Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

Everything Sam wanted was theirs for the taking. Well, almost everything. A prudent old biddy, Grandmother did not keep all her data in one place. They assembled a list of locations that matched Sam's list of suspected weapon stockpiles. Information buried throughout Grandmother's files convinced Dodger that Grandmother had no other targets than those toward which Sam had dispatched teams. Morgan concurred with his analysis of the data patterns.

"For myself, there is curiosity. Are matters so grave, yet so simple? Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist has no further requirements?''

"For the nonce." He felt an odd sense of disappointment, and her next communication echoed it. "Where is the sport?"

"In the doing, my darling. But I agree that the challenge was low. Naetheless, I expect things will be more interesting in the next phase." "The run?"

"Verily. The run tests the true mettle of the decker in a time/place where mind and skill are pitted against all the defenses, obstacles, and ice the opponent has. There is no luxury of retreat. For retreat is defeat, and our comrades would pay most dearly. We cannot fail them and permit the wrongdoers to use their Matrix assets against our flesh confederates." "Samuel Verner/Sam/Twist will be among them?" "I expect so. If not, those he cares for will be, and their loss would be more to him than his own."

"For myself, there is concern that he come to no harm."

"For myself, as well. Therefore, we shall do what we can to ensure the success of his plan."

"Indeed."

"Indeed!"

Her amusement thrilled him, as they flashed onward into the electronic night.

Sam watched, seeing the pattern from his seat at the base of the pole and from the top of the pole at once. There was no discordancy to the image. The rising power lifted him as the song rose.

An outer circle of dancers formed, and the shamans stopped their own dancing to take seats in a ring around Sam. No drums, or bells, or rattles marked time for the dancers. There was only the tempo of the song. From his seat at the base of the sprouting tree, Sam led the singing. Howling Coyote and the elder shamans sang, too, a mixture of voices and words that blended into a single song. The ring of dancers moved around them, a hundred voices joining in the song.

In unison, the dancers lifted their left feet and plunged them forward. Right feet dragged across the ground to catch up. Left feet lifted again, coming back across the line of the circle before stamping to the ground. The ring of dancers turned. Again, right feet caressed the earth as they moved to meet their partners. Left feet rose and plunged. Right feet moved to join. The dance gathered speed. Left feet crossed and recrossed the line of the circle while right feet remained on the circle, grounding the dancers to the earth.

The dancers sang and the song rose to die sky, drawing power from die earth.

Using binoculars, Hart scanned the castle and the mountainside on which it perched. Weberschloss was nearly inaccessible. A switchback road led through the forest and up the mountain, but it was unpaved and narrow, too unstable for more than a light car. A hovercraft, with its lower ground pressure, would be able to handle the surface; but it would be noisy. She wasn't sure it would be able to take some of the tighter turns, and some of the grades were so steep that a hovercraft would probably spill. the air from its skirts and end up grounded.

That left an aerial approach as the most logical way in, but that avenue offered difficulties to a raider. The castle courts were small, and the roofs conical or steeply sloped. There was no place for anything but a small craft to land, and a landing vehicle would have to be capable of vertical-flight mode. A good rigger just might be able to put a panzer down hi the main court, but if the final approach wasn't very slow mere would be a high risk of collision. The landing would be guaranteed then, but damage to the craft could well compromise the getaway. Of course, any aerial approach assumed minimal antiaircraft defenses, which was something she could not safely assume.

Hart didn't like the idea of a one-way trip.

She admired anew Cosimo's cleverness, and the skill he had displayed in secreting his purloined weapons in mis hiding place, with its superb natural defenses. Cosimo would have had his own plans or defense but he was gone now, and she was relieved not to have to deal with defenders under his guidance.

There were ways a determined party could access, but it was not going to be as easy as it might have been in other times. If Weberschloss had remained the private holding and tourist attraction it had been both when Cosimo hid the weapons there and after the old U.S. Rangers had relinquished it a properly disguised squad of infiltrators would have done the job. Even during the tune the Rangers had used it as a recreation and training center, the castle had never held more than a company of troops. Formidable as such a garrison might be, the proper preparation could neutralize most of their assets, because regular troops were sufficiently predictable. Kit me current occupants were neither harmless hoteliers nor predictable, regular army troops.

She could, of course, just blow the castle to atoms, but that wouldn't solve the problem. The weapons would still be protected in the heart of the rock. The amount of firepower necessary to ensure their destruction was more than the budget allowed. Or the local government, either. Even asking about it would have brought too much attention. So they were going to have to go in and deal with the current owners.

The castle had been taken over during the later days of the repression riots by a rather desperate band of refugees, mostly metahumans who were fleeing from the hate that had swept over the world. Most of them were orks and dwarfs, more man half of them members of the bundeswehr. The soldiers' experience and weapons had bought the refugees their safety. The determination of both soldiers and civilians had kept it. Locally, they had maintained their holding through a balance of threats, bribes, and usefulness to the government. The experiences of the squatters had birthed a hatred and led them to turn Weberschloss into a haven for anti-norm terrorists. They called themselves the Herbstgeists, the Qhosts of Autumn. So far, their operations were too minor and too often convenient for some corporate or governmental faction for them to be rooted out.

If the Herbstgeists or those who tolerated the terrorists' presence, for that matter learned what lay under Weberschloss, that situation would likely change. For the moment, however, they sat between Hart and her goal, forming an obstacle that was well armed, fanatical, and unlikely to negotiate. Although the Herbstgeists posed a problem to Hart's limited resources, Spider could gather whatever she needed, given time. Time she could not be allowed to have. The bombs had to be neutralized before Spider could take advantage of them.

The soft crunch of gravel alerted Hart to a visitor. She turned to see a dwarf climbing the path. The woman was nearly as wide as she was tall, and she grumbled to herself and puffed as she negotiated the sometimes steep trail. Being a rigger, Willie Williams rarely walked when she could control some sort of vehicle, which meant she was not in very good shape for personal exertion. The rigger wore a loose coverall that was stained with sweat despite the cool mountain air, and her shaved crown glistened with the perspiration that gathered around her datajacks and trickled down in a steady stream. The hair that grew from the sides and back of her head was gathered into matching pigtails that bounced up and down on her ample chest as she walked.

"Troops are getting restless," she said, without bothering to greet Hart. "Anxious to go?"