Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

Cat smiled tightly. "Grandmother believed it when the suit told her."

"Grandmother?" Dodger hid his surprise as well as he could. If Cat was her intermediary, the information had to be good. And expensive. " Twould be folly to question the quality of Grandmother's offerings. And even greater folly still to believe that a mere mention of her name signified her instigation, or even knowledge, of a deal."

' 'You want the data or not?''

Cat's haste was unseemly. Dodger decided to try a thrust. "My interest wanes. Having failed to use her usual protocols, you are branded as an adventurer trading on an excellent shadow reputation."

A stricken face and a sudden increase in Cat's breathing rate told Dodger he had guessed right. Cat was not part of Grandmother's organization. The runner's next move would tell the tale truly.

Cat's smile returned, a shadow of its former self. "I never said I worked for her. I just said she believed the data."

So. Such a rapid retreat to truth implied desperation. A desperate man had little bargaining room. "I have no desire to pay her rates to verify your tale. How shall I know you hold something of worth to me?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

"I need do no such thing. Speak to me of your find. If 'tis of use to me, I shall pay your fee."

"Pay first," Cat insisted bluntly.

"This from one who so recently demanded trust. I cannot know the worth of what you offer until I hear it. Then there is still the matter of reliability.''

Cat's furrowed brow proclaimed his inner debate. There was nothing he could do to hurt Dodger physically. But he could cripple Dodger where it would hurt severely, in his curiosity. If Cat walked away with whatever mysterious bit of information he hoarded, Dodger would have no alternative but to go to Grand 56 Robert N. Charrette mother, who might or might not have the data. It would be an expensive proposition that would take time would have no idea of what he labored to earn. Dodger watched the runner carefully, wondering if his desire for the data was as painfully obvious as Cat's need for nuyen. He thought not. After all, he was nowhere near as young or inexperienced as Cat.

"All right, elf. Twenty K bonded credit and the deal's done."

"Five bonded and ten in second-tier corporate vouchers." "Ten and five." "Seven and seven."

"You'll pay even if you don't like what I've got to say."

"Assuredly. I will pay whether 'tis pleasant or not." Cat stuck out his hand and Dodger took it. The tale was told soon enough. Respecting Cat's professional privacy, Dodger forbore to ask after the method by which the meeting was witnessed. Of real data there was little. But Cat's mention of Renraku in connection with the AI gave his story a veracity that would be difficult for a runner, especially a non-decker like Cat, to fake. Dodger wanted to believe. The mention of the disappearing flies buzzed his head. It fit with his own experiences, especially with his encounter in the the druids' system.

"So you see," Cat concluded, "I think this Sato suit has got it all wrong. I think the renegade nicked the AI and is using it against them. That's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted to know who had the AI."

Dodger rubbed at the triple row of jacks on his left temple. "And who is this renegade?" Cat hesitated.

"Come now, Sir Feline. You need not fish for more reward."

Frowning, Cat quietly said, "I don't remember." "Ah, you speak an unpleasant truth.‹ Perharw voj^ are trustworthy after all." Relief, and gnawing terror, flooded Dodger. Cat's response put the runner's tale beyond the bounds of artful contrivance. Cat had told' the truth as he knew it. Only he knew so very little. And so very much. "Your price is paid. Have you sold this tale to another?''

Cat looked as though the idea had never occurred to him, and shook his head. Young in the shadow games, Dodger thought.

' 'If no further word of your tale is whispered in the shadows, I will see that your account grows fatter."

Cat's expression changed to disgust. "I have made my sale. What do you take me for?"

A youngster. "An honest thief?"

Cat grinned.

"Very well, then. Say rather that I shall reward further enlightenment. Is that acceptable to an honest thief, Sir Feline?"

"I think we can do business, elf." Cat winked at him and popped out of virtual existence.

Dodger remained, contemplating what he had learned. Then he left, too, slipping unnoticed out of the virtuarreality of the Magick Matrix. He was in no mood to chat with the doorman.

This place was desolate, almost completely devoid of life. Sam's astral senses could perceive the pale glow from the lichens and mosses that carpeted the cold ground, but he caught only fleeting glimpses of more complicated life forms. There was no sign of man or his works. It was still cold this far north, but even in the brief summer this near-arctic region would remain mostly uninhabited, for it offered no water.

He hovered at the edge of a zone that seemed more barren yet. Distantly he perceived a faint spark. A familiar spark. He flew toward it.

No time seemed to pass before he stood next to the mound of white fur that was the source of the lifeglow he had seen from afar. He did not need to see the broad, dark-skinned face surrounded by its mane of fur, the taloned hands, the fanged mouth, or the deep-set red eyes to know this being as a wendigo. He had learned to recognize the tints of aura that proclaimed the wendigo for what it was. The aura was fainter than when he had last seen it, weaker. By the aural shadings that were individual to this wendigo, he knew it was the one he sought. "Janice."

The huddled form made no move, gave no sign of recognition. For a moment, he was puzzled. Her aura was not so weak that she would be unable to respond. He had feared arriving too late. One way or the other. But her aura allayed those fears. She was still alive, and she showed only a hint of the moldy grayness he had seen in other wendigo auras. So why did she not respond? The silent treatment was not her style. Finally, he remembered. He was astrally projecting. His words and image were unknowable on the mundane plane. He twisted his perception as Hart had taught him and manifested an image that, though ghostly and faint, could be seen by ordinary eyes.

"Janice," he called again, confident that his voice could now be heard.

The furred mound shifted, enlarging as massive muscles bunched to arch her back. A dark paw whose toes ended in glossy talons appeared briefly before the motion settled once more into stillness. "Janice."

The mound shifted again and a dark patch appeared, her face. An eye opened, a sullen ember in a deep pit. "I heard you the first time."

The deep pitch of the words startled him. Subconsciously, he had been expecting the voice of the sister he remembered, not the cavernous tones of her changed voice. While the tonality was different, the intonation and grouchy irritability were familiar from long-ago school mornings. Janice had never liked waking up.

Her next words were a growl. "Who's the fool who disturbs me?"

"It's me, Janice. Sam. Your brother." The ember winked out and the dark face disappeared back under a furred arm. "Go away. I have no brother."

"I won't go away. We're family, Janice. Don't shut me out.''

The face reappeared, both red eyes visible now. "I have no family. You saw to that. Remember?"

At first he thought she was blaming him for their being orphans. They had been just kids at the time. His own recollections were vague and blurred by half-remembered pain and anguish. She, being younger, could hardly have clearer memories. The accusation didn't make sense. She couldn't really believe that he had anything to do with the riots. Did she blame him, and herself as well, for surviving when their parents and older siblings had died? Her Renraku psych profile hadn't indicated that kind of grief displacement. What did she mean? "I'm your family, Janice."