by Jak Koke
Lethe didn’t know exactly what would happen if these mages succeeded in forcing him from Billy’s body, but his spirit was intertwined with Billy’s now.
The magic will probably kill us both.
Lethe reached out for the Locus, trying to use it to stabilize him. But it was distant, his connection to it weak. His access was blocked by the barrier at the perimeter of the ritual circle and the magical background, the polluted astral space that came from all the corrupt magic that had been performed inside the temple over the years.
The woman and the ork let Meyer trace the primary lines, but they continued to add touches to the circle, chalked words and splashes of paint. Gathering their power in song and art as they prepared to focus it upon Lethe. He knew what was coming, and merely hoped he’d be strong enough.
As the power of the spell grew around him, he struggled to move Billy’s body, to pull it free of his restraints. He exerted all of his will, but the arms and legs would not budge. Billy was unconscious again, due to a drug injection, which would normally have allowed Lethe some measure of control over the body. But all Billy’s cybernetic parts had been deactivated by the dwarf technician with the remote control. The tech stood just outside the ritual circle, watching the proceedings with disinterest. Even if Billy had been awake, they’d be unable to move.
Time for a little magical attack, Lethe thought. He’d learned how to do telekinetic magic by watching Ryan Mercury, and he’d even used it once when Billy had had the Dragon Heart. Lethe had thrown Ryan Mercury’s body several meters into the fire sprinklers, saving the human’s life.
Can I do it without the Dragon Heart?
With a thought Lethe flung mana at Meyer, focusing the energy into a telekinetic thrust. The thrust hit Meyer, but it was much weaker than Lethe expected. His imprisonment inside Billy had weakened him immeasurably. The blow merely knocked Meyer’s hand and made him flinch slightly.
“Frag!” Meyer yelled. “Who did that?” His vision went astral and he looked directly at Lethe. “I see you now, my meddling spirit. And I will get rid of you.” The elf stood up, and with a heavy sigh, he proceeded to redraw the arc of the circle he'd been working on.
It’s not much, Lethe thought, but it is something. He proceeded to use his telekinetic push on each of the mages, practicing to get better and better at it.
He knocked their hands as they painted, blew out their candles, and was generally a pain in the hoop. He knew he wasn’t going to stop them from completing the ritual circle and casting their spell, but he could slow them down.
He could slot them off.
If they got sufficiently angry and distracted, perhaps they’d make a mistake.
Perhaps they would miscast their spell.
It was a small hope, but he clung to it. He kept at it because he knew it was his only chance.
Without it, he would soon be no more than shreds of a tattered spirit blowing on the astral breeze. Dead and disrupted.
26 August 2057
27
Five hours after leaving Nadja and her guards with Jane Foster and Aina, Ryan and the rest of the Assets team touched down in Fort Worth. The Texas night air hung hot and dry around Ryan as he emerged from the Draco Foundation Lear-Cessna Platinum III and looked out across the tarmac of the abandoned airstrip. Carswell Air Force Base was generally dead, though smugglers used it as a hub of operations for refueling and storage, which was the only reason that ghouls and squatters hadn’t taken over.
On the flight from Marseilles, Ryan and Jane had decided to aim for a 2:00 AM local time departure. And now that hour approached rapidly as Ryan and the team prepared for the run into Aztlan. Night drop. The thought of it sent chills over Ryan’s skin. Anticipation of action was like a lover’s gentle tickle, a prescient thrill.
Nadja had elected to stay behind at Chateau d'If with Aina and Jane Foster. She could conduct her business from there, and she had made an implicit promise not to leave Aina until it was all over. Aina had taken charge of the search for Harlequin's spirit.
Ryan hoped the painted elf was alive in a metaplanar sanctuary of some kind, nursing his wounds. If not, Ryan didn't know how he’d get Lethe and the Dragon Heart to the metaplanar bridge.
Time is short. He could feel it closing around him in like a giant fist. And growing ever shorter.
Behind him, Talon and Grind stepped out of the jet and into the hot night. They carried huge duffels filled with weapons and ammo, communications gear and tools.
All the drek necessary for infiltration.
Dhin and Axler had already gone to the base’s rear gate to wait for the smugglers. Everything was ready to go wheels up, except for a plane. They needed a different craft for this job, something that would fly quietly. Everything depended upon stealth. Guile and sleight of hand.
Focused and unexpected force designed to blindside the Azzies,
“Bossman, you copy?” Dhin’s voice over the tacticom.
“Go ahead.”
“Rodriguez has arrived at the gate.”
“On my way.” Ryan slung his own duffel over his shoulder and walked toward the gates of the old base. It’s about fragging time, he thought. Jane had arranged for the meet to happen twenty minutes ago, and the smugglers were late. Ryan wanted to do this run tonight, and every second of delay made the chances of that more difficult.
Ryan gritted his teeth and tried to stifle his anger as he walked, tried to channel the emotion into motivational fuel. He crossed a section of grease-stained concrete, moving toward the rear gate where Axler and Dhin stood with three smugglers.
The lights overhead had been shot out long ago, and the hangars hulked like metal ghosts, giving the airstrip a creepy feel. The smell of oil and gunpowder mingled with the stench of garbage, toxic waste, and urine. As Ryan approached, quietly and quickly, he picked up the muffled rumble of a GMC Bulldog stepvan just beyond the gate, and more faintly, the discreet sound of an automatic weapon’s safety sliding off.
Ryan examined the smugglers as he eased up toward them. Two huge trolls flanked a dwarf of Hispanic origin. It was the dwarf who was speaking to Axler. They turned suddenly and walked toward one of the hangars.
Axler’s stance was defensive, cool and professional as she walked. Her eyes were on the trolls and the pistols they carried. As they neared the hangar, Dhin glanced in Ryan’s direction, peering into the darkness. The big ork waved a warty hand for Ryan to join them.
Ryan reached the door to the hangar at the same time they did, appearing out of the darkness. “I’m Quicksilver,” he said.
The trolls turned and scanned him, but said nothing.
The dwarf nodded. “Call me Rodriguez,” he said. “I have your plane. In here.”
An old fashioned metal key opened the door and Rodriguez stepped inside, switching on the lights. Dhin gave a low whistle as the plane came into view, an old Federated-Boeing Nightowl—a twin prop plane with sound-suppressed engines and a matte black finish over its low-profile curves.
“She’s not going to outrun any fighter jets,” the dwarf said, “but she’s a quiet fragger, and she’s hard to see on radar.”
“Mind if I check her over?” Dhin said.
“She’s yours for the night. Should be fueled up and combat ready.”
Dhin walked up and climbed into the plane to scope out all the systems.
Ryan set his duffel down and waited, maintaining his focus on the three smugglers. At his side, Axler held herself at full alert as well. Things were going smoothly so far, but it would only stay that way if strict protocol was maintained.
Dhin’s verdict came back a few minutes later. “She looks good,” he said. “Let’s get the drones and gear loaded.”
Ryan held three credsticks out to the dwarf. “Rodriguez,” he said, “biz completed.”
The dwarf scanned the credsticks on a pocket reader, then looked up at Ryan. A smile spread on his gnarled features. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said. “If you need anything else,
have your fixer contact me.”
Ryan nodded. “We’ll have the bird back in less than twenty-four hours.”
Rodriguez signaled his bodyguards and turned to leave. Talon and Grind entered the hangar with duffels. Grind looked up at Ryan with a tired expression on his black face. “What’s the schedule?” he asked.
“Load and roll,” Ryan said. “Wheels up in fifteen.” Talon and Grind nodded.
“Jane?” Ryan said. “You online?”
A moment passed before Jane’s voice came over the ’com. “I copy, Quicksilver.”
“We’ll be airborne in a few. Any specifics on Burnout’s location?”
“I was trying to deck into the San Marcos teocalli when you called. Our cyberzombie hasn’t left the temple that I’ve seen, but I have to sleaze my way inside and look around. The IC around their system is thick and quick. I don’t want to rush it or you’ll be minus one decker.”
Ryan knew that the ice must be really tough if Jane brought it up. Normally she decked into systems without any mention of difficulty or the possibility of failure. “Take whatever time you need, babe,” he said. “If we’re on schedule we should be dropping onsite in approximately an hour and thirty-five minutes.”
“Copy that, Quicksilver. That’s eons in Matrix time. I’ll be in touch enroute.”
Ryan started loading the Nightowl with their gear. Drones, weapons, ammunition, tools. Everything was black and gray camouflage. There were parachute packs for the assault, which should get them onsite.
Cluster and his team were responsible for stashing five Artemis Nightgliders in a hidden location in the vicinity of the San Marcos temple. The Nightgliders were collapsible ultralights. Once assembled, they would provide Ryan and the others with a silent way back out.
When everything was loaded, Ryan checked himself over before stepping into the plane. His body armor was intact. His bandoleer of narcotic-tipped throwing darts and his Ingram machine pistol in their proper places. He adjusted the Dragon Heart and double-checked his holster for the grenade pistol and the extra-clips of ammo.
“Let’s roll this sucker out,” Dhin said, opening the big hangar doors.
Ryan and Axler pushed the small plane out onto the tarmac, Dhin closed the doors behind them, and they all climbed into the plane. The cargo area was just large enough for the four of them and their gear.
Ryan sat next to Talon, holding onto a wall eyelet as Dhin lifted them off smoothly and quietly. The plane made almost no noise; Ryan could hear the rush of the night air outside. Through the small windows, the sky was clear as far as he could see.
It is a good night for a dive.
Talon sat with eyes closed, his long dark hair tucked into the black hood of a camouflaged nightsuit that covered light body armor. He carried an Ingram in an armpit holster, and he absently flipped through a small tarot deck.
Across from them sat Axler and Grind. Axler had already applied her face camouflage, irregular spots of gray on a black base. Her blue eyes glinted coldly. She was ready. Next to her, Grind secured his weapons for the drop—an Ares Alpha Combatgun on his back, and a Predator II pistol. Grind also carried an array of grenades.
As they neared the drop zone, Ryan applied his own camouflage makeup and Talon’s. The mage stowed the tarot deck inside one of the zippered pockets on his vest, then helped Ryan secure his parachute. When they were all set for the drop, Ryan decided to go over the plan. He laid out a paper map that he had printed out from the composite of the data.
“Where do we land?” asked Grind.
“I’m not exactly—”
Jane’s voice sounded in Ryan’s ear, panting. “I’ve located Burnout,” she said between breaths. “Nearly got iced, but I found him.”
“Where?”
“He’s in the basement of the teocalli. They’re conducting a ritual on him now.”
“Good job, Jane,” Ryan said. “You all right?”
“Almost got pegged by some of the blackest ice I’ve ever seen,” she said. “But, yeah, I’m wiz now.”
Talon spoke. “What kind of ritual?”
“Frag if I know,” Jane said. “But it was very bloody.”
“Dhin,” Ryan said.
“Yes, Bossman?”
“How’s our time?”
The ork’s voice came husky over the ’com. “Drop zone in fifteen.”
“The whole area around the lake bed and the temple is crowded with people,” Jane said. “Finding a clear place to touch down might be difficult.”
“What about the ollamaliztli stadium?” Ryan said, pointing to the arena that sat a few hundred meters behind the teocalli. “Is there anyone inside?”
“No,” Jane said. “But Cluster was planning to blow it up as a distraction.”
Ryan was shaking his head, looking at the map. The stadium was the perfect place to come down, open to the sky. No people. He scanned the area for something else that would provide a good distraction. After a second, he saw it—the dam at the end of the lake. Perfect.
“Jane, can you contact Cluster and tell him to blow the dam instead?”
“I’ll try,” she said. “Hold on.”
They waited in silence for a minute until Jane came back online. “Done,” she said. “They’ll blow the dam instead of the stadium.”
“Excellent.”
“Is everyone clear on the sequence of events?” Jane asked.
Ryan looked at each member of his team closely as they answered. “Yes.” They all looked fairly confident, but he decided to go over the plan once more anyway.
He reminded them of the jump, the landing in the stadium, the infiltration of the teocalli, some details of which would have to be determined onsite.
“When it comes to breaching the temple, there are two possibilities for cover entry,” Jane said. “The main entrance is watched, but many people go in and out. It’s not locked; you could go invisible and try to sneak in with the crowd.”
“What’s the second option?”
“I’ve found a rear entrance that’s monitored on the sec cameras.”
“Which one is closer to Burnout and Lethe?” Ryan said.
“Rear,” Jane said. “It comes out lower, perhaps even underground. Once inside, it’s just down one level.”
“I like that one,” Ryan said. “If we can find it.”
“Me too,” said Axler.
Ryan nodded, then moved on to the next point. He reinforced their objective—to reach Burnout in the basement of the temple and get back out with him, hopefully without triggering an alarm. And lastly, to reach the rendezvous point by the amusement park tower, assemble the Night-gliders, and fly out to safety.
As they discussed the details, it became increasingly clear to Ryan that this was probably the most dangerous run he’d ever attempted. He was working against time, against superior firepower, superior magic, and there was no room to breathe. No room for mistakes of any kind.
Ryan steeled himself. Then we won’t make any mistakes, he thought.
“Approaching drop zone,” came Dhin’s voice, pulling Ryan from his introspection. “Get ready to jump.”
Ryan stood and pulled open the side door. It was time for action.
Cool wind rushed into the cabin, and the plane canted for a second before Dhin adjusted for the differential drag. The ground was a patchwork of shadows below, the lights of Austin like a scab against the darkness. Ryan picked out the movement of cars and trucks on the old Interstate 35 moving south below them.
“Drop zone,” Dhin said. “Go! Go!”
Axler jumped first, then Talon, surprisingly without hesitation. Grind followed, and Ryan went last, tumbling through the vastness of the dark sky. Invisible as individual raindrops.
Plummeting to their fate.
28
Anger boiled inside Lucero. She had become what she most hated—a killer. A demon of blood and entrails who destroyed others in a jealous rage.
The hot, night air pressed around her. The be
ating of drums making physical existence a thickening, difficult experience for her. The astral atmosphere reeked of foul magic; it suffocated her.
A circle of mages sat on an obsidian black stone, seeming to laugh. Thousands of metahumans crowded around, their auras synched together like puppets. Innocent and mindless.
What has happened to me?
Lucero drew herself up, stopped her rampage. All around her the innocents continued to stare at her with awe. They did not draw back in terror at her hideous form, made from coagulated blood and innards. They did not cringe at the death of their companions, whose mangled bodies lay all around the Locus, their spilled blood collected by acolytes and given to Señor Oscuro who stood and watched, amusement flickering on his features.
The crowd is mesmerized. Their minds lost to Oscuro.
“Well done, my slave,” said her master. “You have exceeded all my expectations.”
Lucero’s own voice came like a gurgling of tar. “I hate you.”
Oscuro merely laughed. “Many do,” he said. “I have become used to it, a small sacrifice on my part so that the greater power may be served.”
Around the Locus, acolytes and workers lifted the dead bodies and tossed them unceremoniously into a flatbed truck that sat at the head of a long line of similar trucks.
“Now let the construction continue as it was planned years ago,” Oscuro said. “Before the meddling elf brought his songbird and drove us away.” He held out a hand, its white skin prickled with black hairs. “We have the Locus now, and its power will accelerate our progress a thousand fold. Come, my slave. You are needed.”
Lucero watched in horror as the crowd filed one by one up onto the wooden steps. Drums beat a rich sculpture in the air as the innocents approached the waiting blood mages. The mages wielded macauitls, slicing up the sacrifices as they approached, one by one until blood ran as free as a river, drenching the Locus. They channeled the life energy into the stone, activating it.
