Stranger Souls Page 22

  Burnout shrugged and continued his descent.

  La Sangre straightened, its flayed nostrils flaring, causing even more foul-smelling blood to drip from it. The spirit seemed to sense something was amiss.

  "Drek for brains," Slaver said to Burnout, "get back here. Now."

  The hatred hit, sending off little flares in Burnout's eyes. Tiny fireworks as he pivoted. The world seemed to click into slow motion around him. Recognition dawned on Slaver's face, but it was too late. Burnout crossed the distance between them in a fraction of a second, clicking his ankle spurs into position.

  A spell went off just as Burnout kicked—a sweeping strike across the chest, diagonally up to one shoulder. A shock wave shook through him as the discharging spell threw him back. It felt as though a panzer had hit him. But the barb on his cyberspur had caught on Slaver's collar bone, lifting the mage's body into the air.

  Blood spilled from the cut, pouring out like a river as Slaver mumbled spells to try and save himself. Burnout jerked his foot, trying to free the cyberspur, and as his foot came away, it ripped the bone with it, causing Slaver's neck to jerk with a sickening snap.

  The drug tried to kick in just then, and Burnout knew it would hit. The chemical placator. In the seconds before he went placid, Burnout lifted the limp and mangled body of Slaver, then swung it in a wide, vicious arc. Slamming it against the unyielding surface of a large boulder.

  There was blood everywhere, glistening red on the rocks. The satisfying crunch of bones inside Slaver's limp bag of skin came to Burnout's ears just as the drug hit. And with it came peace.

  Next to him, La Sangre watched in fascination. He looked at Burnout. "Thank you for freeing me," he said. Then he disappeared.

  Leaving Burnout alone. Content for the first time in as long as he could remember.

  After a time, the yearning returned—his desire for the magic he felt in the compound below. And Burnout found himself on his feet, moving toward it, leaving the remains of his master behind for the scavengers.

  43

  Ryan jumped out of the helicopter, planting his feet squarely on the tarmac. He was tired, but it felt good to be done with a mission well accomplished. The Dragon Heart rested in the nylon web bag at his belt, a little uncomfortable. Too big, too heavy. He would have to get a safer place for it, but he didn't want it too far from him. I'll carry it for now, he thought.

  Axler and Grind came behind, carrying McFaren's body. The mage's spirit had never returned, and Axler had finally resigned herself to his loss. It was too bad. McFaren had been an excellent mage and a good runner.

  The sun was setting now, painting the sky red and orange in the west. The mountain peaks above the compound turned the color of autumn leaves in the sunset as Ryan made his way to the hangar. As he walked, he tried to decide how to proceed. After his phone conversation with Jane in the helicopter, the other runners had grown distant and suspicious. The remainder of their trip back to Assets had been silent and tense.

  Ryan didn't give a frag. After all, he owned them, didn't he? Assets was his now that Dunkelzahn was dead. They had no say.

  It was all Lethe's fault for talking to Jane. Ryan distrusted the spirit now. Lethe wanted the Dragon Heart for himself. He didn't understand its power, didn't realize how Ryan could use it to build an army, use it to fight whatever enemies Dunkelzahn had. Ryan's father, in his Roxborough past, had taught him well; never subvert an opportunity because of sentiment. Ryan would never make that mistake again.

  The hot wind blew the smell of pine and sage up the canyon wall, and Ryan caught the sound of an aircraft approaching. Sounded like a jet, tilt wing. VTOL. What the—

  The machine crested the rim of the cliff, flying past the compound with a subsonic roar. Ryan ducked inside the hangar door, watching from grease-smelling shadows as the jet slowed and hovered fifty meters out over the edge of the canyon. The jet slowly eased over the airstrip and dropped to its wheels.

  The machine had no official logos or other identifying marks, but Ryan got the certain sense that this was a corporate visit. Axler and Grind appeared at Ryan's shoulder. They carried no weapons and didn't seemed concerned in the least. "Looks like you've got a visitor, Ryan," Axler said coldly. "Nadja Daviar."

  Nadja? What is she doing here?

  The answer occurred to him then. She's here to try to persuade me to complete Dunkelzahn's mission. What else could it be? Transparent slitch! Did Lethe talk to her? Or Jane?

  Abruptly, Ryan decided to leave. Now, before she could talk to him, before he saw her beautiful face. Before he heard her mesmerizing voice. The power of the Dragon Heart coursed through him as he broke into a run, making for the helicopter. Dhin was still inside the vehicle, checking out the systems, cleaning out the interior.

  Ryan moved fast, a dark blur across the concrete. The jet was between him and the helo, and as Ryan ran, security personnel in dark suits came down the short stairs, cutting off his path.

  Ryan slowed when Nadja emerged from the jet. Her black hair shone in the last light of the setting sun, a crimson tint to its ebony. She wore it down, like dark rain to her waist. She smiled at him, mistaking his run for the helicopter as urgency to see her. Or else faking her delight extremely well.

  Ryan drew himself up and walked to her. He would not let his emotions get in the way. Father had taught him that. Besides, this woman's love for him was no more than an ephemeral transience, a momentary sentiment that would soon fade like the sunlight. "Nadja," he said. "What brings you all the way out here?"

  Nadja stood her ground, surrounded by seven security, at least one of whom was a mage. "I heard that you've abandoned Dunkelzahn's mission," she said, and there was such sadness in her voice that his knees threatened to weaken.

  Ryan centered himself, focusing on the situation. He could take four or five of the guards, he was sure. But not all of them. One was a troll and might take too long to put down. The others—four humans and two dwarfs who looked like twins in their secret service suits and shades—would go down easily if there weren't so many. "I've changed," he said. "Become stronger. I'm no longer Dunkelzahn's lackey."

  "Master had an intricate and detailed plan," Nadja said. "I know a great deal about it, but not everything. He entrusted you with this mission, even told you it was the most important one of your life. You remember that, don't you?"

  "Dunkelzahn is dead."

  "Yes," Nadja said. "And we must honor his sacrifice by carrying out his wishes."

  "I intend to keep fighting for him," Ryan said. "But on my own terms. I won't be his servant boy any longer."

  "Ryan, please ..."

  "Step aside, Nadja," Ryan said. "Let me go. I just need to sort some things out."

  "I can't do that," she said. "I can't let you leave with the Dragon Heart."

  "My missions are my own to complete as I see fit," Ryan said, his voice rising. "And I can't allow you to interfere!" He was shouting at her now, all pretense of civility stripped away. "Wasn't that part of our arrangement all along? Wasn't that why you despised my relationship with Dunkelzahn? Because it was more important than my relationship with you!" He spat the words at her, vehemently.

  "Ryan ..." Nadja was shaken by his outburst, but he knew she was trying not to show it. "This is different. You endanger the entire world by disregarding your mission."

  "Fuck you! You just want the Dragon Heart for yourself."

  "You know that's not—"

  "Get out of my way!" Ryan took a step, angling around the knot of security.

  They shifted to block his path, drawing weapons. Seven pistols aimed at him.

  "They won't let you go, Ryan," Nadja said. "Not until you give up the Dragon Heart."

  Ryan's awareness grew hypersensitive. The helo sat only ten meters away, just behind Nadja and the security agents. The jet was on his right, but there were more sec guards there. Nadja herself was two steps away; he tried not to see the concern on her features. He tried to harden himself to that. She wa
s the enemy now.

  She must be circumvented. Unless. . .

  Ryan moved, quickly and with a suddenness that caught the security guards unaware. Energy from the Dragon Heart shivered through him as he crossed the distance to Nadja. The hulking shapes of the black-suited sec guards bled into one dark wall as he moved, too fast for their chipped senses. He threw one body out of the way with a distance strike.

  Shots rang out, but they passed through the empty space where he'd been a moment before. Reaction time too fragging slow, chummers.

  Then he was behind Nadja, one strong arm across her chest, pinning her arms. His Walther PB120 pistol was in his other hand, its warm barrel pressed to the soft space under her sharp jaw. "Back off!" he yelled.

  The security turned in unison, surprised that he'd closed in so fast. Hesitation and confusion in their response. Half of them brought their weapons to bear on Ryan, the other half unsure.

  "Guns on the ground," Ryan said. "And step back. Nice and fragging slow or the elf slitch loses her pretty head."

  44

  Peace inside. Tranquillity in the last rays of sunshine. Outside, war.

  Burnout stared at the scene on the tarmac. The man he recognized as Ryan Mercury—his target—held a gun to the head of an elven woman, threatening to kill her if the black suits interfered with his plan to escape.

  Burnout saw all that peripherally, however, paying only marginal attention to it. The thing that drew him, that pulled him in, was the item Ryan Mercury carried on his belt. The size of a child's head, the thing glinted golden through the holes in the mesh bag.

  Powerful magic. So potent that even Burnout could smell its force like a palpable aroma. Made his eyes tear up.

  I must have it.

  He reached the cyclone fencing at the near side of the compound, next to the mountain side. This was no obstacle for him. He merely bent his cybernetic legs and jumped. Up and over, landing delicately without sound.

  The peace inside gave way to the craving, the hole that must be filled. The last vestiges of the drug's influence washed out with the searing desire for that powerful magic. He would accomplish his mission after all—Ryan Mercury would die—and Burnout would take the item as payment.

  45

  "Ryan, think about what you're doing," Nadja said.

  Up close, the smell of her was overpowering. The feel of her against him, bringing back memories. Images of times past—the deep blue shimmer of the waves on Maui, a kiss stolen during a sudden impulsive moment behind the doors of her office on Prince Edward Island. The endearing sound of her gasp when he surprised her from behind, running his hands up under her shirt to tickle her back.

  "You haven't been yourself, lately," Nadja continued. "Roxborough changed you."

  "Tell them to put the guns down," Ryan said. His voice was a grating whisper; he was trying to stay anchored in the present. The handle of the pistol in his hand felt slick, sweaty in his grip.

  "Try to remember who you are, Ryan," Nadja said. "Shut up, slitch!"

  "You said you remembered in Washington."

  And he had remembered. Had felt the loss of Dunkelzahn so poignantly that he had crumpled to the floor and sobbed. He could still see the Washington sky full of flying dragons, weaving their tapestry of fire and magic. He remembered Dunkelzahn, his massive, sinuous bulk crouched beside Ryan as he gave instruction in the theory behind dragon magic. The fact that, in reality, no separation existed between the various kinds of magic—physical or spell or conjuring magic. These distinctions were a product of the limited minds of today's magickers, and were artificial. Dunkelzahn reassured Ryan that, in time, he would be adept at each kind.

  The tide of memories came flooding back. Dunkelzahn's telepathic thoughts resonating in Ryan's mind. The jovial humor of the dragon as he reprimanded Ryan for a misplaced step or an awkward strike. Dunkelzahn was the only parent Ryan had ever really known. He didn't remember much of his life before the dragon had swooped down to save him in El Infierno. Now Dunkelzahn was gone.

  I have no room for these sentimental feelings, he told himself. I must get on with the business at hand.

  "I did remember," Ryan told Nadja. "And it nearly destroyed me." He pulled her with him, edging back toward the open door of the helo. He kept his eyes on the security guards. There must be no outward doubt about whether he intended to carry out his threat to kill Nadja. Even if he was no longer sure of it himself.

  "But it didn't destroy you," Nadja said. "You have survived just as Dunkelzahn knew you would. Like I knew you would. It's Roxborough—whatever he did to you has affected your mind."

  The edge of the helicopter's open side door pressed into the back of Ryan's thighs. He remembered his childhood as young Thomas Roxborough. The boy without want; the child with the most toys, but the fewest friends. But that was all right, because what he'd learned from Father was that friendships—all relationships, in fact—were transitory and superficial at best. It was a valuable lesson if you didn't want to get hurt.

  "I'm not Roxborough," Ryan said, pulling Nadja with him into the cargo hold of the helicopter. "But not the Ryan Mercury you knew either. I'm both and neither."

  It hit Ryan then that he hadn't been with either of his "fathers" when they died. He'd never had the chance to say goodbye to Frederic Roxborough when his body could no longer struggle against the VITAS infection. He'd also been absent when the explosion vaporized Dunkelzahn.

  The depths of his own loneliness, which had shaken through his bones when he'd nearly died from acute lupus, had struck him as poetic justice. But it had been Father's lessons that had saved him then. He'd never given in to the disease, never accepted the doctors' six-month death sentence. The UniOmni vat had kept him alive; it was still keeping the original Roxborough alive.

  Alive and alone forever.

  "Ryan Mercury is still inside you," Nadja said. "I can see him when I look at you. I felt him in Washington. I loved him .. ." She broke down then, losing all pretense of composure as the tears welled in her eyes. And once they started, they flowed freely. "I still do."

  "You're just trying to confuse me," Ryan said, and he heard desperation in his voice.

  "No, Ryan, I just want you to think. There's something inside you that's making you selfish and devious. You can overcome that if you just think about it. If you feel what's in your heart."

  "Give up the sappy bulldrek, Nadja."

  "Dunkelzahn had confidence that you would always remain true. Otherwise he'd never have chosen you."

  "Dunkelzahn abandoned us, Nadja. It's about time you realized that." But Ryan said it without conviction. He didn't really believe it. He didn't know what he believed anymore.

  His grip on his Walther loosened. His focus wavered for just a second. Maybe he could believe her; he did love her.

  Then again, maybe he should just kill her, make the world black and white again. Clear cut. Simple.

  There is an evil voice inside us all, Ryanthusar. Learn to hear it within yourself and come to understand it, for it is a crucial part of you.

  Dunkelzahn's words came rushing back into Ryan's mind as he held the gun to Nadja's head. But always remember that how much you act upon what that voice tells you defines who you are.

  Am I a murderer? Ryan thought.

  No.

  It was a simple answer, but it struck him hard, like a sucker punch in his gut, making him gasp for air. "Nadja," he said, choking out the words through the tight constriction of his throat. "I'm sorry." Ryan lowered his hand, pulling the barrel of the pistol from her jaw and holstering it. "Help me."

  Nadja turned and wrapped her arms around his chest. Holding him close. The smell of her filled his nostrils, washing through him like warm tonic. Her dark hair softly tickled his face. Her lips murmuring under her breath, "It's all right, Ryan. I love you. I love you."

  The world tilted under Ryan, the solidity of the ground rocking and shifting and sliding away like his fleeting will. He leaned on Nadja for support.
With her help, he had won. He had beaten Roxborough. He'd overcome his desire for power at the expense of his friends.

  46

  Burnout's world narrowed to a pinpoint.

  In the waning light of the sun, his eyesight zoomed down to take in the scene. Burnout's awareness focused in on Ryan Mercury and the item that hung from the human's belt. The human and his hostage were inside the helicopter now. Trying to escape.

  Burnout would not allow that to happen. He moved up to the side of the hangar, a silent ghost of metal and flesh. Longing for the power he sensed Mercury carried. It was the pinpoint, the center of Burnout's existence. And he would have it at any cost.

  As he moved carefully and silently in the lengthening shadow of the hangar, Burnout swung the minigun and held it in one metal hand, ready to fire. He adjusted the ammo-belt as he rounded the corner of the corrugated metal building, making sure there were no twists or kinks.

  He flipped his grenade launcher into his other hand, and surveyed the scene. A cluster of people crowded the helicopter. Three inside, including Ryan Mercury, the elf biff hostage, and the pilot. Seven others stood slightly away as the helo's blades began the slow rotation to power up.

  No more than five meters from the helo, Burnout saw the VTOL jet—a Lear-Cessna Platinum III—cooling on its wheels. He estimated that no more than five people could be left inside. Besides, all he had to do was target the fuel tanks. Easy, loud, and spectacular to watch.

  There were people in the hangar, but he would worry about them after he'd taken out the rest. The rotor spun faster. The helo's rising whine creeping through Burnout's circuits like a software glitch. Like that drekking psychosomatic itch that he could never scratch.

  I will not let the power escape.

  His universe collapsed then, his entire existence focused down on his goal, drawing him out of the shadows. Moving across the tarmac, his weapons ready to start screaming, Burnout accelerated up to full speed. Anyone in his path would be blown to tiny shreds of bloody flesh. None would be spared. None deserved the effort.