by Jak Koke
Drek, Ryan thought. A mage.
The astral image was a projection of a magician's spirit into astral space. Shamans and mages could do it, plus certain adepts. Ryan knew he couldn't outrun the astral form; movement in astral space was much faster than normal physical motion. But I might be able to hide from him, he thought.
Ryan flattened himself against the tree and stood perfectly still for the moment, trying to use his aura masking to blend his astral presence with the trees around him. He needed a few seconds to weigh his options. His vehicle was up the hill, over the perimeter fence, and a half-kilometer hike away.
He'd driven up from the Aztechnology pyramid in San Antonio in a company Mitsubishi Runabout, trying to get out of the city without breaking his cover. He'd been operating under the assumed identity of Travis W. Saint John for several months. Now, his cover was as good as blown. There was almost no way T.W. Saint John would return to his laboratory tomorrow. Ryan's best chance was to try to make it across the border near Austin and into the Confederate American States.
Ryan knew it was unlikely he would reach his Runabout without the mage spotting him or the helo closing down, but what other choice did he have? Steal another vehicle?
I could take the helo, he thought. They would never expect that.
As if on cue, the insect-machine descended to land on the concrete platform next to the old tower. Ryan took it as a sign and went to work, moving in silence and stealth back up the hill. He used his magic to pass through the undergrowth without disturbing the leaves, blending his aura so that the mage above the trees would have a harder time seeing him.
He reached the edge of the concrete slab with no incidents. The mage was off scanning the trees downhill as Ryan watched the helo land. Ryan crouched in the dark hollow of the trees, and scanned the opposition.
Through the helo's tinted macroglass foreshield, Ryan caught the shape of the rigger pilot, a woman with dark hair pulled tightly into a neat ponytail. She was straight-wired into the console via a fiber-optic cable that plugged into the datajack at her temple.
The copilot sat next to her, less visible, though his heat signature indicated an ork or perhaps a troll. Ryan guessed ork by the size, and he was packing a big weapon that Ryan recognized as an Ares Alpha Combatgun from its distinctive silhouette. The side door opened as the helo's runners touched down, and one person jumped out—a hulking shadow of a man moving fast and smooth. Like a simsense suspense hero on double speed.
Ryan quickly scanned the inside of the vehicle while the door was open, rapidly cataloguing his adversaries. There were only two people in the back, both human. One was a standard-looking corporate security guard; the other was slumped in his seat, most likely the mage who was astral projecting. His spirit was out of his body, cruising around astral space in a search for Ryan, but it could return to his body at any moment.
Ryan kept mental track; two in front, one heavily armed; two in back. Null sheen, he thought. If it doesn't get ugly, I can take them without bloodshed. Ryan wouldn't shy away from killing them if it was necessary to complete Dunkelzahn's instructions, and he was very adept at the taking of life. But more often than not, killing wasn't necessary to accomplish his goals.
Then Ryan's gaze was drawn to the . . . thing that had disembarked.
He looked human for the most part, but there was an aura of inhumanity around him that Ryan felt like a cold radiance. In the physical world, the man was very big, at least a half-meter taller than Ryan, with a density to him that spoke of cybernetic limbs and torso. Pure chrome under that vat-grown skin.
Ryan never missed a detail like that, even through the dark, loose-fitting combat fatigues the man wore. His bald head was eerily symmetrical and too small for his massive shoulders and chest. And his legs were oddly proportioned—too long in the shin for his height.
This chummer's mostly machine. A cyberzombie.
Ryan had heard of such creatures, but this was the first he had encountered in flesh-and-chrome reality. Most of their spirit was gone, and they were supremely dangerous. Robots with a tenuous grip on the distinction between dead and alive.
In one hand, the man held a netgun poised and ready. The other was empty for the present, but a veritable arsenal hung from his belts and harnesses. In the astral, the man was a fireworks display, aglow with magic and quickened spells. His aura was a dark shadow amid the flares, and it made Ryan's skin crawl to look at it. His aura was somehow separated from his body. Out of phase, if that was possible.
Ryan had never seen anything like it. He noticed a slight hazing in the astral wherever the cyberzombie passed. This creature was polluting astral space by its mere existence. Rumor told that powerful spells, quickened so that they had become permanent, acted like a tether to the spirit of someone who had taken so much machinery into his flesh. Un-fragging-natural.
Then he noticed the watcher spirit, a small bloodshot eye, hovering around the cyberzombie's aura. The watcher saw Ryan, looked right at him, but it didn't move. It was tasked for something else. Probably to warn some mage or shaman if any big astral nasties decided to take an interest in robo-slag here.
Ryan brought his vision back to the physical and took a few controlled breaths to center himself. So they plan on capturing me, he thought, his gaze coming back to the netgun. Interesting, that makes escape all that much easier. All I have to do is get past robo-slag before the helo lifts off. The slots inside will go down easy.
The cyberzombie scanned the area with intense scrutiny, and Ryan suddenly feared that his concealment magic would fail to hide his heat signature enough from this creature's infrared sight. But the gaze passed over him without hesitation, and the man turned to survey the whole clearing.
Ryan remained absolutely silent and still, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move. He watched as the cyberzombie drew a taser gun from one of his belts and moved to the edge of the concrete slab. The robo-slag's movements were superfluid and quick, decisive and precise.
He might be even faster than me, Ryan thought, which was frightening because he had never met anyone, except Dunkelzahn, who could match his speed in combat. Best to avoid a fight with this one. Can't be certain of the outcome.
At the same moment, the wind beneath the helo's rotors grew to a deafening roar, and the vehicle began to lift off. As the craft rose slightly, Ryan made a lightning-quick dash to the still-open side door. One of them inside reached to close the door just as Ryan fired a narcotic-coated dart into his chest. Silent, fast, and oh-so-powerful. The dart buried itself to the shaft, hitting with a subliminal thunk that was lost in the roar of the rotors.
The man froze in two heartbeats, and crumbled to the floor, nearly falling out the open door before Ryan caught his body. Then Ryan was inside, laying the incapacitated guard on the floor as he glided over the body, moving as fast as his magically accelerated muscles would carry him. He jabbed a second dart into the prone body of the mage—a human in tan Aztechnology armor with a Jaguar Guard shoulder patch.
Best that he not wake up and frag me with a spell.
Ryan drew his pistol, and, in a smooth practiced motion, placed the barrel to the side of the copilot's head. ";Cdl-letel" Ryan whispered. "No sound, pendejo. Or your brains will paint the foreshield."
The copilot was an ork with obviously jacked-up or wired reflexes, but he didn't try anything with the cold metal of Ryan's gun against his warty skin. The ork slowly raised his hands, allowing Ryan to grab his Ares Alpha Combatgun.
Ryan didn't have time to keep track of the copilot so he jabbed him in the neck with a dart. It took a few seconds longer for the big body to sink into the molded seat, but soon the ork was safely out.
It had all happened so fast that the rigger pilot, jacked into the helo's external sensors, never even noticed. But she will soon, Ryan thought. When she checks the internal cameras. Ryan took position behind the rigger's seat and brought his pistol to bear on her temple. He hoped she feared death because he needed her
to fly the helo, and so it was necessary not to kill. He always preferred to incapacitate his opponents unless it was necessary for them to die, but now he couldn't even afford to drug the pilot. Though he might have been able to figure out the controls, he'd never flown one of these before, and he didn't relish the idea of learning under these circumstances.
The helo was about three meters up, just starting its forward bank that would take it around the teocalli, when the floor tilted abruptly. The helicopter canted right, then straightened. This rigger obviously needs a lesson in pain, Ryan thought. He knew just the nerve cluster to hit.
But it wasn't the rigger at all. Out the corner of his eye, Ryan caught the immense shape of the cyberzombie pulling himself into the open door of the 'copter. He had jumped straight up from the ground, and it had been his weight landing suddenly on the helo's frame that had caused the floor to tilt.
What the—?
Ryan spun to meet him, squeezing off two rounds that should have hit him in the head. But the cyberzombie was fast and had already dodged slightly. One of the bullets caught his shoulder, ricocheting off with a metallic ping. The other missed.
The netgun fired just as Ryan dove into the front, the net's polycarbonate weave expanding as the explosive force threw it toward Ryan. But the interior was too small and there wasn't enough room for the net to open. It hit the plastic-lined metal wall just over the prone body of the Jaguar Guard mage. The hard plastic buckled with a loud crack under the force. But it missed Ryan.
Ryan pulled a mini flash grenade from his webbing and tossed it toward robo-slag. The cyborg watched it arc toward him as if in slow motion, seeming to be fascinated by the intricate rotating designs on the mini grenade. The absurd moment stretched forever, like watching a meteor rotate in zero G, and it was then that Ryan noticed the name etched in the man's flesh-toned forearm. Modular, exact letters spelled "BURNOUT" in dull gray.
Then the flash went off like a thousand suns in the darkness. At that exact moment, Ryan leapt at the cyberzombie, Burnout. Ryan lowered his shoulder ta crash into the killer and threw him out the side door. Burnout snapped out of his brief reverie when the grenade went off, and Ryan could almost see the instantaneous contraction of his cybernetic pupils.
Ryan knew that electronic flash compensation replaced the overloaded image with an exact duplicate of the image in memory for a mere microsecond until the new image could be perceived. It was in that microsecond when Ryan's shoulder connected with the cyberzombie's torso. But the man's body was heavy, an easy two hundred kilos, and it was hard metal and banded, synthetic musculature. Like hitting a marble statue. And up close the smell of synthetic lubricant filled Ryan's nostrils, nearly making him gag.
Ryan dug in and pushed, bringing all his strength to bear. The cyberzombie staggered back in that instant of lost senses. Back and out the side door. Into the scream of wind beneath the helo's rotors, the acrid smell of gunpowder sharp in the air. Ryan let go at the last second, and Burnout teetered on the edge, his one free arm swinging wildly, looking for something to hold.
Ryan concentrated on a magical attack—a psychokinetic strike that didn't involve actual physical contact. He made a motion with his hand, as if to push the cyberzombie over the edge. And even though Ryan stayed well inside the helo, his attack landed home, hitting Burnout square in the upper torso.
The cyberzombie grunted as the force of Ryan's blow struck him. And he rocked back; another second and he would be gone. The helo was ten meters above the dark and mottled mat of trees. A fall would mean serious injury. Then Ryan heard the sound of oiled metal as the fingers of Burnout's free hand cocked back to reveal telescoping chrome fingers. Blood dripped around the severed skin where the fingers bent. The extendible fingers shot out like tiny prehensile tails and coiled around the safety handle like blood-tinged chrome snakes. Burnout held on.
Ryan fired his pistol at the cyberzombie's exposed form, and bullets hit home several times, but the Walther's ammo didn't have the power to penetrate Burnout's armor. Then Ryan remembered the copilot's Ares Alpha Combatgun. He bent and scooped it up in his hand as Burnout regained his footing. Ryan aimed the heavy machine gun and pressed the trigger.
But the cyberzombie had regained his balance, and he swung the netgun in a blinding-quick motion, its butt connecting with the barrel of the Ares gun. The burst of bullets sputtered before the jarring shock of the impact vibrated through Ryan's hands as the weapon was knocked loose. This slot is strong. A few rounds must have landed home because Burnout flinched. Then the gun clanged on the ribbed steel flooring and ricocheted under the seating.
Ryan tried to step away to get more room to attack, but his back pressed against the wall of the copter. There was no more room. Frag, he thought. Now what?
Burnout swung again, as fast as a scorpion strike, trying to hit Ryan with the butt of the netgun. Ryan ducked, and Burnout's blow smashed into the helo's interior, cracking plastic and denting the metal frame. The netgun twisted from the impact.
He's closing off the exit, Ryan thought as Burnout's huge form pressed close.
Ryan's strike was fast and elegant, a sweeping kick to the knees. Trying to knock him off balance so that he could use the split second to vault around the fallen cyberzombie and escape. But he got only one knee, and although it bent sideways from the impact of Ryan's foot, it wasn't enough to topple Burnout.
Then one of the cyberzombie's hands clenched Ryan's ankle, striking like a coiled rattlesnake before he had a chance to pull it back. Ryan felt the cybernetic fingers press through his nightsuit, tightening like a hydraulic vise. He twisted and pulled, placing a focused kick precisely to Burnout's wrist, trying to break the grip. To no avail; the cyberzombie held on with inhuman strength, his fingers nearly crushing the bones in Ryan's ankle.
Ryan used his distance strike again, an upward pummel to the throat, anything to get loose. But just as the blow hit home, making Burnout's head snap back, Ryan heard the soft sound of metal on metal. Everything contracted down in his vision as he watched Burnout's wrist. As he saw the huge needle emerge, its tip glistening with a droplet of milky liquid.
The roar of the outside wind died. The smell of gunpowder vanished. Ryan's entire existence tunneled down onto that silent, silky drop sliding down the sharp needle that poked out from the cyberzombie's wrist.
And then the slow-motion surreality of the long, icy pinprick as the needle penetrated his calf muscle. The realization that he had lost to this machine hit him just before the end. The certain knowledge that Dunkelzahn's plan would fail because he had lost. I have failed you, Master. I am eternally sorry.
Then the chilling numbness spread up his leg, locking up his muscles. And his sight telescoped down to the inky black of oblivion.
Ryan Mercury was no more.
12 August 2057
4
In her Lake Louise office, Nadja sat at her desk and stared out the window, contemplating. Trying to get her mind around what had happened in the past three days since . . . Since the horrible explosion outside the Watergate Hotel. Since Dunkelzahn's death.
Three days and the vision still hung in her mind like the afterimage of a flash. The silence of the destruction, Dunkelzahn's telepathic agony frying every nerve in her body with its power. The being who had served as her mentor, idol, benefactor, and friend was gone.
The office around her was in disarray. Piles of hardcopy lay across every surface, chips and CDs scattered among the paper. The trash was full to overflowing with shredded documents, wiped datachips, and the remnants of the lunch she had barely touched. The whole thing was a sharp contrast with Nadja's immaculate appearance.
In the past two days since Dunkelzahn's death, Nadja's life had transformed completely. On the night of the explosion, Carla Brooks had sent Nadja back to Lake Louise for security purposes. The Dragon's lair was nestled on the massive flank of Mount Hector, part of the old Canadian Rocky Mountains. Lake Louise was technically in Athabaskan Council territory, but t
hat nation treated the dragon's property as a fiefdom of his own, especially because Dunkelzahn had been there since 2014, three years before the Great Ghost Dance had liberated the Native Americans from the racist oppression of the old United States government.
Nadja didn't know whether that status would change now that Dunkelzahn was dead. She hoped not. She had learned only two days ago that she was to be executor of Dunkelzahn's will, a task that required the founding of a new corporation—the Draco Foundation. Her work load, along with the power of her position, was skyrocketing. She held the reins of a new megacorporation in her hands. She would be doling out fortunes to some five hundred people and corporations specified in both the public and private sections of Dunkelzahn's Last Will and Testament.
And only today, she learned that now President Kyle Haeffner had nominated her for Vice President of the United Canadian and American States. She would have some political influence to carry on Dunkelzahn's strategies. Her nomination was contingent upon the findings of the Scott Commission, which was actually investigating her as a suspect in Dunkelzahn's assassination.
It's been a busy week, she thought, trying to get herself to laugh at the understatement. She failed. There was just too much to think about.
She'd planned to return to the Federal District of Columbia to read Dunkelzahn's will, but riots had broken out in Washington, and the violence had spread throughout the sprawl and then across the whole continent. The riots showed no sign of abating despite serious efforts by the troops of Lone Star, Knight Errant, UCAS, and Ares military units.
Now, despite her massive and growing pile of work, Nadja forced herself to take a breath and focus. She spared a moment to admire the view from her office window. She loved Lake Louise. The scenery was spectacular—snow-covered peaks that shone beautifully in the sunshine; steep forested slopes; the glacier-covered rock face, glowing a dull blue-white. Her office was in one of the mirrored glass buildings on the edge of the dragon's lair cavern. She was glad it was isolated from the VisionQuest Theme Park, mercifully out of sight around one of the massive flanks of Mount Hector. VisionQuest was a cutting-edge virtual reality research center and a huge game park rolled into one. Dunkelzahn had purchased the whole thing from Ares Macrotechnology many years ago, and Nadja still wondered why Damien Knight had sold it. VisionQuest turned a huge profit every year.
