Stranger Souls

by Jak Koke

  Axler took the chair next to Ryan and pulled the derm patch from Ryan's neck. "You should be able to move in a few minutes," she said. Then she removed some handcuffs from a black nylon bag on the wall, and she anchored his wrists and ankles to the chair.

  Grind watched her, a pained expression on his ruggedly wrinkled face. "Is that really wise—"

  A look from Axler stopped him. "Why didn't you want to come with us?" she asked.

  Ryan found that he could move his mouth. "You know me?" he said.

  Axler's hard shell softened slightly. "Yes," she said.

  "How?"

  "We've pulled some runs together. You don't remember?"

  Ryan avoided answering that question. He didn't want to reveal any more than he had to. "What were you rescuing me from?" he asked.

  "That information has not been made completely available to me," Axler said. "Jane only feeds us what we need to know. Better for us, better for her, I guess." Axler gave a little laugh and a smile settled into the hard lines on her face. "All I do know is that you were working undercover inside Aztechnology. I always thought you were a crazy fragger.

  "A while back," Axler continued, "we extracted a research scientist from Fuchi and transferred him to the Azzies. The name of the target was T.W. Saint John—a genetic expert or some such drek. It was you, though we didn't know it at the time. We transported the body in a fake cryogenic chamber.

  "Didn't learn that it was you until Jane filled us in yesterday, just before this run. I've pieced it together like this . . . Somehow you infiltrated Fuchi under the Saint John identity, probably replacing the real researcher. Then Jane hired us to get you out of Fuchi and into Aztechnology, and got the Azzies to pay handsomely for the whole run. She probably knew they already wanted Saint John, and chose that identity, merely tweaking the photos and records to make your cover believable. Jane can do some pretty fragging amazing things in the Matrix.

  "Your cover must've been blown somehow, and the Azzies brought you down here to the delta clinic."

  "How long ago was this transfer from Fuchi?"

  "No more than three months."

  "And you knew me before that?"

  "Yup. We go way back." Grind gave a harsh laugh at that.

  "What?"

  "I can't believe you don't remember the night we . . ." Axler gave him a knowing smile.

  "Really?" Ryan found her physically attractive, but she seemed too frosty to let anyone inside.

  Axler shook her head. "No, just a stupid joke," she said. "But I'm not drekking you about going way back. We've known each other for over five years, which is a long, long time in this biz.

  'The first time I met you," Axler went on, "you pulled me out of drek up to my Nikons. I was only nineteen. I'd been running for Jane two years already, and I thought I was invincible. But I let my emotions cloud my judgment, stopping to help a young kid.

  "I wasn't going to stop at first, but he kept yelling for help. Screaming that he was dying. He was a fragging bystander, an innocent who'd caught a stray round, probably one of mine. The opposition was dead and backup was several minutes away. I had plenty of time to slap a patch on him."

  Ryan watched Axler's fists tighten and her teeth clench together. "Or so I thought. The boy was an illusion designed to delay me while their security mage targeted my heart with his laser sight. A fragging Mossberg CMDT shotgun. Would have blown a fist-sized hole in my chest at that range. Except that you'd come with me. You saw the illusion for what it was and nailed the mage with a narco-dart. Saved my hoop."

  Axler sighed. "It's funny, before the run I'd argued with Jane about letting you come along. I told her you'd be a liability. That I didn't need your help. McFaren and Dhin and I could handle it. Grind joined the team later.

  "I didn't want to trust you, but now I know why you came. You came to evaluate and teach, working for whoever Jane works for. I don't know how or why, but after that run Jane started giving us higher-paying jobs. More dangerous, more intricate. And much more lucrative.

  "Sometimes you would come along, and when you did, we all learned. You had combat skills we'd never seen before; you knew about infiltration and undercover work. You're one of the best physical adepts I've ever worked with. You told us you followed the Silent Way, using magic for stealth and spying, disguise and behind-the-scenes operations. I must say it was a pleasure anytime you joined our team."

  Ryan had been concentrating on Axler's story. It felt true, but he didn't remember it. the feeling was right, but the details were lost in his mind. So where are my physical adept abilities now that my memory is gone? he wondered. And who do I work for? Jane? And what about Thomas Roxborough? Where does he fit in?

  What did they do to me at that clinic?

  "I think we can trust him," said McFaren coming out of his "sleep." "He seems more confused than insincere."

  He winked at Ryan. "I've been watching your aura," he said.

  Then he turned to Axler. "Also, we've lost the mages who were following. Temporarily at least."

  "Good," she said.

  McFaren nodded, then his head fell against his chest again, though his breathing was different than before so that Ryan thought he might actually be sleeping this time.

  "When can I speak with Jane-in-the-box?" Ryan asked.

  Axler unlocked Ryan's cuffs. "Soon," she said. "She'll be sending a plane to our base. You're one of the only people I know of who has ever actually met Jane in person."

  As if on cue, Jane's voice came over the speakers. "Got the codes," she said. "New identities everyone. Scan and commit to memory. You have approximately twelve minutes."

  "Twelve minutes to what?" Ryan asked, directing his question to no one in particular.

  "Border crossing," Axler said. "Out of Aztlan and into the Panama Canal Zone."

  "Are they going to let us out?"

  Axler smiled. "Doubtful," she said. "But Jane has a plan, I'm sure. Don't you, Jane?"

  "Always," came the voice from the speakers. "And this one is particularly clever . . . but it's also tricky and complicated. Pay close attention."

  15

  "We're all here, Mr. Roxborough," came Meyer's voice, cutting into Roxborough's privacy like a sharp weapon. "We can proceed as soon as you're ready."

  Roxborough clamped down on his desire and shut down the pleasure program. That would have to wait until after his business was completed. He moved his awareness so that he looked through the board room's surveillance system. He wanted to assess the mood of the participants before activating his simulacrum.

  Meyer and Riese sat in their respective chairs. Meyer's long elven face looked only slightly less bored than normal as he leafed through some ancient book on the arcane. An actual physical book, Roxborough thought, savoring the musty smell of it through the room's olfactory receptors. How quaint.

  Unlike Meyer, Riese was edgy. Her petite body held a barely confined rage as she muttered into her pocket computer. Franklinson was also present, looking nervous and frightened despite his huge size. Franklinson was a troll and the clinic's head of security. He wore the traditional tan Aztechnology uniform with the Jaguar Guard shoulder flash that held a tiny silver pin of Quetzalcoatl to denote his rank of major. Franklinson's record was remarkable; Roxborough trusted him implicitly. Roxborough tried to reassure himself that Franklinson's nervousness didn't necessarily imply that Ryan Mercury was completely unrecoverable.

  I've seen enough, thought Roxborough. He activated the room's hologenerators and appeared in his seat at the head of the cherry wood table. At the sound of the hologenerators, everyone turned toward his chair. "Good afternoon," he said, as his simulacrum solidified. "We have a crisis, I take it. Franklinson, what is the status?"

  "We've lost the infiltrators," the troll said. "And the man they took." Franklinson gave Roxborough an inquisitive stare, which said that he didn't like being kept in the dark about any potentially sensitive situations at a site he was in charge of keeping secure. Roxborough
didn't think it was crucial that Franklinson know the exact nature of all the experiments. They had had that discussion one too many times and neither had budged.

  "They took a human who is very important to us," Roxborough said. "His name is Ryan Mercury, and he was a spy. It is important that he be caught. I'd like him back alive. What are the chances of picking them up again?"

  Franklinson paced around the table. "They escaped in a Saeder-Krupp Phoenix II LAV. Very fast and hard to spot on satellite images, but I think they were making for the Canal Zone border. I can contact the security there and have them double their surveillance coverage. If they try to cross there, I'm sure we'll get them."

  "I hope so," said Riese, "because that man represents a huge investment of time and effort. He was nearly ready for—"

  "Don't forget money, Miss Riese," Roxborough interrupted. "The bottom line." But that's not what he was really thinking. Mercury was his best hope to get out of the vat. That body was perfect.

  Riese was still talking. "The loss to the advancement of metahuman science would be devastating if we can't monitor what happens as the treatment runs its course."

  Franklinson stopped pacing. "Like I said, there is an excellent chance we'll catch them at the border."

  "Good," Roxborough said. Then he turned to face the elf, Meyer. "I know you wanted to abort this subject a long time ago, and I may yet give you that chance. I'd like you to prepare your team for a ritual magic execution. Can you do that?"

  A sardonic grin formed on the elf's thin face. "For Mercury?"

  Roxborough nodded.

  "Yes," Meyer said. "We have the tissue samples. It should only take a few hours to prepare."

  Riese jumped in, looking right at Roxborough's simulacrum. "Why would you want to kill him?"

  "I don't want Mercury dead, but I can't allow him to escape," Roxborough said, then turned back to Meyer. "If the border patrol fails to intercept our beloved experiment, proceed with the ritual magic execution. I want him back here or dead."

  Because, he thought, I can't take the chance that he'll escape with my personality, my memories. My secrets.

  16

  Inside the Thunderbird, rocketing just above the jungle canopy, Ryan contemplated his past. He seemed to have two distinct histories. One he was beginning to remember. He had been in a different body—a fat, weak body plagued by fatigue. Still, he'd been a powerful man. Respected and rich. Important, until a terrible disease had tried to strike him down.

  The other past was a mystery that he had no recollection of. These people had known him: Axler, Grind, Jane-in-the-box, and the others. He had been a warrior of some sort. Perhaps a thief. Certainly a dangerous person with a questionable sense of morality.

  Random memories had been coming to him from his Roxborough past. Disjointed and without context. In one, he looked at the face of an elf slitch . . . What was her name? She wore a business suit, perfectly pressed, and her face was as hard as chiseled diamond. Immutable. She had short-clipped blonde hair and was an excellent executive. He respected her for that.

  Sheila Blatavska. The name jumped into his head. CEO of the Atlantean Foundation—an organization that was more extensive and wielded far more power than it had a right to. It was dedicated to the rediscovery of lost civilizations like Atlantis, and in the course of its mission had discovered a number of ancient, and supposedly very powerful, magical items. According to his sources, Blatavska had major backing from elves of both the Tirs, and possibly from some dragons.

  In the memory, she said, "I would like you to consider this trade. A few of the items in our inventory may be useful to your . . . predicament."

  "And in exchange," he said, "you want permission to conduct archaeological digs in the two specified locations?"

  A tight smile crossed her face. "I had hoped you might be able to make your cohorts reconsider my request to participate in the San Marcos dig as well."

  "I'm sorry, I can't do that. My influence in that regard is minimal."

  "But you control a large share of—"

  "You seem to have an exaggerated view of my influence." Roxborough smiled. "Anyhow, forget about the San Marcos site. It's not available."

  The elf merely nodded.

  Roxborough continued, "I will send my head mage, James Meyer, to inspect these items you spoke of, and meanwhile, I will get you the digging rights for the other two locations. Deal?"

  "There is another possibility," she said. "Yes?"

  "Have your mages perfected the orichalcum tracing rituals?"

  "Perhaps," Roxborough said. "Why?"

  "Well, to be frank," she said, "we haven't worked out all of the problems and were hoping to use the rituals soon."

  "What for?"

  "Ah, my dear Mr. Roxborough," Blatavsky said, giving him a smile. "Do I detect interest?"

  "What do you want the rituals for?"

  "Dunkelzahn has been purchasing vast quantities of orichalcum through various fronts, and we suspect he is in the process of making something very powerful."

  "And you want it." It was not a question.

  "Of course," she said. "We'd like your help with the rituals ... if your mages really can do the tracing."

  "What do you offer in exchange?"

  "We will show your mages how to perfect the spirit transfer that you so desperately crave."

  The memory dissipated in Ryan's mind. When had that been? he wondered. How long ago? It frustrated him that he had no context for it.

  Now, inside the rumbling shell of the Thunderbird, he took a deep breath. The tension of Axler and the team was high, and that mood had infected Ryan. One missile hit, and they would all be indistinguishable from the shrapnel.

  "Border guard is requesting security clearance codes," Axler said. "Put-up-or-shut-up time."

  "Transmitting the codes now," came Dhin's voice. "Let's hope Jane comes through again."

  "How're we hoping to get past their security?" Ryan asked.

  "The codes were stolen from one of Aztechnology's own T-birds," Axler said. "Top level, according to Jane, and beyond question. I just hope they don't know that they've been copped."

  "It's going to be a real short trip if they do," said Grind.

  McFaren slept, or looked as though he was sleeping. Ryan knew that he could be projecting into the astral plane, watching for spirits or mages. The T-bird banked right and slowed a little.

  "We're three klicks from the Canal Zone," Dhin said. "I'm bringing us over nice and easy, like Jane said."

  "The codes?" asked Grind. "Did they accept the codes?"

  "No data yet."

  "Isn't it taking too long?" Grind said, his voice edged with anxiety. "They should've cleared us by now."

  "Stay on course, Dhin," came Axler. "Don't stray until you see some offensive enemy activity."

  "Copy," Dhin said. "Holding course."

  "But—"

  "Codes confirmed," came Axler. "Repeat, I've just got a routine confirmation."

  Dhin came on. "Copy and second that. We're clear for exit from Aztlan."

  "I don't like it. Too much delay," said Grind.

  Jane-in-the-box's voice came on. "Neither do I. Stay alert, chummers. This could be an ambush of some kind."

  "Copy," said Axler. "Staying sharp. Full radar sweep."

  "Incoming fighters!" came Dhin's voice at full volume. "Repeat, incoming bogeys. We have company."

  "Fragging ambush is right!" yelled Grind. "There are four Azzie warbirds vectoring in."

  Axler interrupted, "They'll try to take us down on this side of the border. So as not to risk international war in the Canal Zone."

  Jane's voice filled the cabin. "Plan Beta," she said. "Immediately. Go to Plan Beta."

  "Acknowledged," said Axler.

  "Copy." That was Dhin's voice.

  Ryan was thrown into the hard foam of his chair as the T-bird banked abruptly right and opened up to full throttle. Jets screamed as they angled south toward the Gulf of Panama. He
pushed himself upright in the chair. "Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

  "Can you operate a minigun?" came Dhin's voice over the speakers.

  "Not sure," Ryan said. "I think so."

  "Then get back with Axler and Grind. Sit in the cupola and fire at the enemy when they come close enough."

  Ryan moved into the rear compartment, which was slightly smaller than the central chamber and rilled with more equipment for monitoring adversaries. Axler sat at a console, keeping track of the defensive weaponry while Grind sat on a tall seat, looking out through the clear macroplast of the assault cannon's cupola.

  The minigun's cupola was just aft from there. Ryan moved up the short ladder and settled into the seat as though he'd been born for the task. And as he looked at the controls, he discovered that he did know how to operate the gun. Instinctively he put his hands and forearms into the long, power-assisted reticulated metal gloves and practiced swinging the minigun's barrel around.

  "Don't get comfortable, Ryan," Axler said. "We bail in two minutes."

  "If we're still alive," said Grind.

  "Right."

  Ryan caught the radar tactical superimposed on the head's-up display and slued the big gun barrel around toward one of the incoming jets. They came fast, from near the border. Gaining on the T-bird, which was going full out toward the southern coast of the narrow isthmus. Ryan wasn't sure what Plan Beta was, but one thing was clear; the bogeys would catch up with the T-bird before it reached the coast. And even if they did get to the bay first, they'd be easy to target over the water.

  "One minute, thirty seconds to bail," came Axler's voice.

  An alarm siren sounded. "We've been painted," said Dhin. "Hold on!"

  The T-bird cut left suddenly, then dove into a narrow ravine in an effort to confuse the jet's missile lock. But the T-bird wasn't built to outrun a fighter; it was slower and less maneuverable. Their only chance was to stay close to the ground and hope that the trees and hills would cover them.

  Ryan strafed one of the jets as it flew by when Dhin abruptly decelerated. The minigun roared, a staccato barrage of sound as the heavy slugs flew. The tracer rounds formed a solid white line to show the path of the bullets. Then the jet was gone, and Ryan knew he had missed. It had all been way too quick.