Beyond the Pale (17 page)
Starfish was perhaps the opposite. She was the one who had challenged him—a hothead, itching for something to happen, not at all happy to report that there was no sign of activity.
Ryan had half a mind to kick her hoop just to regain his focus. Astral travel was the antithesis of what it meant to be a physical adept, to be in tune with the body. Physicality.
Ryan pushed the temptation from his mind. He couldn’t afford a sparring match now. And he didn’t want to disgrace anyone. Both Raven and Starfish held themselves with confidence, and they seemed to know how to handle themselves. According to Jane, Cluster and his team were top-notch, consummate professionals.
His wristphone beeped as he rounded a corner of the sea wall. Ryan stopped a good distance from the others and punched the Connect. “Go ahead.”
Jane’s huge smile filled the tiny screen. Her ruby lips pouting. “I was right,” she said. “They took Burnout to Aztlan. The helos only stopped in Atlanta to refuel.”
“Where did they go?”
“Your favorite place—Roxborough’s delta clinic in Panama.”
Ryan sighed. He did not have fond memories of that place. Thomas Roxborough was a vatcase megalomaniac who had developed a procedure for mapping his personality over someone else’s. Ryan had been one of his test subjects, had almost become Roxborough.
“I decked into Rox’s system,” Jane said, her voice resonant with pride. Ryan knew that was no small accomplishment. “Burnout was only there to be repaired. According to my scan, and the vid I’ve seen, he’s as good as new.”
“That shouldn’t concern us,” Ryan said. “As long as Lethe is still inside him.”
Jane’s blonde curls dipped forward. “The tech notes I saw explained that they moved last night. There were some anomalies with the cybermantic magic so they transported him to San Marcos, just south of the Aztlan-CAS border.” Ryan shivered. “I’ve been there.”
“At least we know Lethe’s probably still inside,” Jane said.
“True,” Ryan said, feeling the cool salt breeze through his hair. “You got a fix on where they’re keeping him?”
Jane nodded.
“Where?” he asked.
“He’s being held in the
teocalli.
I haven’t decked into the temple’s system yet, but I got some vid from the external sec cameras. A few hours ago, he escaped and tried to take on practically the whole Azzie army. He geeked a lot of them before they shut him down and carried him inside.”
Ryan steeled himself against the memories of his last time in San Marcos, latched to the ancient amusement park tower. Staring down at the underwater excavation of the Locus, its primal black surface emerging through the silt and mud. “There’s a heavily guarded dig there,” he said.
He’d reported to Dunkelzahn that night, as ordered. Just before the assassination. His transmission had been picked up somehow by the Azzie security team around the site. Ryan had dropped, sliding the hundred meters down the ladder like a droplet of black oil. Falling along the side of the old rusty needle as the rhythmic thunder of the helo’s blades grew louder and louder.
They had captured him, beaten him, and given him to Roxborough for experimentation.
All in all,
Ryan thought,
not one of my most cherished experiences.
He gave a sharp laugh.
“I’m not going to downplay the situation, Quicksilver,” Jane said. “If anything, it’s gotten worse than when you were there undercover. Something major is going down. I had to do some fancy decking just to get inside their local grid.”
“Give me a guess as to what’s going down.”
“Frag if I know, Quicksilver. Thousands of people have gathered around the
teocalli
and the dig site. One thing’s mighty certain. It’s not the prime place for a discreet run.”
“Noted, Jane,” Ryan said. “But we’ve got no choice. I need Lethe now. He’s somehow tied into what’s going on
at the Locus dig. And so am I. We must get Harlequin,
Lethe, and the Dragon Heart all together, and it needs to happen soon or the whole world will suffer.”
“Doesn’t sound like you, Quicksilver. Talking doom and gloom, end-of-fragging-world drek.”
Ryan smiled. “Maybe not, Jane, but Dunkelzahn told me at the beginning that this mission was for the survival of metahumanity. And I know what I felt in the metaplanes—dread, Jane. Dread and horror like I’ve never experienced in my life. Fear, too.”
“Coming from you, Quicksilver, that scares me.”
“It should, Jane. How would you like to live out your days as a tortured corporate citizen of Aztechnology? Perhaps controlled by creatures so alien that they live off pain and suffering.”
“I’ll put together a composite of the data I’ve gathered from San Marcos,” Jane said. “We can run when you’re ready.”
“Good. If Harlequin hasn’t awakened by tonight, we run without him.”
“Is there time to infiltrate undercover?” Jane asked.
“Null chance of that. This has to happen tonight.”
“Then what do you propose?”
Ryan considered for a second. He found himself at the junction where the castle wall met the sea wall. He'd come full circle. “We’ll need these other runners,” he said. “They can cause a distraction for Assets to get in, get Burnout and get out.”
“I’ll arrange it through their fixer,” she said. “It’s best if they think it's an unrelated run. Keep them ignorant of our plans in case they’re captured and interrogated.”
Ryan descended the stone stairs that ran down the inside wall, then headed through the courtyard and into the chateau. He wanted to check on Harlequin. “It’s ironic,” Ryan said. “We’re planning to rescue the man who I’ve been trying so hard to kill. Until recently.”
Jane laughed. “Yes. The dagger of irony is a sharp one.”
Ryan approached Grind, standing guard at the entrance to the ritual chamber. The dwarf's black hair and beard were only slightly darker than his skin. “Hoi, Ryan,” Grind
said, shifting the heavy machine gun—an Ares Alpha
—into the third arm that protruded from his chest.
“Any news?” Ryan asked.
Grind shook his head. “Nada. Harlequin’s still out. Axler’s in there with Talon and Foster.”
“Quicksilver?” came Jane’s voice from his wristphone. She hadn’t disconnected.
Ryan lifted his hand. “Yes, Jane?”
“Incoming call from Nadja.”
“Patch it through.”
Jane’s face disappeared from the tiny screen, replaced by Nadja’s, which had a serious expression.
“Ryan,” she said. “Aina is with me. We’re enroute to you now.”
“You’re coming here?”
“It’s the best way I can help,” she said.
“But . . .”
“Don’t worry, Ryan. I have my own security detail.” Ryan took a breath and reprimanded himself. He loved Nadja and would worry about her no matter what, but he knew she could take care of herself. “Sorry,” he said. “How soon will you arrive?”
“Four hours,” she said.
Ryan clutched his heart. “That’s an eternity.”
Nadja gave him a beautiful smile. Then she said, “Aina wants to talk to you.”
“Of course.”
The image on Ryan’s wristphone shifted to show a female elf with dark brown skin. Her white hair was cut close to her skull, giving her a severe look. “I’ve heard about you, Ryan Mercury,” Aina said. “Most of it good.”
“I hope I won’t be disappointing in person.”
Aina did not smile. “I did not say that to flatter you,” she said. “Merely as a reason why I’m talking to you at all. Why I’m coming to help you, instead of to kill you. I presume you had a good reason to leave Harlequin in the metaplanes?”
Ryan bit back his reply. He didn’t need this kind of abusive drek, but he did need to remain diplomatic; her help was crucial. “Yes,” was all he said.
“Tell me what happened,” Aina said.
Ryan unfolded the whole story to her, deciding that he had no other choice but to trust her. He told her of the ritual, bringing the Dragon Heart across to the bridge. He recounted the story of Thayla’s fall into the Chasm, the fight with Darke, the zombies and the spider creatures. How Harlequin had flung him back into his body.
When he had finished, Aina’s expression had changed slightly. A tiny bit more respectful. “What I’ve heard about you is true then,” she said.
“Can you help?”
Aina considered. “If he’s alive and wandering the metaplanes, I can search for him,” she said. “I have known him a long, long time and will have a much better chance of bringing him back than . . .” Aina stopped herself, biting back her words. “Than that child, Foster. But if Caimbeul’s dead . . .”
Ryan nodded, stepping into the ritual chamber and looking around. Axler and Talon glanced at him briefly. Foster and Harlequin lay side by side, her blonde hair mixing with his auburn ponytail. Both faces slack.
“I hope you make it in time,” he said.
“I’ll start looking now,” Aina said, then she disconnected and Nadja’s face filled the screen again.
“Ryan?” Nadja said. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Ryan looked down at Harlequin’s face again. The man had been out of his body for over twelve hours now. When Ryan looked at his aura, he saw no sign of spirit left.
“Hurry,” he said, and disconnected.
Lucero rose from her eviscerated body, her spirit finally free of Oscuro’s oppressive manipulation. Pain wracked through her, like an explosion of agony that pulsed through her over and over. Never stopping, never letting her scream subside.
Am I to live out my last moment forever? Is that my atonement?
The Gestalt entity warped astral space around her. The aura of the ten members coalesced into one, swirling and twisting over her fleeing spirit as she rose up above the Locus. The stone’s power radiated like a dark sun. Even now, her body lying dead below her, she felt the draw of the chiseled gemstone, and some distant part of her desired to stay.
Perhaps it could take away the pain. Perhaps she could regain her power.
Lucero’s spirit stopped rising, encased in the tornado of power created by the Gestalt, swirling green and electric blue above her. She stopped and began to descend again. Back toward her body.
As she fell, she saw her body grow closer and closer. She could not possibly have survived Oscuro’s attack with the
macauitl
sword. Her body lay on its side, splayed like a fresh kill, her guts and internal organs a gelatinous heap next to it. Her runic scars rimmed in her own blood one final time. Oscuro’s doing.
The cut in her gut was extremely clean, like a precision surgical incision. Oscuro knelt over her entrails, hands buried to the elbows in the slippery mass of her intestines. Her liver, stomach, kidneys, and lungs had been cut away and set around her disembodied heart, which still beat in sputtering, dry spurts from the aorta.
Oscuro said some words over her corpse, and though Lucero could not hear them, she heard their intent. “I summon you, Lucero Debil. From all that remains, I draw you back.”
Lucero’s blood flowed backward, the droplets flying through the air from where they had landed. The spray reversed itself, a condensation of life energy that coalesced over the mound of internal organs.
What is he doing to me ?
A sickening sensation oozed over her, and she fought to get away. Ignoring the severe pain, she struggled to push up through the tapestry of mana that the Gestalt had woven above her. She pushed with all she had left.
It was not enough.
Her spirit sank slowly, inexorably, back into the blood and guts that had once been part of her. As her spirit appeared in the physical world, shackled into this manifestation by Oscuro’s horrid magic, she smelled herself. Stench and vile repugnance, like vomit and sewage and death combined.
He means to keep me as a blood spirit.
She stood there in front of Oscuro. Seething. Wanting to tear him apart.
He was her summoner, however, and he controlled her with his magic. She was bound to him, and forced to obey.
The crowd had gathered to watch, and now Lucero saw their spirits, their auras instead of their bodies. She saw them all hypnotized in front of her. Vacancy in their intent. Vapid resignation.
Lambs, the lot of them. Waiting for slaughter.
Hatred flooded her. The agony of her death had dwindled a bit, though her nerves still held a persistent edge of pain as though someone had flayed all the skin from her body. And when she looked down at herself, she saw that she had no skin. She was merely a mass of coagulated blood, intermixed with leaking intestines and internal organs that floated inside her like chunks of meat in an animated stew.
“You are now bound to me, Lucero Debil. My ally.” Oscuro’s expression was pure glee. “My slave.”
Lucero could not deny the power and authority of his words. She knew them to be true. She was his slave, now and until his death. As she thought this through, she grew more and more angry.
Snatched from the gates of freedom to this existence of servitude. What she was repulsed her. How could she exist like this?
