Jak Koke - Stranger souls

Ryan dug in and pushed, bringing all his strength to bear. The cyberzombie staggered back in that instant of lost senses. Back and out the side door. Into the scream of wind beneath the helo's rotors, the acrid smell of gunpowder sharp in the air. Ryan let go at the last second, and Burnout

teetered on the edge, his one free arm swinging wildly, looking for something to hold.

Ryan concentrated on a magical attack-a psychokinetic strike that didn't involve actual physical contact. He made a motion with his hand, as if to push the cyberzombie over the edge. And even though Ryan stayed well inside the helo, his attack landed home, hitting Burnout square in the upper torso.

The cyberzombie grunted as the force of Ryan's blow struck him. And he rocked back; another second and he would be gone. The helo was ten meters above the dark and mottled mat of trees. A fall would mean serious injury. Then Ryan heard the sound of oiled metal as the fingers of Burnout's free hand cocked back to reveal telescoping chrome fingers. Blood dripped around the severed skin where the fingers bent. The extendible fingers shot out like tiny prehensile tails and coiled around the safety handle like blood-tinged chrome snakes. Burnout held on.

Ryan fired his pistol at the cyberzombie's exposed form, and bullets hit home several times, but the Walther's ammo didn't have the power to penetrate Burnout's armor. Then Ryan remembered the copilot's Ares Alpha Combatgun. He bent and scooped it up in his hand as Burnout regained his footing. Ryan aimed the heavy machine gun and pressed the trigger.

But the cyberzombie had regained his balance, and he swung the netgun in a blinding-quick motion, its butt connecting with the barrel of the Ares gun. The burst of bullets sputtered before the jarring shock of the impact vibrated through Ryan's hands as the weapon was knocked loose. This slot is strong. A few rounds must have landed home because Burnout flinched. Then the gun clanged on the ribbed steel flooring and ricocheted under the seating.

Ryan tried to step away to get more room to attack, but his back pressed against the wall of the copter. There was no more room. Frag, he thought. Now what?

Burnout swung again, as fast as a scorpion strike, trying to hit Ryan with the butt of the netgun. Ryan ducked, and Burnout's blow smashed into the helo's interior, cracking plastic and denting the metal frame. The netgun twisted from the impact.

He's closing off the exit, Ryan thought as Burnout's huge form pressed close.

Ryan's strike was fast and elegant, a sweeping kick to the knees. Trying to knock him off balance so that he could use the split second to vault around the fallen cyberzombie and escape. But he got only one knee, and although it bent sideways from the impact of Ryan's foot, it wasn't enough to topple Burnout.

Then one of the cyberzombie's hands clenched Ryan's ankle, striking like a coiled rattlesnake before he had a chance to pull it back. Ryan felt the cybernetic fingers press through his nightsuit, tightening like a hydraulic vise. He twisted and pulled, placing a focused kick precisely to Burnout's wrist, trying to break the grip. To no avail; the cyberzombie held on with inhuman strength, his fingers nearly crushing the bones in Ryan's ankle.

Ryan used his distance strike again, an upward pummel to the throat, anything to get loose. But just as the blow hit home, making Burnout's head snap back, Ryan heard the soft sound of metal on metal. Everything contracted down in his vision as he watched Burnout's wrist. As he saw the huge needle emerge, its tip glistening with a droplet of milky liquid.

The roar of the outside wind died. The smell of gunpowder vanished. Ryan's entire existence tunneled down onto that silent, silky drop sliding down the sharp needle that poked out from the cyberzombie's wrist.

And then the slow-motion surreality of the long, icy pinprick as the needle penetrated his calf muscle. The realization that he had lost to this machine hit him just before the end. The certain knowledge that Dunkelzahn's plan would fail because he had lost. / have failed you, Master. I am eternally sorry.

Then the chilling numbness spread up his leg, locking up his muscles. And his sight telescoped down to the inky black of oblivion.

Ryan Mercury was no more.

12 August 2057

In her Lake Louise office, Nadja sat at her desk and stared out the window, contemplating. Trying to get her mind around what had happened in the past three days since… Since the horrible explosion outside the Watergate Hotel. Since Dunkelzahn's death.

Three days and the vision still hung in her mind like the afterimage of a flash. The silence of the destruction, Dunkelzahn's telepathic agony frying every nerve in her body with its power. The being who had served as her mentor, idol, benefactor, and friend was gone.

The office around her was in disarray. Piles of hardcopy lay across every surface, chips and CDs scattered among the paper. The trash was full to overflowing with shredded documents, wiped datachips, and the remnants of the lunch she had barely touched. The whole thing was a sharp contrast with Nadja's immaculate appearance.

In the past two days since Dunkelzahn's death, Nadja's life had transformed completely. On the night of the explosion, Carla Brooks had sent Nadja back to Lake Louise for security purposes. The Dragon's lair was nestled on the massive flank of Mount Hector, part of the old Canadian Rocky Mountains. Lake Louise was technically in Athabaskan Council territory, but that nation treated the dragon's property as a fiefdom of his own, especially because Dunkelzahn had been there since 2014, three years before the Great Ghost Dance had liberated the Native Americans from the racist oppression of the old United States government.

Nadja didn't know whether that status would change now that Dunkelzahn was dead. She hoped not. She had learned only two days ago that she was to be executor of Dunkelzahn's will, a task that required the founding of a new

corporation-the Draco Foundation. Her work load, along with the power of her position, was skyrocketing. She held the reins of a new megacorporation in her hands. She would be doling out fortunes to some five hundred people and corporations specified in both the public and private sections of Dunkelzahn's Last Will and Testament.

And only today, she learned that now President Kyle Haeffner had nominated her for Vice President of the United Canadian and American States. She would have some political influence to carry on Dunkelzahn's strategies. Her nomination was contingent upon the findings of the Scott Commission, which was actually investigating her as a suspect in Dunkelzahn's assassination.

It's been a busy week, she thought, trying to get herself to laugh at the understatement. She failed. There was just too much to think about.

She'd planned to return to the Federal District of Columbia to read Dunkelzahn's will, but riots had broken out in Washington, and the violence had spread throughout the sprawl and then across the whole continent. The riots showed no sign of abating despite serious efforts by the troops of Lone Star, Knight Errant, UCAS, and Ares military units.

Now, despite her massive and growing pile of work, Nadja forced herself to take a breath and focus. She spared a moment to admire the view from her office window. She loved Lake Louise. The scenery was spectacular-snow-covered peaks that shone beautifully in the sunshine; steep forested slopes; the glacier-covered rock face, glowing a dull blue-white. Her office was in one of the mirrored glass buildings on the edge of the dragon's lair cavern. She was glad it was isolated from the VisionQuest Theme Park, mercifully out of sight around one of the massive flanks of Mount Hector. VisionQuest was a cutting-edge virtual reality research center and a huge game park rolled into one. Dunkelzahn had purchased the whole thing from Ares Macrotechnology many years ago, and Nadja still wondered why Damien Knight had sold it. VisionQuest turned a huge profit every year.