You are power.
''You wear my skin. Are you I?"
I wear your skin. I am what I must be.
"I am what I am. What are you?"
I am what I am. I am Dog,
He/Dog howled joyfully at the moon. Sam opened his eyes. It was fully night. His striped blanket was wrapped around the base of the raised sprouting tree, and his dog skin fluttered from its top. He didn't remember removing either. He felt the breeze cooling his skin through the light muslin shirt. Sweat evaporated from his face.
Sam felt energized. His senses seemed preternatu-rally sharp. He saw his image reflected in the eyes of the elder shamans around him. Though his dog skin hung on the pole his shoulders were swathed in fur, a snout projected over his forehead, and pointed ears topped his head. The shaman's mask was upon him, and he was cloaked in a faint glamor of power.
He turned to Howling Coyote. "Where's the drum?"
"No drum. This is the Great Ghost Dance."
"Okay. No drum." Sam sighed. "Where does the rhythm come from?"
' 'Look within yourself.''
Sam smiled. "And if it's not there, no magic."
Howling Coyote smiled back. "Hey hey, Dog man, you're not such a dumb Anglo after all."
The old shaman began the chant, and Sam took it up. He felt anticipation and a growing excitement. The chant pulsed with the faint stirring of great power. Sam's voice strengthened as he sang the words that
Howling Coyote had made him memorize. The words were Indian and Sam didn't know what they meant, but he felt the power that awakened at his call.
Awake it might be, but it held itself aloof.
Sam repeated the chant, this time alone. The power rose ever so slightly. Around him the elder shamans took up the song, calling and greeting. Each sang different words, but all sang the same song. Holding hands with fingers intertwined, they began to dance.
Morgan had been coy in Sam's presence, but not so when they were alone. Her presence suffused him, filling him with the joy of freedom and the heady rush of oneness with the Matrix. The euphoria was nearly enough to make him forget what he had promised. Nearly, but not quite, for loyalty was as strong as love.
There was no need to tell her what he had promised to do, for she had been there. Together they reviewed the data Sam had dumped. Finding the system addresses they needed was simplicity.
They went after it. She was a silver girl with an ebony cloak. He an ebony boy in a cloak of stars. Together they crept along the byways of the Matrix, slipping through the shadows in search of the swag. Bit by data bit, they assembled pertinent information and sent it winging through the electronic byways to runners awaiting their cues. Together, they were an unbeatable team.
They turned their attention to a more challenging task.
Ebony boy and chrome girl gazed eagerly at the glittering, pulsing web of data. Grandmother's system might be an entangling web to most, but to these intruders each strand was a rooftop along which to scamper, a dangling rope by which to clamber, a quiet corridor through which to sneak. In sparkling displays of clandestine acrobatic skills, they penetrated ever deeper.
Within the lattice datastores were cocooned packages awaiting the web's mistress, but Morgan's ever-so-sharp knife slit them open, baring the contents. From among the exposed treasures Dodger selected the most promising, and Morgan opened them for him. A wealth of data, a hoard of secrets, and nothing could keep the team of Dodger and Morgan from them.
Everything Sam wanted was theirs for the taking. Well, almost everything. A prudent old biddy, Grandmother did not keep all her data in one place. They assembled a list of locations that matched Sam's list of suspected weapon stockpiles. Information buried throughout Grandmother's files convinced Dodger that Grandmother had no other targets than those toward which Sam had dispatched teams. Morgan concurred with his analysis of the data patterns.
"For myself, there is curiosity. Are matters so grave, yet so simple? Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist has no further requirements?''
"For the nonce." He felt an odd sense of disappointment, and her next communication echoed it. "Where is the sport?"
"In the doing, my darling. But I agree that the challenge was low. Naetheless, I expect things will be more interesting in the next phase." "The run?"
"Verily. The run tests the true mettle of the decker in a time/place where mind and skill are pitted against all the defenses, obstacles, and ice the opponent has. There is no luxury of retreat. For retreat is defeat, and our comrades would pay most dearly. We cannot fail them and permit the wrongdoers to use their Matrix assets against our flesh confederates." "Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist will be among them?" "I expect so. If not, those he cares for will be, and their loss would be more to him than his own."
"For myself, there is concern that he come to no harm."
"For myself, as well. Therefore, we shall do what we can to ensure the success of his plan."
"Indeed."
"Indeed!"
Her amusement thrilled him, as they flashed onward into the electronic night.
Sam watched, seeing the pattern from his seat at the base of the pole and from the top of the pole at once. There was no discordancy to the image. The rising power lifted him as the song rose.
An outer circle of dancers formed, and the shamans stopped their own dancing to take seats in a ring around Sam. No drums, or bells, or rattles marked time for the dancers. There was only the tempo of the song. From his seat at the base of the sprouting tree, Sam led the singing. Howling Coyote and the elder shamans sang, too, a mixture of voices and words that blended into a single song. The ring of dancers moved around them, a hundred voices joining in the song.
In unison, the dancers lifted their left feet and plunged them forward. Right feet dragged across the ground to catch up. Left feet lifted again, coming back across the line of the circle before stamping to the ground. The ring of dancers turned. Again, right feet caressed the earth as they moved to meet their partners. Left feet rose and plunged. Right feet moved to join. The dance gathered speed. Left feet crossed and recrossed the line of the circle while right feet remained on the circle, grounding the dancers to the earth.
The dancers sang and the song rose to die sky, drawing power from die earth.
Using binoculars, Hart scanned the castle and the mountainside on which it perched. Weberschloss was nearly inaccessible. A switchback road led through the forest and up the mountain, but it was unpaved and narrow, too unstable for more than a light car. A hovercraft, with its lower ground pressure, would be able to handle the surface; but it would be noisy. She wasn't sure it would be able to take some of the tighter turns, and some of the grades were so steep that a hovercraft would probably spill. the air from its skirts and end up grounded.
That left an aerial approach as the most logical way in, but that avenue offered difficulties to a raider. The castle courts were small, and the roofs conical or steeply sloped. There was no place for anything but a small craft to land, and a landing vehicle would have to be capable of vertical-flight mode. A good rigger just might be able to put a panzer down hi the main court, but if the final approach wasn't very slow mere would be a high risk of collision. The landing would be guaranteed then, but damage to the craft could well compromise the getaway. Of course, any aerial approach assumed minimal antiaircraft defenses, which was something she could not safely assume.
Hart didn't like the idea of a one-way trip.
She admired anew Cosimo's cleverness, and the skill he had displayed in secreting his purloined weapons in mis hiding place, with its superb natural defenses. Cosimo would have had his own plans or defense but he was gone now, and she was relieved not to have to deal with defenders under his guidance.
There were ways a determined party could access, but it was not going to be as easy as it might have been in other times. If Weberschloss had remained the private holding and tourist attraction it had been both when Cosimo hid the weapons there and after the old U.S. Rangers had
relinquished it a properly disguised squad of infiltrators would have done the job. Even during the tune the Rangers had used it as a recreation and training center, the castle had never held more than a company of troops. Formidable as such a garrison might be, the proper preparation could neutralize most of their assets, because regular troops were sufficiently predictable. Kit me current occupants were neither harmless hoteliers nor predictable, regular army troops.
She could, of course, just blow the castle to atoms, but that wouldn't solve the problem. The weapons would still be protected in the heart of the rock. The amount of firepower necessary to ensure their destruction was more than the budget allowed. Or the local government, either. Even asking about it would have brought too much attention. So they were going to have to go in and deal with the current owners.
The castle had been taken over during the later days of the repression riots by a rather desperate band of refugees, mostly metahumans who were fleeing from the hate that had swept over the world. Most of them were orks and dwarfs, more man half of them members of the bundeswehr. The soldiers' experience and weapons had bought the refugees their safety. The determination of both soldiers and civilians had kept it. Locally, they had maintained their holding through a balance of threats, bribes, and usefulness to the government. The experiences of the squatters had birthed a hatred and led them to turn Weberschloss into a haven for anti-norm terrorists. They called themselves the Herbstgeists, the Qhosts of Autumn. So far, their operations were too minor and too often convenient for some corporate or governmental faction for them to be rooted out.
If the Herbstgeists or those who tolerated the terrorists' presence, for that matter learned what lay under Weberschloss, that situation would likely change. For the moment, however, they sat between Hart and her goal, forming an obstacle that was well armed, fanatical, and unlikely to negotiate. Although the Herbstgeists posed a problem to Hart's limited resources, Spider could gather whatever she needed, given time. Time she could not be allowed to have. The bombs had to be neutralized before Spider could take advantage of them.
The soft crunch of gravel alerted Hart to a visitor. She turned to see a dwarf climbing the path. The woman was nearly as wide as she was tall, and she grumbled to herself and puffed as she negotiated the sometimes steep trail. Being a rigger, Willie Williams rarely walked when she could control some sort of vehicle, which meant she was not in very good shape for personal exertion. The rigger wore a loose coverall that was stained with sweat despite the cool mountain air, and her shaved crown glistened with the perspiration that gathered around her datajacks and trickled down in a steady stream. The hair that grew from the sides and back of her head was gathered into matching pigtails that bounced up and down on her ample chest as she walked.
"Troops are getting restless," she said, without bothering to greet Hart. "Anxious to go?"
"Neg. Don't want to tangle with the Herbstgeists." Hart had been afraid that the meres would have that reaction when they learned of the target. "I thought these guys were pros."
"They are, but even pros don't like getting killed. They're having second thoughts about the cost of the ticket."
The rigger was worried, or else she wouldn't have bestirred herself to climb to Hart's observation point. "What about you, Willie?"
Willie shrugged. "I know why we're doing it. They don't."
"You didn't answer my question." Willie rubbed her palms across the datajacks on either temple. The induction pads on her hands rasped slightly as they slid over the chromium steel ports. "I could wish I was rigging a full panzer instead of a stripped-down whizzer. But I ain't gonna back out." "I'm glad you're still in, Willie. Don't know a rigger I'd rather trust to get us up there."
Willie deliberately looked away. Hart could see her jaw working. After a while, the rigger reached a hand into her belt-slung sack and fished out a can of Kanschlager. "Want a beer?" "No, thanks."
"Didn't think so, but thought I should offer." She popped the top and upended it over her head. Not a drop missed her upturned mouth. The can drained, she replaced it in her sack and burped. "Watch out for Georgie. He did a run with a Herbstgeist squad in forty-eight." "Thanks. I will."
Hart gave Willie the opportunity to say more, but the rigger seemed to have said all she was willing to say. Maybe she didn't have more than a suspicion. Maybe she knew about Georgie, because she had been involved in that same run and had her own secrets to hide. The first seemed more likely. Willie wasn't the type to get involved with the Herbstgeists, even though many of their soldiers were of her metatype. They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, Willie growing increasingly restive.
At last she said, "Whizzer needs a check if we're gonna ride tonight."
"Want some help?" Hart asked, already knowing the answer.
"Neg."
Hart watched Willie crunch back down the path. When the rigger passed from sight, Hart turned and looked back across the valley to the castle. Just what she needed, more complications. She hoped Sam was right, and they had time before Spider's agents made the scene.
Sam smiled as he sang.
The dancers circled the shamans gathered at the center. Each dancer gripped the hand of the person to either side, fingers interlocked. They rocked forward when they stamped, and swayed back when they brought their trailing feet forward. Their hands swung in arcs as they moved through the steps.
The dance gathered speed.
Neko Noguchi was a loner, and he liked it that way. At least when it came to doing biz. Partners either got in the way or weren't where you needed them when you needed them. In his experience, it was far better to rely on yourself. That way, you always knew where you stood. Being new to the trade, Neko might not have much of a rep; but it was a good one. And it was a solo rep.
So why had the American elf and his partners sent this woman to work with him?,
Striper was her street name a more reliable tag than the one on her travel documents and she moved with the grace and economical motion of a great hunting cat. She had followed the contact protocols scrupulously, which suggested that she was a pro. Her stride, artfully concealed weaponry, and alertness said the same. From her swagger Neko might have thought her a razorguy, but he could detect no sign of cybernetic enhancements. The synopsis he had bought from Cog said only that she was top-notch talent. Lacking chrome, she would have to rely on magic for her edge, and that was pushing reliability.
Even if she was a legitimate agent of the American elf, Neko didn't see why she was necessary on this run. If the work was done properly, there would be no need for muscle. He thought his performance record in the investigations he had undertaken for the elf was satisfactory. What had prompted this display of low confidence now?
"Caution." Striper smiled slyly at him as she ran her right index finger up and down along the left side of her nose. Though the room was dimly lit, her eyes were hidden behind chrome shades whose earpieces were brindled tortoiseshell. He wished he could see the expression in them. "You looked concerned about why I'm here. I'm just muscle for this run, in case."
Abandoning his pose of complete casualness, Neko removed his feet from the low table between their chairs. He had not thought that his face or body language would betray his concern. Perhaps they hadn't. She might have enhancements, more subtle than most, that let her gauge people more easily. While useful in many circumstances, such capabilities would not be of prime value on this run. "I can handle myself."
She laughed shortly; the sound was almost a cough. "It's the warlord's boys the principal is worried about."
"I can handle them, too."
"Like to see that."
He was beginning to find her arrogance annoying. "I do not care for you to."
She shrugged. "Tough. I took a contract, and I'm not defaulting on it for your ego." "He doesn't trust me, then." She took a flat, dark metal case from a pouch on her belt. Flipping it open, she selected a thin brown cigarillo and lit it from the hot spot on the case. She to
ked, held the smoke in for a moment, then blew it out in a thick stream before saying, "Never said so." "Words aren't always necessary. Your presence is that statement."
Taking another toke, she blew smoke at the ceiling. "If you say so." ' 'What if I left you behind?'' "You can run. I'll run faster." She seemed to have complete confidence that he could not escape her. Her assuredness was sobering; Hong Kong was his hunting ground, not hers. Until he knew what resources she could call on, he would have to be cautious. "Then I^n condemned to your help." She nodded.
"I hope, at least, that you're well informed about the mission."
"Tell me again. They might have forgotten something,"
"I'll keep it short," he said sharply. He knew she was testing him, and he didn't like it. But it was all part of the biz. He put on a good face. "Across the strait in Kungshu, there's a man. Han is the name he goes by. Han is a wealthy man, a powerful man. The shadows speak of him as one of the new warlords. This is a fair evaluation in many ways because, like most warlords, he dreams of uniting China again, with himself as her leader, of course. The comparison breaks down, because this man might actually succeed. Recently Han has taken on a new advisor, a mysterious mage who works under the name Nightfall. Nightfall claims to have been privy to some of the secrets of the old Shui regime, and to prove it she has informed Han that his holdings include a missile complex armed with nuclear weapons." She interrupted him. "Gonna use it?" Neko snorted. "Does one use a cannon to hunt field mice?"
"I don't," Striper said flatly. "And neither does he. On the advice of his most favored advisor, he holds the weapons in reserve. The obvious conclusion is that he awaits a time when the weapons may be employed, either actually or as a threat, to improve his position. Han is a canny fellow. He will wait until it is to his best advantage."
"He can't wait forever." She stubbed out her cigarillo. "Word gets out, the corps will scratch him."
"I would not care to wager the world on their altruism, which is why we have been hired to neutralize the weapons. You have brought the device the elf said would do the job?"
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