robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  "Let me sleep on it," he said.

  To his surprise, she was willing to do that. To his even greater surprise, she didn't say anything more about it over breakfast. She even wished him good luck with the day's sim runs. Her cheerfulness made him a little suspicious, but it also inade him feel good. He liked seeing her smile.

  His attitude continued its upswing when he saw that Bear was out of the tank. However, the new arrangement made him almost as uncomfortable. The dwarves had Bear suited up in some sort of bulky bodysuit studded with shiny silver lumps

  at all the joints. Fiber-optic cables trailed from the lumps and disappeared under the bed.

  "Progressive resistance sheath," Wilson said. "We may have to release some of the neuro locks on his motor control. The PRS will prevent him from hurting himself if he starts thrashing."

  At least Bear no longer had to wear the respirator mask.

  "He looks different without his beard," John observed.

  "An embarrassing necessity," Wilson said. "We've already done a growth stim on the hair follicles. If everything goes smoothly, he'll have his beard back before he has to face the public."

  "And if it doesn't go smoothly?"

  "He'll have his beard back in any case. Now, come on. Get in the chair and get the helmet on."

  John did as he was told. This was to be a replay of Bear's awakening by the mad sorceress Nym, the first step in bringing Bear up to date by helping restore his memory. John wasn't sure how it was supposed to work, but the dwarves seemed confident. He supposed that they had been confident when they had first messed with Bear's mind, but he tried to convince himself that they knew better now. And that seemed to be the case; nothing had gone wrong with the earlier sims.

  "We're going to start now," Wilson announced. "We'll set you in first so you can get accustomed to the sim frame. Speak out if there are any anomalies."

  John nodded and then he was back in the Woodman Armory Museum wearing his new night watchman's uniform. The flashlight in his hand sent its beam roving across the silent armor and weapons. The hall wasn't silent, though; scrabblings and chitterings echoed from the darkness. Then he'd thought the noises had come from rats; he knew better now.

  The setting was real enough that John could have believed that he was back in the museum. But the setting was the easy part. He heard the crash in the special exhibit gallery and walked in that direction. This time he knew what he would find, but he felt the edge of uncertainty and fear he'd felt that night because the sim was feeding him an analog of those emotions as part of the replay.

  Nym was there, moving about the case, preparing her spells. The dwarf sim masters had gotten some of the details of the magic staff wrong. Not that it mattered; Bear had been unconscious for that part.

  "Come, Lord. Waken. 'Tis time," the sim Nym said.

  Naked as the day he was reborn, Bear appeared in a nimbus of magic. He had his beard; his face, though now familiar to John, brought the analog feelings of awe and wonderment.

  "You would probably call Mm Arthur," the sim Nym told him.

  Bear is what he prefers, John thought. Wilson had said that Bear's auditory input would be active before Ms other senses, so in the sim John said what he had said that night. "As in King Arthur?"

  The sim Nym nodded. "Rise, O King. The fight is to be

  fought."

  Bennett appeared. "I see I'm too late for the show."

  In John's sim arms, Bear started to struggle. In the reconstructed museum, Nym and Bennett began their battle. Bear opened his eyes, allowing John to see the terror there, and started to thrash. It hadn't happened that way. Bear began to cuss; some of the words John knew, some were in the old tongue that Bear spoke. It hadn't happened that way.

  Wilson cut off the simulation.

  John's head spun with the abrupt cutout. For a moment he was in two places at once, then only one. The dwarven medlab. In the sim chair. Under the helmet. He opened his eyes, still a little confused by the whirling spots overlying everything.

  Bear's body lay still in the PRS, but his facial muscles were rigid as though he was making an intense effort of some kind. The dwarf behind the monitor board watched closely and tapped at his keyboard. John didn't know what the dwarf was doing, but it seemed to have some effect. Bear's jaw unlocked and the furrow in his brow softened. After a few minutes, he looked as though he were sleeping.

  The whitecoats huddled by their consoles, talking worriedly.

  Wilson looked up and said, "Hang on, John. We need to steady him."

  The medlab whirled away and was replaced by a forest. John recognized it at once. They were playing the Saxon raid again. John went along. At the conclusion of the sim run, John found Wilson at his side.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah."

  "Up for another run?"

  "I'm sick of Saxons."

  "No Saxons. We're going to try another update run. Something less traumatic, where he's in control. Something from the spring. Sound okay?"

  "I guess so."

  "Want something to drink before we start?"

  "Some water?"

  "You got it."

  They spun up MaxMix Manor, from the early days after Bear had dethroned Ferdy and become leader of the Dons. Everyone was there, and John was surprised to find himself feeling nostalgic. Maybe it was because Bear recognized him right away, and called him Jack without prompting. Everything was simple again, better than it had been. The camaraderie with Bear reminded him of why he was involved with helping the dwarves restore him.

  It all fell apart when the dwarves introduced Trashcan Harry into the sim. Bear freaked, talking in the old tongue again.

  Wilson said that they had managed half an hour of sim time, and that it was a good sign. John wasn't as optimistic.

  They went back to the Saxons for the last run of the day.

  John was whipped out and depressed when he got back to his room. Sue was waiting for him with more guilt to lay down; she didn't wait for the dinnercart, but started right in.

  "I got people missing me, ya know. Hell, by now they prob'ly think I'm dead. Ain't ya got no family, Jack?"

  Did he have a family anymore? It was not exactly an easy question to answer. His head hurt, and he didn't want to deal with her and her problems right now. "Look, I understand your position, but I don't think there's anything I can do about il."

  "That's where you're wrong, Jack. I been looking around, doing the snoop, ya know. There's this door, see, out by where they let me exercise. I seen them open it once in a while. I'm telling ya, there's daylight the other side of that door. All we gotta do is nip on through and we're outta here."

  "If it's so easy, why are you still here?"

  "1 ain't got the key."

  "I see. Who does?"

  "You can get it real easy, Jack. Real easy. We could be gone outta this place."

  John wasn't surprised; everybody wanted him to do their work for them. "Bear still needs my help."

  "Ain't ya glimmered that they're just using ya?"

  And you aren't? "Maybe they are, but I've got to help Bear if I can. Look, what if I help you get away? What then?"

  She grinned. "Life'd be deucey. Eternal gratitude ta ya."

  The same kind of gratitude you offered last time? he wanted to ask. She must have figured out what he was thinking, because her smile started to fade. He had enough to deal with and didn't want to add the sexual tension between them to the list just now. He shifted gears. "You'll dump the contract on my eyes?"

  "How many times I gotta tell ya, that weren't nothin'."

  He'd hit the right button to distract her. "Okay. What about the suits?"

  "You're outta your slump, ain't ya?"

  "So that contract's over?"

  "Don't see how it can be anything but."

  "Okay." He couldn't think of any other objections to stall with. "Okay. Tell me what you got in mind."

  CHAPTER 16

  Spae opened her eyes, half expecti
ng to see the shadowy figure looming over her. There was no dark man standing before her. How could there be? She was still jammed into the cramped confines of her seat; airline seating arrangements didn't leave anyone room to stand in front of a seated passenger.

  A blanket that had not been there before covered her; David, asleep in the seat next to her, no longer had his. Could his action of covering her have intruded on her dream?

  No. She still felt chilled by the dark man's regard. David could not have inspired such dread in her. There had been no concern for her welfare in the shadow man's icy stare.

  She reached out to touch David, to reassure herself that she was free from her dream. He didn't stir, still asleep, undisturbed by whatever it was that had intruded on her rest. How did he manage to sleep so deeply?

  She had been surprised by David's announcement that he was going to sleep, impressed by the speed with which he had surrendered himself to it. She hadn't felt able to close her eyes; she had been too excited, too anxious. The noise level in the cabin had been too loud. Obviously, she had surmounted

  those obstacles. She didn't remember falling asleep, and she didn't remember what she had been dreaming about, but she knew what had awakened her.

  Did she really? All she really had was a sense of presence, a leeling of being observed. And the dark, shadowy image of a man.

  No, not just a man. A mage.

  She had thought it amazingly good luck that they had not run afoul of the Department in their escape. Up until the time the 9767 left the runway, she'd been expecting agents to board the craft and haul her back. But they hadn't. The Shabrique Airways jet had taken off and headed over the Atlantic unmolested. They had escaped the Department.

  Or had they?

  She couldn't keep her concern bottled up. Only days ago, she wouldn't have had any other option but to keep it to herself. Things had changed, and she was glad that they had. She nudged David, calling his name softly and trusting to the pervasive roar of the engines to keep her voice from waking any of the nearby passengers. David came slowly awake at her prodding.

  "What is it?" he asked sleepily.

  "I think they know where I am."

  He sat up straight, fully awake now. "How?"

  "Someone touched me in a dream."

  "I thought you said none of them could do that sort of thing."

  "I didn't think they could."

  "But now you've changed your mind." His brows were furrowed in concern. "Did you recognize who it was?"

  "No."

  "Then how do you know it was someone from the Department?"

  "I don't, really."

  "Are you sure it wasn't just a dream? We've been moving pretty hard and we're tired. Having the Department catch up to us has been preying on both our minds. You said you were dreaming. Maybe that's all it was. Fears have a way of taking over your dreams."

  And dreams had a way of putting you in touch with mystic realities. But he was right; she was tired, and she had been very much concerned that the Department would try to locate her magically when more mundane methods failed. Had they finally made such an attempt, or was David right? Had her fear made the dream seem real? Surely she would have recognized the touch of any of the Department's magicians.

  They talked some more and finally she came to realize that David's was the most reasonable explanation.

  But, just in case, she didn't go back to sleep.

  Pamela watched Nakaguchi go raving through the assembled Yamabennin guards. This was the other side of his reputation, the fiery tirades to balance the legendary cool. He was breaking careers in the security force, dooming good corporate men and women.

  He was pitiful.

  He was clearly distraught. In kindness, she might have attributed his faulty judgment to a pain-clouded mind, but if he was in such agony from his broken arm, he should have had the doctors give him a better painkiller. She knew where his rage originated. He was distraught by the loss of his pet monster.

  Hagen appeared at her side. "It is as I feared. Kurita is under Quetzal's control."

  She realized then that Nakaguchi's personal security thug was not present. "Where is he?"

  "Gone."

  "What about Joel Lee?"

  "He was not so wary. I arranged for his collection."

  At least they'd retained one of the monster's minions. If he wouldn't tell them where the creature had run off to, he might be useful in other ways. She inclined her head toward the raving Nakaguchi. "Does he know you have Lee?"

  "No."

  "Good. Move Lee to the Brookfield facility as soon as feasible."

  "The police and the press will be here soon," observed Hagen.

  "Tsuroboru from Relations is on it. She's good and the local police owe us a few. The lid should stay on." Unlike some people, she'd had enough presence of mind to start damage control instead of wasting her time looking for a scapegoat, as Nakaguchi was doing.

  Any further discussions with Hagen would have to wait; Nakaguchi had noticed them and was on his way. All the haranguing he had been doing had left him a little short of breath. As he drew in a new gulp of air, she jumped in.

  "Mitsutomo-sama will not be happy to learn that your monster has escaped."

  Nakaguchi's eyes narrowed. "You will not tell him." He stated it like an order.

  "No. I will not." Not until your monster has done enough to discredit you. Not until I have disassociated myself from your fiasco. "But he will learn nonetheless."

  "It is unavoidable," Hagen echoed.

  Nakaguchi glowered down at him, then turned back to Pamela. "Something must be done to conceal the truth of what has happened tonight."

  "It is already being done," she said.

  "So I see." A dismissive glance at Hagen. He locked eyes with her. "Striking already?"

  "Serving the Keiretsu," she told him. "As we all should."

  "I am Mitsutomo-sama's voice. My word is the word of the Keiretsu."

  "I do all that the Keiretsu lawfully asks of me."

  "Tread carefully, Martinez. I know better than you the ways of the gnawing worm within," Nakaguchi warned. "This is not over yet."

  "Indeed not. With perseverance we will weather this storm. Does the voice of Mitsutomo-sama have orders for me?"

  "We must recover Quetzal. I will expect preliminary action plans on my console within the hour."

  She bowed to his back.

  "We must destroy Quetzal," Hagen said.

  "Those are the plans we must make," she agreed.

  Again Spae awoke with the feeling of another presence nearby. This time, however, there was no fear, no sense of dread, just a slow languorous blending of dream and reality. David. She could feel the heat of his body where it lay under the covers.

  So near.

  Her thoughts drifted warmly back to their arrival at the hotel room. They'd been exhausted. She'd invited him to stay, expressing her very real concern that he was too tired to drive safely to his friends' place; it was a wide bed, after all. She'd been intending to sleep, just that. Or so she had told him. And herself as well. Then, as she was starting to drift away, he had shifted and his arm had touched hers. She had stroked that arm, feeling the strength of the muscles beneath the skin and the feather touch of his hair. She rolled over to find his deep, deep eyes staring at her. His hand had reached out to smooth her hair back away from her cheek before pulling her head closer to his. Their lips had met and, for a time, there had been no thought of sleep. And when sleep came at last, it found them in each other's arms.

  She burrowed under the sheet and across the bed to snuggle up to him. Her hand slid over the curve of his hip.

  "Looking for something?" he asked sleepily.

  "Found it," she said. Not all of him was sleepy. He rolled over, but she kept her grip. Though not for long. She soon had him in another grip. She locked her ankles to keep him safely there. Their lovemaking was even better than that of the night before; he had already found several of her button
s.

  When they finished, she stayed in bed while he rose to shower. He'd made her remember that she was more than a mage. How could she have forgotten? On the bed of her reawakening, she vowed, as she had once before, not to let the Art consume her. This time she'd keep the vow; she wouldn't ever give David that excuse. She thought about joining him in the shower and decided against it. A little private time was a good thing for the moment; they were still

  very new to each other and she was already assuming that they were a pair.

  But weren't they?

  It seemed that way to her. But what about him?

  She took her turn in the shower and came out to find him signing off of the room's perscomp. She hadn't heard the tone for an incoming call.

  "Who were you calling?"

  "My friends. They've got an interview lined up for you this afternoon."

  "Already?"

  "Why should you be surprised? You're a special commodity, my dear."

  "With whom?"

  "With me."

  Though she was pleased to hear it, it wasn't the answer she was seeking. "No, I meant with whom is this interview?"

  "Lowenstein Ryder Priestly and Associates."

  "Who are?"

  "A concepts development firm. They're a division of Meta-dynamics."

  "THE Metadynamics."

  "If somebody else is using the name, they're in for a fast lawsuit."

  She sat down on the bed. "I don't know, David. From what I've seen, the megacorps are as bad to work for as the governments. Worse in some cases."

  "Look, it won't hurt to talk to these people. You never know what they might offer. It's not like you've got any visible means of support and Lebeau's patched-together ID package isn't going to hold up to any serious checks. You're an illegal alien. You won't be able to stay in the country without at least a work license."

  "I thought the US had a law that said a foreigner could stay if she married an American citizen," she said. She wasn't sure how serious she was.

  "I think my keen investigative sense detects a ploy," David said. His tone suggested that he wasn't taking her seriously.

  "You wouldn't be trying to take advantage of me, would you?"

  "This is all going very fast, David."

  He joined her on the bed, putting a comforting arm around her. "If it's going too fast, we'll slow it down."