"The biotechnical and cybernetic implants are very sophisticated. We are impressed. However, no matter how sophisticated the hardware, the software is what drives your enhancements, and its capabilities will take significantly longer to assess."
Holger didn't understand the biological details, but he understood that he had been taken advantage of. "What's it al! for?"
"As I said, the software is the key, and its nature still remains unknown. However, from the placement and nature of the hardware, I speculate that the implanted systems were intended to do more than improve your physical performance. I suspect that the designers intended to affect some of your higher cognitive functions as well."
He didn't like the sound of that. "Which higher cognitive functions?"
"I cannot be exact. That software issue again. However, I believe that they intended to control you, Mr. Kun, to own your heart and mind."
"They brainwashed me?"
"A crude term, but perhaps applicable," Wilson said.
"The stuff they put in to control me, can you take it out?"
Wilson frowned. "Very risky to you, considering how deeply some of the fibers have infiltrated your nervous system."
"How risky?"
"At the moment, I would place your probability of emerging with your mind intact at less than ten percent. There's a fifty-fifty chance you wouldn't survive the surgery at all."
"Lousy odds."
"I wouldn't care to try them," Wilson admitted. "But given more time to study our data and make some more tests, we may be able to improve the odds. Should we try, Mr. Kun?"
He didn't like the idea of the Department controlling his life. They had taken what he had given and demanded more. He hadn't even had a chance to offer. They'd just taken it.
"What have I got to lose?" His mind. His life. Nothing important.
The bastards! The deceitful bastards had stolen his life! They had gutted him and rebuilt him in the image they had wanted. What he had been wasn't good enough for them. What he had given insufficient. Who had given them the right to do what they had done to him?
"The news is not all bad, Mr. Kun," Wilson said with exasperating cheeriness. "You have improved eyesight and hearing. Some of the other modifications allow you to perform well beyond the capabilities of a normal man of your strength, by stimulating your brain to produce stress chemicals such as adrenaline and epinephrine. And the dispensers could well be supplying more potent concoctions. We are certain that you are capable of what is colloquially called hysterical strength, and that you will be able to ignore quite severe injuries that do not actually preclude physical function. Additionally, your reaction speed should be quite high. In short, you are stronger, tougher, and faster than an unen-hanced man. We cannot yet determine by how much. Perhaps with a series of tests that I have in mind—"
"You've done enough tests for now," Bear said. "And you've filled this man's ears with too much. He needs quiet and peace."
"But we're not fin—"
"Yes, you are finished. For today, anyway." To Holger, Bear said, "They will talk forever if you let them. They don't care whether you understand, either."
"I want to sit up," Holger said. He wanted to see more of where he was. Bear helped him up, helped him strip away the sensor pads too. The doctors, not one of them taller than Wilson, gathered up their computer pads and coffee cups and left. When only the machines were watching them, Holger asked. "Who are they?"
Bear looked at him quizzically.
"Them. Wilson and the ones like him. They're not..."
"They're dwarves."
They couldn't be—could they? Bear hadn't sounded as though he was making a joke. "Like in stories?"
"They are real as you or I. They are my allies now, as they once were long ago."
"Can you trast them?"
Bear nodded. "They have helped me out quite a bit. You could do worse than trust them. Play them fair and they will play you fair, deceive them and earn their enmity. They are a long-lived people, Mr. Kun, and their memories for grudges outlive them."
"But—" Dwarves in black suits charging forward, weapons firing. "They tried to kill you. Kill us."
"They opposed the return of magic to the world, in a way that they thought might be effective. We—got in their way. It wasn't personal."
Holger had always taken personally any weapons fire directed at him.
"You look troubled, Mr. Kun."
He was troubled. Each time he thought about the dwarves, he was reminded that he ought to report such things to the Department. The thought disturbed him, because he suspected he knew it was prompted by the Judas wiring inside liim. But he was disturbed on a level deeper than that. Some older memory fired his distrust and apprehension. The details were unclear, but the implications unpleasant. The present, he reminded himself. Stay in the present.
"Have you ever held a command in battle, Mr. Kun?"
"No."
"I have. Sometimes you have to send men, good men and friends, to their deaths. You know it when you give the orders, but you give the orders anyway and pray that the outcome will be worth their deaths. You pray that their lives will buy what you need bought. Later, if you're right, you'll have the chance to pray for their souls and your own, but when the need presents itself in war, you do what you have to do. The dwarves were fighting a war. They did what they believed they had to do."
Holger understood the principle. He might not have commanded in a hot war, but he had commanded operations, and he understood expediency. But he also understood that friends were friends and the enemy was the enemy. Confusing the two was dangerous, ultimately deadly. "They had no right. It wasn't our war," he protested. "We weren't their soldiers to expend."
"You're wrong. It was our war. It is our war, and I am a soldier in it."
Holger was missing something. "But you fought them. You killed some of them."
"Yes, I did. I didn't know who they were at the time; but even if I had known, I would have fought to stay alive. For while we are fighting the same war, we do not always agree on the strategy. They and I have been allies before, as we are now, but allies do not always agree on strategy. They set a course without consulting me, a course that from their point of view made sense. I might have even agreed, had I known their plan and agreed with their goal. However, I was not consulted when they drafted a plan that allowed for my death so that the end could be achieved. I do not care for strategies that call for me to sacrifice myself. I like to flatter myself feat I can find better solutions. They are a bit more sanguine about such things."
"How can you work with people who tried to kill you? How can you trust them not to try again?"
"Their motive is gone. Caliburn is drawn, and the magic that bound it is loose. There's nothing that they or anyone can do about that now. They understand that-."
"But we spoiled their plan. Didn't you say they hold grudges?"
Bear nodded. "They pride themselves on their practicality.
The general who devised that strategy is gone, as are a number of good men, all in the service of a failed plan. There is no point pursuing a grudge against me—-or you, if that's what worries you. I am valuable to them now. As I said, we fight the same war."
"If the dwarves are not the enemy, who is?"
"The serpent lovers who have fallen under the sway of darkness and want to drag us ail down with them. They are behind much of the woe of the world and they are the most dangerous foes we face."
"Who are they?"
"They are fools and idiots, power-hungry self aggrandizers. They have abandoned all that is good and wed themselves to i he creatures of the outer darkness, the haters of life and eaters of souls. The things that they worship are enemies of all living beings, including themselves, but they are blinded to that truth. We roust fight the serpent lovers now as good men have always fought them and their lies. It will not be an easy battle for they are a subtle, crafty, and persistent foe."
"And the dwarves fight
this war too?"
"Yes. They knew that the convergence of worlds would make it possible for the serpent lovers to call their unnatural masters. They sought to prevent the possibility by preventing l he release of magic."
"And killing you would prevent the release of the magic that was holding you in the otherworld."
"They were too late for that. But there were greater magics encasing Caliburn. Those they sought to keep in check."
So the dwarves had thought that they had a good reason to kill Bear. Holger still felt unsettled, distrustful. "Are they listening to us?"
"This is one of their places. Don't they have the right?" Bear shrugged. "What about your Department M, are they listening?"
"1 don't work for them anymore." He felt his head, the hard spot behind his ear. "I don't know if they're listening. They might be."
Bear smiled. "I like honest answers."
"I didn't come looking for you to betray you."
"All right, why did you come looking for me?"
"I'm not sure."
That answer, too, seemed to satisfy Bear. "If it makes you feel better, Wilson tells me that they are blocking the transmissions to and from your commo thing. I don't understand the technical details, but they say they can keep your former masters from hearing. I believe them."
"Then I will too. But I don't understand why they want to help me."
"They are not helping you because they are altruistic," Bear said. "They are suspicious of you and even more suspicious of your former masters. Some of my friends believe that you may be a spy."
"I can understand that, but I'm not. At least not intentionally." Lord, he did not want their fears to be real. If they were, he was less in control of himself than he could tolerate. "If they are so suspicious, why are they bothering?"
"They're bothering because I asked them to."
"Why are you bothering?"
"Because you came to me, Mr. Kun."
"Aren't you suspicious of me?"
"In former times, my life depended on being able to judge a man quickly. I needed to be able to see into a man's heart and gauge his strength. I got rather good at it."
"What about—"
Bear didn't let him finish. "Not perfect, Mr. Kun. Perfection is not for this earth. Do you think that I'm wrong about you?"
"I hope you're not."
"I don't think I am. We worked together before, remember? Your present uncertainty and confusion will pass when you realize what you are looking for. Deep down, I think you know."
Did he? He knew that he felt yearnings. His own? He thought so. "I want to help." "I would be pleased to have your help. If you're feeling up to it, I need a refresher on modern firearms. With all the work of getting the foundation going, I'm afraid I've neglected my arms practice. If you want to help, you can start liy helping me there."
"Arms practice? Are you expecting trouble?"
"The worst kind."
CHAPTER
30
- '
Walking the route had been easier when Bennett had led the way, but John managed it well enough. Unlike the last time, he felt the unevenness of transition where an other-world hill faded and he stepped onto the surface of the elevated garden of the Nikko Hartford. The builders had removed the hill in the sunlit world, the better to site their multitowered construct. Was it only luck that the congruency remained between the Faery hill and a pocket park set two stories above the sunlit ground, or had the architect dreamed of the land as it should have been and included the park in his design as an apology for the rest of what he was doing? Whatever the reason, the match had served Bennett last year and served John now.
John's trip through the otherworld had been short—as short as he could make it—and if he had been able to think of a better way to avoid going through the hotel's street-level lobby, he would have taken it. At least he hadn't been seen.
Standing at the entrance to the elevator shaft, he looked up at the tower that held the luxury suite where Dr. Spae had stayed when she was working out of her office in Hartford. She was staying at the suite now, according to what her synth secretary had told John. He took the elevator up, using the security code he'd used before. The door rotated open on a darkened entry, and only then did John realize the lateness of the hour. He went in anyway. He could wait for the doctor to rise in the morning, but he wasn't about to spend the time till then standing in the elevator.
The place was as fancy as he remembered it, but it looked more lived-in now. The corp must have gotten a long-term lease for the doctor. Here and there he saw clothing that (ouldn't be hers and had to be Beryle's. So she was still seeing him. Beryle was some kind of journalist who specialized in the fantastic and John had been seeing his byline a lot more frequently these days, but John had never much cared lor the guy even if Dr. Spae liked him. What she saw in him, John could only guess. At least John didn't see Beryle's portable, which probably meant he wasn't here right now. Off on assignment, probably.
A lot of books had been added to the wall shelves by the fireplace. John was starting to look them over when he began to get the feeling that someone was watching him, someone not entirely friendly. He tried to muster his magical defenses as he turned.
Dr. Spae, clad in one of Beryle's T-shirts, stood in the doorway to her bedroom, blue fire flickering around the ends of the staff in her hand. The flames died and she lowered the staff.
"Jesus, for a minute I thought you were Bennett," she said.
"Seems to be a common mistake."
"You do look a lot like him."
"Like father like son, eh? Not much of my mother in me is there? Either one of them." John knew that he sounded bitter.
"You've tried to see Marianne Ready, haven't you?"
She must have been paying more attention to his problems than he'd thought if she could put her finger on the cause of his distress so quickly. He told her about his disastrous reunion attempt and the nearly greater disaster that had ended It She shook her head at his foolishness in the first case and nodded approvingly at his handling of the second, agreeing with him that it would be best if he not go back there. He didn't mention Bennett's belated and unhelpful appearance.
Still, it felt good to have someone listen sympathetically. He had been right to come to her.
"I could use a little help, Doctor." He pointed to his face. "Not exactly man-on-the-street looks. Not the sort of face I should be wearing while someone is hunting me."
"You haven't learned to disguise your appearance?" She sounded surprised. "I would have thought that they would have taught you that. Bennett is accomplished at it."
"I never really had a chance to learn the trick. Besides, there's not much need there to pretend that you're human."
"No, I suppose not." She sat quiet for a while, thinking. "I suppose we can work a variation on one of the glamours you already know. We should at least be able to get that humanizing shift Bennett uses."
"It doesn't much matter what I look like, so long as I don't look like an elf."
"But you are an elf, John."
"I don't have to like it."
"You have to accept what you are."
"Why? Nobody else does."
She looked at him sternly. "Nobody? Very melodramatic, but hardly accurate. That kind of fuzzy emotional thinking won't help your magic."
"Magic runs on emotion a lot more than you like to think, Doctor."
"Otherworld wisdom?"
"If you want to call it that, go ahead. I'd call it empirical knowledge. I'm not entirely dim, you know. I can figure out things for myself." Elves hadn't gifted him with everything he'd learned since he'd last seen her.
"Maybe we should just try to do some work here," she said slowly, tightly.
Clearly she hadn't liked the tone of his last remarks. He was being a dode. Pissing the doctor off wasn't the way to get her to help him. He mumbled an apology, which she accepted gruffly, and they got down to testing John's knowledge of glamours and th
eir construction. Working with the magic, they slipped with surprising ease into their old working patterns. John found that he had missed the interplay of student and teacher, and the thrill of manipulating the magic just to see what he could do. She showed him what he should have seen all along, and he felt a little stupid that he hadn't seen it tor himself. Just as you had to understand, at least partially, the nature of what you were trying to duplicate in a glamour, you also had to understand something of what you were disguising, if you wanted to hide it well. Thus, to hide himself—an elf—he had to understand that he was an elf. Without such a basis, any glamour would be transparent at best. Okay then, he'd be an elf. What did he have left?
"That's it!" Dr. Spae exclaimed. "You've got it! You look like the old John Reddy."
The irony of that made him laugh.
Well, he'd gotten what he had come here for. "Thank you,
Doctor. I'll be going."
She stared up at him as he stood. "And just where is that?
If you're thinking about going back to your slump, think again. If the hunter was tracking you, he almost certainly knows about that place. He's probably watching it, waiting for you to come back."
"Let him watch. He won't see anything. I've got a way in that he can't watch." A hunter from the sunlit world couldn't lay an ambush along a trail in the otherworld.
"Maybe you do, but you can't spend your life holed up in there."
"I don't intend to." He didn't know what he did intend, but he 'd figure it out.
"I still have a place for you," she said. "The firm can use you."
Exploit the elf, eh? He remembered her desire to get Bennett to work with her. All her talk about learning about how an elf lord did magic, about learning the secrets of the other-world. "As a research subject?"
"John, you're being deliberately offensive."
"Isn't that better than doing it accidentally?" "It would be better if you didn't do it at all. You've picked up Bennett's habit of turning things around on people."
Had he? "Maybe I can't help it. Maybe it's part of being an elf. You said I should accept being an elf."
Robert Charrette - Arthur 03 - A Knight Among Knaves Page 24
