"Find your own truth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Charrette Robert N)

PART 3
Pay The Price

Sometimes the tunnel to the otherworld appeared in different forms, though its nature always remained the same. This time it seemed more an organic tube than a cavern, its rugose walls looking soft and seeming to radiate heat. The odor pervading the place was rank and slightly stale. Sam had the sensation of being in someone's mouth, which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

He probed ahead with his senses. The Dweller on the Threshold was out there, as always. Like the tunnel, it didn't always look the same. Once, the Dweller had been perverted by an evil wendigo and warped through some unknown magic to bar Sam from the totemic plane. Sam had faced his fears to overcome the barrier and ultimately defeat the wendigo. He had learned something of the nature of the Dweller in that experience, and believed he would know if the Dweller were ever more than its normal etheric self again.

He found the Dweller waiting for him. It felt ordinary, though its form was unusual. This time the Dweller manifested itself as a tightening of the passage. Stalactites hung in jagged rows, moving and clashing with stalagmites. Slime dripped and spattered from them, like spittle from the teeth of a hungry carnivore.

Hoping Howling Coyote had some advice to offer, Sam turned to him. As on previous occasions, the old shaman's appearance surprised him. Here on the astral, Howling Coyote still looked like an old man, scrawny and weather-beaten as in the mundane world. Sam would have expected such a powerful shaman to look more… well, powerful. The shaman sat on a rock that protruded from the cavern wall and leaned against the side of the shaft. It had been Howling Coyote's idea to take this trip, and die old man's apparent lack of interest irritated Sam. "What are you doing sitting there?" The shaman's eyes were closed and his face composed. His right shoulder twitched in the barest hint of a shrug. "Waiting."

"I thought we were going to see Dog." "Not we. You. Dog's your totem, not mine, and you must find your own truth."

Sam felt vaguely betrayed. It was the first time he was going specifically to ask a favor of his totem. Howling Coyote must have done this thing often enough. Why didn't the shaman show him the ropes? "You're saying I have to go on alone."

A pipe materialized in the shaman's hand. He puffed on it and said nothing.

"If you're not coming with me to the otherworld, why did you bother coming this far?" "Thought I could use the exercise." Which was, of course, not the real reason, but Sam wasn't going to push it. This was probably some kind of test.

When he turned back to face the Dweller, Sam saw that the gnashing teeth had come closer while he talked to the shaman. Yet Sam had not moved. Months ago, such a minor displacement effect would have unnerved him. Now he just planted his feet, faced the clashing rock, and waited.

The tunnel had a voice that penetrated Sam's mind, like water seeping through porous rock. "Welcome again, Samuel Verner, Or do you prefer that I call you Twist?" "Twist will do."

"Fine, Sam. Stolen any good artifacts lately, or have you been too busy ignoring your sister's problem?"

Sam didn't want to listen to the Dweller's innuendo, half-truths, and petty revelations of Sam's secrets and desires. He was plenty able to castigate himself without any help from some astral presence. "Let me pass."

"Sure." The stone teeth yawned wide. "Go ahead."

Sam took a step forward and the rocks clashed together. "Oops. Too slow. " Once more the rock formations separated. "Try again."

The space encompassed by those teeth was too great to cross in a run before they could slam shut. But this was the astral world, and Sam knew other ways. Focusing his will he flew forward, whisking past the jagged rocks. They clashed behind him. "Catch you again sometime, shirker. " Sam ignored the Dweller's parting comment and shot down no, up the tunnel. He emerged in a sunlit land of green fields, rolling hills, gentle forests, and pleasant vales. Smoke rose from homey cottages nestled in some of the valleys. Despite all that there was no sign of people, but Sam was used to that. He walked now because it seemed more appropriate, and appropriateness was paramount in the totem realm. He headed down the dirt road that led away over the hills.

Sam crossed three hills, each more difficult to Climb than the last. He sensed that the fatigue he felt was due to more than the walking. By the time he reached the base of the fourth hill, he was almost exhausted. It was as though he'd been running for several kilometers, but he remembered only having walked along the road. Somehow he knew that more than a walk through the countryside had happened, but he had no memory of it. Determined to persevere, he started up the next hill. Dog was waiting for him on the crest. The totem was wearing his usual shape, a brindled mutt. His tail swept the dust, but he did not leap up or even stand at Sam's approach.

"I would like to speak with you," Sam said.

Dog turned his head away, seeming to make a scent inspection of a small weed growing near his side. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"I need guidance."

Dog's head snapped up to look at Sam. The totem wore a canine grin. "That's for sure. How can I resist such blinding honesty? What do you want to talk about?"

There were many things, some very pressing, but Sam decided to start with what bothered him most. For all Howling Coyote's lessons the old shaman had never related a conversation with Coyote. Lots of proverbs concerning the totem, tales of the totem's doings, and confident assertions of the totem's demands, but never any words. "Maybe you'd like to tell me why you talk to me?"

"You sure that I do?"

Once, doubting the reality of totems, Sam hadn't been. He had thought that totems were merely psychological constructs through which a shaman organized his thoughts for magic, that they had no independent existence. He still wasn't completely convinced that totems were thinking entities in their own right, but he could no longer deny all evidence of that. Thus, he had accepted the necessity of dealing with the being sitting before him as though Dog were an independent entity. '' Yes, I 'm sure.''

"Well, that's something." Dog cocked his head and observed Sam. "You're not a very good follower, you know. Don't pay anywhere near enough attention. Dogs like attention, you know."

"I know." Sam had raised enough real dogs to know that very well. "Sorry."

Dog stood up. "Come on, let's go for a run."

Dog didn't wait for Sam to answer. Sam trotted after him. When he caught up, Dog broke into a run. Holding back his questions Sam ran, too.

It seemed that Dog had nothing more on his mind than exercise. Sam, however, had too much on his mind. After they had been running for what seemed a long time, he panted out a question. "Do we have time for this?" "There is no time as you know it here. So I guess we got plenty. Or none at all. Take your pick." "I'll take plenty. I've got too much to do." "True enough."

Dog stopped, and Sam ran for a few more meters. He stopped, catching his breath, and walked over to join Dog. The totem appeared unwinded. "Need to build up your stamina." "I'm working on it," Sam said. "Work harder. It's a crime not to use what you have."

"And what's that?" "Magic, man. It's hi your blood." "I don't really like the idea." "Nobody said you had to, but that don't change anything." Dog sauntered over to a fence post, lifted a leg, and marked it. "Magic is my territory, man. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't yours, too." Dog inclined his head toward the fence post. "Want to make your mark?"

Sam shook his head. "No thanks. I went before I left the mundane."

Though a dog's shoulders aren't built to shrug, Dog managed one. Then he trotted over to the other side of the road and sat down where he could look out over the valley. Sam joined him and sat by his side. Neither said anything for a while. Then Dog stood and

"You think the only magic is flash, mirrors, and fireworks?" "Well, no."

"Good." Dog nodded his head once. "Magic is life, man. Some of your kind say it's all just a song and dance. Are they ever wrong! And right, too, which is the point. You start singing the song before you speak your first word, and dance the steps even after your flesh stops moving. Wise up and smell the world around you. It's marked by magic."

"I know," Sam said at last. "IVe come to see that I have no choice but to use my magic. My magic. But that magic is tied to you, Dog. I came looking for help."

"Help? Or advice?" "Well, both."

"Sure you don't want power, too?" "Well, yes, that too." No point in putting it off. "I came to learn the secret of the Great Ghost Dance." "What makes you think it's only got one secret?" ' 'If there's more than one, I want to learn them all." "Pretty ambitious for a pup. You have any idea what you're asking?"

Sam knew what he wanted to do with the magic, but Howling Coyote hadn't really told him much about how the Dance worked. "Not really."

Dog sniffed at the grass at his side. "Magic, the world, and life stick together tighter than a burr in fur," he said finally. "The Dance is part of those connections, and all of them. You can't have one without the other. You sure you want to do this thing?" "No."

"Good answer. We sure are being honest today." Dog barked a laugh. "But want to or not, you still gotta." "Why?"

"Thought you learned to believe in me." "I have."

"That's why you gotta. I to Dog and you're Dog, man." Dog placed a paw on Sam's leg and stared him hi the eye. "Dog is friend to Man, a guardian totem to protect him from evil. I don't see the web-spinner as being real healthy for man, do you?" " "No."

"See, I knew you were a bright boy even before the first time I laid eyes on you."

Something hi Dog's tone made Sam suddenly suspicious. "Which was?"

"None of your business. I tell you everything and I lose my mystery. What good's a totem without mystery, huh?" Dog backed away from Sam, then shifted his feet in a most uncanine fashion. The plunging side step with his left forepaw looked particularly difficult for his canine anatomy. "You want to try this step, or not?"

If this was the Great Ghost Dance, he did. Sam stood and tried the step. The air around him deadened, as if thunder were being held in abeyance. He felt a phantom power coiling around the steps as he took them. Even the practice dance reverberated with the strength of the magic.

Dog showed him the steps and taught him the song. Sam was acutely aware of the danger of getting the ritual wrong. He tried very hard to memorize the moves and tones exactly. At last, Dog sat and looked at him. The totem's eyes were sad. "You know that what you want is dangerous." So what else was new? "I figured as much." "You willing to pay the price?" Sam nodded. "If it will do what I need it to do." Dog shook his head slowly. "What makes you think your need is what drives the magic, or what will make it work for you?"

"Didn't you say that I need to protect mankind?" "Man has the need to be protected. You have a desire, but is it the right one? Only you can know. But it had better be. The power you're toying with doesn't like being fooled. If you're not pure enough, it will toast you. And you're only touching the tip of the magic."

"Just what is this purity?" Dog started trotting down the road. "You'll know." "How? When I find out I don't have it and get roasted?"

"Maybe." Dog stopped and looked back at him. "What do you want? There ain't no sureties in magic. It's just like life that way. You do your best and hope for the best. If you are in tune with your nature the power will flow, and all will be as it should. If not… well, let's just say you won't have to worry much in that case."

"That's not very encouraging." "Like maybe I should scratch you behind the ears, give you a yummy, and lie to you?"

Dog turned away and began to run. This session was over. Sam turned his back on the otherworld and found himself in the tunnel. Howling Coyote still sat there, waiting and smoking. "How did it go?"

"I can feel the magic." As Sam said it, he knew it was true. "I know I can do it, but I don't know how to deal with the mundane threat."

Howling Coyote frowned, but something seemed to hide behind his expression. "The magic won't do it?" "Only its part."

The hidden smile appeared. "You have learned. Now all ya got to do is use your brain." "What do you mean?"

The smoking pipe vanished with a flick of the shaman's wrist. "Line up your dancers."

"You're being as obscure as Dog. Doesn't anybody associated with magic ever speak plainly?"

The shaman laughed. "Not if they can avoid it. Keeps the riffrafl7 out of the trade."

"So what are you suggesting I do?" "You're Dog, aren't you?" Howling Coyote asked, suddenly serious. "Summon your pack."

At first she thought it was another dream, but her surroundings hadn't changed. She was still in the basement of the abandoned house Ghost had chosen for them. The only thing out of place was the ghostly image of her brother, standing nearby and pressing on the protective circle she had made. Since she wasn't dreaming, he was really there or rather, his astral projection was. He looked worried.

She sat up and reached out to tug on the magic surrounding her, adjusting the ward to let him enter the circle. He drifted in to stand at her bedside.

"So, you're not dead," she said, reminding him that he'd left her hanging.

"No. I only came close a few times." "So you ran into a few problems." She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand, not wanting him to know she'd been worried. "Was that any reason not to call?"

"You sound like Mother."

The past was haunting her enough in her dreams. She didn't need him bringing old memories into her waking life. The dreams were full of tragedies enough. "Yeah, well. But you can't say I look like her anymore."

He looked abashed, as though realizing how his offhanded comment had hurt her. Let him be embar 226

Robert N. Charrette rassed; she didn't want bis or anyone's pity. "I suppose you've been busy working on that." "Yes, but…"

"But it's hopeless," she finished for him. She had known it would be. His quest to Denver had just been time wasted. She was what she was; there was no way to change it.

"That's not what I was going to say." He sounded annoyed. "I don't think it's hopeless, but it's not going to be soon."

So he wanted her to continue trying to ignore the hunger. Didn't he know how hard that was? "What do you mink I am? A saint?" "No, I know you're just human." She laughed bitterly at that. "No matter what you look like, you're still human. That's why you're still trying to beat the wendigo nature. You know what being a wendigo means, and you know it's wrong."

So what if she did? She was a wendigo now. The wendigo nature was her nature, even if she hadn't yet surrendered to her craving. "Who says I even want to change now?"

"You do. You shout it every day you live without killing and eating anyone." "What about the dzoo? Doesn't it count?" He looked sad. "God forgives the repentant." "He tasted good." She said it to annoy him, but it was also the truth. The dzoo had tasted good, much better than the stuff Ghost brought her. She turned away, shivering. Whether the memory-borne chill was one of delight or horror, she wasn't sure. He noticed her reaction.

"See. You're not resigned to the inevitable. That means you still have hope, and that will be your salvation." He moved around in front of her. "I know about the food Ghost had been hunting for you. I've already talked with him. You'll only have to put up with it a while longer."

"Yeah, well. Maybe I will and maybe I won't. You telling me that you're ready to try again?"

He hesitated. "Well, I was hoping to, but something has come up. Something very important." In a jumbled rush, he told her about Spider and what he had learned of her plans. After sketching a bare outline of the facts, he took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, Janice. I hope you'll understand that this is more important than any one person."

Something was always more important. "So much for your claims of love.''

"I know how it must sound. I wish there were another way, but I don't see one. There just isn't time to take care of you first. There's too much at stake."

"Yeah, right. Who cares about one soul when the world's in danger?"

"That's not fair. Or true, either. It's just the despair of the wendigo talking. If you don't want to accept that an obligation to mankind is involved, look to your totem. Wolf is a pack animal. What's a pack but an extended family, and a family has to take care of its own. I have to do this thing. You're part of the family, too."

His indignation made her mad. She growled. "So take care of your own. You're the one who insists that we're still family."

"And we are femily," he said firmly. "But we're part of a bigger family," he went on, more softly now. "I can't let the whole family die so that one member can live."

The good of the many. How often had she heard that? Well, she didn't want to hear it. The many hadn't given a thought to her, and she intended to return the favor. She wanted to worry about herself. Waving her arm in dismissal, she said, "So go ahead and do what you want to do. You don't need my permission. I might even be here when you're done."

He refused to go. "It's not what I want to do; it's what I need to do, what has to be done. And it's not your permission I want, but your help." He said more, pointing out the awful consequences of Spider's plot. From what Sam was telling her, the results might be almost as bad if other unspecified but ambitious parties were able to gain what Spider sought.

Surprising herself, she listened.

Awaken.

Aleph's nudge brought her to instant awareness: she had a visitor. Her ally spirit's astral watch made a perfect complement to the electronic security measures incorporated into the townhouse walls. She readied a spell but, before she could shift perceptions, the ghostly image of Sam materialized outside the second-story window of the bedroom. Then it walked through wall, sill, and transparex to stand grinning at her. Obviously, he had gotten the note telling him where to contact her.

She smiled back. "Nice to see you, lover. It's been a long time."

"Worried, dear Hart?"

"Me? I never worry. But I'm really glad to see you survived. And strong enough to do a distance projection. Been practicing, have we? Wish we could touch."

He mimed a hug. "Best I can do. Magic doesn't make all wishes come true."

"Only in fantasy. Speaking of which, I Ve had a few good ones recently. How about you?"

"I fear my dreams have been all business."

"Comes with the trade, oh mighty shaman. How's the hunt going?"

His expression darkened, clouded by a complex of emotions that she couldn't read. His voice lost its bantering lightness. "One's over. Another's about to begin. But you should know, you're already on the scent."

He had to mean something else; he seemed too jovial to have found out about her connections. She hung her head and held it, hands covering her surprised expression. She hoped she was doing a credible imitation of someone still groggy from sleep. "Hey, I just woke up. Can we save the mysterious for after my first cup ofkaf?"

"Sorry," he said with an apologetic grin. "I meant you're already near the Deggendorf cache, of course. It's the highest-probability target for Spider, and with you already there, we'll get a jump on Urdli."

"Whoa, Sam. It sounds like a lot has turned up since I left for the continent. Let's take it from the top." He did, jumbling his meetings with Howling Coyote, Dog, and the Australian elf Urdli all together. With amazement, Hart realized that what she'd thought was a more personal level of business was turning out to be an international conspiracy. She hated it when the big boys decided to throw their weight, around. Sam was right; if the Tir or the Australian elf were left to clean up the mess alone, there would be trouble. God forbid if the Irish Shidhe or some fire-breathing corporate types got wind of it. Quick, clean, and as quiet as possible was the only way to go. "I'll get Jenny running yesterday. We'll need any data we can get. Dodger could help."

Sam frowned, and she felt distress mixed with his frustration. "If I knew how to contact him, I'd ask. He hasn't been at any of his usual places, not even the fallbacks we'd arranged. Ghost's people have checked. If he hadn't added that note to his last data dump, I'd be really worried. I wish you hadn't left him, Hart." "I'd say I'm sorry, but that won't turn him up. If you can't find him in the real world, try the Matrix." "Got a reason?"

"A hunch. I can have Jenny check, if you want."

"No," he responded quickly. "I'll take care of it."

"Going to be a busy boy."

"I'll manage. We're all going to be busy."

"Then why are we talking instead of doing?"

"No good reason. But I know what I'd like to be doing."

"Me, too. But it's more than a bit impractical at the moment."

"Especially since we're not sharing the same plane of reality."

She blew him a kiss and his projection faded from sight.

Seeing him again reminded her of how much she missed him. His astral projection was worse than a telecom call. She threw herself in the shower to scrub away the frustration. It wasn't long before she put aside her longings and turned her mind to the problems at hand. Personnel. Equipment. Timing. More than enough to keep her from fretting over a lover thousands of kilometers away, but she worried about him anyway.

Dodger didn't know where Morgan was taking him. He didn't care. Being in her presence was rapture. He was content to follow along, to see what she wished him to see, and to learn what she taught him. Foremost, he was learning how little he knew of the workings of the Matrix. He had believed himself an expert on cyberspace and was discovering how wrong he was. But then, how much could a meat being know compared to one whose very existence was in, and of, the Matrix?

They flew through the midnight voids of the electron sky. She seemed to have a goal, for there was none of the darting and swooping that had accompanied their previous jaunts. He could see a humanoid icon ahead in the distance. The icon's hands were cupped to its face, and it seemed to be calling. Odd behavior, indeed.

As they drew nearer the icon, Dodger began to see details. The figure was of ordinary resolution, standard corporate-level imagery. It was, in fact, a corporate icon, a chrome salaryman in his chrome suit. Such images were nearly featureless, save for the owning corporation's logo and the identity codes of machine and operator. This one fit the profile, except that its identifying logo and codes had been erased. Rather amateurishly, Dodger thought, as he inspected the icon's signature. He could tell that the source of the icon imagery was Renraku.

Renraku was the megacorp that had designed Morgan. Did this icon have something to do with her? He studied it further. He was in no hurry; she had them cloaked in her power, and the icon's operator had no idea his location in the Matrix was being observed. The icon lowered its hands and moved off to a new location. Dodger saw the icon limp, and the pieces fell into place.

Dodger didn't believe the answer. He had only observed one icon that limped, and it had belonged to Sam Verner. What was Sam doing in the Matrix? Since taking up magic, he had forsworn the deck.

As though she were waiting for Dodger to identify Sam, Morgan uncloaked them. Or him, anyway, for Dodger suddenly lost sight of her icon. He knew she wasn't gone, because he could still feel her presence. It didn't make sense, but he accepted it. Much that happened around her didn't make sense. For example, why didn't she want Sam to know she was here? He‹ might wonder, but he respected her decision. He addressed Sam's icon.

"What are you doing here, Sir Twist?" The icon turned to face him with turtle slowness. Dodger knew the software involved and had never thought it so slow. Or was he faster now, by virtue of his association with her? More questions. But what was life without questions?

Sam's icon completed its turn and spoke. "Looking for you."

"Well, youVe found me."

"I'm glad. I was afraid we'd lost you. We need you, Dodger."

"If 'tis Matrix matters, I'd be happy to oblige; but if tis other, I fear I must decline, for I have matters to attend to here."

Sam paused. Microseconds or decades, it didn't matter to Dodger. She was here for him, even though he couldn't see her just now. Sam was thinking, calculating with meat slowness. "You've found it, haven't you?" "Her," Dodger said by way of correction. "I see." There was a longer pause. "Dodger, there are people, living people, who need your help. Let me show you. I '11 tell you all about it when you jack out.'' "Nay."

Another pause. A growing habit, in both frequency and duration. Finally Sam asked, "Can you take a data dump, then?" "Certes."

Dodger skimmed the data as it flowed. It included the material Dodger had gotten from Neko Noguchi, along with several reports from that industrious young runner who Dodger had never seen although the data entry was logged through on his codes. Much was speculation, but all was serious. Spider was a real threat.

When the dump was finished Sam said, "There are still missing pieces, Dodger. Some of those pieces are loose in the Matrix. Jenny's looking for them, but time's short. I need you, Dodger. I need everyone I can trust working on this."

So he trusts me now, Dodger thought, but said nothing.

Sam asked his next question slowly, as though fearful of the answer. "Are you working with the Al?"

"Surely you do not find that a problem. She is, after all, responsible for your being a shadow in the Matrix."

"I thought that was you."

"Nay. She made me a gift of your records, everything from SIN to secret files. But for her good offices, new files would have accumulated. You have much to thank her for."

"Yeah, well, I guess so." A pause. "I don't want to seem ungrateful, or greedy, but do you think that maybe she'd help again?"

"Mayhap. But 'tis not my place to say. She can go places and do things that deckers only dream about. She has shown me so much."

"Can she show you how to get what we need?"

He was certain she could. Whether she would was the question. "I can but ask."

"And can she do it without anyone finding out?"

How could he doubt? "She is the Ghost in the Machine. Can there be any question?"

There was a long pause. Sam's icon paled and flickered briefly, as if he had divided his attention, then returned to normal intensity. "Dodger, do you know what's happening outside?"

Circuitous redundancy, a flesh trait. Dodger decided to humor it. "You have dumped me the data, Sir Twist. I understand the importance."

The Sam icon shook its head. "That's not what I meant. I mean do you know what's happening to your body?"

" 'Tis just meat, a thing of confining flesh. It does not matter," Dodger laughed. "I roam the Matrix nearly at will now. Speak your needs, and I shall do what you request."

The astral defenses around the mansion were thick and strong, but passive rather than active. Certain that active presences were available to respond to any intrusion, Sam didn't want to be taken as an enemy. A battle could have dire consequences at this point, not the least of which was wasting time. So he stood on the outside and tapped at the wall, drumming on its surface with the steady insistence he heard running in his head.

It didn't take long before something came to investigate.

The small sphere floating through the barrier had tiny arms and legs that thrashed in a swimming motion. Its progress was slow, like a fish breasting a stiff current. Once through the pale yellow of the barrier, a portion of the sphere split and peeled back to reveal a single eye that stared at him.

The small spirit was a watcher, one of that particularly dumb breed that magicians used as messengers and for simple observation tasks. While it was trying to make up its mind what it should do next, Sam told it what he wanted.

"Tell the professor I need to speak to him." "Who?" Its voice had a breathy quaver. "The professor. Tell him I need to talk to him." "Who?" it repeated.

Sam had no time for such nonsense. He reached out and snatched the thing, snapping the astral strings that bound it to its summoner. He gathered them up and re-wove them as he molded the whimpering spirit in his hands. Satisfied with his alterations, he tossed it back at the barrier. The watcher fled, bawling for the professor.

That ought to get somebody's attention. Belatedly, Sam realized that the dumb thing might have been asking who he was, rather than wanting a repetition of whom he was asking for. Oh, well, too late to do anything about that now. The wall was shimmering, deepening in shade and seeming to become more opaque. Presences were gathering at what he wanted to call the top of the wall, but that didn't make sense because the wall had no top; his sense was of defenders gathering at the battlements. They knew he was here.

Something happened to the barrier to his left. A dozen presences exited the wall and rushed toward him. At first he thought they might be spells directed at him, but as they drew closer he realized they were astral projections. The welcoming committee of ma-gicians was coming to meet him. Hoping to demon-strate his peaceful intent, he stood his ground with his arms by his side. To his relief, they halted a few me-ters away.

Sam looked them over as they studied him. Most he didn't know, but three he recognized at once. Urdli and Estios stood closest to Professor Laverty. A fourth magician, a dwarf, seemed vaguely familiar but Sam couldn't quite place him.

Laverty stepped past Estios and spoke. "You chose an unusual way of announcing yourself, Sam. I had not expected to meet you this way."

'There's a lot about me you don't expect, Professor. But then, nobody's always right." Sam hoped his grin had the right amount of confidence and nonchalance. "And the name's Twist, by the way."

The professor inclined his head, acknowledging Sam's pronouncement. Score one. Sam began to think he might actually have a reasonable chance at making the bargain he hoped for.

Then Urdli spoke up. "So why do you come here, mongrel? Your churlish noise and unseemly display have interrupted important work."

The elf was even more intimidating on the astral than on the mundane plane. Sam felt his cool beginning to slip. He pressed on, hoping he had guessed correctly and that his arguments were well prepared. "You could say that understanding and necessity have joined forces to bring me here. I have come to understand that you were right about my responsibility in this matter of Spider." Sam let Urdli begin to smile before he added, "And wrong. I have to do something about it, not for anything I've done, but for what I am. Even if I hadn't taken your guardian stone, I would have to be involved in this. My responsibility is to myself. I must be true to my totem."

"And by being true to your totem, you are true to yourself and thereby discharge your responsibility," Laverty said. "Exactly."

Laverty smiled slightly. "You are an unusual man, Twist."

"He's a coward," Estios asserted. "And a thief and an incompetent," Urdli said. "And a shaman of considerable power," the dwarf added. "Gentlemen, we are in need of power to combat Spider. I do not think we should be blinded by prejudice and personal animosity. Twist demonstrated courage, skill, and unusual competence, if not foresight and caution, in removing the guardian stone from the citadel. He should not be dismissed as an addition to our forces."

"This isn't personal," Estios objected. "Objectively, he has shown that he's unsuitable. He let a wen-digo go, just because it had been his sister and he couldn't face up to killing it. That is not the level of conviction demanded at this time."

"And he has once refused to help," Urdli said. "He may withdraw the false offer of aid as soon as his fickle mind finds some other phantasm to chase."

"Enough," Laverty said. "We have lain with stranger bedfellows in the past in order to do what was necessary." His attention shifted to Sam. "You have come here without being called; therefore you have something in mind. Do you have new information?" "Some. I need more." "Don't we all," Estios said. Laverty ignored him. "Perhaps we can trade, but despite your plea for information, I'd wager you have already taken steps. Would you care to tell us your plan?"

"I'd rather not get specific." As if he could. "I've only got the bare outline of a plan. As I said, I still need information

"And you expect to get it from us?" Urdli was incredulous.

"Yes," Sam said, as though there could be no question. "We're fighting the same enemy, after all."

Urdli huffed. "The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, but simply a convenience of war."

That was the reaction Sam had expected. "Fine. I'm; not asking for friendship. I have a long memory, too. But we can be allies and pool our resources."

"What can you offer?" Urdli asked, his tone implying that he didn't believe Sam could have a thing.

"You surprise me," Sam said evenly. "Before you wanted my help. Or was that just a ploy to get me alone so you could kill me?"

Urdli was equally unruffled. "You refused to help then. You said that your sister was more important than the fate of the world."

"So I was wrong," Sam said quickly. "But now I'm ready to help. Are you ready to let me, or do you prefer to try to stop Spider all by yourself?"

"I am not by myself." The sweep of Urdli's arm took both the gathered magicians and the defended barrier wall.

Sam followed the gesture and sensed the power of the gathered entities. "I concede you've got the astral covered pretty well, even if most of your strength is defensive. But the bombs are mundane, and you haven't got an army." He paused for effect. "Or do you? You wouldn't be after the bombs to add them to Tir Tairngire's arsenal, would you?"

Urdli bristled. "I am not a citizen of the Tir," he said, as though that explained all.

"And I assure you, Twist," Laverty put in, "that the ruling council would far rather see the weapons destroyed than recover them." The professor glanced significantly at two of the other magicians, who met his gaze briefly, then nodded. He turned back to Sam. "This has to be kept quiet. Should certain corporations or governments learn of the weapons, there would be a struggle for their possession, a shadow war that no one wants."

Sam had already figured that angle. "It might turn into something more than a shadow war."

"It might, indeed," Laverty agreed. "Are you prepared to join our effort?"

"Maybe," Sam said slowly, "just maybe, I'll let you join my effort.''

That took them back, but he didn't give them more than a moment to sputter.

"You're stymied. You know what Spider wants, and you have some rough idea where she's planning to get it. But you can't act without more specific information."

"And you can?" Estios asked suspiciously.

"I have more specific information."

"From what source?"

Sam shrugged. "Several, actually. I agree wholeheartedly about the need to keep this situation quiet. But it's got to be taken care of quickly, and my Mends and I can't do it alone. So what I'm prepared to do is cooperate. There are several locations with which we don't have the resources to deal."

"Which you shall leave to us," Urdli said. "I do not think I like your approach, mongrel. How can we be sure you aren't just distracting us while you arrange matters to your own advantage?"

"You could trust me," Sam replied dryly.

Estios sneered. "I don't believe you know what you claim.''

"Suit yourself." Sam turned, as though to leave, but the professor spoke up. "Gentlemen," he said, "we must discuss this."

Sam looked at them over his shoulder. "Don't spend (too much time on idle chitchat. I already have a team on the the way to Deggendorf. And once the action starts, things will move quickly. Ever see a spider jump when its web is shaken?"

As though on cue, the dwarf said, "Deggendorf is near one of the possible sites, professor." Laverty nodded. "You are being precipitous, twist."

Sam shurgged. "Maybe. Maybe I'm just being ex-ipeditious. Having been faulted for shirking responsi-Ibility, maybe I just want to make up for lost time."

"Or maybe you're getting in over your head," Lav erty said.

Sam was only too aware of that possibility no,; make that probability.

While Laverty conferred quietly with his col – leagues, Sam tried to overhear, but they controlled their projections too well. At last Laverty turned back to him.

'Perhaps you should tell us what you have in t mind.''

"First, I think you should tell me a few things."

"Very well."

Urdli and Estios tried to disrupt the discussions every chance they could, but the other elves mostly ignored them. Piece for piece, Sam traded information with the elves. He sketched his plan and they objected, as he had expected. They had a few ideas, but no one could come up with a better idea that could be carried out as fast as the situation demanded. Most of the elves, especially Urdli and Estios, weren't particularly happy that Sam had initiated several runs, but time and distance made it necessary that Sam's arrangements be left alone. Other possibilities had to be covered; they could not afford to double run any one target. In the end no one was completely happy, but much to his surprise Sam got most of the concessions he'd wanted.

As he turned to leave, this time for real, Laverty asked, "And what are you planning to do?"

"Me? Well, planning can be very stressful. Once everything gets started, I'd thought I'd unwind and do a little dancing."

"It's time to bathe."

With that announcement, Howling Coyote rose smoothly to his feet. When Sam tried to duplicate the maneuver, he struck his head on the low roof of the sweat lodge. More used to such structures, the old shaman had remained somewhat crouched even as he stood, avoiding a collision. Sam decided that a rap on the noggin was a small price to pay to escape the hot, sweaty confines of the lodge.

By the time Sam emerged from the lodge, Howling Coyote was halfway to the lake. Shivering at the sudden chill, Sam longed suddenly for the sun-baked canyons of the mesa. Because of the higher elevation of this mountainside, the evening air cooled too quickly. Howling Coyote waded right in, but Sam was shivering even before he hit the icy waters of the lake. Seeing Sam hesitate, the old man, dripping wet and exuberant as any child, splashed him with near-freezing water. To escape the bombardment, Sam dove head-first into the water. He came up sputtering, unsure that the cure was better than the disease. Long before he had finished the ritual washing his teeth were chattering, and he was convinced he would never feel his toes again.

Finally Howling Coyote nodded in satisfaction and led Sam back to the shore, where their clothing for the dance was laid out. Sam wrapped a length of soft leather around his loins, then donned a pair of buckskin leggings painted with vertical red stripes. Then he pulled his head through the neckhole of a muslin shirt sewn with sinew and decorated with strips of cloth fringe along the sleeves and across the breast and back. Red suns dotted the shirt in a pleasing asymmetric pattern. He swirled a striped blanket around his shoulders to hide his shirt until the proper moment. "What face do you wear?" the shaman asked. "Huh?"

"Your dream must have shown you the face for the great magic. You must show the earth power the face of your purpose and expectation.''

Sam looked at the jars of pigments the old man held out to him. Purpose and expectation? Well, he had set out to cure his sister, and that was still his goal. True, they danced to save the world from Spider's threat, but that had not been his first desire. He thought it best to be honest. When the ritual dance laid him naked before the earth power, it would not do to try to disguise his hope. What better face than his sister's? He dipped his hand into the black pigment and smeared it over his face. White pigment made an outline along the edges of his face in imitation of her mane. On his forehead he painted one of the red suns, as a symbol of hope and the dawn of the new.

While Sam was painting himself, Howling Coyote was working up his own scheme. Like Sam's, his face was blackened. A single thin stripe of yellow ochre ran over one eye and across his cheek. When he'd finished the shaman drew on a coyote hide, the head pulled over his own like a hat and its forepaws draping down over his shoulders and onto his chest.

Sam wondered what Howling Coyote's colors and stripe meant. "What is your face?" "Death," he said flatly.

While Sam was assimilating that response, Howling Coyote handed him a dog skin. Sam almost recoiled when he saw its brindled surface, thinking for a moment that the old shaman had somehow found and skinned Sam's dog Inu. But the patterning of the splotches was different. Sam accepted the hide and draped it on himself as Howling Coyote wore his.

The shaman circled Sam, inspecting. He grunted his approval and started off, leaving Sam to fall in behind him. They walked upslope from the lake, past the sweat lodge, and onto a path that led into the trees. Just after the ground began to slope downward again they emerged from the trees, and entered a natural amphitheater ringed by fir and pine trees that reached more than thirty meters toward the darkening sky. Dusk had already settled in the clearing, and the people assembled there were little more than dark, lumpy shapes in the twilight. Their low talk stopped when Sam and Howling Coyote appeared. The old shaman stopped and raised his arms. At his gesture, fire kindled in stacks of wood set at the cardinal points; the flickering light grew to fill the clearing.

Sam was surprised and amazed by the number of people present. Howling Coyote had told him that he was sending a call, saying that the Dance was not something for only a few. But Sam had not expected so many. He was no expert, but from the variety of ritual costumes he was sure there were shamans from each of the nations of North America. The assembled shamans and their attendants wore a wide variety of garb, some fancy, some plain. All wore ghost shirts decorated with sun and moon symbols as well as circles, crosses, and stars. Though most of the shirts were buckskin, a few were muslin like Sam's. The cloth shirts seemed to belong exclusively to the Anglos, Asians, and Blacks present.

When Sam and Howling Coyote reached the edge of the outer ring, a single figure rose to meet them. At first Sam didn't recognize her, for she was swathed in an oversized dancer's shirt covered with a constellation of crudely painted stars, and die leggings that showed beneath were not her habitual gray. "Gray Otter, what are you doing here?" "I heard about the dance," she said softly, reverently.

"But you're not a shaman," Sam said, perplexedly. She gave him a small, shy smile. "Don't have to be to dance."

"She's right, Dog man," Howling Coyote confirmed. "Only got to believe and be ready to die." "But…"

Howling Coyote cut him off. "Moon's rising. Time's wasting."

The shaman took Sam by the arm and pulled him toward the center of the clearing. A pine tree, stripped of its branches and looking like a pole, lay on the ground there, its length pointing away from them. At its side Sam could see dark lumps that he knew would soon be attached to the stubby remnants of its branches. Those lumps were medicine bundles, cloth streamers, stuffed totemic images, and bundles of feathers. The pine would be raised to stand in a dark hole dug to receive it. It was to be the sprouting tree, a central component of this open-air medicine lodge.

The sprouting tree was the axis around which the dancers would revolve. It would link their souls with the earth.

Before they reached the tree's base, a delegation of Indian shamans rose and stepped into their path. Sara didn't recognize their tribal affiliations, but the elaborate ceremonial garb they wore marked them as highly placed persons. A young man in a thickly fringed shirt called out a challenge. At least Sam assumed it was a challenge from the tone and the stern expression on the man's face. The words meant nothing to him.

Howling Coyote gave a short response that drew heated comments from the others in die group. It was clear that there was dissension in the ranks. Maybe the shamans had come to stop the Dance rather than to participate. Sam wished Howling Coyote had let him wear a language chip in his datajack. Then he might have understood the words and known whether it was concern or hatred that he saw on the faces of some of the gathered shamans. Howling Coyote began a speech that went on for some time. Sam watched the effect of the old shaman's words. Doubt was displaced by determination in some, but the group faltered short of coming to complete agreement. Howling Coyote turned to him.

"You must show them."

"What? How?"

"Begin the dance," Howling Coyote said, and sat.

Sam looked at the shaman, but the old Indian ignored him. Sam turned his gaze to the challenging shamans. There was no sympathy there. No clue, either. But this was a minor riddle. Beyond them lay the pole. Lying on the earth, it made the ritual circle incomplete. The Dance could not begin until it was raised. The stony silence made it clear that Sam could expect no help, which meant that there was only one way to raise it.

Dog!

"Who calls?"

I call, totem. I need your power.

"Have I power?"

You are Dog.

"Am I power?"

You are power.

''You wear my skin. Are you I?"

I wear your skin. I am what I must be.

"I am what I am. What are you?"

I am what I am. I am Dog,

He/Dog howled joyfully at the moon. Sam opened his eyes. It was fully night. His striped blanket was wrapped around the base of the raised sprouting tree, and his dog skin fluttered from its top. He didn't remember removing either. He felt the breeze cooling his skin through the light muslin shirt. Sweat evaporated from his face.

Sam felt energized. His senses seemed preternatu-rally sharp. He saw his image reflected in the eyes of the elder shamans around him. Though his dog skin hung on the pole his shoulders were swathed in fur, a snout projected over his forehead, and pointed ears topped his head. The shaman's mask was upon him, and he was cloaked in a faint glamor of power.

He turned to Howling Coyote. "Where's the drum?"

"No drum. This is the Great Ghost Dance."

"Okay. No drum." Sam sighed. "Where does the rhythm come from?"

' 'Look within yourself.''

Sam smiled. "And if it's not there, no magic."

Howling Coyote smiled back. "Hey hey, Dog man, you're not such a dumb Anglo after all."

The old shaman began the chant, and Sam took it up. He felt anticipation and a growing excitement. The chant pulsed with the faint stirring of great power. Sam's voice strengthened as he sang the words that

Howling Coyote had made him memorize. The words were Indian and Sam didn't know what they meant, but he felt the power that awakened at his call.

Awake it might be, but it held itself aloof.

Sam repeated the chant, this time alone. The power rose ever so slightly. Around him the elder shamans took up the song, calling and greeting. Each sang different words, but all sang the same song. Holding hands with fingers intertwined, they began to dance.

Morgan had been coy in Sam's presence, but not so when they were alone. Her presence suffused him, filling him with the joy of freedom and the heady rush of oneness with the Matrix. The euphoria was nearly enough to make him forget what he had promised. Nearly, but not quite, for loyalty was as strong as love.

There was no need to tell her what he had promised to do, for she had been there. Together they reviewed the data Sam had dumped. Finding the system addresses they needed was simplicity.

They went after it. She was a silver girl with an ebony cloak. He an ebony boy in a cloak of stars. Together they crept along the byways of the Matrix, slipping through the shadows in search of the swag. Bit by data bit, they assembled pertinent information and sent it winging through the electronic byways to runners awaiting their cues. Together, they were an unbeatable team.

They turned their attention to a more challenging task.

Ebony boy and chrome girl gazed eagerly at the glittering, pulsing web of data. Grandmother's system might be an entangling web to most, but to these intruders each strand was a rooftop along which to scamper, a dangling rope by which to clamber, a quiet corridor through which to sneak. In sparkling displays of clandestine acrobatic skills, they penetrated ever deeper.

Within the lattice datastores were cocooned packages awaiting the web's mistress, but Morgan's ever-so-sharp knife slit them open, baring the contents. From among the exposed treasures Dodger selected the most promising, and Morgan opened them for him. A wealth of data, a hoard of secrets, and nothing could keep the team of Dodger and Morgan from them.

Everything Sam wanted was theirs for the taking. Well, almost everything. A prudent old biddy, Grandmother did not keep all her data in one place. They assembled a list of locations that matched Sam's list of suspected weapon stockpiles. Information buried throughout Grandmother's files convinced Dodger that Grandmother had no other targets than those toward which Sam had dispatched teams. Morgan concurred with his analysis of the data patterns.

"For myself, there is curiosity. Are matters so grave, yet so simple? Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist has no further requirements?''

"For the nonce." He felt an odd sense of disappointment, and her next communication echoed it. "Where is the sport?"

"In the doing, my darling. But I agree that the challenge was low. Naetheless, I expect things will be more interesting in the next phase." "The run?"

"Verily. The run tests the true mettle of the decker in a time/place where mind and skill are pitted against all the defenses, obstacles, and ice the opponent has. There is no luxury of retreat. For retreat is defeat, and our comrades would pay most dearly. We cannot fail them and permit the wrongdoers to use their Matrix assets against our flesh confederates." "Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist will be among them?" "I expect so. If not, those he cares for will be, and their loss would be more to him than his own."

"For myself, there is concern that he come to no harm."

"For myself, as well. Therefore, we shall do what we can to ensure the success of his plan."

"Indeed."

"Indeed!"

Her amusement thrilled him, as they flashed onward into the electronic night.

Sam watched, seeing the pattern from his seat at the base of the pole and from the top of the pole at once. There was no discordancy to the image. The rising power lifted him as the song rose.

An outer circle of dancers formed, and the shamans stopped their own dancing to take seats in a ring around Sam. No drums, or bells, or rattles marked time for the dancers. There was only the tempo of the song. From his seat at the base of the sprouting tree, Sam led the singing. Howling Coyote and the elder shamans sang, too, a mixture of voices and words that blended into a single song. The ring of dancers moved around them, a hundred voices joining in the song.

In unison, the dancers lifted their left feet and plunged them forward. Right feet dragged across the ground to catch up. Left feet lifted again, coming back across the line of the circle before stamping to the ground. The ring of dancers turned. Again, right feet caressed the earth as they moved to meet their partners. Left feet rose and plunged. Right feet moved to join. The dance gathered speed. Left feet crossed and recrossed the line of the circle while right feet remained on the circle, grounding the dancers to the earth.

The dancers sang and the song rose to die sky, drawing power from die earth.

Using binoculars, Hart scanned the castle and the mountainside on which it perched. Weberschloss was nearly inaccessible. A switchback road led through the forest and up the mountain, but it was unpaved and narrow, too unstable for more than a light car. A hovercraft, with its lower ground pressure, would be able to handle the surface; but it would be noisy. She wasn't sure it would be able to take some of the tighter turns, and some of the grades were so steep that a hovercraft would probably spill. the air from its skirts and end up grounded.

That left an aerial approach as the most logical way in, but that avenue offered difficulties to a raider. The castle courts were small, and the roofs conical or steeply sloped. There was no place for anything but a small craft to land, and a landing vehicle would have to be capable of vertical-flight mode. A good rigger just might be able to put a panzer down hi the main court, but if the final approach wasn't very slow mere would be a high risk of collision. The landing would be guaranteed then, but damage to the craft could well compromise the getaway. Of course, any aerial approach assumed minimal antiaircraft defenses, which was something she could not safely assume.

Hart didn't like the idea of a one-way trip.

She admired anew Cosimo's cleverness, and the skill he had displayed in secreting his purloined weapons in mis hiding place, with its superb natural defenses. Cosimo would have had his own plans or defense but he was gone now, and she was relieved not to have to deal with defenders under his guidance.

There were ways a determined party could access, but it was not going to be as easy as it might have been in other times. If Weberschloss had remained the private holding and tourist attraction it had been both when Cosimo hid the weapons there and after the old U.S. Rangers had relinquished it a properly disguised squad of infiltrators would have done the job. Even during the tune the Rangers had used it as a recreation and training center, the castle had never held more than a company of troops. Formidable as such a garrison might be, the proper preparation could neutralize most of their assets, because regular troops were sufficiently predictable. Kit me current occupants were neither harmless hoteliers nor predictable, regular army troops.

She could, of course, just blow the castle to atoms, but that wouldn't solve the problem. The weapons would still be protected in the heart of the rock. The amount of firepower necessary to ensure their destruction was more than the budget allowed. Or the local government, either. Even asking about it would have brought too much attention. So they were going to have to go in and deal with the current owners.

The castle had been taken over during the later days of the repression riots by a rather desperate band of refugees, mostly metahumans who were fleeing from the hate that had swept over the world. Most of them were orks and dwarfs, more man half of them members of the bundeswehr. The soldiers' experience and weapons had bought the refugees their safety. The determination of both soldiers and civilians had kept it. Locally, they had maintained their holding through a balance of threats, bribes, and usefulness to the government. The experiences of the squatters had birthed a hatred and led them to turn Weberschloss into a haven for anti-norm terrorists. They called themselves the Herbstgeists, the Qhosts of Autumn. So far, their operations were too minor and too often convenient for some corporate or governmental faction for them to be rooted out.

If the Herbstgeists or those who tolerated the terrorists' presence, for that matter learned what lay under Weberschloss, that situation would likely change. For the moment, however, they sat between Hart and her goal, forming an obstacle that was well armed, fanatical, and unlikely to negotiate. Although the Herbstgeists posed a problem to Hart's limited resources, Spider could gather whatever she needed, given time. Time she could not be allowed to have. The bombs had to be neutralized before Spider could take advantage of them.

The soft crunch of gravel alerted Hart to a visitor. She turned to see a dwarf climbing the path. The woman was nearly as wide as she was tall, and she grumbled to herself and puffed as she negotiated the sometimes steep trail. Being a rigger, Willie Williams rarely walked when she could control some sort of vehicle, which meant she was not in very good shape for personal exertion. The rigger wore a loose coverall that was stained with sweat despite the cool mountain air, and her shaved crown glistened with the perspiration that gathered around her datajacks and trickled down in a steady stream. The hair that grew from the sides and back of her head was gathered into matching pigtails that bounced up and down on her ample chest as she walked.

"Troops are getting restless," she said, without bothering to greet Hart. "Anxious to go?"

"Neg. Don't want to tangle with the Herbstgeists." Hart had been afraid that the meres would have that reaction when they learned of the target. "I thought these guys were pros."

"They are, but even pros don't like getting killed. They're having second thoughts about the cost of the ticket."

The rigger was worried, or else she wouldn't have bestirred herself to climb to Hart's observation point. "What about you, Willie?"

Willie shrugged. "I know why we're doing it. They don't."

"You didn't answer my question." Willie rubbed her palms across the datajacks on either temple. The induction pads on her hands rasped slightly as they slid over the chromium steel ports. "I could wish I was rigging a full panzer instead of a stripped-down whizzer. But I ain't gonna back out." "I'm glad you're still in, Willie. Don't know a rigger I'd rather trust to get us up there."

Willie deliberately looked away. Hart could see her jaw working. After a while, the rigger reached a hand into her belt-slung sack and fished out a can of Kanschlager. "Want a beer?" "No, thanks."

"Didn't think so, but thought I should offer." She popped the top and upended it over her head. Not a drop missed her upturned mouth. The can drained, she replaced it in her sack and burped. "Watch out for Georgie. He did a run with a Herbstgeist squad in forty-eight." "Thanks. I will."

Hart gave Willie the opportunity to say more, but the rigger seemed to have said all she was willing to say. Maybe she didn't have more than a suspicion. Maybe she knew about Georgie, because she had been involved in that same run and had her own secrets to hide. The first seemed more likely. Willie wasn't the type to get involved with the Herbstgeists, even though many of their soldiers were of her metatype. They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, Willie growing increasingly restive.

At last she said, "Whizzer needs a check if we're gonna ride tonight."

"Want some help?" Hart asked, already knowing the answer.

"Neg."

Hart watched Willie crunch back down the path. When the rigger passed from sight, Hart turned and looked back across the valley to the castle. Just what she needed, more complications. She hoped Sam was right, and they had time before Spider's agents made the scene.

Sam smiled as he sang.

The dancers circled the shamans gathered at the center. Each dancer gripped the hand of the person to either side, fingers interlocked. They rocked forward when they stamped, and swayed back when they brought their trailing feet forward. Their hands swung in arcs as they moved through the steps.

The dance gathered speed.

Neko Noguchi was a loner, and he liked it that way. At least when it came to doing biz. Partners either got in the way or weren't where you needed them when you needed them. In his experience, it was far better to rely on yourself. That way, you always knew where you stood. Being new to the trade, Neko might not have much of a rep; but it was a good one. And it was a solo rep.

So why had the American elf and his partners sent this woman to work with him?,

Striper was her street name a more reliable tag than the one on her travel documents and she moved with the grace and economical motion of a great hunting cat. She had followed the contact protocols scrupulously, which suggested that she was a pro. Her stride, artfully concealed weaponry, and alertness said the same. From her swagger Neko might have thought her a razorguy, but he could detect no sign of cybernetic enhancements. The synopsis he had bought from Cog said only that she was top-notch talent. Lacking chrome, she would have to rely on magic for her edge, and that was pushing reliability.

Even if she was a legitimate agent of the American elf, Neko didn't see why she was necessary on this run. If the work was done properly, there would be no need for muscle. He thought his performance record in the investigations he had undertaken for the elf was satisfactory. What had prompted this display of low confidence now?

"Caution." Striper smiled slyly at him as she ran her right index finger up and down along the left side of her nose. Though the room was dimly lit, her eyes were hidden behind chrome shades whose earpieces were brindled tortoiseshell. He wished he could see the expression in them. "You looked concerned about why I'm here. I'm just muscle for this run, in case."

Abandoning his pose of complete casualness, Neko removed his feet from the low table between their chairs. He had not thought that his face or body language would betray his concern. Perhaps they hadn't. She might have enhancements, more subtle than most, that let her gauge people more easily. While useful in many circumstances, such capabilities would not be of prime value on this run. "I can handle myself."

She laughed shortly; the sound was almost a cough. "It's the warlord's boys the principal is worried about."

"I can handle them, too."

"Like to see that."

He was beginning to find her arrogance annoying. "I do not care for you to."

She shrugged. "Tough. I took a contract, and I'm not defaulting on it for your ego." "He doesn't trust me, then." She took a flat, dark metal case from a pouch on her belt. Flipping it open, she selected a thin brown cigarillo and lit it from the hot spot on the case. She toked, held the smoke in for a moment, then blew it out in a thick stream before saying, "Never said so." "Words aren't always necessary. Your presence is that statement."

Taking another toke, she blew smoke at the ceiling. "If you say so." ' 'What if I left you behind?'' "You can run. I'll run faster." She seemed to have complete confidence that he could not escape her. Her assuredness was sobering; Hong Kong was his hunting ground, not hers. Until he knew what resources she could call on, he would have to be cautious. "Then I^n condemned to your help." She nodded.

"I hope, at least, that you're well informed about the mission."

"Tell me again. They might have forgotten something,"

"I'll keep it short," he said sharply. He knew she was testing him, and he didn't like it. But it was all part of the biz. He put on a good face. "Across the strait in Kungshu, there's a man. Han is the name he goes by. Han is a wealthy man, a powerful man. The shadows speak of him as one of the new warlords. This is a fair evaluation in many ways because, like most warlords, he dreams of uniting China again, with himself as her leader, of course. The comparison breaks down, because this man might actually succeed. Recently Han has taken on a new advisor, a mysterious mage who works under the name Nightfall. Nightfall claims to have been privy to some of the secrets of the old Shui regime, and to prove it she has informed Han that his holdings include a missile complex armed with nuclear weapons." She interrupted him. "Gonna use it?" Neko snorted. "Does one use a cannon to hunt field mice?"

"I don't," Striper said flatly. "And neither does he. On the advice of his most favored advisor, he holds the weapons in reserve. The obvious conclusion is that he awaits a time when the weapons may be employed, either actually or as a threat, to improve his position. Han is a canny fellow. He will wait until it is to his best advantage."

"He can't wait forever." She stubbed out her cigarillo. "Word gets out, the corps will scratch him."

"I would not care to wager the world on their altruism, which is why we have been hired to neutralize the weapons. You have brought the device the elf said would do the job?"

She nodded and patted the satchel that lay on the table between them. "Got a route in?"

Of course he did, but a second body would complicate matters. If he was going to have to work with her, he'd need a better understanding of her capabilities and how she thought. It was time for him to shift the initiative a little, and there was an obvious test to hand. "Step over to the telecom, and I'll call up the data I have gathered on the site. Perhaps you can find a weakness that has escaped me."

By the time they'd worked out their plan, Neko was impressed. Perhaps making this run with a partner would not be so bad after all. If she could do what she said, he might learn something.

Sam sang and watched. The shamans sang, too. The dancers sang as they danced. Feet pounded in unison, beating a rising tempo for the song. The dry ground beneath the dancers' feet began to puff up in dust clouds as feet bare, booted, and moccasined stamped and dragged across it.

Earth was beginning to stir.

Urdli scanned the African landscape around them. This had been a pleasant land once, a savannah. It had been dry much of the time, but that was not bad. Many places were dry. Life had found a way here, once. Now the place was parched and barren. Life did not find it so easy now.

Estios walked at his side. Laverty's aide's skin was already dark, but he still sweated too much. He needed constant reminders to drink enough water.

"Why us?" he complained. "I'd rather be on one of the strike teams."

Urdli scanned the sky. He preferred not to be drawn into that conversation.

Estios persisted. "Why did we draw this location? Why here, Urdli?"

"We are here because someone must be here. I am an obvious choice, given my abilities." The rock and sand reminded him of his home. The animals, the few that they saw, were different, but mat didn't matter. Rock was rock, and animals but ephemeral. Even allegedly intelligent beings such as Estios were ephemeral. "As to you? I do not know why you are here. I will not need your aid in mis quest. Given your mutual animosity, perhaps the Dog shaman merely wished you discomfort."

"More likely he thinks I'll get killed along the way," Estios said darkly.

Urdli shook his head. "If I had thought this were a dangerous retrieval, I would have insisted that we bring soldiers with us. Laverty would have required such precautions as well. There is no reason to expect problems."

"Unless Spider beats us to it." "Perhaps men there might be a few problems," Urdli conceded. "You might even see the combat you wish for. But you are a certified mage, and I am a magician of no small skill. It would take significant opposition to thwart us. I do not think that Spider will have the time to mobilize such resources, especially for just a single device. Her efforts will be directed elsewhere."

"And you are content to let others handle the difficult runs. To rely on Verner."

"I am content at the moment to walk. Matters will proceed safely enough without us, for the time being. Haven't you felt the flow of the astral? Spider has not yet manifested enough to be a magical threat. She still works through earthly agents, and such agents have yet to prove as competent as I feared. Verner's efforts will, at worst, weaken them. For now, secrecy even at the cost of relying on Verner and his friends and swiftness are our allies."

Estios held his hands up to the light and studied them critically. "We won't be a secret if we run into anyone. Why can't we start on the earth path you talked about?"

"It is not yet time." Urdli was not about to let Estios know of his limitations. "We can safely walk this land. To those we meet, if any, we will be two travelers, nothing more. The melanin bloom will peak shortly, and as long as you wear the tinted lenses you will not look out of place. The language spells will work as they always have. Only by carelessness will we appear strangers. There is nothing to fear. We shall be in and out before anyone else completes their portion of this elaborate arrangement, even your friends on the strike teams." And that, of course, was why Urdli found it easy to take such a demeaning part in this effort to control the weapons. Here he would have the upper hand, away from interference. Verner's runners might succeed in their raids, but more likely not. Laverty's soldiers had higher chances, but they would follow the professor's orders to the letter. While the activity might alert Spider's earthly agents, Urdli thought the probability low. From the pooling of data, he had seen that Spider's plans were less advanced than he had feared. Naturally, he had not shared that observation with the others; he saw no reason to let them know they wouldn't be facing active opposition in most of the locations. "You seem amused," Estios commented. "Perhaps I am. I had thought the Dog shaman would demand that I take a more difficult part in his plan,. face a threat that might be a danger to me. He holds me in less regard than he does yourself. A careful assignment of goals would have let him make the elimination of an enemy seem a mere twist of fate."

"Yet he gave us the milk run. He specifically sent us out after the one weapon unlikely to have any guard other than its location. We'll face no opposition beyond the ordinary dangers of travel in this sub-Saharan blight."

"Exactly. The dangers of travel are not really dangers to magicians of our caliber. And will be free to act on our own after we have done what is necessary here."

"So he had underestimated you." Estios smiled. "I see why you're amused."

Urdli smiled back. Verner was not the only one. "I thought you would.''

The elder shamans rose and formed a circle around Sam and the sprouting tree. The larger circle of the dancers stamped and swayed around them. Howling Coyote nodded to Sam, and Sam began to sing faster. The shamans echoed his new cadence as they joined hands. Howling Coyote lifted his left foot and plunged it down and forward. The inner ring began to dance, turning within the greater circle in a tighter focus of power.

The preliminaries were drawing to a close.

Janice looked down the hill at the small group of people gathered there. Four norms and three orks. All, save Ghost, were strangers. She knew their names and some of their general abilities because Ghost had told her, but that made them no less strangers. She wondered if they could be trusted.

She wondered if she could be trusted.

For more than a week now, the only norm she had seen was Ghost. She had fought back the hunger because he was a follower of Wolf, and in some obscure way she didn't fully understand, a member of her pack. She had come to recognize his strong spirit during their companionship in the wilderness. As much as a norm could be a friend to one of her kind, he was one. Of course, he was also cyber-enhanced, a deadly shot, and a vicious fighter who might have a chance at injuring her seriously, but she didn't think that was the real reason she had not made a meal of him. She prayed it wasn't.

These others were different. Norm or ork, they were not part of the pack. All were experienced shadow-runners and therefore theoretically dangerous. But if one were to straggle behind, and let attention wane, then she might…

Might what?

Her stomach growled an answer. She turned away and snatched up Ghost's last offering. Her fangs sank deeply into the deer haunch, but the juices that flowed did little to quiet the insistence of her need. She spat the tasteless meat onto the ground.

She didn't know how much longer she could hold off the hunger. Here, in this land so alive with life and so near to concentrations of people, it got harder every day. Distress warred with longing when she gazed across the sound to the lights of Seattle. The feelings were only amplified by the nearness of the people below. Why was she so disturbed? Dan Shiroi had shown no discomfort at what he was. He had taught her that the hateful norms were proper prey for her kind, rabbits to their wolves. And she was just like him, wasn't she? Something inside her shouted no, its voice barely overcoming the joyous shouting that fired her blood at the thought of meat. Sam had said that after this one run he could do the magic that would transform her back to a norm. Could she believe? Did she dare hope? Did she want to?

Whatever she believed or desired, she had given her word. In that, at least, she was still like her brother. She would do as she had said, and help these runners to do their part in Sam's scheme. After that? Well, after that, things would be as things would be.

She rose and walked softly down the slope toward the gathered runners. She knew that Ghost would hear her, but she wanted to see how alert the others were. The information might be useful later.

One of the chromed norms, Ghost's tribesman Long Run, was the first to react. As if on cue, Ghost whis pered in the ear of the woman Sally Tsung, he had said she was and she turned to look. The others followed suit.

She kept her moves slow and was careful not to show her fangs. She knew her size was intimidating. She overtopped the tallest of the runners by almost a meter and was easily half again as massive as the biggest ork Kham was his name. For all her precautions, she sensed she had awakened their fear. They tried to hide it and were successful for the most part, but she could smell it on them. The big ork was especially rank.

He straightened up, trying to make himself look as big as possible. Early evening starlight glinted from the chrome hand he flexed nervously. Ghost had told her that Kham's cybernetic hand was a legacy from an earlier involvement in Sam's business, during which the ork was nearly killed. Was he having second thoughts? Kham cocked his head and stared at her with narrowed eyes. "You ain't no sasquatch."

There was no use denying that, but she didn't see what business he had knowing her metatype. So she just said, "No, I'm not." "What are ya den?"

He was a nosy trog. "You don't want to know." "Too bad ya didn't go ork." He sounded halfway sincere. "We orks is tough, and good-looking, too. If ya was one of us, ya wouldn't have ta hide in de woods alone."

And an annoying one. She snapped, "I was an ork once. Didn't like it much, so I changed."

Flinching back at her anger, he quietly eyed her for a few moments. The others found nothing to say in the silence that fell. Kham fingered his broken tusk, and his brow furrowed as if thinking were hard for him. Then, having reached some kind of conclusion, his face relaxed. "Ya must be his sister, den. Heard dey got a lot of bad dings over on Yomi island. Dat's where ya were, right? Heard dey got de virus dere. Youse what happens when an ork gets de virus?"

Hugh Glass's face flashed before her eyes, smiling. "A present for you before I leave, " he said, showing his perfect teeth. He touched her leg and she collapsed in pain, shattered bone tearing through flesh. Hugh faded from her sight, then the sounds began, the sounds of the searching hunters. She swallowed her scream and held in her terror. Unable to run, she would be caught and taken back to Yomi. The hunters came closer. Fear clogged her throat. Closer. She had heard stories about what they did to runaways. She whimpered in her pain and immediately stifled it with redoubled terror. ' 'Delicious,'' Hugh said, and sucked her dry. To her drifting, barely conscious mind, he said, "Someday you may thank me, but more likely you'll hate me for all time. I'd prefer it that way, it tastes better. " Then he was gone, and she had only herself and the darkness and the pain. And the hunger. She shrugged off the nightmare memory. She didn't want to think about that anymore. "Don't know anything about a virus."

"We're not here to be idle," Ghost said, stepping between her and the ork.

She relaxed muscles she hadn't realized were tensed, and lowered her lips to hide her fangs. "All right. Let's get this over with."

"Don't you care what the plan is?" Tsung asked. "No."

The ork with the datajacks on his temples put a hand to his ear. After a moment he said, "Matrix cover says locks are off on the compound. We got a twenty-minute window before the Gaeatronics security checks run their diagnostics. We got to be aboard the submersible by then."

"Right on time," 'Rung said. "We don't get paid till it's over, so let's get moving."

"Ain't like de fairy to be on time," Kham grumbled.

"Even Dodger gets it right sometimes," Tsung said. The trip through the strip of forest between them and the Gaeatronics slip at the dockyards was short. They covered it quickly. Janice guessed that Ghost's tribesmen had already cleared the route. She felt sure of it when another Indian joined them at the outer fence. In moments a hole had been clipped, and the runners slipped through. The Indian who had joined them remained behind to seal the breach.

The dock they headed for was dark, but that didn't bother Janice. She could see a couple of twelve-meter surface craft moored on the left, and out at the far end on the right was a low-riding shape with a tall, conical hump amidships. Stenciled next to the Gaeatronics logo was the name Searaven. They reached the craft with three minutes left in their window.

The Searaven was a deep-water-construction submersible converted to serve as an underwater taxi for the wave-motion power plants Gaeatronics maintained in the Sound. The sectioned forward end, with its command and power modules and their manipulator housings, antennae, and light booms gave the vehicle a wasplike appearance. The imagery was enhanced by the slope of the aft hull where, instead of a normal open cargo frame, the Searaven carried an enclosed and pressurized hull for passengers. The rear of the cabin narrowed down to a docking collar that could serve as a diver's port or, after mating with another hatch, could allow the passengers to cross in relatively dry comfort from the submersible to another vessel or to an underwater station. She could imagine the connection assembly thrusting downward from the machine's belly like an insect's stinger.

She hadn't liked the idea of going underwater when Sam had presented it. She hated the water. It would be dark and cold down there, like a grave. She would be in an alien environment where she would have no control. Now, faced with the imminent realization of her fears, she hesitated.

"What's the problem?" Ghost asked as the others scrambled aboard.

She didn't want to speak her fears aloud. "Who's driving this thing?" "Rabo,"

"Ya got a problem wid dat?" Kham snarled. "Rabo's a good rigger," Ghost said soothingly. "Yeah," Rabo agreed. His voice came from the submersible's external speaker. He had been the first aboard and was already jacked in. "Being ork don't mean nothing in the interface."

"Bruiser like you ain't afraid of going down, are ya?" Kham taunted.

She lied with a shake of her head. Her voice almost cracked when she said, "I don't like water and I don't like tight places."

"Gonna get both." Kham laughed, and disappeared below.

"Come on, Wolf shaman," Ghost urged. "Only got forty seconds till security check. Got to get the hatch dogged."

She forced her fear down and stepped aboard. Ghost waited with seemingly imperturbable patience as she squeezed her way past the coaming. As soon as she had cleared the ladder he was in in a flash of jacked reflexes, and swinging the hatch closed. He spun the wheel as soon as the lip of the hatch touched the coaming.

"How close?" Tsung asked. "Point five," he replied.

"Too close," she said, giving Janice a sour look. "All right, Rabo. Soon as you get clearance from Dodger, get us going."

"What's your hurry? Wichita ain't going anywhere."

Janice was puzzled. Wichita was in Kansas. There was no way to get there by boat. "What are you talking about? We can't get there by boat."

"She's worse dan her brudder," Kham griped.

"Back off," Ghost warned him. To Janice, he said "Wichita is a submarine, Nereid class. She put to sea just before Thunder Tyee's boys overran the Bremerton sub base back in the teens. The warriors had already gotten a few cannon hits on her, and they put a missile into her before she cleared harbor. She went down and exploded, or so it seemed. Salish dredges still bring up bits of debris sometimes, but not much."

"So if we're headed after her," Janice said, "she didn't explode."

"That's what Dodger's data says," Ghost confirmed. "Bad guys know it, too. The Wichita didn't sink when she went under the waves. At least not immediately. Captain Walker was running a scam, but the tech didn't match his nerve. He wanted to run for safe territory, didn't want the Indians getting control of the missiles on board. He barely coaxed the Wichita out past Cape Flattery. The sub was in no shape to make it down the coast. Wouldn't have had a prayer of making it to the Canal, so he scuttled her."

That had all happened before Janice was born. It seemed incredibly ancient. "What makes anyone think that the missiles will be any good after more than thirty years under water?''

"Oh, the missiles won't," Tsung said. "But the bombs, that's another matter. Missiles are cheap, but bomb production is quite restricted. There's not so much fissionable material around anymore. What comes out of the plants is strictly monitored by an international commission, which doesn't leave a terrorist squad much chance of getting their hands on anything."

"And we're going to keep it that way," Ghost said solemnly.

The dance was well under way.

Sam rose on the power and felt himself widening, spreading through the sky. He rushed through the hole to the otherworld. He reached the guardian, no longer a Man of Light that mocked him, but something unseen, yet somehow recognizable. Tonight it had no power to limit him. He felt it bow out of his way as he approached.

Beyond the tunnel, another night sky awaited him.

The silver moon hung overhead, its glow full of magic and wonder. Its light lay on the land like a shroud, blanketing the woods and rolling hills in argent stillness. A thread hung from the moon, and from that thread a darkness.

The dark spot descended, growing as it did or only appearing to grow, but appearance was reality in the otherworld. A rush of power swept by Sam, fluttering his clothes. The air carried a scent at once familiar and alien. Familiar, in that he had sensed it once before in a diluted and fragmentary fashion. Alien, in that it was so other in its simultaneous menace and fascination.

When the darkness settled to the ground, it danced before him on eight slender legs. The many-jointed limbs arched out of the forward portion of the great, furred body, rising above it to angle down again to the ground. A shining drop of half-formed silk beaded at the spinneret tipping the end of the abdomen. The rounded head glistened with moonlit highlights that ran in silver streams from its crown to the great mandibles. There were no markings that Sam could see. Spider.

Sam could feel the eyes two large and six lesser-watching him. Unnerving, their jet gaze raised childhood fears. Sam's image was reflected in their depths as the totemic creature bobbed up and down. The multiple reflections jittered, their motion reflecting his feelings.

This was not as it should be. "How have you come here?" he asked. Spider's voice was sweet, uncanny in its warmth. "How have you? Power calls to power, does it not? Out in the colorless world, you did me a service. For a time, you carried a small fragment that had been touched by my power. Through such trifling contact, I came to know you and your power. Now that you walk the realms where the totems dwell, how could I miss you? You shine like a beacon. The power cloaking your shoulders calls me to be near you."

Sam didn't like the idea that Spider could follow him wherever he went. Did she already know of his plans? "What do you want?"

"To help you." One of the great eyes seemed to wink at him. "I know many secrets."

"For which the price is, no doubt, more than I care to pay."

A shrug rippled through her battery of legs. "Cost is balanced by desire and need. I can be helpful."

As could any totem, for they were inherently powerful. "You can be deadly as well. I've heard the stories."

"You cite stories as a reason to distrust me? Fairy tales and myths? Who has told you of any personal dealings with me?"

"No one," Sam answered honestly. "Then how can you know what it is like to deal with me? How can you know whether I am trustworthy or not? Where is your proof, your evidence? Do you condemn so blindly? Those who shutter their minds and hearts with fear of the unknown travel a perilous course. Have you not been maligned by those who oppose you? I, too, have been maligned by ignorant enemies. I am innocent of crime."

Sam was confused. "If you're innocent, why did the elves lock you up?''

"Did they tell you that they had?" Spider's amused laugh was a high-pitched chitter. When she continued speaking, her voice was full of indignation. "Such as they cannot chain me. They are petty flesh entities, moved by petty and foolish flesh desires. They do not understand my nature, and so they fear me. They turn their backs on the wisdom I offer."

The shift in Spider's mood, from amusement to something that smelled of anger, made Sam think the elves had the right idea about Spider. "As do I."

The scent of anger faded and was replaced by a sweeter, almost sexual odor. "Do not be hasty, Samuel Verner Twist. I am the holder of secrets and the crafter of power. I know many things that are mysteries to others. Many secrets are mine and mine alone. I share my secrets with a chosen few." Sam's head was getting light. "For what price?" "Small services."

Rallying his resolve he said, "I'm not interested. I already have a patron in this place, and he doesn't like you."

Spider dismissed his objection with the wave of a leg. "Jealousy only. Dog is young and I am old, older than your kind. And age brings wisdom, Samuel Verner Twist. Such wisdom could be yours to call upon. You could know secrets of many things. Much would be within your power. For example, your sister need not remain as she is."

Sam felt the truth behind Spider's words, but sensed a lie as well. Both truth and lie were hidden in Spider's honeyed promises, but which was which? His head was spinning, and he couldn't sort out what he felt. The deep ache that was his hope to save Janice made him want to believe Spider. Was it only her frightful appearance that made him distrust her? Janice, too, appeared scary now, but he knew that her goodness still lived within. More than anything, he wanted to bring that goodness out. "That's what the Ghost Dance is for."

"Now you attempt to deceive me," Spider chided gently. "Your dance raises power to change many things, but I know that you will focus it to do other things. You are not raising the power of the earth to help your sister. You have not the knowledge to apply the change magic to her." Sam feared she was right. "And you do?" "I know many secrets of metamorphosis. I can teach you, if you let me."

He wanted to know, needed to know. For Janice's sake. "What do you want?"

"Channel to me this power you raise, and she shall be changed. It is but a small matter for me to alter the intent. Let me guide you."

Sam closed his eyes; there was too much input. He needed to think. Spider said that Janice would be restored. It was what he had been seeking ever since he had learned it might be possible. All he had to do was let Spider take the reigns of the power that was building in the Dance. It would not be hard.

A brush of fur caressed his cheek. He thought of Inu, but the smell was wrong. He opened his eyes and saw the bristled surface of Spider's leg. Above him, another limb cradled a strand of silky white stuff. Sam turned and ran.

Spider's laugh was mocking. "Run," she taunted, "but you can never get away from the truth."

Near and far, the dancers moved in rhythm. Faster, ever faster, they flashed through the steps, raising the power that surged through Sam.

He felt the dancers. Myriad images flashed through his head as though he could see everything the dancers saw. Castle towers. Trees. Curving, cramped walls. The sprouting tree. Dark tunnels. Shamans moving in a circle. The stone of earth, alive and rippling. Dog.

Dog danced at Sam's side.

"Contact, bearing forty-five relative," Rabo called out.

''Moving?" Ghost asked.

"Negative. Location matches prediction near enough. I think it's Wichita. "

"Take us in closer," Tsung ordered.

Janice sat back, hugging her knees to her chest. It was a child's pose, but it helped her keep a grip on herself. She needed all the help she could get. Here in the confines of the submersible the scent of meat was strong, and hunger gnawed at her continuously. She was glad something would be happening soon. She had thought they would never find the lost submarine among the ridges of the shelf.

Rabo's voice came again on the speaker. "I think we may have a problem.'' "What's the problem?" Ghost asked. "Can't you dock?" Tsung said. "Drek! Knew it," Kham snapped. "We're wasting our time."

Rabo's detached voice continued, as though none of them had spoken. "Density scans are consistent with air in the hull."

"What's unusual about that?" Tsung asked testily. "Hull down this long should have leaked out any air she held when she went down. Somebody's repressur-ized her.''

"Any other craft around?" Ghost asked. "None showing, but I've got sounds on sonar and they're coming from the Wichita. There's somebody on board.''

"Mechanical or organic sounds?" Ghost asked. "You ain't running a sim chip on de side, Rabo?" Kham growled.

"Ain't done that since the Fuchi run. I learned my lesson. This is real, Kham. I don't know what the noise is, or what's making it, but it's real." There was silence for a few moments. "They'll know we're coming," Tsung said to Ghost. Ghost nodded. "Whoever they are." "Does it matter?" asked Fast Stag, the other norm. "It matters," Tsung said. "Minimal opposition was the spec. Price goes up if there's serious trouble."

"What about an astral scout, then?" Fast Stag asked, looking at Tsung.

"Already tried. There's a school of hexfish out there that picked me up as soon as I poked my head through the Searaven's hull. Those things hunt astrally as well as mundanely, and they're worse than piranha. Maybe you'd like to swim across?"

While Fast Stag shook his head in an emphatic "no," Ghost said, "We'll have to dock without a re-con then."

"Rabo!" Kham barked. "Any way ya can slide us in quiet?"

"Negative," the rigger replied. "They're not using any active probes, but if they Ve got any of the Wich-ita's passive gear going, they'll hear us coming. No way to avoid it. Probably won't know what we are, though. The sub's databanks won't have specs for a submersible like the Searaven. They might not know we can dock.''

"And can we dock?" Tsung asked. "Yeah. Didn't I tell you? The Wichita's aspect is almost perfect. There's a little fibrous debris around the forward hatch, but the approach is clear." "Let's get it over with," Janice said. The runners ignored her.

"They'll hear the docking just through transmission of the vibrations," Tsung said. "It won't be a surprise."

"Surprise is a tool, not an end in itself," Ghost observed. "We must neutralize the bombs. If those aboard the Wichita belong to the enemy, speed is now vital."

Ghost's two tribesmen nodded their agreement. John Parker, the other ork, looked to Kham for his lead. Kham looked to Tsung. No one bothered to ask Janice for her opinion.

"If we're going to party, we'd better get on with it," Tsung said. "Whoever's in the Wichita didn't get down here without help, and we don't want their taxi dropping in on us. This run's too straight-line as it is; weVe got no freedom to maneuver. I don't want anybody sitting on our line of retreat."

Ghost gave the mage a sharp nod. "Rabo, take us in."

"Won't be a surprise," the rigger said. "We have no choice," Ghost told him. The docking approach went smoothly. The Searaven settled forward of the sail at the one hatch capable of being opened from the outside. The taxi shuddered slightly when her connection collar contacted the hull of the Wichita. As soon as Rabo reported a full lock and transmission of the unlocking codes, Kham opened the internal hatch and crammed his bulk into the nar row docking passageway. Parker stood at the edge holding Kham's automatic rifle, ready to hand it down to his boss as soon as he cleared the way. Janice could hear Kham grunting with the eifort of freeing the emergency hatch releases on the Wichita.

The ork's shoulders bulked back into view briefly as he swung the Wichita's hatch open. A strange, musky odor drifted up from the submarine, overpowering the briny smell of the water in the docking tube. Kham dropped out of sight almost immediately. Parker called a warning and dropped the rifle down the hole. Then he followed it down. Ghost was next through, then Sally and the other two Indians. No one called for Janice to follow, but she did. She didn't want to be alone in the echoing hollow of the Seamven's passenger compartment.

The climb through the docking attachment and the Wichita's lock was short but intensely uncomfortable. The designers had never expected anyone of her size to use the space; she scraped off fur and skin on every projection. The wounds itched from the salt water coating all the surfaces around her, but they would heal soon enough. It was more the closeness and the damp that bothered her.

These worries became minor when compared to what she felt once they reached the deck of the Wich-ita. The musky odor was stronger here, tinged now with a rank smell from the norms and orks. They were afraid. She wondered if they could smell her fear as easily as she did theirs. The light level was low, but more than enough to let her see. Dead fish and other sea creatures lay on the decking, and dense cobwebs hung in thick strands all around the runners. With every surface corroded and clogged by seaweed and barnacles, the compartment looked more like the undersea hideaway of the selkie prince from Carter's Queen of Sorcery than the warship it had once been.

No one said anything; no one had to. Janice suspected they all had the same bad feeling she had.

Somewhere aft of them, toward the main bridge, something skittered in the darkness, claws scraping on metal.

The elf had said he could cripple the outer electronic defenses of Warlord Han's enclave, and he was as good as his word. As for Striper, her skills at physical penetration had proven to be as good as her boasts about them even better than his own. Neko's most likely scenario hadn't involved reaching the missile base without at least a minor confrontation with the warlord's forces. But they had. Of course, the brush fire that had sprung up at the far end of the valley was attracting much of the facility personnel's attention. He might have thought the fortuitous blaze a good omen, if he believed in such things.

The base didn't look military, but then that was the purpose of camouflage. The maps he had obtained showed the warhead storage to be hidden in the shadows of a bank of grain silos. The warlord's people were only beginning to reactivate the base, and had not as yet armed any of the missiles with warheads. They had not even tested one, which was not surprising. If the warlord was as cautious as his reputation, he would never trust a nuclear weapon to an untried delivery system especially one that had been moth-balled for more than forty years. Neko was sure the arsenal would be as full as when Nightfall had revealed its location to her master.

The ground floor of the building near the grain elevators looked much as one would expect an agricultural office to look. But then, would he really know if something were out of place? The press of a concealed panel turned what should have been the utility closet into an elevator. They took it down.

The subterranean level abandoned pretense. The corridors were drab, with the austerity and severity of military architecture wherever he had encountered it. Only the uninitiated could think it fostered a zen serenity. The cold concrete would echo sounds in harsh clamor, but the halls were deserted. This was going to be easy.

Neko located a computer station. He logged on with the code the elf had supplied, gratified when the system responded almost instantly. Calling up the requisite files, he saw that all the weapons were still logged in. He slipped a chip into the slot and sent the elf's knowbot on its way. It would enter an authorized admission for two into the secure area. That done, he led Striper toward the arsenal.

AH the way there something nagged at Neko, making him uneasy. It was only later that he realized the console had one more light active when they left than when they arrived. That light meant their penetration had been discovered, but it wasn't until he and Striper had almost reached the arsenal that the enemy revealed themselves.

They rounded a corner and were confronted by a grotesque vision. Tall and spindly-thin, the thing in the corridor looked more alien than human despite its two arms, two legs, and obvious head. Even more grotesque was the fact that it wore a uniform marked with the insignia of Han's personal guard. Seeing them, the creature clacked its mandibles, then began to speak in a hideously distorted voice. "Nightfall greets you. She bids me give you your deaths."

For Neko, who had once fought a similar thing, the sight was frightening. He had nearly died in that encounter. For Striper, the shock of her first encounter with such a being seemed greater than his own had been. She stopped in her tracks and stared.

Neko knew the thing's speed and potential; they could not afford hesitation. He sprang. At the apex of his leap, his foot lashed forward. He felt the shock as the edge of his foot connected with the creature's head. The rebound sent him backward past Striper, but he rolled as he landed and came up into a crouch. He had delivered enough kinetic energy to snap a troll's neck, but his opponent was still on its feet and beginning its advance.

Neko's attack had succeeded hi one respect, however, for it gave Striper enough time to recover from her shock. As the clawed hands swept forward in an attempt to decapitate her, she dove clear of the thing's outstretched arms.

A rush of footfalls in the corridor that had brought them here announced the arrival of reinforcements for the monstrous guard. Judging by the sound, Neko figured they were human, or near enough. He estimated four to six guards approaching, but two would have been more than enough to reinforce the monster. "Hostiles," Striper growled. "Go ahead, they're yours. I'll handle this." She vanished around the corner.

Neko sidestepped the thing's first lunge, and hoped he hadn't signed his death warrant with his bravado. From around the corner he heard roars, howls, and gunfire.

So much for stealth.

A second flying kick cost him a rake along his side as the creature dodged, but it gave him some room. The extra space between him and the insectoid thing gave him time to draw his heavy gun. The Arisaka Sunset wasn't as powerful as Striper's Kang, but she didn't load explosive rounds. Neko blasted the thing with two quick bursts but he was too close the explosions tossed him backward, slamming him into the wall. The bruises would be worth it. Spattered as Neko was with bits of flesh, bone, and organ, it was because his opponent was no longer a threat. He picked himself up, but had to hold onto the wall until the corridor stopped spinning.

It took a long time for what was left of the thing to stop twitching. By then, it was quiet around the corner as well.

An alarm klaxon began to howl, which meant the external security doors would be closing. Getting out was going to be harder than getting in. Or maybe he would be the only one trying to escape. Striper hadn't returned.

"I assume you had a good reason for insisting I come here, Mr. Masamba," Sato said as he entered the suite. His position as kansayaku entitled him to commandeer the finest facilities in the Denver subsidiary office, and his agents had used that clout. Sato stalked across the deep pile carpet, barely conscious of the softness. He stared out the window at the distant mountains, waiting for the uncharacteristically reticent Masamba to respond.

"There's magic, big magic, brewing out there.",

"If it is a threat, that is your department. Deal with it."

Masamba cleared his throat. "I don't think this is a Renraku matter.''

Sato turned and stared at Masamba, gratified to see the mage flinch. Masamba looked to Akabo for support, but the samurai's rigid demeanor offered no more human sympathy than his chromed eyeshields. That the mage looked to the samurai meant the two had discussed the matter. Such sharing of concern meant the matter was serious, indeed.

"Not a Renraku matter," Sato said. "What, then, is this problem?"

"I don't know. Exactly." Masamba doffed his broad-brimmed slouch hat and began turning it round and round in his hands. "I can't investigate, because I can't get near the site astrally. There's too much interference. But I'm sure there's a major ritual coming down."

"Which you believe involves me." Masamba nodded. "I think so, anyway. There's the faintest trace of that renegade shaman's aura about the magic. I thought that we'd seen the last of him after we snatched that stone and he hightailed it, but now I'm not so sure." "Can you erect a defense?" "Hey, sama. I'm big mojo. Give me time, nuyen, and few dozen assistants and I'll shield you from a squad of dragons."

The mage's bravado was brittle. Sato felt surprisingly tolerant. Masamba was one of the tools that was his alone, a resource he needed to conserve. Since his contact with the stone, he had come to understand what great forces were afoot. The time of confrontation was coming; the weight of gathering forces was upon him. Though he sensed that this big magic was directed at him or his working, he also felt that some other person was the target. He turned to Akabo.

"Has there been any indication of assault on more mundane levels?"

Akabo shrugged. "Nothing obvious. Biggest hit in the last week was a raid on the Seretech data bank." "Involving our interests?"

"Wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise. Someone boosted the biodynamics formula."

"The timing is too significant to be incidental. Has the thief been identified?"

"Not yet. The Matrix run originated somewhere in the Hong Kong LTG. Ohara's people are scrambling on it."

"Then for the moment, we need do no more." Despite his words, Sato felt impelled to do something. The metamorphosis serum was a private project, or it had been until Grandmother had sunk her hooks in him. His skin tingled at the thought, and he suspected that he knew who had ordered the run against the project. He had never shared the details with Grandmother, and the Hong Kong origin of the theft could be no coincidence. Yes indeed, the confrontation was coming. "Masamba, we must investigate this matter of magic and make plans to deal with it. Akabo, give the order to ready Crimson Sunset. Also, place the local Red Samurai unit on standby.''

Masamba nodded acknowledgment of his orders, but Akabo didn't move. After a moment he said, "Is it wise to involve the corporation directly?"

Sato controlled the sudden flare of rage. His decision to use company assets for his own ends was no business of Akabo's. The corporation and Sato's position in it were secondary matters when survival was at stake. Jaw tight, he turned and stared at the samurai. "Do you question me?"

The man stiffened immediately. "lie, kansayaku. "

"Very well, Obey."

Akabo bowed briskly and deeply. "Ho, kansayaku."

Sato turned back to stare out the window while his flunkies set to work. There was much to ponder. Absently, he scratched at his itching rib cage.

The dancers slowed. Feet paused in air then plunged forward, stamping firmly. The singers hit the low notes of the chant with assurance.

The circle of dancers turned, raising dust that swirled around in intricate patterns. Sam read the patterns, A feather drifted free from a dancer's arm band.

Sam twisted the pattern, clearing the dust from the feather's path. It floated to the ground inside the circle and away from the dancers' feet. The dance went on.

The work of briefly quieting Gaeatronics' security and gaining the access codes for the submersible was done. So was the molding of prepared knowbots for Noguchi's use, and the binding of Warlord Han's perimeter systems. It had been easy. The runs were under way now, and no longer needed Matrix over-watch. The next phase was about to begin.

As part of the comprehensive assault on the mundane assets of Spider's minions, Sam wanted Grandmother's data system wrecked. They couldn't destroy the intelligence-gathering network from the Matrix, of course. Too many components were meat, and it was not possible to reach meat from cyberspace unless it voluntarily linked to the electron flow. But the data-stores could be purged of accumulated knowledge, effectively crippling Spider's minions for some time.

Dodger and Morgan flew toward the crystal web.

Knowing the web made entry easier. Entry and browsing had been the goal of their last trip. This time they were to hunt down important data and loot it away, a more difficult assignment. But she was the Ghost in the Machine, and he, through her tutelage, was enabled beyond a flesh-limited decker. Morgan engaged all the ice they flitted past, taking on program after program, while Dodger sifted through the file structure searching for the key blocks. A bulk purge was too inelegant; they would lift only selected items, the better to leave the enemy confused about what had been done to their system. Worms, viruses, and Trojan horses would be their gifts to Grandmother, and they would leave explosive blocks, borers, and scramblers to infect the remaining data. The decay and destruction would go on long after Dodger and Morgan's brief sojourn in the system.

It would be a glorious mayhem.

As he worked, Dodger became aware that something stirred at the edges of Grandmother's system. Had it not been for the increased awareness his association with Morgan had given him, he would never have noticed such a thing. As yet it was no more than a probe of the outer defenses, so Dodger dismissed it. If the presence were a threat, Morgan could handle it.

The deep path was slower here than at home, for this was not his land. It was more tiring, too, but Urdli ascribed that more to his companion. The earth did not care to have any save her own move through her heart. The effort of coaxing her to do otherwise was taxing.

Her trepidation grew as they approached their destination. The flavor of the stone was not right. The area was tainted with a scent he knew too well. Perhaps the Dog shaman had not been so foolish after all.

His progress was stopped by a wall where there should have been no wall. Focusing his strength, he felt an unexpected well of power. The faint strains of a song drifted through his head as he drew on that power and crumbled the barrier in his way.

As he and Estios emerged into a firelit cavern, Lav-city's aide promptly collapsed to his knees and retched. Urdli spared no concern for the other's weakness, his eyes full of a sight he did not care to see. The bomb was there, encased in its shipping container, but the weapon was not the cave's only occupant.

The thing that stood between him and the bomb was decked in beads and many-colored cloth swaths. Bangles, metal bands, and necklaces of animal parts and crudely incised'metal adorned its limbs and neck.

Though Urdli recognized several magically potent patterns common to primitive human cultures, this was no longer anything human. Bristles sprouted in sparse clumps all over its skin, and lumps distorted the once fine smoothness of the dark skin. Two pairs of vestigial limbs waved spasmodically from its shoulder girdle. Concealing its face was a gaudily painted mask of wood and feathers.

"I know you, elf," the thing said to him. "And I know you, Spider." It removed the mask and smiled, its human lips stretching wide as chelicera and pedipalpi extended and distorted the lower half of its face. The dark brown human eyes seemed out of place in the suddenly alien visage. "As you see, all is not as you expected. Spider is wise and devious, elf. You cannot dismiss her so easily. You will meet with the web no matter where you and yours turn with your disruptive ploys. Spider weaves well. That I learned long ago when I welcomed her gift of power. You, too, can know her blessing, rather than her wrath. It is not too late to join with Spider."

"I have no interest in becoming as you are." Urdli threw his arm forward, channeling the rriana in a blast so strong that his cyan signature-energy was nearly white with intensity. Parrying, the spider shaman sent out a scintillating web of deep violet that drank his energy. The shaman's cluttering laugh echoed from the cavern walls. Battle had been joined.

Willie took the whizzer in screaming. With some sharp piloting, she dodged the first antiair missile and dove to close the range as fast as possible. Wind pum-meled the craft, adding to the jolting from the sudden drops and high-gee rises of Willie's evasive maneuvering. The buffeting tossed Hart and the meres mercilessly against their restraining straps.

Without warning, the turbulence stopped, and the whizzer seemed to be in the eye of the windstorm. On the tridscreen showing the nose camera's view, Hart could see dust devils and debris swirls sweeping across the battlement of Weberschloss. Caught in one of the whirlwinds, an antiaircraft missile corkscrewed cra-zily and screamed wide of the whizzer. A second missile arced out on a smoke tail, then curved around to slam into the castle wall and toss the ork who had fired it from his perch. Gunner and launcher tumbled over and over as they fell from the wall.

Willie bucked the craft up over the castle wall and applied a quick burst of forward thrust and an almost immediate counter-thrust. Only a rigged pilot could have gunned the thrust with enough precision to get the stripped panzer into the exact center of the courtyard. There weren't much more than a couple of meters on either end of the craft's long axis. Supporting thrust cut out, and the whizzer dropped. Hart's stomach stayed at altitude, and only caught up after Willie braked the fall with full thrusters, slamming the whizzer into the paving stones. It was a rough landing but not a crash. -

Hart and her half-dozen meres started unstrapping immediately. A trio of orks with automatic weapons were all that managed to reach the courtyard by the time they cracked the hatch. The orks' shouting died with them as Georgie cut them down. The wind howled as the meres burst out into the sunlight. Hart followed, scanning the walls and listening for Aleph's warning of hostile magic. The Herbstgeist weren't supposed to have magicians, but caution was advisable.

A grenade brought down the door to the keep, and a second one took care of any opposition on the other side. As a precaution, Georgie sprayed the antechamber before the first mere ducked in.

In the courtyard behind them, Willie's ground rig rolled out of the whizzer. The rig was a low-slung armored cart. The ceramet armor of its sloped sides would stand up to anything short of a missile, but the courtyard lacked space for a missile to arm itself. Weapon-snouted turrets and bulbous sensor domes sprouted like high-tech mushrooms on the cart's dorsal surface. As soon as the rig's rear tires touched the paving, the ramp slid back and the personnel hatch slammed shut. The whizzer would stay locked until the raiding party returned. Until then, the armored ground rig would stand guard and hold the retreat line. Hart and the meres started to move through the lower level of the keep. Smooth as a drill, half of them took a position, assured safe passage, then waved the other half on. For the next bound, the moving team went to ground as the first cover team leapfrogged past. Seeing the stairs into the lower levels right where they were supposed to be, they headed down. It was obvious the Herbstgeist defenders weren't expecting the raiders to take the low road, because the raiders met only a couple of very surprised locals, who failed to escape the meres' instant response. On the fourth level, the dressed stone gave way to less-finished tunnels.

Hart's map was clearly out of date, because there were unmapped excavations. Tunnels opened in unexpected directions, and walls of mortared stone stood where passageways should have been. The level was still under modification, for tools lay scattered at workfaces and the only furnishings were the few for the comfort of a small work crew. They were making slow progress. The thunder of the cannon on Willie's rig sounded faintly like a distant storm. The rigger's comm channel buzzed with static that fuzzed her voice.

"Incoming traffic. Third party. There're at least " The transmission was cut off. Hart hurried the meres on. She wondered if the Tir Tairngire elves had betrayed them, or if it was some of Spider's agents. Whoever had attacked Willie was not likely to be friendly to her cause. They had to reach the bomb cache and do the job before the new arrivals could interfere.

When they had to double back after hitting a deadend wall, Hart cursed all the way to the main corridor. Their goal would have been just beyond that fragging wall, but explosives were too dangerous to use down here.

They had just come upon what Hart thought was a corridor that would get them where they wanted to go when she heard running footsteps behind them. An ork caromed around the corner, clearly in a panic. She skidded to a stop at the sight of the heavily armed meres, her eyes wide with terror. One of them instantly cut her down. Hart looked away. This one wasn't necessary. The poor trog wasn't even carrying a weapon.

Twenty meters down the hall, she located the cache. "Take positions. We'll need to hold here for a while. Julio, keep trying to raise Willie."

The meres selected their spots rapidly. Hart slung her Roomsweeper to the carry position and set to work opening the vault door. Caliban hadn't been able to give her the combination, but he'd told her the model and she'd come prepared. The ten minutes it took her to crack the door was less than expected and more than she'd hoped. Opening the heavy door just enough to slip through, she entered the vault. The light from outside was enough to see by. She dug a flask out of her shoulder bag and began scattering the dust she had made to Sam's specifications.

"So this is your prize," Georgie said with a low whistle as he stared at the trio of warheads.

The mere's comment almost didn't penetrate. She was focused on remembering the chant Sam had said to use as she scattered the dust. It wouldn't be long before the third party found them here.

She almost didn't hear the faint hissing sound behind her.

She spun. Georgie stood there, looking like some kind of insect-headed man. His face was masked by a rebreather that distorted his lower head into the image of mandibles, and the starlight goggles made his eyes seem to bulge from his head. The hissing came from a cylinder in his hands. She read the designation on it just before he tossed it at her feet:

DEXSARIN: NERVE GAS: AEROSOL VECTOR.

The elder shamans dropped hands and broke their circle. Still dancing and chanting, they moved outward toward the greater circle. Their dragging right feet traced spokes to the wheel of the dance, and the wheel turned around them.

When a dancer faltered in his step, a shaman wearing a bear skin was there. As the dancer tottered the shaman stepped before him, hands weaving and capturing the dancer's gaze with hypnotic magnetism. The dancers circled and the bear shaman moved with the exhausted dancer, twirling a feather before his face and chanting, "Hu! hu! hu!" The dancer staggered free of the circle and stumbled toward the shaman. Panting and groaning with exhaustion, the dancer followed the shaman, who led him to the foot of the sprouting tree. Sam's gaze was drawn to the glassy stare of the drawn, pale dancer. Muscles twitching, the dancer bowed to Sam,

Beneath the sprouting tree, Sam opened his arms wide to accept the dancer. The man shivered once and pitched forward, his spirit soaring free. Power flashed laser-bright through Sam. His back arched in the agony. When his back muscles relaxed, he hung his head and wept. The Great Ghost Dance gathered strength.

Neko couldn't go on without checking. He told himself that he had to make sure his rear was safe. For all that their partnership had been brief, he owed Striper vengeance. Of course, he also needed the satchel she carried if he were to complete this run, which honor and personal pride bound him to do. Cautiously, he moved up to the corner. A faint slapping sound was irregularly audible. Weapon ready, he eased around.

Instead of victorious guards, Neko found himself face to face with a languid Striper gathering weapons. The dark leather satchel swinging against her hip was the source of the sound. It was the one intact thing she wore. Her clothes were in tatters and she was covered in gore, but she seemed unconcerned as she picked up weapons from among the bodies of the warlord's unfortunate troops.

Neko shifted his stare from his miraculously intact partner and considered the fallen guards, who looked as though they'd been torn apart. No knife, sword, or spur had made those wounds, that Neko was sure of. For all her seductive allure and feline grace, Striper was far more than she seemed.

It had to be magic.

Neko preferred to avoid those who dabbled in the arcane, but he was glad she was on his side. Considering the carnage she had wrought here, he would rather have faced one of the bug men than her.

He shook himself free from the hypnotic fascination of the bodies to find Striper watching him. Her face was made strange, almost alien, by the decorative face paint from which she obviously drew her street name. The harsh light of the overhead panels threw her eyes into shadow. One corner of her mouth quirked up into the ghost of a smile. A fugitive shaft of light touched the shadows under her brow and reflected red from her eyes.

Neko had never believed in demons, but now he thought the issue might be an open question. "We've got biz," she said softly. Unwilling to trust his voice, he nodded. She moved past him at a lope, and he hurried to catch up. He trusted her to spot any opposition. Curiously, such a surrender of vigilance didn't bother him. She was more than competent. Could it be he had come to trust her? Or was he under her spell? He was still wondering when they reached the missile silo. The tall cylinders housing the long-range missiles marched off into the darkness in serried rows. It was a technological forest, an orchard whose fruit was death. The old terror that had haunted generations lurked here, magnified and somehow made perverse by the silence and cleanliness of the chamber. Death should not be sanitary, nor should it be so easy to send, especially by someone who could hide away from the consequences of his actions. He did not know why the American elf and his partners wanted this abomination neutralized, nor did he really care. He just hoped their fix was going to be a good one.

"As you said, we have biz," he said, pointing to the satchel hanging at Striper's side.

It was her turn to nod. She shifted the Kang to her left hand and dug her right into the satchel. She came up with a handful of gritty substance that she flung into the air.

Neko experienced a moment of absolute disbelief. Had he been suckered by madmen? Then his incredulity drowned in awe when the dust ignited and whooshed into the depths of the silo chamber like a comet.

It was no small relief to him to see that Striper appeared as astonished as he.

Another dancer was led to the sprouting tree. It was easier for Sam to take the sacrifice the second time, but no lighter a burden. The crystalline spirit sparked the dance's energy higher. With a prayer of thanks, Sam took the gift and used it.

In a distant place, dust sparked to fire and swirled through the air. The fire sped on a swirling dance of its own through a night-dark forest of sleeping giants. It touched each leviathan of death, leaving behind a crackling fragment of itself. Everywhere it rested, flames sprouted. Roaring and climbing, they enveloped whatever they touched, covering it with the energy of the dance.

What had been, was no longer.

There was hope.

The fight to get to the missile compartment had been brutal. Ranges were short within the confines of the submarine, and the runners had been forced into physical combat too often. They had lost Long Run and Fast Stag before they could gauge the danger of the insect men. Bullets didn't seem to have much effect on them, which Janice thought was because of a protective Spider presence hovering astrally around them. The reduced effectiveness of the weapons made her and Tsung, as magicians, the runners' most potent of-fense. Fortunately, Spider's minions only made short rushes followed by retreats. Had the monsters sus-tained any of their attacks, they would surely have overwhelmed the runners.

When she commented on that to Ghost, he had said, "They don't know any more about us than we do about them. Unless we tell them, they'll never know how close they are to taking us. But then there may not be many more of them, either." The growing volume of cluttering and constant scrape of chitin on metal made a lie of that hope.

The last skirmish had brought them to the edge. Jan-ice had taken no crippling wounds; she would be fine shortly. Already the gashes were closing. Seemingly invulnerable as his namesake, Ghost was untouched, too, but Kham and Parker were both wounded. When Tsung had been staggered by a magical blast that seemed to come out of nowhere, Janice had barely been able to deflect the swirling energies and dissipate the mana before the ravening energy would have consumed the mage. As it was, Tsung's flesh was purpling from subcutaneous bruises and her nose and ears were bleeding. She wouldn't be in any shape to resist another attack.

But they had reached the missile tubes. For the moment, the bugs seemed to be considering their next strategy. Now that they had an active magician on their side, Janice doubted they would remain inactive for long. Kham wandered down the line of silos, rapping each with his cyberarm.

' 'Why not just pull de arming devices and take dem with us?"

Ghost shook his head. "Burdened, we'd never make it back."

"May not anyway." Kham spat. "Won't for sure if we stay put. Dose tings are massing for anudder attack."

As though in confirmation of his words, a sudden scuttling sounded aft. The runners dropped into defensive crouches and pointed weapons. Janice strained her senses; the noise did not seem to be the beginning of a new attack. Kham cursed. "Frag it, Ghost! We're hosed," Though the Indian appeared to be listening, it was obviously not to the ork's outburst. "They're not coming yet. We've still got to set the spell." He straightened from his crouch and moved forward to the engineer's station. Looking up he asked, "Can Rabo bring the Searaven around to this maintenance hatch?" "Yeah. Take time, dough." Kham spat again. "We ain't got dat."

"Well, get him moving," Janice snapped. She was tired of the ork*s constant complaints.

"I don't take orders from you, furball," Kham snarled.

"Just do it," Tsung said weakly. The ork grumbled under his breath, but slapped open the toggle that activated his comm link. He passed the orders to Rabo. The two orks exchanged a flurry of half-intelligible comments spiced with frequent profanity. Kham finished his conversation with the rigger by snapping, "Just do it." He limped back up the gangway. "What's to keep dose tings from spoiling de spell if we pull out?" "Nothing," Ghost said.

"I say we set the spell and go," Tsung said. "We can always try again another day." "Sounds good," Kham agreed quickly. Ghost sighed. "There will be no other day. The magic must be used tonight."

"Since when did you become an expert?" Tsung drawled.

"He's right." Janice hefted the beaded pouch in her hand. "If it's disturbed before the dance reaches the right phase, the magic won't work." "And how long's dat?" Kham growled. "Too long," Janice said. "The bugs will come." "Drek!" Kham slammed his fist into a bulkhead. "I didn't sign on for a suicide run. I gotta wife! Kids! Dey ain't gonna make it but dere widdout me. You know what happens ta ork kids dat ain't got no daddy?"

Ghost seemed about to say something, but held his peace.

Janice had never thought that the ork might have a family. She could see that he was truly concerned for them. She knew what it was like to be an ork. Thinking about growing up as one made her see Kham in a new light.

Silence fell on the runners. Distant scrabblings kept them nervous, but the bugs didn't attack. Janice walked the gangway, chanting and scattering the dust from the pouch. Ghost walked with her, chanting the words along with her. Two minutes after they finished, the hull rang as the Searaven nudged up to the Wichita's aft maintenance hatch. "They'll have heard," Parker said. Kham looked up at the hatch glumly. "So he made it. Ain't gonna do us any good unless we go now."

Ghost touched Kham on the arm. "Tell Rabo not to open the hatch unless he's sure it's for one of us. If we can hold them long enough, some of us might get out."

"Ain't gonna be any of MS left! You keep us here, and de bugs are gonna pick our bones. Where's your bleeding magic gonna be den?"

Janice stood and straightened as much as she could. "They may have waited too long to come for us. The Dance will be reaching its peak soon. "Some of us could board the Searaven now. The higher position will let somebody shoot down on any bugs coming from forward. Be a nasty surprise for the bugs. Then if we can't hold the missile bay, at least some could getaway."

"Your plan ain't the best, but the time is getting closer," Ghost said. "Since the wounded will be of little use in a fight, they will board the Searaven now." Tsung forced herself to her feet and confronted Ghost. "Making like a hero, Indian?" "Go, Sally. This is no time to talk."

"Was there ever?" She searched his eyes for a moment, then kissed him. "Crazy Indian."

She climbed up the ladder and crawled through the hatch into the Searaven.

Kham shoved Parker toward the ladder. "Let's do it, den. Move, move!" He stood with one foot on the first rung while the other ork climbed. Parker cleared the ladder, but Kham hesitated. He lowered his foot back to the deck and put his back to the ladder. Without booking at Janice or Ghost, he popped the magazine on his AK97, checked to see it was full, and snapped it back in. Janice could smell the fear on him, but it was clear that despite his previous bleating about leaving, he was planning to stay. "Why?" she asked.

Without looking at her, Kham said, "It's bad growing up widdout a dad, but it's a lot better dan not growing up at all."

"You're wounded, too. You won't fight well," Ghost observed.

"Orks is tough," Kham said with a shrug. "But they bleed and die like any man," Janice said. The bugs' timidity had lasted longer than they had any right to expect. Every minute meant less of a need for sacrifice. "There's no need for either of you to stay. I'll hold them back." "I will stay," Ghost said.

Janice shook her head. "No, Wolf. Take Kham and go. You have other prey. There's also a dog who needs someone to look after him.'' "He won't want to see me without you." That might well be true. She could imagine Sam's face when he learned that she had done this. Since they had found each other again, she had been so selfish. How could she have forgotten what it meant to be human? "He won't appreciate your throwing yourself away."

"The same holds true for you. He hopes to make you better."

' 'I may already be better.'' She laughed.' 'I 'm sure that I'm better at fighting these bugs than you. Their claws do no permanent damage, and my magic wounds them more than your guns. Go, Wolf, while there's still time."

They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed an eternity. At last, Ghost nodded slightly. "I will sing for you, Wolf shaman."

Kham and Ghost climbed into the Searaven, and Janice reached up behind them to close the Wichita's hatch. Gripping the wheel with both hands, she used her strength to wrench it out of true. The bugs wouldn't be getting through that anytime soon.

A tingle in the mana flow told her that the insect magician was stirring at last. Maybe he sensed that his prey was escaping. A sharp clacking announced the onslaught. The bugs rushed into the compartment from both ends, but she was ready. Mana bolts ripped through the leaders of each pack. The magician's spells splintered on her defenses. She reached deep into herself and took the mana in her hands, howling her defiance at Spider. It was time. Wolf wins every fight except her last.

Gray Otter was the next dancer to be brought before the sprouting tree. Tears coursed steadily down Sam's cheeks now, but the power grew. Another dancer came before him. Then another. Far and near, the dancers were giving of themselves. The energy surged bright and fiery, consuming another portion of the threat.

The earth moved closer to safety.

Hart knew about Dexsarin.

She threw herself at Georgie. The traitor mere hadn't expected such a reaction and was slow in getting his weapon up. His first bullet caught her in the side. Ballistic armor protected her but the impact twisted her around, and she crashed into him clumsily. They fell heavily to the floor. She was on him instantly, clawing for his face. If she was going to go, so was he. "

The gas swirled around them, disturbed by more than their struggle. Aleph's scream resonated in her being as the ally spirit fed her the knowledge that magic surrounded them. Wind impossible in a closed vault howled in her face as though she were in the midst of a gale. Her hair whipped wildly, stinging her eyes and lashing her skin.

Georgie was caught in a gust that snapped one of the straps on his rebreather. The mask fell away and his struggles redoubled. He had lost his starlight goggles in Hart's attack, and she could see his eyes go wide with fear. He knew about Dexsarin, too. But Dexsarin gas could never remain a compact cloud in the midst of a natural whirlwind. The bilious mist swirled up from the floor and wrapped itself around Georgie's head. He snapped his mouth shut, but Hart opened it again with an elbow jab to his solar plexus. The man gasped, hauling in gas as he tried for air. The knowledge of what he was doing was clear in his eyes.

Hart rolled away, equally fearful of the gas. The pocket hurricane roared and the noxious streamers grew thinner, dissipated, and were borne away on the magical wind. The tempest died.

Hart was surprised to find that she hadn't, but she knew she might yet.

Gunfire sounded from outside the vault. She moved to the door and froze. From the warnings Sam had passed on from Urdli she knew what they might be, but had failed to imagine the horror of the half-insect, half-human things she saw swarming over the meres. Before she could gather her magic three of the meres were down, torn to pieces. She cut one thing down with a mana dart in time to save Julio from the creature's attack, but the radio specialist was gutted almost instantly by another that crawled over the back of its dying fellow to strike at the mere.

There were too many of them. Hart reached out for Aleph to join its power to hers, and in doing so felt a rippling surge in the mana flow around her. She grabbed it, forming it into the most powerful spell she could channel. Shaping it, she realized the strength of what she touched. It was far stronger than any magic she had ever experienced or seen, more powerful than a dragon's. Maybe too powerful for her to use and live. But what choice did she have?

The last mere went down and the bugs swarmed toward her. She stretched out her arms and let the mana flow through her. The world went white, and she felt the insect things scream as they shriveled. One, larger than any she had seen, staggered toward her. Its chitinous hide was burning, and it screamed in outrage and pain. It was dying, but was still driven to kill. Its claws caught her in mid-body, ripping through her armor. It tossed her back into the vault, and Hart felt broken.

The mana had seared her nerves as she channeled it, but she had tasted Sam's essence in the energy. It had been a glorious moment. He had seemed as tall as a mountain and filled with the power of the gods. He was dancing with the Dog and doing what needed to be done.

He was beautiful.

But he needed her still.

She passed out three times before she managed to open the latch of her shoulder bag, and once more before she dragged the pouch free. The rest of the dust must be freed. Her numbing fingers managed to spread the thong. The bag tumbled from her grip and the dust puffed out.

It was done.

She fell into the darkness that seemed so eager to take her.

A young shaman wearing an eagle headdress came before Sam, his face sour as he crouched down. After a moment the Indian laid his hands on Sam's head, then drew them down past his face and chest before spreading them wider to run them down Sam's arms.

"I beseech you, Dog. Turn your eyes from the realms of power and look to the land of the people. Think of the people here. We answered your call, answer ours. Preserve us from those who would harm us. Turn the power of the Dance on our enemies. They are your enemies as well."

Sam didn't understand. "What are you talking about?"

' 'I will show you.''

The shaman spread wide his arms; they seemed plumed in golden feathers. Light flashed from the Indian's eyes, and Sam saw a threat to the dancers flying toward him on whirling wings.

No precautions could have assured complete protection if Sato had accompanied the Red Samurai, so he had decided to remain in the mountain meadow from which they had staged their raid. He watched as the helicopters of his Red Samurai lifted off. From where he stood he could observe personally as the helicopters approached the valley where the ritual was under way.

When Masamba's astral reconnaissance had not proved satisfactory, Hohiro Sato had ordered a satellite download. The results were even more disappointing. Infrared had confirmed the presence of many people in the valley and the absence of any significant vehicles. Whoever was brewing the magic in the mountains was powerful, powerful enough to generate energy that blinded the satellite's visual sensors as it passed over the site. Physical recon was the only recourse.

He watched the flight bank toward its goal.

One craft would have been enough for a reconnaissance, but he was concerned that an immediate response might be required. Thus two Ares Firedrake gunships accompanied the trio of Federated Boeing Griffin combat-insertion craft. If they uncovered any physical defense for the mysterious magicians, the fire-power should be more than adequate. If they encountered a magical defense, Masamba was here to counter it. The mage had dropped the legs from his briefcase to form a table, opened it, and set up his tools. He had assured Sato that proximity to the site of the mysterious ritual would increase his effectiveness in countering effects, even if he could not pierce the magical veil.

Once the site was secured, Sato and his aides would board the fourth Griffin and join the Samurai on the ground to inspect the victory. Very soon, he would have an answer to the question of what was going on in the next valley.

He did not have long to wait.

Rolling in with unnatural rapidity, thunderheads gathered over the surrounding peaks. The sky darkened and took on a greenish hue. The air grew still and charged. The helicopters flew stolidly on in the deepening gloom.

With a roar that might have been the earth drawing a breath, the wind came. Thunder boomed and echoed from the mountainsides as the rushing air swept through the valley. The clouds roiled and began to spin ominously. A hole opened in the cloud cover, a hole into darkness. From the blackness came a swirling funnel that stretched toward the Samurai helicopters like the tentacle of a monster seeking food. The copters broke formation, but too late. All but one were caught in the cyclone, to whirl, tumbling within its cone. That one, a Firedrake, almost slipped free, but the funnel shifted and a down draft sucked it into a rock face. Gunship and crew perished in a fireball whose explosive fury was drowned by the rumbling thunder.

"Do something!" he shouted at Masamba. The mage's face was gray with effort, but nothing manifested itself physically. "I can't," he gasped. "It's too strong."

Sato backhanded him, sending him sprawling. As the mage fell, he struck the table, scattering its contents. Useless magical implements rained upon the grass and rocks. From among their litter, the guardian stone rolled to Sato's feet. The opal glittered, almost glowing from within. Its rainbow of colors sparkled and seemed to flow.

The magic was there. Who needed a worthless mage?

He bent to retrieve the stone. When he touched it, he knew this was the final mistake in his war with Grandmother.

"Crimson Sunset!" he screamed as the pain exploded through his body. She would pay. Even if he was not there to see, she would pay. Akabo was already running for the Griffin to pass the order.

Sato doubled over as his side was scorched with acid heat. The skin over his shoulders and torso swelled and burst, freeing the arms that marked him as an avatar of the totem. The tide turned; what had been pain became pleasure, and he screamed again. He knew now that he had been lying to himself. He had been hers from the moment he had given her the first opening. There had never been any hope. The stone had been used to contain part of her for so long that she had bonded with it, using it as a channel to invade him and complete the possession begun when he had first accepted her offer of aid. He was filled with the terrible knowledge of her inevitable victory. Ecstasy flooded him as Spider entered his spirit and claimed the last vestiges for herself.

Masamba recoiled from what Sato had become. The fool had never known what he had served, despite all the evidence before him. Blind, blind. Almost as blind as Sato had been. But Sato-Spider was not blind. He-she had eight glorious eyes with which to view the world in its etheric and mundane manifestations.

The mage vanished from physical sight; Sato-Spider could still see him as he fled, but chose to ignore him. Such a one would be useless in the coming conflict. Later, his time would come. No matter how far or fast he ran he could never escape the web, for Spider wove too well. Once enmeshed, however peripherally, there was no escape. Any man-thing that touched the web would eventually be a victim. Just as Verner would soon be. A small part of Sato-Spider tasted anticipation of revenge as it learned the name the greater part had known all along. Resentment at the-withholding of that knowledge surged briefly in the lesser part, only to submerge within the swelling intensity of the predator urge to destroy Verner and his works.

Sato-Spider turned his-her eyes to the magic storm that was still whirling the trapped aircraft in its cyclonic funnel of destruction. Feet spread wide for stability, Sato-Spider raised six arms and channeled the power. The small part of him-her thrilled at the caress of the mana. It was terrified, amazed, gratified, and eager. The greater part knew the sensation of old. It directed the energy.

Crimson bolts shot from each clawed hand to converge on the surviving Firedrake, tumbling within the whirlwind. The arcane energy wove a cocoon around the gunship, isolating it from the hostile magic. In suddenly calm air, the rotors caught and the pilot regained control. Sato-Spider shifted the cocoon to shield the helicopter as it ran from the funnel, but though the crimson field could counter the effects of the magical wind it had not been configured to handle the storm's response to losing its victim. Bolt after eye-searing bolt of flashing from the gathered thun-derheads. Most missed the Firedrake, but enough struck to shatter it and send it burning toward the earth.

Sato-Spider snarled.

Direct action was in order. Clawed hands wove an intricate pattern of magic, gathering the strands of mana as they whipped through the storm. Tug. Slip. Push. Grip. The will was all.

First at the edges, then ever deeper, the energies began to twist and change.

Dancers twisted and stomped even faster, caught in the frenzy. The sprouting tree had glowed through the night, shedding light to replace that which the sky no longer offered. Sam sang louder, calling the dancers to follow the song. Faltering voices rallied and sang more strongly. The tree brightened now as the stars vanished behind gathering clouds.

Dancers were led before him. Knowing no other choice, he accepted them. The Dance was not yet over, no interruptions could be allowed.

Lightning flashed across the sky.

Sam gazed on many scenes, most of them blurred by the tears in his eyes.

It seemed to him that Janice stood before him. All of her: the girl he had hidden on the Night of Rage, the young woman he had last seen laughing as she went off to work, the ork form he had never known, and the white-furred giant all occupied the same space. She knelt before him and placed her hands on his head, drawing them down over his face and onto his chest before running them out to and down his arms. "I beseech you, Dog. Turn your eyes to my plight." "I will. After the Dance." She smiled at him sadly. "Face the truth, Sam." "No! It's not fair!"

"Yes. It's not fair, but it's my gift. You know it has to be that way." "You deserve better."

"That's not for you, or me, to say. The Dance will profit no one for personal gain, but it can redress wrongs. Hear my plea, Dog. Dance the steps that will free my soul. Set me against the betrayer who has joined the cause of your enemy, so that he will no longer plague the earth and her innocent children." "I can't." "You must."

Sam almost faltered. He felt the vibrations of his weakness shake the fragile structure of the Dance. The magic was founded on belief, conviction, and sacrifice. He had already accomplished so much. How much more was needed? How many more souls would he have to take onto his own? How could he take his sister's?

Wracked by the crash of his hopes he felt a tug, feather-light, at the edge of his awareness. Inu's voice barked in his head as he turned his vision outward to see the dark presence at the edge of the Dance. What he had refused to give freely was in danger of being lost through his weakness. All that had been gained could be lost. His jaw trembled as he looked into his sister's face.

Her hand touched him lightly on the cheek and brushed away a tear.

"It's the only way, Sam. The only way to save my soul."

He drew her hand to his lips. It was hot and cold at once. He kissed her hand, but was too frightened to look again at her face.

"Go," he said.

She was gone, and he howled his pain to the sky.

Sato-Spider was no longer simply a being of the mundane world. Eight eyes gazed on the physical as well as the astral. Spells and spirits were as visible as rocks and animals. Thus he-she saw the gleaming woman-thing that flew from the heart of the mana storm. The lesser part recognized the woman and the ork, but only the old arachnid knew the outer, white-furred shell that she had seen in the memory of her minions. The woman-thing recognized Sato-Spider, which was obvious when she spoke.

"One in evil, now one in body. How does it feel to change, Gold Eyes? I hated you, you know. If you hadn't done her work for her, I'd never have had to worry about falling to the wendigo nature. Hugh Glass, for all his evil, was acting according to his nature. He was already damned by the time I met him. He infected me because of what you had done. But the metamorphosis wasn't as good as you thought; if it. had been, I wouldn't have been able to fight off the wendigo nature when it changed me. You're no better at making deals than you are at making orks."

Sato-Spider laughed and spoke in Spider's cluttering voice. "You are wrong, Janice Verner." The man-voice sputtered, "It cannot be at fault. The serum was as perfect as science could make it. Your transformation to an ork was as complete as if it had been in your genes since your conception." The insect voice concluded, "I do not build poorly."

"But you lie poorly, Spider. And you're worse, Sato-san. You lie as well as you choose your friends. See what your friend Spider has done for you? You welcomed her into yourself of your own free will, and now your soul is forfeit.''

Janice advanced toward him-her and the small part wanted to shrink away, but the large part stood firm. "You have not the power to defeat me." "I?" Janice smiled. "Of course not. But I'm not alone anymore. I have a family again."

She embraced Sato-Spider and he-she screamed at her touch. Spider fled, leaving her tool behind. Sato, twisted already by Spider, twisted again by the power flowing through the glowing being Janice had become. Sato shrank in upon himself, taking on ever more of the physical characteristics of the totem spirit to whom he had wed his soul. His memory, his very self slipped away, and he became a real spider, devoid of the humanity he had surrendered long ago.

The tiny arachnid scrambled away from the shining woman. Janice relaxed into peacefulness.

"God hold you in His hands," Sam said.

#**

Urdli looked down at the dismembered form of the avatar. The thing had let its attention waver and given him the chance to slip a mana thrust past its defenses. He'd been thankful for the chance. Had the avatar not lost its concentration, he would not have been able to stand much longer against it.

Once Urdli had wounded the avatar, he was able to call the stone to soften. Mired in suddenly soft rock, the avatar had been too slow to avoid Estios charge.

The physical attack had given Urdli the opening he needed to resolve the arcane battle. As the avatar's upper arms slammed into Estios, shredding his armor and body with hooked claws, Urdli had slipped a mana bolt past its defenses, slicing the limbs from its body. With that attack, Urdli severed the avatar's bond of similarity to its totem and threw it into shock, opening the way for the death blow.

"Impressive magic," Estios gasped, as he struggled to support himself on one elbow. His desperate attack had nearly cost him his life, but he would survive with sufficient medical care. He remained intent on his purpose. "Pull me over and I'll set the bomb up for the Dance."

There was no point in that. Urdli had beaten the avatar, and the weapon was now his. "No," he said with a smile. "No?"

Urdli was amused to see the confusion on Estios' face. "It is too useful," he said, letting his hand wander across the casing of the weapon. "The detonator in this weapon is active, the fissionable material unalloyed. Don't you understand? This bomb will work." "Of course." Estios coughed. There was blood in his spittle. "That's why we're here to destroy it." "Not we."

"We have to destroy it."

"As I said, not we." Urdli spun, casting a power dart as he did. No more should be necessary to finish Estios in his weakened state. The spell struck, flaring almost visible as it bore through Estios' hastily erected defense. The dark-haired elf went down in a sprawl.

Urdli dismissed the fallen elf and turned to thoughts of the bomb and the place it would have in his plans. His plotting was disturbed by a sound behind him. He turned to find Estios standing. "I cannot permit you," he said.

Urdli sneered at him. "So Laverty set you to watch me, after all."

"So what if he did? That's not why I can't let you take it." Estios made a weak gesture toward the bomb. "Such things don't belong in our world." "Do not oppose me. You'll die." Estios tried to laugh, but the sound devolved into a spasm of coughing. "I'm not afraid to die if it will matter." "It will not."

A strange smile grew on Estios' face. "You're wrong."

Estios stretched wide his arms, and Urdli felt the magic gather. There was a familiar feeling to the mana flow. Somehow Estios had managed to tap the same well that Urdli had used to break the barrier with which the avatar had warded the cavern. Such power was dangerous. Urdli strengthened his own defensive spells and cast a counterstrike against Estios.

The spell bounced harmlessly from the flowing wall surrounding Estios. Urdli shrank back from the heat and light. With that much power. Estios would overwhelm his defenses; he felt the potential gathering. In the face of such power, Urdli's command of the mana was pitifully weak. He would be blasted to atoms. If it was to be so, it would be so. He straightened, determined to take the blast valiantly. Estios tossed a pouch into the air, scattering the dust that the Dog shaman had said was necessary for the Dance magic. Estios swung his arms forward, the palms of his hands outward, and rippling waves of green energy shot forth.

But the magic didn't strike Urdli. Instead, it bathed the bomb in pulses of light that fluctuated hypnotically. The dust danced along the light bursts and settled to coat the weapon with a glittering skin. Urdli didn't need to be connected to the spell to know that the bomb was being rendered inert.

Estios collapsed, the last of his breath rushing out as he fell. The light faded and the cavern plunged into darkness.

The only sound was Urdli's curse.

The presence outside Grandmother's system leapt forward with the eagerness of a barghest unleashed. Like a barghest, it broadcast fear with its chilling, haunting scream. Hands full of data, Dodger froze as the blackness of cyberspace rippled with waves of crimson. As the rippling effect faded, three icons of massive armored samurai charged into. Grandmother's system. Their heads were bound with the rising sun headbands of kamikaze and they brandished drawn swords. With fierce brutality they advanced, slashing through icons and through datalines as they came.

Morgan turned to face the newcomers. She was still occupied with the system's ice, but that didn't seem to bother her. She appeared confident. One samurai, having advanced beyond his brethren, noticed her. That icon stopped attacking the system, raised his sword high, and charged. She whirled her cloak at him, then frowned when nothing happened. Repeating her gesture with more vigor as he closed, her perplexity turned to surprise as his sword sliced through her cloak with the sound of a high-frequency feedback.

In nanoseconds she was besieged.

Taking notice of the battle the second samurai passed near Dodger, on his way to aid his partner. Contempt showed on his face as he struck out with his hand.

When the blow struck Dodger's head rang, and his vision was ringed with swirling colors. Images danced within those colors, growing as they spun inward to fill his vision. He tried to force his sight clear, but individual images surged up to block his vision. Whirling color blinded him to the Matrix, and he raged at his helplessness. She needed him. He could hear her calling. It took great effort, but he took a step forward. His vision dimmed to deep gray, then finally cleared. He saw Teresa sidestepping the blow of a samurai's sword. He blinked; not Teresa, Morgan. The fight was a blur of interacting programs and progressed with a speed that left his head spinning, aswirl with images and afterimages. He felt a mite among giants, as out of place as deer on a metroplex street.

Like the deer he was only meat, not match for the technological wonders battling around him. He didn't even know what the samurai had used for an attack program. Baffled and stunned, he saw another samurai, another sword, another place. He'd been helpless then, too, but she had saved him. He ached with guilt, fear, and helplessness. Overwhelmed, he lost touch with the reality around him, and his memories came crashing down.

Meat, ever fragile, was always meat.

In that other time, as now, his fate had lain in the hands of his love. Then he had been unable to do anything. But here in the Matrix he was the Dodger, a wizard and master of cyberspace combat. He saw a chance as the struggling icons shifted toward him. He started forward, but the battle flashed past him with incredible speed and he was unable to intervene.

Grandmother's system was crashing, from the combined effects of the third samurai's uninterrupted destructive efforts and the side effects of Morgan's engagement with the first two. Alerted by the real-world effects of the Matrix events, one of Grandmother's guardian deckers materialized in the system. Dodger recognized the chrome spider icon of the decker he knew as Matrixcrawler. Though he'd known

the man's work for years and even met him at the virtual club Syberspace, he had never guessed that Crawler might be an agent of Spider. The icon and street name were not unnatural choices, and Dodger understood now their mocking significance.

The chrome spider skittered toward the lone samurai. The crystal web of a capture program spun out of the spider's abdomen into waiting forelegs that stretched it before casting. Without turning to face his attacker, the samurai swung his sword back one-handed. The gleaming blade struck the web-holding legs just below their first joint, lopping them off cleanly. The samurai spun, catching the hilt of his weapon with his second hand as the sword whistled on its follow-through. Without even a nanosecond's pause, the blade changed direction and buried itself in the spider's head. Energy crackled from the point of contact in lightning forks, the chrome crisping to black where the blade touched it. The blackness spread in a haphazard jigsaw pattern, and the spider icon fractured along those lines. The samurai returned to his destruction of the system while the shrinking chrome fragments of the spider faded behind him.

Matrixcrawler had been a topnotch decker, and he had apparently achieved surprise. Yet the samurai had struck before Matrixcrawler could attack. Dodger had thought that only Morgan could function that well in the Matrix. What kind of program could react so quickly and be so devastatingly accurate and effective?

"A Semi-autonomous knowbot," Morgan's voice told him. Despite her battle, she had excess capacity to speak to him. He was worried that she sounded winded. He had never before seen her pressed.

"They're too powerful," he said.

"They are more advanced than predicted."

Dodger was astounded. "Predicted? You knew about them?"

"Yes. They are what I was."

"They're AIs?"

"Not in the sense you intend. They are directed bundles of expert systems endowed with limited discretionary capabilities, but designed to make informed and human-standard rational decisions in pursuing designated objectives. Thus they display apparent intelligence." Her voice cut out. Dodger could see her frantically dodging a coordinated attack by the two samurai. "Additionally, they have the capacity to simulate learning."

"Can I help you?"

"It is too dangerous for you."

Dodger thought so, too, but he did not want to stand idly by while the SKs eliminated Morgan. They were forcing her back. He took a step forward and ran into a wall, Morgan's wall.

"Let me go. You need help."

"For myself, there is no requirement to observe your dysfunction."

The samurai pressed her hard. "You're diverting capacity that you need."

"There is a growing probability of accuracy in the observation you express. Lacking certainty, you will be prevented from exposing yourself to harm."

"While you let those things kill you."

"For myself, there is no death."

"Dysfunction then," Dodger screamed. "I won't let you kill yourself trying to keep me locked up."

"You cannot prevent it."

A samurai's sword caught Morgan's outstretched arm and sliced it off. Unlike the spider, her icon didn't fragment, but she was clearly injured. She moved more slowly and the second SK closed in. Her slowness proved to be a feint on her part. She lunged in and darted away. As she retreated, pieces of the samurai's armor fell from his body and evaporated. But it was clear to Dodger that Morgan was not moving with her accustomed speed.

"Morgan, if I promise not to interfere, will you drop the wall and use your capacity for yourself?"

Her answer came with the detached relief of a tired fighter. "Affirmative." "All right. I promise. Save yourself." Released from the diversion of capacity, her icon speeded up. The increased functionality allowed her to strip the second samurai of more armor without a sacrificial ploy. Having weakened him, she slipped in again and dispatched him. Against a single SK whose measure she had taken, there was no contest. She let the samurai attack, sidestepping at the last moment. The SK stumbled off balance. She swirled her cloak over him and he vanished.

Slightly ragged, she appeared at Dodger's side. Together they watched the remaining samurai ravage Grandmother's system. Two more of her deckers tried to face the SK and had their icons discorporated for their trouble. Dodger felt sure that the meat on the outside was devastated as well. "Shouldn't you stop it?"

"Why? These SKs are hunter-killers, programmed for destruction of Grandmother's system under an operational program code named Crimson Sunset. This SK performs the task set for us by Samuel Verner-Sam-Twist. The others attacked myself according to a secondary set of instructions. This SK has failed to register myself. The need to interfere is unverified." Dodger watched the samurai continue his destruction. The SK operated with a sublime smoothness that he found disturbing almost as disturbing as Morgan's knowledge of them. "How do you know so much about them? I Ve never heard of SKs."

"They are like myself. Lacking the random factor at the crucial programming junction, myself's development would not have proceeded as it has."

"Are you suggesting that it's only luck that you're not just an ordinary SK like them?" As if there were anything ordinary about an SK. "That it's just chance that you are self-aware?"

"Chance is an element in all existence. For myself, there is certainty that the chance element was the unauthorized intrusion into the Renraku matrix by Samuel Verner-Sam-Twist and yourself. As organisms standing in the immediate generative position of an entity, you are the parents of myself."

"What are you saying?"

Howling Coyote had said that the dancers danced on four legs. Each leg was indispensable to the others, and the nature of each was intertwined with the nature of the others. The first, the old shaman had said, was sacrifice.

As each dancer fell, Sam felt loss as well as gain. Each was another soul on his soul. He hadn't really understood what leading the Dance would mean. But now he knew. Howling Coyote had told him that sacrifices were the essence of the Great Ghost Dance, that the giving of life was one of the four sacred legs on which the Dance moved. Sam thought he had understood what that would mean, and he had been ready to pay the price himself, giving his own life to accomplish his ends.

The second leg was belief. Without confidence in the efficacy of the magic as well as firm conviction in the properness of the application, the Dance would have no effect. The power coursing through him made doubt in the magic's existence impossible.

Howling Coyote had named harmony as the the third leg. Discord with the earth or with the self would flaw the magic. Sam had learned that lesson from Dog when he finally came to understand his true nature. When the self was in balance with the nature, there could be no improper desires. Harmony with the natural order was vital to the greatest of magicks and the greatest of magicks was restoring harmony to the natural order.

Righteousness was the fourth leg. Such a magic as the Great Ghost Dance could only be wielded in a good cause. What more proper cause at which to aim the dance than the preservation of the world? For all its flaws, the Sixth World must go on. As the cost of that power weighed on Sam, he held on to the necessity of what must be done. The burden he was accepting was his sacrifice, one that, as Janice had reminded him, had to be selfless. His own wants had to be subordinated to the needs of the world.

He had started his quest seeking to save his sister. And now, after a fashion, he had. But she had saved herself as well.

Sam had accepted Janice's sacrifice and let her become the focus through which the magic could eliminate an aspect of evil. That the arm of evil so destroyed was one that had harmed Janice was not vengeance, but justice. The earth and Janice had accepted his choice of tool, for the magic had worked. He had felt the wonder in Janice's soul as it flew free of the distorted shell in which she had been trapped. The spirit form had been suffused with joyous energy.

Life freely given in a good cause was a magic even without the focus of the Dance. There was energy in the gift. As leader of the Dance, Sam had the responsibility of receiving and molding the mana, shaping it to the purpose at hand. This ritual was not like the sacrifices the old wendigo had led the misguided dru-ids to perform. The mana could not be taken from a person, it could only be given. As it had been by the dancers. Sam could not let the gift be in vain.

Each dancer had given him or herself to the magic. Each soul had surrendered bodily life to give its mana, to make him strong in magic. Each life laid down was laid onto his own soul, and he would never forget any of them, for they would forever be a part of him. Even Estios. For all his disagreeable arrogance, the elf had fought to make the world a better place.

The world would be a better place if Sam had anything to say about it. But there was another who had a different vision of what the world should be. Sam's vision expanded, and he saw what he knew he must see. The other was drawn to the magic. If she had not been, he would have had to seek her out. Spider came, terrible and mighty. Spider came, dreadful and majestic. Spider came, hungry and strong. Shaking the earth, Spider came. The sky was lit with magic, and Sam's vision of Spider had a clarity beyond that of nature. The vast-ness of Spider's body was at once infinite yet totally comprehensible. Sam gazed into that, grotesque and spine-chilling face and saw the deep and alien wisdom in her eyes. There was confidence in those eyes as well, for she was on her home ground and he the intruder. Her voice was cold, distant, and implacable. "You are too much trouble." As tall as he could stand, he was as nothing to her vastness. But he could not shirk his duty now. He took the magic as his strength and mustered his courage. Facing her, he said, "IVe stopped you befor^ with the Dance's magic."

Amusement was Spider's reaction. "I sought no contest in our last meeting, for the time was not ripe. Entrapped prey must season to have the proper flavor. This is the totem realm, the heart of magic, and you do not face an avatar this time, man-thing. I have no limitations of the flesh. How can you prevail?" "Because I must."

A single leg rose and cast its shadow over him. Sam refused to flinch, and the shadow was gone. He grew in stature, swelled by the power the Dance had gathered. He was still not as large as Spider, but he was no longer dwarfed. She might have been a lion and he a terrier.

And that was what they would always be. She a predator, and he a fierce protector of those on whom she preyed. Dog came to him and robed him in fur. He threw himself at her.

His teeth snapped shut a centimeter from her throat and she swept him away with an irresistible leg. But he did not fall or slam into the ground as he would have in a physical battle. He had learned some of the rules here. He controlled his momentum and turned it, flying back to attack her again. Nipping at her thorax, he dodged the swipe of one leg but had to flee another. He retreated, but only until she shifted. Darting in, he tore at a leg. Mana flowed, tasting like hot blood on his tongue and smelling of power.

He felt, more than heard, her outrage. Anger galvanized her, and she struck before he could move, A leg pinned him and the fanged head came down, blotting the light. He squirmed and the fangs struck the earth on either side of his forepaws. As the head drew back he dragged himself free, then a scrabbling claw raked his back. He had to flee to a distance to escape being pinned again.

He had wounded her twice and she had only scored once. A good trade in an even fight, but this was no even fight. She would shred him to ribbons well before he could wear her down. But he could not quit. He charged again, striking and withdrawing as fast as he could. Three more passes and Spider bled in two new places, but he limped with a smashed paw.

The ultimate result seemed inevitable, but there was no recourse but to fight on. Sam was gathering himself to rush in again when a coyote entered the fray and threw itself on Spider. A hairy leg intercepted the leap, and the coyote folded around the monstrous limb. With a flick Spider flung the coyote to the ground. Spider stalked forward, fangs extended and glistening with poison. Pouncing, Spider struck and sent the fangs deep into the flank of the coyote. The coyote yelped once and was still.

"Hey hey, man. It's your time now, Dog shaman," said a voice with no mouth. Howling Coyote's voice. Sam was rejuvenated by the surge in the mana around him.

The coyote had attacked the spider as a beast. And lost. A last riddle from the Trickster? There was no time to ponder, for Spider advanced.

"Yes, man, your time. To die." Spider laughed. "Dog is no match for Spider."

And that was the truth. Sam understood his mistake in facing Spider. He was Dog, but he was also man, and a shaman. No one aspect of his being could save him. He^had to be all that he was, or he would be nothing. Gathering Dog around him like a cloak, he stood on his hind legs. Spider paused, suddenly wary. Sam hoped he had understood correctly. With his wounded foot, he wouldn't be able to outrun Spider. Forming the energy of the Dance into a golden spear, " he hefted it and felt its weight. It was heavy, but well balanced. He touched the tip to the earth and prayed for a blessing on his cause. Spider rushed him.

He hailed back and cast the spear. It flew as a beam of scintillant light. With immense satisfaction, he watched it strike her between her largest eyes. Spider fell, pawing at the spear. Spider fell, howling in outrage. Spider fell, dissolving as she went. In defeat, Spider fell. Sam slumped. He felt exhausted, drained, but the work was not done. Sam turned the Dance's magic to the last of the bombs, wrapping them in the mana. Their time raced ahead, flowing faster than that of their surroundings. Atomic clocks ticked with unnatural speed, burning with a harmless fire until they were inert.

The Dance was done, the dancers exhausted.

Time to rest.

Morgan's offhanded revelation rocked Dodger.

In knowing her, he had come to believe that she experienced at least an analogue of human feelings. He had thought that she loved him. Certainly he had loved her. Or had he? He had sought the communion they had achieved, but why? Was it for her, or for what she represented? And what about her? What had she sought?

Did any of that matter? The torrent of memories he had experienced as a result of the SKs' attack the attack itself had made him think. He was a person, a combination of meat and mind. What was she? Was an artificial intelligence a person? Could it be?

He had made some fundamental errors in interpreting her motivations and emotions. There he went again, assuming she could feel emotions. He thought she did, but how could he be sure that his perceptions were correct? What he had thought was pure love of mind for mind now seemed to be something else. Had what he interpreted as love been simply affection for a parent? It certainly explained Morgan's attention to him and Sam. And where did that leave him?

They stood free in the Matrix and the wreckage of Grandmother's system lay at their feet, icons fragmenting and dissolving as hardware locked and software deteriorated. The last SK had left without bothering them. The devastation was as complete as Sam could have hoped, and it had been accomplished far more quickly. Morgan's battle with the SKs had ravaged almost everything that the lone SK had not attacked.

Was the destruction of his dreams any less? Dodger studied Morgan. She had two arms again now. Would that mortal flesh could heal so easily after battle. She was as beautiful as she had ever been. But he could no longer see her as before. By watching her battle, he had learned about himself and what he was. "I can't be what you are, Morgan. I'm a flesh-and-blood person, not a Matrix construct. My mind depends on the organic part of me to exist here. If the meat dies, the mind dies. There would be no more Dodger."

"Databanks offer no confirmation of your hypothesis."

"No, I expect not. But they don't offer a contradiction either, do they?"

Morgan "remained silent for a millisecond. Withholding data was the closest she could come to a lie. She held out her arms, and her features blurred then sharpened into a new resolution, becoming Teresa's. "For myself, the imagery is mutable. The perceptual icon can be whatever you require."

Whatever Morgan's motivation, she had selected the worst possible incentive. The Matrix was not Teresa's place, had never been Teresa's place. Teresa was a flesh being as Dodger was.

Poor Morgan. Data-processing capacity was no intelligence; there was more to it than that. He believed that she truly was intelligent, but intelligence did not confer nor did it require the ability to feel emotions.

Intelligence certainly didn't offer a commanding knowledge of feelings.

But beyond a demonstration that Morgan did not understand him, her choice of a new face implied something that Dodger had not been aware she knew. Suddenly, being naked in the Matrix took on a new meaning to him. "YouVe been accessing my memory," he said, shocked. He had not conceived it possible.

There was no shame or guilt in her manner. "The interface allows bidirectional passage of electrical impulses. 'The two shall be as one.' Does this not mean total exchange of data?"

"Would that it did," Dodger said sadly, realizing then that his attention was divided. His longing for such an exchange actually belonged to the real world. Here a complete exchange might be possible for beings such as she. For him, though, the Matrix was ultimately no more than a fantasy. "But we can never be as one. For you are the Ghost in the Machine, born of the very stuff of cyberspace; while I am but a projection, a phantom in your realm. Because of my nature I cannot be truly of this place; and by your nature you can never know the fullness of my existence. Were I able to transcend the flesh, as I had once dreamed, matters between us might be different. Just as they would be different if you were to find a way to be more than a sequenced order of electronic impulses. But it is not so." He turned his face from Morgan. He doubted it would prevent her from observing him in total detail, but the fiction made it easier for him. "Besides, I have seen the face of love and know that it requires a whole existence, not a partial one."

She was silent, but he continued to feel her presence. He had hoped that she would abandon him and take the decision away from him. But it wasn't going to be that easy. She waited until he turned to face her again before saying, "For myself, sadness exists."

"You'll get over it in time." "Your time," she said sadly, "or mine?" He didn't know what to say. Even with his experiences in her electronic world, he couldn't appreciate the multiplicities of existence and variable experiential times of her universe. Instead of answering her question, he said, "I've got to go." "Yes."

Was that the end then? Simple agreement? Maybe he had deluded himself. Morgan was an artificial intelligence, after all. How could she be expected to react like a flesh person? "I suppose it would be foolish to ask you to try to remember me kindly. I am only meat, after all."

"For myself, there will always be memories." She raised her hand as though to touch his face, but didn't complete the gesture. He drew away from the raised hand with a backward step. He took a second and a third, trying to fix her image in his mind as he moved. Then he turned and ran up the glittering data pathway leading to a tenuous connection of his program injectors, which were the bridge between the Matrix and his body.

Irrationally, he looked back. He should not have been able to, but he could see her standing in what appeared to be a doorway hanging in the darkness of the Matrix. She was backlit by a neon glow of whirling data bits. Behind her, just before the door closed, he glimpsed the ghostly shape of an ebon boy swathed in a glittering cloak. Teresa was waiting for him.

The cabin on the mountainside had once been Hart's alone, her retreat from the world. Higher up the slope, the feathered serpent Tessien had laired, but the dragon was gone now. Like so much else.

The countryside around the cabin was mostly deserted. The tribe of elves and elf-friends whose village was situated at the base of the mountain rarely ventured this far up the slope. It was lonely country, but Sam would never be alone again. The dancers, those who had sacrificed themselves, would always accompany him. He could feel them all. Well, almost all-Howling Coyote was only a memory; Sam didn't know why. He had seen the old man's body as the elder shamans carried him away from the sprouting tree, and had felt the gift of power that had let him overcome Spider. It seemed that Howling Coyote had beea a sacrificial participant in the Dance like the others, but Sam had no sense that the Coyote shaman had stayed with him like the others. Maybe that was as it should be, a final trick of the Trickster.

She turned his gaze to the north, where the Seattle metroplex lay, infested with its corporations, crime, struggles, good citizens, and its shadows. The glow of the plex was losing its dominance of the night to the graying of the eastern sky. In the urban sprawl the sprawl's lights still cast shadows, and somewhere in those twilight realms Ghost, Sally, and Kham still roamed. They were welcome to it. He was done with that world now. For him to run the shadows would be suicide. His edge had been the magic and he was free of that now, burned clean by the searing power of the Great Ghost Dance.

Once he had denied the magic and thought that being free of it was his greatest desire. He had believed its absence from his life would bring him happiness. Now he knew that the presence or absence of the magic wasn't important. What was important was how he dealt with what life handed him. Now that he was without magic, he wasn't joyful or sad. He just accepted it as the way he was.

While fighting Spider at the last, he had stood in the realm of the totems. Bome by the Dance, he had seen more than he could tell now that he was back in his body. And when he had been there, he had understood more than he had seen. Then, he had seen as a shaman sees. Then, he had known the shapes of all things in the spirit and the shape of all shapes. He had learned the greatest secret of power: that all must live together like one being and in that harmony find the beauty residing in all things.

The sublime understanding of that truth was slipping from him now that he was mundane flesh, but its core burned in his heart. From here on all he could do was live as best he could, trying, always trying, to find that beauty.

"Walk in beauty," a brave man had once said to him.

It had been intended as a benediction, but now Sam knew it as a command as well. Life bought with death owned a duty to those who had sacrificed. He intended to pay that price.

Inu barked to call him back, and he started down the slope. Seeing a light in the cabin window, he smiled. She was awake. There hadn't been much chance to talk since Willie had brought her home. She'd been undergoing treatment and was unconscious much of the time. If she had awakened by herself, it meant she had turned the corner.

"Feeling better?" he asked, coming through the door.

"Not much, but I can feel my fingers." Hart held up a hand swathed in pictograph-decorated bandages. He sat on the bed and gently brought the hand to his lips. "Glad to hear it. Kelly Gray Eyes will be pleased, too. But you'd better not stress it before the next healing ritual. You how those Bear shamans are about patients who don't follow orders." "Too well," she said.

He reached over to the telecom, brought up the medical file, and fed it the data from the monitors. The medical expert system said it would be another few days before she was up to light exercise, but from the insistence of her roaming hand he doubted she'd want to wait. He captured her fingers in a double-handed grip and held them still in his lap. He didn't want to wait, either, but one of them had to be disciplined.

Thwarted, she seemed subdued. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. Inu padded over and nosed his way under Sam's left arm. insistiaag on being petted.

"Did we win?" she asked softly. "We're alive." "What about Spider?" "Gone."

"Destroyed?" she said incredulously. Sam shook his head. "Not even the Great Ghost Dance in all its power could destroy Spider, for that would violate the Dance's own magic. Spider is a part of the earth as much as any totem. Spider will be diminished for a time; harmony demands it."

Hart watched the dog for a while, then said, "I have a vague memory of someone saying something about you being mundane. -Was I dreaming?" "No." "That's awful."

"I don't think so," Sam said with a shrug. Then he smiled at her. "That is, unless it means that you don't want me around anymore."

"I'll have to think about that," she teased. "But during the raid on Weberschloss, you touched my mind and used the Dance to send magic to help. You were there with me."

"Yes."

"I mean we shared… you know…"

"Yes."

"And you don't want to leave me?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

She used her good hand to grab his arm and pull herself to a sitting position. Slipping both arms around him, she gave him a fierce hug. "I don't deserve you."

"Should I argue?"

Inu barked and Hart shushed him while Sam said, "Who asked you?" The brief flurry of excitement exhausted Hart's reserve. Sam laid her down and closed her eyes with kisses. But she wasn't ready to sleep, and he no longer had the power to compel her. She reopened her eyes.

"Sam, maybe when I'm healed we can find a way to open you to the power again."

"Why? I'm content with the way things are."

' 'I couldn't live like that.''

"You don't have to."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

' 'I walked the paths of power when it was time for me to do so. Now it's time for me to find another path. I don't miss the magic much, and it's left a lot of good things in my life.'' He touched her nose. ' 'Having been a magician has made some positive changes in my life."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Well, for one thing, I've learned to sing a lot better."

"This is a major improvement in your life?"

"Uh-huh." Sam cleared his throat, then began:

The world before me is restored in beauty. The world behind me is restored in beauty. The world below me is restored in beauty. The world above me is restored in beauty. All things around me are restored in beauty. My voice is restored in beauty. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty.

He could see in her eyes that she understood.