Shadowrun 01 - Never Deal With A Dragon (36 page)

This really was impossible. Sam flopped over onto his back again. "Go away. Can't you see that I'm dying?"

"Do you want to die?"

"No."

"Then I can't help you." Dog trotted a few meters away and sat down with his back to Sam.

Sam felt annoyed. How could this figment of his own imagination turn its back on him? Hadn't it been hard enough getting this close to death?

Dog looked at Sam over his shoulder. "Dying is easy. Happens all the time. It's the next part that's tricky."

"Guess I'll find out for myself soon enough. My brain's baking in this sun. It must be." Sam rolled to a sitting position and caught his knees within the sweep of his folded arms. "I'll be completely dehydrated before long."

"That's the spirit. I knew you'd come around." Dog trotted back and sat down facing Sam.

Sam stared into the animal's eyes. The soft brown orbs seemed very old, filled with an alien wisdom. Those eyes were compelling, begging trust and encouraging the sharing of his deepest concerns. "After I die, my sister will have no one to help her. And no one will find Hanae's murderers."

"You're still mixed up, using the wrong preposition." Dog shook his head. "The word you want is
unless
, not
after
."

"Words won't matter soon. I'm dying."

"Right on both counts. But I've got a word for you that will count more than anything else in your life." Dog grew as he spoke, expanding upward and outward and growing insubstantial as he did. Deep night, not the growing twilight around them, dwelt within his shape and Sam could see the stars in unbelievable numbers. The dog shape grew to encompass the sky from horizon to horizon. It lowered onto the earth and Sam was swallowed up by the shape. A word rang in his head and echoed across the landscape, soundless but loud.
Magic
.

He was afraid.

Turning, he ran. And ran. For kilometers, it seemed, certainly further than the limited surface of the small tableland should have allowed. A Dragon reared up before him, its form flickering and melting through diverse shapes. Sometimes it was covered with feathers like the serpent Tessien; other times, it was an Eastern Dragon, a long, sinuous shape with a pair of legs instead of wings and long barbells drooping like a mustache over its toothy jaws. Mostly it was powerful, scaly bulk of a Western Dragon. Its wings arched up over its back and shadowed him as it stood back on its hind legs and reached for him with its forepaws. It was terror and power and the unknown, and it wore the mantle of death.

An icy chill cut through Sam, making him shiver deep side. He dodged the Dragon's grasp and darted past its lashing tail. It turned and followed.

Questions tumbled through his mind, a mind curiously detached from the racing body that somehow managed to stay ahead of the ravening beast. Had he died and gone to hell? Was he condemned to flee pursuing fiends for eternity? Could he run forever? Did he want to?

In his pocket, the fossil tooth beat the rhythm to which his mind sped. Questions. Questions. He needed answers. He had thought he knew an answer when Dog first spoke to him. What was happening was not real, it was the dream of a dying man. He had no need to run.

As that thought came, the Dragon overtook him and its claws ripped through his body. Sam screamed and tumbled bonelessly to sprawl flat on his face. No dream had ever caused him that kind of pain. On the other hand, he seemed to be intact.

He stood, watching as the Dragon turned and started back toward him. His legs felt too weak to carry him, but he wanted to run. Had Begay felt like this when Tessien had swooped in for the kill?

Pushing back the desire to flee, Sam reached for his gun, only to find that it was not there. The Narcoject and its holster were gone. The only thing on him that approximated a weapon was the tooth. He fished it from his pocket and brandished it at the approaching Dragon.

"Come on, Wizworm. I'm not running anymore. Come and get me, if you can."

The Dragon swooped low, its jaws open wide. Flame burst forth to wash over Sam. He felt the pressure and smelled the sulfurous foulness of the Dragon's breath, but he did not burn. Nor did he smell the burning as he had when the sorcerer Rory had fireballed him in the Tir forest.

Halting its forward rush, the Dragon pulled up before him, hovering as it slowly beat its wings. It seemed to be waiting. Sam lowered the tooth.

"What's the matter?" he jeered. "Can't hurt me if I face you?"

He got his answer as the beast lashed out with a paw, digging triple furrows of agony across his chest. In reaction, Sam struck the retreating claw with the tooth. The Dragon rose in a booming thunder of wings, and wind tore at Sam, almost knocking him from his feet.

The Dragon began to circle him. With each widening pass, its shape altered, becoming less reptilian and more birdlike. By the fourth revolution, the beast had become a giant eagle, its feathers sparkling in the starlight. Lightnings crackled around the great bird as it circled overhead. It banked toward Sam, dipping its head in acknowledgement, before banking again to turn away. The bird rose higher and

higher, dwindling from sight at incredible speed. Sam watched until he lost the dark shape among the stars.

The tooth was heavy in his hand, so he returned it to his pocket. As he did, he saw it was true that he stood within the dreaming circle. Had it all been only a fever dream?

"Good start."

Sam turned to find Dog sitting at his side. He sat down next to it. If it was a dream, apparently it wasn't over yet. "Start? I thought I was . . . destined, or something, to die."

Dog performed his curious canine shrug. "All mortals die, but you're done with it for a while. You've got a life to lead and things to do. You've already started down the path."

"And I suppose you'll be right there beside me."

"Let's just say we won't be strangers anymore."

"Or any less."

Dog cocked his head and stared quizzically at Sam. "Maybe you should hook up with my cousin, instead."

Sam laughed. Dog seemed to be laughing, too. He put his arm around the animal, who snuggled close, a warm and comforting presence that filled Sam's nostrils with a familiar doggy smell. Feeling more at ease than he had in more than a year, Sam settled back with his arm still around Dog and was soon fast asleep.

As soon as he showed signs of stirring, she put away her meal and bent to check his vital signs. His pulse was steady and much stronger now, and his pupils normal. He winced when she raised his eyelids; that was a good sign. He'd be awake before long. She settled down, out of his immediate line-of-sight. Awakening bandaged and under a sun shade would be disorienting enough without her furry image being first thing he saw.

It took several minutes, but he did open his eyes, blinking them rapidly in confusion. As he started to sit up, she reached out a hand and laid it on his shoulder to force him lie still.

"Take it easy, dear," she said in her most soothing tones. "You've had a rough time and shouldn't be moving about yet. You nearly died."

Without turning to look at her, he said, "I thought I did."

"You should have, with those wounds." She moved around where he would be able to see her. To her surprise, his eyes remained placid, his expression calm. Her size was intimidating enough, but most norms reacted to her fangs and talons as though she might eat them on the spot. She had always found that reaction amusing. This man was acting like he was in shock, though her treatment should have removed any physical reason for his detachment. She hoped his spirit hadn't fled too far to be healed; he was wanted elsewhere. "You're lucky I found you when I did. If you'd been exposed much longer, even my healing song wouldn't have helped."

"Healing song?" he asked weakly.

"Yuh, healing song. It's what we shamans do when we attend a sick or injured person. You don't think someone bounces back like you did just from some antibiotics." She raised one hand, which held a hypodermic. "Though they help. Lie still now and this will only hurt a little."

He didn't even quiver as she inserted the needle. He just lay there staring at her, his soft hazel eyes thoughtful and curious but calm as a mountain lake. He waited until she had stowed the syringe away in her bag before he spoke, his voice stronger now.

"Who . . . what are you?"

"Tactful fellow," she sniffed. "My name's Jacqueline. I'm what you would probably call a Sasquatch."

His brow furrowed. "Never heard of a white Sasquatch. Or one that could talk either."

"My, my, we are parochial. We Sasquatch were certified as a sentient species by the United Nations Advisory Council on Metahumanity in 2042. That august body did not find our inability to use Human languages to be a barrier, and our delegates still did not have even the Perkins-Athabascan sign language to rely on. Since then, some of us have taken advantage of the benefits of technology." She pulled back the mane-like fur around her head to reveal a gleaming data-jack. A permanent skillsoft cap protruded and a pair of wires lay against her dark skin and burrowed through the fur in the direction of her neck. "It's a custom job. A Renraku speech synthesizer linked to a Mitsuhama expert system capable of translation between symbolic concept and verbal expression. The software has got an idiom-handling subprogram that's a bit idiosyncratic, but it does help smooth out the rough spots. Still, I think that it's much more socially acceptable to say 'Pass the vegetables' instead of 'Me food want.' Don't you agree?

"As to the fur color, do you think we're all black-furred like those yokels from the coastal forests? That would be awfully boring and hardly in keeping with reasonable expectations of adaptive biology. Up north in the Yukon where I was born, white fur is common. Useful for camouflage in the snow, I suppose."

He seemed satisfied with her answer. Several minutes passed quietly. She was content to check astrally on the progress of his healing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Taking care of you, my boy."

A flash of irritation crossed his face. "No. How did you come to be here?"

"Pretty much the same answer, really. I was looking for you." She watched his annoyance shift to suspicious concern. His emotional guard was down, lowered by her drugs and spells. Reading him was almost too easy.

"Why?" he asked.

She smiled at him, remembering not to let too many teeth show. "Let's just say it was business."

"A bounty hunter," he said acidly.

"Now, that is jumping to a nasty conclusion. As to how I came to be here, I'd rather not get into specifics."

His eyes went hard.

"Yuh, O.K.," she said in a conciliatory tone. "I'm just doing my job. Even Sasquatches have to work for a living, you know. I do what my boss tells me, and my boss, he tells me to find this guy calling himself Twist. Says he wants this guy alive and healthy. That he's got a few words he wants to put into this Twist's ears."

"Who do you work for?"

"Genomics." She smiled inwardly at the confusion that brought to his face.

"But that's . . ."

"I know, dear. How do you think we found out about you?"

"What do you want with me?"

"That is a rather complicated matter and I think I'll let my boss explain." Sam's sour look made her decide to add, "Let's just say that he is a possessive sort and that your, shall we say, enquiries brought a certain matter to his attention. Before he acted, he wished to know if you had other information he might find useful. He seemed to believe you might have, shall we say, interests coincident with his in this matter. He wants to have a chat, so he sent me to fetch you.

"I was a bit tardy in locating you in San Francisco and, by the time I had identified your, ah, residence, you had departed in Mr. Begay's panzer. How unfortunate that the feathered worm found him first. But fortune is fickle, and she let me find you before those mercenaries did. They would surely have taken you to Mr. Drake, if they didn't kill you on the spot.

"So now, once you've recovered a bit more, you and I will travel to Quebec. I'm taking you to meet my boss."

"I look forward to it," Sam said with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "But for now, you got any water?"

She fetched a canteen and held his head up to drink. "Not too much at once," she cautioned.

He was quiet then for some time, but still quite awake. She debated giving him a sedative to make the travel easier. Finally, his eyelids began to droop as he succumbed to exhaustion.

"You going to do your healing song again?" His words were soft and slurred.

"If necessary."

"I want to be awake when you do."

"Yuh, sure."

He grunted his satisfaction with her answer, then closed his eyes and slept.

That was just as well, for he needed rest. It would be another day before it was safe to move him to the chopper. Besides, she wasn't sure she wanted him to hear her healing song.

While doing her magic, Jaq had gotten an inkling of Sam's power. His aura was strong, reacting and shifting defensively during her ministrations. But she sensed that the activity was instinctive and as yet unfocused. The discovery tickled her curiosity because neither the dossier nor the Renraku records she had mentioned him being magically active. More curious still was that he carried a case with instruction chips designed for someone following the path of a hermetic mage. Her sensing of his potential seemed to indicate more a tendency to her own shamanic path.

Satisfied that he was deeply asleep, she gave him another shot, a tranquilizer. She didn't want him awake until they reached their destination. After making sure he was well-covered, she walked to the edge of the mesa and stared out over the badlands. She wanted to think about this.

She stripped off the bogus speech synthesizer, scratching at the itch the adhesive raised, then groomed her mane smooth. From her satchel, she took the bundle of pics that had been bound to Verner's chip case. The old photographs were stained and warped from their exposure to storm and mud, but the newer pics on their plastic film were still in good shape. The images were mostly snapshots, with a few formal portraits of varying vintages. They seemed to be ordinary family pictures, a chronicle of people and events that had been part of Verner's life. They would, of course, have to be analyzed for hidden data.