Jak Koke: Stranger souls

Was there any way Dunkelzahn could have survived? Nadja didn't think so, and the shock of that realization made her knees weak.

The damage stopped after a point, however. Windows two

stories up were completely intact, and the trees past an imaginary radius were healthy and green. The grass lush and verdant. It's as though the blast just stopped.

Nadja followed the arc that traced the edge of the destruction and noticed that she and Brooks had been standing on the very rim. Lucky, she thought. Yet again.

An image of Ryan came to her mind, his copper brown hair blowing in the ocean breeze as they walked hand in hand. Maui. He had told her then that they were connected in some way and that luck was part of it. It had something to do with their luck. Both of them seemed to have exceptional luck.

Oh, Ryan, what did you say to Dunkelzahn? Do you know anything about this?

Jeremy rushed Nadja into a limousine and then climbed in next to her. Her world came crashing down around her as she sat, the blood from her cuts sticking against the leather seat. She put her head in her hands, and blackness crept into her vision. She didn't know if it was shock or loss of blood, but she nearly blacked out.

What would she do if Dunkelzahn were gone? It felt like he was. That telepathic scream. How could anything, even a great dragon, survive that blast? Dunkelzahn was all she knew, all she cared about. The dragon had been her life. Her whole existence had been devoted to him.

Now, all that had changed.

Ryan tumbled through the black sky. Plummeting. Ground rushing up, invisible in the darkness.

He heard the dragon's voice in his memory as he fell, pivoting in the air, executing a perfect layout double somersault. Trying to slow himself. Dunkelzahn's voice was crisp and urgent in Ryan's mind, "… this next assignment will be the most important of your life… The fate of the world rides on this mission…

"Do not fail me."

Blackness loomed in the heat around Ryan. / can't die, he thought. Because then there will he no one to carry out Dunkelzahn's plan. He braced himself, anticipating imminent impact. / refuse to fail you, Dunkelzahn. I will not die here. Any moment now…

He covered his head and face with his arms when he hit the branches. Live oak and pecan trees snagged his back and legs. He crashed through the smaller twigs first, then a large limb smashed into his shoulder. And another caught his thigh.

Then he was through the trees, and the ground rushed up like a maglev train. Black and unyielding.

Ryan tucked into a ball as he hit. Pain exploded in his shoulder and back as he rolled. The trees must have slowed him a little because he rolled downslope somewhat effectively, sliding and careening. And when he finally rustled to a halt, he focused on his pain and used magic to channel it away. Then he stood carefully and examined himself. His shoulder was the worst, dislocated from the impact. But he'd otherwise sustained only bruises and scrapes. No internal injures that he could determine. No major flesh wounds.

It's that luck thing again, he thought.

Ryan concentrated on his shoulder for a minute as he lifted his bad arm into the fork of a tree branch. Then he probed the socket with his good arm, and with a jerk popped the ball of his bone back into place. Be good as new in a few hours; he healed exceptionally fast.

Ryan checked his equipment to make sure none of it had jarred loose. The chest holster of his Walther PB 120 jutted a little from the webbing that held the gear around his midsection, but the minigrenades and his belt of throwing darts were still in place. He tucked his pistol back into position and slowly pulled the leaves and twigs from his clothing; they would make silent movement difficult.

The helo overhead scanned the tower and the trees with its bright white feeler as Ryan crouched in the undergrowth. He took in the hillside around him, using his magically enhanced eyesight to see infrared and heat signatures, but he came up dry. Nothing. Then he looked into the astral plane.

The trees glimmered around him, and he could see no movement. No spirits or people. Then he caught a glimpse of a figure floating above the trees, hovering against the blue-black sky. The figure looked like a human, with glowing red robes that sparkled all over as though he was surrounded by a galaxy of silver stars.

Drek, Ryan thought. A mage.

The astral image was a projection of a magician's spirit into astral space. Shamans and mages could do it, plus certain adepts. Ryan knew he couldn't outrun the astral form; movement in astral space was much faster than normal physical motion. But I might be able to hide from him, he thought.

Ryan flattened himself against the tree and stood perfectly still for the moment, trying to use his aura masking to blend his astral presence with the trees around him. He needed a few seconds to weigh his options. His vehicle was up the hill, over the perimeter fence, and a half-kilometer hike away.

He'd driven up from the Aztechnology pyramid in San Antonio in a company Mitsubishi Runabout, trying to get out of the city without breaking his cover. He'd been operating under the assumed identity of Travis W. Saint John for

several months. Now, his cover was as good as blown. There was almost no way T.W. Saint John would return to his laboratory tomorrow. Ryan's best chance was to try to make it across the border near Austin and into the Confederate American States.

Ryan knew it was unlikely he would reach his Runabout without the mage spotting him or the helo closing down, but what other choice did he have? Steal another vehicle?

/ could take the helo, he thought. They would never expect that.

As if on cue, the insect-machine descended to land on the concrete platform next to the old tower. Ryan took it as a sign and went to work, moving in silence and stealth back up the hill. He used his magic to pass through the undergrowth without disturbing the leaves, blending his aura so that the mage above the trees would have a harder time seeing him.

He reached the edge of the concrete slab with no incidents. The mage was off scanning the trees downhill as Ryan watched the helo land. Ryan crouched in the dark hollow of the trees, and scanned the opposition.

Through the helo's tinted macroglass foreshield, Ryan caught the shape of the rigger pilot, a woman with dark hair pulled tightly into a neat ponytail. She was straight-wired into the console via a fiber-optic cable that plugged into the datajack at her temple.

The copilot sat next to her, less visible, though his heat signature indicated an ork or perhaps a troll. Ryan guessed ork by the size, and he was packing a big weapon that Ryan recognized as an Ares Alpha Combatgun from its distinctive silhouette. The side door opened as the helo's runners touched down, and one person jumped out-a hulking shadow of a man moving fast and smooth. Like a simsense suspense hero on double speed.

Ryan quickly scanned the inside of the vehicle while the door was open, rapidly cataloguing his adversaries. There were only two people in the back, both human. One was a standard-looking corporate security guard; the other was slumped in his seat, most likely the mage who was astral projecting. His spirit was out of his body, cruising around astral space in a search for Ryan, but it could return to his body at any moment.

Ryan kept mental track; two in front, one heavily armed; two in back. Null sheen, he thought. If it doesn't get ugly, I can take them without bloodshed. Ryan wouldn't shy away from killing them if it was necessary to complete Dunkelzahn's instructions, and he was very adept at the taking of life. But more often than not, killing wasn't necessary to accomplish his goals.

Then Ryan's gaze was drawn to the… thing that had disembarked.