxic creepers, they instantly flashed and vanished. Zed reached to Nicholas, entwining her mind with his. She anchored herself in him, dipping into his reserves. With Zed the focus and Nicholas the foundation, the result exceeded the sum of the union. Zed turned the synergy outward. Nicholas screamed aloud as the power raced through him. He felt no pain, but the sensation was so intense he couldn’t contain the outcry. In a few seconds, his mind and flesh were burned clean of the Blasted Lands taint.

 

She was tightly focused on her errand, especially since she knew Nicholas was trying to stop her. She felt a pressure in the back of her skull, and a different sort of light. The voices were easiest to ignore. But when a radiance so brilliant she had nothing to compare it to lit up every corner of her mind, and Nicholas screamed both in her mind and her ears, that put a stumble in her pace. In startled reflex, she wrapped in her gift.

Concealed in the darkness of her gift, she had no fear of veering off course or running into obstacles. She left her body to run, and turned her attention inward. Nicholas was there still, but he was not alone. She had spared little thought to the notion that she’d heard more than one voice in her head, but was encouraged to learn that her senses hadn’t been lying.

Then she realized she knew the second mind that had intruded on her own. That same shining spirit had warned the other humans of her ambush in the tunnel, and had later drawn her into the humans’ own surprise attack!

How have you come here?! she demanded, confronting the shining one.

She followed me, Nicholas intervened. She’s my sister.

I’m not your enemy, the other declared. My name is Zerene. I want to help you.

Help… me?

She understood the idea. Many times, both personally and through her inherited memories, she had watched other creatures assist their own kind, or cooperate with other breeds toward common defense and welfare. She herself had taken aid from her mother when she was young, and she had given the same to her own spawn.

From the time her mother had driven her out on her own, she had never needed nor considered the idea of taking help from any other creature, not even her own kind. There had been no challenge she could not meet, no opponent she could not best.

Not this time. She’d never had a chance against the poison and the madness. As soon as they’d entered her body, she’d lost. Even now, the best victory she could achieve was to deny them her death as a monster.

More troubling than the idea of needing help from another creature though, was another question.

Why?

 

“Why?” Kamal asked pointedly. “You have me, what is the phrase, dead-bang. Removing me will cripple the market for months, at least. Why let me go?”

“Because you’ll do more damage,” Xander Struyck answered. His well-sculpted features gazed from the monitor pane. The two of them were the only occupants in the small cabin aboard the Adelaar.

“Perhaps it is your way to repay trust with deceit,” Kamal chided Xander. “Not mine. The people you would have me betray do business with me because I have proven myself trustworthy.”

“They do business with you because you give them the best deals,” Xander countered. “Any of them would shoot you in the face if they thought it would benefit them. I applaud your honor, Kamal. That’s one of the reasons I’m making this offer. But they don’t return it, nor do they deserve it. You should worry less about them and more about your children.”

Kamal’s eyes blazed. He leaned forward. “Now you threaten my children?” he hissed.

“No,” Xander replied. “But if you’re convicted, what will happen to them?”

“They have proven their skill,” Kamal pointed out. “They have not needed my defense or support since they left me.”

“They have,” Xander agreed. “But they left you only out of protest over your involvement in this business. They would gladly come back otherwise. How will it affect them if you are imprisoned or adjusted?”

Kamal’s eyebrows rose. “You are remarkably well-informed, Mr. Struyck.”

“I make it a point to be,” Xander acknowledged. He held up one hand, and extended his fingers one at a time as he counted off points. “Plus: you avoid prison or adjustment. Plus: you are in a position to help destroy the illegal trade of body parts and slaves. Plus: you regain the honor you sacrificed, trying to bring some humanity to an inhumane trade. Plus: you’ll have as much access to my resources as you need, with no official connection between us. Plus: you are reconciled with your children.” He held the hand up, fingers spread. “Do you see any minuses?”

 

Bolt raced across the wildlands. Zed stood up on the back of his harness. Her hands were thrust through loops high on his shoulders. Her eyes shut, she tugged gently first with one hand, then the other. Bolt veered slightly with each tug, which way according to the hand Zed used.

“Getting closer,” Zed murmured, barely loud enough for Bolt to hear.

“Oh, aye?” he responded. “And ye’ve got a plan fer when we reach ‘em? Invisible an’ untouchable, not much we’ll be able to do fer ‘em.”

“Working on it,” Zed replied absently, and tugged with her right hand.

 

Why do you guard the pattern? Zerene asked her.

Once, the question would have had no meaning to her. Her role had always come so naturally to her, she could not conceive of living any other way. Now, thanks to the other memories which Nicholas had unlocked, she knew the reason.

It is that for which I was made, she told Zerene.

As with me, replied Zerene. The human’s light grew in intensity, becoming dazzling. Yet through it, she could discern a shape: graceful, lambent, winged.

You have that of the phoenix!

I do, Zerene confirmed. It was given to me so I could help those who need it. That’s what we do. It’s as natural to us as breathing, as guarding the pattern is to you.

What help can you offer? Can you take the poison and madness from me?

We were able to cure me, Nicholas pointed out.

Your taint was fresh, she countered. The poison has been in me for days.

Let us at least try, Zerene entreated. You’ve no chance otherwise!

If you try, you may fail.

One way or the other, Zed promised her, we will see that your threat is ended.

That, I am doing myself. And my way, there is no chance my threat will continue.

What about your memories? Nicholas asked. The rest of your kind will never know what you have learned.

She had forgotten about that! It had always been the way of her kind, when death drew near, to seek out another and pass the memories of the dying one. Thus did all benefit from the experiences of each.

I… cannot, she replied, her regret plain in her tone. That carries the risk of tainting another, either by contact or through the madness still in my mind.

I’ll carry them for you, Nicholas offered.

Each time she’d thought she had the measure of these humans, they surprised her again with the possibilities they entertained! Can you do that?

If I can, Nicholas told her, you must stop and drop your gift long enough for us to separate.

 

“Are they still back there?” asked Captain Fred Case.

“I think so,” replied Mary Felter, currently manning the Adelaar’s radar. “Between their low profile and composites hull, they don’t leave much of a footprint.”

Case shook his head. “Wonder what they intend to accomplish?” he mused softly. “All they have on us is speed, and that won’t help as long as leChacal and Grisham are locked up.”

“Maybe they’re thinking about springing them in Portugal?” Felter proposed.

“If they are,” Case replied, mouth curving in a smile of grim satisfaction, “they’re in for a big disappointment there, too.”

A hum suddenly arose from the control consoles, reverberating throughout the cabin. It quickly grew in intensity. “What the hell?” Felter cried, backing quickly away from the staticky radar screen.

Unlike Kamal’s shadowrunners, the Adelaar was prepared for an electromagnetic pulse attack. Rather than shielding systems and hoping it was enough, circuit breakers cut in if a surge went beyond a given limit. Excess energy was then shunted directly into the ship’s neoperi batteries. At worst, the Adelaar would suffer only a few moments of darkness before the breakers reset.

That was the design. As the bridge plunged into darkness to the sound of crackling insulation, it was obvious something had gone wrong. “Where the hell are the breakers?” Fred Case asked of the universe at large. He raised his wrist to his mouth, intending to bark orders into his radio. “Shit!” Of course the pulse had overloaded that, as well.

“Dead in the water, Captain!” cried the pilot.

“Stay at the helm!” Case ordered him, then turned to Mary Felter. “Get to the power plant!” he commanded. “Find out why the breakers didn’t trip, and how long it’ll take that mad Italian to get us running again!” He sprinted for the door himself.

“Where are you going?” Felter wanted to know.

“To check on the prisoners!”

The pulse had knocked out even the Adelaar’s emergency lights. But Fred Case knew his ship. He navigated the corridors without a single slip or bump. Where he encountered a crewmember, he barked orders, even if it was just “Stay at your station!” There wasn’t much disorder among the well-trained crew, and what there was quickly sorted itself out on the captain’s commands.

The Adelaar didn’t have a brig. With her official role as a research vessel, a secure holding facility would have been hard to explain. Instead, Kamal and Grisham had each been sequestered in the guest cabins, with the added measure of padlocks and hasps on the outside frames.

Case grabbed the doorframe and skidded to a stop in front of Grisham’s cabin. He slid his hand down the frame, and felt the reassuring heaviness of the padlock and hasp, intact and secure. The only other aperture in the cabin was a molycarbon window, as strong as diamond. Just to be sure, Case rapped sharply on the door. “Grisham!” he called.

“Fuck you, asshole!” Grisham shouted back.

Case grinned, and moved on to the adjacent cabin, where Kamal had been left. His smile quickly faded. “Damn it.”

The door was wide open, with the first gray light of an Atlantic sunrise seeping in through the window. The lock and hasp were intact, holding a semicircular section of door fast to the frame. The rest of the door hung wide open into the cabin. The edges of the cutout section were clean, without any sign of heat or compression.

Molyblade! Case thought. He knew that only a cutting tool with an edge a single molecule thick could produce such a cut. Bastard must have hidden it in those damn hands! I knew we should’ve confiscated them!

The Adelaar’s redoubtable captain wasted no more than that moment to see the cabin was empty. There was only one direction leChacal could have gone without intersecting him on the way. Leaving a string of muttered curses fouling the air behind him, he ran to the other end of the corridor. He grabbed the rails on the walls, and all but threw himself up the stairs to the deck.

A splash greeted his ears as he emerged, and he dashed to the rail to spot the source. He drew his pistol from its holster on reflex, and drew a bead on leChacal’s retreating back. Turning the gun barely a fraction, he sent a three-round burst into the water on the fugitive’s left. He repeated the warning to the right side, then directly in front of him. LeChacal’s pace didn’t falter. Either he knows we want him alive, Case thought, or he reckons he’s got nothing to lose.

A soft roar floated over the waves. Case spotted the low, streamlined shape of the shadowrunner which had been trailing them. It bounced across the waves, then slowed as it approached the swimming fugitive. Eager hands reached down and dragged leChcal aboard. Then the smaller craft tooled sedately closer to the Adelaar. LeChacal stood on the deck, a towel around his shoulders. He grinned and waved to Case, then tossed a small, dark object across the space between the two craft. Case caught it, knowing what it was: a cellphone.

“The Atlantic is at her mildest this season,” leChacal shouted. “You should relax and enjoy the sun until your tow arrives!”

The shadowrunner’s pilot gunned his craft’s engines. The smuggling boat described a white arc as it jetted back toward Casablanca.

Captain Fred Case glared after the retreating craft. He began mentally composing the explanation he would have to give to Worldwide Strikeforce’s Director of Operations. Hontana Strong was not an unfair boss, but he would expect a compelling argument as to why Kamal leChacal escaped from one of his best crews.

They must have pulsed us, he theorized. Intel never indicated they had that capability. But how did they jam the breakers?

Sabotage!

The conclusion was unthinkable, but unavoidable. Somebody aboard the Adelaar had disabled their defenses. Fred Case knew and trusted his crew – it had to be a stowaway!

He spun away from the railing and stormed back up to the bridge. The orders would have to be passed person-to-person. He would have the ship searched from bow to stern. And when I find the son of a bitch who crippled my ship, I intend to have some very strong words!

On the opposite side of the Adelaar, a tall, athletic figure passed unnoticed by the few crew on deck. Wings stretched, and he lifted silently into the pre-dawn sky. Nathan couldn’t resist eavesdropping on Fred Case’s thoughts. The human’s fury was a palpable scent in Nathan’s mind, like strong tobacco. Apologies, Captain, he thought to himself with a smile. We had to make it look good. And your employer can afford a new boat.

 

Roasted Apples

 

“I don’t see ‘em,” Bolt complained, slowing his pace.

Zed gently tugged right. “Right on top of them,” she murmured.

 

The ground slanted under Nicholas’ feet. He shifted his balance to compensate, and skidded down the sudden slope. Below him yawned the abyss of the shient’va’s personal memories, those she had gained from her kin, and deepest of all, the implanted recollections of their creators. He responded to her invitation by opening his shields, the action expressing itself as leaning forward, accelerating into the depths.

Zed grabbed hold of their bond, slowing his headlong descent. No! she admonished. Too fast, and you’ll lose yourself.

Nicholas was dazed by the wealth of knowledge stretching below him. He pulled against Zed, eager to immerse himself, to drink deeply of the ancient, alien memories.

Zed felt herself pull along with him, like trying to control a dog too big for the leash. Astonishment blinked from the back of her mind. Ladies, he’s strong! She realized she’d underestimated him. After all, she’d spent ten years Feyside, a world where psychic communication and combat were facts of daily life, and children were taught to defend their minds along with learning to walk. The world of her birth was still mastering the basics.

But he’s a Kandaler, just as you are, she reminded herself. And twelve years ago, he understood well enough to find and break a supposedly indestructible mental bond.

Nicholas plunged into the shient’va’s most recent memories. Zed felt him replaying her epiphany at her origins; her first alien mental contact; rampaging through the Vale, while the children fled before her; being attacked and forced to retreat for the first time; the slaughter of the spriggan.

He took them all in. His emotions ran the gamut, joy to confusion to hatred to shock to sadistic satisfaction. He dove deeper. With each new memory, she felt little bits of his spirit flow and reshape. He was becoming less her brother, and more Nicholas-the-shient’va. And the further he went, the closer he pulled her. At this rate, they would both be lost in the Killing Spirit’s reverie.

Zed reinforced her grip on their bond and dug in psychic heels. When I say whoa, she quoted, I mean WHOA! She yanked back with all of her strength.

Nicholas’ mind was strong, but he was unpracticed at contests of will. Zed’s power awoke and flowed through her, anchoring her against her brother’s impetuous pace. She reached forward, and mentally cuffed him on the back of the head. Now that I have your attention, she told him, unintentionally echoing their mother’s style of discipline. Take it slowly. Keep your memories separate from hers.

Nicholas her brother slowly re-emerged. How? he asked.

Zed pondered the question. Imagine yourself as a computer.

That’s funny, he returned. All these years, Nathan’s been after me to be less like a computer!

She smirked. Your self is the operating system. Your own memories are resource files. You’re downloading her memories, but you just want to store them, not run them. Keep your operating system and resource files read-only, and save the downloaded files in compressed format.

ESTD, he abbreviated the sentiment Easier Said Than Done.

 

Bolt dodged around an outcropping of black basalt, returning to the course indicated by Zed’s gentle tugs on his harness. Damn monster may be able t’ run through solid rock an’ trees, he groused to himself. Old Pony’s not so lucky!’

A faint, acrid smell tickled his nostrils. He snorted, then inhaled deeply to catch the scent. Spit and damnation. “Um, Spoons?” he asked aloud. “Are they turning?”

“No,” Zed replied absently. “Stay with them.”

“Love to,” he told her. “Though that may soon prove a problem.”

Bolt stepped up his pace, using the extra speed to clear a crevasse. He spared not a glance into the black depths of the crack, but couldn’t avoid smelling the hot, chemical evaporation venting from it. Ahead, the ground was rent with more cracks and fumaroles. Steam drifted from some, others belched or breathed mixtures of water, sulfur, and more exotic substances. He leaped the ones he could, and dodged around the ones he couldn’t clear, or which were venting too hot.

This is what happens, Bolt reflected sardonically, when ye make yer home in a volcanic crater, then go runnin’ headlong over creation!

 

You hold back, she complained. Can you not do this?

I can, Nicholas assured her. I need to be sure I do not lose myself in your memories.

Lose self? she asked. Self cannot be lost. It only changes, grows with what it takes in. You brought change to my self, and offered to carry the results of that change, so the rest of my kind can know it as well. Yet you reject the same gift for yourself?

He’s not your kind, Zerene told her. What he offers to carry is meant for them, not him. He is the messenger only.

She understood the shining human’s explanation. The concept of conveying knowledge without knowing its nature, without gaining benefit from learning it, was nonetheless alien. You will take my knowledge to my kind, but will not take it for yourself. What do you gain?

Warmth flooded from Nicholas. It reminded her of lazy days spent in sunlight, or languid dips in her favorite lake. Absolutely nothing, he told her. But that’s not the point. This is for your people, not me.

You are a mad breed, human. For the first time, she meant the statement without derogation.

Both humans grinned. Aren’t we just? they chorused.

 

Zed sighed, relaxing against Bolt’s back. “It’s done,” she said, her voice stronger. “They’re coming out.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it!” Bolt cautioned.

Zed looked around. “Sunnovabch!” she swore, looking around in dismay at the shattered, steaming landscape around them.

“An’ then some,” Bolt agreed.

Suddenly the shient’va appeared next to them, Nick still atop her. Her pace was full out, heedless of the pitfalls. She raced directly over a fumarole which was jetting boiling steam.

Desperately, Zed reached for the shient’va’s mind. You have to stop! This land is deadly!

I cannot, came the answer. My body no longer obeys me.

Zed reached deeper in, and realized the truth. The toxins had destroyed so much of the hunter’s nervous system, communication between her brain and her limbs was all but gone. In any other creature, the result would have been paralysis. But this isn’t just any other creature.

Nicholas! Zed sent to her brother. You have to get clear of her!

Not yet! Nicholas replied. Not until we see to the hunter!

You can do no more for me, the shient’va told him. Save yourself, and fulfill your promise to me.

You’re going to die, Nicholas stated. The least I can do is make sure you don’t suffer.

I no longer matter. This body will die, but my self will live on in my kind.

Zed looked forward over Bolt’s shoulder. “Bolt,” she said, in the matter-of-fact tone she always adopted when she was forming a plan on the fly. “Get your rope on Nicholas. Keep pace with them as best you can.”

Bolt saw the same thing. “Aye,” he answered. He reached back and plucked a coil of braided, woven fibers. Holding the main length of the coil in one hand, he twirled a lasso-loop lazily in the other, expertly gauging the distance.

Etti, Zed sent, the same tone in her mental voice. Raise your arms.

Nicholas looked to one side and saw the twirling rope in Bolt’s hands. He obligingly extended his arms upward, folding them over his head. Bolt tossed the loop with easy grace, and it seemed to float through the air before settling completely around Nicholas. As Bolt pulled in the slack, Nicholas raised the loop so it set around his chest, just under his arms.

Zed reached once more into the shient’va’s mind. Mostly she wanted to be sure the damage to her nervous system was so extensive that she wouldn’t suffer from what was to come.

You were wrong, the shient’va told her.

Hm? Zed returned.

You and your brother are the same as my kind. You are guardians. You help because it is your nature, not for any benefit to yourselves.

Zed paused. I wish we had more time, she told her. I’d liked to have gotten to know you better.

You know all you need about me, came the reply, and Zed couldn’t debate it.

“Gotcha!” Bolt shouted, digging his hooves in and coming to an abrupt stop. He raised his massive arms and jerked on the rope. It twanged as it snapped taut. Nicholas held on with both hands, as tight as he could.

The shient’va plunged into the huge fumarole. She saw the hole coming, of course. But her limbs cared for nothing but motion now, even as they decayed from the poison coursing through them.

For a few moments Zed thought it wouldn’t work. Nicholas and the shient’va hung over the hot, gaping mouth of the volcanic vent. Their combined weight started to drag Bolt forward, his hooves skidding on the crusty soil.

“Not. Going. To. Happen.” Bolt vowed. He stifled a cough from the acrid air, and held his breath. The muscles of his haunches, forelegs, withers, arms, and shoulders all bulged and hunched. He stomped backward one hoof at a time, hard enough to drive into the dirt. Slowly, he pulled back from the gap.

She realized that the centaur was pulling them both back up. The grip of Nicholas’ bones on her spines was unyielding. Her body was a dead, numb mass. Her eyes teared constantly, but she felt no sting from the choking gases.

I will die. But I will not doom those who have saved me. She let the rage which still dwelt within her loose, just a little. Pain exploded through her, and she welcomed it for the burst of strength that came along. She reached into herself, for the muscles that had always before responded without strain. All that she had went into one last effort.

Nicholas screamed, and both Zed and Bolt heard the sickening crunch of bones splintering. The spines impaling his legs retracted, breaking tibia and fibula as they passed. Bolt yanked on the rope and Nicholas flew out of the crater as if launched. The Tantareli trotted forward, eyes locked on the falling man, catching him deftly.

Below, the shient’va vanished into smoky, rumbling oblivion.

 

Family and friends ran screaming through the galleries and halls. She chased them relentlessly, bringing one after another to ground, tearing at them with tooth and nail until the walls and floors dripped and ran with blood. She hated them all, she would not stop until the entire Vale was –

No.

Gone.

She leaped from her bed and sprinted to the balcony. Delara tried to stop her, but she grabbed the older woman and pulled her along. Her injured leg supported their weight just long enough to reach the railing, then they fell, tumbling and rolling, until they –

No.

Gone.

Delara reached for her and she bit, latching on –

No.

Gone.

Voices spoke in low tones nearby. She drifted gradually up from darkness, but hovered in a hazy half-state below waking. The voices went on, but she could not muster strength enough to decipher their words.

Zed leaned back in her chair, not releasing Nicholas’ hands. She sighed heavily, and nodded in satisfaction. “She’s all right,” she murmured, gazing at Rinna, who lay on her belly, face turned to one side. “Toxins are gone, and the madness with it. Fixing the leg is up to you, Delara. But she’ll not remember any of those dreams.”

“You removed her dreams?” Delara exclaimed.

Zed leveled an uncompromising look at her. “Dreams like that, no child should remember.”

“Leaving them would have haunted her the rest of her life,” Nicholas added. “If they didn’t drive her insane on their own.” He shifted in his chair, and winced.

“I’ll not argue the point,” Delara assured them. “I’m just amazed. Of all those touched by the Blasted Lands, none have ever been known to survive, let alone recover! Yet you –“ she looked at Nicholas, “–and the two of you….” She trailed off and shook her head, unable to express her amazement any further. And to think the Prodigy Project was written off, was the thought she kept to herself.

“I feel as though I ought to be exhausted,” Zed marveled. “But I’m not.” She looked at Nicholas, and her gaze sharpened. “Now to get you sorted out.”

If she expected a repeat of their argument among the vents and crevasses –

“We have to get your legs set!”

“They’ll keep! Get us back to the Vale before it’s too late for Rinna!”

“I’ve a portal rune, it’ll take no time! Your repair systems can’t knit the bones if they’re not set!”

“Worst case scenario, they can always be re-broken and properly set!”

“Right, I can do that!”

“You’re not helping!”

“Zed, Rinna’s condition is more critical than mine and you know it. Now set the rune and get us back to the Vale!”

–Nicholas disappointed her by nodding in agreement. “Then I have a promise to keep. And after we rendezvous with Nathan and Morphy, I want to see the Blasted Lands for myself.”

 

He stalks through the forest, secure in his shadows. He stirs neither grain of soil nor breath of wind with his passage. Not even those creatures whose minds reach out and touch the world directly can feel his approach. Not until his claws tear them and his fangs hold them–

Come here.

He stopped and blinked, dropping back into the light and noise of the world. The voice of his mother he knew, and of his siblings. This was none of those. As he thought about it, it seemed less like a summons directed at him, and more like a call cast on the wind, to any who might hear.

He looked over at his siblings. They were occupied stalking each other, sharpening their hunting skills between actual forays. Though his fangs and spines were likewise blooded, he was not yet their equal. If they heard the ethereal call, they paid it no heed.

Come here.

He wandered toward the summons, tendrils twitching. He was not worried about straying from his mother. Though only briefly free from her womb, still he could match any normal predator. And even the dragons would pause at the idea of preying on him while she lived!

He himself had never smelled humans before, but his inherited memories identified the scent that struck his tendrils. Male and female, they stood openly in a small clearing. He had approached without his shadows, still to his ears he had been silent. The speed with which their heads turned to focus on him told him they had those minds that needed no other organ to sense the world.

The male sat down facing him, hands folded. Easy prey – one leap, one swipe, one less human. Why did he offer himself so?

Share.

It was neither a command nor an invitation. The single, soundless word reached beyond conscious will. He felt his mind open, even more than when his mother was teaching him the skills needed for the hunt. The human’s did the same.

We are the guardians of the pattern. For this we were made.

They who made us, entrusted to us both the future of this world, and its past.

We have been less than we can. Less than we should. Because we did not act as we should have, the pattern was damaged. The world was injured, and many were lost who perhaps should have lived.

Yet from that loss, we have learned. From the mad breed of human, we now know from where we have come. We know that where one may fail, many together can prevail. And we know that a chance of life is a good enough reason to try.

This is who I have been, and all who came before me. Now all of us are you.

His eyes bulged and twitched in all directions, his tendrils writhed. His mind gorged fit to burst, but it did not break.

After all, he had been made for this.

Now, came the male human’s voice in his head. Tell the rest.

The glade was suddenly crowded as his mother emerged from her own shadows. Spines erect, claws out, jaws exposed, she was a breath away from dismantling the perceived threat to her cub.

He turned to her, reached for her mind.

Share.

 

“So, which are you?” Zed asked. The two of them strolled through the deep forest, back to the edge where Bolt waited.

Nicholas smiled at her. “Good question,” he replied, knowing she echoed the point he was mulling in his thoughts. “Prometheus brought fire from Olympus, and raised mankind from the beasts. Satan tempted Man with the knowledge of good and evil, separating them from Paradise. I’ve either damned the shient’va, or elevated them.”

“Regret?” Zed asked. She knew the answer, but also knew it would do Nicholas good to say it aloud.

He thought about it, then shook his head. “Not a one.”

 

Epilogue

 

“What do you mean, siezed?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? Siezed! Nicked! Pinched! Con-fis-ca-ted! The Yard has it and we don’t!”

“But how could they know? The system’s supposed to be foolproof!”

“Either they’re better than we thought, or we’re worse.”

“Shit.”

“Going to call the Jackal?”

“Haven’t much choice, have I?”

“What a rotten first impression this makes!”

“No shit. Especially after I sold us as the next best thing to Longbow.”

….

“Greetings, Mr. Land.”

“Hello, Jackal.”

“I understand there has been an interruption in the shipment.”

“You know? Of course, you would. Right, somehow the Special Branch tumbled to it.”

“Unfortunate. How soon can you assemble another shipment?”

”Another –?”

“Money has already changed hands. The client is waiting.”

”Special Branch! Stand down!”

“Oh, shit.”

“On the other hand, I would say you have more pressing problems. This concludes our relationship. I wish you the best of luck.”

 

“The shipment has arrived, Milady.”

“Excellent. I should have known the Jackal would not fail me.”

….

“Greetings, Lady Minh.”

“Jackal, I owe you an apology. After the debacle with that fool American, I admit that some doubts arose about your ability to maintain supply. I am happy to be proven wrong.”

“As happy as I am to renew your faith, Milady. I think you’ll be more than satisfied when you inspect them. How go your efforts to legalize the trade?”

“Slowly. The President is still opposed to it. He wishes to ally us with Struyck, and infect us with molecular ‘miracles.’ Fortunately, he cannot do so without my vote.”

“Then we can look forward to many more years of profitable trade, even if it must remain in the shadows.”

“Just so, Jackal.”

“Lady Ae Cha Minh. I am Colonel Chin Ho Park, State Security.”

“I know who you are, Colonel. What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Your pardon, Lady Minh. You are under arrest for receiving and keeping abducted foreign citizens as slaves. Please come with me.”

“How dare you! All of my slaves are of local origin, and legally acquired! I’ll speak to the President about this, Colonel!”

“Milady, my orders come from the President. Please come with me.”

“On the other hand, Milady, it appears I have just lost one of my best customers. Unfortunate. I wish you all the best in your conversation with your President.”

 

“Enter.”

Cui-Fen opened the door with one hand, the knuckles of her other still resting against it from having just knocked.

Kamal swivelled his chair away from his desk as she entered his office. On the monitor pane, the image of Lady Ae Cha Minh standing and turning away remained for a moment before going dark.

“Everybody has finished moving back in,” Cui-Fen told him, smiling. “Some of them are amazed that you didn’t convert our rooms for other uses.”

He returned the smile. “There were days I called myself a fool for not doing so.”

Her gaze turned to the darkened monitor pane. “It’s a dangerous deal you’ve made with Struyck. If any of your suppliers or clients learn you’ve turned spy, there’ll be no end of assassins sent after you.”

Kamal nodded, but his smile remained. “This is true,” he admitted. “As well, if our plans are successful and the trade is eliminated, I’ll have to return to other, less profitable merchandise to smuggle.”

Cui-Fen cocked her head to one side, a smirk returning to her face. “It could be difficult.”

Kamal considered the point, and shook his head. “No, daughter. Not difficult at all. It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”