Night's Pawn (19 page)

"Deal." Chase commanded the system to disconnect, then stared at the blue letters flashing in his mind. Nothing. No trace had been detected. Had Teek found it and dealt with it? Had Lachesis? He shook his head and resolved to think about it later.

He sent his attention back to the running telecom program and fed it an access number not all that different from the one he'd given Teek. This time, he primed the system to accept a visual signal and reproduce the image within his sight. He himself wasn't generating any image, which would be a slight to the intended receiver, but such was life. He hadn't the time to rig in a video pickup to the system just to avoid stepping on some virtual toes.

Chase terminated the trace-detection program; there would be no traces on this number. No one dared. The trace-detection program's visual window faded from view only to be replaced by another, this one filled in completely with black. Chase spoke as soon as the connection was established.

"I seek entrance." he said.

A voice responded from the black. It sounded grim and cold and held nothing of life. Even through the interfaces and filters, Chase felt himself shiver slightly. " Speak and be j udged."

"I seek Lachesis."

There was a pause. "You are incomplete. You cannot enter here."

"The datapath I'm using can't handle a Matrix signal. If Lachesis is there, tell her that Priest wishes a word with her."

"Priest." The word came out slowly, stretched out to the breaking point. "You did not come to the funeral."

"I did not know of Lucifer's death until Lachesis told me a few days ago. Otherwise I would have been there."

"I am denied you. I cannot prove you are who you say you are."

"I understand. If Lachesis is there, have her enter the connection. I can prove it with her."

"She is not here."

"Do you expect her to return?"

"Eventually."

"Then tell her I'm coming. Tell her I'll see her in a few days."

"Your flesh is coming here, Priest?"

"Yes."

"He will be pleased."

Chase felt his body tense. He would go to Denver; there was no way to avoid it. For all that had come before, and in spite of all that had passed since, he would have to see him.

"Tell him I'm coming." Before the voice could answer, Chase reached up and pulled the cable from his datajack, instantly severing the line. He sat there and listened to the muffled sounds of Blanchard working on the T-bird's hull.

Denver. If he was going to be in Denver, he'd have to see Shiva. He had no choice.

16

The
Rapier's Touch
bucked for a moment in a sudden gust of crosswind and then responded to Gordani's stabilizing commands. Chase found his mind endlessly preoccupied with his forthcoming encounters in Denver when he should have been mulling over Cara's problems instead.

Cara Villiers was in her own world, too, tuned out from the interior of the LAV and intent only on the music and accompanying video feed from her simdeck. Chase had been casual about trying to get a look, but he was reassured to see that the simchip in the deck was yet another commercial one, a recording by her old friends L'Infame. He watched Cara occasionally during the trip north, but she continued to stare blankly at the cabin's far wall. Every so often her left hand twitched. Mostly, though, Chase thought about Denver.

Only when Gordani's voice awakened him from a light doze did Chase realize he must have fallen asleep. "Make sure you're strapped in good. We're coming within sensor range of the Aztlan-Pueblo border units and may have to do some jockeying."

"Roger." Chase leaned over and visually checked Cara's straps. They seemed tight enough; he'd helped her fasten them when they'd left the temporary camp just before dawn. She'd thanked him, but hadn't said much else.

Blanchard's voice came over the headset. "I've got high-band sensor echoes in the foothills, bearing four-seven degrees, about seven klicks."

"Read that," Gordani responded. "Freid?"

Chase glanced over at the mage, whose back was to him, and caught her nod. "On my way." She shifted in the chair, rotated it toward her console, and visibly relaxed. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.

Chase watched her monitors and the terrain that her astral form was presumably now flying over. She'd tried to explain what the world looked like from astral space, but he still couldn't picture it. Try to imagine the world as if the only light was the light that came from within, she'd said. The more alive something was, the more light it gave. Imagine that texture was emotive, and not tactile. Imagine that physical presence was defined by how close it was to its natural form. The more refined, the more manufactured, the less tangible—

"Confirm definite KS-band radar sweep," said Blan-chard. "The signals are getting stronger, so either we're in an area where the reflections happen to be focusing, or the chopper's moving this way."

"Roger," Gordani replied. "Prepare to jam. Wait for my word."

Chase carefully reached out to touch Cara's leg. Startled, she jumped and turned to him wide-eyed.

"There may be problems. You might want to jack out."

She blinked rapidly, then reached up to pull the cable from the datajack. Her eyes focused on him. "What? Did you say something?"

"There may be problems."

She nodded and quickly stuffed the simdeck and cable into her bag. Blanchard's voice came again as Chase helped her stow the bag under the seat.

"I've got a second active source almost directly ahead. Suggest you alter course to three-two-seven," said Blan-chard.

Chase felt the T-bird change its heading before Gordani replied. "Roger, heading changed. I'm either going to have to slow down in this terrain or else trigger the ground-imaging radar to handle it."

"Slow down. I'll bet dinner that whatever they are has passive detectors too."

"Roger. Slowing down."

The T-bird decelerated through a shallow turn and Chase felt himself pressed lightly against the acceleration harness. He could see the first rays of sun beginning to appear across the ground. The sky was already light enough that the T-bird's automatic sensors had deactivated the low-light video systems.

"Church?" It was Gordani.

Chase reached up and reactivated his headset. "I read you."

"What's Freid doing?"

"Um, as far as I can tell, she projected astrally just after you last spoke with her."

"Can you see her?"

"Only the back of her head." Chase turned toward Cara, who'd been listening in on her own headset. She nodded and leaned to her left to get a better view of the mage's face.

"Uh," she said as Chase reached out and activated her microphone, "this is Cara… um… she looks tense, sweating… I can't really see her face, though, with all the gear."

"Drek!"

"Church…" Chase was looking at Cara when Gordani spoke, and from her expression he thought she might have suddenly been disconnected from the intercom. She looked at him, puzzled, and tapped her headset to confirm it. "We may have a problem…"

Chase shrugged at Cara, then turned to have a look at Freid. He noticed a slight jerk of the mage's shoulder.

"I take it you're armed," said the pilot.

"Yes."

"The girl said Freid looks tense, like something was happening. If she got ambushed out there in astral space, we might be in danger. While her astral body's in astral space, she's creating a link between there and here. It's like a pipe or a conduit. Somebody in astral space could toss a spell down that pipe and detonate it right here."

"Oh, great."

"So, chummer, you gotta watch her. If she starts freaking out, or things seem really bad, or if magic energy starts leaking out of her, you've got to geek her, fast."

Chase stiffened. "What?"

"You've got to kill her. It's the only way to protect us. Freid knows."

Chase stared at the back of her head and counted the beads of sweat running from her hairline and down her back. Four.

Blanchard's voice cut in, quiet and controlled, but Chase could sense the tension in it. "Gordo's right. You've got to be ready to do it. Usually I keep an eye on her when she's astral. We haven't had a problem yet, but…"

A new line of sweat began on the mage's neck and trickled quickly to join the growing stain just below her collar. Chase remembered her smell. Her left leg lashed out and thumped against the control console.

"All right," he said, eyes turning away from Freid and toward Cara. She was staring at him, fear growing slowly on her face. He wondered what his own face betrayed; surely not calm anymore. He reached under his jacket and let his fingers slide over the hilt of his heavy pistol. He felt its warmth as soon as the grip settled into his palm. The weapon's status information appeared superimposed over Cara's face. He drew the weapon and brought it up to point at the back of Freid's head. The red targeting spot obediently centered there and waited, flashing. He braced the weapon with both hands. Cara brought up one hand to cover her mouth. Better she should cover her eyes, he thought.

"I'm ready," he said over the intercom.

"Good thing," came Blanchard's voice, "'cause we've got definite trouble. I've got three active sources, two are terrain echoes, but the third is vectoring inbound directly ahead. It's airborne. Easy money says they're looking for us."

"Frag!" said Gordani. "We stay cold for as long as we can, then we see how much heat they can handle. Get the search radar ready."

"Search radar to hot standby. Enabling weapons."

"Roger."

Chase, looking past his pistol and the targeting spot, could see the terrain clearly on Freid's monitors. The sun was up enough to light almost everything, but there were still deep shadows. He hoped some would be large enough to hide the
Rapier's Touch
. Something dark stood out against the sky for a split second on the forward monitor.

It was Blanchard who spoke. "Target, bearing three-five-eight, course two-five-one, speed one-five-zero. Heat profile roughly matches a light attack chopper, probably Cuervo type. Forward-looking active sensors only and full thermo passives. Single forward minigun, right and left rocket pods, and a missile rail on each load wing."

"Track her passively if you can," came Gordani's reply.

"Roger."

Gordani spoke again. "Church, anything different with Freid?"

"Not that I can see." Chase glanced over at Cara, who shook her head. Apparently Gordani had put her back in the link.

"Roger, let me know."

An alarm siren screamed in the tight cabin, and Chase felt the T-bird immediately slam into a hard right turn. The cool green of one of Blanchard's monitors had begun to flash red. The gunner spoke.

"We're painted! KS-radar locked and tracking. I've begun jamming."

"Let's see how big their
cojones
are today," Gordani said. "Blanchard, engage at will. I'm coming off the deck."

Chase tightened his grip on the heavy pistol as the dull throb of the T-bird's engines rose to a deafening roar. The ground on Freid's monitors dropped away as Gordani brought the LAV up and into flight. Data and graphic displays flashed to life as the
Rapier's
own sensors went active and began hunting for targets.

"Confirm, three targets, light attack class," Blanchard said. "Two are out of position. Engaging the local target."

Chase watched the monitor displays shift as the main turret traversed. Suddenly, the LAV's chain gun began to fire. Chase could see the bursts of smoke from the firing quickly swept away on the wind, followed immediately by a series of sharp flashes in the distance as the rounds struck their target. He couldn't see the helicopter itself against the high rock formations behind it, but the flashes and sparks of the rounds impacting marked it clearly. Light, flame, and smoke blossomed suddenly from the sparks, then were lost from view as the turret rotated to set up for the next target. Gordani slammed the LAV into another hard turn as ground views filled the left-side monitors.

"Confirm one target down. Enemy One is moving—" Blanchard stopped for a moment, his normally calm voice suddenly taking on an edge. "New target, emitting KS and LR bands. Where the frag did she come—
Launch
! I have multiple launches inbound!"

The
Rapier's Touch
accelerated even faster, and Gordani banked her hard and then down as he tried to evade the incoming missiles by bringing the T-bird closer to the ground. Chase heard Cara shriek. He glanced at her and saw she'd pulled her legs in close and was covering her head with her arms.

The LAV banked again. "Two incoming," Blanchard reported. "ETI twenty-eight seconds. Full jamming, blowing flares."

The rear monitor lit up as the flare ejector fired a series of mini-rockets. A fraction of a second after clearing the tubes, they erupted and burned with a white light hot enough to nearly blind the cameras. With any luck, the missiles were tracking the T-bird's heat signature and would be distracted by the flares.

"No luck. Missiles still tracking," said Blanchard. "They're homing on the chopper's radar. Show her our tail so I can use chaff."