Stranger Souls Read online

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

  His name was Ryan Mercury.

  He was the man Burnout had been ordered to kill, and his voice filled Burnout's head like a ghost of static, and it took all Burnout's concentration and effort to remain still. The man was close, just across the wide space, inside the hotel.

  "Yes, Jane?" came Mercury's voice.

  "I've got Assets, Incorporated on line," came another voice, tinny and barely audible. Burnout assumed this was Jane.

  "Good," Mercury said. "How do I get transportation to their compound?"

  "I've reserved you a suborbital seat to Seattle, diplomat class, of course. Axler will meet you when you land. She'll escort you to the Assets compound."

  "Are she and the others ready for the run?"

  "By the time you get to the compound, they'll be prepped."

  "Good." After a pause, "What, Lethe?" Then, "Okay, right away."

  There was nothing for a moment except for the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. Burnout felt an itch in his mind, a need to fulfill. To kill this Ryan Mercury. He was here now. No time to waste. This one was fast, quick. He might be gone anytime. He might slip away.

  "The male voice matches our target," Burnout said. "We should kill him now while he's—"

  "Shut the frag up!" Slaver said in a harsh whisper. "I'm trying to listen here, you complete imbecile! I need to make absolutely sure it's him before we can proceed. Spirits hang you."

  "But—"

  "Just shut up and hold that laser mike steady!"

  Burnout felt the hatred surge inside him. He had already verified the target's identity. Slaver was becoming a liability to their mission. He would have to be neutralized so that Burnout could proceed with the assassination. Burnout's aim on the laser mike wavered, sluing to the left.

  Static screamed in the speakers as the laser raked across the glass. Slaver glanced up at Burnout, another spiteful reproach on his lips.

  Then the drug filled Burnout's body with pleasure, and he remembered his life of magic, back in his teen years when he ran free with his friends. He dazzled them with a levitation spell he'd learned from old man Getty.

  Slaver's abuse didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

  Burnout got the laser focused again. But the suite was silent now. The conversation had ended. Mercury had left. They had lost him.

  "Fragging slot!" Slaver said. "If that was really Mercury, you just let him get away."

  Burnout merely stood there and thought of his past. Pleasant memories. The drug coursed through him, warming him from inside. It didn't matter what Slaver said. Even though Burnout knew the mage was wrong, he would stand and take the blame. If they'd acted instead of waited, Mercury would be dead now.

  But that didn't matter. Slaver was right. Burnout was wrong.

  And Ryan Mercury was alive, but not for too much longer. It was the promise of another fight with him that filled Burnout with a rush of adrenaline. This time the fight would be to the death, bloody and gruesome. This time there would be no capture orders, no restraints to keep Burnout from inflicting death upon the man.

  There would be no injections of gamma-scopolamine to immobilize the body. There would be nothing that could save the man's flesh. There would be only broken bones, gushing blood, and one eviscerated human corpse.

  31

  Ryan settled in his seat as the suborbital descended into SeaTac. He'd been contemplating what had happened in Washington. He'd nearly killed Nadja, had come to the edge of destroying the one person he still had feelings for. And for what?

  He didn't really know. And that scared the drek out of him.

  A shiver shook him. He had some serious problems to work through. Bits and fragments of his Roxborough past were coming back to him at unexpected times; they made him act erratically. That last one had nearly cost him Nadja's life. I'll have to be very careful, he thought. And strong, so that I can see right from wrong.

  Ryan was anxious for action. It had been only three days since he'd been rescued, and he was already getting jittery from lack of motion. That had been one of the major reasons he'd decided to go ahead with the Dragon Heart mission, at least for now. To combat the boredom. And to move, to act. He was a physical adept; his life was defined by action and physical activity. Excessive stasis gave him too much time to think.

  Too much time to relive Roxborough's memories.

  The shuttle plunged out of the stratosphere like an aerodynamic rock, the slope of its descent frighteningly steep, though the ride was very smooth. Soon Ryan was on the ground and being greeted by Axler at the terminal.

  She gave him a cold smile, the doe-brown color of her eyes matching her tasseled suede jacket. She looked good in street attire, though her posture was aggressive, almost hostile. Par for the course. She was hard and wasn't about to show any hint of weakness.

  She pushed a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "Dhin is waiting," she said.

  "Great to see you too," Ryan said. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

  Almost brought a smirk to her face. Then she stifled it and turned to face him. "Look, Ryan, I'm not one for small talk and chitchat. You want that, get yourself a biff."

  "Whoa, it was just a fragging joke, omae"

  "And I'm not your omae, chummer."

  "Got it," Ryan said.

  Then she laughed, and it was a genuine, friendly sound. Ryan found it refreshing, but then he saw the opportunity to take control of the conversation. Part of Roxborough's training flooded him, wouldn't allow the chance to slide by. He cut off her laughter. "You've got everything ready?"

  Her laugh broke off abruptly, and she glared at him. "We're still getting data from Jane."

  "Fill me in on what you've got."

  "Not here," she said, and he noticed her guard was back up, her body language all biz. She had jacked up reflexes, possibly a move-by-wire system to get such smooth motion, such control. He also suspected that her muscles had been replaced with synthetic fiber. She didn't look that strong, but she carried herself as though she could humble a troll in hand to hand.

  Ryan didn't doubt that she could. He remembered how she'd carried him out of the delta clinic with null strain.

  Strictly speaking, however, all her cyber was hidden. Her eyes looked natural; her skull showed no obvious signs of surgery; even her flesh-toned datajack was discreetly hidden under her hair. It was all part of her plan to lull opponents into thinking she was a biff. Just before she wasted their hoops.

  They passed through a security check and out into the private aircraft area. Seattle had been hit pretty hard by the same rioting that had spread all across UCAS after Dunkelzahn's death. Air traffic was down to minimal, but Jane must have been working hard because their credsticks got them through with ease.

  Dhin was sleeping in the cockpit of the modified Hughes Airstar helicopter when they approached. "Hoi!" Axler said, slamming the door after she and Ryan had climbed aboard.

  Dhin jerked awake, nearly banging his big, warty head against the rigger console. "Frag, Axler," he said, wiping some gray drool from his chin. "Don' do that."

  Axler gave a short laugh. "Just get us moving," she said.

  "Hells Canyon tour?"

  "Yes, Assets compound."

  As Ryan strapped himself into a torn vinyl chair next to Axler, Dhin powered up the rotors. And a few minutes later, the blades thrumming rhythmically above them, Dhin lifted the helo, taking them up steeply. He angled up and out, then kicked in the jets, and they blasted into Salish-Shidhe territory.

  The Cascades shone in the afternoon sun, white snow caps above forested slopes. Several of the high
est peaks were rounded since the massive eruptions that occurred in conjunction with the Great Ghost Dance forty years ago. Ryan had been only five years old when that had happened—four peaks erupting simultaneously in the most massive display of ritual magic ever. The Native Americans had gotten fed up with the oppression against them and had called on their shamans to stop the government troops threatening to destroy them. Many, many shamans sacrificed themselves to power the ritual, or so the rumor went, and all that magical power was channeled into the volcanic Cascades.

  Nothing since could compare.

  Once the Hughes Airstar had cleared the peaks, and they were flying safely along the far northern edge of the Columbia River Gorge, Axler contacted Jane. The water shone a pristine blue on their right, and across its wide flow were the hills of the elven nation of Tir Tairngire. The elves had a reputation for paranoid border patrol, which was why Dhin kept the helo well inside the Salish Shidhe edge.

  We'll be going there soon enough, thought Ryan, and a thrill of excitement channeled through him. Their run tomorrow would take them deep within the borders of the elven nation. It would be a dangerous run, and they would need all their cunning and stealth to pull it off. It was just what Ryan needed.

  "Jane," Axler said to the telecom screen. "Ryan's here.

  We're enroute to the Assets compound to rendezvous with the others and plan the run."

  "I've got some details on the Atlantean Foundation's building security," Jane said, her voice flat and without emotion on the helo's speaker.

  Ryan activated the telecom screen next to his seat, and saw Jane's ridiculous blonde bimbo persona looking out at him. All red lipstick and sparkling eyes, huge bosom and hourglass hips under pinstripe business suit. He almost laughed, but instead he said, "Ready for download."

  A series of graphics flooded into the telecom's memory. There were maps of Eugene and surrounding area, enlargements of the research park area along the Willamette River, with one of the buildings bolded. There were photos of the outside from almost every angle, plus Jane had reconstructed a three-dimensional model based on the photos.

  Ryan was impressed. "Excellent work," he said. "Very thorough."

  "There's more," Jane said. "I couldn't get a floor plan, but I did manage to snag the original blueprints from a very old databank—in the city's archives, of all fragging places."

  The blueprints appeared on Ryan's screen. "How old?"

  "The building is forty-two years old, but the Atlanteans have only had it for seventeen. I would say the blueprints are unreliable at best. A lot of interior modifications could have been made. I couldn't get current floor plan schematics without risking tipping their security. I can try if we deem it's crucial."

  "Hopefully we won't need you on site, virtually speaking, until the actual run," Ryan said. "Lethe might be able to help us determine what remodeling they've done. He's been inside, remember."

  "I know, but ..." There was hesitation in Jane's voice. "I don't completely trust that spirit. What do we know about it?"

  "Good point. We don't know drek."

  Axler joined in. "I don't want it along," she said. "It could get us all killed."

  Ryan turned to her. "I don't think we have a choice. The thing is way too powerful to stop. If it wants to come along, there's nothing we can do."

  "McFaren might be able to trap it, or bind it or something," Axler said.

  Ryan just laughed.

  "What?"

  "Maybe." he said finally. "But I seriously doubt it. Lethe is the most powerful spirit I've ever encountered."

  "We just need to be aware that its intentions may not jive with ours," Jane said.

  "Agreed."

  "Where is it anyway?" asked Axler.

  "I don't know," said Ryan. "Last I saw it was early this morning in FDC."

  "I'm right here," came a voice that nearly sent Ryan jumping out of his seat. He looked into the astral plane to see the blinding glow of Lethe. Only a tiny part of the spirit fit inside the helicopter, but even that small fraction was enough to chill Ryan. Like ice water in the very marrow of his bones.

  32

  The dwarf male shifted nervously in his fancy chair, blonde leather, high-back with dark finished wood-grain wings. Burnout was used to the reaction. Some people just didn't like what he had become, a perversion of humanity and robotics.

  The dwarf man's name was Wynar Smith. He was a fixer, based in the Washington DC area, and as such he was very well connected, accustomed to a life of comfort, of dealing with powerful corporate execs. He had hired the shadow-runner, Kaylinn Axler, and her team for several runs. Or so Slaver had learned from his contacts. Smith knew about Assets, Incorporated, the place where Ryan Mercury had gone. And sooner or later, the fixer would give up that information. It was just a matter of time and torture.

  Burnout knew all these factlets, but they didn't come close to encompassing this quivering lump of dwarf flesh in front of him. Wynar Smith was afraid to die, and Burnout could smell it.

  It smelled pathetic. Still, Burnout stood behind Slaver and the blood spirit ally, waiting for the order that he knew would come. The information first; he had to remember that. They had to get the information before the man's throat could be ripped from his neck, his bloody windpipe yanked out by his Adam's apple. Yes, Burnout would have to wait.

  "I want the location of Assets, Incorporated," Slaver said, pacing. His short body was only slightly taller than the frightened dwarf, but Slaver held himself with confidence, that made him seem much larger. "I'm willing to make a deal if necessary, but I must have it."

  "I. . . I. . . You must understand, I can't tell you that If it ever gets out—"

  "What?" Slaver asked. 'They'll kill you?"

  Wynar Smith glanced around him furtively, scanning the bodies of the street samurai who served as his bodyguards for signs of life. Burnout and La Sangre had killed six of them, two mages and four chrome jobs. Good fighters. Not like this dwarf coward.

  "They . . . they will kill me," the dwarf said flatly. "I . . . I... I don't want to die."

  "Nobody wants that," Slaver said, an edge of false sincerity in his voice. "We just want the data. You can do whatever is necessary after we leave. Make it look like a break-in, like they threatened to kill you if you didn't tell them."

  Slaver paused, smiled. "Oh yeah, that's the truth." He gave a little grating laugh.

  Burnout twitched, becoming impatient. This was taking too long.

  "Besides," said Slaver, laughing softly. "You won't have to tell me. I've scanned it in your mind. It's situated on the edge of a deep canyon."

  "You can't trick me like that," Wynar Smith said. "I won't think of it."

  "Which one, halfer? Don't try playing games with me, you hear? Not the Grand Canyon? No. What about Zion? No."

  "My mind is blank," Smith muttered to himself. "My mind is blank. Blankness. Nothing in here. My mind—"

  "Hells Canyon?" Slaver said, then paused as he seemed to concentrate more intently. "That's it," he said finally. "Hells Canyon it is."

  "You don't know drek," Smith yelled. "Hells Canyon is more than a hundred and fifty kilometers long. You'll never find it."

  "Tsk tsk, getting a little uncivilized," Slaver admonished. "Burnout, can you teach him some manners?"

  Burnout sprang into motion like a pouncing tiger. His laser tool was in his hand instantly as he moved to Smith's side. So fast Smith didn't have time to jump before Burnout's free hand had encircled the dwarfs ankles. Burnout jerked Smith into the air, feet first. And held him there, upside down, while he activated the small laser.

  "Ah, let me down."

  The laser tool wouldn't do extensive damage unless used on the eyes, but at the highest setting it hurt, especially when applied to sensitive areas like the genitals. Burnout didn't think that would be necessary today. He just held the dwarf high and stripped off his Armante shoes and his argyle socks. Then he began burning a heart shape into the skin over his Achilles tendon
.

  The dwarf screamed as the laser burned into the skin, a thin wisp of smoke rising along with the smell of roasting flesh and hair.

  "The location of Assets, Mr. Smith?" Slaver said.

  "Frag you!"

  Burnout smiled. This might be more fun than he'd originally thought. Smith's hands made dull thuds as they hit his abdomen, but he barely registered the sensation. The heart shape was finished, so he decided to use the laser to excise one of the dwarfs toes, the pinkie of his left foot. It would take ten minutes to cut all the way through.

  The dwarfs screams echoed through the room as Slaver poured himself a glass from a pitcher of lemonade that was sitting out on the table. Then he came back over. "Don't kill him," he said. "Yet."

  It was a simple comment, and in hindsight, an innocuous one. But it slotted Burnout off. Of course, he wouldn't kill him. He knew that. It was understood. He felt the hatred rise inside him.

  "What you must realize, Mr. Smith," Slaver said, addressing the dwarf, "is that my metal friend here is not the brightest boy. He's very efficient at killing, and he's almost impossible to kill, but if he gets it in his chrome skull that you don't deserve to live, I might not be able to control him."

  The hatred flooded Burnout, filling him like an instant tide. And this time it came so fast that the drug didn't kick in before he'd reacted. He swung the flailing body of Wynar Smith around like a thick flesh bat, smashing it against the hard flagstones of the marble hearth. The white rock spattered red with the impact, as the dwarfs head split like a rotten pumpkin.

  "Burnout, you fragging moron!"

  "He's not dead," Burnout said, holding up the crimson-stained body.

  Slaver bit off a reply, his face taking on a look of intense concentration as he focused on the dwarf's bloody form.

  As the happy drug rushed through Burnout, he held the body still as the last of the dwarfs blood dripped to the carpeting along with loosened fragments of skull and brain matter. The drug held him content, his memories and the longing for magic anchoring him in the realm of the living.