Soft shift. Instead of popping a hard-and-fast shift image into his brain, which is what allowed him to do rip-shifts to elude pursuit, Coyote assembled an image of Slide from bits and pieces. He imagined the lighter gravity and cooler, drier atmosphere. The air tasted cool and slick. He filled the flat, glassy landscape with the rivers of neon colors that flowed through it. Whirling Frisbee clouds filled the sky like blue polka-dots on a pink background.
Building Slide up image by image, he willed himself forward. Without taking a step, he dissolved himself through the wall between Crush and Slide. As he opened his eyes he saw the tableau before him matched that which he had imagined in all but one aspect. A getsul crouched a dozen feet in front of him, utterly unaware that his foe had just materialized behind him.
"You lose, sport."
At the sound of his voice, the getsul spun around and made a serious mistake. Slide, as Coyote had discovered in his first run through the clutch's dimensions, could easily have been designated Teflon or Grease. Everything had the frictional equivalence of ice on wet glass. As the getsul completed his turn, his pivot foot slipped back, and his other foot skipped forward. He went down in an abrupt and painful split, then fell forward and bashed his face into the ground.
Coyote winced as the man hit. Dropping to one knee, he bent forward, then pulled his head up, imparting just enough forward momentum to his body to start him sliding toward the unconscious man. He bumped up against the getsul and that bled off his momentum. He pressed fingers to the man's throat and found a strong, steady pulse.
Only one left, I think. Kneeling there, Coyote checked Crush and Muck but found no one. I don't want to stay here. Maybe Muck to Angle to Storm, and I can hide there.
Concentrating again, Coyote made a rip-cut in the wall of Slide and pulled himself through to Muck. He sank about six inches into the red-gray ooze covering the ground. He recognized the gelatinous substance as something Fiddleback had transplanted to a tower in Phoenix. Because the slime, which Coyote thought must have been some form of life, concentrated gravity in itself, it created a bond between whatever it touched. If not for the fact that it probably, eventually, eats the stuff it touches, it could make wonderful Super Glue.
He stood, and the slime dripped off his legs. Taking great sucking steps forward, he came to a sheer hillside covered with the slime. Climbing up, he twisted around and planted his back flat against the rock face. Hanging up above normal human eye level, he focused his mind and probed both Rust and Angle.
Initially, he caught only a faint impression of a getsul in Angle, but that trace evaporated beneath the harsh glare of a far stronger sensation. Someone or something entered the clutch and its trace filled the whole series of pocket dimensions. At first, Coyote thought someone had made a bad mistake in not shielding himself, but then he caught the edges on the impression and he realized it had been curbed so it would not extend beyond the clutch.
This is deliberate, then. A lure and a trap. As Coyote sorted through the sensations being broadcast by this new hunter, he decided it was not Mong, nor was it any of the other monks with whom he had trained. He also discovered the hunter was male, but he couldn't bring himself to see the hunter as a man. The second he drew that conclusion, he knew who was out there.
The Yidam.
Twisting his way around to face the cliff, Coyote clawed his way up toward the top. The impressions of the Yidam pounded into him like hoofbeats. The Yidam stalked openly through the clutch, confidently and contemptuously advertising its presence. The hammering sensations came faster and harder as the Yidam approached, but they so overwhelmed Coyote that he could not pinpoint a direction, and he looked about in vain for any sign of the creature as he reached the top of the cliff.
Suddenly, there above him, the Yidam appeared through a slash in the sky. Cloaked in black, the Yidam stepped through to the cliff edge and stared down at him. His scarlet eyes flashed with gold, and his gaze seemed to bore right through Coyote. White tusks stood out in sharp contrast with his jet-black skin, and the cloak opened enough to let Coyote see the necklace of skulls hanging from around his neck.
Gold glinting from his talons, the Yidam's right foot swept free of the mucusoid carpet creature and caught Coyote over his left ear. Stars exploded before Coyote's eyes, and he sensed himself starting to fall. At the same time, something stabbed deep into his mind, using his disorientation to make him vulnerable. He snapped his head around to try to break that contact, but only succeeded in starting his body rolling through the air.
«Get out of my mind!» Coyote focused long enough to snap his mind shut, then immediately assessed his situation. He knew he had little control over his body as it still fought off the shock of the blow. One chance.
Coyote ripped through to Angle and braced himself for impact. He landed with his left shoulder on one of the huge hexagonal plates that made up the world of Angle. The plate gave a bit, preventing his shoulder from being crushed, then pushed back and returned almost all of his energy to him. Bouncing up at the complementary angle from that at which he'd hit, Coyote spun up and off to the right.
Are you as cocky as you advertise? Coyote craned his neck back to watch the gash from Muck and tried to will himself back toward it. As he spun around, he lost sight of it, then, as it came back into view, he saw the Yidam's feet break through. Bingo!
Spinning uncontrollably, Coyote passed close to the opening into Muck. His feet flailed through the air and caught the Yidam in mid-chest, crushing two of the skulls. The blow immediately killed Coyote's spin, but sent the Yidam whirling backward and down toward the ground.
The Yidam hit hard with his head, but the soft ground prevented him from breaking his neck. His body continued to spin down, slamming his buttocks into the ground as well, then he bounced up and started forward somersaults through the air. He made some motions to control his flight, but he headed away from Coyote and could do nothing until he hit the ground again.
Angle's gentle gravity pulled Coyote down to a hexagonal plain. His legs managed to support his weight by the time he landed, but he let himself drop into a crouch, anyway. Reaching down, he jabbed his hands into the Earth and tore a new opening into another proto-dimension. Taking one last look at the flying Yidam, Coyote broke through to Storm.
A driving barrage of hailstones blasted Coyote to the snowy ground. Pushing off the ground, he tried to stand, but a thunder strike's concussive explosion knocked him down again. Lightning strobed silver into the dark world, then the hissing sting of wind-sped sand blinded him.
Not necessarily my best choice. He blinked away the sand and set himself as he sensed the Yidam's approach. He turned slowly, resigning himself to always be facing into the wind, and raised his left hand to shield his eyes. A forked lightning bolt split the sky, silhouetting the Yidam off to his right, then an arctic wind separated them with a sheet of snow.
Cutting to his right, Coyote snapped a kick through where he had last seen the Yidam. To his surprise, he connected solidly and heard a grunt. Expecting a riposte of some sort, Coyote threw himself on his face, then rolled twice to the right and rose into a low crouch. A curtain of rain cleansed the air between them, drenching the Yidam and wrapping him up in his heavily sodden cloak.
With a half-step forward, Coyote drove his right heel into the monster's spine. Raising his left arm, he blocked the elbow flying back at him, then hammered his right fist into the same spot he had kicked. He felt thick muscles protect the spine from the full force of the blow, but he hit again, then leaped back as the Yidam fell forward and scythed his legs back through where Coyote had stood.
As he landed, something in the back of his mind painted a schematic over the outline of the Yidam. His mind tried to fit the monster into a foe identification template and rejected it when the height and robustness of the figure failed to drop into standard variations from the norm. Before the template faded, Coyote saw it contained detailed information on the weakness of the creature it had described, incl
uding the locations of nerve ganglia and points where a single strike could maim or kill.
Where did that come from?
The Yidam looked back over his shoulder. «From your master, Dark Minion!» The Yidam pushed off the ground and set himself in a long-legged fighting stance. Still hidden beneath the cloak, his elbows broadened his outline, and his gold-clawed hands appeared through the slit at its center. «I know why you have been sent, and it ends now.»
Coyote pulled back to the right as the Yidam closed and posted a kick that would have pulverized his left shoulder had it landed. Backpedaling as fast as he could, Coyote ducked and dodged away from the kicks and punches the Yidam threw at him. The creature's sheer ferocity and power made it terrifying, but Coyote's discipline and control made him invincible.
The Yidam came up and around with his left leg in a roundhouse kick that Coyote avoided easily. Too easily. As he made that realization, he saw the Yidam lean forward and use his flying leg to counterbalance his upper body. Reaching out with his right hand, the Yidam caught Coyote's right ankle and tossed him back up into the air.
Coyote landed hard on a rock ridge. The fall stunned him. He looked up as the Yidam loomed over him and raised a foot meant to crush his skull in one final stomp. Coyote tried in vain to bring his arms up to protect his head, but his limbs would not respond. Sorry, Crowley, Fiddleback is all yours now.
The foot never fell. Egg-sized hailstones caught the Yidam in the back like a shotgun blast, cartwheeling him over Coyote and down into a little hollow. A white, wet blanket of snow unfurled itself over them, then an icy gust of wind crystallized it into a sheet of ice. Water soaked him, then another sand storm gnawed on what little of his flesh it could expose beneath the ice.
Pumping his legs, Coyote kicked free of the ice. Rolling over onto his side, he slid down the hillside to where the Yidam lay buried on his stomach. He smashed the ice over the creature's head and saw by the vapor cloud he still breathed. When the Yidam's eyelids fluttered for a moment, Coyote raised his right fist for a knock-out blow, but dropped it when the creature's eyes did not open.
Been here too long. Reaching out, Coyote bored a hole between Storm and Might, then knelt in the warm, dry darkness of absolute night. When he had first run across Night, the idea of being utterly blind had frightened him, but he realized the total lack of visual stimulation made concentration easier. The tenebrous atmosphere felt heavy, as if filled with humidity, and flowed around him like a stream.
Calming his racing heart, he gently probed Rust to see if the last getsul had taken up a position there. He found nothing, so he pushed his probing beyond Rust to Muck and Crush. Those dimensions remained clear. Beyond them he added Slide and Angle to his sweep of the clutch. Nothing. He quickly checked Storm but he got nothing from it either. Is he in Night?
Coyote focused his mind on the dark dimension, but sensed nothing. Maybe he was moving fast, remaining one step in front of my probes. Maybe he homed in on me as I did the getsul in Slide. Coyote instantly moved to the left, remained low, and raised his hands to ward off unseen strikes.
If he is here, at least we're even—we're both blind.
«Wrong, Kyi-can,» Coyote heard the Yidam's voice in his mind, «I see in the ultraviolet range.»
Fingers tangled themselves in his hair, jerking his head back, and an invisible fist pounded him into unconsciousness.
Uncomfortably wet and stiff, Coyote awakened staring up at the night sky over Tibet. Back between his feet he saw the heavily guarded East Gate, but none of the monks at the far end of the causeway paid him any attention. They stared out beyond him, chanting as always.
Pain centered itself in his nose, and he immediately knew it had been broken. Licking his lips, he tasted blood. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, resting his back against the Dukhang wall, and waited until the wave of dizziness passed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands.
It makes no sense. He assumed the creature he had fought in the training room was the same one who used the naginata to destroy the gorfash. The first time he met it, the Yidam tried to kill him, but the second time it saved his life. The third time it sought him and tried to kill him, but then didn't do the job when it had the chance in Night. No sense at all.
Coyote slowly stood and turned to lean on the wall. Looking up, he saw the Yidam's image staring down at him.
Coyote shook his head. "You mock me because you're in control, but you should not take refuge in that idea. Things change, and I change. Fiddleback thought he controlled me, and you, like him, will learn how dangerous I can be when the tables are turned."
Given Kip's apprehension about the Galactic Brotherhood Institute, Sin had not been sure what to expect when he accepted a recruiter's invitation to attend a Friday-night seminar offered by Arrigo El-Leichter. Over the phone, the woman had made it sound as innocent as a lecture about a trip to some exotic locale, but the talk's title, "The Secret Masters of Your Life," came across as far more sinister.
Things were slated to start at 7:30 P.M., so Sin arrived 15 minutes early on the off chance he would get a chance to take a look around the institute. According to the map he had of Kimpunshima, the Galbro Complex occupied as much space as a small multinational corporation could be expected to use, though its percentage of residential to operational facilities approached those of a service organization. Galbro did have access to the docks on the underside of the artificial island and maintained a hangar at the Level Two airport on the island's south end.
Early arrivals for lectures were expected and greeted by two smiling, uniformed women. Both struck Sin as a bit vacuous and even incongruous because, while he was used to being greeted at the door in Japan, the greeters were seldom Aryan types like these two. They directed him across a large, inlaid marble foyer to a built-in booth where another Nordic type was checking a list and handing out name tags.
"Welcome to GBI. How may I help you?" Standing in a booth filled with books, videos, CDs, cassettes and posters, the blond man looked as wholesome and clean cut as an ad for virtue.
Sin gave him an innocent smile. "I registered for this evening's lecture. I am Sinclair MacNeal."
The blue-eyed young man studied the printout on his clipboard, then smiled and checked a name off the list. He looked over at several rows of name tags, then plucked one from the center of a line. "Sinclair K. MacNeal, here you are." He pointed off to his left and toward a set of double doors. "Go in and take a seat. Try to get near the front so you can see Mr. El-Leichter better."
"Thank you." Sin took the tag and pinned it to his jacket's breast pocket. Following the man's directions, he walked into a huge auditorium and headed directly for the tiny phalanx of folding chairs arranged at the far end near a podium. The room itself had the look of a gymnasium, but Sin saw no court lines painted on the parquet floor, nor any basketball backboards hanging on the walls. Instead, numerous tapestries, quilts and huge paintings decorated the room, with all of them sharing a "Visitors from the Stars" motif.
Sin thought most of them laughably amateur in execution. This surprised him, because he already knew GBI was highly sophisticated, as evidenced by his name tag. He had arranged with Lilith to have his file modified to change his middle initial every three hours. Their providing him with name tag that used a "K" as his middle initial meant they had accessed his file 33 to 36 hours after their recruiter made contact. Given the level of security consciousness Lorica Industries had shown, it meant GBI had excellent computer crackers or a plant inside Lorica Japan.
The only reason to have these things up here is to put us at ease and to use as contrast later. Looking at these things, I would hardly think aliens the sort of folks who would destroy Kip's boat or be running secret missions. This should be interesting, if nothing else.
Sin found himself a seat in the third row, over on the right edge. Up behind the podium he saw a huge banner of a white, polar-coordinate grid on a light blue background—about the sam
e shade of blue as the United Nations flag, it seemed to him. Superimposed on the white web he saw stars arrayed in the familiar Big Dipper constellation, with the North Star hanging there above the whole circle. Beneath the whole design, in all capital letters, he read "THE GALACTIC BROTHERHOOD WELCOMES YOU."
Below the painting stood two sets of doors, one on either side of the podium. The one nearest him, to the right of center, looked like utterly unremarkable fire doors, complete with a glowing red exit sign over them. The other door, on the left, had a touch-sensitive scanning plate next to it. It looked to Sin very much like the one in the top of the Lorica Tower in Phoenix. He devoted a certain amount of his attention to that door and resolved, at some point, to get past it and into whatever GBI had gone to such pains to protect.
The room quickly filled, and Sin found himself doomed to spend the lecture next to a rather dapper man who had saturated himself with cologne. That man, in turn, let everyone else around him know that he was attending this lecture for the fifth time and that "you will learn things here that you never even dreamt could be possible." He smiled at Sin and added, "We all have our little secrets here, don't we?"
"Sure," Sin laughed. "I'm an agent in the employ of the Japanese government who's come to infiltrate this whole operation."
The perfume man did not take the joke well, but the others around him laughed, and that silenced him. Overhead air-conditioning units hummed to life, and the breeze they created succeeded in blowing the cologne stench away for the most part. Things are looking up. The lights slowly dimmed. It's show time.
Wall-mounted loudspeakers crackled. "Ladies and gentlebeings, it is the Galactic Brotherhood Institute's distinct pleasure to present to you tonight's featured speaker: Arrigo El-Leichter."
Everything faded to blackness for a second, then a platinum spotlight encircled the security door behind the podium dais. The door itself clicked, then opened slowly with a white vapor leaking out around its edges. As the smoke drained away, it revealed a figure of a man.
Evil Ascending Page 16
