BRIGID PULLED BACK on the reins and stopped the horse. The animal nickered quietly as it halted, swishing its tail at the flies that had chased them for the past half mile.

  Stiff and sore, Brigid swung down out of the saddle. The impact against the ground almost folded her legs double under her. Despite the fact that the temperature was generous, especially in the deep shadows of the forest she'd been traveling, she was bathed in perspiration.

  Birds cried out in protest overhead. The leaves rustled in the slight breeze, creating a wave of quiet noise.

  She took the canteen from the saddle pommel and uncapped it, then drank deeply. The water was cool and soothing as it went down. The ride was making her more frustrated. Even though they'd gotten an understandably late start that morning, she'd hoped to make better time than they were.

  "What's wrong?" Domi eased out of the underbrush only a few feet from Brigid. "Why stop?"

  Standing only a few feet away from where the young albino had put in her appearance, Brigid had never heard Domi's approach. She glanced at the younger woman and felt even more frustrated. Domi rode double with her only occasionally, wanting to rest the horse. Also, she was able to keep up on foot with the pace Brigid set on the horse through the brush and because of her health.

  "I'm resting the horse." Brigid capped the canteen and hung it from the saddle pommel. The way a new wave of perspiration suddenly chilled her and further soaked her blouse made her think everything she drank was pouring right through her.

  Domi walked up to the horse and held some potato-like tubers she'd found in the area. The horse showed little interest until the young albino thrust the tubers under its muzzle. Once she had the animal's interest, she removed the bridle so the horse could eat and held on to the harness. "Horse looks okay. Not even sweating heavy."

  "I'm resting me, too," Brigid explained.

  Domi nodded and continued feeding the horse. "Like this, take us an extra day to get back to the redoubt."

  "I know," Brigid acknowledged. She chafed at the loss of time, wanting to find out what was waiting for them at the Cerberus redoubt.

  Chapter 15

  "Actually, friend Kane, I think the prospect of you and Grant journeying out to the Western Isles is a good idea."

  Kane stared into Lakesh's gaze, but the former Cobaltville administrator never flinched. They sat in the operations center inside the Cerberus redoubt. Kane swapped looks with Grant, but the big man only shrugged.

  After taking a drink of the coffee in front of him, Kane asked, "Why?"

  A wry smile twisted Lakesh's lips. "I promise, your reaction in this regard is most vexing. If I had disagreed with you, I'd have expected an argument. Yet, now that I agree with you, I find that I have to explain my decision—a decision, I remind you, that apparently was not mine to make in the first place."

  Kane didn't buy Lakesh's statement. Over the years that he'd known him, Lakesh always played an angle. "If this was something you hadn't agreed with, you'd have argued."

  Bright lights twinkled in the youthful eyes. "Exactly." Lakesh folded his thin fingers together.

  "I'm liking this less and less," Kane said.

  "Yet it was your idea. Perhaps you're becoming less enchanted with your own solution." Lakesh waggled a finger at the huge Mercator map on the wall. "It is a long trip into uncertain conditions."

  "Not quite as far as Russia or some of the other joy spots you've sent us into," Grant observed.

  Lakesh sighed, as if suddenly tired of the whole argument. "The lead you turned up in regard to the comp progs and other tech Falzone and men like him have been trading to Baron Cobalt concerns me. There are things that would be better off buried."

  "Then why have Bry fix up the bundle of comp progs for us to trade with Falzone?" Kane asked.

  Shaking his head, Lakesh said, "Surely you don't need me to explain the intricacies involved in buying into someone's trust. Your background as a Magistrate for Baron Cobalt covered that." He settled back into a chair. "Besides which, the progs Bry prepared for them were nothing more than a few executable files involving word processing and graphic abilities. With a few selected histories and predark geopolitical thinking thrown in for good measure."

  Kane believed that. Although Remar had seemed genuinely happy with the condition of the progs they'd delivered, Lakesh would never part with anything that would have been harmful to the redoubt or given an outside force an edge...

  "When were you thinking of leaving?" Lakesh asked.

  "The sooner the better." Kane emptied his coffee cup, barely noticing that the contents had grown cold. "Remar is expecting us within a few days."

  "There is a gateway that has survived near there."

  Kane knew that.

  "Grant and I will go overland. If we show up looking fresh without the signs of a harsh trip on us, Remar's going to get suspicious."

  "Looking fresh after a mat-trans jump," Grant stated, "usually isn't the way those things work."

  Memories of past jumps filled Kane's mind. A headache that lasted for hours, combined with gut-churning nausea and nightmares, was the general order of the day. Things usually got worse from there.

  "I'm not sure traveling overland is the wisest choice," Lakesh replied.

  "Mebbe not, but it's the way we're going." Kane was surprised at the relief he felt at Lakesh's reluctance about the mission. "We'll make the necessary draws from stores later today and head out first thing in the morning."

  Lakesh nodded, but he didn't look happy about the decision. Or maybe, Kane amended, he deliberately tried not to look happy about it.

  "As you wish," Lakesh answered. "You have my thoughts on the matter."

  Kane knew he didn't have all his thoughts on the matter. Lakesh generally always held something back. "We'll want a few more comp progs to take with us."

  Lakesh looked surprised. "Why?"

  "To sweeten the pot," Kane answered. "Buy a little more of that trust Falzone's willing to give us."

  Lakesh nodded. "I'll attend to it"

  "Why not Bry?" Grant asked softly. "I noticed he wasn't at his perch. That's not like him."

  "Bry is ill," Lakesh stated.

  "Never known him to be ill," Grant continued.

  "Ask him about it," Lakesh said. "Although I must warn you that Bry takes his privacy about personal matters most seriously."

  Kane let the comment pass and focused his attention on the coming mission. Now that Lakesh had agreed to it so readily, he no longer looked to it quite as favorably. "What about the problems Remar said Baron Cobalt's people were having with the progs Falzone had traded him?"

  "You know as well as I do, friend Kane, that anything taken from the predark days isn't the most trustworthy. Time and the near destruction of this planet have taken a major toll on most things. And from what you say, Falzone and his people are taking some of the tech and progs from underwater."

  "Cobalt and his people would know that," Grant said. "They'd be guarding against something like that. The way Remar tells it, Cobalt believes he was set up."

  "Comp progs have never been entirely trustworthy. Besides the incompatibility some of them had with the machines designed to operate them, there were a legion of people in the predark days who lived for the opportunity to infect progs with viruses created for the sole purpose of disabling the very systems the progs were constructed to run. In the last few months of 1999, there were those who believed the world would come to chaos on January 1, 2000, because the software engineers forgot to factor in the years after 1999. Mass hysteria nearly flooded the globe. End-of-the-world parties were held. Survival rations were hoarded and stocked by several people. Terrorist groups—coldhearts, for lack of a better term—struck at the nations of the world to escalate the fear."

  "You think Cobalt was infected with a bug left over from the prenukecaust days?" Kane asked.

  "Do you have another solution?" Lakesh asked.

  "The progs could have been deliberately tampered with."

  "You said Falzone was desirous of getting blasters from the barony," Lakesh replied. "Would deliberate sabotage of the progs he was trading to Baron Cobalt be conducive to that arrangement?"

  "No." Kane felt himself growing a little irritated with the conversation. It troubled him even further that Lakesh's arguments were sound, probably even ones he'd have himself.

  "Mebbe Falzone's got someone else in his group who isn't all that happy about the relationship Falzone has with Baron Cobalt," Grant said. "Remar did mention there are other groups interested in what's been found so far in the Lost Valley of Wiy Tukay. Mebbe if they get Falzone discredited, they could set up a deal of their own."

  "Grant does have a point," Lakesh stated.

  "Yeah." In a sour mood, Kane pushed himself up from the conference table. Despite the fact that he was calling the shots, he still didn't feel in control of the situation. Part of it, though, he realized, stemmed from the thoughts he'd been having about Carrie and Brigid.

  He and Grant had been back at the redoubt for a handful of hours. Neither Domi nor Brigid appeared to be about, but he'd refrained from asking about them. There were days that passed in the redoubt when he didn't see Brigid Baptiste once. However, the same couldn't be said about Domi and Grant. The albino girl hung around Grant whenever he was there.

  "Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting," Lakesh suggested. "I think we're all a little fatigued." He stood up from his chair. "If you need to talk to me further, I'll be here."

  Kane surveyed the little man with a Mag's suspicion but found nothing to hang it on. Lakesh's comments had been totally understandable; the only thing Kane distrusted was the reasoning behind them.

  Before the three of them could clear the conference room, a young man in a white jumpsuit stepped into the room. "Excuse me, sir," he said to Lakesh.

  "Yes?"

  "We've got a problem, sir. Brigid Baptiste and Domi are arriving on horseback. They're about twenty minutes out." He slapped the trans-comm at his hip. "The scout I talked to said Brigid wasn't looking any too good."

  The announcement sent a cold chill ghosting through Kane. Anam-chara. "What's wrong?"

  "Walking Dove didn't say, sir. Only that there was an obvious problem."

  Walking Dove was one of the Amerindians who lived in the foothills beneath Cerberus redoubt. Kane had established an informal alliance with the tribe, part of which included scouting for intruders.

  Kane was on the move at once. "Where has Brigid been?" he demanded in a hard voice.

  "Nowhere that I sent her," Lakesh responded.

  "You could have followed her transponder."

  "She remained within the area, but I don't know what she was doing. As you well know, no matter how much I try to orchestrate events here in this redoubt, you, Brigid, Domi and Grant continue to harbor actions based solely on your own judgments."

  "So whatever's wrong is her fault." Kane checked the action of his Sin Eater on his right forearm. The big-bore automatic handblaster was one of the badges of office a Magistrate carried.

  Stripped down to a skeletal frame, the Sin Eater was barely fourteen inches long. Holstered on his right forearm, it was attached with actuators that flipped it into his waiting hand when he tensed his wrist tendons. The clip held twenty rounds of 9 mm ammo. There was no trigger guard, no wasted inch of design; it was one of the most wickedly efficient blasters ever made.

  "I didn't say that," Lakesh protested.

  "You didn't have to." Kane took the lead through the door with Grant at his heels. Lakesh trailed after them.

  "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" DeFore challenged.

  "Sick," Bry answered.

  DeFore glared through the narrow gap between Donald Bry's door and the frame. In truth, the little man did look more pallid than normal, but DeFore's skepticism ran high. Over the past couple days, she'd continued stopping by Bry's room only to get no answer. This day she'd been somewhat surprised when he'd opened the door.

  "Why didn't you come see me?" she asked.

  Bry blinked at her like an owl. The gap in the door was barely wide enough to reveal one bloodshot eye. "Why?"

  "You were sick."

  Bry nodded, as if carefully considering her words. "It was the flu. Nothing special."

  "The flu?"

  "Yeah." Bry shrugged. "Maybe I should have come to see you, but I figured I could tough it out on my own. I've been through worse before."

  "You should have visited me." DeFore made her voice stern. "An outbreak of any kind within these walls can be dangerous. A communicable disease can run through the personnel in this redoubt in days."

  "Has anyone else been sick?" Bry asked calmly.

  "No. Not with anything that's been as incapacitating as you've evidently had these last few days."

  Bry nodded. "Is there anything else? I'm still feeling kind of weak"

  "Let me in." DeFore pushed on the door.

  Bry held the door steady, blocking it with one foot. "why?"

  "So I can take a look at you."

  "I'm okay."

  "Damn it, Bry, when I have a problem with one of the med comps in the triage, I don't just slap it and hope it gets all better. I call you."

  "I'm better," Bry insisted.

  "That's your opinion. You could relapse."

  "I don't think so."

  DeFore fixed him with her harsh gaze. "Open this door."

  Bry hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly stepped back from the door and allowed, it to open. He moved back into the center of the room.

  DeFore felt uneasy as she stepped into the room. As far as she knew, she was the only person in the redoubt who'd ever entered the little man's private quarters. She carried her bag in one hand as she followed him.

  Cerberus redoubt was honeycombed with rooms, from labs to the massive armory to the infirmary, as well as the operations center that Lakesh had claimed as his own. But there were also many private quarters.

  Bry's rooms were small compared to DeFore's. Shelves held hundreds of books, although they weren't neatly put away, but a sense of organization reigned. More shelves held comp hardware, some of it looking functional and other pieces in various states of repair or cannibalization. Spools of wire leaked tendrils.

  The main room contained a broad chair that held a couple pillows and a thick blanket. However, the chair in front of the comp station against the wall to the left showed signs of obvious wear. The comp screen flashed as numbers and letters cascaded across it.

  Schematics covered the walls, inscribed with tiny lettering that DeFore recognized from memos written to her concerning her own comps that belonged to Bry. Additional papers taped next to the schematics offered more-involved views of the various projects or expansions.

  The room behind the main room held a bed and closet space. It wasn't nearly as neat. Clothing draped the bed, some of it clean and some of it obviously piled awaiting washing. A dank musty smell pervaded the room, mixed with the scent of heated electronics. DeFore got the feeling the bed was never slept in.

  "Didn't anyone ever teach you to clean up after yourself?" DeFore asked.

  Bry appeared defensive, though it was unclear whether it was about the room or something else. "I don't spend a lot of time here."

  "You sleep."

  Bry shrugged. "Occasionally."

  DeFore pointed to the big chair. "Sit."

  Reluctantly, Bry sat. "I'm fine. Why won't you believe me?"

  "You haven't been outside of this room in days," DeFore said. "That's not like you."

  "I've never been sick like this before."

  "All the more reason to check you out now." DeFore unlimbered a stethoscope and placed the circular disk against Bry's thin chest. She listened for a moment. The little tech's heart beat strongly, the pulse only a little elevated. "When was the last time you were out of the redoubt?"

  Bry shrugged. "Weeks. I don't care much for outside." DeFore listened as the man's heart sped a little. Lying, she knew, could cause heart-rate acceleration. "What did you do?" She moved the disk on his chest.

  "I don't remember," Bry replied irritably. "Probably Lakesh wanted me to repair one of the outside sec alarms."

  DeFore noticed the accelerated heart rate again. Bry had learned to lie with a straight face some time ago, but it was obviously a stressful experience for him. "Haven't you heard me beating on the door the past few days?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why didn't you answer it?"

  "If I'd wanted to see you, I knew where to find you." His tone was belligerent.

  "Yeah, I guess you did." DeFore took out a blood-pressure cuff and a thermometer. "Roll up your sleeve."

  Bry glanced away from her petulantly, then reluctantly rolled up his sleeve. "You don't need to do this. You could simply check my transponder readings."

  "I haven't had access to them lately. I figured you knew that." DeFore slipped the thermometer into Bry's mouth, then fastened the blood-pressure cuff. Minutes later, both readings came out normal and nearly so. Elevated blood pressure was another sign of stress.

  "Well...?" Bry demanded.

  "You're fine." DeFore tucked her instruments back in her bag.

  Bry smiled a little, positively gleeful for him. "I told you." DeFore moved toward the door. "I'd like to give you something."

  "What? You just said everything was normal."

  "Some advice," DeFore said. "I'd stay out of Kane's and Grant's sight for a little while. Brigid and Domi are returning to the redoubt, and Brigid isn't doing very well."

  "She's all right?"

  "She's alive," DeFore answered.

  Bry couldn't quite cover the look of relief that washed over him.

  "And mistakes like that are going to get noticed. Grant and Kane have been up against a lot tougher guys than you."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Bry said.

  "I'm talking about the scratches on your cheek and forehead. I'd say they're from branches. And then there's that unaccustomed sunburn. Maybe you haven't noticed because you haven't been exactly cozy with a mirror lately, but they're there."

  Bry touched his face. His fingers left momentary white spots on his pink flesh.

 

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