Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls

by Jane Lindskold

  He studies me. The room becomes so quiet that I can hear Abalone and Professor Isabella coming in past Edelweiss. I don’t look to them—this must be my victory or Grey Brother will never treat me as an equal.

  After what seems too long, the leader says, “You’re offering to get us in there? Do you really remember the place?”

  I laugh. “The very remembrance of my former misfortune proves a new one to me.”

  “I’ll take that as ‘yes,’” Grey Brother decides. “Abalone, you’re with us on this?”

  “If you promise not to harm Jerome,” she says. “I can get you through the security, better than he could.”

  Grey Brother stares at her. “He’s seen us.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If we get Head Wolf away, they’ll never find us. If we don’t, what he knows can’t hurt us any worse.”

  Again he nods. “He can wait the night here and go free in the morning.”

  “Let me call my wife!” Jerome cuts in. “She’ll worry herself sick.”

  Something melts the hard lines of Grey Brother’s face. “She will? Then we’ll get you home. Bumblebee, Tapestry, when we’ve been away an hour, escort the man home.”

  Jerome’s eyes widen with surprise. “I’ll keep quiet, brother. I don’t want to get involved with this. Some of those doctors ask questions in ways I don’t want to try. Just let me go home.”

  He whispers softly, so only I can hear, “Take care, Sarah. I don’t know who scares me more—your friends or your enemies.”

  An hour or so later, we are ready to go. Abalone has learned that Head Wolf is being held in a maximum security area on the tenth floor. The plan she and Grey Brother evolve involves various feints to draw attention away from our goal.

  “They must be tightly timed,” Abalone cautions, “or we’ll be dealing with the police, too. I will reroute what backup calls I can, but I may miss some.”

  Grey Brother briefs his various teams, then turns away without another glance for them. He has insisted on heading the group that will break into Head Wolf’s cell. He has insisted equally strongly that Abalone remain outside.

  “You don’t need to be inside,” he states flatly. “What you’re doing is too important to let you get flipped off by some stray shot. Sorry, Shellfish, you’re out.”

  Abalone stares at him with such pure anger I fear that he will melt. Then she nods stiffly.

  “Professor Isabella goes. She may be slow, but she knows the Home and she understands Sarah’s talk. You’ll need that, Grey Brother. Trust me.”

  He agrees and so I find myself preparing to reenter the Home through an infrequently used fire port on the eighth floor. Our group is small: Grey Brother, Professor Isabella, me, and a member of the Four tagged Midline. Peep operates the hovercat, wafting us silently to the iris in the wall.

  On cue, the iris cycles open when we pause. Faintly, we hear shouts and know that the first diversion has begun. Without a word, we move.

  Midline goes first, a slender Oriental with unnaturally golden skin. He steadies himself with a lean, muscled arm, then he is gone into the corridor. When there is no alarm, we follow, Grey Brother courteously assisting Professor Isabella.

  The familiar scents of antiseptic not quite concealing urine and illness make me shudder. From my pack, Betwixt and Between warble, in duet, “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”

  I shush them, for though I know that none of the other three can hear them, I need my ears. Concentrating tentatively, I hear whispers from wall, door, carpeting.

  Midline trots a few steps ahead, Grey Brother covers the rear. We make no effort to hide from the security cameras. If Abalone is doing as promised, they will record nothing but empty corridor, white walls, and light green carpet.

  Our goal is a service crawlway that will take us up between floors without triggering the alarms in either stairwell or elevator. I listen for it and find it, locating its slight complaint over an aching hinge.

  I tap Grey Brother, pointing to where I can hear the door. Squinting, he looks up, nods. Midline braces him and he opens the hatch, hanging the portable ladder he has carried wrapped around his waist. When this is done, Midline climbs up. We ascend after.

  All of this is done without sound, so I hear clearly. The hatch sighs on opening, the ceiling moans when the ladder grapples dig in, the metal rungs in the access tunnel gasp in anticipation of our feet, wheeze as we pass.

  For the first time, I wonder at the humanness of these sounds. Why should something with neither lungs nor nerves express pain or displeasure as a human might? Some filter vibrates loose behind my eyes as I contemplate this; my senses tremble. I fight back a strong urge to retch.

  No. I cannot lose control. Suspecting that to hear and see as the inanimate do would drive me madder than I am, I push away the thoughts. The power to perceive so is there—but the symbols my mind chooses are safer.

  Only Betwixt and Between notice my lapse. They rumble reassurance as we continue to climb.

  On the tenth floor, we emerge into a small bathroom, tiled in pale blue. A coatrack near the door bears two heavy coats and a hat.

  “Nurses?” Midline whispers.

  “Guards,” Grey Brother replies with a quick shake of his head. “Abalone says that they have a roving patrol of the floor. We’ll need to watch for them.”

  Their conversation does not keep me from listening for what the tenth floor can tell me. Already, I am learning to filter out the inconsequential—a different skill than the simple defensive blocking that made me nearly deaf to all but those close to me like Betwixt and Between. With gratifying speed, I find what I am hunting for; even before Midline eases the door to the corridor open, I know the direction we must go.

  I wait until we come to a cross corridor and Midline hesitates. Then I tap him and gesture right. My guidance is accepted without question and I feel a surge of power. I am almost disappointed when he takes his next lead from something stenciled in black on a wall.

  But soon such pettiness is washed back by a tingle of warning. I know we are nearing Head Wolf’s room, but this is more. I strain to hear over the complaints of the carpet as we step, over the chortle of the lights as we make shadows on the white walls. For a moment, it seems that there is too much, that I will not be able to sort out the strain that troubles me. Then I hear it.

  Joy. Pure, malicious joy.

  My dragons hiss as they too sense what I do. I cast about seeking to localize the source. When I do, it is too late.

  Midline has reached the door that ends the corridor. His cautious approach melts into boyish enthusiasm as he sees the letters on the card in the door. Only his impulsive dash forward saves him from the tranquilizer sliver that lances into the corridor from what had appeared to be a flat wall.

  Too late, we all realize that a white-projected hologram has concealed the open doorways to each side of the dead-end corridor, one to each right and left, before and behind. Now that we know they are there we can detect a faint shimmer from their presence, like a mirage without heat.

  Head Wolf’s black door waits, solid, closed, and locked at the corridor’s end.

  Midline rolls flat beside the left side door nearest to him. Here he is safe from the man who had fired at him, who stands inside, dart gun in hand. The angle is bad from the other doors, so Midline is marginally safe, but pinned.

  I also roll toward the wall, startled when Grey Brother jumps up, punching a drop ceiling panel aside and pulling himself upward into the recess. With the litheness of the Jungle, he vanishes.

  Only Professor Isabella does not move quickly enough; the dart fired at her comes at an angle and buries itself in the thick tweed of her winter coat.

  From where I am squashed against the wall, wishing myself as small as my dragons, I can see the anonymous halos of our four attackers, white ghosts, outlined by an unreal wall that still chuckles over the deception it has wrought.

  Ove
rhead, Grey Brother’s voice is muttering intently. I cannot make out the words, but suddenly the holographs vanish. The figures of our attackers are clearly visible for a brief moment, then everything vanishes as the lights go out.

  But before darkness shrouds us, I recognize one of the people waiting in the doorway. Her smile glints from perfect teeth: Dr. Haas.

  Darkness favors those of us from the streets. I force myself to remember this as I crawl rapidly toward the glow of the small, red safety light on Head Wolf’s door. My allies must remember this too, because no one activates the small light sticks we each carry.

  Our enemies are less certain of themselves. Their deception had necessitated turning off the self-powered lights over each cell door; the only remaining light is from the bars over the distant stairwell and over Head Wolf’s door.

  One by one, hand flashes come on: three clear targets revealed. I think I know who the holdout is, but she must wait. Head Wolf needs me. On hands and knees, I move to his door.

  Before the lights went out, I had seen the keypad to the left of the door. Abalone had reported that each lock was a self-contained unit so she could not open the door, even when she got into the Home’s computer system. Grey Brother carried some materials to force the door, but he would need light to use them. My way was no longer just an option—it was the only hope left to us.

  Closing my ears to the sounds of struggle behind me, I open my hearing to the door in front of me. For a frightened moment, I think I will be unable to hear. Then, faintly, I hear the door, drowsing solid. Next to it, like a whistle of electronic fire, is the snap and babble of the lockpad.

  Reaching tentatively in the ruddy darkness, I find the rectangle set nearly flush with the doorframe. Brushing a fingernail across, I feel that the numbers are raised—intended no doubt as a convenience for a nurse or orderly who might need to feel out the code while dealing with a struggling patient. As my hand touches them, I hear the hiss and babble increase in frequency.

  When I concentrate, the noise resolves itself into yaps and purrs of sound—no real words, but something I can understand.

  I move my hand to the long sigil in the upper left corner. The purrs vanish, but when I move my finger down the purring begins, hesitates when I pass the second row and thrums loudly when I rest on the center figure. I press.

  I follow the purrs down to the right, up to the top center, over one, then across to the far corner. The purring grows loud here and so I press twice. Beside me there is a click and a soft swish as the door opens.

  Opening the lock has activated a self-powered light inside the cell. This one is yellow and slightly brighter. Thus, as I step into the doorway, I see Head Wolf.

  He is sprawled on a foam cot that is a raised piece of the padded floor. The glossy black hair is tangled and matted with sweat; his eyes move vacantly, independent of each other. A steady stream of saliva has coursed from the corner of his mouth to pool in the hollow of one shoulder. Although he wears paper coveralls, he seems indecent, stripped of his dignity.

  With a low moan of anger, I am moving to help him when Betwixt and Between yell.

  “Sarah! Drop and left!”

  I do and the dart sails over me and bounces limply into the padded walls. Coming up from my roll, I look up and see Dr. Haas aiming at me again. Already, though, I have learned something about these little guns, so instead of rolling to the side, a motion that she could track, I roll towards her. My velocity is limited, but I connect soundly with her shapely legs and then start to my feet.

  “Goddamn you!” she swears, adjusting her arm.

  I look past her and smile. “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.”

  “Bitch!” she says and then crumples as Professor Isabella hits her solidly below one shell-like ear.

  Now that I have time to look, I see that the battle is over. The three security guards who had attended Professor Haas are all down. One bleeds heavily, his jaw at an odd angle. All, however, appear to be breathing.

  Midline has gone into Head Wolf’s cell and, swearing softly, is preparing him for our escape. Grey Brother watches down the corridor, a palm computer in one hand. Suddenly, I understand how the power went off at such an ideal moment.

  “When the dart hit me,” Professor Isabella is telling me, her voice still adrenaline charged, “I realized that my best bet was to let them believe that I had been at least somewhat affected—otherwise I’d get another dart for sure. So I went down and helped as I could without giving my cover by tripping a few people. But when I saw her go for you…”

  I hug her with one arm, then move to help Midline. He scowls protectively, but lets me take Head Wolf’s legs. I hang one over each arm and trundle forward; Midline manages the heavier upper body.

  Climbing through the access ways is out with our unconscious leader, so Grey Brother contacts Abalone.

  “We’ve got ’im, but no way we getting out where we come in. What you think, girl?”

  Her voice comes back, tiny but reassuring. “Go to the stairwell back the way you came on your right. Go up two flights. There’s a ladder to the roof. I’ll have pickup there for you.”

  “Good.” Grey Brother motions with his head and we trot after.

  Abalone has let the lights come on again. When at one point they flicker, Midline chuckles and even Grey Brother relaxes.

  “The Four are with us,” he explains to Professor Isabella. “They just blew a minor power link. It’ll distract from our pickup.”

  We make our way to the roof and as Grey Brother is undoing the manual hatch, Abalone’s voice comes from the palm computer.

  “Caught something on the vid,” she says. “The blonde is up and has made some call. I only tapped into the end, but she’s got people heading for the Jungle.”

  Grey Brother snaps the catch and starts to climb onto the roof. He halts midway. His head is outside, but by stretching my ears I can hear him.

  “Abalone, some of the Free People may still be living down there. I cleared those I could, but…”

  He trails off, but I don’t need to hear the finished sentence. The Law permits the Wolves to lair where they will within reason. If some of the Pack chose not to take Grey Brother’s suggestion, they could be there still.

  Professor Isabella has also heard. “Grey Brother, those kids are in trouble. That woman is dangerous and she won’t hesitate to grab other hostages now that we have the Head Wolf.”

  Grey Brother vanishes upward. A moment later his arms descend to help Midline raise Head Wolf. I can hear the faint whoosh and drone of the hovercat’s power plant. Midline waits to assist Professor Isabella upward. As I climb the ladder, I hear her.

  “You don’t seem surprised that I think we may have further problems with the blond woman.”

  “No.”

  I can almost hear Midline shake his head.

  “It’s her. Sarah,” he goes on. “She’s what they want. Why would they stop when they don’t have her?”

  Professor Isabella’s face as she emerges from the trapdoor wears a musing expression. She extends a blue-veined hand to help Midline up. He accepts, although he hardly needs it. We hurry to the hovercat and crowd in.

  His mien serious, Peep sits behind the controls. Grey Brother is already in the back, with Head Wolf leaned up against him. I slide in beside, supporting Head Wolf, and Professor Isabella squashes beside me, letting Midline have the other front seat. As Peep eases the vehicle off the roof and spirals us away, I think that Abalone would find him a more-talented apprentice than I am.

  We are descending into a dark alleyway when Grey Brother shakes himself.

  “Peep, pick up Chocolate and Bumblebee—no, she’s gone—Chocolate, then, and the two of you take Head Wolf to the Cold Lairs. Edelweiss is there. She’ll know what to do for Head Wolf.”

  “Okay,” the boy nods. “You’re not coming?”

  “No.” Grey Brother shakes his head. “Me an’ Midline are going to make sure the Jungle
’s clear.”

  I struggle for words; fortunately, Grey Brother sees my expression.

  “Wanna come, Sarah?”

  I nod, smiling.

  “Count me in, too,” Professor Isabella says.

  A grin quirks Grey Brother’s face. “Might be kinder if you went with Peep. Edelweiss and the rest will want to know what’s been going on and Peep can’t tell them. Y’know?”

  “I know.”

  The hovercat comes down and Professor Isabella leans back so I can climb over her and out. She puts an arm around Head Wolf’s still limp body.

  “Closer than this scoundrel would let me get if he were awake,” she chuckles. “May as well enjoy it. Mind Sarah, now.”

  “We be of one blood, she and us,” Grey Brother answers, swatting Chocolate as the boy takes the seat Midline has abandoned. “We’ll mind her, best as one can in a war.”

  “War?” Professor Isabella looks down as the hovercat begins to rise. “What do you know?”

  “All I need to,” Grey Brother waves. “Someone wants one of ours and they will hurt any of us to get her. That’s war as I see it.”

  Ten

  THE GRAVEL ROLLS UNDER MY FEET AS I RUN BESIDE GREY Brother, a familiar gritty grind of asphalt and granite from forgotten roadways and footpaths. Around us the tanks loom, mesas within the canyon of empty buildings. Once this canyon had been a home. Tonight it is an alien landscape of dark steel and darker shadows.

  I pick out the tank that had held the Jungle off to the edge of the canyon. There are a dozen ways that could have brought us in closer, but Grey Brother chose this one after speaking with one of the Four.

  Even Abalone does not argue with him, but lopes alongside, her tappety-tap thumping against her hip. Occasionally she reaches and adjusts the padded nylon case and then smiles at me.

  I think she means to reassure me, but I am chilled by the feral glimmer in her eyes. So long she has been my Baloo, little thief, little hacker, I had forgotten the bare-chested child of the streets who had rescued me.