Find Your Own Truth

by Robert N. Charrette

  19

  Janice Verner was not very happy with herself. She didn’t like to think she was stupid, but what other explanation was there? Once more she had let herself believe in promises, had trusted someone else. How many betrayals did it take for her to learn?

  When her body changed the first time, she should have known that her life was changed forever. That was the first betrayal. Like a good little norm, her boyfriend Ken had pretended she no longer existed once he heard of her change. Where had his much-professed love gone? She was the same person inside. Had he only loved her body? If so, why had he lied and told her she was a beautiful soul?

  She should have let her heart die then, but she had been stupid again. Hugh Glass had come to her in that horrible place of exile. His elven features had been so beautiful, and she had been naive enough to believe he meant what he said. She had still wanted to believe she hadn’t changed inside, that she was still a beautiful soul. He had let her believe that he saw through her lumpish exterior to that beauty. They had planned an escape from Yomi, laughing about how they would build a life away from the norms in the Yakkut, or Amazonia, or his native Ireland. He had laughed all right. Laughed at her, making his own plans to degrade and humiliate her. The moment they had weathered the harrowing escape from the island, he had abandoned her in Hong Kong.

  Then she had changed again. It had come so soon after Hugh’s abandonment that she might have thought it punishment for her stupidity, atonement for her cupidity. She might have fallen into self-pity if not for Dan Shiroi. He had found and rescued her from that awful Hong Kong tenement. He had given her back a sense of worth. Of all the men in her life, only Dan had been true.

  So why did she resist becoming as he was?

  She didn’t need to look at her talons and fangs to know. She could feel the beast and its terrible hunger within her. The hunger was there all the time now, an aching hollowness. She felt it even in her dreams. Sometimes, when the craving was strongest, Hugh came to her. Smiling his perfect elven smile, he urged her to satisfy herself. He offered her a choice of bodies, but they all had Ken’s face. At least at first. Just when she was ready to rip out his traitorous throat, Ken’s face always changed into someone else’s. Sometimes it was her father’s, sometimes her mother’s, and occasionally it was one of her brothers’. Most often, though, the face was unfamiliar, just the terrified visage of a harmless norm. The faces she recognized took longer and longer to change to strangers now. But so far, she had resisted. Maybe she hesitated because, in the dream, Hugh urged her so fervently to do it; she saw no reason to please him. Maybe she remembered Dan’s last words. But each day, she grew closer to satisfying her hunger.

  Why had she left the fastness that had been Dan’s shelter?

  For another empty promise, another broken dream. Her brother had come and told her that she could be changed yet again. Changed for the better, back to what she had been. Was that a worthy desire? Dan had been happy with what he was. Shouldn’t she be as well?

  Or was she being stupid again?

  Stupid she might be, but dull she was not. The shifting breeze that carried the soft rustle also held a faint man scent that told her who approached. He had been following her for two days. She was too tired to hide from him again.

  “Go away, Ghost. I don’t want to eat you.”

  He abandoned his stealth, but his approach was only barely louder. He crouched down, just out of reach of her arm. He hadn’t abandoned caution. For a man, he was honest.

  “Don’t much like the idea." he said.

  “Then go.”

  “He asked me to watch you for him.”

  She laughed bitterly. “He’s off learning new magic. What has that to do with me? Norms don’t need fuzz-balls.”

  Ghost turned his head and spat into the bushes. “He’s Dog. He won’t give up on you. Why are you giving up on yourself?”

  Why, indeed? Why did it matter? To anybody. She was what she had become, wasn’t she? “Suppose he does care. Why are you here?”

  “Dog and Wolf have much in common.”

  “Not really. Wolf is a predator.”

  Ghost grinned raggedly at her. “Of course.”

  “And predators have to eat.” She let her fangs show, but he didn’t move a muscle.

  “There is plenty of meat in the woods.”

  She threw back her head and sighed. “Animals taste bad. Besides, they don’t fill me up.”

  He grunted in acknowledgement, and then was quiet for several minutes. “While undergoing their spirit quests, my ancestors would go for days without food. Their spirits were strong enough to bear the burden. And now we know the magic they sought in those days could not really be found. But that never stopped them. So what hardship is a fast when now there really is magic to be found? Or if it isn’t found, you would face no more disappointment than the ancestors. Less, if your brother succeeds in his own quest. Are you strong, Wolf shaman?”

  She stared at him. He was human, a norm. For all his cybernetic enhancements, he was just a man. He had no insight into the halfworlds of the spirit. He knew no magic. His body could never know the exquisite pangs of this hunger. Who was he to question her?

  Was she strong?

  She wished to God she knew.

  * * *

  The Renraku arcology was a city under one roof, a giant pyramidal house that was home to forty thousand people and with visiting parlors of malls and businesses hosting thousands more. Like all houses, it had its neglected corners that went unnoticed by the bustling inhabitants. Using his special executive power as kansayaku, Hohiro Sato knew many of those forgotten corners very well. He had arranged for some of them.

  The Office of Localized Segment Augmentation: Oversight, Screening, and Actuarial Review Division was one. Normally Sato also ignored it, save to review its activities when his loyal watchdog reported something of potential interest. Today, the manager of OLSA: OSARD had requested an interview.

  As kansayaku, Sato was the living and local embodiment of the dictatorial power of Inazo Aneki, founder and patriarch of Renraku Corporation. In all the ways that counted, the position made Sato more powerful than Sherman Huang, president of Renraku America. Huang was king of the arcology, but Sato was the power behind the throne. The corporation’s organizational structure gave such a lowly office manager the right to request an interview with the kansayaku, but such a thing rarely, if ever, happened in practice. When it did, the lowly manager came as a suppliant to the office of his superior. But today, it was Sato who stood at the door to the Office of Localized Segment Augmentation: Oversight, Screening, and Actuarial Review Division.

  The interview request was, in reality, a summons.

  Sato stared at the small letters on the name plaque gracing the office door. Had the source of the summons been the person who operated from this office, he would not have come. But that individual was merely a mouth and an ear, a voice to issue orders and a conduit for information of the less delicate variety. For now, Sato would play along. He nodded permission to Aicabo to open the door.

  Despite the multitude of desks and work stations the chamber was deserted, save for a single person seated at a computer console near the center. The room’s lighting had been adjusted to illuminate only the area around the occupied seat. Hachiko leno looked up and smiled when Sato and his bodyguards entered.

  Ieno, director of the office, was short and slender. She might have been beautiful, if not for the repulsive condition of her skin, which was scabby and erupted with short dark hairs in unfortunate places. In Japan such an appearance would have banished her immediately to Yomi Island, where the changed lived in isolation from the normal population. But this was not Japan. leno could walk the streets of Seattle or dine in almost any restaurant. There would be no official censure, only the harassment that anyone showing ork blood might encounter. Ieno, however, was not likely to suffer much persecution. All it took was one look into her eyes, those dark, monochromatic orbs. Despite t
he lack of an obvious pupil, the eyes left no doubt as to who they were gazing at; her predatory gaze could make one’s skin crawl. As she must be one of the changed whose already superhuman capabilities were apparently augmented by cybernetic enhancement, only someone incautious, foolish, suicidal, or with his own finely honed edge would consider upsetting her.

  “Konichiwa, Sato-san." she said.

  “Ohayo." he replied, abandoning politeness in his irritation at her use of the familiar form before his staff. “What do you want?”

  She smiled at the directness, apparently enjoying his further desertion of etiquette. “I? 1 am but a messenger.”

  Her false air of innocent humility was offensive. “Then give your message.”

  “Very well.” She tapped a few keys on her console and studied the screen for a moment as though to refresh her memory. “An object of some significance has come to notice here in Seattle. I am reliably informed that it would make a wonderful present for your grandmother.”

  It was not the sort of request he had expected. “Why do you tell me this? She has her own wealth. Can she not buy this object or hire someone to acquire it? I already do much for her, and this may go beyond what she has expected of me in the past. Or is the object in some way related to last year’s unfortunate loss?”

  “Related, yes. But it will not lessen the loss. It is only fondness that makes your grandmother summon you in this matter. She is taking steps to assure its acquisition, but thought you would be disappointed if not involved. For you see, the possessor of this object is someone you know, a person involved in events of last year. While the object and his possession of it have no bearing on that other issue, your grandmother thought you might appreciate the opportunity to conclude formerly unresolved matters while earning her gratitude.”

  There was certainly more to it than that, but only by playing along would Sato find out what. Whatever was going on, Grandmother desired this object with a greed that rivaled her appetite for information. “Would her gratitude extend to forgiving all outstanding debts?”

  “Who knows?” Ieno chuckled. The sound reminded Sato of a child strangling. “I believe that she will be so enriched by this gift that anything is possible Even for my small part, I expect a generous reward.”

  "But you are only a functionary. I could lose all I have built by chasing after her ends."

  “She does not expect me to compromise my position by pursuing this object.”

  Ieno showed her stained teeth in what passed for a grin. “Naturally not. But she does wish your personal attention to the matter.”

  “I see.” And he did. He felt inspired. The insistence and eagerness of her agent betrayed Grandmother. Anything important enough that she would mobilize him to obtain it must be worth possessing, and the gaining of it might be enough to free him from her influence. He would never be fool enough to rely on her honor or gratitude to release him, however. That would be a mistake. Instead, he would find a way to use this opportunity to turn the tables. In the end, he would be the strong man shaking off the oppressor’s yoke to make the overseer do the work of the former slave. He had waited too long.

  “The well-brought-up man cannot refuse the reasonable wishes of his honorable grandmother. Give me the details, that I may do as she wishes.”

  20

  The data on the credstick said he was Walter Smith. Smith was the best identity in the packet Sam had obtained from Cog. So far, it had seen him through checkpoints in the Sioux Council Zone without a hitch. He was glad no challenge had come as the panzer runner’s friends transported him from the hangar in the foothills of the Rockies up near Golden. Sam didn’t want a record of Walter Smith entering the treaty city; Smith supposedly lived in Denver.

  Though Sam was confident of the identity of Smith and each of the other three “persons” in his pocket, he didn’t want to press his luck. He planned to avoid the roadblocks and checkpoints between the zones of the partitioned city whenever possible. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Denver’s shadowfolk and street people drifted across the zones all the time. Innocent street people didn’t mind being caught in a sweep that left them sitting a night or two in a detention center. Why should they? It was a way to get food and shelter. But shadowfolk couldn’t afford the attention. Fortunately, most sweeps were perfunctory things, and Sam’s identities would easily stand the cursory scrutiny likely from a cop’s scanpad. Cog had assured him that Smith and his friends were solid, up through a third-tier backcheck. They ought to be—the cost had been so high that Sam had been forced to ask Hart for the nuyen to finance the panzer run that got him to Denver.

  When he picked up the data at the prearranged drop, he saw that he’d be doing most of his looking in the Ute Council Zone. Most of Dodger’s names were Utes or people associated with the tribe. Sam didn’t want to run the zone boundary until after dark, so he had time to kill. He spent a while at a library terminal getting familiar with the city’s layout. It had once been straightforward and mostly rational, but since the breakup of the United States and the partitioning of Denver, any semblance of urban planning had gone by the boards. Each zone had dealt in its own way with the rebuilding of the city. Nevertheless, it looked to Sam as though you could always tell which direction was what as long as you could get a view of the Rocky Mountains to the west.

  Toward dusk, Sam’s wandering led him to a park near the big, blocky building that had been the natural history museum. It was still a museum, but its exhibits now dealt almost exclusively with Indian culture. He thought about checking to see what they had on Howling Coyote, but seeing that he would need to use one of his credsticks for the admission fee, he decided against it. Too much of a tourist thing. Smith and his friends were locals.

  So he sat on a sloping hill and looked out across the meadows and trees. The natural space was so extensive that he suspected it had been enlarged from the days when Denver had belonged to the United States. He had a harder time imagining a U.S. city leaving enough space to let the deer he had glimpsed roam free. The coming night was enlivening some of the animals in the nearby zoo and he heard an assortment of roars and bellows. He wondered if it was feeding time. Looking at the mixed crowds passing through the park, he knew it would be soon. For the wild animals of the streets and the human hunters that stalked the parkiands, anyway.

  Sam assessed the people playing at sports, jogging along the pathways, wandering along the walks, and sitting on the grass as he was. Visually, he fit in with most of the passersby. Though holstered weapons were not universal, many of the people he observed wore them. His own Narcoject Lethe wouldn’t look out of place, but that was no surprise, for he had checked the firearms regulations before leaving Seattle. What he wasn’t used to seeing were the many people in leathers and synthleathers. Even with all the knots and talismans tied into the fringe of his jacket, Sam looked right at home. A lot of the locals had good luck charms hanging from their clothes or incorporated as paintings or beadwork. The Indian fashion craze was even stronger here than in Seattle, and the Plains Indian style more common. With the Sioux in charge of the zone, that certainly made sense.

  Night was the best time for shadow work. Soon it would be time to cross into the Ute zone. But then what? He had some digging to do, but that wasn’t necessarily night work. A lot of the people he wanted to talk to were probably day folk. Certainly, they held SIN numbers and went dutifully to work the way Sam once did. He didn’t want to wait another day to get started, but how to do it?

  Sam wished Hart were here. She knew Denver. He sorted through the credsticks, looking for the one she had given him. It held the entry codes to a safehouse whose address she had made him memorize. She had only told him of the one place, but Sam was sure she knew more. With Denver divided into zones, each the responsibility of a different government, a single hiding place didn’t seem sufficient. Though most of Hart’s background was still a mystery to him, he knew she was a shadowrunner of international repute. Not to have a refuge in eac
h of Denver’s jurisdictions would have left her too vulnerable. She simply hadn’t shared everything with him.

  A hedge against the future, he supposed.

  He hoped it was one she’d never need. Sam didn’t want to lose her. He was happy in her company, as though she were the complement to his spirit. He trusted her with his secrets. Why didn’t she trust him? Was he doing something wrong? Maybe if they had some time together, away from the shadows. But that wasn’t likely to happen until Janice was cured.

  His own worries seemed so petty compared to what Janice was going through.

  He wanted to call Ghost and find out how she was doing, but he couldn’t, of course. Ghost and Janice were somewhere in Salish-Shidhe Council lands and out of regular communication. They had all agreed that would be best. No one wanted Council troops tracking transmissions. Ghost would be making irregularly spaced reports like the one that had been waiting for Sam at the drop. But those messages were so frustrating. There was no way to carry on a conversation, no way to assure Janice that he was doing his best.

  The sun had vanished behind the mountains now, and night was finally settling into place. It was time to go. Sam got to his feet and started down to the path that curved around the pond. He joined the folk leaving the park, abandoning it to night and the predators who only prowled in the dark.

  He had so little time, and so much to do.

  21

  Neko Noguchi was pleased with himself. He had acquired information without a hitch in the acquisition run. It wasn’t on the topic for which the elf paid the highest premium, but it was still eminently salable. That, however, was not the cause of his rejoicing. One did not get excited over the expected. The impending disposition of his haul was another matter. He had gotten past the middle man.

  Cog had declined involvement when Neko had told the fixer’s agent (unfortunately not the delightful Monique) that he had come into possession of “more of the same.” The fixer had arranged for a direct contact with the decker elf, who had asked Neko to continue his investigations, no doubt believing, as Neko intended, that Neko meant the stuff had been acquired from Grandmother. Though his plan worked, it surprised Neko that the fixer stepped aside so easily. His fear of angering Grandmother must be very great. Cog’s anger would also be real if he ever learned that Neko’s latest offering had been obtained without coming anywhere near Grandmother’s widespread connections. That didn’t count the subject of the investigation, however, for one could not do much of anything in the world without a connection to Grandmother. But though agents and subjects were very different matters, no fixer liked to be tricked into losing his percentage.