Bennett was on the main floor, in conversation with Gor-shin. John wasn't surprised to see the two of them together. Bennett had brought Gorshin from the otherworld and left him behind. Bennett was good at leaving people behind.
Roosting somewhere in the main factory, Gorshin had become another of the uninvited residents that John called his guests. Dr. Spae said that Gorshin was a gargoyle. The bat-winged creature didn't look much like the gargoyles that adorned some of the oldest buildings in old Providence, but those were modern sculptural images and had little in commonwith classic medieval gargoyles. John had to admit that ihere was a resemblance between Gorshin and some of the more reptilian pieces that had once adorned Old World cathedrals, but none of those carvings had half Gorshin's air of menace. On the other hand, none of those carvings could move, either. Gorshin was not John's favorite among his guests.
But it was the real guest who drew John's attention. Bennett was wearing his walk-among-humans look, the human face that he wore subtly echoing his gaunt elven features. His clothes were stylish and rich, upper-rank corp—not the best look to wear in this part of the sprawl, but any sprawl scut who tried to muck with Bennett would get a rude, probably fatal, surprise. Despite his appearance, the elf was no rich-mitch corporate suit ripe for plundering; he was an elven mage with the power to blast anyone who annoyed him. John had seen other magicians resist those powers, but a muscle-headed streeter wouldn't have a chance.
As John approached, Bennett said, "Gorshin tells me that you have been spending your time trying to track down your runaway woman. What was her name?"
Runaway worn— Sue hadn't run away. Not from him anyway. Well, maybe she had, but it was a misunderstanding lhat he'd straighten out as soon as he caught up to her. It was none of Bennett's business. And why was he interested anyway?
When John failed to answer, Gorshin supplied, "Spill-waaay Ssuuu."
Why did the gargoyle always have to sound hungry when he pronounced people's names?
"Hardly a name to conjure with," Bennett commented.
Bennett's scornful tone stung. Street names were street names, that's all. They weren't always dramatic. John himself was tagged with several he didn't much care for. What business was it of Bennett's? And what business did Gorshin have tattling on him? John's resolution to be polite evaporated like spit on a summer sidewalk. "What do you want, Bennett?"
Bennett smiled, unflustered by John's belligerence. "Circumstances are at last felicitous, Jack, and I have come to take you to the otherworld. It is time for you to step away from this sunlit world, and past time for you to claim your heritage."
Felicitous for whom? was John's first reaction, but the mention of John's heritage stirred up the confusion of feelings he'd been suffering since he first learned that he was an elf. His true world was the twilight land of the otherworld, but it was a world of which he knew little more than what he'd read in books and heard in songs and stories. How much of what he believed about it was true, how much false? He knew that legends had a basis in fact. Bear was proof of that—what greater legend was there than that of King Arthur? Bear, as Artos, was the basis of that legend, and he was as real as anyone John had ever met. The world had more to it than Horatio's philosophies. There was magic in the world, growing all the time. There was magic in John, too, and it was growing, though slowly. Dr. Spae's teaching helped, but she had as tenuous a grip as he did on the distinction between the reality of the magic-touched world and the fallacies of tradition. Bennett, bom and raised a prince of Faery, knew. And now, it appeared, he was offering that knowledge to John.
What was in it for Bennett? There had to be something.
So Bennett was finally ready to take him to the other-world. So what? Might Bennett finally be ready to be the father he ought to have been all along? So what to that, too. It was past time for fatherly concern. "I can get there on my own."
Nodding, Bennett said, "Yet you cannot partake of your patrimony on your own. An unguided ramble into our realm will not gain you that. I hold out to you what should have been yours all along."
"I don't want anything from you." Even as he said it, John knew that it wasn't true. He wanted something from Bennett, ill light. He wanted satisfaction for the years spent living a lie. he wanted compensation for the loss of his home and Imuily, even if they hadn't really been his. But most of all, In wanted answers—honest answers—about his elven legacy. He knew so little, and most of that from other sources than Bennett. Hell, John couldn't even see his own true face, thanks to "protective" spells that Bennett had hi ranged.
"Jack, I know we have not had the best of relationships, but we have both been constrained by circumstances beyond our control. We have before us a chance to amend the mistakes that have separated us. This is a time not to look to the past, but to look to the future. Yours can be a brilliant future." Bennett waved a hand to take in their surroundings. "You deserve much more than this."
John wanted to believe. But... "And you're going to provide it?"
"Indeed I will. After a fashion. I can set you in your place as a prince of Faery. The rest will depend on you, as it always has. But as to the opportunity and the starting place, I not only can but must provide it. It is not proper that I withhold that which is yours by right."
"You've done a pretty good job of withholding up till now."
Bennett sighed dramatically. "As I have told you before, that was not my choice."
"So you say."
"Though I find your questioning my word offensive, I can understand why you might doubt my veracity. The plain fact is that there is much of which you are ignorant, and you will remain ignorant so long as you remain content to dwell in the sunlit world. You cannot afford to remain ignorant."
"I've already learned all I care to from you." Lots about deceit, for example.
"Perhaps. But survival requires learning more than one cares to. Surely you wish to go on living."
"I'll survive."
"You have powerful enemies."
"Yeah? Like who?"
"This is not a time for names," Bennett responded.
More likely not a time to suit Bennett. If there really were any enemies. "Well, I'm not worried. I have powerful friends."
"Oh? Like who?" Bennett asked, echoing John's own disbelieving question. He shook his head regretfully and said, "I can see that you do not truly comprehend your situation."
"I comprehend that there is no reason why I should trust you."
"I am your father, Jack."
"So you say." But this time John couldn't put much conviction into his sarcastic response. He had come to believe that Bennett wasn't lying on that point, but he didn't like it. He really didn't like it at all.
"Do not judge me by human standards," Bennett warned.
"How else am I supposed to judge you?" John blurted. "I was raised by humans. I grew up in a human world. Humans are the only people I know. Theirs are the only standards I know. Those standards can't be so poor. After all, humans didn't abandon me when I was inconvenient."
"Neither did I," Bennett said earnestly. "The situation was more than just inconvenient."
"So you say."
"That is a tiresome response."
Hah! A hit! "Sorry if I bore you."
"Your remorse is unconvincing, but I will let it pass. Things move apace. It is imperative that you return to the otherworld with me."
Imperative? Were they getting to the real reason for Bennett's visit? John knew Bennett wouldn't have come simply for John's benefit. Time for Bennett to squirm some more. "No, I don't think so. I don't think I need to go anywhere."
Bennett's face darkened. "Do not be willful."
"Why not? Does it make me too much like my father?"
Eyes narrowing, Bennett said, "When you wanted my help to save your friends, you gave me your word that you would aid me, or have you forgotten?"
Why bring that up? "I haven't forgotten."
"If l must, I will call upon that promis
e to ensure that you in accompany me. Will you come with me?"
Bennett had grown so earnest that John couldn't resist nicking him again. "Maybe you should just club me over the head and have Gorshin drag me back for you."
"1 do not consider that an option. I ask again, will you come with me?"
"I don't want to," John said honestly.
"You will come with me to the otherworld. There is a matter in which I require your aid," said Bennett. The effort seemed to pain him.
Which was fine by John. Bennett's discomfort was just a liny payback. Maybe there was room for a little more. "Why can't I help you here? This is the world in which you abandoned me, after all."
"I did not say that this world was uninvolved in this matter."
"Just for the record, I'd like to point out that you didn't say anything about 'this matter.' "
"Your oath put no constraints on the matter for which I required your aid. Are you finding this a convenient time to go back on your word? What sort of honor is Artos teaching you?"
Teaching? Bear was leaving. But like so much else, the affair was none of Bennett's business. "Leave Bear out of this."
"As will be. But now I ask a third time, will you come with me and aid me as you swore?"
John remembered the promise. He hadn't thought much of it at the time; his mind had been on other things. Despite Bennett's disparaging tone, Bear had taught John something about honor and about how a man kept his promises, no matter to whom he had given them. Would Bennett take his own promises as seriously as he was taking John's?
"Answer me," Bennett demanded.
"Is it that important?"
"You will regret it if you do not comply."
Appeals to self-interest, then demands on honor, now threats. Whatever was motivating Bennett had him spinning hard. John was intrigued. Bennett hadn't really told him anything about what was going on, but John found that he just had to know. "Will you answer my questions?"
"This is not a bargaining session."
"Will you at least have the disguise spell removed?"
Bennett dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "A nothing. That is not a problem worth worry."
Maybe not to him, but John disliked living behind a false face. Was it really nothing to want to look in a mirror and see his true face? Bennett implied that the end of the disguise spell would be forthcoming if John went with him. If that was all John got out of Bennett, he'd be ahead of where he was now. So, if he went with Bennett to the otherworld, what would it really cost him? He knew how to make the transition himself; it was not as though he'd be trapped there. If he didn't like what Bennett had in mind, he could just leave.
"All right. I'll go with you."
Bennett nodded solemnly. "Gather what you wish to take."
"Hold on. There's something I'd like to do first."
"What?"
"It's personal."
Bennett shrugged, then he smiled. Now that he had John's agreement, his mood seemed more expansive. "Just don't take long."
CHAPTER 2
Holger heard voices. The voices were familiar, though not so intimate as Holger remembered them. He didn't hear such intimate voices so frequently now. He listened to these voices, taking in their rise and fall, stops and starts, all the tones and cadences, recognizing Gilmore the psych and Major Chartain. He concentrated on the sound, and the voices came to his ears more clearly. They were talking about the test. Chartain was expressing reservations about I lolger's readiness.
Holger smiled to himself. Ready? He was more than ready. He'd been cooped up in rehab too long. He was tired of the white walls and the fussing labcoats, the constant buzzing of the air-conditioning and the goddamn controlled diet, the pointless physical therapy and the even more pointless psych evaluations, and the smells: the deadly clean, deceptive, antiseptic smells. Oh, he was ready. He wanted to see the sun again. He hadn't seen the sun since the accident.
The accident...
He didn't remember much about his accident. Traumatic stress reaction, the doctors said. There were bits of memory floating around in his head. He remembered lights and heat, pressure and pain. Voices. All a jumble. A needle? Too confused. They called it a training accident, but he wasn't always sure that they were telling him the truth. Sometimes the Department put a spin on things. Deceptive. It might not have been a training accident. The Department...
If only he could remember clearly. He remembered ...
He remembered that he had been with Department M for a long time. This wasn't the first time that he had been injured. But the Department had always come through. Departmen M had always taken care of him, because he was one of their own; the Department always took care of their own. He felt good about that. He liked being a part of Department M. It was the best posting he'd had since he joined the Services.
He listened again to the voices on the other side of the door. Chartain was unsure. Gilmore clattered at a keyboard while he argued. The clattering stopped and Gilmore announced that the scenario was set. Chartain remained unsure about Holger's readiness. Well, Holger would show him. This test was his ticket out of hospital and back to active duty. He would show Chartain. Holger Kun was ready for duty again, and nothing, certainly not Major Chartain's doubts, was going to stop him from proving it.
The test he faced was a trial to ensure that he was ready for service again. It would start here, but would move outside to the real world—a real world he was anxious to see again. Being out in the real world added a complexity that just couldn't be duplicated inside a virtual theater. Besides, a virtual theater couldn't test a man's physical limits. Still, the Department's sponsors didn't sanction "live" testing, although Holger suspected that they knew of its existence and, for their own reasons, looked the other way. Live tests had been a part of the European Community Secret Service from the early, bad old days when there wasn't enough budget to train in controlled environments. It was tradition now, a rite of passage. Holger had been through it when he'd completed his basic training, and again after he'd taken the Department's special training course.
This test was just another hurdle for him. The scenario was simple. He was to retrieve some information from the facility's computer, simulating a data theft, and remove the data from the facility. Agents from Department M, and possibly other ECSS operatives, would be set on his trail. Some would be the hunters, others acting as obstacles, all trying to prevent him from delivering his package. Those agents were being tested, too, but not as stringently as Holger. According to the scenario, the hunters would have no special information about his destination, but Holger knew better than to expect that. There would be someone waiting for him at the delivery point. There would be at least one confrontation.
A thrill of anticipation ran through him. He was ready! So why wait? The real world was out there. He palmed open the door. Monitor screens on the workstations lining the room went blank as he entered. They would have been keyed to go to standby on the door's activation, as a security measure. He didn't mind. He had made a sufficient gain: by not announcing himself, he hadn't given his two testers a chance to get away from the console they were using, thus making it easier for him to select the correct one.
"Ah, good evening, Agent Kun."
Gilmore smiled the idiotic smile that made his bald head look like an overgrown infant's. His juglike ears bobbing above the collar of his white lab coat added to the caricatured scientist r fleet. Just from looking at Gilmore, one would never suspect that the man was near the top of his field—not with that idiot grin—but Holger knew better than to accept appearances.
Take Major Chartain's appearance, for example. Though Chartain wore the uniform of the French Legion Etrangere, complete with the European Coordinated Military Forces rank tabs on his collar and the ECMF wreathed eagle shoulder patch, the major was no soldier. Holger knew that Chartain had been military once, but not with the Legion. Now, like Holger, he was an agent of the Secret Services. Chartain's tight sm
ile and economical nod were all the acknowledgment the major gave to Holger's arrival.
"You're a bit early," Gilmore said. "We weren't expecting you for a few more minutes."
"1 didn't want to be late. Can we get started?"
"Nervous?" Gilmore asked.
Holger didn't bother to answer.
Gilmore's smile faded. "Yes, well, I don't see why we can't get started. The first part requires that you retrieve a preselected datafile. You remember the file's identity code?"
Pointless question. Holger never forgot the details of a briefing. "Westwind," he said.
"Good." Gilmore beamed again. "Shall we proceed?"
Holger shouldered his way past the testers to the console and stood, staring down at it, hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. This was not a simple workstation; there were two keyboard, and a host of specialized input devices. He took his left hand out of his pocket and ran it across the keyboard and the other controls. So easy to tell which Gilmore had manipulated last. Too easy. Gilmore should have used a virtual control surface instead of allowing the trace heat of the psych's hands to identify his workstation. Holger dispensed with the tedious task of entering the protected file zones and simply keyed in a standard recall sequence, bringing the workstation back to life. Several subscreens appeared on the monitor. None carried the data he sought, but he hadn't expected that they would. He patched to the facility's server, called up the search program he'd prepared, and set it loose using Gilmore's access authority.
"Excellent," Gilmore commented. "I'll be collecting from Dagastino. He bet me that you wouldn't rely on thermal imaging to select the console."
Holger didn't care about Gilmore's bet. Anyone with the psych's credentials should know that heat was something you felt rather than saw. If Dagastino didn't know better than to bet against the psych, he was as stupid as Sp—
Robert Charrette - Arthur 03 - A Knight Among Knaves Page 3
