Dodger considered how best to proceed. Howling Coyote’s magical tradition was shamanic, and shamans rarely used computers. Yet not all Indian magicians were shamans. Hermetic mages made extensive use of modern data-storage facilities as well as the computational abilities of computers. If the Ute government was sponsoring serious magical research, there wouid be notes in the files of the government’s mages. They might not be able to use shamanic magic, but Dodger had learned that many magical techniques were adaptable to other traditions. If Howling Coyote was dreaming up some megapunch shamanic medicine, the Ute hermetics would be tracking what they could and trying to adapt it. There would be clues.
The ebon boy leaped into space, soaring in search of the data cluster where the government’s magical resources were encoded. He spotted a likely possibility and slowed his approach. Security would be tight. If what he suspected were true, it would be totally restrictive.
Thunder crashed through the inner space of the Matrix, and the dark of nothingness was riven by a picosecond of silvery incandescence. The ebon boy swirled his cloak over his head and dropped out from underneath it. He felt a hurricane rush of air that was not due to his rapid passage. As the wind buffeted him shreds of sparkling glitter drifted past him, the remains of his cloak. He dared a glance upward.
Rainbow feathered wings spread, a great eagle shape dove down on him. Rumblings rippled from the bird’s passage like a wake that awakened identification of the icon imagery in him. Dodger felt the thunderbird’s shadow fall on him, though no light source existed to cast it. The great beast screamed a shrill challenge. Its eyes, beak, and talons glittered like the blackest ice. Dodger popped the log chip from his cyberdeck as he boosted his defensive programs to full. Fingers beat a staccato, near-continuous clatter on the keyboard as he improvised to beat the ice.
The ebon boy wove a sublime dance, but the thunderbird came closer with each pass.
Thunder roared a staccato, primal beat in Dodger’s ears. The silicon rainbow of a feathered wing tip brushed the ebon boy. Too close. The ice was too good. Dodger reached for the jack. Or he would have if his hands could have moved. The sight of his hands frozen on the keyboard superimposed over a vision of shining death growing larger within the frame of outstretched jet fingers. The thunderbird stooped for the kill.
Time froze, leaving Dodger suspended between fear, excitement, dread, and, curiously, pleasure.
In that instant, an Indian maiden stepped between him and the screaming thunderbird. She was dressed in a shirt, mantle, and skirt of fringed deerskin. Her hair hung down her back in a thick braid that reached to her knees. Sparkling beads and conchos flashed on the broad belt that encircled her elven-slim waist. Her image was present in excruciating detail. Dodger could see the pores on the buckskin and each individual hair on her head. The icon presented the idiosyncrasy of a decker’s imagery, with the resolution only mainframe-supported imagers supplied. He could only imagine how exquisitely rendered the face would be, for he caught no glimpse as she faced the thunderbird.
The Matrix was illuminated as the thunderbird flashed lightning at the maiden. Given the quality of the image, Dodger would have expected the maiden to be hurtled backward, writhing with pain under the violent attack. But she stood her ground. The bolt crackled and charred the very air of the Matrix blit left her untouched. She raised a hand and the sooty mist around her fragmented and dissolved.
The maiden raised her mittened hands above her head. They glowed. The light grew and merged into a sphere that leapt to strike the thunderbird. The IC icon flickered at impact, shifting from full visualization to flat plane to wire frame and back again. A second ball struck the bird. It flashed to the frame outline instantly, and the strands composing its outline began to peel back. The unraveling had scarcely begun before the icon shattered into fragments, tiny curls of light that drifted away and dimmed to nothingness.
The ice was gone.
Who was this decker, and why did she step in to defend him? Her icon imagery indicated a strong interest in Indian affairs, and her resolution of the ice suggested she had some special keys to this Matrix architecture. The clues indicated a Council decker, but such a one would not defend an interloper like Dodger.
She turned to face him, and he knew. His hands still frozen, he was unable to jack out. He stared at her face, lost in its beauty.
Her skin was burnished chrome formed over an exquisitely sleek, elven bone structure. Her nose was small and straight with exactly the right amount of upturn. Her ears were pointed with a delicacy he had never seen in a live elf, and her lips curled with a promise of delight. Under elegant brows, her eyes were pools brimming with the darkness between photons. She was what he had sought, the icon of the artificial intelligence created by the Renraku Special Directorate. Though she had called herself Morgan in the druids ’ system, he had no name for her save Beauty. When she spoke, her voice was Song.
“For myself, there is happiness in your presence. For myself, there is no perception of need concerning the cessation of your existence.”
Having found it, what does one say to the Grail? What words would Ahab have for the white whale? What salutation was appropriate for St. Peter at the gates of Paradise? Or would Charon be a better analogy for this guardian at the gateway to a new world?
She reached a hand toward his face. The mitten was gone, and her slender fingers spread slightly as her hand neared his cheek.
And then she vanished.
Returned to his meat body, Dodger howled in pain.
18
“No!” Dodger screamed.
Dropping the datacord, Hart grabbed the decker by the shoulders and began to shake him. His body was locked in spasm, and all she could do was to try to shock him back to awareness. Physical contact usually eased the transition from the Matrix to reality. When the decker remained rigid, she slapped him on the cheek. His head rocked back, and he exhaled with an explosive sigh. Gradually, his muscles unlocked and he slumped.
“She’s there." he moaned.
Hart placed her palm on his forehead. She felt no indication of trauma-induced fever. With one thumb, she gently lifted an eyelid. The pupil contracted normally in reaction to the light. “Take it easy, Dodger. You’ll be all right. You’re out of the Matrix now.”
He groaned.
Satisfied that she had jacked him out in time, she released him. Likely he was suffering from dump shock, a reaction to the sudden shift in perceptions. He’d be all right in a few minutes. All he needed was rest. Fluids would help, too.
She turned to get a bottle from the tray, and he lunged forward. He had the datacord back in his temple jack and was tapping on the keyboard of his cyberdeck before she had gotten over her surprise that he would wish to dive right back into cyberspace. By then, she thought it unwise to interrupt him. The backup’s job was to pull the decker out if he got into trouble with ice. Normally there was no problem, because the decker’s sanity outweighed the abandonment of the objective. Normally, the backup had a good idea of where in the Matrix the decker was, and who would know if their system had been penetrated. Dodger hadn’t given her an itinerary for this unscheduled run; he could be anywhere. Without knowing, she couldn’t be sure that forcing him to jack out wouldn’t complicate matters by leaving traces of his passage. She put the bottle back on the tray and sat down.
She had to wait only ten minutes before Dodger was back in the real world, unplugging the datacord himself. His face was drawn with sadness.
“She’s gone." he announced in a woeful voice.
“Who?”
He turned stricken eyes on her, wetting his lips with a tentative tongue. When he spoke, his voice held a hint of something she thought was guilt. “Never mind.”
She gauged the time inappropriate for pushing her questions. He took the bottle she offered with a glum “thank you” and sank down into his chair. He drained the juice in long, slow pulls.
“Well, Dodger, did you get anything useful?”
She frowned at his uncommunicativeness, unsure whether he was ignoring her open displeasure or was too lost in his own funk to notice. She slipped the chip into her data-reader and scanned it. Dodger’s run had gathered scant information for Sam. Not much more than a few names. The record of Dodger’s run made it clear that even those meager bits of data had been protected. It seemed nobody was to know anything about Howling Coyote. She hoped Sam would be more careful than was his wont.
“Tough ice." Dodger said, startling her.
She looked up to see that he was still staring at the cyberdeck. But something about his posture indicated that he was now wholly back in the real world. “Meaning it’s not going to be easy for him.”
“Not at all.” The decker shook his head sadly. “Think that will stop him?”
“No.” Hart knew Sam was far too stubborn. “Think it will do any good to tell him to be very careful?”
“I doubt it.” He turned bleak eyes to her. “He could use help.”
Better help than he was getting. “You’re right. Want a ticket to Denver?”
“No connections. I’ll run the Matrix cleaner from here. What about you?”
“He wanted me to watch your butt." she replied, letting her growing irritation slip into her voice.
“And you would never go against his wishes.” There was a challenge in that statement, which she ignored. She knew Dodger didn’t trust her, but this was the closest he had come to bringing it into the open. With Sam alone in Denver and the mysterious hunter on their trail in Seattle, this was no time for dissention in the small circle Sam had remaining to help him. She might not feel able to join him yet, but she wouldn’t cost him his support by quarreling with the decker.
Dodger prodded again. “Unless, of course, the pay was better elsewhere.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
A sardonic half smile was his answer.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual. Neither of us did a lot to earn his trust in England, but at least I didn’t send him in harm’s way as somebody else’s stalking horse.”
The smile was replaced by a frown. “I went myself as well ”
“Compounding your stupidity doesn’t make you any less guilty.”
“I didn’t sell him to the Shidhe. Is that what draws you now? Have they put another price on his head?” Heat burned her face. “You’re in no position to judge. Not that you’ll believe me, but I’m done with the Shidhe and they with me.”
His cockiness returned. “How could I doubt you? But you and I both know the answer to that question. Naetheless, I shall take you at your word. The Shidhe are not involved. So what then? What draws you away from aiding the man who thinks you love him, to go haring after something unconnected to his dilemma?”
“Don’t try second-guessing me, Dodger. If I knew this business was unconnected, I wouldn't give it a thought. I’d be in Denver right now. As it is, I think I’d better find out what I can and I don’t think anybody can do the looking for me.”
Dodger sneered. “And should it come to pass that there is no one to return to, ’twould be a pity. The great shadowrunner would grieve for an appropriate period of time. One must put on a brave face if one is to survive in the shadows. How long before you make a new conquest and replace all thought of a foolishly trusting norm?”
Hart suppressed the urge to slap the decker’s face. “Listen, chiphead. I don’t need your trust. You want to keep watching for me to slot him, you go ahead. But if you cost, him anything, anything, because you’re too busy watching me, you’ll wish you’d stayed in the Tir where your important buddies could cover your ass. He wants me watching you while you deck. Think I like that? It’s clearly a waste of my time. I save your brain from an overload when you freeze up, and all I get is complaints.”
“But you didn’t ...”
“Case made. Bitching is all you do. He’s counting on you, and all you want is to make trouble.”
A sly look crept onto Dodger’s face. “Maybe I’m being useful enough to him by keeping you from making more trouble for him.”
She closed her eyes, hoping to short-circuit the frustration rising within her. He didn’t understand. But then, how could she expect him to? If she told him her suspicions he might think more kindly of her, or he might not. His suspicion was deeply ingrained. She wasn’t ready to tell anybody anything yet. If she were wrong, she’d be betraying confidences unnecessarily. Now, if Sam had asked her directly . . . But he hadn’t. And she didn’t owe Dodger drek.
The decker took her silence as a retreat from the conversation. For all she knew, he took it as a victory for himself. She held to her silence, and eventually he got up and fixed himself some food from the store in the kitchen. Very free with her hospitality, he was. When he was finished, he jacked in again. She watched for a while, but monitoring a working decker was inherently boring. She set the monitor to alarm mode and sacked out on the cot next to the table.
Dodger was still haunting cyberspace when she awoke. She tapped his shoulder until he acknowledged her presence, then signaled him to jack out. He prepped a data chip while she toasted some wheat bread, set out some jam, and heated the kaf. They ate a sullen breakfast together, and he jacked in again as soon as he finished. That set the pattern: deck and eat. For two days it went on, with the decking sessions becoming longer and the meals shorter.
Through all the third night, she watched him. He seemed dedicated to Sam’s cause. Or was he spending most of his time pursuing his own goals? There was no way to be sure. Jenny’s attempt to tag along the of any other decker, certainly none she could reach in Seattle, who might be able to track Dodger.
Time was dragging on, and her own concerns were becoming gnawing fears. Since the first night there had been no alarms. Maybe Dodger didn’t need a watchdog. What, after all, did she owe him? Nothing, though he might think otherwise. Or maybe she, and Sam, owed the decker more than he expected. But she wouldn’t know one way or the other while she was stuck here in the Salish-Shidhe. Certainty required the sort of information-gathering that needed the personal touch. With ail the tools available to modem technology and magic, it was hard to guarantee that a conversation was not overheard. Keeping a telecommunications conference secret was harder.
Right or wrong, trusting or not, Dodger was indirectly responsible for awakening her fears. He had been the one to order his Far East contact to dump all data on Grandmother’s operations. The decker was looking for clues to his private obsession, but he had gotten more than he knew. The last data Noguchi had sent had raised an uncomfortable specter that, so far, only she had seen.
She was torn. Sam would be in Denver now. They had gathered some data to help him in his search for Howling Coyote, but he had no one to help him carry out that search. She was here, stuck watching the decker when she wanted to be elsewhere doing something useful The paucity of information, and the resistance Dodger had encountered on the first run, worried her. Dodger’s results weren’t all Sam had hoped for. If he decided he needed to check on Dodger’s data he might jack in himself, and that would result in disaster. Sam was, at best, a novice decker. What chance would he have against something that stymied Dodger? Jenny wouldn’t be much help. She was good, but, as much as Hart hated to admit it, not quite as good as Dodger. Sam might trust Jenny on Hart’s recommendation, and he might not. It would be a gamble that she’d keep him out of the Matrix, but the only way to make sure Sam stayed safely out of cyberspace was to make sure that Sam had a decker he trusted running the Matrix for him. Unless she came up with an alternative, that meant babysitting Dodger.
If only she could be with Sam in Denver to keep an eye on him. She’d keep him out of the Matrix, and using his magical abilities like he should. But she needed to be elsewhere, and she was feeling the grip of time. Her babysitti
ng the decker might cost them all more than they wanted to pay. But she didn’t know for sure, and she wouldn’t find out sitting around. The investigation she wanted to make needed her personal touch. She couldn’t leave it to an agent. But getting someone to watch over Sam was another matter. She thought about who she knew in Denver.
If she covered that angle, maybe she could do something here that wouldn’t betray Sam’s trust. There had to be; she couldn’t wait any longer. All she needed was to find someone suitable to babysit Dodger, someone of whom Sam might approve. It would help if Dodger trusted the person, too, but she didn’t know enough about his friends. The decker seemed to trust Ghost, but the samurai was busy watching Janice out in the Council lands. The only one of the decker’s associates still in town was Tsung, and she wouldn’t do Hart a favor, even if it was really for Dodger. Stupid cow.
There was one other possibility She looked over at Dodger. From his activity level, she decided that he wasn’t likely to come up against anything serious for a few minutes. Well, maybe he would, but how could she know? She had too damn little data, and time was passing. Sometimes one just had to gamble.
She tossed her Scaratelli jacket over one shoulder and slipped on a pair of B&L mirrorshades. She took the stairs down to street level and walked a couple of blocks to the monorail. A few stops later she left the train and found a telecom. Slipping a certified cred-stick into the slot, she waited while the system pinpointed her location and acknowledged her credit. It meant the location of the call would be recorded, but she didn’t worry She’d be gone before anyone could arrive. She placed her call, hoping to remember the number correctly. She smiled in satisfaction when an elven woman’s familiar face appeared on the screen.
“Hello, Teresa. Friend of yours needs a little private counseling.”
Find Your Own Truth Page 12
