WILL THE VILLAINOUS MAN OF LIGHT HALT SAM'S QUEST FOR POWER?

Sam rebounded.

The Man of Light blazed before him, glowing bulk
filling the tunnel. There was no way around the Man.
Sam darted away into a side passage and almost im-
mediately pulled up short to avoid running into the
Man of Light again as the gleaming figure suddenly
flared into existence in Sam's path. Sam spun to re-
trace his path, but, again, the Man confronted him.
He twisted his head to look over his shoulder.

It was dark. By the time he had turned around, the
Man was there, in front of him. Sam raised a hand
to shield his eyes from the brilliance.

The Man of Light laughed at him.

SHADOWRUN: CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SECRETS Of POWER
VOLUME 2





SHADOWRUN:






CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY





ROBERT N. CHARRETTE




A ROC BOOK


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 1




We All Wear
Masks


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days ago, the pain had seemed unbearable.
But as time passed, the constant discomfort lessened
• the burden by dulling her senses. As late as this morn-
ling, she thought that she had grown used to it. Then
cramps had started. The crippling agony had
racked her with increasingly frequent spasms all day.
Now, it was almost dark.
She didn't dare cry out.

A new spasm tore at her intestines and clawed its
way up her torso, firing her insides with blazing agony.
Despite her best intentions, she screamed as her mus-
knotted in the brutal grip of the convulsion.
As the wave of pain ebbed, she lay panting, certain
that she had betrayed herself. Slowly, painfully, she
dragged herself deeper into the gloom of her chosen
shelter. The inhabitants of this rundown building, if
there were any, remained hidden. Her only company
was her misery. Moaning at the pain accompanying
her every movement, she forced her legs to carry her
up the stairs. If she could get far enough away, they
might not find her tonight. The ravening fire in her
belly threatened to overwhelm her, but she hugged one
arm across her stomach and continued, bracing herself
against the stairwell wall with the other. c


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 Robert N. Charrette

She only made it up two flights before she collapsed,
whimpering. Silently she cursed her waning strength.
Orks were supposed to be tough. The physical power
she had known for the last year had been the only
compensation for her change, and now that strength
had abandoned her. Just like Hugh. And Ken before
him. Even her brother had left her to be disposed of
with the rest of the unsightly trash.
They could all rot in hell.

The blaze inside her had died to coals, a hot pain
but bearable. In the recession of the pain, she became
aware of a bone-numbing ache in her limbs. Her mus-
cles, exhausted from her climb, trembled. Her skin
was clammy with sweat and itched unbearably. She
wanted to puke.

Her position on the landing offered her a view into
one of the derelict apartments. The darkening sky was
framed in the room's window. Outside, the lights of Hong
Kong sparkled awake, forming constellations of sub-
lime and taunting beauty. The thin, seesaw wail of a
police siren drifted in through the open aperture. It
offered no hope of rescue. None of the corporate po-
lice ever came to the Walled City. Not even the En-
clave Police Agency, money-grubbing hirelings that
they were, could be easily bribed to appear in the
Walled City after dark. Gangs ruled the Walled City,
and many of them hunted the changed for fun,

A scuffing sound came from the bottom of the stair-
well and she froze. Her physical torment vanished in
a rush of fear. Praying all the while, she strained to
hear anything further. The noise began again, and she
recognized the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

She pushed off with her arms, forcing herself up-
right. The world spun around, but she managed to stay
on her feet and stagger up another flight. This landing
was as littered with trash as the last, but several of the
rooms on this floor still had doors. That meant some-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 5

one still lived here. Hoping the hunters wouldn't press
the search into occupied areas, she chose an open
doorway and headed for it. As she attempted to pass
through the doorway, her head slammed against the
lintel. The shock forced an involuntary grunt of pain.

In the distant lower darkness, there was a sudden
lence.

She listened, but there was no sound. The hunters
would be listening, too.

Minutes crawled by.

Her eyes were good in the dark. If she stood by the
railing and looked down, she might be able to see who
was on the stairs. She didn't dare try. Even if she man-
aged to suppress the vertigo, she would be exposing
herself. There were others who could see in the dark
: even better than she.

Her legs began to tremble again, and she felt her
tfear-induced strength fading. She wouldn't be able to
fremain standing for long. Ducking her head, she
, slipped through the doorway. She stretched out an arm
[and gripped the door, swinging it slowly closed. It
Lmade no sound that she could detect. That was good.
|If she couldn't hear it, they probably couldn't either.

The locks on the door were gone\a151only splintered
|wood marked their former presence. Not that it mat-
ftered; if the hunters tracked her here, a locked door
I wouldn't stop them. Her only hope was that they would
[pass by.

The room was a sty, a haven for drifters and the

ameless. From the discarded chip casings scattered
about she knew that it had seen its share of Better-
fThan-Life parties. It would take a simsense world to
I make this dump vaguely resemble a place to spend any
{time at all. Any time at all? She might be spending

rest of her life here.

She could see nothing that might conceivably be
3d as a weapon. That really didn't matter\a151she barely


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6 Robert N. Charrette

had the strength to stand; she would be useless in a
fight. She staggered across the debris-strewn floor,
barely reaching the far wall before her limbs failed
her. She found herself on the floor, not knowing
whether she had made any noise in falling. There was
no sound of eager ork-bashers rushing up the stairs.
Maybe her collapse had been silent. Maybe they would
not think to look in this room. Maybe she could go
back to her old life.

This squat was an awful place to die. Huddled and
heartsick, she waited. If she had had the strength, she
would have cried.

From the other side of the door she heard the soft
scuff of a cloth sole. Someone had found her hiding
place. Faintly, she heard the sound of the lurker sniff-
ing the air. It was an animal sound, like that of a
hound on a scent. After a moment the noise stopped,
then she heard a brief scrape of clawlike fingernails
scratching the wood near the top of the door. There
was a brief return of the sniffing sound, then all was
quiet again.

There was no reason to believe that the lurker had
left. Perhaps he was patiently listening at the door,
waiting for her to make the movement that would be-
tray her. If she'd had the strength, she would have
crawled out the window and taken her chances on the
crumbling facade. A week ago she would have been
strong enough to scale the wall to safety. Now, her
muscles were too weak. Only her fear was strong.

She knew she had not fooled them when she saw the
doorknob begin to move. It turned slowly, as if the
lurker himself was afraid. Afraid of sudden movement
that might frighten his prey. Predators moved that way;
slowly and with deliberate care.

She began to think that she had guessed wrong about
the nature of her hunters. Gangs made a show of their
kills. This sneaking caution wasn't their style. They

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 7

wouldn't be worried about disturbing any squatters in
the building. They would just barge in and, if they had
picked the wrong apartment, barge right out again.
This stealthy approach argued a hunter who did not
wish to disturb any residents. Deciding that she was
not being stalked by ork-bashers gave her no relief;
there were worse, far worse, hunters that stalked the
night in the Awakened World.

The catch disengaged, the door swung open. Mov-
ing languidly, it yawned wider, until she could see the
landing. There was nothing there.

Helpless before whatever was stalking her, she stared
at the opening. There was a movement low on the left
side of the frame, and a face appeared there. The angle
of the head suggested that the face's owner had
crouched before peering around the frame\a151a simple
precaution to avoid offering an immediate target.

Her stalker's face was long and drawn. Sallow skin
stretched tightly over prominent bones, and dark, dark
i eyes were pools of night under slanted lids. Nostrils
distended, and she heard the sniffing sound again.
j. The lurker straightened, head twisting as he took in the
|room and its contents. As he focused on her, he
grinned. His mouth was overfull of sharp, pointed
teeth.

Lord almighty, you have delivered me to ghouls!

A second face appeared on the other side of the
doorway. It too was almost skeletal in its thinness.
[Unlike the first, his dark eyes were not slanted, but
this skin was as pallid. The flesh of both ghouls was
|tinted a sickly yellow.

The second one mimicked the actions of the first,
fturning his head with sharp motions as it surveyed the

:>m. Apparently satisfied that she was alone, he en-
ered. He was big and filled the frame as he passed
Ifhrough. His entry stirred the stagnant air of the room,
I swirling dust aloft and carrying a putrid scent to her


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 9

trils. The owner of the first face scurried in behind

She could see others gathered on the landing.
The two ghouls moved toward her cautiously, as if
expected her to attack. She had intimidated a lot
people in the last year. She shifted and raised a
id. It was all she could do and she almost blacked
at from the effort. Unaware of how helpless she was,
flinched back. It was a small victory, but all she
likely to get. She had no strength to resist them.
|The ache in her limbs had kindled to fire and she wilted
fin the rising blaze.

When they saw that she made no further motion,
|diey resumed their approach. Just short of her out-
! stretched leg, the big one halted. The smaller one si-
dled carefully up to the other, sheltering behind his
broad back. The big one crouched. With a start, the
other followed suit to avoid being exposed. A soft
hissing came from the others gathered in the hall.

The big one reached out a tentative finger to poke
her. When she didn't respond, he ran his hand down
her calf in a caress as he spoke to his companion.
Most of his words sounded like gutter Chinese, but
some were Japanese and English. His accent and the
speed with which he spoke left her uncomprehending.
The small one straightened and took a step back.
Watching her with wary eyes, he backed away.

They remained like that for a time. She lay still, her
only action an occasional convulsion or shiver. The
big ghoul stood silently by the door, watching her and
waiting. Maybe they had to gather the rest of the pack
before they feasted. Now that they had cornered her,
she found it hard to care. If they killed her, the pain
would stop. Once she was dead, what they did to her
body wouldn't matter to her. Having surrendered to
her despair, she found it easy to contemplate surren-
dering to the insistent call of oblivion.
A commotion roused her from her drifting semicon-


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robert N. Charrette

scious state. Though still racked with pain, she found
herself able to shift her head slightly. It was night\a151or
night again. She had no way of knowing. The big ghoul
was still in the room, but he had changed his position.
The small one was returning, leading a figure much
bigger than himself. She wasn't really sure who or what
the newcomer was. She couldn't seem to focus clearly
on him. One moment he seemed huge and menacing,
a lumbering furry hulk; the next, he was a slim,
strongly-built man attired in street leathers.

He entered the room, moving confidently and show-
ing none of the fearful reticence of the ghouls. Kneel-
ing beside her, he placed a hand on her wrist. To her
surprise, he showed no reluctance to touch her. Hugh
hadn't been reluctant, either. The stranger felt her
pulse while he visually examined her. She noted that
his eyes stopped at the band on her left wrist. Com-
pleting his survey, he looked her in the eyes and
smiled.

"Don't be afraid," he said in Japanese. "They won't
hurt you."

"Why'd you pick Japanese?" she asked. She wasn't
ready to trust him yet. Anyone who ran with ghouls
was an outlaw. But then, she was an outlaw herself
now.

He briefly shifted his glance to the band before
speaking. "I've been to Yomi, too."

Nothing else was said for a minute. What needed to
be said? Anyone who knew Yomi understood pain and
fear. She felt suddenly reassured. Not all outlaws were
criminals by choice. Maybe he was a shadowrunner,
one of those renegades from the corporate world who
fought injustice. Or he might be a murderer. How
could she know?

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Janice."

"No family name?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

11

"No family."

"I see. I am called Shiroi, Janice. I am most pleased
to make your acquaintance."

His politeness seemed all out of place in the crum-
bling ruin, but still she felt embarrassed by her churl-
ishly terse responses. Nevertheless, doubts and
suspicion ruled her tongue. "Why is that?"

"There is no need for you to be so defensive. I
would be the last one to take you back to Yomi."

"I didn't think that you were jigoku-shi. "

"I am no master of hell. I assure you that I have no
connection with those abhorrent racists."

No, he wasn't. He was too handsome to be jigoku-
shi. But no man walks the face of the earth alone.
"Who do you work for?"

"Myself."

So ka. If he wasn't lying, he'd want to be recom-"
pensed for his trouble. In the last year she had learned
about paying her own way. "I haven't got any credit
to pay you."

"I am not asking for payment, Janice. In my own
small way, I am a philanthropist. I take joy in helping
people adjust to their new lives. I look forward to
helping you find your way.''

Could she believe him? "All I want to find is a way
to escape this pain and a way to get out of this dump.''

"That I can arrange."

He began to sing softly. Succumbing to his song,
she passed away from her pain and suspicions, falling
into a healing sleep.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The passengers were nervous\a151with good reason.
Sam Verner was nervous himself, and he didn't have
any guns pointed at him. To the terrified corporates
huddling in their seats, the shadowrunners would seem
much like rabid beasts, ready to savage them for no
reason. Such an evaluation might in fact not be too far
from the truth. It was certainly Sam's own assessment
of the unstable muscleboy in front of him.

Jason Stone was short, but he didn't need the heavy-
barreled Sandier TMP submachine gun in his hands to
give him a dangerous presence. The Indian's rebuilt
muscles and quick, nervous motions told their own
tale. He was what was known in the alleys as a street
samurai, muscle for hire, chromed with cyberware to
set him beyond the frailty of the flesh. Like many of
his kind, the trade of meat for machine meant that
some of his spirit had been tossed out with the unde-
sired body parts. The cold chrome eye shields shut-
tered the windows to what was left of his soul, but his
leering smile exposed what was left of his emotions,
leaving no doubt that he would be happy to use his
weapon.

At the other end of the cabin, Fishface George and
Grey Otter were menacing the crew in similar fash-
ion. They were samurai too, though less extreme ex-
amples of the breed, and neither walked as close to
the edge of sanity as their leader. That was just as
well. Sam needed the muscle for cover, but he didn't
think he could deal with more than one samurai of
Jason's hellbent aggressiveness.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 13
Sam slid past Jason. He knew that he was blocking
some of the samurai's field of fire, but he was confi-
dent that the others would cover the gap. They always
had before. They might not like Sam, but they knew
he was their meal ticket. They'd keep him safe until
they were paid off.

"Two minutes, Sir Twist," buzzed the receiver in
Sam's ear. Sam nodded unconsciously to the speaker,
but Dodger couldn't see the acknowledgment. He was
on a remote broadcast, the only way to link the elf's
position in the Matrix with Sam's ground team aboard
the shuttle craft. Dodger could have left the mundane
time count to a subroutine, but his personal attention
indicated his concern. They were all expecting the run
to be easy, but Dodger was playing cautious. If any-
thing blew up, a subroutine would be outclassed and
purged by intrusion countermeasures before Sam could
know about it. An on-line decker was Matrix security
that every shadowrunner wanted.

In two minutes, the craft's preplanned ground time
would be up and, by then, the Aztechnology shuttle
was supposed to be airborne, on its way to the Sea-
Tac international airport. If the runners delayed it, the
metroplex air traffic control would be alerted. The plan
called for the shuttle to lift on schedule, giving the
runners time to get away with their prize before pur-
suit could be called in. They had managed to board
just as the craft was leaving the gate, successfully slip-
ping past the ground crew. So far, only the passengers
in the main cabin knew of their presence. Dodger's
black box had frozen communications with the pilot's
compartment as soon as Sam had affixed it to the wall.
They should have been gone already, slipping away
into the night, but their man hadn't responded to the
code phrase when they had announced their presence
to the passengers. Time was trickling away.
Where was Raoul Sanchez?


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

16

Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

17

The Indian was pushing, testing Sam as he had ever
since the split with Ghost. Jason liked to claim he was
as good as Ghost, but Sam had never seen even a re-
mote resemblance. Ghost Who Walks Inside was a real
warrior, cast in the mold of his people's ancient he-
roes. Ghost was worthy of being called a samurai,
unlike this cybered punk. Ghost only killed when nec-
essary, but that was just one of the differences between
the two Indians. Jason had never really understood
Ghost's principles; he had only been blinded by the
glittering street reputation of a man who stood up for
his people. Sam couldn't deny that Ghost had em-
braced violence, but only as a means, never as the end
that Jason seemed to believe it was.

It meant nothing to Jason that he was using a man's
life in his dominance games. But it did mean some-
thing to Sam. There was more at stake than Sanchez's
life. If Sam backed down now, he would have no more
control over Jason. Too aware of the Indian's enhanced
reflexes and deadly aim, Sam straightened. Height was
one advantage he had over Jason. He tried to put utter
assurance into his voice.

"I said no killing. We take him with us."
Jason simply stared. Sam knew that the Indian relied
on the unnerving effect of his chromed eyeshields. De-
termined to be unimpressed, Sam stared back, but a
motion in the back of the craft caught his attention.
Someone was rising from his seat. The passenger's
right hand was cocked back and a shiny barrel pro-
truded from the base of his palm.

Whether Jason used his own peripheral vision or saw
the reflection in Sam's eyes, he was moving before
Sam could say anything. The man in the back was
moving at chipped speed, but Jason was faster. The
Indian shifted sideways, vacating the space in which
he had stood. Sam felt the heat of the bullet's passage
and heard the slug bury itself in the cabin wall.

The gunman started to drop lower, trying to use a ;i
seat and the passenger in it for cover. Jason swung
Sanchez around with one arm and shoved his other
arm in the direction of the gunman. His movement
looked deceptively awkward, almost haphazard. Sam
knew that it was anything but. The Sandier TMP had
a smartgun adapter, feeding targeting information
through the induction pad in Jason's palm to establish
a feedback circuit. When the crosshairs appeared on
Jason's cybereyes, he could be sure that his weapon
rwas effectively aimed at his target.

Jason fired as he dropped into the seat that had been
fSanchez's. The Indian's Sandier shrilled as it spat slugs
to rip into the gunman's cover. Blood and polyfoam
i stuffing erupted into the air. Jason's line of fire skipped
up past the head rest and clipped the gunman in the
shoulder as he ducked.

Fishface's gun chattered behind Sam. Women's wails
and screams of pain joined the noise of the guns. The
sea of corporate faces that had been staring at the run-
ners vanished beneath the waves of the head rests. The
passengers were huddled, praying, hoping, and plead-
ing that no fire be directed at them.

Slow to react, Sam found himself the only one still
standing. He reached for his holster. As his hand
fclosed on the butt of his Narcoject Lethe, he knew he
i wouldn't be fast enough. The gunman was rising for
lanother shot.

Again, Jason proved faster. The Sandier screamed
it pounded slugs into the man. Sam watched as th%
[slugs chewed away cloth and flesh to reveal the im\a171!
planted armor that had saved the gunman from Jason's^
[first shot. The impact drove the man back, spinning
Shim out into the aisle. More bullets gnawed at him,
pounding their way through his protective plates. He
started to collapse, his palm gun firing convulsively,
the bullets spanging wildly around the cabin.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

18

Robert N. Charrette

The gunfire stopped as soon as the man hit the deck.
With Fishface screaming orders that no one move, Ja-
son rushed down the aisle to his victim. He ran a quick
hand over the dead gunman. He found a wallet and,
after only a brief glance, tossed it on the man's chest.
He spat on the corpse and stood. "Azzie corpcop."

Sam relaxed a bit. The attack wasn't the closing of
a trap. The gunman might have been an air marshal,
or he might have been an off-duty officer on his way
somewhere. The man had just been trying to do his
job and keep some shadowrunners from killing a cor-
porate. Likely, he had seen the confrontation between
Sam and Jason as his chance. He had bet on his own
skills and lost.

"Heat's on now, Twist," Jason said. "Pedro's dead
weight we can't afford."

Before Sam could respond to the samurai's latest
challenge to his authority, he felt a hand grip the
fringes of his jacket.

"Seftors, you cannot leave me now." Sanchez's fear
seemed to have redoubled.

"The hell we can't," Jason snarled as he shoved
past.

Sanchez winced. His glance darted nervously to the
door Otter had opened, then flickered around the
cabin. Finally, his panicked stare alighted on Sam.
"You have condemned me."

"They saw that you were not involved," Sam as-
sured him. "Your corporate masters understand this
sort of thing. They will know that it was all a mis-
take."

Sanchez shook his head vehemently. "The ahman.
They will not believe."

"Everyone here saw that he started the firefight.
They'll tell your ahman what happened."
"No, senor. The ahman will not believe."
"Why not? You've got fifty witnesses."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 19
"No, senor. Look at them."
Sam looked around the cabin at the faces that had
reappeared. They were all strangers but he knew them.
He knew the grim determination and fear that lived in
every one of them. These people were already denying
that Sanchez was one of them. Sam understood such
draconian group dynamics from his years in Japan.
There, an entire family or organization took the heat
for the actions of a member. The only way to avoid
destruction of the group was to deny the membership
of the offender. Sanchez's fear told him that the Azzies
believed in group responsibility, too.

The cabin stank of death now. The cowering salary-
man was right\a151it wouldn't stop here if he left San-
chez. An Aztechnology security man and at least two
other corporates were dead. Several more were in-
jured. This was no longer a minor matter, and San-
chez's fellow corporate employees would not defend
him. The ahman might decide that Sanchez was re-
sponsible despite the evidence. If the ahman con-
demned Sanchez, those who spoke in his defense
. would be under suspicion\a151if they didn't share his fate.
I Aztechnology was not known for its understanding and
[ forgiveness. These people would not take the chance.
' Sam looked down into Sanchez's face. The man was
'1 of fear. He was terrified of staying, terrified by
s thought of leaving the corporation, terrified by the
•dowrunners, and terrified of his own presumption
I desperation. His fears fought their war openly on
; face.

i understood those fears. He reached down and
ok Sanchez by the shoulders, drawing him up.
"All right," he said. "Let's go."
I The gratitude in the man's face almost masked the


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3



The room was quiet, but Dodger knew he wasn't
alone in the darkened library. His knowledge wasn't
anything mystic; spells, conjurings, and astral voyages
were not his kind of magic. It wasn't that he heard
them, or smelled them, or, as yet, saw any evidence
of them, either. His awareness might have been due to
some combination of his physical senses, operating
below his consciousness. He didn't need to know how
it worked; the fact that it had worked was enough.
Still, there was no sense of danger. He had been on
enough shadowruns to know that feeling. At least for
the moment, whoever watched wasn't planning to at-
tack.

"I told you he would be decking."

The voice was deep and throbbed with vindication.
Dodger knew that voice too well. Estios had never
liked him and never would. The black-haired elf had
squared off against Dodger from the first time they had
met. Like their hair colors, their personalities were
opposites. There was no attraction between them save
a mutual call to hostility.

With slow deliberation, Dodger prolonged his dis-
connection from the Matrix, tapping in a few more
commands before logging off. He took the connector
from the datajack on his left temple and held it with
just enough pressure that the reel wound it smoothly
and the plug nestled safely into its niche. Sliding the
compartment cover closed, he turned his chair around.

Estios was glowering at him, as he expected. Pro-
fessor Sean Laverty stood by Estios's side. That was

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 21
also expected; the officious Estios's words only made
sense if he had the professor's attention. Chatterjee
stood on the other side of the professor. The Asian
elf's presence was not expected but not surprising ei-
ther; he was a frequent resident of the mansion. Hang-
ing back near the door was the real surprise, Teresa
O'Connor. Dear, sweet Teresa. If he had known she
was at the mansion, he would never have come.

The professor waited until Dodger wrenched his eyes
away from Teresa before speaking. "Dodger, you
know the rules."

Indeed he did, but when had that stopped him from
doing what needed to be done? Sliding the corners and
skipping over the bounds were what made life worth
living. True as that was, there were some matters best
dealt with carefully. "The cyberdeck's running a side-
car copy now, Professor. I didn't break any of your
rules."

"You ran the Matrix without authorization," Estios
accused.

"A decker always runs without authorization. 'Tis
what decking is all about."

Estios's eyes narrowed. "Cut the snow. You've spent
enough time here to know that no one connects to the
Matrix from the mansion without clearing it first."

"And if anyone, even you, Estios, can find anything
i compromising in the copy of the run, I shall submit
I to any discipline that the professor deems proper.''

1"We don't need to see your concocted evidence,
alley runner. You're not welcome here any longer.
Leave now.''

Estios stepped forward, apparently ready to enforce
his demand, but Laverty restrained him with a touch
on his arm. "Dodger may stay as long as he wishes."
Estios turned his head sharply and looked down into
Laverty's eyes. "That's unwise."
"Technically, Dodger is abusing your hospitality,


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

22

Robert N. Ckarrette

Professor," Chatterjee said. "It sets a terrible prece-
dent."

"He should be expelled and banned," Estios said.
"Dodger is free to come and go as he pleases, Mr.
Estios," Laverty said.

Chatterjee inclined his head in acceptance of the
professor's decision, but Estios just scowled and
stepped back to his place at Laverty's side. Laverty
gave the taller elf a rueful shake of his head.

"Come, come, Mr. Estios. I feel confident that
Dodger would never betray this house. He is difficult
on occasion and less than mannerly at most times, but
his heart is great. I am sure that there is a good and
sufficient reason for his actions,"

"Verily," Dodger agreed. " Tis most assured that
I meant no disrespect for you and your hospitality,
Professor. Circumstances conspired to force me to this
end."

"Don't they always?" Laverty said, then chuckled.
"Circumstances seem to conspire against you regu-
larly."

Dodger shrugged. "Time is an unreal concept in the
forest. I stayed too long and found myself in need of
a safe place to conduct my business. Lacking access
to any other place where my flesh would be safe while
I roamed the Matrix, I came here."

"You could have decked from your precious for-
est," Estios said. "You've done that often enough."

"Alas, I had no transmitter. I had not expected to
be gone so long, and so neglected to make such prep-
arations. When I found that time had passed more
swiftly than expected, I found myself in an awkward
situation. Were it not for my obligations to my fellow
. runners, I would never have imposed so."

"What do you know of obligations, alley runner?"

"I know mat a person is obligated to follow his

conscience rather than the letter of orders imposed

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 23

from above. Surely, even a grand soldier such as your-
self can grasp such a basic concept?''

"Enough. There have been enough disturbances of
the peace in this house. I do not need you two tearing
at each other," Laverty said. "Dodger, this run
wouldn't be one of Samuel Verner's, would it?"

Seeing no harm in admitting it, Dodger said, "In
truth, it is."

Laverty was thoughtful for a moment. The other
elves waited silently; they knew better than to inter-
rupt the professor's thoughts. At last, he said, "You
have shown a remarkable loyalty toward that man."

' 'Any loyalty is remarkable for an alley runner.''

"I said enough, Mr. Estios." There was no harsh-
ness in Laverty's voice, but Estios looked stung just
the same. Laverty's attention remained on Dodger.
"Another data run? Verner is still searching for his
sister?"

"Always that," Dodger replied. The professor's re-
newed interest in Sam made Dodger a little uncom-
fortable. "This run was simply business. Even a knight
errant needs operating capital." li

"Another theft," Estios scoffed.

" 'Twas was no theft."

"Call it what you want," Estios continued, ignor-
ing Laverty's sharp look. "You can't alter its nature."

Dodger's initial annoyance at Estios's suggestion of
larceny eased as he saw the professor's reaction. Estios
lost points by being the first to break the imposed
truce. Unable to resist, Dodger said, "Some people
never change."

A slight motion near the door caught his attention
and he immediately regretted his words. In the ex-
change with Estios, he had forgotten that Teresa was
there. She had been so quiet. Thinking that he had no
way to fool the professor, but that he might cover his


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24

Robert N. Charrette

chagrin from the others, he launched into an expla-
nation of what had happened.

"Our run was supposed to be a simple extraction.
A friendly one, at that. The subject had supposedly
concluded a contract with new employers, but had
failed to secure release from his current corporation.
Mr. Johnson assured us that the subject was not in a
sensitive position, so it should have been a clean in-
and-out. Someone hosed. The pickup apparently had
no idea what was going on. He did not even seem
aware that Sam and the others were there for him."

"A deliberate ruse to trap Verner," Chatterjee sug-
gested.

Dodger wondered just how much Chatterjee knew.
The dark-skinned elf had not been present when Sam
had been at the mansion last summer, and normally,
he would not have been briefed on old business. Per-
haps he only drew the obvious conclusion. "If 'twere
a trap, 'twere a poor one. There seemed no reasonable
chance of closure."

"A Renraku reprisal, then?"
Chatterjee's mention of the corporation from which
Sam had fled banished any remaining thoughts of in-
nocence. Chatterjee's knowledge was a sign that the
professor retained an interest in Sam. "An unlikely
circumstance."

Laverty nodded. "A conclusion based on your re-
search into Mr. Johnson's real identity."

Dodger tried his best offended look. "A client expects
to maintain his confidentiality. 'Tis most unhealthy to
inquire into such matters."

"Dodger?" Laverty smiled, and Dodger knew his
ruse had never had a chance.

"Andrew Glover of Amalgamated Technologies
and Telecommunications. Mister Glover is a vice-
president, on the fast track with a bullet. His firm has
a pedigree that's about as pure European as they come.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 25

'Tis not the slightest hint of Renraku influence. Of
course," Dodger added with a sly grin, "there does
seem to be a connection to Saeder-Krupp."

Laverty raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Estios
did the reacting.

"Saeder-Krupp! They're Lofwyr's puppets. If the
beast is making moves in Seattle ..."

Laverty's voice was stiff as he clipped Estios into
silence. "Mr. Estios, you are being most disruptive
today. The dragon's plans are not of importance in this
matter. Simple stock ownership is insufficient evi-
dence of the dragon's involvement. Although ATT is
owned by Saeder-Krupp, the corporation remains es-
sentially independent, and I think it unlikely that Lof-
wyr even knows of this operation. Dodger, you did
say that your Mr. Johnson was Glover?"

"Andrew."

Laverty nodded to himself. "Though I doubt your
liend is enmeshed in some dragon's schemes again, I
link that he will have need of his budding magical
Italents."

Dodger understood the implied question. He even
ad some idea of the offer that was being made. "He^
till won't come to see you."

"I understand. His rigorous logical training and sci-
ntific orientation made a very convincing argument
jat his mind would be oriented to the hermetic tra-
totion. Your report of his vision of the Dog totem was

ost startling. I had not conceived of that possibility.

was a most embarrassing oversight. He probably

rfds me in little respect, since I misdiagnosed his

"ling."

iAh, thought Dodger, if you only knew. " 'Tis not
reason. Despite surviving dragonfire, Sam barely

iieves in his magical powers. 'Tis unlikely that he

aid fault you for thinking him a mage when he him-


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28

Robert N. Charrette

"I had to."

"Have you come back?"

"I'm not sure."

"I see." She pocketed the chip and stepped around
him. Pausing at the door, she said, "Come talk to me
when you are sure."

She was gone.

The darkness and ancient books his only witnesses,
he softly vowed, "I will."

Sam looked down at Sally Tsung. She was a beau-
tiful woman. From her artfully tinted ash blonde hair
streaming across the pillow, to her slim and shapely
feet poking from beneath the rumpled blankets, she
was the stuff of a lonely man's dreams. Only she was
no dream, and he hadn't been lonely for months. He
just didn't understand what she saw in him.

Sally was tall and trim, fleshed where a woman
should be fleshed. But hard muscle underlay those
shape defining curves. A Chinese dragon, vivid in its
tattoo colors, slithered along her right arm. The beast's
bewhiskered chin rested on the back of her hand,
whose slender fingers were half closed into a fist, al-
most hiding the missing last joint of her little finger.

She had never told Sam how she had come to lose
that joint. Despite what he knew had been an adven-
turous life, she carried no other scars. Her lack of
scars she laughed off, attributing her smooth skin to
the power of magical healing. Whenever Sam tried to
ask about the finger, she found something more inter-
esting to talk about. If he pressed her, she always had

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

29

an appointment for which she was late. He had given
up trying.

The real issue wasn't the history of her finger. As
free she was with her body, she had never let him
touch her past. He hoped that in time she might open
up and trust him, but as yet his hopes were unfulfilled.
Sally Tsung remained mysterious.

A cold nose pressed against his naked back told him
that he was not the only one awake in the apartment.
Rolling carefully to avoid disturbing Sally, Sam slid
from the bed; its ancient springs squeaked only a mild
protest. Inu lapped eagerly at his face, and Sam rum-
pled the dog's fur in an equally happy greeting. |j|

Sam showered and dressed while Inu waited pa-
tiently by the door. Sam grabbed his fringed jacket on
his way to the door. He really didn't think he'd need
its ballistic cloth lining for his run with Inu. Dark
hadn't fallen yet, so most of the predators were still
abed. Still, the armor lining functioned as insulation,
making the fringed synthleather the warmest coat he
had.

His runs with Inu gave him time to think. Or more
precisely, time to worry. Tonight was supposed to be
another magic lesson, and he wasn't looking forward
to it. The lessons were not going well. No matter how
patiently Sally explained the theory, Sam seemed in-
capable of grasping any but the simplest of spells. Even
those only came after he'd had time to work out his
own symbologies. The texts he'd gotten from Profes-
sor Laverty seemed only to confuse matters more.
Sally insisted that he'd have more luck with ritual mag-
ics, but so far she had respected his refusal to even try
them. Conjuring spirits seemed wrong, almost unholy.
Why couldn't it have been target practice night,
even if that meant dealing with Ghost? With a magic
lesson on the docket, facing Ghost's coldness seemed
preferable to Sally's vituperous condemnations of his


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30

Robert N. Charrette

intelligence. Sam knew that intelligence had little to
do with getting a spell right. Even Ziggy, that street
kid who dogged Sally's steps, could get the spells go-
ing. He had an IQ several points below Inu's. Still, if
it had been gun night, he was sure he would have pre-
ferred it to be magic night.

His last several months among the shadowrunners
had gone through more ups and downs than a Mitsu-
bishi Flutterer skirting a storm front. Despite it all, he
had found himself coming to like life in the shadows.
It wasn't always pleasant and certainly lacked the ev-
eryday comforts of his former corporate life, but he
felt he had been given a chance to make a difference.
Here on the streets he wasn't just a faceless minion
among other faceless minions, plodding to the com-
pany's tune. The street folk were individuals, some
extravagantly so. Once they came to trust a person,
which wasn't quickly or easily, they were true friends.
He found such company exhilarating. He was pleased
that, under Sally and Dodger's sponsorship, he had
been accepted into their circle.

One of the biggest downs was the estrangement of
Ghost Who Walks Inside. The big Indian had seemed
pleased to see Sam leave the corporate world. He had
even been eager to help Sam redress the wrongs caused
by Haesslich's plot. Sam felt good about that; he was
impressed by the Indian's quiet strength and focus of
purpose. But then something had happened to change
Ghost's attitude toward Sam. Since the night they had
settled with Haesslich, Ghost had refused to take part
in any runs with Sam. Ghost still helped train Sam in
the ways of the shadows, but he held aloof, appearing
for the lessons and vanishing when the instruction was
over. Sally shrugged and Dodger told him it would
pass, but no one else would talk to him about it.

Inu finished his business and they headed back to
Sam's squat. Turning for home set him to thinking

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 31

about Sally again. Their relationship seemed increas-
ingly fragile. One might almost say it was deteriorat-
ing on every front, except perhaps in bed. There the
passion seemed as strong as ever. From her first in-
vitation, he had fallen quickly for her. But now,
months later, he realized that he really didn't know
her at all well.

When she wasn't with him, he had no idea where
she went. She admitted having her own place but had
refused to take him there, saying that it wasn't his kind
of place. He had never tried to follow her; that would
have been a betrayal of trust. But he had wondered a
lot about where she went.

No one could spend as much time together as they
had and not get to know something about the other
person. Between the shadowruns, the training, and
their time in the sack, he had come to know something
about her personality. He wasn't very sure he liked
what he had learned. As far as he could tell, money
was her principal motivation. She was mercenary al-
most beyond ethics; her principles were for sale to the
highest bidder. All she knew of honor was what af-
fected her reputation. Loyalty she understood; at least,
within the bounds of a run where reliance on the team
was, by necessity, absolute. But she only gave that
kind of loyalty when she was sure that it had already
been given to her. If she had the slightest doubt, she
would arrange failsafes, backups to ensure that no
one betrayed her. At least she hadn't shown such sus-
picion toward him. She didn't seem to understand that
a shadow team had to be a family. In fact, she didn't
seem to understand family at all. Of all her sins, he
couldn't forgive the way she always tried to talk him
into forgetting about his sister. Even for her, he would
not forget Janice.

Inu won the race up the stairs as usual, but Sam was^
not winded as he would have been last summer. His


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34

Robert N. Charrette

She gave him a look that left no doubt that she didn't
agree, but she didn't say anything. Her stony silence
indicated that she had taken the subject as far as she
thought necessary. Sam didn't want to take it any fur-
ther, either. They would be snapping at each other
again soon enough.

"Are we going to do some exercises?"
"What for? You wouldn't learn anything. You're too
pig-headed." Sally gestured, casting an illusion spell,
and Sam knew that to a viewer he would appear to be
literally pig-headed. It was juvenile of her to resort to
such a poor joke.

"I haven't given up trying to learn," he said. "Have
you given up teaching?"

She snorted. "You don't pay me enough for this lost
cause."

Wondering how serious she was being, he said, "I
didn't realize I was supposed to be paying you."

Scowling, she breathed a long sigh. She shook out
her hair and turned to stare through the grimy window.
Her voice was distant. "Drekhead. You want to learn
something tonight, you do it on your own."

Conversation ended; sentence pronounced. There
would be no point in Trying to change her mind. Sam
found that he didn't mind. He almost felt relief. As
much as he knew he needed to learn, their sessions
had become increasingly difficult. Another teacher
might be better. Professor Laverty had offered; so had
the dragon Lofwyr. The dragon's offer had surely been
false, since his agent had betrayed Sam and the run-
ners instead of helping. And Laverty surely had his
own reasons. Sam was sure he did not want to get
involved with some as high up in the Tir Tairngire
power structure as Laverty appeared to be. Sally had
seemed the only mage he could trust, and now he was
having his doubts about her. He would have to sort the

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

35

mess out soon. He'd need whatever magical ability he
could muster to go after Janice.

He watched Sally pretend interest in the outside
world. She was flighty in her anger sometimes. Maybe
she would relent.

"Just as well that we're not going to practice. I've
got a meet with Mr. Johnson tonight. I'd like you to
run backup."

"Got better things to do than baby-sit," she said
without looking around.

Sighing, Sam let the insult slide. It was just her heat.
He hoped that she would feel differently later. "All
right. I'll catch you later."

"Later," she replied almost inaudibly.

He left her sitting in the apartment. As he walked
down the stairs, Inu skipped at his side. Sam won-
dered if Sally would be there when he got back.

As Sam approached the corner of South Main Street
and Fourth Avenue South, the dark bulk of the Ren-
raku arcology loomed ever larger before him. The
megastructure towered above its neighboring build-
ings, blocking most of the sunset's red tones. Already
lights were sparkling on the east face. Low down on
the north face, the glare and blare of the club quarter
was awakening. Less than a year ago, the arcology had
been his home\a151and his prison.

He turned right on Fourth. He was less than two
blocks from Club Penumbra, but the walk seemed
lengthy. The first time Sally had taken him here, he
had almost run away when he had realized how near


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36

Robert N. Charrette

to the arcology the club was. It had only been a month
after the firefight on Pad 23, that regrettable battle
which Renraku security forces believed that he started.
He hadn't really been there, but a deception on the
part of Lofwyr's agent had made it appear that he had
led the attacking raiders. Sam had been afraid of 'Raku
retaliation. The thought of walking exposed anywhere
near the megastructure had frightened him. But he had
learned that he was just a face in the crowd; no more
remarkable than anyone else to the guards on the west
face of the arcology.

He still wasn't completely sure the corporation had
decided that revenge was uneconomical. He had to
force himself to keep pace with the pedestrian traffic
around him. He didn't want to attract attention. As a
member of the crowd, he could pass, but if he gave
the guards cause to single him out, who knew what
might result?

He reached the alley that led to the club. He was
surprised but pleased to see that one of the three bikes
parked against the wall was Dodger's Rapier. Penum-
bra was no place for animals, so he looked around for
Inu to tell him to wait. The dog was scampering across
Yesler Way, off to find his own entertainment. He'd be
back eventually, as always. Sam had met Inu on the
streets and had no worries that the dog would be all
right.

Though twilight was still gathering among the rain-
laden clouds outside, night had already fallen in Club
Penumbra. The gloom was deeper than usual, since
the wall-sized tridscreen was dark. Sam picked his way
through the entryway mostly by following the sound
of Big Tom, the Club's resident sound engineer and
backup musician, practicing his drumbeats. As Sam
cleared the arch and entered the main floor, Big Tom
deflated his throat pouch and hooted the dual tone he
used for greetings. Sam did his best to return the sas-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 37

quatch's sound. Big Tom grinned his lopsided grin
which only showed the fangs on the left side of his
face. Sam was never sure if the furry metahuman was
smiling with pleasure or amusement at Sam's attempts
to greet him in kind.

Big Tom took up his practice again as Sam crossed
the floor. His was the only music in the place, but it
was a weeknight and still early. The Penumbra
wouldn't start rocking for another couple of hours.
There were a few patrons scattered about at the free-
standing tables and in the alcoves along the back wall.
That was fine. There were enough people to keep
things friendly but not enough to crowd sensitive dis-
cussions. The club's regulars minded their own biz.

Jim at the bar inclined his head, and Sam altered
his path in the direction indicated. The sole occupied
booth in that corner had a black booted foot thrust
from its recesses. The stud pattern on the footwear's
straps and the faint gleam of a white shag of hair ad-
vertised Dodger's presence.

Sam kicked the sole of the boot, saying, "Hoi,
Dodger. You're early. Are you feeling all right?"

"In truth I was. Until you wounded me with your
remark, Sir Twist." Dodger cocked his head to look
up at Sam, causing sparkles of light to flash from the
three jacks on his depilated left temple. To anyone who
didn't know the elf, the computer interface ports would
seem incongruous next to his pointed ears, but Sam
knew they were as integral to who Dodger was as his
slim elven bones.

"You'll heal. Get anything on Mr. Johnson? Like
maybe why things got screwed up last night?"

"Some data has fallen into my hands but, as to yes-
terday's difficulties, I can do no more than speculate."

"Well if you've got any data, you're ahead of me."
Sam slid onto the bench next to Dodger. The elf


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

38

Robert N. Charrette

pushed a minicomp across, allowing Sam to scroll
through while he gave a summation.

"As you can see, Mr. Johnson is Andrew Glover of
ATT. For someone with his background and standing
in the corporation, this shadow work is a bit out of
line. The bodyguard is Harry Burke, pro muscle from
the European circuit. Very expensive."

"Hmm. Think our Mr. Johnson is moonlighting?"
"Possibly. He might have legitimate ATT business
in Seattle, since he arrived direct from headquarters
in London on his corporate passport. I'll need more
time to check that out."
"So he might be legit or he might not."
"Time is data, and I had very little time."
Sam spotted something and froze the scroll.
"Saeder-Krupp," he said softly. He shuddered, re-
membering his dealings with the dragon who owned
that megacorporation.
"Interesting, is it not?"

"I'd hate to think that this has some connection to
Lofwyr. I've dealt with more than enough dragons."
Dodger nodded agreement. Sam returned to scroll-
ing through the data that the elf had collected, but his
mind wasn't really focused. The reflections on the
screen seemed to echo the glints of a dragon's eye,
and he kept drifting back to thoughts of Lofwyr. Sally
had robbed the dragon of his prize, and Sam had no
idea how Lofwyr had taken that. When Sam had tried
to use the telecom numbers he had been given to con-
tact the dragon or his agents, he had found them all
disconnected. He had assumed that meant that the
dragon was calling it quits, finding revenge as expen-
sive a luxury as Renraku appeared to believe it was.
Now there was this connection, tenuous but real. Was
he already enmeshed in the coils of another of the
dragon's plots? Had Lofwyr only been biding his time?
Waiting for the opportunity to strike?

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

39

Sam felt an elbow in his ribs as Dodger said,
" 'Twould seem that everyone is running ahead of
schedule tonight."

Following Dodger's eye line, Sam saw Andrew
I Glover crossing the dance floor to the bar. The ATT

an was of middling height, narrow-shouldered, and
slim. His long, slightly horsey face was relaxed, suf-
fused with the calm of a man assured of his proper
place in the world. From his clothes, that place was a
comfortable one. His shiny black shoes and grey gloves
were spotless, showing no signs of wear. The rest was
hidden under a long, caped coat of natural tweed. De-
spite its expensive material, it would be lined with
ballistic cloth. The wealthy took as few chances as
possible. Dark spots marred the perfect tones of the
coat's shoulders. He slid a hand through his sandy hair,
flicking away the water in a casual gesture. His walk
was casual, too, as if he was striding through some
ancestral manor.

Surveying the club with what appeared to be simple
curiosity, Burke followed Glover in. The bodyguard
moved with a predator's gait, smooth and calm but
ready to explode into instant action. Penumbra's pro-
tection would not allow Sam to make a successful as-
tral check, but you didn't need to be a magician to
know that Burke had some kind of edge over ordinary
people. Dodger had said the man's services were ex-
pensive. Since there was no reason to expect Dodger
to have gotten bad information, Burke was likely very
good at his job. That meant cyberware or magic; sim-
ple skills and knowledge weren't enough anymore.

The barkeep directed Glover to their booth. As soon
as he saw that it was occupied, Glover put on his cor-
porate smile. He removed his long coat and handed it
to Burke who slung it over his arm. The guard seemed
to find its weight far less than Glover had. Burke stayed
back, letting his charge approach the booth alone.


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40

Robert N. Charrette

Glover seated himself on the empty bench, but before
he could speak, he was jostled by a new arrival.

Sam hadn't seen where Jason had been hiding. He
hadn't even known Jason was in the club until he ma-
terialized at the edge of the booth. Maybe the kid had
learned something from Ghost. In any case, there had
been no time to warn Glover that he was about to have
company.

Jason pushed his shoulder against Glover. The
roughness of Jason's dermal armor implant snagged
the corporate's silk jacket, tugging strands free. Jason
placed an Ares predator on the table, the gun's huge
barrel pointing in Glover's direction. Jason removed
his hand from the butt and rested his palm on the ta-
ble.

The ATT man reacted well. He expressed only sur-
prise at the Indian's sudden appearance. A quirk at the
corner of his mouth hinted at annoyance. Other than
that, there was no sign that he was bothered by Jason's
typically over-stated threat. Sam was impressed, and
warned, by Glover's cool. Some corporates would have
started yelling murder at such an unexpected appear-
ance. Glover merely slid over to make room for the
broad-shouldered Indian and brushed at the shoulder
of his jacket. A negligent wiggling of his fingers sent
silk fibers drifting to the table top.

Sam would have expected Burke to intercept Jason.
Curious, he looked over and saw the bodyguard stand-
ing side-by-side with Fishface. It was unlikely that the
professional guard had been intimidated by Fishface's
ragged presence. Burke's failure to interfere was more
likely directly related to Glover's lack of alarm.
Glover cleared his throat. "This is a bit irregular."
"So was the run, chummer," Jason said. "You ain't
got problems so long as you play clean, Johnson. We
got your warm body for you and want our nuyen."
Glover stared at Jason for a moment, then turned his

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

41

head to look at Sam. "Am I dealing with a new prin-
cipal?"

"No, you're not," Sam replied firmly. "But he is
right. The situation was not as you led us to believe.
I would like an explanation."

"I just want the creds," Jason said.

The look Glover gave him spoke volumes about the
trials of dealing with the lower classes. With slow de-
liberation to show that he was not reaching for a
weapon, Glover slid his hand into his jacket and re-
moved a credstick. It was unmarked by bank seals or
the banding of a certified stick. "There is no intent to
defraud you. I believe that this will cover the remain-
der of the agreed-upon sum."

For all his obvious greed, Jason didn't snatch it up
when Glover placed it in the center of the table. In-
stead, Jason poked it with his gun, rolling it toward
Dodger. Peremptorily, he ordered, "Check it out,
elf."

Dodger plucked the stick from the table without a
word. He recovered the minicomp and slotted the
credstick. His fingers danced on the key membrane.
After several flurries, he looked up at Glover. "Pray
tell, Goodman Johnson. Why are the funds locked?"

"What!" Jason's eyes narrowed.

Sam tried to forestall any further reaction by asking,
"Is there an explanation you'd care to offer, Mr. John-
son?"

Glover ignored the agitated man at his side, focus-
ing his attention only on Sam. "I believe that I have
a question of my own which must be answered before
we proceed. Where is Mr. Sanchez?"

The man was so damn sure of himself.

"Being delivered as we agreed."

Glover's face remained deadpan. "I am quite sure
that you understand. I must have that confirmed before
I authorize the transfer of funds.''


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42

Robert N. Charrette

Hoping that he had called it right, Sam tried to keep
his own voice calm and assured. He hoped he hid his
growing trepidation. Corporates away from their safe
turf didn't stay so unruffled unless they had hidden
assets.

"Then we wait." Jason looked like he was ready to
do something else, so Sam said, "Got that, Jason? We
give the man a chance."

Jason's sullen glower was his answer.

They sat in stony silence for some minutes until
Glover's wrist beeped. He slid back his pristine cuff
to reveal a multi-function watch. Tapping in two code
sequences, he waited for a response. He seemed sat-
isfied when it came. He tapped in another longer se-
quence.

"Right. That's it, then, gentlemen. You will find the
complete fee available to you now, as well as a sub-
stantial bonus in recognition of the alacrity of your
performance. I would like to say it has been a com-
plete pleasure doing business with you.'' Glover
started to rise. He made no gesture but it was clear
that he expected Jason to get out of his way. "I am a
very busy man and I must be getting along."

"Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Johnson,"
Sam told him. He was pleased that his voice remained
steady. There had been no sign from Jim at the bar
that anything was out of place, but that was no guar-
antee that nothing was wrong. Especially if Glover
was an agent of Lofwyr. "You're here until Otter calls
in."

Glover drew in a long breath and pursed his lips.
He reseated himself stiffly. "I see."

"No need to be put out, Goodman Johnson. 'Tis a
simple bit of business assurance. I'm sure you under-
stand."

Glover returned Dodger's smile with a stiff mask,
but his detachment was evaporating. The corporate's

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 43
annoyance was starting to grow. In the middle of the
room, Burke was tensed. Sam wanted to defuse the
situation before someone did something that they'd all
regret. But how?

Forcing a smile that he really didn't feel, Sam called
for a round of drinks.

"There's no reason to be concerned, Mr. Johnson.
This is simply a business formality. We can still com-
plete this deal without impediments."

"Let us hope so, Mr. Twist."

"I have confidence. However, my friends might feel
more confident of our good will if you were to answer
my earlier question. They would be relieved if you
were to offer some reasonable explanation for the screw-
up."

Glover shrugged away the importance of the matter
with the merest shift of his shoulders.

"It was a simple communications slipup. Mr. San-
chez never received the word that his extraction was
to take place. That same glitch deprived him of your
descriptions. He would have had no idea that you and
your friends were my agents."

"That's it?"

"That is, as you say, it. I accept full responsibility
for the confusion."

It would be impolitic to dispute Glover's answer. It
was possible that he told the truth. Just barely. Sam
tried another approach.

"I realize that you need not tell us, but what will
happen to Sanchez from this point?"

Glover looked thoughtful for a moment, then almost
smiled. "Mr. Sanchez will receive the most attentive
care during his transfer. We want him in the best of
health. His role in our organization will be a promi-
nent one. Of course, we will benefit from his partici-
pation, but it will not be all one-sided. Mr. Sanchez
has special assets. His participation in our ongoing


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44

Robert N. Charrette

project will ensure that many people lead better and
more productive lives. If all goes as planned, he may
even be famous one day. So I can assure you that you
need have no concerns about Mr. Sanchez's welfare.
We intend to see that he has every opportunity to
achieve his destiny."

"Too fragging noble," Jason commented.

"Believe as you will," Glover returned. "Some
people have concerns beyond their own personal com-
forts and needs. Some of those people are in positions
to act and would find it unconscionable not to act. Can
you grasp the concept of altruism, or is that beyond
your greedy brain?"

Jason clenched his jaw, his hand slowly sliding up
and over the butt of his Predator. Thankful that the
insult had only lit the fuse rather than touching off an
instant explosion, Sam slapped his own hand down on
Jason's. He had no hope of pinning it there, but he
might slow Jason's reactions. That delay could give
Burke time to kill the Indian. Hoping he had made the
right move, Sam glared at Glover.

"That was uncalled for. I think you should apolo-
gize to Jason."

Glover glanced at the table before speaking. His
voice was neutral. "Where apologies are necessary
and appropriate, I offer them."

The reduction in tension under his hand told Sam
that Jason had accepted Glover's statement as repen-
tence. The Indian really was dumb. Sam waited until
Jason relaxed his shoulders, then dragged the Indian's
hand away from the gun before releasing it.

They waited. At last, the bar phone rang and Jim
picked it up. He spoke into the handset, nodded, then
shoved it into his gut to muffle the pick-up.

"Call for Halifax. Anybody seen her?" Jim shouted.
After waiting a moment for a response that never

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 45

came, he said into the receiver, "Ain't here. It's early,
try Damien's."

Dodger sat back and smiled. Sam felt the same re-
lief, but thought it impolitic to let it show. Jim was
giving the code phrase that meant Grey Otter had made
the transfer and gotten safely away. Jason used the op-
portunity to snatch the minicomp, letting out a sur-
prised oath when he saw the figures on the screen. He
turned the minicomp around again and shoved it at
Sam.

"Make the cuts, Twist."

Sam transferred Jason's cut back to the credstick in
the machine. He popped it and slid in a blank to take
the transfer of Fishface's slice. Transaction completed,
he put both on the table and rolled them to Jason.

The Indian grabbed his own first and slipped it into
his pouch. Rising, he caught the other as it reached
the edge of the table top. He flicked the stick to Fish-
face.

"Done deal?" Fishface asked tonelessly.

"Done deal. We're outta here."

Glover joined Sam and Dodger in watching the two
leave. "Your muscle is flighty. Such an abrupt exit
might tempt an ungrateful employer into minimizing
his expenses. How can they be sure I will not cause
problems now?"

Sam wondered that himself. Not that he thought that
they'd care if Glover decided to smoke Sam and
Dodger. They had their nuyen and were satisfied to let
the future take care of itself. Sam had never been so
cavalier about the future, so he hadn't been counting
on the lame-brained muscleboys to kept the meeting
friendly.

"It was never their problem," he said. "This is a
public place where we're well-known. You'll find it
difficult to make trouble here. Besides, we all got what
we came here for, didn't we?"


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

47

Glover pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows
slightly. "It would appear so. Yet I wonder, would
your associates have performed any differently had this
meeting taken place somewhere else?"
"We have friends in lots of places."
"You are commendably cautious, although some of
your associations may not be wisely chosen."
"There are always constraints."
Glover nodded knowingly. "Quite. I apologize for
my earlier abruptness, gentlemen. Your style is unfa-
miliar to me and I was slightly discomfited. Having
become acquainted with some of the constraints under
which you work, I realize now that your conduct was
competent and professional."

Sam inclined his head. He wasn't sure what Glover
was leading up to, so he thought it best to say nothing.
' 'I have certain endeavors still uncompleted and find
myself somewhat short of competent help. Which is
to say, I have another job suitable for professionals of
your caliber. It is a similar to this recent operation,
which has been concluded with such admirable re-
sults."

No thanks, Sam thought. "I think things will be a
little warm in Seattle for a while."

"Which is a good reason for you to consider my
offer. The job I have in mind is out-of-town work."

"I'm afraid that's not the sort of thing we do," Sam
said.

' 'I assure you nothing like the little mix-up that oc-
curred here will happen there. Having taken your mea-
sure, I can also assure you that I can convince my
principals that you are worth greater compensation."
Sam started to repeat his rejection of the offer, but
Dodger elbowed him in the ribs and said, "We'll give
your offer some thought, Goodman Johnson. Mayhap
you can provide us with a way to contact you?''
"Certainly, my good elf. But I will need an answer

soon. I have schedules to keep and must leave the met-
roplex by tomorrow evening."

Dodger took the card Glover offered. "We shall take
counsel with our associates anon and you shall have
our decision by tomorrow afternoon."

As soon as the ATT man and his bodyguard had left
the club, Sam rounded on Dodger. "What did you
think you were doing?"

"Looking out for our future, Sir Twist."
"I don't want that guy in our future. Communica-
tions slipups like we had are trouble, deadly trouble,
waiting to happen. Especially if there is any chance
he's connected to Lofwyr."

"I hesitate to suggest that you speak in haste, but I
fear that I must. There was something I thought you
should see before Friend Glover arrived, but he was
so prompt that opportunity fled."
"And what is that?"

"A mere tidbit that fell into my hands during my
research. It may mean nothing, but it may have some
significance. I had thought that you would be the best
judge. 'Tis a file I found among the datastores Good-
man Glover had transferred to Seattle ATT."

Dodger tapped at the minicomp, bringing up a list
of seven names. He highlighted item number three:
"Raoul Sanchez, Seattle." The line was marked "In
progress." Two of the other names were marked "ac-
quired."

"So, Glover is collecting people. Nobody we know
is on the list."

"So sure, Sir Twist?" Dodger highlighted item
seven: "Janice Walters, Yomi." "Is it not a custom
of the Japanese to change the names of the changed?"
Sam nodded, his mouth dry. Most Japanese consid-
ered having metahumans in their family a disgrace.
The unfortunates were shipped to Yomi and their
names changed, thereby removing the shame from


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

49

their family. Could Janice Walters be Janice Verner,
his sister?

Sam didn't know if the Yomi officials would have
allowed Janice to select her own new name. If so, she
might have chosen Walters; it was their maternal
grandmother's name. Janice hadn't been born when
she had died, but their mother had regaled them con-
stantly with tales of Grandma Walters' world travels.
She had been the star of many a bedtime story. Janice
had grown up idolizing the woman. When faced with
the bureaucratic demand that she cease using Verner
as her surname, she might have chosen Walters.

It seemed a slim chance that the woman Glover
sought was his sister. But could he afford to take the
chance that Janice Walters wasn't Janice Verner?

What did Glover want with all these people, any-
way? If one of them was his sister, Sam needed to
know. What better way to find out than by becoming
part of Glover's organization? It was always easier to
snoop around from the inside. But what if he was
working for Lofwyr? All the more reason to keep his
sister out of the dragon's grasp.

He didn't like it, but it looked as though he would
be working for Glover a while longer.

6

Janice thought she understood comfort and easy liv-
ing. Before her exile to Yomi, she had lived the life of
a corporate dependent. It was a comfortable, cozy life
complete with all the easy conveniences of civilized
society. Renraku took care of its dependents. She had

felt safe and secure. Yomi had taught her just how
fortunate they had been.

Her corporate comfort had been due to her brother.
She had often wondered what would have happened to
them after their parents were killed if Sam hadn't
caught the eye of old Inazo Aneki, the master of Ren-
raku Corporation. Sam was five years older than she
was, and he was only eighteen at the time. There had
been no money and few prospects, but Aneki had taken
an interest in Sam and seen to it that her brother fin-
ished his education. Under the distant but benevolent
patronage of Aneki, Sam had gotten started on the fast
track at Renraku. Aneki's charity had been like a gift
from God, an offering of a long, comfortable life. They
certainly wouldn't have been able to make it on their
own. Her brother's position was exalted, for a gaijin,
and she had been proud of him. His salary and posi-
tion should have ensured congenial accommodations
for both of them for life.

Now, her thoughts of Sam's success were less kind.
He had abandoned her to keep his sinecure, unwilling
to be tainted by her goblinization. Kawaru the Japa-
nese called it, a pretty euphemism for an ugly thing.
The English word, with its harsh syllables and awk-
wardness, was so much more fitting.

Sam would call it kawaru. He had always been so
enamored of things Japanese, aping their attitudes and
manners. The Japanese corporate society liked to pre-
tend that metahumans didn't exist, casting them away
to rot on the edges of society and to dwell in the pol-
luted shadows of those gleaming corporate towers. The
pure stayed home, safe from taint. Secure in their bas-
tions, they ate their regular, balanced meals, slept in
their soft, warm beds in their precisely controlled cli-
mates, watched their approved entertainments, and
ignored what they wished did not exist. Those
hypocritical overlords spoke of financial aid, readjust-


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52

Robert N. Ckarrette

out. A short, dark man in a white suit waited at the
foot of the stairway. As her eyes settled on him, he
smiled.

"Welcome to Atzlan," he said in accented English.
"I am Jaime Garcia. I offer Mr. Shiroi's apologies. He
was unavoidably detained by business and has asked
me to entertain you until he is available. I hope you
had a good flight. You have no complaints of your
treatment?"

Shivering in the sunshine, the pilot tensed. He re-
laxed only a little when she said, "Everything was
fine."

"Most excellent," Garcia said. His dazzling smile
vanished as he turned away to speak rapidly in what
she assumed was Spanish. The people to whom he
spoke were short and dark like him. Their eyes never
left her.

Most of the crowd wore loose-fitting blouses and
pants, but a few wore tailored coveralls or suits like
Garcia's. He finished with an obvious command, scat-
tering the blouses and coveralls. Minions, jumping at
his word. She had seen such feverish obedience once
when some important Aztechnology officials had vis-
ited the Renraku compound. Was it a universal trait of
the underlings in Atzlan-based corporations? She
didn't like it.

After a few softer exchanges with the suits, he turned
his attention to her again. The brilliant smile returned
as if it had never been gone. "Please, senorita. Come
down and join us."

She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but she stepped
through the hatchway. There was something about this
Garcia that she didn't like. She ran her tongue across
her lower lip, wishing she knew what he hid behind
his smile. Her eyes were still hurting as she walked
carefully down the stairs. She squinted down at Garcia
and realized that he looked different. He was no longer

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 53

a small man in a suit but a long-limbed, furred meta-
human like herself.

In her surprise, she nearly stumbled. He was up the
stairs to meet her before she could recover her balance
on her own. His grip was strong, steadying her. He
was a suit again, armored behind his smile. Solici-
tously, he helped her down the remaining steps.

She didn't like his cologne.

He seemed unaware of her dislike. "You appear to
be taxed by your journey. Perhaps some refreshment
would restore your spirit?"

"No, thanks. I'll be fine. Besides, they served a
meal on the plane only a couple of hours ago."

"And you found it to your taste?"

He really did seem to be concerned that she be
pleased. Maybe he wasn't so bad. She gave him a
friendly smile, but she remembered her fangs and
closed it down. "The meal was quite tasty. My com-
pliments to your corporate chef. I don't believe that
IVe ever had meat with quite so delicate a flavor."

Garcia's smile grew wider. "Yes, it is a specialty. I
will be sure to communicate your compliments."

Garcia escorted her across the landing field to a
waiting helicopter. They climbed aboard and made a
short flight over Mexico City. Their destination was a
compound on the north side of the plex. The GWN
monogram that she had seen on the uniforms of Gar-
cia's minions at the airport gleamed on the side of the
eighty-story skyscraper at the center of the enclosed
blocks.

Oozing charm, Garcia took her on a whirlwind tour
of the facilities. GWN was an obviously successful
corporation. Most of the plants were devoted to food
processing and nutrient farming; labels on container-
ized cargo lots told her that GWN shipped worldwide.
She wondered briefly what brands belonged to the
firm. Comestibles weren't the corporation's only prod-


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54

Robert N. Charrette

uct. Several impressive structures were dedicated to
information technologies and small, high-tech manu-
facturing plants. The combination wasn't surprising;
no megacorporation could survive without at least
dabbling in the Matrix and data technology. If all of
this belonged to Mr. Shiroi, as Garcia implied, her
benefactor was a powerful man.

They had just left a building where cheap simsense
players were being assembled, and were walking
through a section of employee tenements, when a tele-
corn box on a street corner called Garcia's name. He
excused himself, leaving her to stand in the heat. OflF-
shift employees, who had been gathered on the front
stoops to take in the afternoon sun, suddenly found
business elsewhere, but not before she had seen their
fearful glances in her direction. Garcia returned.

"Ah, Mr. Shiroi will see you now, if you wish. But
there is no hurry. Plenty of time for you to freshen up
or partake of some refreshment, if you wish."

She shook her head. Freshening up was something
for norms. Make-up on her face would be a travesty, and
she didn't have a curry comb for the fur. Let Mr. Shi-
roi see her as she was, because that's what he got.
"You are not hungry yet?"
"No. I'm not hungry at all."
"That is understandable. After the change one's ap-
petites are often erratic. It is best to trust your feel-
ings. Your body will know when you need sustenance.
One should not overdo."

Garcia took her to an elevator, holding the door open
as he tapped a code into the keypad. He wished her
well and stepped back, letting the doors slide shut.
The car rose silently, with very little sensation of mo-
tion. After a few moments, the doors opened on a
lavish office. Chill air swept into the car, cooling her
comfortably.
The walls were a pale, pale blue. She might have

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

55

taken them for white if not for the pure alabaster of
the deep pile carpet. The room was huge, but its fur-
nishings were few, and they were dominated by the
presence in one corner of a carved column. The stack
of stylized faces on it stretched at least three meters;
it didn't reach the ceiling yet seemed to fill the room.
Two-thirds of the way across the chamber, a dark wood
desk stood between her and the tinted window-wall.
Behind the desk, in an oddly shaped chair, sat Mr.
Shiroi.

"Ah, Janice," he said as he noticed her. "It is good
to see you again."

He was smiling, with pleasure she thought. Why he
should do that, she didn't know. She wasn't pleasant
to see. She felt awkward and out of place.
"Wish I thought so, Mr. Shiroi."
His smile faded a bit and his eyes filled with con-
cern. "You must learn to accept what you are, since
there is no way to change it. Denial only prolongs the
pain. I do not wish to see you in pain. And please,
call me Dan."

She slowly walked across the room, since that was
expected. When he indicated the chair in front of the
desk, she sat. She started as the soft grey upholstery
shifted beneath her.

"Just relax. It will settle down," he said. There was
a hint of amusement on his face.

She didn't like being laughed at. Forcing herself to
ignore the squirming chair, she waited. The cushions
slowed their wriggling and finally stopped. She was
surprised at how comfortable it was. She was almost
as surprised that the chair seemed to fit her oversize
body. Shiroi must have read her reaction on her face.
"You have just had your first experience with a
Tendai-Barca Glove Lounger. They are always a little
unnerving the first time, but, if you will excuse the


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

57

pun, one adjusts quickly. I doubt you will find better
seating anywhere in the world."

She calmed her breathing, relaxing. The chair
shifted again to accommodate her. Perhaps her anger
at his amusement was out of place. Anyone feeling a
chair writhe under their butt would look comical. She
still wasn't comfortable mentally, though. He had had
her brought halfway around the world. Surely, it wasn't
all for the sake of this small joke?
"What do you want, Mr. Shiroi?"
"There is no more reason to be abrupt than there is
to distrust my motives, Janice." He took her bad man-
ners in stride. She even thought she detected a hint of
sadness behind his soft voice. "I want to help you find
yourself. I want you to accept a place in my organi-
zation. If you choose to follow your own path, I will
understand, but it is my hope that you will find us
congenial. It is very lonely being on your own. It could
also be dangerous."

"Trying to scare me, Mr. Shiroi?"
He laughed. "No. The outside world holds enough
terrors for our kind. We need not prey upon ourselves.
And I do wish that you would call me Dan."

"Dan. You say 'our kind.' / know you and Garcia
are like me, but your employees don't know it because
you hide behind illusions, or whatever it is you do so
that they see you as norms. Why? Why do you hide
what you are?"

"Why?" he asked. All trace of his humor sank be-
neath an expression of seriousness. "You should not
have to ask that. You have seen yourself in the mirror,
Janice. You have seen how the norms react to you.
That is the answer. Do you wish to deal with the un-
reasoning fear all day, every day?"

Of course she didn't. Who would? She had felt the
fear and hate too often when she was just an ork. Orks
were common. She didn't like to think what was in

store for her as a rare, more monstrous metahuman.
Against that dread, her objection seemed petty.

"I don't like pretending to be something other than
what I am!"

He swiveled his chair ninety degrees, presenting her
with a profile. She watched his chest rise and listened
as he let the air out in a long sigh.

"We all wear masks and pretend to be something
other than ourselves, do we not? The norms do it.
Even you did it before your change." He swiveled back
to face her, cutting her off before she could object.
"Were you not a different person with your peers than
when you were with your family? How about when you
dealt with your corporate superiors? Every set of peo-
ple with whom we interact sees a different person, a
different facet of ourselves. This magical disguise is
like that, a mask of necessity. In our case, it hides the
physical reality. Beneath the masks we are still our-
selves. The illusion is simply necessary grease for the
machine of social interaction. Nothing more. Having
spent so much time in the Imperial Japanese Empire,
surely you are familiar with the need to smooth rela-
tions between people."

At the mention of Japan, she shivered. The chair
shifted in response.

"I am sorry. I should not have mentioned Japan."

He watched her for a while, saying nothing. She was
glad; she didn't know what to say. He was right, of
course. It still seemed . . . odd that someone could
make the metaphorical masks a reality. If a magical
spell could be called reality. She taxed the Tendai-
Barca, seeking to get into a physically comfortable po-
sition, while it was her mental state that unsettled her.
He, of course, noticed.

"If you will be more comfortable, I will drop the
spell. You are among friends here."


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58

Robert N. Charrette

"I don't know. I don't know what I want. It's been
so confusing. I just want to get things under control."
"I want to help you do just that. Here. Look."
He had dropped his spell. He was huge, bigger than
she was. His Tendai-Barca flowed to support his in-
creased size; panels expanded, slumped, and thick-
ened as the chair reshaped itself to accommodate him.
His fur was stark white, as pure as polar snow. The
skin of his broad face and powerful hands was dark
and glossy with health. Once she might have shrunk
from his visage, but now she was as monstrous as he.
But then, he didn't consider himself monstrous. Or did
he? He hid beneath a spell. Or was that true, either?
What did he see when he looked in a mirror? The
smooth Oriental features of Mr. Dan Shiroi or the wide
nose, deep-set eyes, and fangs of his metatype?

"Now that the mask is down, anyone can see that I
am of the same metatype as you. Believe me when I
say that I understand what you are going through. Be-
tween us there need be no false fronts. Illusions are
for the norms."

A sudden stir of bitterness swirled across her mind,
rippling through what she realized had been a growing
sense of fellowship. He might be her metatype, but he
was still something she was not. "Even if I accepted
your philosophy, Dan, I couldn't do what you do. I'm
mundane."

"And how do you know that with such certainty?
You cannot be totally without talent if you pierced our
illusions."

Once again his expression held a hint that he knew
something that she did not. She felt uneasy under that
knowing gaze. She felt more disquieted by the grow-
ing belief that he meant her well, that he really was
interested in her.

She heaved herself up out of the chair, staggering a
little when it released her more easily than she had

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

59

expected. Pacing around the desk, she made her un-
steady way to the window-wall. Beneath her spread the
panorama of the towers of Mexico City. The spires of
man's arrogance, lofting above one of the largest cities
on earth while the bases of those towers lay hidden in
smog. Hidden too were the people who thronged the
Atzlan capital. People . . . she wasn't one of them
anymore. This city couldn't be her home. Cities were
places for people and people had cast her out. Would
she ever have a home now?

She had been beginning to think that she might find
one with Shiroi ... no, Dan. But now she saw that
slipping away as well. He thought she was just like
him, but she knew better. She was incapable of doing
what he could, and she knew it all too well.

She owed him for his kindness. His manner was
so accepting, his interest in her welfare so clear. The
least she could do was to tell him how she knew that
she had none of the magic. She turned around to find
that he had risen from his chair. He stood a step away,
concern and anxiety plain on his face. She smiled
sheepishly.

"I've never told anyone, Dan. None of my friends.
Not even my brother. I was embarrassed to tell any-
one." He reached out a long arm and rested a hand
on her arm. She drew strength from the comforting
touch. "I was tested for magical ability once."

"By whom?"

"The Hoboken Institute. They are a very reputable
firm."

"Perhaps they made a mistake."

"That's what I told myself at first. When I was
growing up, I always wanted to be a magician. I never
told anyone, of course, because my dad was dead set
against magic. He called it all nonsense and tricks.
But I was a kid, and I knew better. I knew that I had
the magic in me. So I saved every nuyen I could, took


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Robert N. Charrette

an after-school job clerking in a Soy Shack for the
extra creds. I didn't have enough before . . . before
the accident, and I wasn't able to save much for the
next year, till my brother got his stipend from the Ren-
raku grant. Once he was in the university, things got
easier and I wangled a corporate temp job. It was bor-
ing and deadly dull, but I knew I could last it out
because it would give me the credit to get tested and
once I was certified as trainable there would be no
question. I was going to be a high circle mage. I was
so sure.

"Finally I saved enough creds, and I went to the
Institute. I was hell to live with for two weeks until
the test results came in. My brother never knew why
I was such a bitch, and I lost a couple of my few
friends. I even risked corporate censure, skipping my
work assignment that afternoon in order to run off and
find a private place to read the report. It was only one
word, but it smashed my dreams. 'Negative.'

"I was crushed. If living with me had been hell
while I was waiting, the next two months should have
qualified anyone for sainthood. But I didn't have any
friends who wanted to stick around for the final exam.
I was queen bitch of the Wash-Bait Metroplex Educa-
tion Center. I really didn't shake off the depression
until I met Ken at Tokyo University. He made me feel
special. He always said I had enough magic for him."
The memories were too much. She couldn't help it,
she started to cry. Her body shook with her sobs. Dan
gathered her in, enfolding her with his arms. She bur-
ied her face in his fur, feeling it go damp with her
tears. He stroked her back, saying nothing until she
quieted. When she regained control of herself, he re-
leased her and took a step back as if fearing to impose
on her. She felt chill without his warm fur meshing
with hers.

"Ken is your boyfriend?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

61

"Was." The pain was old but she still felt the ache.
It was duller now, but it still hurt. "He doesn't deal
well with kawaru. "

He nodded with understanding. "Ken refused to see
you after your change?"

She sniifed and shook her head. "He wouldn't even
talk to me or answer any letters."

"He sounds like so many people I have known. The
prejudice and fear attached to the metamorphosis is
very strong. I think perhaps even stronger now that it
is not so common. Do not think too badly of him. As
a product of his environment, he was hostage to his
society. Given time, he might have come to accept
your change ... if he truly loved you.

"You need not worry about acceptance here. We all
know what you have gone through. We have seen the
fear. Some of us have felt it turn to hate and violence.
We have banded together for mutual aid and support. I
speak for all when I say that we want you to join us.

"I will not be shy in saying that your joining will
make us stronger, something we all devoutly want. But
do not think that we only think of ourselves. Well,
some of us do. But, Janice, I did not invite you here
just to strengthen the organization. I felt something
when I found you in that hovel in Hong Kong. I don't
really understand it myself, but I know it's there. I
want you to prosper. I want you to gain the strength
to stand on your own feet and take a well-deserved
place among us, and I am willing to do whatever is
necessary to see that happen."

She turned and stared out at the skyscrapers and
megastructures. They reminded her of the guard tow-
ers and bunkers that ringed Yomi.

His words were tempting, freely offering what she
had longed for in the long months of exile on Yomi.
There was a hint of more than fellowship, a hint of
something that had been torn from her life by the


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Robert N. Charrette

change. Did she dare believe that he was honest? Did
she dare reach out for it? She had been spurned so
often. What if she changed again? Would his concern
change along with her body? The questions made her
head spin.

He placed his hand on her arm. Her muscles locked
for a moment, leaving her frozen like a small animal
in a spotlight. He waited until she relaxed to make his
tentative contact more firm. She felt the warmth of his
palm and the prickly touch of his nails through her
fur. When she didn't shrink away, he encircled her
again in his broad, strong arms. She turned within that
enclosure and stared into his face. She found only con-
cern.

"Can I trust you?" she asked.

"As much as you can trust anyone."

"That's not a comforting answer, Dan."

"It is not a comfortable world, Janice. I am fallible
like anyone else. Sometimes the best of intents yield
terrible consequences and the finest of feelings sour. I
will not start our relationship with lies and high-
sounding promises, but, by all the lights of heaven, I
will vow to help you become all you were meant to
be. If you let me, I will be your strength now. When
you are strong, we can speak of the future."

"You'll wait?"

"I am patient. I will wait for you at each door until
you are ready to step through."

"No pressure?"

"No more than the press of life demands."

His eyes were sincere. She wanted to believe. Wanted
desperately to believe. But she was afraid. "Just hold
me."

And he did. His arms were strong, and she felt safe.

Harry Burke was a former member of the Special
Air Services, an organization known for its efficient
and multi-talented personnel. To Andrew Glover, he
was an unparalleled asset.

Without orders, Burke moved quickly along the
macadam and took up a position flanking the alley
mouth. If he made any noise, it was lost in the jumble
of sound from the busy street. It was barely after mid-
night, and the Hong Kong Free Enterprise Enclave
was still very much awake. The dark alley held no
interest for the throngs who surged along the carnival-
lit street. No simple passerby would notice the dark-
clad man crouched against the building. But ordinary
pedestrians did not concern Glover.

Glover reached out and tapped the elf on his shoul-
der. "Have you broken their codes yet?"

The elf was slow in answering. When he shook his
head, the datacord clacked softly against the cyber-
deck he cradled in his lap. "Not yet. Invisible work
takes a modicum of effort."

"Then get on with it." As dark as the alley was,
Glover felt exposed. He wanted to get through that
door and into the Mihn-Pao facility. Waiting inside
was the boat that would take them across to the main-
land. He would be glad to leave Hong Kong behind;
he didn't like the city or what it stood for.

There was still no sign of trouble, but his stomach
kept getting tighter. He wanted to urge the elf to hurry,
but knew that he would get the results he wanted
sooner if he left the pointy-eared Matrix runner alone.


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

65

Elves were rarely reliable, especially for serious work,
but this one had proven himself competent. Glover
would have preferred a human decker, but one had to
use what was available.

His eyes drifted again to the mouth of the alley. Even
knowing where to look, he had a hard time spotting
Burke's crouched figure. The former SAS man waited
patiently for whatever would happen. Patience was a
lesson that Glover had never learned very well. It had
been his own impatience that had nearly gotten them
caught. That squat little sector guard had been so in-
sufferable. Understandably exasperated by the guard's
glacial survey of their papers, he had insisted that they
be passed through the checkpoint without delay. Ap-
parently that had set off alarms in the half-pint's min-
iscule brain, causing him to demand that they exit the
vehicle. Corbeau's nerves wouldn't have taken the in-
spection, although Glover had no doubts that their
documents would withstand whatever scrutiny the
guards could bring to bear. Burke's rapid departure
had left the moronic guard capering and screaming
imprecations while he ate the dust their car kicked up.
The moron hadn't fired on them. Instead, he set the
EPA Patrol Force on their heels, forcing them to aban-
don their original plan to leave the Enclave.

At least they had slipped the pursuit. Or had they?
Burke's action told him that the veteran feared that
someone would come to disturb their illicit work. Per-
haps his sensitive cyberears had detected a hint of dan-
ger to their group. If Burke had been sure, he would
have said something. Abruptly, Burke made a chop-
ping motion with his right hand.

"Down, everyone," Glover ordered as he crouched
himself.

Two caricature silhouettes stopped at the alley
mouth. Padded jackets bulked the shoulders wide, and
round helmets made their heads bulbous. Tinned in-

signia gleamed, confirming that they were Enclave Po-
lice Agency officers. The two bought-badges were
chattering to each other in the distorted mishmash of
English, Cantonese, and Japanese that was the com-
mon language of the streets here. Glover couldn't make
out a word, but Burke was fluent. He would know what
they said and act if they were a threat.

They stood at the entrance, apparently indecisive.
The flow of traffic adjusted for their presence. Pedes-
trians swerved around without seeming to notice them,
but no one passed between the bought-badges and the
alley.

Trading comments back and forth, they readied
themselves. Both drew weapons, and one unhooked
the heavy cylinder of a flashlight from his belt. They
stepped forward, the flashlight's harsh xenon beam
blasting away the cloaking shadows. Within that illu-
minating cone of light, everything was rendered in a
curiously flat starkness.

Glover heard the soft click of a weapon safety at his
side. A glance confirmed that Twist had his pistol
readied. Commendable initiative, but not the best re-
sponse, since the weapon did not appear to be
equipped with a sound suppressor. Their situation
would not be improved by attracting attention. Be-
sides, Burke was on the job.

"Wait," he whispered.

The second bought-badge trailed his companion by
a meter or two as they entered the alley. They ad-
vanced cautiously, probing the darkness with the light.
It had yet to sweep deep enough to discover their hid-
ing place. And it would not. Burke's black-clad shape
rose from the shadows and slipped behind the second
man.

One arm encircled the bought-badge's throat, elbow
cinching his throat tight. The second pistoned a fist
into the man's kidneys. Burke lowered the limp form


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66

Robert N. Charrette

to the pavement. A slight clatter from the equipment
on the man's belt alerted his partner.

The remaining cop started to turn. Without time to
straighten, Burke dropped lower and swept a leg out
into the back of the man's knees. The cop's legs buck-
led. Burke uncoiled and directed a kick to the man's
gun hand. The snap of the cop's trigger finger breaking
was audible as the weapon spun away. The bought-
badge started to howl. Burke's stiff-fingered thrust
caught him in the throat, cutting off the scream.

The patrolman was tough. Gasping, he raised the
flashlight behind his head, wobbling into a stick-
fighter's en garde. His form was ragged, hardly dan-
gerous. Burke settled into guard as well, his left hand
protecting the high line. Unseen by his opponent,
Burke's right hand curled in toward his wrist. Seven
centimeters of razor keen steel slid from its forearm
sheath.

They stood, each assessing his strategy. Burke
shifted slightly and the bought-badge must have seen
a chance. The flashlight whipped around, its beam
cutting a wild arc. Burke's maneuver had been a feint.
He stepped away from the incoming blow, spinning
inside the cop's reach. His right arm flashed up, the
extended blade bisecting his opponent's arm. Flash-
light and hand separated as they continued to arc past
Burke. He twisted and passed his blade through the
cop's neck. The bought-badge's head tilted back, but
the flashlight shattered and plunged the alley back into
night before the blood fountained.

Twist grabbed Glover's shoulder and spun him
around.

"He didn't have to do that, Glover. I could have
tranqed them. Those were cops he murdered!"

Glover slapped at the offending hand. "And we're
robbers, old chap. Are you aware of the penalty for
aiding a contract jumper here in Hong Kong?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

67

"Enforced restitution labor for a period of not less
than one year per salary grade of the apprehended
party. Compliance shall be enforced with osteo-bonded
monitor and time-release mycotoxin implant. Toxin
counteragents only available upon completion of cer-
tified production quotas," Sam quoted in a cold voice.
"The penalty for being an accessory to murder is
worse."

Twist was clearly outraged by what he had seen.
Another man in that state might be murderous, but
someone who was so offended by violence was hardly
likely to offer any serious violence of his own. Since
there was no danger, Glover found the runner's hate
to be of little importance; it was a hasty, ill-informed
emotion.

"I see that you are somewhat versed in local law,
but what you saw will not be considered murder, since
Mr. Burke is a certified corporate agent. He has been
engaged in what the Hong Kong Enclave calls un-
avoidable destruction of another company's assets. The
Enclave Police Agency will be properly compensated.
You shall never be involved, so I fail to see why you
are complaining."

"Their deaths were unnecessary."
"I shall decide what is necessary. You shall simply
do as you are told. I remind you that further argument
is likely to draw additional attention to us. A second
incident might not be so easily overlooked."

Glover could see that Twist was not satisfied. Why
should he be? Killing was a rotter scam, distasteful at
best. Had time not been of the essence, a better so-
lution might have been found. But Burke was the ex-
pert, and he had determined that these deaths were
necessary. Glover trusted his professional judgment;
Burke understood that their mission must succeed. If
that meant a few innocents died in the process, then
the cost would have to be borne. Glover and his col-


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Robert N. Charrette

leagues were working toward a great good, seeking to
save more than a few paltry lives. They could not af-
ford to let a couple of nameless bought-badges disrupt
their carefully laid scheme. But he couldn't tell that to
these runners. It was not yet time for anyone outside
the circle to know what was afoot.

Throughout the discussion, Rene Corbeau had lis-
tened with wide eyes. No doubt he was regretting his
decision to take Glover's offer. Well he might. As stiff
as the penalties that Glover and his hirelings would
face, Corbeau would see worse: he was the defector.
It wouldn't matter to Corbeau's masters that the com-
pany transfer offer was false. Their trusted employee
had believed it and acted on it. The data he had brought
along as an offering would only seal his fate with Au-
tomattech HK. Subsidiaries of Mitsuhama Computer
Technologies were often more ruthless than their par-
ent. Sibling rivalry for their parent's attention, he sup-
posed; just another dirty part of corporate society.
Corbeau should have considered all of that before he
jumped. Now he cowered against the wall, as if real-
izing the implications of what he had done for the first
time. Such lack of courage was unseemly. Glover
hoped it would not compromise Corbeau's usefulness.

Burke joined them.

"The gingchat had already spotted the car and called
it in. Neighborhood will be crawling soon."

Satisfied, Glover smiled at Twist.

"There, you see? There was no time for anything
other than precipitous action. Standard procedure re-
quires the EPA to inform sovereign corporate security
if they are performing a search on adjacent property."
Glover turned back to Burke. "Did they?"

"Don't know," Burke answered.

"We shall find out soon," Dodger said, "for the
lock is breached."

"No alarms?" Glover asked.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

69

"Never a sound."

Dodger's expression implied that he thought such a
question insulting. Arrogant elf.

The elven decker opened the door, but Burke was
the first in. Twist entered right behind him, gun drawn.
Perhaps he thought if he was in the forefront, he might
prevent Burke from more "unnecessary" killing. Twist
would have to be very fast indeed if he expected to
prevent Burke from doing anything the former SAS
man set his hand to.

This was no immediate reaction, so Glover got Cor-
beau on his feet and guided him through the doorway.
Dodger slung his deck and followed. As he walked,
the elf finished assembling the compact sub-machine
gun he had broken down for their walk from the aban-
doned car.

The inside of the warehouse was cavernous. Cor-
beau's footsteps echoed softly in the darkness. He was
the only one of the group not wearing soft-soled foot-
gear. Pools of light fought back the dark at random
intervals, revealing stacks of crates, pyramids of cyl-
inders, and huge cargo containers. During the day the
area would have been a hive of activity. Night made it
a sepulcher. With the door to the alley closed, the
street sounds had vanished, leaving only Corbeau's soft
footfalls and the lap of water against the concrete of
the enclosed dock area to break the silence.

They were halfway across the floor, strung out in
the dark, when Glover felt a clammy touch at the base
of his skull. He shuddered. That was the warning sig-
nal he had been told he would receive when magical
danger to his person was imminent. He stopped,
readying his defenses. Extending his senses to locate
his associates, Glover spread the protection to include
them. He was barely quick enough. As he closed the
shield over Burke, he felt a spell slam against his de-
fensive perimeter, clawing to get in and ravage them.


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Robert N. Charrette

The magician who cast it hadn't been expecting a
counter; he hadn't used enough strength.

Lights flooded the area. Mihn-Pao security had been
alerted and had lain in ambush on the possibility that
the EPA officers had tumbled onto runners targeting the
facility. Half a dozen uniformed guards were on the
catwalks in the rafters, readying to fire on the intrud-
ers. Glover could hear more clattering to join their
fellows. The hard slap of boots on concrete told him
that additional forces were charging to intercept them
on the warehouse floor.

Burke reacted with all of his chipped speed. His
Steyr AUG coughed in rapid bursts as he spun. Three
of the guards dropped in his initial attack, killed or
incapacitated before they could fire. One of the bodies
slipped from the catwalk to impact heavily on the con-
crete behind Glover.

As the Mihn-Pao squad returned fire, Glover dove
forward to drag the cow-eyed Corbeau out of harm's
way. His back itched. There was a hostile magician
out there. If Glover had to protect Corbeau, he would
be unable to counter the enemy's magic effectively.

Single sharp cracks marked Twist's contribution.
Each shot shattered one of the globes protecting the
lights that robbed the runners of the concealment of
the shadows. They no longer fought in a building filled
with artificial day. The earlier gloom had not returned,
but at least they had patches of dark to hide in.

The elf joined the fray, spraying a lethal welcome
into the midst of the first reinforcing squad on the cat-
walks. The survivors fell back. No doubt they were
suddenly glad of Twist's destructive efforts as they re-
treated into the cloaking shadows.

Darkness would do little to hide them from the en-
emy magician. Glover forced Corbeau to crawl faster.
He needed to get the man to a safe place so he could
concentrate on finding his counterpart. Finding a stack

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

of crates that provided a nook out of the surviving
guards' line of fire, Glover directed Corbeau into the
recess and told him to keep his head down. That done,
he crawled back to the edge of the stack.

Using only his mundane senses, Glover started to
search for the enemy magician. The hostile was al-
ready active and would likely spot him first if he tried
active magic. His saw no sign of the enemy.

Twist was huddled in the shelter of a massive ship-
ping crate. At first, Glover thought that the American
runner had been wounded, but he realized that Twist
was concentrating. His breathing was deep, almost
trancelike. When he had first seen the odd knots in the
fringes of Twist's jacket, Glover had thought them
merely superstitious claptrap, the sort of charms to
ward off evil that so many mundanes thought were
effective. Perhaps they signified something more.
Twist's shooting had been quite accurate. Was he some
*sort of warrior adept? Glover hadn't thought that such
adepts could focus their energies to improve their abil-
ity with projectile weapons, but he didn't know every-
thing about magic. Who could?

Twist released his concentration, spun to his left, and
knelt. Cradling his gun in a two-handed grip, he eased
forward until he had a line of fire around the crate that
had shielded him. Head cocked upward, he seemed to
be searching the darkness for a target. Glover followed
Twist's apparent eyeline.

There was nothing and no one on the catwalk\a151at
least nothing mundane. Glover shifted his perception
and saw the enemy mage. She had been standing there,
invisible to the mundane eye, awaiting targets. Before
Glover could ready a spell, Twist fired. The Mihn-Pao
mage jerked and clutched at her shoulder. As she stag-
gered against the railing, her astral aura flickered and
Glover knew she had dropped her cloaking spell.
Witchfire flickered around the mage's hand as she tried

I


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72

Robert N. Charrette

to summon the energy for a spell. The light faded when
she slumped to her knees.'It vanished entirely when
she toppled backward onto the walk's flooring.

The loss of the mage took the heart out of the Mihn-
Pao guards, and the firefight rapidly degenerated into
a stalemate. The runners were pinned down, too far
away from the boats at the docks to make a break. The
security team didn't advance; they were unwilling to
face Burke's deadly accurate fire. At least there were
no alarms. Likely the Mihn-Pao team leader had no
wish to lose face in the corporate community; to call
for help against such a small invasion would not be
good for Mihn-Pao's public image. The corporation's
concern for its image was one of the reasons he had
chosen to acquire his transportation from them; they
were less likely to report the theft than any of the al-
ternative sources. Mihn-Pao's obsession with image
was serving the runners now, but it was a fleeting ad-
vantage. Even without an alarm, there would be more
troops. Time was on Mihn-Pao's side.

A sudden burst of lambent energy cut the darkness,
sizzling past the elf's hiding place and boring a hole
in one of the pillars. It was too focused and rigid for
magical energy; a new, lethal technology had entered
the fray. Glover drifted his astral form free to locate
the danger. From the far end of the structure, another
Mihn-Pao squad was advancing. They were led by a
burly ork enwrapped in the bristly cocoon of heavy
armor and a gyro-stabilized gun mount. His silhouette
was misshapen beyond the offensive distortion normal
for his kind, made hunchbacked by the massive back-
pack he wore. His burden was the power pack that fed
his high-energy laser weapon. The laser, though heavy
due to the coolant jacket sheathing its barrel, swiveled
quickly under the ork's direction. Glover returned to
his body as another bolt tore through the boxes behind
which the elf sheltered. Dodger scrambled backwards,

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

73

seeking new cover. Glover smelled burned hair mixed
with the scent of wood smoke and something even
more acrid. Small flames played in the charcoaled
edges of the hole the laser had drilled through the
crates.

Mihn-Pao had played a trump that Glover and the
runners could not easily counter. Armor would protect
the ork from the runners' guns, but Glover could take
out the gunner with his magic if he had a clear line of
sight. Unfortunately, that meant the gunner would have
a line of fire as well. Glover was quite sure the ork
would be faster.

Burke signalled for his attention. Glover softly spoke
the words for the spell that would let him hear Burke's
words. He didn't like what the former SAS man had
to say, but he saw no reasonable alternative. He nod-
ded, and Burke was on his way. Glover started to tug
Corbeau out of his hiding place.

Seconds later, Burke opened fire from the flank of
the advancing reinforcements. Glover gave the Mihn-
Pao troops a second to engage, and shouted for the
others to join him in running for the boats. Just as
they reached the boats, the survivors of the first Mihn-
Pao squad spotted them and opened fire. Corbeau was
hit as he stepped into the boat. Blood splattered the
coaming as he collapsed over it. Glover jumped in af-
ter him, terrified that the man had been killed. Twist
and the elf returned fire as they converged on the boat.
They must have gotten the shooters, since no more fire
raked the boat.

Glover was relieved to find Corbeau only wounded.
As he searched for the craft's first aid kit, the laser
crackled again. A scream of pain rose from some-
where near where he had last heard Burke's Steyr.
There was more gunfire, but only from one side.
Burke's weapon was silent.
The Mihn-Pao guards would be continuing their ad-


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74

Robert N. Charrette

vance. They would be cautious; they couldn't know
where the runners waited. Several stacks of brilliant
orange cylinders screened the two groups, but only for
a minute at best. Not enough time to get the doors
open and the boat clear. Even if Twist was a warrior
adept, they would not get out alive without Burke.
They were trapped.

New gunfire raked the dock and boat, forcing the
runners to duck. The first of the reserve squad had
arrived. The laser gunner, slowed by his heavy load,
would soon be upon them. The elf returned fire while
Twist struggled to unmoor the boat.

What a rotter! For a chance impatience, the run had
soured. Corbeau would die here and it was Glover's
fault. He could not have harmed the cause more if he
had tried. It was unbearable. There had to be some-
thing that could be done. He started to pant as his
panic and anger fought for dominance within him. As
his chest rose and fell within the confines of his ar-
mored jacket, he felt a hardness rubbing against his
skin. Bright Lord! He was an idiot whose poor mem-
ory disgraced his calling.

Burke had bought them some time at the cost of his
life. Such a sacrifice could not, would not, be wasted.
Glover stripped open the velcro fastening of his jacket
and reached under the neck of his shirt, groping for
the cord. His frantic fingers found the talisman and
pulled it free. His desperate animal self cried for him
to unleash its power, but his rational mind knew that
the object held no power of its own; the amulet was
just a focus, a way for him to amplify his call and
enhance his control. Hyde-White had been right\a151with
a firefight raging, he needed the concrete object as a
core for his concentration. He intoned the word of re-
lease over and over. He willed the guardian spirit to
act, focusing on the Mihn-Pao team and naming them
his enemies.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

75

The laser gunner rounded the corner. He advanced ^
boldly, confident in his firepower and the protective i;
virtues of his armor. His support team fired past him
from protected positions. ^,
The shriek of tortured metal from the cylinders at l\a187
his side brought the ork to a wary halt. One of the
cannisters midway up the pile had bulged out as if
hammered by some immense force. Metal squealed
again as the cylinder distended anew. With an ear-
splitting screech, the abused container split. A trans-
lucent green column of chemical gel arced from the
fissure, curving unnaturally to reach for a Mihn-Pao
guard who had used the end of the stack as cover.
Tentacle-like, it wrapped around the man. He
screamed at its touch. Cloth and flesh blackened, hiss-
ing and bubbling under the touch of the toxic slime.

The gunner reacted quickly. He swiveled his laser
and triggered the weapon. The dazzling beam speared
the chemical tentacle halfway along its length, pierc-
ing it and puncturing more cannisters. Chemicals
sprayed from the newly ruptured tanks. As if with ma-
lign intent, the streams arched and flowed into the ten-
tacle. As its volume increased, the malefic limb
swelled and sagged towards the floor, the dark swirl-
ing stains from the laser's strike dispersing throughout
its bulk. It released the guard it had attacked. He
dropped to the concrete and lay twisted, skin blistered
and seared.

The gelid mass did not flow to spread out on the
floor of the warehouse. It wobbled, an uncanny mound
growing ever larger. Pseudopods extended from near
the top of the column and stretched forward in parody
of arms. Nearer the base, another tentacle grew and
flowed out to touch the floor. The shape lurched, its
mass shifting forward toward that new contact. It was
no longer amorphous. A stretching, rounded mockery
of a man, it stepped clear of the cylinders.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

77

The gunner pumped two more shots into it, starting
new swirls of discoloration. Chemicals boiled where
the beams pierced the shape. All the terrible energy
he unleashed seemed to have no other effect. Behind
the thing, newly ruptured cylinders contributed more
to its mass.

The ork scrambled out of its path, backing away
until he was forced to stop by one of the roof's sup-
porting columns. Eyes darting between the advancing
horror and his weapon, the gunner fumbled with the
laser's settings. A high-pitched capacitor whine over-
whelmed the shrill beeping of the overload warning.
The ork ignored the sounds, training the laser once
again on the monstrous thing that stalked him. With a
sizzling crack, the weapon discharged. No longer a
brief pulse, the beam was an eye-searing line of en-
ergy. The gunner's backpack smoked as the power cells
emptied their energy into the shape. Acrid green
smoke rose from the surface as the chemicals bubbled
and blackened. The pale color darkened, going
opaque, and the thing seemed to shrink back. The ork's
face contorted as his relief shifted to a savage glee.
He took a step forward.

His elation vanished as the shape surged, elongating
toward him like a cresting wave. His scream was cut
off as he was engulfed. Like sand washing from a
hand, his flesh flowed away from his bones. The shape
flowed past him, curving and reforming in the center
of the aisle. It lurched in the direction of the next
nearest Mihn-Pao guard. Behind it a pitted, scorched
skeleton tumbled into a heap with the corroded plastic
and metal parts that had been the ork's gear.

Glover grabbed Twist by the arm. The American
was staring at the spectacle, a horrified expression on
his face. The last mooring line hung forgotten in his
hands. Twist didn't react, and Glover cast free the last
line by himself.


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78

Robert N. Charrette

"Let's go," he shouted to the elf.
The boat's engine roared to life. Gathering speed,
the boat headed for the opening door.

Once they were through, it would be a short run
across the strait to the coast, where they would be
harder to spot. Then, a quick run along the New Ter-
ritories. Once they crossed the Enclave border into the
maritime jurisdiction of Kungshu, they would be safe.
At least from corporate pursuit. The warlords of the
Chinese mainland were united on very little, but re-
sisting further intrusions by the extranational corpo-
rations was one cause that bound them. Whatever their
history and present ambitions, those warlords all re-
membered the glittering prize of Hong Kong that was
supposed to belong to China and how their pride had
been torn and shredded when the region had ripped
free from China's control during the troubled times of
the early part of the century.

Glover could understand how they felt. Britain had
been duped and taken advantage of in that disgraceful
episode as well. Believing that the British government
would have a guiding role in reestablishing the thriv-
ing community that had been the Crown Colony and
desperately desiring the bounty such a restored en-
clave would bring, the government had ignored the
warnings of the druidic community. But the corps' en-
couragement of Britain's participation had been a
sham, a way to rally certain elements and pull them
into the struggle and thus minimize corporate involve-
ment. They so disliked expending assets when unnec-
essary.

Had the political leaders listened to those wiser and
less avaricious heads, Britain's honor would not have
been sullied by participation in the multinational mega-
corporations' schemes that ultimately resulted in their
control of Hong Kong. Britain had been used. The
multinational corporations funding the rebellion had

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

79

also funded dissident warlords, using the breakup of
the repressive Shui regime to grab and hold Hong Kong
and the New Territories for themselves. Those corpo-
rations renamed their corporate state the Hong Kong
Free Enterprise Enclave. When Britain stepped for-
ward to claim control, there had been laughter in the
boardrooms. The corps had already obtained grants to
the disputed territories from a dozen warlords in trade
for arms and supplies. It wasn't strictly legal, but they
had possesion. The few British ambassadors to Chi-
nese leaders who hadn't had "accidents" were sent
away in shame. Liaisons to the corporate consortium
waited for appointments that never materialized.

The whole dishonorable episode was over and done
before Glover had been born, but he felt the pain as if
he had been one of those embarrassed ambassadors.
Growing up, he had heard the stories from veterans of
the expeditionary force, and had wondered why they
didn't match the official histories he was taught in
school. It wasn't until he was at university and under
the tutelege of druids that he learned the true story.
The duplicity and betrayals were so much like what he
himself saw in Britain today. He had become certain
that the megacorporations would very much like to see
Britain dead, and that certainty had crystallized his
belief that Britain could only be restored to glory by a
return to the old ways.

They crossed the strait without incident and turned
northward along the coast. Within an hour they would
reach the inlet where the aircraft was hidden. Then,
he would be on his way home with the prize that would
make possible the first steps in restoring the glory that
was Britain.

He looked back across the dark water. The glittering
spires of Hong Kong were alight with the dazzle of
false promises. They were ugly. This place made him
feel soiled; he set his thoughts to the future.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

8

Sam stared at Dodger. The elf sat slumped in the
padded armchair he had appropriated, lost in the world
of the Matrix, his fingers occasionally tapping a stac-
cato rhythm on his Fuchi cyberdeck. Dodger looked
relaxed, which was annoying. Sam poked him.
"Find anything yet?"

"By all that's good on the earth! Do you want to do
it yourself?"

The elf's annoyance triggered Sam's own pent-up
frustration. "Maybe I should!"

"Maybe you should just ask our host to shoot you.
Glover's system is tough; it's a lot better protected than
it should be. You may have been a hotshot researcher
but you never were much of a decker. Besides, you're
months behind the SOTA."

The elf's harsh appraisal of his abilities stung. "I
don't need to be state-of-the-art to bust his hincky sys-
tem."

Dodger laughed scornfully. "You're so hot! So sure!
This 'hincky system' has got protection that has fried
deckers better than you could ever dream of being."
"Well, if you're not getting anywhere, somebody
has to."

"I've been working the deck for three days now.
There are layers of this system that are glacial with 1C.
Positively cryogenic. You want to fry your brain? Do
it with somebody else's hardware. I won't have you
getting my chips iced just because you can't wait for
a professional to do his job."
Dodger was right, of course. The elf was a pro at

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

81

unauthorized computer access. Even with the elf's
guidance, Sam had been a barely adequate decker
when they had run against the Renraku architecture
last year. With all of his magical study and firearms
practice, Sam had found no time to pursue Dodger's
peculiar technomancy. Besides, the computer inter-
face still gave Sam headaches, and the awakening of
his magical powers had made the Matrix an even more
uncomfortable place. His brash assertions and chal-
lenge of Dodger's competence were just manifesta-
tions of his frustrations.

"I'm sorry, Dodger. You're right. Do what you
can."

" 'Twould seem my own patience is frayed as well,
Sir Twist. I like this enforced guesting no more than
you. 'Twould be best not to disturb me whilst I work,
for I spoke truly of the devilish complexity of the sys-
tem. Were you to distract me at the wrong moment,
you would learn nothing more than how to care for an
elven vegetable."

"That's not something I want to do, Dodger. Just
let me know when you get something."

"I shall. But wander not too far lest you not be
available should their ice lock me in."
"I'll be here," said Sam.

Dodger smiled with confidence. "I shall count on
it."

The elf returned his attention to the Matrix, leaving
Sam to contemplate their position. Glover had brought
them to England, alleging that he needed them to pro-
tect Corbeau now that Burke was gone. Some need!
The flight had been uneventful, Corbeau being deliv-
ered to a minor ATT installation without incident.
Glover had told them to wait at his mansion, offering
a handsome retainer. That had been four days ago.
Four days in which they had not seen or heard from
Glover.


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82

Robert N. Charrette

Sam had already been suspicious of Glover's mo-
tives. He didn't like the man's attitude. Why had he
let Dodger talk him into continuing to work with the
man? Why? Because of the chance to find Janice. That
slim hope had dwindled to nothing. Janice was on
Yomi; she couldn't be further away from England.

But leaving wouldn't be simple. The mansion's pop-
ulation seemed to consist only of a handful of ser-
vants, who knew nothing. They were polite and
efficient, but totally unhelpful. There were uniformed
guards with guns as well, but he and Dodger only saw
them when they tried to go beyond the immediate
grounds. So far everyone had remained polite, but he
was sure that the guards had orders to prevent Sam
and Dodger from leaving the estate. Sam had tried an
astral survey of the place and found many of the rooms
blocked to him. He hadn't tried to get through those
blocks, for there were half-world presences drifting
around the mansion, hostile spirits that threatened him
when he attempted to probe in certain directions.

As much as he disliked his surroundings and the
treatment they were receiving, he knew that he couldn't
just leave. He had seen the thing Glover had sum-
moned in the Mihn-Pao warehouse. All of his senses
screamed that it was wrong. His hair had stood on end
when he had seen it form, his head throbbing with a
warning howl. Glover had called it, and the list Dodger
retrieved from Glover's computer said that he wanted
a woman who might be his sister Janice. Now, whether
or not the woman Glover sought was Janice, Sam
wanted to know just who he had been working for. He
had to know more about Glover and his organization.
It was hours before Dodger jacked out. His eyes
were sunken and rimmed with the bruising of exhaus-
tion.

" 'Twould seem that Rene' Corbeau is not now nor
ever has been connected to ATT."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

"You're sure?"

The elf quirked his mouth up in annoyance.

"Sorry." Sam ran his fingers up through his beard
until his palms cradled his jaw. "Then Glover is a
rogue."

" 'Tis a strong possibility."

"What about Burke?"

"The man is a shadow. There are tracks here and
there, the occasional oblique reference, but all vanish
if followed. Naetheless, the pattern is similar to one I
have seen before. That shadow was a covert operative
for the British government. By all the signs, I would
venture that the late Burke was a special agent of some
kind."

"A government agent?"

Dodger sighed. "You have been unbearable for days.
Have you gone deaf now, too?"

"Sorry, Dodger." The apologies were becoming a
habit. Sam's nerves were frayed, but Dodger's must be
worse. The elf had been doing all the hard work.

"Apology accepted, Sir Twist." Dodger massaged
his forehead, then stared down at his hands. Without
looking up, he said, "I fear that I have not helped
matters, either. I wish I had never gotten you involved
in this."

"I got myself involved. You may have found the list
with a name that might be my sister's, but I was the
one who decided to chase that phantom. Going to the
Orient was supposed to get us closer to her trail. We
were supposed to find out what Glover was doing and
who the woman was. Now look at us. We're in En-
gland and practically under house arrest. We still don't
know anything."

"Not entirely true. We know that Glover, ATT
rogue or not, is part of an efficient organization. While
we were helping him acquire Sanchez and Corbeau,
someone else has been completing the rest of the list.


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

85

At the rate they are moving, whatever plans they have
are coming to a head soon.''

"You've gotten an update on the list? Let me see

it."

Dodger furrowed his brow as if the request was an
annoyance.

"Wait a minute," he said, tapping keys. He snapped
open the back of his cyberdeck and rolled out the
monitor screen. After locking it, he turned it so Sam
could see. "Here it is."

Sam read it quickly. Five out of the seven names
were listed as acquired. Janice Walters, still last on
the list, was unacquired. Reason enough to stay. Her
acquisition might be why Glover had retained them.
"So what do we do now?"

"Wait. With time and additional endeavor, I shall
uncover more details."

Sam shook his head. "You've done more than
enough for today. If you decked now, you'd trip over
the first node you encountered. You need a rest."

" 'Tis true." Dodger stretched. Sam could hear his
joints crack. " 'Tis also true that I need to get some
exercise. Mayhap a walk in the garden would get the
blood flowing again."

The late afternoon sun slanted across the garden,
throwing chill pools of shade from the carefully
trimmed evergreen trees and shrubs. Winter had
stripped the massive oaks of their leaves, leaving their
shadows a net of enmeshing branches. Oppressed by
the image, Sam guided their walk into the topiary
maze. Within its walls, the grasping oaks were only
visible near the outer edge.

The curving paths went from shadow into sunlight
and back again, alternately chilling and warming them.
They took turns at random, not caring whether they
reached the maze's heart, simply satisfied to be mov-
ing. After a while, they found themselves at the edge

of a clearing. The grass was brown, withered into dor-
mancy by the season. In summer, the circle would
have been lush, a quiet, pleasant place to laze in the
sun. A quartet of stone blocks, apparently seats, were
set at the cardinal points.

Dodger headed for the one bench still touched by
the sun and stretched out on it. The block was long
enough that only the elf's feet hung over the edge. Sam
sauntered over to join him. When he reached the stone,
he crouched.

"What do you make of this?"

"A popular place to look at the scenery?"

"No, these symbols. There's something carved
along the side of the stone."

Dodger rolled over onto his side and ran his fingers
along the carving. "Hmmm. Writing. Most of the let-
ter forms seem to be roman, but the frequencies and
juxtapositions are not English. 'Tis not a language I
know."

Sam stared at the words, if they were words. Most
of the letters were familiar, but they were not ordered
into words he knew. Silently, he tried sounding out the
syllables he knew. There seemed to be a rhythm to the
sounds, an interlocking cadence. Like the locking spell
Sally had taught him.

"Didn't you once tell me that all mansions had se-
cret passages?"

Dodger chuckled. "You don't think that this is some
kind of hidden entrance to an underground tunnel com-
plex where Glover and his fellows plot the overthrow
of all who stand in the way of their re-establishment of
the British Empire? Speak the incantation and the stone
shall rise?"

"Since you put it that way, why not?"
"Because this is not some cheap piece of fiction."
"But there does seem to be a crack. Like the top of
the stone is a lid."


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86

Robert N. Charrette

Dodger slid from the stone and examined the shadow
Sam pointed out. "Mayhap."
"Give me a hand to lift it."
Lifting didn't work. Nor did sliding, pushing, pull-
ing, or twisting. Sam knelt in front of the stone,
frowning at it. Dodger sat on the grass, leaning back
on his hands.

"A trick of the light. A crack in the rock."
"I'm going to try something," Sam said.
He stared at the symbols, clearing his mind of his
frustration. He focused his magical energy, using the
rhythmic mnemonic by which he., recalled the counter
to Sally's locking spell. Into its steady but broadening
cadence, he wove the rhythm he had discerned in the
carved symbols. Nothing happened. He tried again,
working at smoothing the flow of his thoughts, forcing
them deeper into the pattern of the spell. This time he
felt something in the stone relax.

Tentatively, he reached out his hand and pressed on
the top of the stone. The upper surface slid back
slightly, revealing a dark hollow wide enough for fin-
gers. Sam stood and slipped his fingers into the gap.
He braced himself, ready for the weight, and found
the stone swinging up far more easily than he ex-
pected.

Visions of concealed stairways and torch-lit under-
ground passages flashed through his head. With a final
heave, he swung the slab back. It rocked up, but in-
stead of sliding free, stayed upright as if hinged to the
back of the bench. He looked; it was.

The bench contained no entrance to secret places.
It seemed filled with carefully folded white cloth. Sam
tugged on one pile. It unfolded to reveal that it was a
robe. Complex swirls were embroidered on its chest.
"Tacky rags," Dodger said. He was standing too,
looking over Sam's shoulder.
"Wizard stuff."

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87

" 'Tis hardly a surprise. We saw what he did to that
Mihn-Pao gunner."

"I've seen these symbols somewhere."

"Mayhaps Friend Glover is Merlin Ambrosius re-
awakened to save the world."

"Merlin?" Sam asked thoughtfully.

"Sir Twist, I jested."

"But you jogged my memory. When I was studying
about magic, I read some about the different kinds. A
lot of sources suggest that Merlin, if he existed, was
a druid. These are druidic symbols."

Dodger poked at the bundles of cloth still in the
bench. He disturbed the piles enough to reveal a golden
glitter. Careful not to snag the cloth, he removed a
small sickle. Its blade glittered a ruddy gold in the
sunlight.

"A sacrificial knife?"

"A ritual implement for the cutting of the holy mis-
tletoe. Druids are nature magicians, shamans of a pe-
culiar breed. They were very prominent in the
restoration of the wild lands in Ireland before the
Shidhe took control."

"Driven out like the snakes before Padraigh's
wrath." Dodger tossed the sickle back into the bench.
"There are enough robes here to clothe a dozen or so
people. 'Twould seem Friend Glover is part of a circle
of druids. Mayhap he acts in their interests and, if so,
he might even be a government agent."

"How so?"

"Know you not that the Lord Protector is a druid?"

"I didn't."

" 'Tis true. His Green Party is a coalition of mem-
bers of both Houses of Parliament."

"I didn't realize the Greens were druids. I remem-
ber hearing how they ousted the last Conservative
government after the restoration of the monarchy."

"They were instrumental in the restoration and have


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88 Robert N. Charrette

yet to face a serious challenge to their control of the
government. England has not seen such a powerful
interest group since Cromwell's Puritans."

"Well, I hope that the druids are more open-minded
than the Puritans. With the power they have in this
country, they'd better be," Sam said. "Everything I
read about druids makes them out to be benevolent
sorts. Of old, they were lore keepers and law speak-
ers, prominent and worthy members of the commu-
nity. In modern Britain, they are active in the
recognition and training of magically active persons
as well as taking a prominent role in higher educa-
tion."

Dodger prodded at the robes. " 'Twould not be wise
to expect more tolerance than the Puritans offered. Was
not druidism a sort of a religion and druids its
priests?"

"Before the Awakening, maybe so. The cults sub-
scribing to druidism built their belief systems on id-
iosyncratic reconstructions of old Celtic paganism.
They had more than their share of egotistical false
prophets. Nobody really knows exactly how the old
druids operated, since they kept no written records.

"The druids of the Sixth World are the inheritors of
that tradition, but I'm not sure that any of them are
direct descendents. When the magic came back, some
magicians built their focus parameters around what
they believed to be druidic tenets and rituals. Their
totems were things like Sun, Oak, Zephyr, Stream,
and Stag. Forest and growing land stuff. Naturally,
they called themselves druids. Maybe it's their mind-
set or maybe it's the way the magic works, but mostly
they have confined their activities to Europe. Although
they were quite active in the restoration of the land in the
isles and on the continent, they weren't aggressive like
the tribal magicians in North America. I hadn't known
they were so involved in British politics.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

89

"England has been prospering under the Greens. If
Glover is a druid, we're probably being paranoid about
his motives; the delay may be nothing sinister at all.
He may just be waiting for the right phase of the moon
or something to undertake the next part of his opera-
tion. Druids worry a lot about astrological cycles."

Dodger rubbed his fingers together, switching his
gaze from them to the contents of the bench. He said
thoughtfully, "Let us hope that he is not a fanatic
about this stuff.''

9

Glover was uncomfortable in the closeness of the
room, finding the scent of the many bouquets oppres-
sive. Some of the flowers were wilted, some fresh cut.
The mixture of floral perfume and organic decay was
an olfactory confusion. How did Hyde-White stand it?
Or was the old man no longer able to smell the blos-
soms with which he surrounded himself?

Hyde-White sat enthroned behind an ancient oak
desk whose top was eccentric, the shape of a cross-
cut bole. His massive gut was wedged into a concavity
that allowed him easy reach of the telecom on one
hand and the bank of internal intercoms on the other.
The grey light of the telecom monitor, the brightest
source of illumination in the room, lit his face from
below, reversing the normal pattern of highlights. The
lighting roughened the softness of the broad face and
made his eyes a glitter in pools of darkness.

Glover felt sweat snake out from his armpits to
trickle down his sides despite the room's lack of heat.
He didn't have Hyde-White's insulation of bulk, but


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Robert N. Charrette

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91

II

his fear of the old man's disapproval warmed him un-
comfortably. He felt the temperature rise as the dark
eyes across the desk left the telecom screen and fo-
cused on him. It was as bad as it had been at university
when the old man had been his teacher.

"So you called upon the guardian I set over you."
"I did."

A bushy, white eyebrow rose. "And?"
"It was a powerful spirit, sir." That was no more
than the truth. He wished that he knew how to control
such spirits. "You are an accomplished conjurer."

"And you are jealous." Hyde-White interlaced his
fingers and rested his hands on the rotund vastness of
his belly. "Jealousy is a power that can fuel a man,
goading him to reach for his dreams. You could have
such spirits at your call, you know. I sense that you
have the potential. You need only harness it. A man
who possesses such power can rise far.''
"I am content with my place, sir," Glover lied.
"If I believed that, I would not bother talking to
you." Hyde-White chuckled. The sound was an al-
most subsonic rumble. "Ambition is not a sin, An-
drew. A man without ambition is a husk. A useless
scarecrow upon whom the crows shall sit and laugh.

"I am old, Andrew, and not what I once was. In
these latter days, it is necessary for me to work with
others to accomplish all that I desire. Were I younger,
things might be otherwise. But time has taught me that
one can get lost pondering might-have-beens. The
world's enduring lesson is that opportunities must be
seized. Fail to act with resolution and you are lost. All
your dreams turn to dust.''

The old man was being annoyingly roundabout;
making suggestions and prodding him. Was this a test?
Or was it something more complicated? A bid for
power within the Circle, perhaps? Glover knew his
personal power was greater than Hyde-White's; he had

read the old man's aura during working sessions. But
raw power wasn't everything. Hyde-White was steeped
in knowledge, experience, and subtlety beyond even
his venerable years. Glover had no intention of being
Hyde-White's stalking horse.

"What do you mean by all this, sir? Are you sug-
gesting that I disrupt the Circle in some sort of bid for
power? I am loyal to the cause, sir. I will not throw
our Circle into chaos on the eve of our triumph."

"The Circle is weak."

"We shall be strong when the ritual is completed.
The blood will restore the land and the Circle shall
become its guardians. We need no longer chafe under
the short-sighted leadership of the Lord Protector.''

"Perhaps the Circle will be stronger. But a circle is
chain of individuals dedicated to the same ideals. Like
any chain, it is no stronger than its weakest link, and
no chain can remain intact when that weak link is sub-
ject to stresses beyond its strength. The ritual we con-
template is a powerful force. It must be, to restore the
balance so woefully tilted when the Lord Protector
snubbed unforgiving stars and neglected proper obser-
vances. This work shall demand much of any who at-
tempt it, and the forces which will rise to our call shall
demand even more from the leader of the ritual team.
Our leader must be strong, else things will go awry.
We may do more harm than good."

The old man's words were disturbing, but not just
for their content. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I have studied you. I think that you be-
lieve as I do. That the land should always have been
our first concern, and that we have failed as its cus-
todians. We were blinded by our arrogance and thought
ourselves rulers instead of stewards. Our species has
failed the earth."

Hyde-White was perceptive and had touched the
truth of Glover's convictions. Or at least the surface


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93

of them; even stewards had ambitions. But a good
steward knew enough to set those ambitions aside until
his charge was healthy. For what was a steward, after
all, but a parasite? No parasite survived by killing its
host.

"I see by your face, Andrew, that I am right about
you. The land's pain echoes in your ears as loudly as
it does in mine. I am speaking to you because I do not
believe you are one of Neville's sheep. You do not seek
the land's restoration out of some misguided longing
for the restored glory of an aristocratic heritage. You
know that it is a task that must be done for our very
survival. What ambitions you have, you have har-
nessed to await that time."

"At first, I thought that you were proposing that we
break the Circle. I will not do that. The land must be
restored and the ritual is our only chance," Glover
said. "You yourself brought the text from which we
devised the ritual to the attention of the Circle. Why
are you so troubled about it now? Are you having sec-
ond thoughts about its efficacy?"

"Second thoughts came and went three years ago.
I have progressed far beyond them. While Neville and
his misguided followers have been chasing down the
bloodlines, I have been studying the lore. I fear that
all may not be as simple as Neville would have it."
Hyde-White paused, allowing the brief moment of si-
lence to add weight to his next words. "The ritual is
not entirely safe."

"We all know that there will be some personal dan-
ger. All rituals involve risk."

Hyde-White nodded gravely. "Risks to the partici-
pants are unavoidable; but that is not what I mean. If
the ritual is not performed absolutely correctly, the
consequences may be grave, indeed. The gathered
power may be warped and, in its corruption, grow to

threaten the land itself. Are you ready to unleash more
horror on our burdened land?"

"Neville would never allow that. For all his arro-
gant assumptions of superiority, he feels the land's pain
as much as we do. He would not harm it."

"He may not be able to prevent the harm from hap-
pening."

"And you can?"

Hyde-White pressed his thick lips together, the area
around his mouth going pale. "I do not know. When
we realized that the Lord Protector was blind to the
need, we formed our circle and elected Neville as
archdruid of our ritual circle. I fear that we may not
have chosen wisely and that his leadership will have
dire consequences. But my fear will not lead me to
abandon you all, and my conscience will not allow
such a breach of trust. I will be present and do all I
can to see that the ritual proceeds as it should. But if
it begins to go awry, I would like to know that there
is someone else who appreciates that we may have to
change our plans. Someone strong enough to take
charge and lead us away from disaster. The land needs
our help, Andrew. We must do whatever is necessary
to heal it."

"So we all swore."

"Indeed, we did. But an oath is not strength in it-
self. I fear that Neville will not have the strength to
see us through."

"He is a greater shaman than I."

"You are young and strong. Though your skill and
knowledge may be less than his, your power is greater.
Skill and knowledge may be increased with relative
ease, but raw power is the gift of the young. Once
squandered, it may only be bought at a dear price.

"I am old. With age, my mundane power has grown,
while the tribulations of life and magic have leached
my occult powers slowly away. I believe I can see


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Robert N. Charrette

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95

clearly what must be done, but I am no longer sure I
have the power to do it. You have that power, Andrew.
I feel it pulsing in you. I can show you the way, and
you can do what must be done."

Hyde-White lapsed into silence, apparently content
to let Glover consider his arguments. If the old man's
fears were real, there was no recourse. The land came
first. If this was all a smoke screen for a power play,
Glover wasn't sure that he wanted to be involved. Ne-
ville was an influential man; his friends were primarily
members of the nobility, who could use their influence
to make or break Glover's mundane career. But Hyde-
White was a power as well. His GWN Corporation
held a significant portion of ATT stock, as well as
controlling interests in several other miiwr multina-
tionals. The sum of his interests gave him considerable
direct influence in the corporate community and made
him more powerful than any one of Neville's cronies.
Glover would need time to sort out his options.
"I will think about what you say, sir."
Hyde-White smiled broadly. "I have faith that you
will make the right decision, Andrew."

10

"So his lordship wants them drugged, does he?"
Sam's hunger vanished and he stopped instantly, his
hand mere centimeters from the kitchen door. Finding
the servants' attentions uncomfortable, he had ap-
proached quietly, not wishing to disturb them. If they
had known he was hungry, they would have insisted
on fixing something for him rather than letting him get
his own. Their solicitousness, while pleasant at first,

had begun to chafe as much as the confinement. Now
he was glad that he had tried to keep his kitchen raid
quiet. He listened to the voices on the other side of
the door.

"That's what Norman said," a deep voice replied.
"I don't know why, though."
"You never know, Cholly."
"Cholly's got a point, Bert. They may be Yanks,
but I don't like the idea of slipping them something. I
mean, what's it gonna be next? Slitting their throats
while they sleep?"

"Criminy! You're such a whiner, Georgie. You're
almost as bad as Cholly. It's not like we were poison-
ing them or nothing. The stuff is only going to put
them to sleep a little early. They won't feel a thing."
"But how do you know, Bert? The stuff in that bot-
tle Norman brought could be poison. We'd never know
it until the Yanks died in their chairs. Then we'd be
murderers."

"You ain't got nothing to worry about, Georgie. I
used this stuff before. Got me my last three wives."
"Bert, you hound."

Laughter erupted. The loudest seemed to belong to
Bert.

"They'll never even taste it in the wine. A couple
of sips and fifteen minutes later, they'll get real sleepy
and want to head straight to bed. We just let them. If
they was birds, we could have a grand old time. They'd
never know. Course they might feel a bit sore in the
morning."

Cholly's deep voice trammeled on the last gasps of
a fresh burst of guffaws. "Burt, why do his lordship
want them to sleep?"

"Blimey, but you are slow, Cholly. His lordship's
got company coming in tomorrow night. He obviously
don't want his house guests to know about it."


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Robert N. Charrette

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

97

"Why don't he just ask the Yanks to stay in their
rooms?''

"Because they are Yanks, ya twit. Yanks never do
what they're told to do."

The scattered laughter was punctuated by the scape
of a chair. Sam backed away from the door. The talk
continued, but he couldn't hear it distinctly. He had
just settled in a dark corner where he thought he would
be safe from a casual glance, when the door swung
wide spilling light into the hall. Bert the groundskeep-
er stepped through.

"Keep the fire burning, boys. I'll be back after I
make my rounds."

Assurances and mock insults drifted from the
kitchen. Bert waved them oif and shuffled down the
hall, oblivious to his surroundings. Sam didn't move
until he was sure that Bert had enough time to leave
the building. Then he headed back upstairs. There'd
be no raid on the larder tonight.

Pretending to be affected by the wine had been
easy\a151far easier than waiting for the servants to make
the check on the supposedly drugged guests so that
they could assure their master that the ploy had been
successful. But they came at last, and Sam's lack of
response to their calling of his name and the tentative
prods that followed satisfied them that the Yanks were
safely under the influence.

The house grew quiet.

Sam crept to Dodger's room, avoiding the boards he
had learned creaked the loudest. Together they waited
while they heard Glover go to the door to greet his
guests. When things again quieted, Sam and Dodger
crept forth. From the landing, light spilling into the
main hall told them that Glover had chosen to entertain
in a room that Sam had been unable to penetrate as-

trally. A quick check assured him that the barrier still
held. Any penetration of Glover's secrets would have
to be physical.

Sam and Dodger skulked through the upper hall,
settling where they could get a view of the meeting
chamber. The room's only illumination was the fire in
the massive stone hearth at one end, but that made it
far brighter than the hall and upper stories. The sliding
doors to the room were open, allowing a rectangle of
flickering light to fall across the ancient flooring and
scale the paneled wall opposite the door. At first Sam
thought that Glover and his cronies were foolish to
leave the panels open, but then he remembered his
own eavesdropping of the previous night. No servant
would creep to the door and listen from concealment,
for they would be seen. Any who crept close would be
disclosed to those within the room as well; the hall's
flooring would announce their passage and alert the
conspirators. Likewise, a servant returning from the
upper stories in defiance of his earlier dismissal would
be betrayed by the creaking of the old staircase.

Sam's position provided him with a partial view of
the room. Near its center, Glover sat in a comfortable
armchair. In a matching chair at his side, a position
of honor, sat an older man with grey hair and a trim
grey mustache. From the deference shown to him, Sam
pegged him as Sir Winston Neville, the only name he
had heard Glover use in greeting the others. Neville's
welcome had been the most effusive, so it was likely
that he would be given the most honored seat. A
younger man, by the cast of his aristocratic face a son
or cousin to Neville, stood behind the chair. Occa-
sionally Sam caught glimpses of three others moving
about the room.

The great outer door opened, swinging wide on si-
lent hinges. There had been no knock or bell chime.
A man entered, striding ponderously forward. He was


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

98 Robert N. Charrette

huge and walked with a huffing that emphasized the
difficulty he had in moving his enormous bulk. The
moonlight sent glints from the sweat that beaded
among the sparse white hairs of his head. A casual
swat sent the door arcing shut as he started down the
hall.

"Hyde-White is here," announced one of the men
in the room. They were all staring at the doorway when
the obese man reached the arch.

Newcomer and gathered conspirators faced each
other. They exchanged words in a language that Sam
didn't recognize, although it seemed to have echoes of
English. Having finished what seemed a ritual greet-
ing, Glover inclined his head and waved a hand in
invitation.

Hyde-White rolled forward. As the jutting prow of his
obesity passed over the threshold, the air in the doorway
shimmered. A line of sparks ran around the fat man's
shape, making a glittering outline as he passed the mag-
ical barrier that sealed the room. He spoke as soon as the
last sparkle died, his voice a resonant rumble like the
distant growling of summer thunder.

"Please excuse my tardiness. There were some af-
fairs in the Atzlan office to sort out, and my personal
attention was required. I trust you have not reached
any important conclusions without me."

"We were having Barnett fill us in on his last ac-
quisition," the grey-haired man said.

"My apologies for the interruption, Sir Winston.
Please continue, Mr. Barnett,'' Hyde-White said as he
marched deeper into the room. "I'm sure I will be
fascinated."

The fat man ponderously passed from view. Sam
could tell when Hyde-White sat, for the bannister in
front of his face trembled slightly. The pinch-faced
man, who was obviously Barnett, cleared his throat
before continuing.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

99

"I really don't have much more to say. My mission
went smoothly and there were no problems. It's a
shame that we cannot all say the same. Eh, Glover?"

Glover, who had been staring at the fire, swiveled
his head around to face Barnett. "Are you suggesting
that I have failed the Circle, Mr. Barnett?"

"Anyone could lose valuable employees in such a
venture. Although Mr. Burke was one of our more
exceptional agents, I would hardly fault you for his
passing. The fortunes of war, I am sure." Barnett
sniffed. "I am merely referring to certain loose ends."

Stepping around from behind the chair, the younger
Neville said, "Yes, Glover. What has become of the
shadowrunners who acompanied you from Hong
Kong? We have heard that they are still in the coun-
try."

Glover addressed his answer to the older Neville, as
if he had spoken, instead. "They are upstairs, asleep."

"Why haven't you dismissed them? Were they to
stumble downstairs into our meeting it would be most
inconvenient. You should have left them in Hong
Kong." The younger Neville's pointing finger of ac-
cusation didn't distract Glover.

"I did not think that a wise idea at the time, Sir
Winston. With Mister Burke eliminated, I deemed the
additional protection they could offer to be necessary.
Had I encountered additional difficulties, the safety of
Monsieur Corbeau might have been threatened. I saw
his safe return as my primary responsibility. The day
draws near."

"You should have dismissed them as soon as you
arrived here safely," young Neville insisted.

Glover shook his head slowly. "By then, they had
seen enough to connect me to ATT. I thought it in-
advisable to let them loose with that knowledge."
"Then you should have had them killed," Barnett


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100

Robert N. Charrette

said. "You swore the secrecy oath along with the rest
of us."

"Indeed," Glover said, folding his arms across his
chest. "That is precisely why they are still alive. If
they were not disposed of cleanly and completely,
there would be an investigation. We do not need in-
quiries from the Lord Protector's Oversight Board at
this time. But once we have completed our ritual, we
will no longer need to remain hidden, and without a
need for absolute secrecy we may dispose of them eas-
ily. For now, they remain here, believing themselves
on retainer for an upcoming shadowrun. The decep-
tion is sufficient; they remain ignorant of the Circle
and our goal."

"You have badgered Mr. Glover enough," rumbled
Hyde-White. "The crucial question is the suitability
of Mr. Gordon."

"Suitability has been addressed and confirmed be-
yond any question. While Mr. Gordon remains un-
crowned, there is no question of the sanctity of his
bloodline. Had not the father-in-law of the current
holder of the throne been so prominent in the work of
gathering the scattered survivors of the royal family,
Mr. Gordon would be our crowned sovereign. That
unfortunate turn of events is but one of the hurdles we
strive to overcome. The false king only contributes to
the land's woes. But crowned or not, Edward Arthur
Charles Gordon-Windsor is the chalice of mystic power
necessary to restore the land." Sir Winston Neville
threw back his shoulders and tugged at his waistcoat
to seat it properly. "I spoke with him before coming
here tonight. I can assure you all he is ready to accept
his part in the ritual. He seems eager to take his place
as the seventh, for he believes as we do. The land must
live."

"The land must live," the others echoed.

The seventh? If Gordon was the seventh, what was

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 101
the name of Janice Walters doing on Glover's list? Sam
looked at Dodger. The elf was staring fixedly ahead.
He seemed intent on listening to the conspirators.
There would be questions to ask later.

11

Illusion was the heart's blood of the Shidhe Courts.

When Hart glanced around her, taking in the wild
array of sights, sounds, and smells of the Seelie Court,
she could never be sure if what she saw was real or an
image that was the result of a magical spell. Checking
astrally didn't always help. The great amounts of mag-
ical energy and the almost continual activity of the
magicians of the court made assensing difficult. Much
of the magic was defensive, for members of the court
were often at odds with each other. Open warfare was
forbidden, but pranks, taunts, and even clandestine,
oblique struggles were common. Some of the magic
was defensive on a less immediate level. The court had
attracted elves and dwarves from around the world;
some were concerned that their appearance was not up
to the court standards. They used illusion to glamorize
themselves, for the ugly were perforce members of the
Unseelie Court, the co-ruling rivals with whom the
Fair Folk shared the control of the Shidhe Dominion
of Ireland.

The Seelie Court proclaimed Ireland to be a magical
state, claiming that the Shidhe lords were the ancient
proprietors who had returned to claim their rightful
lands. But although they reveled in magic and offi-
cially held technology in scorn, the magician lords
i took every advantage of science. The computer facil-


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CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 103

ities and combat simulators she had been using for the
past week were ample proof of that. Of course, the
Shidhe would not speak of such things in public fo-
rums. They denied having or even needing such things.
They had them, all right, and their technology was
cutting-edge. They simply hid their technological
workings or cloaked them in illusion. Image was very
important to the metahuman rulers of Ireland.

The great double orichalcum doors to the inner court
opened, swinging wide until they came to rest against
the walls of vines in which they were set. Two elves,
outsiders by their dress, walked through the arch. As
they passed Hart, the woman nodded in friendly rec-
ognition. It was nothing personal. Hart's upswept fall
of hair was the latest style outside. Even though she
wore local garb, the hairdo marked Hart as a visitor
to this fey land, and most visitors, though strangers to
each other, found other visitors more congenial com-
pany than the locals. The man, glowering beneath his
dark brows, didn't seem to notice Hart existed.

A voice from beyond the arch called Hart's name;
it was time for her audience. She felt no trepidation.
She had been expecting the summons to come soon.

She almost tripped as a gaggle of leshy scurried by
in front of her just as she stepped forward. The short
humanoids were a common sight among the verdant
forest-city of the Seelie Court, but Hart didn't like
them. They were flighty, dirty, and unkempt; their bark
and leaf garments were rudimentary and showed no
sense of fashion at all. She often doubted if they were
truly intelligent at all. Even when she could make out
the words their high-pitched voices mangled, the leshy
were always either asking an impertinent, silly, point-
less question or expressing some obscure and contra-
dictory concern about the harmonious nature of what
was going on around them. She cursed the group that
had impeded her, and they scattered, laughing.


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Robert N. Charrette

The doors closed behind her as she crossed the
threshold. For a while she walked in darkness, which
defeated her elven eyes. The floor beneath her feet felt
like earth, firm yet with a resilience unequalled by
synthetic carpets. The light level increased until it was
comparable to that in a deep forest at night. She could
smell the leaf mold and the fragrance of night-
blooming flowers. Ahead of her she saw an open space.
The light was brighter there, as if stars and moon shed
their full light. No city-born plexer had ever seen such
a night sky. No one would expect to at this time of
day; it was mid-afternoon.

She entered the clearing, finding it little more than
a wide lane between the great boles of ancient rowan
and hawthorn trees. Amid the trees she could see the
strolling or standing shapes of members of the inner
court. None spoke to her, or even showed interest. She
continued walking ahead.

At the end of the lane, the packed earth mounded
in several steps to a raised area, behind which stood a
singularly massive oak tree entwined about with mis-
tletoe. Three thrones stood on the flat surface. The
seat on the left was placed near the front edge. Though
it was small, bold carvings painted in bright colors
embellished every surface, making it seem larger than
it was. Symbols of life and energy dominated the dec-
orative motif in a vibrant statement of youth. The cen-
ter throne stood well back, almost hidden in the
shadows. Though the light which struck it revealed an
intricacy of carving, Hart could discern no details. To
the right of that great chair and set nearer and fully in
the light was the third throne. Like the others, it was
a masterpiece of the carver's art. The bold relief was
accentuated by subtle painting that enhanced the relief
to the point that many of the designs seemed to stand
free from the panels. Of the three thrones, it was the
only one occupied.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 105
The woman who sat in the chair was exquisite, of a
delicacy that even made Hart's own elven slimness
seem fleshy. The lady had the ageless look of a mature
elf, a youthfulness that would fade only as she ap-
proached the end of her allotted span. Her hair was of
such fineness that it drifted in the slightest breeze that
snaked across the dais, becoming a mist floating about
her shoulders that owed more to light than to sub-
stance. Slender fingers toyed with a few errant strands,
absently plaiting knots that vanished in a flick of those
same tapering digits. Her eyes were the transparent
blue of deep ice. Though she wore no symbols of rank,
Hart had no doubt that she was the ruler here; the
woman's bearing was that of a sovereign.

A male elf stood on the first step down from the
dais. His name was Bambatu and his dark skin was an
ebon contrast to the porcelain fairness of the hall's
mistress. He no longer wore the elegant business suit
in which he had recruited Hart. His bare chest shone
as if it had been oiled, which perhaps it had. Around
his loins he wore a cloth of many bright colors woven
in mystical designs. Bangles, bands, and chains of gold
and brazen orichalcum hung around his neck, waist,
wrists, and ankles. He made a magnificent barbarian.
She found his long, smooth muscles much more ap-
pealing than the over-developed travesties that norms
seemed to insist their trid heroes possess. He watched
her, too, his large dark eyes pools of sparkling inter-
est.

When Hart reached the dais, she knelt at the begin-
[ ning of the steps, holding her head bowed. The text
' she had read on formal courtesy suggested that such
behavior was appropriate.

, "The Lady Brane Deigh bids you stand, Katherine
[Hart," said Bambatu.

Hart did as she was bidden. Bambatu had recruited
1 her, but Lady Deigh was her employer. The Lady's


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106

Robert N. Charrette

eyes met hers in a coolly appraising stare. Suspecting
the importance of the moment, Hart held her gaze
steady. A ghost of a smile touched the lady's lips.

' 'You have sheltered under my roof and accepted my
coin, Hart. By the laws of the land that makes you
milessaratish. You understand this obligation?"

Hart inclined her head. "I do, Lady." But under-
standing doesn 't mean agreement. You 've hired your
talent, but I haven 'f become your liegewoman. That
sort of thing is your concept, not mine.

"Very well. You were told of our opposition to the
Hidden Circle, that you might prepare yourself to face
them. Lord Bambatu informs me that you have availed
yourself of our resources, seeking to hone your skills
and study your adversaries. This is laudable. But the
time for preparations is past, for tomorrow is the Sol-
stice. Do you stand ready to confront them?"

"Yes, Lady."

"Then you have my blessings, Hart." She stood
and walked across the dais towards Bambatu. He
bowed to her as she approached. The Lady paused at
the edge of the stairs and turned her face to Hart.
"Ozidano teheron, milessaratish. Into medaron co
versakhan. "

Hart replied to the formal dismissal with the ritual
recasting of Lady Deigh's commands. "I leave my ex-
istence behind, Lady. At your word, I am the death of
your enemies."

12



The sky was beginning to grey with the coming of
dawn. As it grew, the light let them make out the sen-
try. Their patience had paid off; he was drowsing.

So far their departure from the mansion had gone
unnoticed. The last barrier, the gate, lay before them.
Once through, they would be out of Glover's hands.
They knew from Dodger's tap of a NavSat that Glov-
er's estate lay in the southwest of England. There was
a town only a few miles away. From there, transpor-
tation to the Bristol metroplex would be a simple mat-
ter.

Sam drew his Narcoject Lethe.

The guard jerked at the impact of the dart and slid
to the ground in a subdued clatter. While Sam injected
an antidote, Dodger tapped into the gate control sys-
tem. Three minutes later they were on the road to
Taunton, the gate closed and locked behind them. In
a few more minutes, the sentry would awaken, propped
against the guard house. With little evidence to the
contrary, he should think that he had dozed off natu-
rally. If their luck held, it might be an hour or two
until their absence was noticed.

The Black Down Hills were strange territory, but
for those first minutes of freedom, Sam felt more at
home than he had on Glover's estate. The growing
dawn dampened his spirits as it unveiled a desolate
landscape. Like much of England, the hills had been
ravaged; first by overpopulation and industrialization,
then by the ecological terrorism to which the country
had been subjected in the early part of the century. It


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Robert N. Charrette

was a scarred and battered land, tortured further by
the natural and man-made disasters that had plagued
it in the last few years. The awfulness began to weigh
him down.

Dodger trudged at his side. He and the elf had talked
little beyond the necessary planning for their escape.
Dodger's contributions had been terse, completely
lacking in his usual banter and archaic style. Sam
hadn't minded; he wasn't sure that he wanted to talk
to Dodger just yet. The druids' talk last night had
raised uncomfortable questions.

They reached the outskirts of Taunton without ob-
serving any signs of pursuit. The relief must have
heartened Dodger; the elf tried a conversational gam-
bit. Perhaps he was motivated by the need to discuss
some matters before they were surrounded by curious
ears.

"Sir Twist, don't you find it intriguing that so au-
gust a personage as Sir Winston Neville would be in-
volved in these druidical shenanigans?''

"No," Sam replied brusquely. Druids weren't the
only ones who were pulling shenanigans.

"What about this 'uncrowned sovereign' business?
Does not that compel your curiosity, Sir Twist?"

"No."

"Sir Twist, the paucity of your response suggests
that you harbor some unspoken concern. Is this so?"

Of course it was so. Dodger's nagging at the druids'
plans only gave credence to Sam's suspicions. They
were not safe yet and they were beginning to encoun-
ter people, so all he said was, "Yes."

The elf lapsed into silence again.

Taunton's grimy buildings soon surrounded them.
The town offered them a chance to get some supplies.
Beyond the obvious necessities of food, water, and
ammunition, they had need of protective gear; there
was a stage four smog alert in Bristol and a sane per-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 109
son wouldn't be outside a breath mask. If they wanted
to reach their destination quickly, they also needed a
means of transportation.

Finding connections wasn't easy, and Sam didn't
make it easier. He stubbornly remained silent, forcing
Dodger to do all their talking. Watching the elf strug-
gle to conduct his dealings with the locals, Sam felt a
perverse satisfaction when he saw the sidelong glances
that the passing Brits gave Dodger. Though most con-
cealed their feelings behind a veneer of politeness
whenever addressed directly, Sam was sure that the
locals didn't like elves much.

They got what they needed, but the locals drove
harder bargains than seemed reasonable, even allow-
ing for the fact that they were dealing with strangers.
Dodger was forced to pay a premium price for the
beat-up old bike, which was the only vehicle anyone
would part with. The decrepit thing was alcohol -
powered, and its hard rubber tires were gouged and
greying. They'd be lucky if it didn't disintegrate at the
first bump, but they didn't have time to wait for a bet-
ter deal.

Though pursuit remained unseen, they had no as-
surance that the druids were not busy trying to track
them down. Dodger and Sam would be safer in a met-
roplex where outsiders were more common and they
could lose themselves among the masses. The sooner
they hit the plex, the safer they'd be.
The ride to Bristol was every bit as bone-shattering

I as the bike's condition promised. Unlike Seattle, Bris-
tol didn't have a wall; it wasn't an enclave of alien
territory in the midst of a green and fertile land. The
drab grey and brown countryside gradually seemed to

Iblue into drab grey and brown cottages that merged

(almost imperceptibly into drab grey and brown multi-
story buildings. They passed the boundaries of the
sprawl without noticing.

i


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Robert N. Charrette

Dodger abandoned the decrepit bike as soon as he
spotted a rail station, announcing that they would be
able to use the public transportation from there. Bris-
tol, though a separate entity, had good transport links
with the great English Sprawl that slashed across the
island from Brighton to Liverpool. The elf seemed to
assume that the bigger metroplex was their destina-
tion, and made vague references to connections he had
there.

Now that they were in an urban environment,
Dodger appeared to be in less of a hurry. He dragged
Sam through a series of seedy pubs and squalid shops.
Several rounds of haggling later, the elf was in pos-
session of the access code to an over-priced, under-
heated flat on the twentieth story of a pillar high-rise.
The building was supposed to have been part of the
support system for an enclosing dome, fashioned after
the one over the London district of the English Sprawl.
Bristol's dome, like those of every other sprawl district
except downtown London, had never been completed.
Fragments of the biofibre mesh that had stretched be-
tween the pillar high-rises still clung to one edge of
the building. The splotchy fabric fluttered in the
clammy breeze from the Bristol Channel. Sam won-
dered how much the ambiance contributed to the price.
The apathetic owner did not bother to accompany
his new tenants to their flat. While Dodger prowled
around, Sam stared through the filthy transparex.
Across the channel, Sam could see the smog bank that
hid the Cardiff" plex. Beneath him, grey Bristol bustled
about its business; but the smog covered any sign of
the activity and hid the tawdry Christmas decorations
and neon and trideo exhortations for gift-giving that
had festooned the streets. It could be any day, any
sprawl.
He and Dodger were safely ensconced for the mo-


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112

Robert N. Charrette

ment, anonymous among the masses of humanity.
Time for a confrontation.

Without turning from the window, Sam said, "You
knew that Janice was never on their list, didn't you?"

The sudden cessation of sound behind him told him
he had achieved the effect he wanted. He turned to
find Dodger staring at him. The elf's expression was
uncertain.

"Sir Twi . . . Sam, I will not lie to you. I knew,
but . . ."

"You already have lied to me," Sam said bitterly.

"I never said that the name on the list belonged to
your sister. I merely suggested that ..."

"You meant for me to believe it. You deliberately
deceived me. Go ahead. I want to hear you deny it."

Dodger swallowed, then spent a moment consider-
ing what to say. "I cannot deny that I deceived you."

"Why not? What's another lie? You're very good at
words; surely you can find some. Don't you want me
to trust you anymore? Or doesn't it matter anymore?"
Sam asked. "Why not lie again? Tell me that you were
deceived, too. Tell me that somebody forced you to
fake the list. I'll believe it. I'm just a stupid norm,
ripe for a few elven tricks."

"Sam, I . . ." Dodger ran a hand through his shock
of hair. "What does it matter? Whatever I say, you
won't believe me. How you got involved isn't really
important. You're involved now, and you have to be-
lieve what is happening."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. These druids are serious trouble.
They've got to be dealt with. You may not want to
believe me about the importance of what is going
down, but the facts should convince you." Dodger
tapped his cyberdeck. "Before we left Glover's man-
sion, I swiped a few copies of a few files and stashed
them in a little-used corner of an ATT mainframe.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 113
Once I knew we were dealing with druids and that the
Solstice was almost upon us, I used the date as a cue
to run a similarity search. I could see that I was get-
ting somewhere, but that it would take time, so I set
a few special programs to work. If no one has dis-
turbed my creative time-sharing arrangement, I should
have a few revealing files to be read. Will you look at
them?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere for a while;
looking won't hurt."

Despite his predisposition to disbelief, Sam found
himself engrossed by the files Dodger had cracked. If
I they were real and not another concoction, Glover and
* his cronies were involved in evil doings.

The files told a tale worse than Haesslich's murders.
The dragon had sacrificed lives in his search for per-
sonal aggrandizement; murders, yes, but incidental to
his desires. These druids were methodically planning
death.

Most of the data was in a language that the computer
tentatively identified as Old English. Without the
proper translation programs, most of the files re-
mained unreadable, but enough of the contents were
clear to make the druids' intent unmistakable. It all
seemed to revolve around a special ritual of immense
power. There were several unambiguous references to
• the "king who must die" as the key to the "cycle of
[restoration." Other passages referred to "scions of
[untainted bloodlines" as important components of the
thtual. Sam had little doubt that these "scions" would
urn out to be the people on Glover's infamous list.

I They, too, were to be sacrificed as the druids sought
to end human lives for the magical energy that would
K" released. Deliberate, cold-blooded human sacri-
e. Black magic of the worst kind.
It was all too horrible to believed. If it could be
elieved.


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Robert N. Charrette

"I don't like what you are showing me, Dodger. I
don't like it at all."

"Neither do I, Sir Twist. 'Tis what I feared, though.
Suspicion of this evil drove me to deceive you. Had I
simply told you about it without evidence, you would
have rightly scoffed."

The elf so casually admitted his toying with Sam's
belief in his honesty. Hadn't they been friends, shadow
brothers? Where was the elf's trust? Didn't he think
he could be open with Sam? Sam had considered
Dodger a friend ever since the elf had helped him after
his escape from Renraku. How had he deceived him-
self into believing that this elf was his friend? Friends
didn't lie to friends. Friends didn't deceive friends.

He let his bitterness fill his voice as he said, "You
deceived me right into helping them with their foul
magic."

"I had thought that we could stop it from the in-
side," Dodger said forlornly.

Sam couldn't help but wonder if the hint of regret
he detected in the elf's tone was real. If it was real,
did the elf regret what he had done or did he regret
the lost opportunity to work against the druids? Did it
matter?

"Well, we're not inside anymore, and I don't see
how we can stop them. If the druids mean to try their
ritual on the Solstice, there's no time left. We're thou-
sands of miles from our home turf. We've got no re-
sources but what we're carrying, and some of these
druids are the heads of major corporations. They could
put out a contract on us and the bill would show up in
petty cash. What could just the two of us do?"

"I have friends in London."

"Why am I not surprised? Why didn't you just take
on these druids with them? Or was it too much fun to
dupe the norm?''

Dodger sighed. "I thought you would understand. I j

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 115

thought that you would see the need to stop these peo-
ple."

"Oh, I can see the need to stop them, all right,"
Sam snapped. "Anyone planning their kind of evil
magic must be stopped. I would think so even if you
hadn't dragged me into the middle of this. You could
have just asked me, but instead you had to play the
puppet master. You made sure that I was involved,
didn't you? You made me a party to their crime."

Dodger straightened away from Sam's accusing fin-
ger. "We both became involved inadvertently, Sir
Twist. I will not take your guilt on my shoulders alone.
You agreed to and completed the snatch on Sanchez
before anyone knew what these druids planned."

Dodger was right about that. They had gotten in-
volved before Dodger had shown him the false list.
Sam had been the one who had arranged the run with
Mr. Johnson-Glover. Dodger had had nothing to do
with it beyond his decking responsibilities.

If Dodger hadn't led him into sticking with Glover,
Sam might never have learned of the druids' plan until
after they had performed their sacrifice. Then, he
would have been an accessory without any chance to
avert the crime. As things stood, he had a chance to
rescue Sanchez and Corbeau and the others. Were
Sam's hurt feelings worth people's lives?
"Your London friends have resources?"
Dodger nodded.

"Then we'd better figure out where and how to ap-
ply them."

Dodger offered a tentative smile. Sam returned it,

! offering a truce. Once the druids were foiled, there

would be time to sort things out. Until then, there was

I work to do. Constant argument would not get it done.
"I will contact my friends immediately," Dodger
said.

"Hold on. I want to make sure we are in agreement


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116 Robert N. Charrette

as to exactly what is going on. We can't know what
we need to have until we know what we need to do. I
want to have as little involvement with your 'friends'

as possible."

"Very well, Sir Twist. I trust you will evaluate the
problem clearly. I trust you."

Dodger paused, offering Sam the opportunity to
make a statement of reconciliation. Unready to do so,
Sam let the silence grow. Dodger cleared his throat
and said, "So, Sir Twist, where shall we start?"

"If this ritual involves the shedding of royal blood,
it is designed to channel a lot of power. That kind of
magical energy needs to be confined and focused.
They would need a special ritual site, someplace that
would allow them to concentrate and then direct the
energies they unleash."

" 'Tis a reasonable conclusion. From the look in
your eye, Sir Twist, you have a thought."

"Yeah. Remember what I told you about the druids
being something of a religion?"
"Yes."

"Well. Religions have holy places and an important
shrine would seem a likely place for their ritual. For
the druids, holy places were groves of trees and circles
of stones. Once Britain was dotted with them. By now
though, most of them are gone."

"Mayhap archaeological survey records?"
"It would take a lot of time to sort through. En-
gland's got a lot of history. Besides, we don't really
know what might be druidic and what's not. We could
play guessing games for days."

" 'Twould seem that there is no other choice."
"I recall a theory that stated all magical places
are connected magically. According to the model,
there are connections between such places through
which mana can flow, sort of like datalines in the
Matrix. Once the magic came back, some magicians

117

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY
found that these connections actually worked some-
times, allowing spells to be cast beyond normal pa-
rameters. Nobody really understands what these
mortalities are or how they work, but most of the
research was done in Britain since there seems to be
a high concentration of them crisscrossing the is-
land. A lot of the pathways coincided with a network
of religious and archaeological sites charted about a
hundred and fifty years ago by a guy named Watkins.
His charts don't match the modern ones exactly, I
don't know how; my memory's kind of fuzzy on the
subject. I do remember that these pathways use the
name he coined, ley lines. If we can find where
bunches of these ley lines meet, we might find a
likely place for the ritual."

"Render unto me the references for the magical
texts, Sir Twist. If they are on-line, I shall strip them
of the pertinent material and mate the data with cur-
rent orbital cartography. Within half an hour, we shall
have a map of places of power and the highway of your
ley lines."

In manipulating the Matrix, Dodger was as good
as his word. Using a hookup to the squat's trid unit,
the elf displayed the map he had constructed with his
cyberdeck. Sam stared at the screen, scrolling the
image and tracing the lines. Line after line converged
on a nearby nexus, but the node was small compared
to a greater one to the southeast. He checked the map
reference and sighed. He should have known from the
start, but how could he have been sure that it was
I still there? So much had changed in the world, so

I many antiquities destroyed, and England had seen its
share of turmoil. But the site remained. And it was
only two steps from a minor nexus at Glover's man-
sion.

Sam tapped out commands on the cyberdeck's key-
oard, expanding the image until a ghostly picture of


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118

Robert N. Charrette

sarsen stones filled the image area. Dodger's eyes wid-
ened in recognition.
"Stonehenge," they said together.

13

Hart knelt by the heel stone. She had felt the power
of the place as soon as she entered the avenue. Even
at a distance, astral perception had been difficult; this
close to the henge the residual energies produced a
kind of glare, effectively cutting off that avenue of
scouting. Cautiously, she rose and moved ahead. At
the slaughter stone, she cut across the path and slipped
down into the ditch. She worked her way past the north
barrow before cutting in toward the megaliths of the
inner rings.

She halted almost at once.

An elf woman was briefly visible in the open space
of the outer ring. She was gone almost before Hart
registered her presence, but the sighting was enough
to check Hart's approach. There were others present
at the henge. Hart waited, but no one else appeared
for a quarter hour.

She studied the shadows into which the woman had
disappeared. Scrutiny of the megalith's shadow found
the woman and revealed another elf, a dark-haired
man. Both of the skulkers wore black suits similar to
Hart's. She flicked the control on her goggles, switch-
ing from unaided to IR reception, and found that their
garments masked their body heat. The thermal disper-
sion factor seemed to be even more efficient than her
suit. Their equipment was top notch and their lack of

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 119
nervous movement marked them as pros. As yet, they
seemed unaware of her presence. Were they scouts?

Movement in the darkness caught her eye. A third elf
approached. The one wore black synthleathers, and his
pale hair was cut in a sprawl shag that rippled as he
moved. He had a flat case strapped to his back, which
she recognized from its silhouette as a cyberdeck car-
rying case. There was no use for decking equipment
here; the leather elf was out of his element tonight.

A fourth person followed him, not an elf but a hu-
man. He moved with a slightly awkward run that nev-
ertheless covered the open ground quickly. The fringes
of his jacket swayed with his movement, blurring his
outline.

Alert and quiet, the four waited at the side of the
sarsen stone for several minutes. Apparently satisfied
that they had tripped no alarms, they held a hushed
conference before spreading out to take up ambush
positions among the stones of the henge.
Interesting. Were they also after the Hidden Circle?
She worked her way in. With others already present,
she was denied the perch she had thought to take; climb-
ing to the capstone would attract their attention. Without
knowing who they were and what they wanted here, she
could not afford their attention. After all, she had no proof
that they weren't an advance party for the Circle, come to
secure the site.

It took nearly an hour to get into her alternate po-
sition, almost due east from the altar stone. The view
of the interior of the circle was nearly as good, but
more than half of the approaches, including the ave-
nue, were screened by the megaliths.

Her researches had not told her what time might be
appropriate for the ceremony, only that it must take
place before dawn. She settled in to wait.

She was not sure when she became aware of it, but
she realized that the energy of the henge was shifting.


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120

Robert N. Charrette

Somewhere, someone was creating a powerful magic
that touched the henge. She slipped into astral con-
sciousness and tried to assess the nature of the energy.
It didn't feel like a normal ritual, and she could as-
sense no spotter making a ritual link to the henge. The
astral glare of the henge was shifting, breaking up. She
could discern spirit presences amidst the energy that
swept among the stones, like fish on a reef. Those
spirit forms were agitated. Moving ever faster, they
began to stream out of the henge. Others drifted in,
only to follow the path taken by earlier spirits. She
shifted her perspective, floating high above the stone
circle, and saw that the spirits moved along distinct
paths. The ley lines were active.
"Damn!"

The oath focused her attention back to the mundane
plane.

The human had come out of hiding and was standing
in the center of the circle. His hands were on the altar
stone and his face turned to the sky. "They're not
here," he shouted. "Those druid bastards are doing
their black magic somewhere else."

She recognized the voice, though it had been months
since she had heard it. Samuel Verner. She had heard that
he'd taken the street name Twist since their last encounter.
She had not recognized him when she had seen him, but
that was easily explained by the darkness and distance.
From his curse, it was clear that he was not part of the
druids' plan. Verner was a runner, not a mover; his pres-
ence meant an unknown faction was involved.

The other skulkers left their places to join their part-
ner in the center of the ring. The decker elf would be
Sam's buddy, Dodger. The other two she didn't know,
but as soon as she saw them plainly, she realized that
she recognized them. They were the pair who had been
leaving the Seelie Court as she had been entering. Was
Lady Deigh running parallel teams, or were they the

CHOdSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 121
agents of some other power? Had the Lord Protector
learned of his renegades? Whoever these runners were,
they hunted the Hidden Circle as she did.

Already she had been misled by the quarry. If would
take fast work to make up the ground. If the energy she
had sensed building was as great as she thought, she
would need help. And luck. Verner had been lucky be-
fore. Since Sam's group was already after the Circle,
they might be willing to share the hunt. She wouldn't
have to pay them, and might even be able to arrange
for them to take any heat the operation generated.

She left her hiding place, arms held clear of her
sides, and walked forward. She was acutely conscious
of the Beretta Model 70 hanging on its TEAM sling
and slapping against her butt. It wouldn't do to be shot
by friendlies.

"I'd wish you a good evening, but it doesn't seem
to be one. It appears that we have all been disap-
pointed."

The dark-clad elves drew weapons and trained them
on her. Dodger, still fumbling to clear his gun from
an entanglement with his cyberdeck, stepped into the
woman's line of fire. She looked annoyed, but shifted
competently to get a new line. Sam tensed and Hart
felt a flicker of power. Something in the air, she
thought. Sam had not been magically active when they
had last met. She waited while they searched the sur-
rounding darkness, seeking to assure themselves that
she was alone.

"Perhaps we can join forces," she said. "With some
fast transport, we might be able to raid them before
they finish their ritual. The circle's not too far away."

' 'What do you have to do with this?'' the dark-haired
elf asked.

Sam ignored his companion, took a step forward,
and asked his own question. "To the southwest?"
She nodded.


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122

Robert N. Charrette

"Glover's estate," Dodger said.

Sam slammed his fist onto the altar stone. "We were
right on top of their site and never knew it. If we'd
stayed, we might have done something, but we'll never
fight our way in now." Turning to Hart, he said, "Un-
less you've got another dracoform for a partner."

"No more dragons," she said. He gave her an odd
look, and she knew that she had not masked all of her
emotions. What signal she had sent him, she didn't
know. Months later, she still didn't fully understand her
own feelings on the matter and Sam's place in them.

"Well, I guess I'm not surprised. A strike team,
maybe?"

She shook her head.

"We'll have to try, anyway," he said. "They can't
be allowed to complete their ritual."

As Sam started to leave the henge, the dark-haired
male elf stepped in his way. "Can she be trusted?"

Sam looked up in the elf's face. He waited until the
"c\\M W& 9J&I \a187& tea, then sa'ia, "1 was once told
never to trust an elf, Estios. It's always seemed like
good advice around you."

Sam looked around at his companions, making Hart
very conscious of her metatype. The points of her ears
felt hot with blood.

"But it seems that I have little choice. I'm a minor-
ity of one in this crowd. At the moment, I have to
trust anyone who looks like they can do something
about the druids. Hart's a professional shadowrunner,
ready for action, and willing to help. You want to pass
up another soldier? The druids will be prepared for
trouble and Glover will have tightened his security.
We'll need all the help we can get."

Estios remained stiff for a second, as if to assert his
command of the situation. "Very well. I will call the
aircraft."

14


The wicker man stood to the south, facing across
the chalked lines toward the bare, shield-shaped patch
of earth across which they had all entered the ritual
area. The silver bowl of blessed water rested in the
western point, and the scent of burning herbs rising
from the eastern point's brazier filled the clearing.
Only the upper portions of the wicker man would be
visible from beyond the surrounding topiary maze.

Save for the wicker man, Glover found it all very
familiar. Normally, the golden-tipped spear stood at
the southern point, but this was no normal ritual. This

W&S- 2 €\a163?efft&tty of frlgfr sacrifice , the KottwruTorviaiw

rituals. Bound within the wicker were the six chosen
sacrifices, the scions of untainted blood. Each limb
held one, another lay wrapped within the body and the
last was curled in the head. Gordon stood before the
mannikin holding an unlit torch, half concealed by
the flowing sleeves of his plain white robe. He seemed
pensive and subdued. Was he contemplating his forth-
coming role?

The symbols were all in place; it was time to begin.
Gordon abandoned his vigil in front of the wicker man
and walked to his place near the center of the ring,
careful to avoid stepping on any of the chalked lines.
As he reached the unfinished pentacle in which he was
to stand, he was met by David Neville. Gordon took

^his place, and young Neville completed the diagram.

I Across the clearing, the druids moved to their stations,
ghostly white shapes drifting in the dark. Each wore a
ritual robe topped off with the golden brow band and


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robert N. Charrette

head cloth of an initiate. Sir Winston, leader of the
ceremony, was distinguished from his peers by a heavy
gold pectoral bearing the sun-in-splendor insignia of
his totem.

Everything was in order. Glover could find nothing
amiss, nothing to hint that Hyde-White might be right.
The ceremonial ring was laid out exactly according to
the specifications in the ritual they had all worked out.
The geometries were accurate, the symbols appropri-
ate. What could go wrong?

Neville stood in the center of the ring, naming each
participant and building the protective magics. Glover
studied the archdruid. Neville appeared steady and in
control; only a touch of anticipation marred his calm.
A faint glow was beginning to manifest around him as
the energies awoke.

Glover joined the circle, adding his energies to the
spell. Neville continued around the ring until he
reached Hyde-White. With the inclusion of the fat
man, the ritual circle was complete. Glover noticed
that Hyde-White's aura was subdued, as if he had not
committed himself wholly to the ritual. A less com-
petent shaman might have fatally flawed the ritual by
such reservation, but Hyde-White's power was well
above the commitment needed.

Neville led the opening chant, his reedy voice ring-
ing out to be answered by the combined voices of the
other druids. He called upon the earth to heed their
call, offering praise to all that was natural and stating
the Circle's commitment to restoring the land's bal-
ance. He paused before making the offer of sacrifice.
Neville nodded to Gordon, who held his unlit brand
on high. Gathering strands from each of the druids'
power, Neville wove them into a lance of light and
speared it toward Gordon. The amber beam struck the
torch, igniting it in a burst of flame and spark.
To the accompaniment of the rhythmic spell chant,

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

Gordon walked to the edge of the ring and faced the
wicker man. He held the torch to the end of the man-
nikin's left arm until the flames caught. Then, he thrust
it deep into the leg and released his grip, leaving it to
kindle another nest of hungry fire. He bowed to the
wicker man before returning to his place in the center
of the pentacle and facing Neville.

"We give holocaust. Let the sky accept our offer-
ing," he said.

The druids continued their spell song, raising their
volume as the fire spread through the wicker man.
Sanchez, the first of the sacrifices to be consumed,
died without a sound. The druids sang louder.

The howl of tearing metal and the crack of splinter-
ing wood ripped across their voices, driving the chant
to an abrupt halt. The cacophony issued from some-
where near the house. Glover searched for the source.

Behind the outbuildings, an unkempt shape was ris-
ing. The irregular mass of shifting material humped
up into a huge, dark mass of refuse and debris until
its top was several meters higher than the roof of the
nearest structure. The thing taking shape beyond the
hedges lurched, its bulk shifting toward the circle. It
might have been tottering, about to fall, but a second
lurch dispelled that illusion. Whatever the thing was,
it had begun to move toward them.

"David," Sir Winston called calmly above the ex-
cited questions of the other druids. "We must not be
interrupted."

"I will hold it, father."

David Neville eased his energies from the complex
that the druids had created. Glover pushed harder, tak-
ing his share of the slack. His concentration was lack-
ing, for his eyes were continually drawn to the
approaching entity.

The growing light of the burning wicker lit the
shape. With each step it became more defined. From


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126

Robert N. Charrette

an amorphous thing, it was resolving itself into a
gnarled and hulking man shaped of refuse from the
midden heap and fragments of the abandoned carriage
house. It was a golem made of trash, and its outline
was the same as that of the wicker man.

One of the sacrifices screamed, the flames burning
through his drugged haze, and the thing jerked. Piece
by piece, Barnett's car, an ancient petrol-burning an-
tique, tore itself apart, chunks whirling free to soar
through the air and join with the mound. It grew and
shambled forward.

David Neville faced it from within the ring of hedge.
He was careful not to step past the safety of the mag-
ical barrier provided by the chalked circle. He stood
straight, arms outstretched and palms raised to be-
seech aid.

"By the powers of sky, I command thee. By the
powers of the earth, I bid thee be gone. I stand firm
on the land, caressed by the wind, and cast thee
forth."

Attuned to the astral, Glover could see the energy
gather around David before bursing forth to strike the
thing. The glittering darkness of the monster's aura
absorbed the power, swallowing the bright beam as if
it had never been. Glover's mouth went dry. Young
Neville was a prig and a snob, but he had power and
had specialized in dealing with astral entities. Glover
had seen him dismiss unruly spirits often enough.
Whatever this was, it already had power enough to
resist him.

A gap opened in the chest of the trash thing, a dark
maw fanged with leaf springs, bumpers, and metal
fragments, and a stream of semi-liquified garbage
spewed forth to drench Neville. He stagged back,
retching. The pool of refuse at his feet solidified and
trapped him where he stood. Dripping tendrils of slime
hardened, freezing his motion. His legs disappeared,

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 127
encased in the ever deeper flow of filth that poured
from the horrid monstrosity. Neville tried again to
shout the formula of dismissal, but the commands
gurgled to a strangled stop as the growing mound over-
topped his head and entombed him.

The thing convulsed, apparently collapsing in on it-
self as if Neville's dismissal had finally taken effect. It
was a false hope. The narrow bridge of offal and rub-
bish expanded where it met the golem. A bulge, like
a pig in a python, moved along the connection of gar-
bage. The greater part of the monster's bulk formed
that bulge as the great mass outside the maze trans-
ferred itself along that slender bridge. The mound that
concealed young Neville thickened, ballooning out as
the mass concentrated. The debris pile stretched and
contorted until the trash thing reformed its shape and
stood on the spot where he had opposed it.

Barnett cast a spell at the monster, flames arcing
from his outthrust hand to splash against the hulk.
Steam and smoke billowed up, but though small fires
flickered on the affected area, the garbage golem did
not react to the attack.

Hyde-White stood riveted in trance, sweat rolling in
sheets across his vast expanses of flesh. Like Glover,
he gathered in the strands of power as druids left the
ritual to devote their energies to fighting off the in-
truder. Glover had little time to appreciate the old
man's struggle; assimilating his part of the added bur-
den was taxing his own control.

The other druids cast spells and attempted their own
banishments. Their efforts had some effect; the mon-
strosity seemed confined between the outer and inner
protective rings of the great chalk circle. Fitzgilbert
ventured too close to the thing and was struck down
by a flailing limb of rusted metal and decaying wood.
Debris showered them as he collapsed to the ground,
his neck broken by the blow.


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Robert N. Charrette

Glover's arm was seized in a bone-racking grip.
Hyde-White had crossed the ring. Leaving his place
had been a necessity for the fat man; the trash thing
occupied that space.

"Andrew, now you see what Neville's obsession has
led us to. He has no control over this corrupted spirit.
As I feared, there is a flaw in the ritual and so this
thing has been spawned. If the sacrifice is completed,
there is no telling what strength it will have."

Glover stared at the monstrosity. It was fascinating,
at once compelling and disgusting. Its power was
enormous, but its very unnaturalness was the final
proof of Hyde-White's argument. "We must stop it."

Hyde-White's chin disappeared in the folds of flesh
that hid his neck as he nodded. "If the spell is broken
suddenly, there may be a backlash. I will guard the
link with Neville while you do what must be done."

What must be done.

Glover looked at the wicker man. The flames had
already consumed its left half and were spreading.
Where it had burned fiercely, the sacrifices were no
longer moving. Corbeau lay bound within the manni-
kin's right arm. The fire ravened closer, and he was
beginning to stir as the heat and excitement penetrat-
ing through his drugged haze. So much effort to get
him here, and now it was spoiled by Neville's arro-
gance.

In the center of the circle, the older Neville stood
tall and straight, the golden sickle raised above his
head. His eyes were closed and his lips moved as he
feverishly spoke the words of the ritual.

"We offer blood to the earth. Let the land drink
from this divinely ordained vessel and be refreshed.''

Gordon walked toward him intoning the prayer of
offering, naming himself as the gift and offering his
own blood to revitalize the land. He knelt before Nev-
ille, stretching his head back to offer his throat.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY
Glover couldn't allow that royal blood to feed the
monstrosity. Hoping that he was not also destroying
the land's hope, he gathered his power and sent it in
a blast that ripped the right arm from the wicker man
in an explosion of green witchfire. Corbeau screeched
as the arcane energies shredded his flesh and boiled
his body fluids. It was a faster death than the creeping
sacrificial flame, but no less harsh.

"You fool! What have you done?" shouted Neville
as he stumbled across the ring to seize Glover.

"Stopped your abortion." A sweep of his arm broke
the old man's grip.

"You have destroyed all we have worked for!"
"I have saved it. Look!"

The garbage golem swayed wildly. Tilting at nearly
forty-five degrees from the vertical, it suddenly lost
cohesiveness and shattered into its component ele-
ments. The stench of decay and putrefaction burst over
the clearing as rusted metal and rotted organic matter
pelted the ground. The half-decomposed corpse of the
young Neville lay amid the debris, its white bones
gleaming in the firelight.

"See what you have done, old man, and what your
warped ambitions have cost you. Your son lies dead.
That's a price you'll have on your conscience to the
grave. Pray that your conscience won't be burdened by
worse. We can only hope that your folly hasn't cost us
the land."

"What are you talking about?" one of the others
asked. They had gathered around the quarrelers.

Glover stabbed a finger at the heap of debris that
had stalked their ceremony. "That. We all saw how
that thing grew as the sacrifices were consumed."
Glover turned his wrathful face on Neville. "Had you
completed the ritual, that thing would have been em-
powered in a way beyond our dreams. You would have
spawned a scourge for the land."


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Robert N, Charrette

"No!" Neville's face was twisted with denial. "It
would have been destroyed. The corruption would have
been swept away."

Glover sneered at the desperation in Neville's voice.
The man couldn't even convince himself. "Then why
did it disperse when I interrupted the ritual?"

Neville's eyes darted across the assembled survi-
vors. There was no comfort for him in those faces.
"I don't know," he mumbled.
"Well, I have seen enough to know. You have mis-
led us, old man. Your way has been shown to be flawed
and unwholesome. We must find another way to re-
store the land. We must hope that it can yet be done,
and that your perverse meddling has not closed the
door."

Barnett made a show of turning his shoulder away
from Neville. "Glover, you are the one who saw what
needed to be done. What should we do now?"

"Whatever is necessary," Gordon said. When all
eyes were turned to him, he added, "I was ready to
give my life that the land be restored. Who could ask
for more commitment? I need only be shown the way.
If you see that way, Master Glover, I will follow your
lead."

"It is an awesome responsibility," Glover said.
"Which you have shown yourself strong enough to
take on."

Glover's spirit soared. Acclamation from His High-
ness! Hyde-White had been right. Opportunity was
rising before him; he would be a fool and a weakling
if he did not seize it. He tried to mask his elation, to
present a properly stern face as Ashton, who had been
Neville's student, removed the archdruid's pectoral
from the old man and held it out to Glover. His hands
trembled as he accepted it.

"I serve the land as you do, Highness. As you have
come to understand, we must all do whatever is nec-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 131
essary to see it healthy again. As leader of this Circle,
my goal will be to see the land restored to its glory.
Nothing shall deter me."

He felt the strength of his conviction as he spoke.
He would do anything to see the land saved. Behind
him, he felt Hyde-White's presence, massive and sup-
porting.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------









PART 2




There Are Always
Choices



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

15

London stank.

It wasn't just the fumes and garbage stenches that
permeated everything, although the city had those, just
like every other major metroplex. London's peculiar
effluvium was a legacy of the terrorist attack of 2039,
when the radical group called Pan Europa had released
a bioagent in retaliation for England's supposed part
in the break-up of the EEC. The bug had been sup-
posed to break down the sheathing element of the met-
roplex's newly completed dome. The terrorists must
have been pleased to see the biofabric skin had evap-
orated under the ravenous organism. But had they
known what effect their organism would have on other
biological fibers?

Intentional or not, once the bug was released, there
had been no way to recall it. Much of London's his-
torical legacy had been destroyed when the uncon-
trolled organism had devoured the city's paper and
wood. The panic riots that had followed had devas-
tated the city, vandalizing its present and almost com-
pletely devouring its past. The spirit of London's
people had failed as well, the dreams of leading a new
Europe dying in the mouldering aftermath.
Now, the bones of the abandoned dome arched over


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Roben N. Charrette

the city like the broken ribcage of a rotting antedilu-
vian beast, as the fungi of skyscapers, towers, and
communications arrays clawed toward the sky through
the bleached struts.

Sam saw those gleaming spires of the new plex as
monuments to the megacorporations' contempt for the
common folk. Instead of nurturing the people's hopes,
the corps had defied the growing power of the Green
Party and taken advantage of the chaos and built to
their own whims. With bought votes in Parliament and
sweetheart deals for the still-landed aristocracy, the
megacorps had twisted English law, shattering the
people's dreams of safety and protection. Despite the re-
stored constitutional monarchy, George VIII, the Lord
Protector, and Parliament didn't govern the country
alone. The megacorps ruled much of England as surely
as they ruled their own boardrooms.

But London was a modern metroplex, and in the
shadows of the corporate towers there was another
world; one the megacorps and the Lord Protector's
Greens didn't rule. London had its shadow world, not
unlike Seattle's. In the corners and the darkness, men
and women, shadowrunners, fought the aggressive,
uncaring domination of the corporate powers. And
when the corps struck back, the runners hid ... in
the abandoned stretches that reminded Sam of Seattle's
Barrens, in the teeming hives of the Public Zones be-
neath the corporate towers, and in the dank tunnels of
the service ways and sewers that made up the under-
city. Especially in the sewers.

The cold, slimy water trickled through his close-
cropped hair. If his hair were longer, the chill splash
would have been softened; he wouldn't have felt damp-
ness until the noisome liquid threaded its way unto the
bare skin on the back of his neck.

Why was Hart late? Fifteen minutes already. In their
three weeks of haunting the London shadow world,

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 137

she had always been on time, if not early. Even in
those rare moments when they had met to relax, she
had been prompt. Unlike Sally.

Sally wouldn't like it here. She hated the dark,
closed-in places. He remembered her curses when they
broke into the Renraku arcology so long ago. So long
ago? Little more than two years had passed. He had
been living in another world then, living a different
life. Since then, he had entered the shadows and found
a new life. Was he on the verge of starting down yet
another new path?

When he thought about Sally, he remembered the
good times they had had in bed, the intensity of it
all. But he also remembered the fights and the snip-
ing. He had always had the feeling that he somehow
didn't measure up to Sally's standards. Well, drek!
He didn't measure up to his own most of the time,
but that didn't make him worthless. Times changed;
people changed. He had.
Had something happened to her?
Sam's worry was real, but the face he attached to it
was Hart's. That surprised him. How easily she had
slipped into his thoughts to displace Sally. Almost as
easily as they had slipped into bed together. At the
time, it had just seemed right somehow. And now?
Well, now it still seemed right.
What about Sally?

"What about Hart?" Estios whispered belliger-
ently.

"She said she'd be here."

Sam wished he felt as assured as he sounded. Or did
he sound confident at all? Estios seemed as nervous
as he ever got. The tall elf was always so cocky; the
absence of his partners didn't usually affect him. Was
he worried about Hart, too? It seemed unlikely. Ever
since they had met in the circle of Stonehenge, Estios
had distrusted Hart. Even though she had saved them


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Robert N. Charrette

all from blundering into the ambush at Glover's estae
that night, Estios had remained distrustful. His every
comment was laced with his suspicions. She just
laughed off the hostility, but Sam worried. How could
they all work together without trust?

Who was he to talk? These days he had to weigh
every word Dodger said, wondering if there was a new
lie hidden among the flowery phrases. Then there was
Estios and his crew. Chatterjee seemed innocuous
enough, quiet and competent. O'Connor was the
friendliest of the bunch, but she seemed to know
Dodger from a long time ago. Who knew what that
meant? Certainly Dodger did, but he wasn't talking.
Estios himself was a very cold fish. As much as he
resented Hart, he seemed to resent Sam even more.
Beneath the surface of politeness, Sam sensed that the
tall elf was chafing under some kind of restraint, al-
most as if someone had ordered him to remain on rel-
atively good terms with Sam. Perhaps someone had.
As far as Sam knew, Estios was exclusively employed
by Professor Laverty. That made Sam wonder what
interest the professor had in the current situation. Just
who could Sam trust?

Himself, he supposed. Inu, too. But Inu was only a

dog, and besides, he wasn't here. In London, the elves

with whom he hunted the druids were his only close

contacts. The elves had shadow connections in the

plex, almost all normal humans. Sam trusted most of

those connections less than he trusted the elves, but

he would be lost in the plex without them. Then again,

without them, he would be on his way back to Seattle.

A short series of taps reverberated faintly down the

tunnel. Estios drew his weapon and faced toward the

source before Sam had sorted out the echoes. There

were familiar scents beneath the sewer stink. Feeling

secure that Estios would handle any physical threat,

Sam activated his astral senses and scanned the tunnel.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

The approaching aura was familiar, and comforting. It
showed no sign of injury or emotional distress. A fur-
ther probe revealed that she was not being followed.

"Is this the whole party?" Hart asked as she ar-
rived.

"Where were you?" Estios snapped, scowling.
She ignored his question. "Let's go see Herzog."
"I don't like it," Estios said.
"Do you like anything? You didn't have to come."
She brushed at a drip spot on the arm of her Scat-
erelli jacket. Her annoyed frown would seem to be |
directed at the spoiled fabric, but Sam knew better.
Estios pressed.

"We need not involve him in our affairs, Hart. You
have compromised our security enough by sending
Twist to him."

"She hasn't compromised anything, Estios. Herzog
is just a teacher. You should be grateful for that; it'll
make me more valuable."

"Learning from the gutter is worse than no learn-
ing."

Hart laughed. "Learning is learning. I suggest that
you keep your attitude to yourself. I don't think our
host will take kindly to your carping. If Herzog were
here ..."

"But Herzog is here."

The new voice belonged to a bulky figure that
emerged from the deeper shadows of the tunnel. Sam
had smelled Herzog's distinctive odor and had known
that he was somewhere nearby, but the others, for all
their darkness-piercing elven eyes, hadn't seemed
aware. Estios swung his weapon to bear and Hart
tensed. The newcomer rumbled with amusement.
"No fight today," he said.

Herzog was big for a human, weighing more than
many orks. Most of his mass was muscle and bone,
hidden under a layer of smooth fat and a mound of


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Robert N. Charrette


patchwork clothes. He was unnaturallystrong,agiftof nature boosted by his totem ratherthanbyartificialenhancement. Despite hiS bulk andthearrayof fetishes
festooning his garb, he moved almost silently
as he stepped up to them.

"Good evening, Herzog," Hart said. "I'm pleased
to see you."

"You have work for me."
"Direct," Estios commented.
"The night still grows, elf. I must be about my own
work. If you find my manners abrupt, you need not
deal with me."

"Ignore tall, dark, and ornery, Herzog," Hart said.
"We need your help."
"To do?"

"To get us going. Our probes are getting nowhere;
our adversaries seem well prepared for our hermetic
intrusions. I thought that your talents might offer a
more productive approach."

"Your adversaries are not mine."
"They are everyone's," Sam said.
Herzog turned to Sam. "So. Why have you not done
what the elf asks?"

Sam didn't want to answer. Had he been alone with
Herzog he might have, but in front of Hart he felt
inhibited. He didn't want her to know how much he
hated talking to Dog, how much he feared the irra-
tionality of the spirit form's essence. And he didn't
want her to know about that other presence that so
terrified him.

"I can't," he said.

Herzog half turned in a sudden rattle and clash of
fetishes and power objects. "You have the power. You
know how to free your spirit. Why have you stopped
this time? The Dog or the Man of Light?"
Sam hesitated and Hart shot him a look,
"What is the Man of Light?" she asked.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 141

"Nothing," Sam said quickly to keep Herzog from
answering. "It's nothing. Just some kind of subcon-
scious symbol. I'm still having trouble breaking
through to the spirit realm that I'd need to reach to do
what you want."

Hart stared at him but said nothing. Sam gave a
brief prayer of thanks when she returned her attention
to Herzog.

"So, shaman. Will you do some recce for us?"

"I will. It will take time."

"Then we will leave you to it," Estios said. The
deal made, the tall elf vanished into the darkness. Hart
delayed to thank Herzog, then reached for Sam's arm.
The shaman stopped her.

"He stays."

Sam saw the surprise in Hart's face flash to annoy-
ance. He himself felt afraid. "Why?"

"You need to learn."

Sam started to object, but Hart spoke. "He's right.
You need to learn as much as you can. Besides, if
you're here, you can make a first call on whether what
Herzog finds out is important. It might save a lot of
time."

"But you\a151"

"But nothing. You know he won't work with anyone
other than a shaman present."

"I'm not a\a151"

Herzog exploded with the huff of air that was his
laugh.

"You are what you are. You must come with me
now; the badges are coming."

Sam looked around. He could see little in the dark-
ness, but he could hear distant splashes. Someone
coming all right, several someones. There was too
much noise for them to be runners, so the approaching
persons were most likely one of the local constabu-
lary's periodic sewer patrols, and magic wouldn't hide


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Robert N. Charrette

them from the patrol magician. When he turned back,
Hart was already gone. She had slipped away silently
into the dimness, where her elven eyes could see what
he could not. He would never catch up to her. Left
with no other choice, he followed the retreating Her-
zog. Even the grumpy Gator shaman was preferable to
a brush with the metroplex police.

They stopped when Herzog was sure they were
safely away from the sweep patrol. Herzog leaned
against the tunnel wall, immobile. Sam could barely
hear him breathe. The Gator shaman had never shown
much altruism before, yet he had accepted Hart's
charge without dickering on the price.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Need."

"But we haven't offered you anything. Don't think
Estios will pay whatever you ask. You didn't name a
price, so he won't pay one."

Herzog's huff was soft, too soft to carry back down
the tunnel, but Sam heard it clearly enough.

"I do not do this for the ice-eyed elf. Nor for your
paramour Hart. I do this for you. You must see that
the way is safe, that you can walk the path if only you
accept what you are."

"I have accepted it. I've learned spells. I can project
astrally at will."

"You delude yourself. If you had accepted your sha-
manic nature, the path to the spirit planes would not
be blocked. Until you accept the other reality, you will
not achieve what you seek. Until then, you are your
own worst enemy."

16

What Dan Shiroi said made sense to Janice. His at-
titudes and reactions were all reasonable, given the
context in which he had to live his life. But that context
was hers, now. Like Jaime Garcia and Han and all the
others who were part of Dan's hidden organization.
Wherever in the world they lived, they were all the
same breed of metahumanity.

Dan was a good teacher. With his guidance, she was
doing things she would not have believed possible. The
spells and the focusing of astral senses came so easily.
Already she could mask her appearance with a spell
and walk among norms without their knowing what
she was. Her childhood dreams of magic were being
fulfilled.

The magic had come with her second change. It was
a blessing. And a curse. Masked by magic, she heard
the norms talk when they thought that they were among
their own kind. She heard the slurs, the jokes, and the
put-downs. She heard the hate. It curdled her soul.

Dan was right; their kind had to band together.
Norms hated anything that was not just like them-
selves. They hated metahumans worst of all. The larger
and stranger the metahuman, the stronger the norms
hated. Once, she had believed that the hate was driven
by fear, the terror of the strange and unknown. She
had begun to suspect that the hate came from some-
where else, some dark part of the human soul. Wherever
it came from, the hate was real.

And there were so many more norms than metahu-
mans. Even great strength and superior senses couldn't


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Robert N. Charrette

keep her safe from a mob. That early excursion when
she had let her concentration slip had shown her a
vulnerability that she had thought she had left behind.
Her thoughts fled back to that awful snowy day when
her illusion had faltered and she had stood revealed on
the street. The norms had turned on her, calling her a
monster and an eater of children. She had fled from
their shouts and they had chased her, cornering her in
an abandoned building too much like the one in which
Dan had found her. But this time, it hadn't been ghouls
who pursued her but normal people, people who had
only moments before been conversing politely with
her. And this time she had been healthy, for what little
good it had done her. The mob's hatred and invective
had flayed her worse that their fists. If Dan had not
found her again, she would have been ripped to pieces
by the norms. Though they had hurt her badly, Dan's
healing touch had soothed her.

She had learned who her friends were. She had been
taught her place in the world.

She looked down at Dan's sleeping form. The set-
ting sun's rays insinuated themselves through the shut-
tered windows to tint his fur with rosy color. He would
awaken soon and be about his business. He always
said it was her business as well, but as of yet she had
little to do, save study the magic he taught.

With the magic, she could touch an essence that was
pure, and strong, and free. Dan had led her through a
cave at the center of the world and shown her the mar-
vellous land that lay beyond. There, she had met her
totem. She had seen His flashing eye and felt the full
softness of His fur. In the stillness of the night, she
had heard His soulful call and looked up to see His
silhouette racing across the sky to dance with the
moon. Wolf had chosen her as His own. She felt proud
that the old woods runner had found her satisfactory.
She was slowly coming to understand Wolf, coming

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 145

to feel the predator in herself. Her heart was full of
the clannish pull to stay with and defend her own kind.
Her limbs held the strength of the wild. She was ready
to stand against those who would sunder her from the
pack. Wolf offered her the power to make her own way
and rend the weak-willed souls who would keep her
from her destiny. Yes, she was beginning to under-
stand Wolf. And she was a bit frightened of herself.

Dan's hand on her shoulder awakened her from her
reverie. She realized she was standing at the window,
staring at the darkness gathering over London's old
East End. The rebuilt district was little different from
its predecessors. Killers stalked the dark streets and
purveyors of every vice made their lairs there. The
East End was still a teeming hive, full of nasty, ugly
people and suffused with their sufferings and depre-
dations\a151an urban wilderness. Dan said that made the
area suitable for her current stage of magical devel-
opment. And so they stayed in a fortified apartment
building. He promised that soon she would be ready
to move on.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked.
"No," she lied. Her fears and concerns were too
vague for words. Her inability to articulate them would
lessen her in his eyes. He prized strength, and she
would be strong for him.

"Good." He kissed her. "I thought that tonight we
might try another journey to the other realm. Your last
was encouraging."

' 'All right.'' She felt a thrill at the thought of seeing
Wolf again.

He took her hand and led her down to the basement
where they held their practice sessions. Han was al-
ready there, spreading herbs to scent the air. As usual,
he said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgment of
Janice's greeting before settling his furry body behind
the drum. Janice lowered herself to the floor, stretch-


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Robert N. Charrette

ing out while Dan intoned the spells that would ensure
their privacy.

"Ready?" he asked.
"Eager," she replied.

He sat cross-legged by her head and rested his palms
on either side of her face. He began to sing the travel
chant, and Han picked up the beat with the drum.
Janice listened to the music until the words were lost
to her as voice and instrument blended.

The sound throbbed through her, its pulse filling
every cell of her body. She let herself drift into the
cadence, riding the flow deeper into a shamanic state
of consciousness. The dark hole opened before her, but
she had become familiar with it and was not afraid.
She slipped through the opening and flew downward.
The passage was short, free of hindering shadows,
and she emerged in the other world.

The moon shown, just clear of the horizon. It was
full and lovely. She greeted it and heard the answering
response of Wolf. Her joy swelled. This was how she
was meant to live, unfettered and free to do as she
would, feeling the cool air on her fur and smelling
the myriad glorious scents of the other side of day. The
night had become her favorite time.
She ran.

There was no urgency in her pace, just exuberance.
She ran because she wanted to run, to feel her muscles
moving in vital rhythm. A white wolf ran at her side.
He was larger than she, stronger too, but he was no
threat. This was her mate and they ruled the pack.
They were strong and healthy. None could challenge
them.
They ran.

The moon hung in the sky, but she didn't need its
light. Her eyes were keen, her nose keener. Little es-
caped her notice, least of all the scent of prey. A flash
of white\a151a startled rabbit burst from hiding. They

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 147

gave chase, bounding over obstacles and racing past
obstructions to herd the prey. Sometimes she would
close on it, only to have it make a rapid turn and elude
her. Sometimes he would crowd it, forcing it toward
her.

A hedge of tangled brush loomed ahead. The rabbit,
sensing safety, redoubled its speed. He surged ahead,
cutting across its path. The prey hauled up short, quiv-
ering. It turned, ready to continue its flight. Seeing
her so near, it froze. He pounced, slapping the rabbit
to the earth with a paw. It struggled against his indom-
itable strength, to no avail. He looked at her, offering
her the honor of the kill.

The rabbit sensed their exchange and turned fearful
eyes on her. It pleaded for its life. Didn't it know that
its place in the natural order was to serve as her prey?
Why did it struggle harder as she approached? This
was the way of things. The wolf was the hunter, the
rabbit the prey.

Frightened, terrified eyes.

She hesitated. It's just prey, he said. Meat,

Yes. Just meat. Why couldn't she bring herself to
close her jaws on its throat? She hung her head and
turned away. She didn't want to see the scorn in his
eyes.

The rabbit gave a soft cry as he dispatched it. She
listened to the sounds of him tearing up the carcass.
When he finished, he offered her meat.

She took the meat. Its juices rushed the taste through
her mouth, blasting the sensation to her brain. This
was the food she was meant to eat, no other. Wolves
ate rabbits. It was the way of the world. She bolted
another strip of meat.

In time, he said. There was no accusation, no scorn.
She felt his patience and basked in his love. He un-
derstood. He would wait for her to take the steps at


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Robert N. Charrette

her own pace. He had promised that there would be
no pressure, and he was living up to his word.

She loved him.

After they had eaten their fill, they ran again, racing
the moon to the horizon. She was exhilarated by the
physical effort, made more alive than she had ever been
before. Their running pace eventually slowed, speed
waning as their fleet paws matched rhythm to the mea-
sured beat of the drum. The journey was ending.

She awakened from the trance, feeling rested and
well fed. Dan had her recount the experience and said
he was pleased. She knew he meant it.

He had some things to take care of before bed, so
he went away. She wandered back upstairs and stood
at the window, wrapped in the lassitude of satiation.
Down in the streets of the East End, the morning crews
were cleaning up the debris of the night. Scavengers.
No doubt they helped themselves to whatever the true
predators had left behind. She watched a scruffy pair
haul a maimed body from a building. Another derelict
being taken away, another victim of the plex. Another
day in London.

17

An ebon boy in a glittering cloak of silver danced
along the electron pathways, but the pattern faltered. A
whirling measure would abruptly end in a few stum-
bling steps. The dancer was eager, but his steps were
constrained as though the dance floor was slippery. In
every direction there were datapaths in all of their
myriad multitudes, but none offered what he sought.
Following any one only led to frustration, the dance

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 149

halting as the pathway expanded into a diffuse and in-
distinct mass of branches. Each branch was a trail of
connections that vanished, becoming an array of un-
traceable links. The only ones that stayed solid led to
unbreakable ice or mundane and unimportant data.

He was frustrated. And angry. The ebon boy folded
his cloak around himself. Dodger jacked out, and the
boy vanished from the Matrix.

Dodger stared down at the datajack. He couldn't fig-
ure it out. There should be more connections than he
could follow in a day. The circle of druids they chased
were prominent people in England. At least the ones
whose names they knew were prominent\a151highly
placed businessmen and -women or members of the
aristocracy, whose everyday lives were matters of pub-
lic record.

The Hidden Circle was living up to its name.

Why couldn't he make connections? Secret societies
rarely managed to avoid leaving a trail, especially in
these modern times when no organization functioned
without some computerization. Magical organizations
were usually even easier to track down; their members
rarely comprehended the intricacies of the consensual
hallucination that was the Matrix, that hypothetical
pseudoreality that was a second home to Dodger. In
the Matrix, a good decker should be able to trace the
connections between people and organizations. And
Dodger knew that he was better than good.

These druids, despite all their magic, were a techno-
savvy bunch. There was not a hint in the Matrix that
any of them were more than they appeared to be in the
mundane world. He had not even been able to learn
the names of the unknown members of the Hidden
Circle. Without records of the Circle's organization,
he couldn't tell who among the contacts of the known
Circle members were also members. Looking for reg-
istered druids was no real help. Many practicing ma-


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Robert N. Charrette

gicians didn't bother to comply with the Registration Act,
and the members of the Hidden Circle seemed likely can-
didates for such an act of civil disobedience.

From the absence of data, he might have given up,
believing that there were no other members. But Sam
insisted that there had to be more, and Hart had backed
him up. They said that a druidic circle was three times
three. The runners had names for six of the Hidden
Circle and two of those were dead.

The Hidden Circle was too well hidden. Three
weeks and Dodger had gleaned next to nothing. There
had to be another way to track them down.

A soft hand slid along his shoulder. He knew that
touch, and it triggered a rush of memories he strug-
gled to suppress. The past was the past.

"No luck?" Teresa's tone made the question a state-
ment.

Dodger didn't bother to answer. She knew him well
enough. Having seen his expression when she entered
the room, she would have had her answer. He looked
over his shoulder; she had come alone.
"Pray, tell. Where is our chaperone?"
"Chatterjee is downstairs."

With a slim-fingered hand, she slid away the Fair-
light cyberdeck and perched on the edge of the desk.
Her slim hips spread slightly under the pressure, edg-
ing the hem of her skirt higher on her thigh. In his
memory, he felt the exquisite smoothness of that
graceful arch. His eyes traced the familiar curves up
until he reached the equally familiar lop-sided smile
of amusement. Her eyes sparkled.

"Have something in mind?" she asked.
He stood and reached out his hand to caress her
cheek. Memory blurred with current perception as if
there had been no gap. She slid from the desk and into
his arms.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 151

"I thought that meat was a drag on the electron
spirit."

" 'Tis true."

"I've missed you."

"And I you."

"Estios would not approve."

"Estios can ..."

She hushed him with a kiss. The moment seemed
an eternity.

"Dodger, why didn't you stay?"

"Why didn't you come with me?"

There were no words to say, for they had all been
said before. He had no new answers that would mean
anything. They held each other closely, entwining the
rhythms of their hearts. Her voice was muffled by his
shoulder.

"Some things never change. They only fall apart
when things around them change."

"It need not be so."

"Are you so sure?"

"No." He wished that he were.

"Neither am I. What's to become of us, Dodger? I
thought that I'd be able to work with you without re-
membering. I'm not as strong as I thought."

"You have more strength than I."

"Liar."

"Is our fate to be the doomed lovers, then?"

She hugged him harder instead of answering.

"I would not compromise you with Estios," he said.

"I would not let you."

That wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.

An unwelcome sound intruded on them; Chatterjee
was coming down the hall. For an elf, he was making
a lot of noise. Did he know?

Teresa heard the other elf as well. She moved almost
as quickly as Dodger. By the time Chatterjee walked


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Robert N. Charrette

I

through the archway, Dodger was back in his chair and
Teresa was sitting demurely on the desk.

"The keyboard was quiet, so I came to see what
progress you had achieved. You have information?"
Chatterjee asked.

The frustration of the flesh was bad enough. Dodger
didn't need to be reminded of how little he had
achieved in the Matrix as well. "Nothing new."
"Estios will not be pleased."
"Tough," Dodger snapped. "That slick is never
pleased unless he's got his butt ..."

"Dodger!" Teresa's voice was suitably chastising,
but Dodger caught a hint of her quirky smile.

So, the lady has not been totally wooed by the party
line.

Chatterjee remained unperturbed. "Your personal
evaluation of any member of the team is irrelevant.
However, your lack of results is pertinent and distress-
ing. It limits our course of action too much. I had been
informed that you were a decker of exceptional com-
petence."

" 'Tis a fact. For the moment, however, 'tis also a
fact that there is no joy in the Matrix."
"You have exhausted all avenues?"
"All? A decker of my 'exceptional competence'?
Hardly. 'Tis true that I have run all of our current
leads to ground. Beyond confirming that the younger
Neville is dead, we are no nearer to them than we were
on the Solstice."

"Without their full circle, they are weak," Teresa
said.

"Yet not weak enough," Chatterjee said. "The op-
timal result would be their complete dissolution, but
reduction beyond the ring of three should be sufficient
for present purposes."

"One cannot 'reduce' the unknown effectively. We
are no closer to naming all of the Circle than we were

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 153
three weeks ago. And without knowing all of their
identities, we dare not move against those we have
identified."

"Precisely," Chatterjee agreed. "You must inten-
sify your endeavors."

Dodger folded his arms and stared at the ceiling.
"Let Estios intensify his."

"He already has," Chatterjee said.
. He would have. Always going one up. Fragging slick.
"Then when he returns with usable data, I shall use
it."

Chatterjee frowned. "Time passes."

"What matters time to an elf?"

"Flippancy is inappropriate. Estios prepares for ac-
tion and we must all be ready to move if the arcane
reconnaissance results in useful data. Even if the sha-
man learns something of worth, it will be unlikely to
have much pertinence with regard to your Matrix ef-
forts. I suggest that you immediately pursue whatever
avenues remain open."

"Verily? Then I suggest that you ..."

"Dodger," Teresa warned.

Dodger sighed. Baiting Chatterjee wasn't worth up-
setting Teresa. "Perchance I shall try a blind shunt;
some of the data we do have should serve as hooks."

"Explain," Chatterjee ordered.

So ho, Squire Chatterjee. Must you now acknowl-
edge that the Dodger may indeed be of exceptional
competence? "A blind shunt utilizes a sophisticated
series of mask and camouflage programs that render
transparent a decker's presence in the Matrix. Unfor-
tunately, the technique leaves the decker vulnerable as
well, but what isn't seen by intrusion countermeasures
is not attacked by such defenses. While cloaked, the
decker waits; for to take active measures is to destroy
the illusion of transparency. The hooks are data bits
to which the decker attaches his invisible persona,


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Robert N. Charrette

waiting for the data to move. The assumption is that
the hook will be taken legitimately into a place where
the decker cannot gain entry through conventional
hacking. The procedure takes time, but I don't see
anything else to do. Mayhap we shall be lucky."

Teresa reached out and laid her hand on Dodger's
arm. He could feel the electricity through his leathers.
She didn't seem to care that Chatterjee was watching.
"Dodger," she said. "Don't do that. It's too dan-
gerous. A blind shunt could drag you into heavy ice."
"Fear not, fair maid. The Dodger has not yet met
the ice that can trap him."

He was lying, of course. He had been trapped by
ice\a151once and only once. It was an experience that
haunted his nightmares. But he didn't need to fear a
repeat of that experience. The artificial intelligence\a151
if that's what it really was\a151that controlled the deadly
ice lived locked away in the Renraku Matrix, and he
was never going to enter that terrible black pyramid
again. No matter how slick these druids were, their
deckers couldn't be playing in the same league as the
megacorp that controlled most of the world's public
data structures. He would be safe from anything he
would encounter.

Teresa's eyes bored into his, her expression flicker-
ing with an emotion he couldn't read. Her hand left
his arm as she stood. Had she read the lie?
"Yet," she said softly.
Dodger was sure she hadn't intended him to hear.

18

The man entering the room was not a man at all.
He went by the name Hanson, and looked like a man
to the unaided eye, but Andrew Glover knew better.
Glover had assensed Hanson when he had first shown
up bearing Hyde-White's letter of introduction, and
Glover's exercise of his mage sight had shown him that
Hanson was not human. What Hanson was remained
an open question; Glover had never before seen such
an aura or astral image. There were no astral image
files, no aura records to consult that would reveal what
kind of metahuman Hanson was.

The fat, old man could not have failed to penetrate
the illusions cloaking the metahuman from the ordi-
nary eye. So why was he recommending a nonhuman
like Hanson?

Hyde-White had sworn the same oaths as the rest of
the Circle, dedicating himself to restoring the rightful
monarch and purifying the land. Such purification ap-
plied not just to the pollution but to the corrupting
influence of metahuman genes as well. Glover's an-
cestors had fought to preserve British purity against
the influx of the less advanced races. Their struggle
seemed petty compared to the battle he fought against
the scourge of mutated humanity that threatened to
overwhelm even the debased blood of the lower
classes.

Metahumans were little better than beasts, and Han-
son, with the bestial aspect he presented astrally, was
clearly one of the worst kind.

Hyde-White was devious, but he was also a practical


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Robert N. Charrette

I

man. Like all well-brought-up men of his class, he
understood the nature of the underclasses. Just as
Glover himself did. Which was, of course, the answer.
Hanson would only be a tool, a resource to be used
up and disposed of when he was no longer useful, That
made sense. It was only an unpleasant necessity that
required Glover to deal with Hanson personally.

Hanson seemed unaware of Glover's distaste for him.
Or, if he was aware, he was indifferent. Either way
suited Glover. Hanson's repugnant presence was a
temporary annoyance, one more burden to bear in the
furtherance of the cause.

"They are ready," Hanson said,
"Then we should not delay."
Glover swept past Hanson and entered the room. In
its center five people lay bound. They were dregs cho-
sen from the flotsam of the metroplex, three of them
orks. They were a far cry from the pure bloodlines of
the sacrifices in Neville's ritual. Glover personally
found such submen repugnant. There would be no
room for them in his resurrected Britain. The mongrel
half-breed foreigners who made up the rest of the sac-
rifice were little better, but what they were was un-
important. It was what they represented that mattered.
Power.

Such sacrificial offerings had given their energy to
aid the Circle, restoring the power lost by the deaths
of Young Neville and Fitzgilbert. Even without the full
nine, Glover could feel that their ritual workings were
stronger, and Hyde-White had suggested that they
would grow stronger still. Each completion of the cy-
cle would double their power. It was an added benefit
that they could purge the land of such misfits while
they gathered strength to restore it.

Too bad there were no elves among tonight's partic-
ipants. Their legendary physical beauty belied their
deceptive and corrupt natures. They had cost Britain

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 157
dearly. When the restoration came, they would pay for
the land they had stolen and for the souls they had
corrupted, but first the Hidden Circle needed strength.
He turned his mind to the matter at hand.

Glover shrugged back the shoulders of his topcoat,
revealing the golden pectoral he wore in his office as
archdruid. Hanson's solicitous hands removed the
outer garment. Gordon straightened from where he had
been bent over to talk to one of the orks, and took his
place among the acolytes. Glover nodded to each of
the druids present. Of their diminished circle, only
Hyde-White and Neville were absent. Neville would
attend the next ritual and Hyde-White the following
one as they brought the current cycle to its conclusion.

As each druid walked solemnly to his appointed
place, Glover stretched wide his arms and intoned the
blessing. His words called the earth's spirit to witness
the ritual they enacted here tonight for its benefit. The
other druids sang counterpoint.

Across the circle, Gordon echoed his words. His
eyes were closed and he spoke with prayerful inten-
sity. Glover suspected that Gordon believed in this new
path more fervently than did any of the druids them-
selves. Glover was pleased. Hyde-White's tutoring was
having a most salutory effect; the royal heir was wholly
committed, embracing their course with all his heart.

Glover was momentarily startled as Gordon's eyes
suddenly opened and met his. The belief he had sup-
posed lay there, mantled in the strength and authority
of the true king. Glover bowed, an acknowledgment
of Gordon as the heir to the land, its heart and the
barometer of its health. The bow was not subservient,
though. As the keeper of the land, its magical arm of
retribution, and its physician, the archdruid was a sov-
ereign of sorts as well. Both king and archdruid had
their spheres of power. Together they would lead the
way to a new era.


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Robert N. Charrette

Gordon returned a nod to Glover's bow. The arch-
druid bowed again, this time to the sacrifices stretched
on the floor between them. The derelicts stared with
wide eyes, frightened beasts. The first didn't start to
scream until he saw the golden sickle in Glover's hand.

19

Willie's signal indicated that she had found some-
thing of interest in the derelict building. Sam thought
that the structure looked unsafe, teetering on the edge
of disintegration. That made it just like all of its
neighbors. The whole neighborhood seemed to be de-
caying.

It had been several hours since they had lost Glov-
er's trail at the edge of the sleazy East End. Sam had
held little hope of picking up the druid's trail, but
Estios had insisted that they sweep as much territory
as possible. Expecting little, Sam had agreed. They
all felt the pressure of time.

Willie signaled again, just after Sam had conducted
his own astral reconnaissance of the building. The
whole place had felt uncomfortable, and he hadn't been
able to get a good look at several areas; the psychic
static was too strong. It was as if something terrible
had happened within, something ... he really wanted
to say evil, but it sounded silly and he had no desire
to be laughed at by Estios. He tried to shrug off the
sense of foreboding. At least he hadn't seen any live
opponents. Willie's signal confirmed that there was no
one there.

Estios went in first. The tall elf was arrogant and
unlikable, but he had courage. In this benighted part

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 159

of the plex, there was always the possibility of a trap.
Some thrill seeker might set one for kicks, or some
paranoid squatter might be defending his stash. Astral
senses couldn't detect mechanical or electronic mech-
anisms with any reliability and Willie's sensors weren't
infallable.

O'Connor remained with Sam and Hart. The divi-
sion of forces was uneven but had become standard
procedure. The suspicious Estios always wanted one
of his party with Hart at all times. Sam suspected that
O'Connor had orders to kill Hart if anything went
wrong.

Estios waved from the doorway. Trying to appear
casual, Sam and the others crossed the street one by
one and disappeared into the building. Estios led them
to the basement, toward the place where the psychic
static had been the worst. Before they reached it, Sam
could smell the stink of blood and feces.

The room was an abattoir. In characteristically op-
portunistic fashion, the sprawl's scavengers had gone
to work. Already the remains of the butchers' handi-
work were being spread around. Sam counted five
skulls, three orks and two norms. Chittering and
squalling at the interruption, the scavengers fled.

Willie's drone sat in one corner. A red telltale
winked several times in greeting as its camera eye
swiveled to track the motion of their entrance. The
upper ring of blades just under the comm dome began
to whirl, buzzing as they did. The lower ring began
its counter-rotation. As soon as both sets achieved
speed, the drone lifted from the floor and folded its
five-part landing gear together into a cone. The half-
meter-long cylinder, with its twin whirring necklaces
of distortion, flitted through a window. Willie would
be standing sentry while they investigated.

There were little more to the remains than skele-
tons. Organs were strewn and dragged around, but


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160 Robert N. Charrette

there was a noticeable absence of meat. A close look
showed that the bones had been cut and there were
scrape marks where flesh had been razored away.
"This is a Bone Boy kill," Estios said.
"What's this got to do with the druids?" Sam asked.
No one answered. Sam stood in the midst of the
carnage. He could do no more than stare. He had heard
of the Bone Boy killing spree on the media, but it had
seemed no more than the everyday violence associated
with the overcrowded sprawls. Even the most sensa-
tional reports didn't match the reality of standing in
the place where helpless victims had died. He under-
stood the psychic static now; his astral senses had been
defeated by the pain and suffering of the dead. His
stomach roiled.

"No, Hart," O'Connor said.
Sam turned to see what she was forbidding Hart to
do and found O'Connor staring at the skeleton. Hart
and Estios were in conference by a doorway that led
deeper into the building. O'Connor had been talking
to herself.

She had said no heart.

O'Connor looked up to find him staring perplex-
edly.

"There's no sign of the hearts of any of the vic-
tims."

Among all the organic debris, Sam wondered how
she could be sure. "It could have been eaten."

"The other organs have been gnawed. Some have
been almost completely devoured, but there's enough
left to identify them. I don't see any heart tissue at all.
The killers must have taken their victims' hearts along
with the flesh."

"Then, it's not ghouls," Sam said.
"Not their pattern," O'Connor confirmed. "They
might have taken the meat, but if they were organ eat-
ers, they would have taken the rest as well."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 161

"The kills were physical, but there is residual spell
energy," Estios said.

"It isn't random violence," Hart said.
"Did you seriously think for a minute that it was?"
Estios asked sneeringly.

Sam didn't like it when Estios talked to Hart that
way. His anger leaked heat into his voice. "Why
couldn't it be? There are senseless killings every day.
The sprawls are full of crazies and people who would
kill for any one of a thousand reasons, including the
thrill. Some of them even use magic."

"Why, then?" Hart asked Estios as if Sam had never
spoken.

"Isn't it obvious?" Estios replied. "It's a ritual kill-
ing."

"The Hidden Circle?" Sam didn't really want an
affirmative answer.

"Insufficient data." Hart's brow furrowed as she
thought, "The timing of the Bone Boy spree is sug-
gestive. Our having lost Glover even more so. If he
had help, there would have been more than enough
time for this atrocity."

"There was help. Marks in the blood show at least
a half dozen individuals," O'Connor said.

Sam was distracted from the continuing evaluation
of the evidence by the receiver he wore tucked in his
ear. Its insistent tone told him that Willie had spotted
somebody. The coding of the tone said police.

"Badges coming," he told the others nervously.
"We'd better get out of here.

Estios cast a spell to clean their shoes and garments
as they left the massacre room. They would leave no
tracks of blood. It was only a short walk to a tube
station, where they buried their trail in the crush of
humanity.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

20

Eyes of molten gold stripped away her soul. Janice
was as she had been, a human woman. She was weak,
powerless. She could not lie to those eyes. They knew
when she lied.

The man with the golden eyes had been asking her
questions. It seemed as if her whole existence had been
a cycle of questions and answers. He asked and she
answered, but somehow her answers didn't satisfy him.
The truth, her father had said, would set her free. She
had told the truth and remained shackled.

''What is your importance to them?'' the man asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she re-
plied.

"Denial will not save you," he said sternly.

Pain.

Her muscles spasmed as the fiery agony shot through
her. What had she done to deserve this? She had told
the truth. Why wasn't she free?

"Tell me."

"I don't know!"

Tears streamed down her face. He touched her
shoulder and she flinched. His touch was a spider
crawling along her neck and onto her face. She tried
to flinch away, but her limbs would not obey her.
Something held her in place. She looked down to see
dark bands encircling her wrists and ankles. Had the
restraints been mere iron, she would had struggled to
break them, but her bonds were hard chitinous bands,
alien things from which there was no escape.

"Do not resist."

163

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY
Fear seized her. No longer able to endure the horror
at his touch, she screamed. Despite the hopelessness,
she threw her head from side to side and wrenched at
the restraints. She wanted to be free. She had to be
satisfied with dislodging the hand which caressed her
faff


"Remarkable."

The next words were distant, lacking in the obscene
clarity of the previous ones. It was as if someone else
spoke in a language that she did not understand.

"It is as you say."

More bodiless voices murmured to the man and he
spoke back. His comments and questions melded with
the susurrus of the distant voices until at last he said,
"She shall at least be useful."

A new face rose before her eyes. It was masked and
hooded, swathed in cloth of pale green. Dark eyes re-
garded her without emotion. She might have been a
bench. An impossible mouth opened in the masked
face, its teeth a glittering array of hypodermic nee-
dles. The mouth drew nearer and she screamed again.
And again. Unable to move, unable to even turn her
head, she stared in deadly fascination as the obscene
visage drew closer. Closer. The violator's lips touched
hers and her mouth went numb.

Her vision fogged and star-shot darkness swirled
around her. She felt detached as the violator's face
lifted from hers. The needles were gone. There were
only dark, lustrous, slightly slanted eyes behind the
green mask. Then the mask melted away and she be-
held the face of Hugh Glass. His fine elven features
were as beautiful as ever.

How had he come to be here? He had rescued her
from Yomi, promising to take her to safety. Had he
come to take her away again? But she had been an ork
when she had met Hugh. Now she was human. She
reached out, longing to convince herself that he was


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Robert N. Charrette

real. She so desperately wanted the nightmare with the
golden-eyed man to be over that she was happy to see
even Hugh. She looked at the hand she was lifting to
touch his face. It was furred and taloned. She wasn't
human anymore. She would never be human again.

Hugh smiled at her. His lips parted as his grin grew,
and the perfect white teeth that she remembered were
not there. In their place was a writhing mass of cor-
ruption. He laughed as she screamed.

She clawed at him, feeling grim satisfaction as she
felt flesh tear under her talons. Then her arm was re-
strained again with a harsh, hot pressure around her
wrist. But she smelled blood. It was good. It was real.

She awoke.

Her wrist was held by Dan's strong hand. Bright
Wood welled from scratches in the dark skin of his
face, but his expression was not one of anger. His eyes
were full of concern; for her, she realized. As soon as
he understood that she was fully awake, he released
his grip. She started to shake and he embraced her,
murmuring soft reassurances.

In her dream, she had seen him as Hugh and struck
out. But he was not Hugh. He would never be Hugh.
Hugh would have struck her back. Dan was always
gentle with her, a kind spirit in a bestial body, the
exact opposite of the handsome Hugh.

Teary-eyed, she examined the wound she had
caused. It was already healing. She sniffed and gave
him a weak smile.

"It's all right," he said.

And it was. She felt safe, secure. Shiroi's love was
real, unlike the false promises of Hugh. If she had
harbored any remaining doubts, his patient, caring re-
action to her violence banished them. Shiroi's love was
no sham, no ploy to use her for his purposes. She
knew Shiroi loved her for herself. How could she not
love him back?

21

The man of Light confronted Sam again, blazing
with the intensity of the sun. Sam could not look at
him, could not stand before him. The heat scorched
Sam's skin, driving him to retreat. Sam's earliest man-
ifestation of shamanic power had been a spontaneous
protection from fire, but this was a fire from which he
was not safe. He howled in frustration, a frighteningly
animal sound.

The Man of Light laughed.

Sam fled the laughter all the way to wakefulness.
The room in which he had been sleeping was cold, but
the sheets were soaked with sweat. Seeking comfort,
he reached out for Hart and found she was gone. He
was alone in the twilight gloom.

Through the open door he could hear the tapping of
ringers on a keyboard in the next room. The rhythm
wasn't Dodger's; there were odd patterns in the tap-
ping, so it must be Willie rigging. There were no
voices. Most likely, the technomancer was alone. Sam
wondered where Hart had gone.

Sam threw back the clammy sheets and got out of
bed. He was shaking, and he knew that it was from
more than a chill in the room. Every time he even
thought about the Man of Light, he felt the terror rise.

He didn't know where the Man had come from. It
seemed to Sam that He hadn't always been there,
blocking the way to the shamanic planes. But Sam
wasn't sure. Sam had never been comfortable with the
idea of being a shaman. Perhaps the Man of Light was
only a manifestation of his own fears. The Man might

-fl


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Robert N. Charrette

simply be a symbolic representation of his own reluc-
tance to practice the shamanic powers.

The water from the sink didn't flow very quickly.
His fingers were numb from its frigid touch before he
had gathered enough to splash into his face. The shock
was bracing and cleared his head a bit. He ran his
damp hands through his hair and beard, smoothing
them into place. Trying to put his night fears behind
him, he dressed.

"Hoi, Twist," Willie greeted him as he entered the
room where the dwarf woman was engaged with her
hardware. "Kaf on the plate."

"Thanks," he mumbled. He got some juice out of
the refrigerator. "Working?"
"Just testing my eyes and ears."
"Hart say where she was going?"
"Neg."

"How about when she'd be back?"
"Neg."
Great.

"Null the glum, chummer Twist. Let me give you a
little something for your other set of brains. Stayed
around after you meatfeet left the squat with the bods
and watched the badges. They didn't spend a lot of
time, but they did mess up the scene and didn't take
any evidence. In fact, it looked to me like they were
deliberately destroying some. So I got suspicious and
followed them. They met with Inspector Burnside. He
didn't seem very surprised by their report, and that
got me really suspicious." She waited for Sam's re-
action and shrugged when he had none. "That didn't
add, Twist. Burnside's a copper's cop, straight as they
come. The whole shadow world knows that he's a hard-
nosed, real believer in justice that don't bend the law.
But those jokers reporting to him had done just that.
And he just listened. I tell ya, Twist, it don't add."
"Maybe he's changed."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 167

"Burnside's immutable."

"Maybe somebody's blackmailing him."

"Possible, but unlikely. Even if he'd done some-
thing wrong that your somebody could hold over his
head, Burnside would more than likely bring them up
on charges, even if he took a fall himself."

"I wish we knew more. Dodger could deck into his
files, but he's not here. I don't suppose you could do
it, Willie."

"Why don't you do it yourself? You've got a jack."

"I don't deck anymore."

Willie gave him a look that told him she thought that
his mind was short-circuited. In her world, nobody
ever gave it up until they died or brain-fried.

"I suppose I could, since your elf buddy is still busy.
If you've got access to a good enough deck. No guar-
antees, though. It's not my line. A rig may look like
a deck but it's completely different where it counts."

"I understand. I'll see what I can do."

It took Sam less than an hour to make a deal with a
fixer he had met through Hart. The negotiation wasn't
easy, and Sam came away owing more than he cared.
He also came away with the cyberdeck he needed.

A few hours later, Willie jacked out and said,
"Don't that beat it."

"What?"

"Burnside is the officer in charge of the Bone Boy
Murders investigation. Has been since the third batch
of skeletons turned up. Direct transfer from on high."

"Who?"

"Been taking a course in interrogatives, Twist?"
Willie's laugh would have been a giggle if it had been
higher pitched. "Well, there are the usual official or-
ders, but they're not quite right. Wrong incept codes.
It took a little doing but I found a trail that leads right
on up to the Ministry of the Interior.''

"The government's involved." Rogue druids, mega-


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Robert N. Charrette

lomaniac corporates, and fanatical aristocrats weren't
enough.

"Part of it, anyway." Willie positioned the soles of
her boots against the edge of the table and rocked her
chair back. "What now, Twist?"

"Let's start with the police. Check Burnside's duty
roster and compare it with that of the two officers you
followed last night. See where they coincide. We'll
want to know how wide the conspiracy is. And see if
there are any shifts from a regular schedule. Back
check it, too."

Willie grumbled, but she went back to work.

When she jacked out again, Sam said, "I'll bet you
came up with a correlation between sudden duty for
Burnside and his friends and the dates and times of
Bone Boy hits. Or at least a correspondence with the
discovery of the bodies."

"So why did I have to do all this work?"

"I was just guessing. We can't afford to guess."

"Yeah, well. Did you guess that there's a pattern to
the Bone Boy killings?''

"What kind of pattern?"

"A nasty one. There's a few breaks in the first set,
but it's pretty clear, anyway. The second set confirms
it."

"Confirms what, Willie?"

"The pattern. The number of bodies goes one on
the first night, two the next time, three after that, and
so on until there are seven victims. Then it starts
again."

"Seven? Not nine?"

"Affirm."

"There were nine druids in the Circle."

"And two of them croaked on the Solstice."

"They might have restored their number. That
would be the smart thing for a magical circle to do.
Maybe the Bone Boy killers aren't the Circle."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 169
"Whoever is doing the killing, they're methodical.
Seven days between the first and second killings. Six
between the second and third, and on down to two
between body count six and seven, Just one day, then
a single Bone Boy kill. Seven days later, a double.
And so on. Three days ago, we got five bodies. Get
the picture?"

"Very methodical. Tonight should be a six-victim
killing. Whether it's the Hidden Circle or not, this is
a ritual spree."

Willie and Sam progressed from arguing the possi-
ble connection to the druids to using Willie's spy drone
to monitor the progress of the police. If they followed
the pattern, the Bone Boys would be active tonight,
and if the police were involved, the runners might lead
the watchers to the site in time to determine the nature
of the perpetrators. At the very least, they might be
able to rule out police collusion. Willie's drone headed
for the Burnside's stationhouse, and they only had to
wait a half-hour before he left. He was joined by the
two detectives the runners had previously almost en-
countered. Willie and Sam watched the trio set up a
tail on an individual who emerged from a fancy town-
house in Regent's Park. They were hunched over the
receptor screen when Hart returned.

"What's going down?" she asked.

"We're waiting for something to happen," Sam re-
plied abstractedly.

Hart squinted at the display screen. "That's Burn-
side!"

"Uh-huh."

"What's going on?"

Sam explained what he and Willie had found out and
the theories the data had spawned. Hart joined them
at the screen.

Willie's drone was focused on Burnside and the two
officers who accompanied him. All were dressed for


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Robert N. Charrette

undercover work and blended in with the street crowd.
The only thing which set them apart was their apparent
nervousness. After some minutes, Burnside sent his
two officers away. Willie sent the drone flitting after
them and discovered that they were taking up indepen-
dent surveillance positions around the building the man
had entered. The policemen had set up an old-
fashioned stakeout. They could have used a drone
similar to Willie's, but they didn't\a151a sure indication
the operation was not official, since police use of re-
mote pilot machines needed to be recorded.

Willie sent the drone higher to cover the whole
block. It was another hour before anything happened.
Then Hart spotted someone leaving the building and
directed Willie to send the drone in for a closer look.
Careful to keep her machine out of sight, Willie po-
sitioned it for a zoom-in shot of the persons exiting
the building. A woman led a pack of three men, who
struggled with plastic sacks. None were familiar, but
Willie recorded their images.

The drone returned to station in time to catch a sec-
ond group almost vanishing from its camera range.
The sacks on the backs of that group's laggards
prompted a quick pursuit. This time, the runners were
rewarded.

"Glover," Sam said quietly.

There was no doubt about his identity; Sam knew
the face too well. Willie recorded the images of the
strangers accompanying the druid.

"Back to station, Willie," Hart ordered. "They're
leaving in small groups and we don't want to miss any.
If the pattern holds, my guess is that all but one were
present tonight."

"Roger."

The drone flitted back. It swooped four more times
to record the passage of furtive groups leaving the
scene. When the last group had left, the policemen

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY iff
began to move in. Taking a risk that the badges would
spot the drone, Willie sent it in ahead of them for a
fast pass to confirm the contents of the building. Deep
in its heart lay six skeletons, already being attacked
by scavengers.

"Do we tell Estios?" Willie asked.

"Not just yet. Let's run down the images first,"
Hart suggested.

"It's your caH, Twist," Willie said.

Sam sighed. "We'd better identify them first."

"Roger," Willie responded. She dumped the re-
cordings to the cyberdeck and began the process of
image enhancement and correlation.

Sam hoped it wouldn't take long. If the pattern held,
and he had no reason to believe it wouldn't, seven
more innocents would die in less than forty-eight
hours.

22

"Your report was most enlightening, Katherine."
Bambatu smiled, his teeth a dazzling white against the
darkness of his skin. "But I fear that you must change
your plans. The Lady has considered the information
and is determined on a new course of action. The fool-
ish druids of the Hidden Circle have embarked on a
course that the Lady believes will be their downfall
and that of the Lord Protector. She is convinced of it.
In fact, she is sure that they will collapse in such a
decisive and spectacular manner that they shall need
no help from us. Such self-destruction suits the Lady's
plans better than the original plan to disrupt them from
outside. Therefore, she wishes that you no longer par-


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172 Robert N. Charrette

ticipate in any operations that will curtail the Circle's
activities."

"What about Verner and the Estios's crew?"
"They must not be allowed to disturb the Circle,
either.''

That was a troublesome order. Sam was not going
to be easy to dissuade. She had encountered his dogged
persistence during the doppelganger affair. And since
they had become lovers, she had learned how deeply
his passion for justice ran. He would not give up on
this chase until it was concluded. He would be impos-
sible to live with if she forced him away from his quest
to make the Circle pay for their evil. To her surprise,
she found herself worried about that possibility. Why?
He was just another bedmate. Wasn't he? She hadn't
even begun to consider the implications of her concern
when Bombatu resumed speaking.

"The Lady has decided that eliminating Verner from
the situation would disrupt the runner operations most
effectively with the least repercussions. She expects
you to handle the details with your usual efficiency.
"I'll get him out of the country immediately."
"Oh no, Katherine. That will not do. He must be
killed."

23

"West on Romford Road."

The audio signal was a surprise. Willie didn't often
speak while rigging. She claimed that it disturbed her
rapport with the machine.

She was trailing one of the newly identified druids,
Thomas Alfred Carstairs, Lord Mayor of the industrial

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 173

Birmingham District of the London Sprawl. The Lord
Mayor was accompanied by a pair of toughs who reg-
istered as enhanced on Willie's scanners. All three
were carrying weapons. Beyond his bodyguard-
servants, the Lord Mayor had dispensed with the usual
entourage. He had business tonight; private business.

The pattern of killings predicted that tonight would
see another kill of seven, one for each druid. The run-
ners knew now that the Hidden Circle had not re-
placed the members lost on the Solstice. They had not
recruited replacements to restore their number before
engaging in further ritual activities. Did they feel the
press of time? Were they facing some deadline? The
runners were still in the dark as to the reason for
the Circle's nefarious activities.

Sam hoped that Carstairs was going to be easier to
trail than Glover had been when they had first discov-
ered the connection between the Bone Boy killings and
the Hidden Circle. The runners could not afford the
time to search house-to-house if he lost them as he
neared his proposed murder site. Sam didn't want to
see anyone else die to serve the Circle's ends.

Following Inspector Burnside was also no longer an
option. That course had gotten expensive when he had
spotted one of Willie's spy drones and had it skragged
by a stiage from the precinct anti-surveillance squad.
The dwarf rigger had flatly refused to send any more
with him.

With the night of sacrifice upon them, they had just
finished identifying the Circle's members by name,
and there had only been enough time to locate one of
them, the Honorable Mister Carstairs. Like all of the
druids, the Lord Mayor was a magician, and that made
it risky to follow him astrally. The ground team worked
a mundane trail, supplemented by Willie's drone.

The group of hunters managed to move through the
crowds and cold winter fog without incident. Willie


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Roben N. Charrette

signaled that Carstairs had reached a destination, and
the runners regrouped. Carstairs had entered an old
warehouse, its name and trade long obliterated by time
and the corrosive action of the London atmosphere.
The broken pavement of the street sloped and Sam
knew they were somewhere near the river; the fog was
always thicker there.

"Recon, Willie," Sam ordered. "Find out where
they've set up and signal when they begin the ritual.
We'll want to catch them then. That'll be as low as
their guard will get before they start killing people."

One beep signaled Willie's affirmative.

They waited.

Estios and his team checked their guns, returning
them to concealment under their long coats whenever
a passerby wandered close. Hart fingered one of the
decorations on her belt. They were deadly throwing
weapons but looked like mere decorative flash. Fid-
geting wasn't like her. She had seemed distracted for
the past two days, but she had shut down his every
attempt to talk with a shake of her head and a sad
smile. Her attitude only increased his own nervous-
ness. He jumped when Willie sent twin beeps to the
receiver in his ear.

That wasn't the pre-arranged signal. Sam's mouth
went dry.

"Willie?" he asked tentaively.

"What's going on?" she replied. "Where are you
guys? It's been twenty minutes."

"We're holding for your signal. You didn't signal."

There was a pause. "Couldn't you hear the
screams?"

"Drek!" No sound had reached the watchers.

Sam leaped up, drawing his Narcoject Lethe as he
did. The tranquilizer gun felt light and insubstantial.
People were being tortured to death and all he had was
a toy gun. Was that justice?

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 175

Estios was already halfway across the street by the
time Sam left the sidewalk. Chatterjee and O'Connor
were only a couple of meters behind their leader. As
usual, the tall elf was going to be the first one in. Hart
hung back, pacing Sam. He knew she could move fast-
er than that. Didn't she feel the same urgency as the
rest of them? They were only five people and a drone
against the seven druids and an unknown number of
flunkies. Sam wished Dodger and his Sandier were
along, but the elf was still haunting the Matrix.

Estios barreled through the doorway, only to be
flung immediately back. Sam skidded to a halt and
shifted to his astral senses. A glow lit the doorway, a
magical barrier. Estios picked himself up, his own aura
flaring as he did. Sam watched the color shift toward
the hue of the barrier as Estios attuned himself to its
psychic frequency. The tall elf leaned grimly on the
luminescent wall until the tones matched and he passed
through.

Chatterjee grabbed O'Connor, enveloping her with
his own power and dragging her through. Sam shifted
back to normal perception and followed. Maybe it was
a good thing that Dodger wasn't there; Sam didn't
know Chatterjee's trick and Dodger would have been
unable to pass the barrier.

Hitting the wall felt like pressing through a plastic
bag. It stretched and strained until it suddenly released
him and he was inside in the deeper darkness of the
building. Now he could hear the screams. Impelled by
a new urgency, he barreled forward, only to be caught
by O'Connor.

"No so fast, Twist. You're no shock trooper," she
whispered urgently. "Dodger would never forgive me
if I let you rush to death."

She was right. Getting themselves killed wouldn't
help those poor unfortunates, and rushing blindly in
would get them killed. There had been one barrier,


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Robert N. Charrette

and there might be more. There might be physical
traps as well. Or hidden guards.

Estios, Chatterjee, and O'Connor scanned the dark
with their elven eyes. Feeling inadequate, Sam tugged
out his light amplification goggles and donned them.
The murk lightened a little.

Estios cursed. "This fragging rattletrap distorts
sound. Call the halfer and get a precise location. I
want numbers of hostiles and weapons."

"What about electronic intercept?" Sam asked.

"They're busy. Remember?"

A long quavering scream punctuated Estios's ques-
tion.

Sam passed Estios's request on to Willie and
switched his receiver to full speaker mode.

"Two flights down in the sub-basement," she re-
ported. "About ten meters northwest of main door.
Seven druids and eight assistants present. Don't know
where the rest went. All have knives. All assistants
and most of the druids are packing\a151nothing heavy.
Access on north and west."

"Frag it! I wish we had a picture," Estios said.
"Can't be helped. Chatterjee and I will take the north
approach. It'll take us a while to get into position, so
the rest of you get to the west entrance and wait. No-
body moves until we go in. Got it?"

"Yes," O'Connor answered.

Sam nodded.

It wasn't until he and O'Connor were crouched just
outside the entrance to their destination that Sam re-
alized Hart was not with them. But the shattering im-
pact of the scene before him drove all worry about her
from his mind.

The chamber was huge. Great arches and porticoes
extended it beyond Sam's line of sight. The floor on
the east side dropped away abruptly in an embank-
ment. An arm of the Thames had been diverted into

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 177

this area. Sam noted distortion on the water surface
and searched the shadows until he found Willie's spy
drone, hovering near the vaulted ceiling. From the
scattered piles of moldering crates, this place had once
been a loading dock. In olden times it had held the
hustle of honest workmen, or perhaps dishonest ones.
Now it hosted workmen of an evil bent. Its stone walls
range with the screams of their tortured victims, scat-
tering the echoes into an infinity of agony.

The druids were gathered in a cleared area about
five meters south of the west entrance. Magefire lit
their work, providing enough light for Sam's goggles.
Far too much light. He had no need to see them slicing
flesh from the victims who remained alive. They were
moving briskly; there already were three skeletons on
the dank floor.

"This one is diseased," Carstairs announced as if
observing the color of a house.

"Dispose of the affected parts. Such flesh is unsuit-
able," Hyde-White told him.

Carstairs nodded. The golden sickle in his hand rose
and fell. The Lord Mayor's victim shuddered and went
limp, her screams abruptly cutting off as she fainted.
Or died.

Sam's mouth filled with bile as he watched Carstairs
hold out a severed limb to one of the assistants. The
man who took it was tall, well-dressed, and almost
regal-looking. He seemed pleased to be of service. He
carried the arm reverently across the chamber and
stopped a foot from the stairs that led down to a river
landing. Throwing underarm, he pitched the limb far
out into the polluted waters where it splashed softly
and disappeared. The man returned to his station,
oblivious to the blood on his hands.

A flicker of motion caught Sam's attention. Two men
were moving in from the north entrance. Estios and
Chatterjee. Sam watched them crouch in the lee of a


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Robert N. Charrette

pillar and begin a mystical centering process. He
turned his attention to the druids, drawing a bead on
Glover. He was not happy to see the pectoral of the
archdruid on the man's chest.

Estios and Chatterjee unleashed a brace of fireballs.
Mystic energy exploded on either flank of the druids'
gathering, flinging flaming men and women in all di-
rections. Sam saw Carstairs go down.

At the sudden violence, Sam flinched involuntarily,
but his target reacted better. Glover's body flared with
a defensive spell as he ducked for cover.
"Hanson," he shouted. "Protect me."
Sam lost his clear shot as the big acolyte stepped
between him and Glover. Just delaying the inevitable,
Glover. He shot Hanson, but the man didn't go down.
Another dose of the Lethe tranquillizer might overload
his system and kill him, but given the man's involve-
ment in the druids' affairs, Sam didn't care. He fired
again. Hanson staggered, but still didn't go down. He
showed no sign that the drug was having any effect at
all. Sam emptied the rest of his clip into Hanson, rap-
idly reloading as the man stumbled forward.

By Sam's side O'Connor opened fire, raking the
crowd with her H&K G12. Sam watched her hose down
a group clustered around Hyde-White. His protective
flunkies fell like mown wheat. The fat old druid sagged
as O'Connor's slugs reached him. He joined his fol-
lowers on the cold, damp stone.

Taking down half of the Circle's numbers wasn't
enough to stop the fight. The enemy had split up, scat-
tering around the chamber in search of protected firing
positions. Fortunately, the enemy's actions remained
uncoordinated. Better still, they were indecisive. That
was good; the druids probably didn't realize that they
had the runners outnumbered, outgunned, and out-
magicked. The imbalance of magicians was what wor-
ried Sam the most. Flashes and bursts of sound and


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Robert N. Charrette

smell from the far side of the chamber raised his worry
to fear as Estios and Chatterjee came under magical
attack. Their defenses and luck were holding, though,
and the sharp buzzsaw sound of their G12s made it
clear that they were still functional.

A throbbing moan announced the arrival of the run-
ners' equalizer, Willie's combat drone. Unlike the
smaller spy drone, this machine was armed and ar-
mored. It was also far from quiet; only the sound of
the combat had allowed it to approach undetected. But
it was here now and odds shifted more in the runners'
favor. The drone's high-tech nature made it largely im-
mune to magic, and its firepower alone was probably
more than the druids could deal with. Panels slid back
along the cylinder's side and gun muzzles snouted
forth.

Before the drone could open fire, the room was sud-
denly lit by an enormous flare of white light. Sam
screamed as his amplification goggles overloaded, the
compensators not quite quick enough to spare him
from all of the burst. The shouts and howls from the

druids' forces showed that the runners weren't the only

ones caught unprepared for the tactic.
Sam dropped to the floor and ripped the goggles

free. He rubbed at his eyes as if he could scrub the

whirling spots of color away. Blind, he was helpless.
The drone wasn't firing. Had Willie's sensors been

affected too? If so, they were hosed.
Several people ran by his position, but he could do

nothing. He heard O'Connor's G12 fire and send slugs

into the wall. Her sight was affected as well. They

would have been dead now if the druids hadn't been

more interested in escaping.
Sam's eyesight cleared with maddening slowness.

But when he began to focus on his surroundings, he

almost wished he couldn't.
Some kind of dark slimy sludge was puddled near

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 181

the body of an acolyte who had fallen near the open
sewer. Contrary to the slope of the floor, the puddle
was moving. Sparkling with an oily iridescence, the
polluted surface of the river was flowing up and over
the cornice. The leading edge of the slick reached the
fallen woman but instead of creeping along and under
her outstretched arm, it crawled up and over. Black
smoke rose hissing where sludge contacted flesh and
cloth, Sam saw bone where spatters of the slime had
leaped ahead of the puddle's leading edge.

As the body disappeared under the advancing foul-
ness, the slime began to bubble. A mound humped
where the woman had lain, welling up into a hideously
humanoid column.

Sam flashed on a warehouse in Hong Kong, remem-
bering the thing Glover had raised there. Then, the
toxic spirit had saved Sam's life, even though the result
had only been incidental to saving Glover. This time,
it was Sam who threatened Glover.
The noxious parody of a man lurched toward him.
As the slime thing rose, the remaining druids and
their acolytes burst from hiding. Under cover of mag-
ical and mundane firepower, they made a concerted
break for the northern entrance. Estios and Chatterjee,
unable to reply to the concentration of firepower,
couldn't stop them. Leaving their dead and wounded
behind, the druids fled.

As soon as he had a chance, Estios fired at their
retreating backs. He rose from his hiding place and
shouted for the runners to follow him in pursuit. He
didn't wait to see if he was obeyed. Chatterjee was
hard on his heels, and O'Connor hurried to join her
fellow elves. Sam hesitated, unsure of the wisdom of
pell-mell pursuit into the dark; he had lost his goggles.
In that moment, the thing moved between him and the
northern door.
Like an angry wasp, Willie's drone buzzed the slime


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Robert N. Charrette

shape, 5.56mm machine guns blazing. The drone's
high velocity slugs tore through one side of the thing
and out the other with no apparent effect. The thing's
half-formed head swiveled to track the drone as it cir-
cled.

Willie concentrated the fire of both guns on the
shape's malformed shoulder. Bullets slammed into the
viscous goo, perforating the limb. The guns raked up
and down, dumping a volume of fire that eliminated
in-pouring slime before it could reseal the breech. The
right arm that had been reaching languidly toward the
drone dropped to the floor and splashed on the hard
stone.

A rapid series of beeps from the drone was Willie's
cheer.

Sam didn't join in. He was watching the puddles of
the arm coalesce and flow into the base of the shape.
Willie wouldn't be seeing it; she would be concentrat-
ing on amputating the thing's other arm.

The second limb splashed down only to trickle back
to the parent mass. Willie was keeping its attention
but doing no significant damage. Sam thought it would
be wisest to get out as soon as he could. A bulge was
beginning to develop on the monster's right shoulder.
It would be restored to itself soon, and Willie's ammo
supply was limited.

Sam was looking for a way past the thing when he
realized that it wasn't reforming an arm. Its shoulder
just continued to bulge until it began to look hunch-
backed. Willie's fire gnawed at its neck, but the thicker
attachment was proving more resistant to the drone's
fire.

With appalling speed, a tentacle burst from the
growth on the thing's shoulder, whipping out and
wrapping itself around the drone. The shock and mass
almost brought the machine down, but Willie revved

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 183

the rotors. The blades sliced gobs from the pseudopod
and the drone rose again, but it was still trapped.

The monster pumped its substance into the tentacle,
becoming thinner and thinner as the portion gripping
the drone bloated. It was nearly a caricature stick fig-
ure by the time the mass overcame the drone's lift ca-
pability and the machine crashed to the floor. The
drone's landing gear was still retracted and the rounded
lower end offered no stability. The cylinder canted
sideways immediately. Guns firing wildly, the drone
toppled.

With the drone down, the massive cord wrapped
around its middle sagged. The walls of the tentacle
relaxed, letting its toxic substance flow across the sur-
face of the captive machine. The shining metal pitted
and blackened everywhere the slime touched. A
shower of sparks erupted as the first drip slithered
through the open gun ports. The drone crackled with
miniature lightnings, and acrid smoke billowed out
through seams and service ports. A strangled machin-
ery sound began to come from somewhere inside the
drone, rising to an unbearably high pitch before sud-
denly cutting off. The lights which had begun flashing
as soon as the drone hit the ground winked out.

The hovering spy drone's rotors cut out, and it
dropped into the river with a splat.

Sam hoped the electronic feedback had only
knocked Willie off line. There was no one there to
jack her out if the destruction of her combat drone had
caused a lethal interface loop. She might be dying
alone.

He, on the other hand, was facing a messier death.
He watched the slime flow and reshape itself into its
hulking, humanoid shape.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

24

Hart knew that she should have done something
sooner, but she had been paralyzed by an uncharac-
teristic indecision. While she had dithered, the run-
ners had set out after the Circle. Her arguments against
precipitous action had been overriden by an equally
uncharacteristic agreement between Dodger and Es-
tios that they could not wait. Having those two elves
backing him was all that Sam had needed.

His obsession with seeing the Circle stopped was
every bit as strong as his fixation had been with bring-
ing Haesslich to justice. But this time it was purer,
more noble. It was more than just a revenge scheme.
He was working against the Circle because he had been
tricked into helping them with their plots. Deep down,
though, he was out to stop them because they needed
to be stopped. And he was right.

Maybe that was why her arguments had lacked force,
why she had not found other ways to handle the prob-
lem.

When she had not been able to deflect the runners
from charging in on the Circle's ritual, she had gone
along. Opportunities could not always be predicted.
Besides, if they had all been out of her sight, she would
have had no way of keeping track of their actions, no
hope of guiding them. She had still been looking for
a way to short-circuit the raid when the precipitous
rush into the old warehouse had begun.

The Lady would not be happy.

Hart had seen most of the druids escape the run-
ners' attack. Given their capabilities, she had no fear

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 185

that they would not escape Estios and the others, es-
pecially now that Willie's surveillance drones were
neutralized. The Hidden Circle would re-form to per-
form their dirty magic. They were still a functional
ritual group; even though they had lost members, their
leaders and strongest magicians survived. Perhaps that
would be enough for them to do whatever it was that
the Lady expected them to do. If so, Hart's lack of
action would be excusable. Except for one matter.
Sam.

From beneath the cloak of her invisibility spell, she
watched him scramble about the warehouse looking
for a weapon. He snatched a pistol from the hand of
a dead acolyte and began firing at the slime thing
stalking him. His calm was commendable; he grouped
his shots neatly between the dark pits that would have
been eyes if the monstrosity had had a face. His shots
inflicted no significant damage.

The stubbornness that made him so persistent had
betrayed him. Had he faced his true nature, he would
have known how to deal with this summoning. This
was a thing of magic; evil and twisted magic to be
sure, but magic nonetheless. Short moments ago he
had seen how ineffective the combat drone's machine
gun fire had been. Had he studied spirits as he should
have, he would have known that the minimal firepower
of a pistol could not affect it. Magic must needs be
fought with magic.

It would be so easy. All she had to do was turn her
back and it would be over. She wouldn't even have to
do it herself. Sam would be dead and the Lady would
be satisfied. Or reasonably so. Distracting or elimi-
nating Estios's crew wouldn't be so hard. By the letter,
her contract would be fulfilled.

So why didn't she? Why was her heart racing and
her palms sweating? She felt her concentration slip,
and the invisibility spell die.


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Robert N. Charrette

Sam's attention flickered from his opponent to her
as she appeared. She saw fear in his eyes, and when
he shouted, she knew what he feared.

"Get out! I can't stop it! Save yourself!"

Could she?

She summoned energy, twisting it into the shape of
her most powerful spell of banishment. She felt the
thing become aware of her. If she failed, it would come
for her and she, exhausted from the attempted dis-
missal, would be easy prey. She unleashed the first
tendril of magic to bind the spirit into submission. The
spirit howled astrally as the ribbon of azure energy
touched it. It struggled.

She sensed a vague familiarity\a151a feeling of previ-
ous acquaintance\a151as contact was made, and shud-
dered. She had never summoned such a thing. This
was a toxic spirit such as could only be summoned by
a demented magician. She would have no truck with
such warped evil.

Her revulsion fed her will. The second tendril
wrapped the spirit, adhering more tightly than the first.
The spirit struggled against the bonds. Its efforts tore
the first, but Hart replaced the sundered binding with
a third and fourth. The thing's attempts at escape
weakened. It began to plead wordlessly, but she had
no pity for such a monstrosity. She tightened her spell,
squeezing the toxic spirit out of existence.
What should never have been, was no more.
The world spun and her vision greyed as she
slumped against the wall. The sludge spirit was ban-
ished, its animating presence terminated. Sam ran to
her, carefully avoiding the puddles of caustic slime
that were all that remained of the thing.

Practical. Even when running on emotion. If she
had been so practical . . .
She blacked out.

25

Sam didn't know what kind of magic Hart had
worked to destroy the sludge monster. He hadn't
thought her capable of such a feat. Maybe she wasn't\a151
she had collapsed almost as soon as she had finished
the spell. He hoped she was all right. He knew that it
was possible for a magician to cast a spell more pow-
erful than she normally handled, and that the price for
such sudden power was almost always death.

He was relieved to find her still breathing when he
arrived at her side. He crouched and felt for the pulse
in her neck. It was strong; she would be all right.
Thank you, he prayed. He kissed her, thankful for the
grace that had allowed her to perform the rescue and
more thankful that she had survived it. He felt her
return his kiss and knew she had revived.
"Ain't that a touching sight?"
Sam froze at the voice. Hart's narrowed eyes told
him that the newcomer was armed. Moving slowly and
carefully so as to not alarm him, Sam straightened
from his crouch and turned around.

The man who had spoken wore a trenchcoat and a
battered tweed hat. Sam didn't need to see a badge to
recognize him as a London Metroplex detective; the
outfit was almost a trademark. If they had been any
doubt one look at the square, pock-marked face would
have dissolved it, for Sam recognized the man as one
of the detectives they had been investigating.

The policeman held a gleaming, big-bore pistol,
pointing it unwaveringly at Sam. Though not a hard-
ware fanatic, Sam knew enough to tell that this was


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Robert N. Charrette

no tranquilizer weapon. It was a mankiller. Sam had
read that British police had once gone about their or-
dinary business without firearms, issuing weapons only
in dire circumstances, but that practice had long since
been abandoned. From his stance, it was clear that this
man knew how to handle this weapon.

"Let's see your sticks. On the floor and roll them."

Sam cautiously accepted Hart's credstick and rolled
it and his own across the floor as ordered. The detec-
tive retrieved them without taking his eyes from his
captives. With deft motions he slotted Sam's stick into
a reader he fished from his coat pocket. The reader
gave oif a two-tone beep after a minute. In another
two minutes, it gave the same response to Hart's stick.

A second detective arrived.

"What have you got there, Delicti?"

"Two of the downsiders that were hanging around
outside."

"ID?"

"Nothing real. SINs are d-code."

Dellett didn't sound surprised. Sam was only sur-
prised at how quickly the cop's system had flagged the
System Identification Numbers on their credsticks as
belonging to deceased persons. The knowbots the de-
tective had accessed were very good.

"Hey, Inspector," Dellett said. His face was lit as
if he had gotten a bright idea. "Maybe we just caught
ourselves the Bone Boy killers."

The inspector stepped out of the darkness. "Go help
Rogers."

Dellett slid his pistol into a concealed holster and
walked jauntily over to his fellow cop. Rogers was
busy divesting Carstairs's clothing of anything secreted
in it. Dellett began to strip the body. Saying nothing,
the inspector watched Sam watch the process. When
the two detectives had Carstairs's effects bundled to-
gether, they lifted the naked body and walked it awk-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

wardly down the stairs to the river. Sam listened to
the count that preceded a heave that forced a grunt
from each of them. Dellett cursed when the splash
threw some sludge onto his trenchcoat.

Given the disposal of Carstairs's body in such a way
that his death would look like a simple downsprawl
killing, Sam knew that the policemen would not be
leaving until they had eliminated all evidence of the
highly-placed people who had gathered here. He ex-
pected them to perform a similar duty for Hyde-
White's body, but the detectives stood talking quietly
at the top of the landing. Sam was confused. Why one
druid and not the other? He sought out the spot where
he had seen the fat old man go down, looking for the
corpse. He didn't see it. The only body approaching
the druid's bulk was that of a large furry thing. The
metahuman's head had been raggedly severed from its
body and was nowhere to be seen. Sam had met a
similar creature once before, and it had concealed its
true form behind an illusion. In that encounter, Sam
had learned that his astral senses could pierce the il-
lusion, but Sam had never had a chance to assense
Hyde-White. The fat old druid's appearance must have
been a lie. His reversion to true form at his death was
saving the corrupt cops a bit of work. There was no
need to conceal the manner and location of death,
since no one would know the furred metahuman had
been the fat industrialist.

But cops were supposed to stop crimes, not help
commit them. The whole thing had smelled when he
first learned of the apparent cover-up. It stank worse
now that he had encountered it personally.

"I'd heard you were incorruptable, Burnside. Guess
I heard wrong."

The inspector gave him a sharp look, and Sam knew
he had made a mistake by using the inspector's name.

"Shut up, cypher," Burnside commanded.


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Robert N. Charrette

"Don't you understand what's going on here? Do
you have no idea what you're helping hide? Have you
any idea how widespread the influence of this evil is?"
"I said shut up. I don't need a sermon from a cy-
pher. Just because I'm part of the system doesn't mean
I'm stupid. I understand what's going on here better
than you do." Burnside let his gaze slip away from
Sam and survey the carnage. "You're not just a cypher;
you're a Yank cypher. That means that you couldn't
have the faintest idea of what's important here and
why.''

Sam didn't think the English had a monopoly on
knowing what was important. ' 'I understand evil when
I meet it. I know it has to be stopped."

"Maybe you should understand this, cypher. What
happened here tonight is unhealthy. For you. For your
friends. You're going to come along with us and be
our guests until I'm satisfied that you're not trouble.
For your sakes, I hope you don't know too much."

' 'I think you're trying to cover this up. I think you're
as dirty as they come."
"Think what you want."

Sam could see that the inspector was nettled about
something. Burnside was no happier about what he
and his detectives were doing than Sam was. Sam sud-
denly thought he knew why the inspector was in-
volved. "It's Gordon's involvement, isn't it?"
"I told you to shut up, cypher."
That touched a nerve. "You can't muzzle us."
"Can't I?" Burnside asked. "Remember, you're
cyphers. Nobody'11 miss you, or even know you're
gone. You should know enough to choose your ene-
mies carefully. If you say the wrong thing to the wrong
person, don't expect to see tomorrow. Keep your
mouth shut, and maybe you walk away from this."

Sam decided that keeping his mouth shut was a good
idea; aggravating the inspector would only make things

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 191

harder. His silence seemed to mollify Burnside. The
detective called Dellett over to watch the runners and
went to have a conference with Rogers. Dellett leaned
against the west doorway and ignored Sam and Hart.
He knew they weren't going anywhere as long as he
was in their way.

As soon as he felt sure that Dellett wasn't paying
attention, Sam whispered to Hart, "We've got to get
out of here."

"Do tell. I'm too bushed to do much."
"Can you run?"
"If I have to. But no magic."
"Leave it to me. I've been wanting to show you
something Herzog taught me when you weren't
around."

"You sure you can do it?"
"No."

"No second chances, Sam, but you can't fly with
your feet on the ground."

Sam concentrated, trying to remember the words
Herzog had used for the spell. The memory was slip-
pery, and he struggled to get it straight.
' 'Forget the words, remember the song.''
Sam stiffened. Drek, not now. Why does stress al-
ways trigger this schizoid stuff? Go away, Dog.

"It ain't the stress, it's the pattern. Sing the song,
or sing for the coppers.''
I know.

"Then do it. "
Get out of my head.

"Do it," Dog's voice said in a faded musical
echo.

Sam caught the tune and sang silently to himself.
The power gathered, shaping itself to the melody.
When he had the rhythm just right, Sam released it.
Angry voices drifted into the chamber from


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Robert N. Charrette

somewhere beyond the north entrance. They grew
louder, as if they were approaching.

Burnside cursed and rushed for the archway. The
other two policemen drew their weapons and fol-
lowed. For the moment, their captives were forgotten.
The spell had worked. While the detectives paid atten-
tion to the illusory voices, Sam and Hart slipped
through the west entrance and away.

As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Hart started a stag-
gering run toward the riverside.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"Had a boat arranged in case we got hosed. The
landing is only a couple of blocks."
" What about Willie?"
"We'll come back for her."
"She might need help now. The slime shorted her
drone, and the feedback could have hurt her. Drek, it
might have killed her.''

Hart looked over her shoulder as if she expected
Burnside and his goons to come pelting out of the
warehouse at any moment. "If she's dead, we can't
help her. If she's alive, we can't help her by getting
locked up. Let's get out of here."

"If she's alive and we don't help her, she might not
stay that way long. The Bone Boy may not be a ghoul,
but that doesn't mean there aren't any in the East End.
If Willie's out cold and exposed, she's easy meat."
"Sam, we ..."

"I'm going after her. I can't abandon her."
Hart shook her head. "Okay. Let's go."
They ran up the street away from the river.
Since she disliked operating at extended range in the
plex, Sam knew that she would have parked her van
somewhere close by. He and Hart started checking
likely places. They found the battered panel truck in
the third place they tried. It looked barely functional,
more like a derelict than a working vehicle. Appear-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

ances were deceiving; its motor and running gear were
superbly maintained and its cargo area contained a
multi-slot rigger board, multifrequency transceivers,
trideo monitoring systems, and drone storage cells. In
short, it was the rigger's camouflaged, rolling com-
mand center. Sam fidgeted while Hart disarmed the
truck's protection, relaxing only when they opened the
back to find Willie semi-conscious. The rigger let go
her hold on awareness as soon as she realized her
friends had found her. Hart gave the van a set of co-
ordinates and told him that they were headed for a
place she had used before.

They had been at Hart's safehouse for an hour before
Willie responded to the drugs from her van's medical
kit. When she opened her eyes her pupils were dilated,
but Sam wasn't sure if it was because of the drugs or
the rigger-loop feedback. Willie's words were slurred.

"What happened? Where's everybody?"

"Hart and I are here, Willie. You're going to be
okay."

"Others get out?"

"Haven't heard from Estios and his crew since they
took off after the druids. Nice of them to leave us with
that slime thing."

Willie started to shake. Sam reached out to steady
her.

"It's okay. Hart got it. It's gone, Willie."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

"I hate magic."

Me too, Sam wanted to say. He thought it more use-
ful to stay positive. "Raid's over now. We must have
done something right, we survived."

"What was that furry thing?" Willie asked.

"Looked like a sasquatch to me," Sam said.

"More likely was a wendigo," Hart opined.


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Robert N. Charrette

"Though the two look a lot alike. Can't always tell
even from the aura."

"Why do you think it was a\a151what did you call it?"

"Wendigo," Hart replied. "The flesh angle. A
wendigo is a pananormal thing that eats human flesh.
The Circle was probably stripping the corpses to keep
it fed. Nasty business."

"Well, it's gonna be hungry for a long time now
that its mouth don't connect to its stomach. I stitched
the head clean off the furball."

Willie's smile stayed plastered on her face as her
eyes sank closed and she began to snore.

26

It had been three microseconds since the activity
monitor had registered data manipulation. A long
time. Dodger considered the merits of opening the
bubble that sealed his persona within the masked
credit file he had uncovered in Glover's ATT discre-
tionary funds. The number of manipulations the shunt
bubble had passed through had been high, much
higher than a legitimate or even an ordinary illegal
transfer of funds. The bubble had traveled far, per-
haps as far as the druids' innermost computer system.
He knew he should wait longer. The operator who had
called for the data he had piggybacked on might not
be out of the system. Tired of waiting, he was ready
for action. While it was a risk breaking out now, re-
maining encapsuled could be a greater one. He can-
celled the program, restoring his ordinary Matrix
persona and functionality.
The ebon boy stretched as if awakening from sleep,

5E YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 195

then froze. There was no swirl of glitter around him.
His dazzling cloak was gone, replaced with another
kind of shine. His arms were encased in gleaming
metal that was articulated in the style of antique ar-
mor. More than just his arms, his entire body was
armored. The construct imagery was superb, but not
his style at all. Dodger hit the reformat key, but the
construct remained. He tapped out a routine to alter
the imagery, and still got no result. A diagnostic
on the cyberdeck registered nominal, which meant that
the persona construct imagery was being imposed by
the host system. Such an effect required a powerful
system.

A look around told him just how powerful. Most
systems, even imposed imagery systems, had a hint of
the electron reality about them. Even the best virtual
recompositers didn't always provide a truly realistic
image, and they only supplied the specific translations
to their slaved deck; other users still perceived the ba-
sic interface illusion. But this place was beyond the
ordinary. Had he not known that magic was impossi-
ble in the Matrix, he would have thought the landscape
touched with enchantment.

All around him lay a green and pleasant land. He
stood at the edge of a forest looking out on rolling
hills lush with croplands and scattered copses of
woods. The forest behind him, a beautiful climax sys-
tem, stretched away to the horizon in either direction.
It was lush and burgeoning with woodland life. The
sight, sound, and smell of it filled him with wonder.
If it were real . . .

Dodger turned away and stared once more across
the open vista. He could not afford to lose himself in
amazement. For the moment, the forest was only a
distraction. Perhaps when he had done what needed
doing and seen what needed seeing, he would come


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

back to explore this marvelous construct. For now, he
had to be about his work.

A careful visual search revealed no signs of habita-
tion beyond the fields. Given the imagery, he thought
it likely that any datastores or other useful computer
nodes would appear as man-made structures. Given
the girdling forest and the lack of buildings, he felt
sure that he was on the fringes of the system. He would
need to get deeper to find out anything.

Obstructed somehow by the interface, his standard
programs failed to move him through the architecture
at a reasonable pace. He tapped keys, improvising
variations in a search for a compatible set of parame-
ters. Frustrating minutes later, he finally realized that
many of his tricks were inappropriate. Passwords and
subroutines here would be strongly influenced by the
imagery. Symbolically, not literally, for nothing was
literal in the Matrix. He suspected that many programs
in this system would have strategic orientations that
could only be expressed in such a way as to manifest
an appropriate construct imagery. A clever, if convo-
luted protection system. Any decker unwilling to ac-
cept the parameters of the imposed imagery would be
paralyzed. But, as he had told uncounted admirers, he
was not just any decker.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, searching out
the avenues of correspondence with self-contained
routines. Having grasped one of the master program's
constraining strategies, he was able to formulate more
appropriate responses and begin to manipulate the sys-
tem. Successes began to accumulate, culminating in a
soft whicker. He turned to pat the destrier that stood
by his side. The horse nuzzled his hand and bumped
his shoulder with its snout. Like a proper steed, it was
eager for adventure. He mounted the milk-white stal-
lion and settled into the high-can tied saddle. Then they

f


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Robert N. Charrette

were off, the horse's alabaster mane and tail streaming
back in the wind.

The destrier's stride was steady and strong. The
countryside rolled past. Despite deviations into likely
valleys and detours to check out farmed land, Dodger
found nothing more elaborate than thatch-roofed sod
huts. Such were certainly nodes, but unlikely to hold
anything of import. This system's imagery pattern de-
manded that what was important look important. He
rode on until at last he glimpsed golden spires on the
distant horizon. Turning the horse's head toward the
structure, he spurred the beast forward.

The destrier climbed the last rise between them and
their destination as swiftly as it had climbed the first.
The road they had followed for the last several appar-
ent miles led down the gentle slope to a bridge that
spanned the valley's wide river. Beyond the water, the
road climbed a well-grassed knoll and disappeared
through the gates of the structure Dodger sought. The
magnificent castle spread over the crown of the hill
and its nacreous walls shown in the sunlight. Bright
pennons fluttered on the conical peaks of dozens of
subsidiary towers, but the spire of the great central
tower flew a single flag. There a red banner with the
three golden leopards of Britain flapped boldly in the
breeze.

Was this the computer system of the English crown?
There was one way to find out. Dodger urged the
horse forward.

The destrier's hooves thundered on the wood of the
bridge, the noise of them jangling Dodger's nerves.
Stealth and the roundabout way were his preferred ap-
proach. The bridge seemed to go on and on, its span
stretching far further than it had appeared to do.
Dodger's suspicions were only beginning to rise when
the black knight appeared at the far end. The knight's
midnight steed reared slightly as it began its charge.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 199

Clattering steel and the ringing of iron-shod hooves
filled Dodger's ears.
Ah, a countermeasure at last.
The need for action released his tension. Dodger's
fingers flew across the keys of his cyberdeck, priming
his attack and defensive programs and tweaking them
to suit the imposed imagery. The ebon boy in the
mirror-polished armor held out his gauntleted hand
and a crystal lance appeared in it. A shield as reflec-
tive as his armor came into being on his left arm. He
lowered his weapon into the slot on the shield, using
the resting point to steady his grip as he spurred for-
ward.

"Have at thee, Sir Ice."

The two charging chevaliers met in a crash. The
black knight's weapon was longer and he struck first.
Dodger felt the lance point slam into his shield. For a
terrifying instant it hung, pressing him back against
his saddle's cantle and threatening to unhorse him. But
then the point slid free and slithered along the curve
of the shield and away.

His own point slipped past the knight's shield,
catching him full on the helm. The shock ran straight
through the lance into Dodger's arm and threw him
back into the cantle again. His point had struck
cleanly and he had braced well for the shock. The
knight's helm lifted from his shoulders and flew
backwards to strike the bridge surface with a clarion
ring.

Unmasked, the knight was revealed as an empty suit
of armor. He and his destrier faded and vanished even
before Dodger came abreast of them. Unimpeded, the
milky stallion raced on.

On a whim, Dodger dipped his lance and speared
the fallen helm. He lifted it high, allowing the lance
point to pass through the eyeslit so that the helm could
slide the length of the weapon. Since he had no further


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Robert N. Charrette

need for the shield, it vanished, allowing him to use
his freed hand to remove the red and yellow plume
from his vanquished foe's headgear. Dodger retired
the attack program as well. When the lance misted to
nothingness, the knight's helm volatilized into smoke
and blew away.

Feeling exhilarated by his victory, Dodger affixed
the plume to his own helm. A suitable token of prow-
ess, he thought.

He slowed his destrier as he approached the gate to
the castle. No sense rushing in before gauging the op-
position. He expected another black knight at the very
least. The castle was moated; might he face a mon-
ster?

To his surprise, nothing moved to bar his path as he
started forward. The drawbridge even remained down.
The inhabitants of the castle continued about their
business. The gate guards even greeted him pleasantly
when he drew near. He was puzzled at his acceptance
until he noted the predominant color scheme of the
castle's denizens. Everyone wore a favor or plume of
red and yellow, if not full livery of the two colors. The
plume he had snatched from the black knight's helm
was red and yellow. No doubt, it was a passcode.
Grinning, he guided his horse across the drawbridge
and into the courtyard.

He dismounted, his horse vanishing now that it was
no longer needed, but he kept a copy of its program
in storage. He might need it for a getaway. The court-
yard was bustling with activity, servants and crafts-
people attending the multitude of tasks necessary for
the running of a castle. How much was analog for
computer activity and how much was simply local
color he didn't know. He wandered about, looking for
a way into the keep.

Long minutes of searching proved useless. Either he
was missing something, or he hadn't understood the

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

parameters. If this were a real castle, and he a real
knight, all he would have to do was stop a servant and
ask directions.

That, he realized, was the answer.
Interrupting a working functionary would be too ob-
vious a disruption of routine. Dodger waited until one
of the many liveried folk who appeared to be messen-
gers of some sort passed near him. He stepped into
the servant's path, blocking him only long enough to
learn his destination. He heard his own voice asking
directions. The imposed imagery again, converting his
realworld decking into apparent actions that suited the
milieu.

He got into playing the game. From servant to ser-
vant he passed, each one dressed in fancier clothes
than the last. He passed through the ranks of the cas-
tle's hierarchy until he faced the seneschal. Dodger
was pleased. The seneschal was the keeper of the cas-
tle, the repository of all having to do with its func-
tion. He suspected that he had reached the main
databank. Unlike the other constructs, this one, a
beefy red-haired man wearing a furred cloak over his
rich garments, spoke to him before he had said a
word.

"Good day, Sir Knight. I am at your service, save
you demand aid at variance with my fealty to my liege.
I am Cai."

"Cai the Senescal?"

"Certes."

"As in foster brother of King Arthur?"

"That is my honor."

"And this castle is?"

"Camelot, of course."

"Of course." What else would it be? "And what is
Camelot, Good Cai?"

"Camelot is the stronghold of Arthur, my liege and
the rightwise true king of all Britain. All the lands you


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Robert N. Charrette

see about you are his realm. From here he sallies forth
to fight the forces of encroaching darkness with the
aid of his loyal knights. The land is all."

If this was Arthur's turf, Dodger had just taken down
one of his knights. Or had he? "Do his knights wear
black armor?''

"The knights wear whatever they find suitable to
their own nature. They are a brave and hearty lot and
serve our liege well. 'Tis they who have won him the
lands from which his revenues come. Had they not
done so, this castle would not be so great. Arthur is
well served."

"And where are these knights? I see none in the
court."

"On quest at the moment. As always, the king's
knights strive to enlarge his realm. Soon Arthur's loyal
vassals shall win him more followers, the king's reti-
nue shall grow, and he shall establish his rule over all
the land. Then, the land shall prosper and Camelot
shall come again unto the world. All of its might shall
stand in service to our lord's right."
"And where is the king himself?"
"He sits at table, enjoying the royal entertain-
ment."

"May I see him?"

"I regret that he sits not in open court, but you may
enter the vestibule and gaze upon him, if you so
wish."

"I so wish."

Cai led Dodger to the great hall. Cai was careful to
remain between Dodger and the door, but Dodger
could see most of the interior. It was thronged with
courtiers, entertainers, and servants whose moved in
a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

An elevated dais ran the width of the far end and
was backed by an opulent cloth of estate. The king's
throne was positioned in the center. The king stood

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 203

before it, his face turned away. He was leaning on a
long table that ran before the throne. Golden plates
and goblets adorned the table, which was covered in
brilliant white samite cloth on which had been em-
broidered scenes of the hunt. The king's fidgety stance
suggested that he was waiting for something. A flour-
ish of trumpets pulled Dodger's attention to the other
end of the hall. Obviously, a feast was in progress, for
servants were carrying a great roast beast from the
kitchens. They carried their burden the length of the
hall to lay it before the royal presence. As it passed
by, Dodger thought that there was something odd about
the animal; although it looked mostly like a pig, the
roasted corpse seemed to be too long in the body. Its
oddity did not bother the king. As soon as the servants
set it down he took up his knife and sliced himself a
portion.

Having served himself, the king sat and Dodger was
able to see his face. The decker had been expecting
some idealized noble visage but instead saw a very
human face. That was startling enough; Matrix im-
agery was normally not configured that way. This sys-
tem was really strange. A wisp of fear flitted across
his mind. Was his own face on display?

The king's face was one Dodger had seen recently.
It took him a moment to remember where: this man's
picture had been among those Willie had taken of the
druids' acolytes. Why was he here playing the role of
King Arthur? What kind of place did he have in the
system? If his was some kind of position of control,
what about the druids?

The king was not the only one sitting at the table.
The faces of the others were veiled in shadow, how-
ever. Were this a real court, they would have had to
be great lords and high vassals to sit at the king's side.
All the seated figures were as still as statues, but none
of the courtiers in the hall seemed to notice. A system


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Robert N. Charrette

operations sign? Were the shadowed constructs place-
holders for other members of the cabal who were not
presently active in the system?
"GoodCai."

"At your service, Sir Knight."
" Tis I who may perhaps be of service. To His
Majesty, that is. But before I petition to enter his ser-
vice, I would like to know my place lest I inadver-
tently offend one of the nobles of the court. Pray, tell
me of the great ones. Who are the greatest of His
Majesty's servants?"

Cai smiled and gestured toward the hall. Soft light
from an unknown overhead source illuminated the
seated figure on the king's immediate right. "Without
a doubt, his enchanter stands closest to His Majesty's
ear. The wizard is the king's tutor and dear to my
liege's heart. Merlin is his name. He is a mighty wiz-
ard as well as a master of statecraft. 'Tis Merlin who
gathered the knights of my liege's Round Table."

Dodger recognized the new face: Hyde-White the
fat druid.

The light died over Merlin and the figure to the
king's left was bathed in light. Cai continued. "Fore-
most among the knights of the hall is Lancelot."

The seated knight bore the face of Andrew Glover.
Dodger's expression tightened but Cai apparently
didn't notice his audience's reaction.

"He and the Orkney Knights are all the remain in
the inner circle of knights, Arthur's closest confidants
and staunchest defenders."

Lights played across faces. All were those Willie
had tagged as druids. "All that remain?"

"Alas, some of Arthur's truest knights have recently
fallen in battle. There is evil abroad in the land, foul
foreign knights who would frustrate Arthur's dream
and throw the land into turmoil. This must not be."

IBS CAREFULLY 205

CHOOSE YOUR

Cai's eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.
"The land is all," Dodger said quickly.
Cai smiled, and Dodger relaxed. He had chosen the
right password to escape the intruder detection rou-
tine. For the moment, he was still safe. He didn't know
for how long. The Cai program obviously had triggers
near sensitive points, or a random check function on
interfacing users, or both. Already Dodger had gath-
ered a lot of information, even if it was couched in
arcane form. Analysis would surely straighten some of
it out.

What else could he do here that would not raise
immediate alarms? What might a travelling knight be
free to see? Not the defenses certainly, or the trea-
sury.

"Cai, I have travelled a long way and seen many
strange things. Have you a sage or a chronicler to
whom I relate my tale?"

"Certes. Do you wish to see him?"
"Iso wish."

They turned around to find a page standing in their
way.

"Sir Dodger, I bear a gift from an admirer," the
young boy announced in a reedy voice.

Beware of constructs bearing gifts, a wise decker
had once said. What was going on now? Was this some
sort of subtle attack by the ice?

"I may not accept a gift," he said, improvising. "I
have made a vow.''

"You cannot refuse," Cai said. "This page is in the
service of the Lady Morgan Le Fay. None may refuse
her gifts."

" 'Tis true, Sir Knight," the page concurred. "Ac-
cept the Lady's gift, given in all honor and courtesy,
for she sends it with all good will. She knows of your
recent victory and is impressed by your skill with the


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Robert N. Charrette

lance. She finds you worthy of reward. Please, Sir
Knight."

The page held out the packet. Wishing he could
think of something else to do, Dodger took the of-
fering. When it did not discorporate his construct,
lock the persona into stasis, or send him into instant
brain seizure, he felt relieved. He unfolded the wrap-
pings to reveal a jumble of computer chips, cred-
sticks, and corporate identification cards. A quick
survey showed that they all had the same codes; he
held in his hands the complete Matrix record of one
Samuel Verner.

"What is going on?" he asked aloud.

The page answered, obliquely. "My lady wishes as
well to apologize for her lack of courtesy when last
you met. She thought that this offering would please
you and demonstrate her good will."

"The last time we met?" Dodger felt faint, but per-
sona constructs don't pass out. He didn't like the way
this new twist pushed against the limits of the imposed
imagery.

"She comes now." The page bowed and indicated
an approaching figure before vanishing as if he had
never existed.

The woman wore a long, flowing dress that fit snugly
to her full and fetching figure. The gown was midnight
itself, swallowing all light. The skin of her throat and
neck was brilliantly contrasted against the fabric. It
seemed to gleam. It did gleam. Her skin was not the
pale tone fashionable in the court, but a faint silver.
As silver as her perfect face and delicately rounded,
hairless skull.

He recognized the woman identified as Morgan and
felt his loins heat up.

This is impossible!

When last they had met, she had effortlessly hi-
jacked him through the Renraku Matrix and held him

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 207
prisoner. He didn't know why; he didn't want to
know. The thing calling itself Morgan Le Fay was
neither decker nor system construct. Though he was
not sure, he suspected it was something that should
not exist; an artificially created machine intelligence,
an AI, a real ghost in the machine. During his first
encounter with it, the AI had presented itself to his
perception as a female counterpart of his own per-
sona construct while simultaneously displaying an
entirely different image to another decker. This thing
had abilities he couldn't understand. It was appar-
ently sentient, but if its actions were any indication,
it was slightly crazy. But crazy was defined by the
human norm, and who could know what the norm
was for an entity dwelling totally within the electron
space of the Matrix? He had thought the AI confined
to the Renraku Matrix.

He was obviously wrong.

Morgan Le Fay smiled warmly at him. He fled the
only way he could be sure to evade her. He jacked
out.

27

Sam didn't like Dodger's analysis one bit, but it
made sense. It matched too well against the data they
had gathered while Dodger was pursuing the blind
shunt that had led him to the Camelot system. It fit
with the police cover-up. Most of all, it explained the
strange alliance of corporate and political figures who
made up the Hidden Circle.

The druids were apparently operating in the inter-
ests of Gordon, Their patron wasn't the crowned king,


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Robert N. Charrette

but only barely. In the turmoil of political compromise
and under the economic pressure of the corporations,
Windsor-Gordon's faction had lost the bid for his af-
firmation as the true heir to the throne. George Ed-
ward Richard Windsor-Hanover, the other principal
claimant, had been crowned instead.

Since his ascension to the throne, George Hanover
had often favored corporate interests. No doubt, the
European Corporate Community was pleased at
having found the technical loophole that assured the
superiority of Hanover's claim to Gordon's. But mi-
nor technicalities couldn't change Gordon's blood-
line. His connection to the House of Windsor made
him successor to the throne should George VIII and
his children die without heirs. Given Gordon's
strong association with the Green Party, the ECC
would find him an uncooperative king. Thus, while
the ECC made sure that their boy George and his
family were well protected, they would not mind
seeing Gordon do something to bar himself forever
from the throne.

Their attitude was not universal. Gordon's bloodline
was more than enough for royalists like Burnside.
Whether they favored the current king or Gordon, the
royalist factions had worked too hard in restoring the
shattered monarchy. The last thing they wanted was to
see their handiwork be swept away in a scandal. They
would do whatever they could to cover up Gordon's
misdeeds and polish his image as a suitable member
of the royal family. The inspector and his cronies
would suppress Gordon's part in the killings if they
could.

The whole arrangement stank. It was a stench Sam
was coming to know well, the corruption of power.
Power was what it was all about. Gordon grasping for
the throne and the druids of the Hidden Circle reach-
ing to further their own interests. It was just barely

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 209

conceivable that they sought to install Gordon as king
because they believed he was the rightful king. More
likely, they wanted a puppet who owed them every-
thing.

Gordon courted the druids for the power they rep-
resented. No doubt, he expected to control them once
he was king. No ambitious man could ignore the
power a circle of druids offered. The Hidden Circle
commanded considerable magical power as well as
substantial mundane power through their advanta-
geous placement in political and corporate struc
tures. So great a concentration of influence would be
hard to duplicate in such a small number of British
citizens.

Sam didn't know who was using whom in this ar-
rangement, and it didn't really matter to him. They
were all participating in the magical sacrifices. They
were all guilty.

Justice seemed further and further away, as the run-
ners' forces disintegrated. Two nights ago they had
disrupted the druids' ritual and achieved one con-
firmed kill and a second probable, but it had cost them.
Estios, Chatterjee, and O'Connor were still missing.
Dodger was fretting and had abandoned his affectation
of ornate speech. He had to be pulled away from his
cyberdeck to eat, and he barely stuffed down food be-
fore jacking back in. Hart maintained that the raid on
the warehouse had effectively scuttled the Circle's
scheme. She insisted that there was no need to do any-
thing else, and that it was too dangerous anyway, as
the disappearance of Estios's crew showed. She re-
fused to do any legwork or magical searches. If their
sack time hadn't been full of heated apologies, Sam
would have thought she had finally gotten bored with
him and was anxious for a more attractive partner.
Only Willie seemed to be staying on track. Her pay-
ments had vanished along with Estios, but she was still


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Robert N. Charrette

on the job and sending second-rate drones anywhere
she thought she might pick up a lead.

The night's arguments had wearied Sam more than
the long days without enough sleep. Dawn was begin-
ning to lighten the sky from black to indigo. He rubbed
at his eyes and felt their puffiness. Almost a new day
and they hadn't heard anything yet. Maybe Hart was
right.

"There it is," Willie announced.

Sam's stomach flopped.

"Hey, Hart," Willie called from her seat by the rig-
ger board. "I thought you said that with the wendigo
dead the Circle was out of business. Morning scream-
sheet's got a Bone Boy kill. One victim. Just like we
never bothered them."

"Must be a copycat," Hart said sourly.

"Sweet dream, elf, but no joy. It's them, or I'm an
unjacked ferrophobe. Wendigo or not, they're still on
course."

"We can't let this go on," Sam said.

"What are we supposed to do about it?" Hart asked.
"They know about us now. Willie can't get a drone
near enough to follow even the acolytes. Dodger's off
chasing who knows what. Without surprise, we won't
be able to crack their security. If we try to catch them
in the act again, they'll be waiting. Even if we still
had Estios and his bunch, we'd only get ourselves
wasted."

"We've got to do something. We can hire muscle."

"With what? We don't have the resources. Even if
we had muscle, what about their magic? Those druids
are pulling down some powerful mana."

"We'll get the resources," Sam insisted. "We'll
find a way to cancel their magic."

"How?"

"That's a question I've got to ask too, Twist," Wil-
lie said. "I'm not gonna quit on you, but you gotta

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 211
know that we ain't gonna get much help on the street.
Burnside's been spreading the word that anybody who
works with us, crosses him."

"He's just one cop."

"Maybe he's just one cop, but he's got a lot of hooks
in the shadow world. Most runners still got to live in
this plex with that one cop.''

Sam hung his head and massaged the back of his
neck. After a few moments he let his hand drop.
"Then we'll do it ourselves. Dodger can slice loose
some of the druids' own money. With enough nuyen
we can refit your drones, Willie. Cog's a good con-
nection; he can get us combat drones."

Hart forced a hissing breath through her teeth.
"Willie's firepower didn't do much against their sum-
moning in the warehouse. The mundane approach
won't work without some serious firepower. Even
then, it's not sure. With preparations, and they will
be prepared, they can raise stronger spirits. Lots of
them."

"Then we'll need magic to take care of the spirits."
Sam stared her in the eye. He willed her to put aside
her negativism. They all knew it wasn't going to be
easy, but they had to do the right thing. Why was she
being so difficult?

"Don't look at me that way," Hart snapped. "I'm
not sure I have the juice. Putting down that last one
almost broke me."

Sam was disappointed. Had the dismissal of the
spirit really been so hard for her? Since that night she
had been so defeatist, not like herself at all. As much
as he hoped that she would be by his side to face the
Circle, he knew he would face them without her if he
had to. The Circle and their pawn-patron Gordon had
to be stopped. If she wasn't going to be there, he'd
find another way.


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Robert N. Charrette

"Herzog will help," Sam said. He tried to sound
assured. "He's always said he's a master of spirits."

"He won't leave his sewers."

Hart's statement was made with utter confidence.
Sam's hope sank. She had known the Gator shaman
longer than he had; he feared she was right.

"Then he'll have to teach me how to handle the
spirits, because I won't let those druids sacrifice an-
other person."

28

Dan had not come home for days, but Janice wasn't
worried. He was strong; nothing could harm him. With
him gone, her lessons had perforce stopped. She had
grown bored and begun to prowl the maze that made
up the residence floor. It was a fascinating place, full
of mementos, books, and art. There seemed to be ar-
tifacts from all seven of the continents. Many of the
more curious items were magical, and those were the
most fascinating. She had never dreamed that there
were so many different kinds of aids for magical op-
erations. When Dan returned, she would badger him
into explaining them to her.

She had known that his corporate holdings were
widespread, but her browsings in his library and da-
tabank showed her just how extensive they were.
Through networks of holding companies and broker-
ages, he held controlling interests in more than a
dozen corporations of varying sizes. GWN was the
largest, but not by much. He could go to any of the
world's major cities and find one of his corporate en-
claves.

-m

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 213
Her readings uncovered a curious fact. None of the
heads of his corporate empire had ever met, despite a
strong interweaving of business efforts. The presidents
and GEOs must be very good to pull off such an ar-
rangement, considering the disparate natures of their
businesses and the spheres in which they operated. Dan
must have chosen his subordinates well. Intrigued with
how he had found so many loyal followers, she delved
deeper.

She began to wonder if all of Dan's top corporate
officers shared his metatype. Garcia and Han were
both of the metatype and so were important officers
of his operations on different continents. While the
computer records showed all of the principal officers
as norms, she knew better in at least one case. Dan
himself was head of GWN despite the registered
smiling face of a blond man named Doug Randall.
Therefore, there was no reason to believe that the
other records told the truth. The photographs accom-
panying annual reports could only be considered cir-
cumstantial evidence at best. Some megacorps
deliberately published false pictures of their officers
as a security measure.

In the beginning, Dan had said that he wanted her
to join his organization. At the time she had been
scared and disoriented by her change. She had
thought him hypocritical for hiding his own nature
within an illusion of normal humanity. She had
learned otherwise, been educated in the necessity of
his approach.

In her second change she had lost her self, but with
his aid she was finding that self again\a151or rather, re-
defining it. She no longer wanted to consider herself
human. Humans were petty beings full of hate and
prejudice. She wanted no connection between herself
and those awful creatures.

She had come to see Dan's mask as the way of sur-


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214

Robert N. Charrette

vival, appreciating its necessity and adopting one of
her own. Thus, she was not surprised when the bits
and pieces began to fall into place, and she realized
that all of the presidents and CEOs were Dan himself.
There was no need for them to communicate with each
other. Each knew all of the others' plans, hopes, and
aspirations. Each agreed whole-heartedly. It was a
wonderful joke.

She scanned the executives' pictures over and over,
imagining Dan's toothy grin lurking behind each face.
The collection was a wide sampling of racial and bod-
ily types. The choices showed a clever imagination.
Would he ever consent to wearing one of his masks as
they made love? Most of his guises were handsome in
human terms, but a few were less than appealing, es-
pecially the grossly fat Hyde-White. She wouldn't care
to share her bed with that one. She finally decided that
it wouldn't matter. Her astral senses were becoming
so tuned that she could pierce an illusion spell almost
automatically.

She hoped he would return soon. She missed him.

Hart kept her face carefully neutral. She didn't want
to give anything away. Bambatu's expression was one
of stern disapproval.

"You have not fulfilled your orders, Katherine. You
know that the Lady will be displeased."

"But you haven't told her, have you?"

Bambatu's mouth quirked up in irritation. It spoiled
his good looks.

"Are you guessing, or are you better informed than
I think?"

His question answered hers, but Hart just smiled in
response to his query. Let him worry.

"The actions of the Tir elves continue to be a
problem, but not an insurmountable one. Since their

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 215
split from Verner's team, they have done little to ha-
rass the Hidden Circle. Burnside's efforts are keep-
ing the elves off balance and ineifective. However,
Verner is still alive. He remains a focus for the ef-
forts against the Hidden Circle, and I expect that
sooner or later the Tir elves will rejoin their efforts
to his. If they do, there is a reasonable certitude that
the Circle's plans will be disrupted before they can
become the undeniable embarrassment to the Lord
Protector that the Lady desires them to be. With
minimal planning and firepower, Verner's team and
the Tir elves managed to reduce the Circle's num-
bers. Further reductions might prove sufficient to
disrupt their plans completely. The Lady no longer
wishes to see the Hidden Circle die a quiet death in
the shadows. She wishes to see these druids fail
spectacularly, damaging the credibility of their un-
corrupted brethren and drawing the House of Britain
down with them."

Hart shifted uneasily. Did he know she had actually
saved Sam? "I'll take care of it. I have my reputation
to consider."

"You must take positive action, Katherine. Your re-
sults to date have been unsatisfactory.''

She rose to leave.

"Soon, Katherine. The Lady has a habit of discard-
ing unworthy servants."

"Worried about your own butt?"

"I am an elf who wishes to live a long and full
life."

"That makes two of us."

The first-level precautions had proved adequate;
there had been no interference in the first ritual of
the new cycle. Glover felt charged with energy. He
wanted to call Hyde-White, but his secretary re-


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Robert N. Charrette

ported that the fat man still had not arrived at his
office. Glover had not seen him since those wretched
American runners had ruined the second cycle's
closing ritual. Hyde-White might be dead, but Glover
doubted it. He felt sure that the fat man's death would
resonate in the Circle's ritual. Glover had felt no
diminution of power; therefore, the fat man must still
be alive.

He thought it unlikely that the runners had captured
the fat man. Hyde-White was too powerful, too re-
sourceful to be held captive by the inexperienced ma-
gicians in the runners' team. Perhaps Hyde-White had
been injured and was lying low, while he recuperated.
Careful treatment was required to restore a magician
to health without harming the delicate mana pathways
through which he channeled his power. If the fat man
was licking his wounds in private, he would not want
to be disturbed.

The Hidden Circle had lost one member to the sur-
prise raid by the runners. But then, Carstairs had been
something of a weak sister, though not as bad as Ne-
ville. Too bad the fireballs hadn't caught him instead.
The simpering old fool was weak-willed despite his
considerable mana-manipulatkm ability, and Glover
would gladly have accepted the drop in the Circle's
power. Such a power loss would only be temporary,
for the rituals were raising the pool of mana which he,
as archdruid, could direct.

The day of restoration approached nearer with each
soul whose blood bathed the land.

Still, it would be some time until they could com-
plete the full cycle of rituals as Hyde-White had pre-
scribed. Until men, mosquitoes such as the American
runners could continue to plague them. Perhaps some-
thing more direct should be done about them.

Glover poured himself another brandy and reseated
himself before the fire to contemplate the situation.

29

Sam's eyes jerked open. He tried to force his mus-
cles to relax, but they only tightened more. His shirt
stuck to his sweat-soaked torso, chafing the sensi-
tized skin. As his breathing slowed from panting to
a more normal rate, he levered himself up on his
elbows.

Herzog was watching him. The Gator shaman's face
was shadowed by the snouted headdress he wore, but
Sam didn't need to see that visage to know that it bore
an expression of disgusted contempt. Herzog rever-
ently placed his drum to one side and stood. Fetishes
and power objects clattered against each other and the
bone-studded vest that the shaman wore as he heaved
his bulk upright.

"You returned far too soon," Herzog said.

"The Man of Light was there."

"You knew he would be. He has been there as long
as Herzog has known you, Herzog does not believe
you thought tonight would be different."

"I had hoped. You said that if my need was great,
I could transcend the barrier.''

"Did you really try?"

Sam rolled over to escape Herzog's stare. He was
ashamed. His consciousness had fled from the Man of
Light as soon as the apparition had turned its blazing
eyes toward him.

"No," he whispered as he stood.

"Louder! Admit what you have done! Accept what
you are! If you do not, you cannot progress. You


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Robert N. Charrette

learn nothing from Herzog. Herzog is wasting his
time."

The Gator shaman stamped his foot. The slap of his
bare foot against the concrete was a sharp crack of
thunder in the small chamber. The echoes of the sud-
den noise were engulfed by the rustling of the sha-
man's accoutrements. The cacophony subsided,
damping down into a heavy silence.

"Go away," Herzog boomed.

Sam wanted to go, but he knew he couldn't. As
much as he disliked and distrusted magic, it seemed
to be a permanent part of his life now. Certainly magic
had its attractions and uses; it had saved his life time
and again. But those magics had been spells and the
use of enhanced senses, things which were relatively
easy for him to accept. Spells were just manipulations
of energy. The ability to see into the astral planes was
a sensory ability. Natural, or rather paranatural, stuff.
But now it seemed that he needed to master another
aspect of magic, one that touched the supernatural. He
didn't like it at all, but he knew he had to find a way
to come to terms with it.

"I need you to teach me how to harness my power
so that I can control spirits," he said.

"You tell Herzog that Dog speaks to you. You tell
Herzog that you have seen Dog. You do not lie when
you say these things, but you do not believe in Dog.
You think that you have power in yourself." Herzog
huffed his laugh. "Power you have. But Herzog tells
you that the universe is not just man's playground.
Herzog tells you that you are a chosen one. Dog is
your guide. Dog himself. You must listen because Dog
is you and you are Dog. Listen to Dog and not your-
self, for Dog is the way of your power."

Herzog's logic made Sam's mind reel. Logic? Too
rigorous a word for arguments that doubled back on

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 219

themselves. "I wish you could just explain things more
clearly."

"There is nothing for Herzog to explain. Dog is
your totem."

"Totems aren't real. I read Isaac; they're just sym-
bols, psychological constructs that allow a shaman to
focus his personality and will. They're not true spirits
or even angels. They're not reai."

"Totems are. You must believe."

Sam could see Herzog believed in his totem. Did he
worship it? Many shamans seemed to do just that. Sam
could not follow that creed. "I believe, all right. I
believe in God, not some mystic canine archetype. I'm
a Christian, not a pagan. The Lord told us not to put
false gods before him. What is a totem but a false
god?"

"Totems are, " Herzog said flatly.

Sam waited for Herzog to say more. He wanted to
hear how the Gator shaman would defend his beliefs.
But Herzog remained silent.

Frustrated, Sam took a deep breath and exhaled it
slowly. Herzog professed Gator as his totem, yet he
lived and worked powerful magic in the sewers of a
great metroplex. The shamanic mindset often put re-
strictions on its traditional practitioners. Commonly,
the magic available to a shaman was limited if he was
not operating in an environment believed to be favored
by the totem. Despite decades of urban legends, alli-
gators lived in swamps, not cities. Where was the fa-
vored environment? Herzog operated in England,
where there were no swamps. As far as Sam knew, the
burly shaman never left the metroplex, and he rarely
stirred from the tunnel complexes. Still, Herzog's
magic was effective. Was that a contradiction? Or a
clue?

You must believe, Herzog had said. Belief was the
key to shamanic mindset. Belief also terrorized gen-


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220 Robert N. Charrette

erations of urban children who had heard and be-
lieved that alligators dwelt in the sewers of their
cities. Did that make Gator an urban totem? If that
were the case, a totem was no more than a symbol,
a way to place the mind in a receptive frame. Issac's
writings had implied as much, but Sam hadn't
grasped the emotional core of the concept. Now, he
began to see.

"Look," he said to the implacable shaman who was
still frozen in his stance of dismissal. "I understand
symbols. I used to do work in the Matrix, where com-
puter programs take on imagery to make it easier for
the human mind to grasp. I can see that magic could
work like that. Magical theory is full of stuff about
symbols. I don't know how it works or why I picked
the imagery, but I can see that Dog is a symbol that
my mind has conjured to allow me to manipulate mag-
ical energies. If I need to learn other symbols to ma-
nipulate the magic imagery, teach me. I can do it. I
have to do it."

Herzog simply stared at Sam.

"Herzog, I've listened to your lessons and I've
learned some spells from you. I'd be happy if that was
all the magic I'd need. The spells don't need this Dog
construct to work. But I've seen what the druids of the
Circle can do, and I know that it'll take more than
spells to stop them. We need the energies of spirit
constructs to fight the spirits they can call up. It smacks
of devil worship but, Lord help me, if it takes spirits
to fight spirits, I'll call them up."

Herzog pretended an interest in the ceiling. "Your
need lends you strength."

"Show me how to use it."

The Gator shaman lowered his head and gazed at
Sam out of the corner of his eye. "You accept Dog as
your totem?''

Hadn't Herzog been listening? "I'll have to, won't

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 221
I? If the image of Dog as my totem is the key to using
the magic, I'll talk to the damn hound. If I don't,
people will die. That's something I won't let happen
while I can do something about it."

"You know what Herzog tells you is true, but you
do not accept." Herzog shook his head slowly and
sighed. "You will fail."

"I will not!"

Sam stared Herzog in the eye. The Gator shaman's
pupils were contracted despite the low light level,
making more of his uncanny yellowish-green irises
visible. The shaman's stare was unnerving, as much
for its intensity as for its uncanniness, but Sam held
his gaze fixed.

Several long minutes passed before the Gator sha-
man bowed his head. "Herzog will drum."

The shaman shambled back to his instrument. Sam
waited until Herzog had settled down before stretch-
ing himself out on the cold floor. Sam began the ex-
ercises of relaxation, readying himself for the
shamanic voyage. Lying on his back, he could smell
the must in the cracks of the concrete. At least the
floor wasn't wet.

"Accept Dog," Herzog said as he began to beat the
drum.

"I'll use the image for all its worth."
"Accept Dog," Herzog repeated. The shaman's
drumming blended with his words, the music repeat-
ing the phrase over and over with increasing insis-
tence.

Sam felt himself slipping down into trance. Closing
his eyes, he let himself go. The darkness behind his
eyelids shifted like a field of dark stars whizzing past
a trideo starship. A brief perception of light intruded
on the pure sensation of motion and he recognized the
tunnel before all went dark again. The tunnel is the


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Robert N. Charrette

passage to the otherworld, Herzog had said, the way
to the land of the totems.

Although he knew he was in the tunnel, Sam really
couldn't see anything. There was no indication of
which direction he should take. He felt lost and aban-
doned. Herzog had said that the tunnel would lead
him; all he had to do was follow it. How did one fol-
low something that led nowhere?

Dog is your guide, Herzog had said. Well Dog,
where are you? I need guidance. Feeling remarkably
silly, Sam called out. But nothing answered to Dog's
name. He called again. Nothing again. He turned in
place, trying to perceive some difference in the dark-
ness. Slowly he realized that he was beginning to see
the walls of the tunnel. A distant sound reached his
ears, like a faraway trickle of water striking stones
with a steady beat. The drumming. Herzog was help-
ing.

A faint glow appeared almost straight down from
his position. Sam stepped forward, feeling a certainty
that the passageway led toward the distant light source.
Though the tunnel led directly downwards, Sam had
no trouble negotiating a passage. He simply floated
along the gallery. Anxious to get on with it, Sam flew
down the tunnel. The sooner it was done, the sooner
it would be done. He sped down the passageway, the
light growing ever stronger.

"All right, Dog," he called. "Here 1 come."

The light grew brighter as he traveled. The walls
became visible, then washed out as the illumination
increased. Light filled the passage. In the midst of the
harsh brightness stood a massive figure.

Sam rebounded.

The Man of Light blazed before him, glowing bulk
filling the tunnel. There was no way around the Man.
Sam darted away into a side passage and almost im-
mediately pulled up short to avoid running into the

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 223
Man of Light again as the gleaming figure suddenly
flared into existence in Sam's path. Sam spun to re-
trace his path and was confronted again by the Man.
The dying of the light behind him and its flaring as he
turned had barely been noticeable. He twisted his head
to look over his shoulder. It was dark. By the time he
had turned his body around and taken his first step in
that direction, the Man was there. Sam raised a hand
to shield his eyes from the brilliance.
The Man of Light laughed at him.
In the Matrix, one operates by accepting the im-
agery and responding appropriately. If one's software
was good enough, one's action was translated into a
computer reality. Here in this magical realm, Sam was
faced with a terrifying obstacle. He wanted to run and
hide, but he knew the results of that response. There
had to be another way.

When one ran into trouble in the real world, one
yelled for help. Would that work here?
"Dog!" Sam shouted. "Help me! Where are you?"
Sam was relieved, surprised, and a little frightened
when he got a response.

"Here, boy." Dog's voice was faint, as if the words
were muffled by an intervening door.

"Where?" Sam asked. He could see nothing
through the burning radiance of the Man of Light.

"Here," Dog answered.

"I can't see you."

"But I'm still here."

"If you're here, you can help. Come to me. I need
i your power.''

[ "Come yourself. What do you think I am? A cocker
spaniel looking for a handout? If you want power, you
come and get it. You'll have to take matters into your
own hands."
"How?"


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224

Robert N. Charrette

"That's your problem. I've got more than enough to
share, but you haven't been very nice to me lately."

Lord above! Was that how magic worked? Did one
have to bargain with one's own psychological con-
structs? Sam began to think that maybe he was crazy.
Holding conversations with yourself was a sure sign
that a chip wasn't seated right. Symbolic imagery, he
told himself. Fighting the constraints of the imagery
would only make it harder to manipulate the energy.
Lacking any idea of what to offer, he said, "I'll be
better."

"Promises, promises. I've heard it all before. You
want it, come and get it."

"Frag it! How do I get to you? The Man blocks the
way.''

"That he does. You're a man, too. But then, not
all men are men and sometimes you've got to solve
problems mono a mono, eh?" Dog was silent for a
moment, leaving Sam puzzled and frustrated. When
the totem's voice returned, it was fainter. Sam had
to strain to make out the next words. "I understood
that you felt a certain amount of time pressure. Get
a move on. I may have four, but two legs are enough
to run on."

"Dog, what are you talking about?"

There was no answer.

"Dog? Dog!"

Sam was alone again, save for the Man of Light.

Holding a hand before his face, Sam tried to see
through the glare. The looming shape of the Man was
indistinct, his outline blurred by heat haze. He was
white as if burning brightly. Sam had no doubt that
the Man was the source of the heat he felt.

Well, Sam had dealt with heat and flames before.
He shuddered at the memories of Haesslich's toothy
head rearing back. Sam had been sure he was going
to die that night. He hadn't because Dog's song had

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 225
aved him. The song had been a protective spell
which had saved Sam from the dragon's flaming
weath.

Confronted by another blazing threat, Sam began to
ing the song. Confident in its power, he stepped for-

ard. Even if the Man didn't evaporate, Sam felt sure

e fire would be no threat.

At first, his confidence seemed justified. Sam ap-
roached the Man with no increase in discomfort. He
seated a lot, but that could have been nerves as easily
t heat. The Man seemed to radiate an aura of fearful
enace.

The Man stepped into Sam's path.
"Stop," he said.

Sam was astonished. "You can speak!"

"In your mind."

If Sam's evaluation of the process of magic was
Direct, the whole experience was in his mind. Sub-
ctive or objective, time was passing. Sam straight-
ted his carriage, trying to nullify the creeping sense
'peril that clawed its way up his spine. "Let me
BS."

'No."

Sam tried to step around the Man. A arm that felt
irred in fire smashed into his chest and knocked him
ckwards. He landed butt first and then sprawled to
un his head painfully against the floor of the pas-
geway. Dazed, he stood again. He had to get around
i Man of Light.

; "You shall not pass," the Man said.

f "I must," Sam insisted. Did one of his teeth feel

Jose? "Get out of my way."

!"I oppose you because you hunt me and mine.

cave us in peace and I shall not trouble you. She is

D longer part of your world. Return to Seattle and

brget all you have learned here in England. It will be

etter for all."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

226

Robert N. Charrette

"Better for you, you mean."
"Yes. But for you also. I have been lenient. Trouble
me further and I shall show no mercy.''
"Mercy? What mercy? I've seen your crimes."
The Man laughed. The sound was loud, almost
painful. "You have no idea what you have seen. You
are a foolish norm who seeks to meddle in affairs that
are not his own. You are manipulated by other forces
and you can't even see them. How could you perceive
what I am or what I have done? Tell me, little norm.
Do you remember your woman in Seattle? What would
she say about your little arrangement with Katherine
Hart? Your affair is an infidelity by her rules as well
as yours. And you can't even remember when it
started, can you?"

Sam started to protest that his feelings for Hart had
grown naturally and that she had responded just as
naturally, but he suddenly realized that he couldn't re-
member when they had first expressed such feelings to
each other. His feelings were strong and clear; he
loved her. She was beautiful and caring and . . .

The Man's laughter cut into his thoughts. "Does she
feel the same for you?"

"Of course!" Sam remembered the first flare of
passion on the cold Solstice night they had found the
druids' ritual circle empty. He remembered her eager-
ness and his. He remembered the heat, the Tightness.
He remembered . . .

Remembered that the druids' circle hadn't been
empty. The false memory of the empty topiary circle
faded, and he saw the chalk pentacle, smudged and
broken. He saw the blackened heap of ashes and the
burned corpses within it. He saw the pile of debris and
felt the residual wrongness of its presence. But im-
pressed on his memories like an afterimage was the
Man of Light, his burning figure encompassing and
shielding the ritual circle.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

228

Robert N. Charrette

The Man of Light had been there that night.

"And in your dreams since, little norm," the Man
said.

Sam felt violated. When he, Hart, and Estios had
attempted an astral reconnaissance of the site, they
had met the Man. In a searing moment of pain, they
had fallen under his sway. Somehow, the Man had al-
tered their memories, played with their minds.

"So much for your mercy." Sam felt his stomach
tighten with cold, congealing purpose. A righteous
desire for justice had driven him before. More than
the repugnance he felt at having been manipulated
into physically aiding the druids, this raping of his
mind made it very, very personal.

Was this the taste of hate?

He dropped his hand from before his face. He no
longer needed to shield his eyes from the glare now
that he perceived more of the nature of the Man who
was not a man. The thing he had called the Man of
Light no longer looked human. Its three-meter-tall
body was furred with a pelt of snowy white, a com-
plete contrast to the dark skin of its face, hands, and
feet. Fangs filled the grinning mouth and a dark talon
glinted sharply at the end of each of its fingers and
toes. Its aura shrieked its nature as a predator in a way
he didn't understand. He felt the power of the being
and knew the Man of Light as a mere echo of the
truth. The Man was not a real entity, but a spell entity
cast in the image of its maker. Sam had been ensor-
celled.

He was furious.

There was no way for Sam to know jf the spell entity
spoke for itself or was a conduit for its maker. It might
even be no more than a set of preprogrammed re-
sponses. But what it was seemed unimportant; what
he would do about it mattered. He addressed the spell

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 229

entity as if he were speaking to the caster. "I will stop
you."

"You have not the power, nor will you reach the
power.''

"I will."

"You will die."

"To hear Dog tell it, I already have."

The flames flickered briefly while Sam spoke, but
the Man's voice was still strong. "If so, you will die
again. The true death; and your soul will howl as it
feeds me."

Despite the dire words of his adversary, Sam felt
emboldened. Mention of the totem had triggered a
change, an ever-so-slight weakening, in the Man's
aura. Maybe now that he knew it for what it was, the
Man was weakened. Perhaps Dog was the key, the
symbol Sam needed to manipulate to cross this bar-
rier. Dog had told Sam to run. Maybe he was sup-
posed to do that literally, or at least as literally as one
could in this never-never land of the mind. Sam
squinted, trying to gauge the stance of the Man of
Light, to read the readiness of his pose. The Man was
tall and massive; maybe he was slow. Big things in the
real world were often slow.

Sam steeled himself. The Man seemed to notice
Sam's tenseness and began to shift. There was no
more time for hesitation. Sam bolted forward, legs
pumping. The Man shifted to block him, reaching out
with a long, furred arm. Sam dove under it, hands
stretched out to break his fall. His palms scraped
against the floor of the tunnel and Sam scrambled
faster, using all four limbs to keep moving. The
Man's clawed hand crashed into the wall next to Sam's
head. Sparks leapt in a spray of fire where the talons
scratched furrows in the tunnel wall. Sam kept mov-
ing, pushing himself upright again and running for
all he was worth.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

230 Robert N. Charrette

The light expanded around him, filling his vision
with an emptiness of white despair. Sam ran. There
was too much at stake. Too much he had to do. Then
the light and the Man were gone. The tunnel was gone
as well.

Sam stood on a dirt road. He felt the soil and
stones under his bare feet. A soft breeze caressed his
skin. All of it. He was naked, but somehow that
seemed all right. The Man of Light was nowhere to
be seen or felt. Sam had escaped him. He looked
around.

The texts on shamanic experiences had spoken of
what the voyager experienced on the far side of the
tunnel. Those accounts had led Sam to expect a pris-
tine and vibrant wilderness. The scene that lay before
him was hardly that.

There was wilderness here. He could see it on the
horizon where the dark shadow of a forest lined the
far hills. But the countryside nearer to hand had been
transformed from its original state by the coming of
man. The dirt road upon which he stood led across
gentle rolling knolls, most of which were covered by
well-tended cropland. Hedges lined the road and broad
shade trees cast their shadow to lessen the sun's bur-
den. Here and there, fruit trees stood in ordered rows
quite unlike the irregular clumps of woods scattered
about. In a dell just the other side of the first hill, the
thatch-roofed buildings of a rustic village clustered
around the road and a few lanes that led away from it.
Smoke rose from stone chimneys and laundry hung
from stretched ropes in rail-fenced enclosures, sug-
gesting that the houses were occupied. Sam saw no
people. He also looked for a church, but found none.
Save for that lack, it was idyllic.

Sam had never seen anything like it outside of a
historical trideo or an art gallery.

"Comfy, don't you think?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 231
Sam mastered his astonishment and turned to look
at the canine sitting by his side. Dog grinned his dog-
gish grin.

"I was beginning to think you were a waste of
time."

"What is this place?" Sam asked.

"Here."

"I asked what, not where."

"So you did. Does it really matter?"

Sam chuckled. "Since it's all in my head, I suppose
not."

Dog stood and began walking down the road away
from the village.

"Am I supposed to follow you?"
"There are always choices, Samuel Verner called
Twist. Make your own."

Sam did. He started out after Dog. The totem ani-
mal began to trot, so Sam did too. Dog only ran faster.
"Hey, wait up," Sam called.

With looking back, Dog replied, "I don't wait for
any man, man."

Sam bit back a response, saving his breath for run-
ning. In all his years of raising and caring for ca-
nines, Sam had learned that no man, not even a boy
with boundless energy, could outrun a dog; the ani-
mals always seemed to have more than enough speed
to race circles around the slower humans. Sam ran
as fast as he could, and to his surprise, the gap be-
tween him and Dog closed. As he drew abreast of
the racing animal, Dog grinned at him. Curiously,
Sam felt unwinded.

"You've got a lot to learn," Dog announced.
' 'I know.''
"That's a start."

For hours they ran and walked and talked. Along
the way, Dog taught him a new song.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

30

"That's why I wanted to talk to you alone," Sam
concluded.

Hart seemed edgy, as if something about his tale of
his encounter with the Man of Light bothered her. The
nervous play of her fingers in her hair had increased
as he told her what the Man had said. Her reaction
unsettled him, eroding the confidence he had felt since
he'd returned from Dog's green land. So he had edited
the story and had not told her of what the Man had
said about their relationship. What would she say if
confronted with the Man of Light's story that their love
was concocted by mind-controlling magics? Would she
deny their love was forced upon them? He hoped she
would, but he couldn't be sure. Even if she did profess
a real love for him, would that be real or just an im-
planted reaction?

For a minute after he finished, she continued twist-
ing ringlets into her errant locks. Then she tossed her
head back, shaking her fashionably curled hair back
into place, and gazed out over the rooftops as if
searching for a response. He waited. No one would
disturb them up here for a while, since Willie was
sacked and Dodger still roaming the Matrix. Without
looking at him, she spoke.

"Whatever your apparition was, he was a liar. No-
body is good enough to affect all three of us at once.
You maybe; you're still learning. But while Estios is
an ass, he is a strong mage." She crossed her arms
over her chest and hugged herself. ' 'If something raped
all of our minds that easily, I don't think I'd want to

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 233
face it when it wasn't busy." Hart walked away from
the edge of the rooftop and sat on the rusting hulk of
a climate control unit. "But I don't think that'll be a
problem."

' 'Why not? Are you sure that our memories of what
we found at Glover's estate are correct?"

"Yours match mine," she said, as if that were con-
firmation enough.

She unslung her bag and dumped its contents onto
the flat surface. She unholstered her onyx-handled
Crusader machine pistol, laying the weapon by her
side before fishing among the haphazard pile of matte
black containers she had released from her bag. She
chose the largest, the one which held her Crusader's
accessories in custom-fitted compartments. She
snapped open the lid and removed the cleaning kit.
Checking her gear was one of the ways she calmed her
mind. Sam let her get the gun disassembled before he
crossed the roof to continue the conversation.

*'If the Man of Light wasn't what he said he was,
what was he?"

Hart shrugged and continued cleaning her weapon.
"Don't know. I'm not a shaman, but I've heard that
some voyagers encounter a being that blocks the way
to the higher planes, some kind of guardian they call
the dweller. From the descriptions I Ve heard, it could
look like anything, even your Man of Light. The way
I figure it, this Man was the dweller\a151and the dweller,
like the tunnel and the totems, is a construct, a way
for a mind to wrap itself around the possibilities of
magic. All those things are just symbols for a mind
structured toward a mystic rather than an hermetic
approach."

That was what Sam had thought before he experi-
enced the Man's presence and before his last conver-
sation with Dog. How could Hart be so sure? She wasn't


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

234 Robert N. Charrette
a shaman and had never talked with Dog. More im-
portantly, she hadn't been there and felt what he had
felt. The whole thing didn't add up unless the Man
was telling the truth.

Sam watched Hart wipe clean the parts of the Cru-
sader and begin reassembling them. Her hands
moved with a practiced quickness; those slim fin-
gers, whose touch he knew so well, deftly fitted the
pieces together with a precision born of long habit.
Any turmoil that might be roiling her mind was sub-
merged in the routine. To watch her was to see a
professional machine that matched her reputation in
every particular.

Sam knew better. In their time together he had
touched a different Hart, one that yearned for tender-
ness and love as much as he did. She was hiding that
need now, avoiding his eyes and his touch. He wished
that he knew what to do, to say, but for all their inti-
macy, there was a lot he still didn't know about her.
Then there was the doubt the Man had left in him. Her
own supposition that the Man was a barrier Sam had
constructed for himself made him doubt his own feel-
ings. He wanted reassurance that what he felt was real,
not planted in his mind for someone's perverted plea-
sure or, worse, a fantasy of his own to hide his guilt
over violating Sally's trust.

' 'But if the Man of Light was a construct of my own
mind, why would he claim he had altered my memo-
ries?"

"I'm a runner, not a psychologist. Maybe you were
projecting your fears and frustrations onto a conve-
nient scapegoat. I know how much you hate that sha-
manic mumbo-jumbo. Maybe you should just give it
up. We could get out of this place; go somewhere else,
where you could study hermetic magic."

"You were the one who suggested I work with Her-
zog in the first place."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 235

"So maybe I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first
time."

Her voice held an unfamiliar note of bitterness; it
stung his heart. She had always banished his ill tem-
pers with her sarcastic humor. Trying to use her own
medicine, he laid a hand on her shoulder and quipped,
"A rare confessional moment from the unequalled
shadowrunner.''

"Don't push it, dogboy," she snapped, slapping
away his hand.

Sam was taken aback. She was not acting like her-
self at all. Something was seriously wrong. The only
thing he could see was that she had lost confidence
in him. Confidence and more. How did shadowrun-
ning elves brush off their no-longer-interesting par-
amours?

"Are you telling me now that you don't think I can
cut it?"

"No, Sam," she said softly. For the first time since
he began the tale of his power ritual, she met his
gaze. Her bronze eyes glistened in the twilight. "I
know better. You'll do all you can. That's the prob-
lem."

Instead of continuing, she dropped her head and
concentrated on her weapon.

"You're not making sense," he said.

He watched her bite her lower lip. When she spoke,
her voice lacked her usual resolution.

"It's too dangerous, Sam. The payback's just not
there."

' 'I thought you were a hot-shot runner.''

"That's not the point and you know it. The Hidden

Circle is bad business. We were outclassed before Es-

tios and his people went missing."
"I've got magic now and Dodger cutting a deal

that'll get Willie all the combat drones she can handle.

We can do it."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

236 Robert N. Charrette

"We can get ourselves all killed. The druids have
resources we can't match, and we no longer have the
element of surprise. If they've taken Estios or one of
his people, which is highly likely, they know who we
are and what we can do. They'll be ready for us. Is
that what you want? Are you trying to get us all
killed?"

"I'm trying to see justice done. I'm trying to see
that no more innocent people die to feed some luna-
tics' ideas of the path to power. I'm trying to . . ."

"You're trying to get yourself killed," she said bit-
terly.

"I don't want to die, Katherine. But I can't let those
druids go on with what they are doing."

"It's not worth it, Sam."

She finished reassembling the Crusader. He heard
the soft click of plastic as she sought the magazine.
Sam took her by the shoulders, but she wouldn't look
him in the eyes. He felt the movement in her arms
as she loaded her weapon. The job was done and
offered no more distraction. Only then did she meet
his gaze.

"Are you asking me to run away, Katherine?"

"Would you if I did?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Yes, I do."

He felt her tense and looked down to see the Cru-
sader pointed at his belly.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said.

Sam threw himself violently to his left. He felt the
bullet snag his long coat. The smell of propellant
harsh and accusatory in his nostrils, he vaulted over
the climate control unit onto a lower level of the roof.
He ran toward a workshed that offered safety only a
few meters away. Her second shot gouged the wall of
the shed as he reached it. Sharp fragments of brick
spattered into his cheek. He threw himself forward

237

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 237
and down, hoping that the sudden maneuver would
spoil her aim as he tried to get out of her line of fire.
It was a vain hope. His body twisted as he felt a slug
slam into his shoulder. Striking the rooftop out of con-
trol, he scraped more skin from his already lacerated
cheek. He tried to push himself up, but the muscles
of his arms failed and he collapsed. His injured arm
was numb and cold. He managed to roll over onto his
back as she approached him, gun held ready. Her eyes
were sad, but her jaw was clenched with determina-
tion.

Feeling betrayed, he blacked out.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 3




A New Twist
in the Game


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


31

The chittering voices of the leshy grated on Hart's
nerves. Hart knew her nervousness was adding to the
irritation caused by the humanoids. Irritated or not,
she had never liked them or their leafmold smell.
However, they were the best choice for the task of
carrying the bier on which Sam's body lay. Though
the body was concealed beneath a cloth-covered
framework, the bearers would know what they carried.
The other servants of the Seelie Court would spread
gossip. Of course, the leshy would too, but few cour-
tiers ever bothered to pay attention to leshy babblings.

So far she had managed to avoid undue notice since
her arrival in Ireland. Bambatu had arranged for the
landing pad to be deserted. No doubt he'd had a hand
in ensuring that the passages through which she passed
were nearly empty as well. The few courtiers she en-
countered either were too busy with their own business
to pay much attention to the covered bier, or were
cowed by her cold stare. No one hindered her passage.

The designated court was one of a myriad of open
spaces in the gloomy half-forest, half-palace that was
Lady Deigh's stronghold. A soft, sourceless light de-
fined a circle just over three meters in diameter. The


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

242

Robert N. Charrette

rest of the court was shrouded in darkness. Its floor
was moss-covered earth, and Hart sensed great boughs
arching over her head, although she could see nothing
in the darkness above her.

The rectangular doorway through which they en-
tered the clearing seemed to vanish after they passed
through. Hart walked to the circle and stopped on the
far side. The leshy carrying the bier almost tumbled
their burden to the ground in their haste to stop when
she did. She ordered them to set it down and dismissed
them. Like children released from school, they scat-
tered, laughing, in all directions.

The clearing grew quiet. The leshy hadn't used the
doorway to leave, but Hart suspected she would find
the darkness impenetrable.

Hart drank in the silence, using its power to calm
herself. Before long, a new rectangle appeared, fram-
ing an elven woman. The backlighting silhouetted her
slim figure through the diaphanous gown she wore.
Hart felt a twinge of envy at the perfection of line and
form in the woman's body. For all the illusion in which
her court was cloaked, Lady Brane Deigh used none
to improve her own appearance.

The Lady stepped forward and the rectangle van-
ished, restoring the illumination in the clearing to its
original low level. She acknowledged Hart's bow with
a slight nod of her head, but her eyes remained fixed
on the covered bier as she crossed through the dark-
ness and into the light. As soon as Deigh reached the
bier, she drew back the cloth.
"He breathes."

The surprise Hart had hoped to engender was absent

from the Lady's voice. Instead there was a slight hint

of annoyance. A dangerous hint. Lady Diegh turned

her face to Hart, her green eyes almost luminous.

"Is this how you fulfill your orders, milessaratish? "

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 243

"A milessaratish serves her mistress. I sought only
to further your desires, Lady."
"By disobeying orders?"

"A good servant fulfills the desire of her mistress
rather than the letter of the request. I was told that you
wished that the runners stop harassing the Hidden Cir-
cle. Was that not correct?"

"It was correct," the Lady said softly without look-
ing at Hart.

Hart could feel the chill. The earth beneath her feet
felt like ice. Fragile ice.

"Killing Verner would not have achieved this end.
I have worked with them and know them. They would
only have redoubled their efforts seeking to avenge
Verner's death. But with him missing, they shall be
unsure. More likely they will search for him instead
of the Circle."

The Lady finally turned her emerald eyes on Hart.
"So you have arranged for them to bother me."

"They will find no connection," Hart said hastily.
"I used reliable people who have no connection with
the Shidhe."

"If your reputation is half true, you could have made
him disappear without bringing him here."
"Yes. But dead, he has no further use."
There was the slightest thawing in the Lady's atti-
tude as she said. "And alive, he does?"

"Circumstances have changed before; they may
again. Verner is a ready weapon to send against the
Hidden Circle should their actions fail to fulfill your
expectations. If he were dead, you would need to find
and hone another tool."

The Lady was silent. Hart wondered if she had made
the wrong play. Deigh did not like surprises, nor did
she like subordinates with too much initiative.

"I do not like being disobeyed, Hart. You were told
that Verner was to die."


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244

Robert N. Charrette

"I was told that the actions of the runners against
the druids must be disrupted. I took that as the pri-
mary goal to be achieved. Verner's death was sug-
gested as the most expedient method of achieving that
end, but I saw another way to achieve the goal and
retain options. My evaluation of the situation was that
his death would jeopardize the primary objective.

"Verner's death would be an irrevocable step. His
disappearance could still be just as effective. If he were
to remain here in Ireland, no one need know he is still
alive, and I can arrange that the world outside your
court believe that he is dead. Captivity in place of
death maintains his value as a pawn in your schemes.
The renegade druids of the Hidden Circle have proven
to be resourceful and unpredictable foes. Should cir-
cumstances arise in which Verner's skills and talents
would be of use, he will be available. If he dies, he
ceases to be a factor, and you will have permanently
expended a potential resource."

"You were thinking of my best interests, then?"
"Yes, Lady."

"Hmmm." The Lady studied Sam's face. A sly
smile flitted across her lips. "I begin to see possibil-
ities in what you have done. Mortals can be so ...
entertaining."

Hart found herself bothered by the Lady's words,
and even more by the possible motivations behind
Deigh's fleeting smile. Hart hadn't brought Sam here
only to have him become a plaything for a jaded tart
who deluded herself about her immortal elven heri-
tage.

She was surprised at herself, not just at the emotion
she felt but at the very fact that she was feeling emo-
tion at all. Jealousy was foreign to her; the hot, angry
thoughts that flooded her now were disturbing. But she
could not express her feelings. It would be too dan-
gerous for Sam. And for her.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 245

"You will let him live?"

The Lady gave a slight shrug. "Your arguments have
some small merit, but I must also consider how it will
look. My word is law in the court and you disobeyed
orders."

"Only to serve you better. Such disobedience is no
crime in the eyes of a wise ruler.''

Deigh regarded her sidewise. "As long as the ser-
vant is wise as well."

"I believe that I have done nothing to compromise
you. And I have my own reputation to consider."

"Ah, reputation. Such a strange master and ser-
vant," the lady said wistfully. "You have staked more
than your reputation here. Do you think you know me
so well that you can rely on my forgiveness?"

Hart knew that the wrong answer to the question
could be dangerous. Had she read the Lady wrong?
Hoping that Deigh was just playing games, Hart stead-
ied her nerves and spoke.

"I spent weeks in the court before you sent me after
the Hidden Circle. I listened to your subjects. Even
before I took your contract, I researched you as well
as I could, I know you for a strict disciplinarian. But
I also know you for an intelligent woman and ruler.
You would not throw away an advantage, especially so
potentially useful an advantage, over such a small mat-
ter as the interpretation of orders. Only your loyal
Bambatu and I know the wording of your orders. I
have nothing to gain by talking and he has even less.
You have something to gain and nothing to lose by
accepting the situation as stands."

"I do not stand in need of a lecture," the Lady
snapped in sudden anger. She turned on her heel and
strode toward the space from which she had entered.
The rectangle of light appeared before her. On its
threshold she spun and faced Hart again. "And if there
is a problem?"


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Robert N. Charrette

"I guarantee my work," Hart said, looking directly
into the Lady's eyes.

Lady Deigh smiled coldly. "Work such as yours is
only guaranteed with lives, Hart. Yours shall stand for
his."

Hart lowered her gaze. "I understand."

"I don't think you do, but I accept your guarantee.
He shall live for now. On my terms."

Lady Deigh gestured; the bier on which Sam lay
lifted from the ground and floated away from Hart into
the darkness that surrounded the clearing. Hart's elven
eyes couldn't pierce the gloom beyond the first few
meters. Even shifting to astral senses only revealed the
hulking spirits carrying the bier. She watched anx-
iously as the gloom hid Sam from her sight. When
Hart looked toward the doorway, the Lady was gone
as well.

Had she done the right thing?

32

Sam awoke to the gentle whisper of someone pray-
ing.

He tried to sit up, but the sudden flash of pain in his
head doomed his eifort. His return to the horizontal
wasn't fast enough to satisfy his stomach; it lurched
and heaved. Sam rolled onto his side just in time to
spew the contents mostly onto the floor rather than
himself.

He groaned.

"Ah, you are awake."

A man in dark clothing appeared at Sam's side. The
man had a ceramic bowl in one hand and some towels

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 247

in the other. Without asking, he started to help Sam
clean himself off.

Sam let the man take over the job. His head still
hurt, almost as bad as after a long session in the Ma-
trix. That was an old familiar pain. It would pass. His
belly felt acid-scorched and his muscles ached. He felt
like drek. Through the wool that seemed impacted
around his teeth and tongue, he asked, "What hap-
pened?"

"That I cannot tell you. My first sight of you was
when the servants brought you here. From your con-
dition, I'd say you had been drugged."

Hart. In his memory, Sam could see her saddened
face hovering over the muzzle of her Crusader. He saw
the muzzle flash and felt the slug hit. But it couldn't
have been a slug. If it had, he would have been dead.
She must have loaded her weapon with tranquillizer
bullets. Why? What was going on?

Sam looked around. There wasn't much to see.
Rough stone walls defined a circular chamber about
three meters in diameter. A small alcove held a pool
of water. The walls were beaded with moisture and
spotted with patches of luminous lichen. Puzzled that
he couldn't feel the humidity or smell the mold, Sam
shifted briefly to astral senses. The change in sensory
input disoriented him; there seemed to be a severe
fuzziness to his perceptions, but he learned that the
walls' appearance was an illusion. He and the stranger
were being held in a modern cell. The illusory lichens
hid lighting panels; the real walls were concrete and
embedded with some kind of high-tech circuitry which
frustrated his attempts to penetrate with his astral vi-
sion. He felt too weak to press the issue, and returned
to his mundane senses. If the man with the cloths had
noticed Sam's absence, he gave no sign.
"Where are we?" Sam asked.
"In general, somewhere south and west of Dublin.


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Robert N. Charrette

In specific, a holding cell in the stronghold of the See-
lie Court."

"Dublin?" Sam was stunned. His mind didn't want
to work. "Dublin, Ireland?"

"Yes." The man tossed the dirty cloths into the
bowl. "You seem surprised."

"Confused would be a better word. You'd be, too. I
was shot in London."

"Shot?" The man's eyes grew concerned as he be-
gan to search Sam for a wound. Sam was too spaced
to do anything. "Ah, the drug. You were shot with a
tranquilizer gun, then."
Sam thought he nodded in the affirmative.
"It would seem that you have not slept too long,
judging from the condition of your last meal. Who
shot you and why?"

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to
think about it. Hart had shot him down. Why? Without
a word of explanation, she had shot him. Then, he had
awoken a captive. Had the bitch sold him to his ene-
mies? They had been lovers; he hadn't thought she
could be so cold. He had loved her. He really didn't
want to think about it. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Then we shall not speak of it. Perhaps though, it
would not trouble your memories to recall when you
were shot. I no longer have a timepiece, and I have
lost track of the days here. The light, you see, doesn't
change and the meals are irregular. There is no way
to measure the passage of the time here."

Time? Sam realized he had lost track of time him-
self. The long days of tracking down the Hidden Circle
had all blended into one another. He had barely noted
the passage of Christmas and the coming of the new
year. The last date he recalled clearly was the Solstice;
the Man of Light's words had burned the date into his
mind.

"It was late January, the twenty-ninth, I think."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 249

"The twenty-ninth." The man sighed. "It's been
over a week and the others have not found me. If the
elves' magics are so strong that I have not heard from
them by now, I fear I never will. These elves do the
devil's work."

Sam's head was slowly clearing. He listened to the
man's words, but they only made partial sense. "Who
are you?''

"I? I am a sinner who answers to the name Pietro
Rinaldi. I am also a priest of the Order of St. Sylves-
ter, and, for the sin of inattention, a captive like your-
self."

"You're a priest? But this is Ireland. I thought all
the priests had been kicked out when the Shidhe took
over.''

"I am but lately come to these shores."

"Not a very good start for your missionary work."

"Missionary work is not my calling. Although it is
the task of all priests to aid souls toward salvation, the
Order of St. Sylvester has another mandate. I am part
of an investigative team. While my fellows concen-
trated on England, I came to Ireland seeking infor-
mation. I had assumed that the diplomatic pass from
His Holiness would have been better respected. Alas,
the arrogant leaders of this state seem to have no con-
cept of any authority higher than their own."

"So, you showed up at the airport, and they took
one look at your Vatican passport and chucked you in
this hole.''

"Quite the contrary. I was admitted without any
trouble at all. It was not until after I had begun my
inquiries that I attracted the attention of the Lady
Deign."

"Who?"

"Lady Brane Deigh, a very rich and powerful elven
woman who styles herself queen of the Seelie Court."


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Robert N. Charrette

"Whoa, father. You're not telling me you're here
because you got involved with a woman, are you?"

"Involved with?" Rinaldi blinked in brief confu-
sion, then smiled wryly. "Ah. Yes, involved indeed,
but not in the way you think. Since the Reunification,
celibacy is no longer required of priests, but my Order
still takes the vow for ritual reasons. I have not broken
that vow. My fall came not from the temptations of
the flesh; my involvement with the Lady, as they call
her, was one of matters more arcane than carnal."

"Arcane? Are you going to tell me that you're a
magician, too?"

Rinaldi chuckled. "Would it matter if I did?"
"It might."

"Then I hope it is not too much of a disappoint-
ment, but I am not. I am a sensitive, however, and so
know that you are one, yourself." Rinaldi paused, of-
fering Sam a chance to say something. When he did
not, the priest tried another tack. "My limited gifts
do not tell me your name."

Sam was embarrassed. Here he had been grilling
Rinaldi and had never even introduced himself. He
started to give his name, but sudden suspicion stopped
his tongue. Names were important, both magically and
in the world of the shadows. How did Sam know if
this priest\a151if he was a priest\a151was who he said he
was? Rinaldi had admitted to being involved with this
elf queen, Deigh. Maybe his involvement hadn't
ended. He might be one of Deigh's flunkies and the
whole friendly approach some kind of trap. The sus-
picion gnawed at Sam, and he hated himself for it.

It had been bad enough when Dodger manipulated
|him, but what Hart had done . . . her perfidy was shat-
tering. It made him want to believe the Man of Light's
implication that their affair had been induced by magic.
but magic wasn't causing his feelings now. The anger

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 251

and pain made mock of any attempt to accept that his
feelings for Hart had not been real.

First Dodger, then Hart. Too many betrayals. Could
he trust anyone?

"They call me Twist, father," he said softly into
the silence. He could see that he hadn't hidden his
inner struggle from Rinaldi, but the priest politely ig-
nored it.

"Ah. A street name?"
Sam nodded.

"I understand that the current circumstances do not
inspire trust. However, we are both in the same cell
and I believe that you might have the power to get us
out. Perhaps if I tell you more about myself, you will
trust me. Read my aura, if you wish. I have nothing
to hide."

Getting out was a top priority, but Sam still felt too
weak to do more than sit up and breathe deeply. He
didn't feel ready to read anyone's aura, but he didn't
have to tell Rinaldi that. Until he was stronger and had
a better idea of what was going on, he could at least
listen to the priest's words. "Sure. Why not?"

Rinaldi's idea of filling Sam in began far too early
to be of any real interest. Sam had no desire to hear
about the priest's rough childhood in Awakening-torn
Italy. What relevance could it have? Sam let his mind
drift, occasionally dropping back to the real world to
pick up snatches of Rinaldi's early tribulations with his
vocation and final selection of the rule under which he
had chosen to live. It was only when Rinaldi revealed
the nature of the Order of St. Sylvester that the priest
recaptured Sam's full attention.

"You're part of an order of magicians? " Sam asked
incredulously.

"I said that the Sylvestrines gather the cream of the
Church's magical talent, but not all members are mag-


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Robert N. Charrette

ically active and most of the rest are adepts or stu-
dents. I myself have but a small gift."

"Which is?"

"I have astral senses."

Rinaldi looked embarrassed, or perhaps, troubled.
Sam felt sympathy for him. Any magical talent set a
person apart from ordinary folk. But to see the magic
and not be able to use it? What frustration! Sam didn't
think he would be able to deal with that kind of limi-
tation.

"That's a valuable talent," Sam said.

Rinaldi shrugged, giving Sam a weak smile.

"I am primarily a scholar. My specialty is totemic
shamanism, but I have studied several hermetic tradi-
tions as well. While I have done some investigations
of other more esoteric traditions, I would hesitate to
claim any particular expertise. There is so much
knowledge, and so little time to acquire it.

' 'I have spoken long enough about myself and fear
I shall have to confess my prideful indulgence. You
seem more relaxed now. Perhaps you feel secure
enough to tell me what tradition you follow.''

"Can't you tell?"

"Without you actively using your magic? Of course
not."

Sarn felt stupid. With his limited experience, he al-
ready knew that a person's aura only snowed strength.
While those with strong auras were often magically
capable, it didn't show unless they were actively ma-
nipulating mana. Even then, the tradition they fol-
lowed might not be clear unless the nature of the magic
was strongly allied in the form of manipulation.

"I appear to be a shaman."

Rinaldi looked surprised. "Appear to be? I should
think that someone with your level of power would be
quite aware of his orientation."

"It's what people tell me I am," Sam said sheep-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 253

ishly. "Honestly, father, I find the idea uncomfort-
able. I'm a Christian. All the business about totems is
very disturbing to me. I mean, didn't primitive people
worship totems as gods? I can't do that. It just doesn't
seem right that my magic is hedged around with such
pagan symbolism."

Sam's breathless admission seemed to shift Rinaldi's
mood. His expression became more serious.
"Do you believe in angels?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Do you?" Rinaldi insisted.
"They are in the Bible," Sam snapped.
"Some people do not believe the Bible is literal
truth," Rinaldi said calmly. "Do you believe that an-
gels are real?"
Sam hesitated. "Yes."
"And what are they?"

"How should I know? I'm not a theologian."
Rinaldi smiled. "If it makes you feel any better,
theologians argue over angels, too. Most agree that an
: angel is a being, a spiritual entity of a different order
Jthan man. I believe that true knowledge of these be-
iings is something that is denied to us as long as we
wear flesh.

"In our mortal state, we cannot know the mind of
God. Though we each have a sliver of him within our-
selves, we are hampered by our physical nature from
seeing the truth as it is. For all the wonder and glory
of God's creation, we perceive only a part. You, as a
magician, are able to perceive more than the vast ma-
jority of mankind. You used your astral senses earlier.
Didn't you see more than your mundane senses re-
vealed? Of course you did. A small proof that what is
available to mundane senses is not all there is to the
universe. You have assensed spirits that have no phys-
ical presence, haven't you? Aren't they real?"


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254 Robert N. Charrette

"They're just energy forms," Sam protested. "It's
not the same thing."
"E=mc2. Energy is as real as matter."
Rinaldi's answer was smug, and troubling. "Are you
telling me that totems are angels?"

The priest shook his head. "No. Yet I know of no
shaman who does not believe in their existence."

So, was Sam supposed to believe that totems had
independent existence? "Then totems are not just psy-
chological constructs, tricks to let a brain do magic?"
"I didn't say that either."

"You're making me crazy, father," Sam said exas-
peratedly. "What are totems? Are they real or not?"
"I wish I could give you the answer you want, Twist.
I'm not a shaman, so I can never experience a totemic
contact or visit the realms where shamans learn the
secrets of their magic. The ability to experience such
has not been given to me, and the shamanic magic is
so very experiential. While in this flesh, I shall never
personally know the answer, but all those I have spo-
ken to agree that whether totems are real or not, the
effects of totems are real. A shaman must conform to
the attitudes and strictures of his totem or lose power.''
"You're telling me that I must follow my totem's
decrees. What about God's commandments? What
about false gods, priest?"

"A totem is suited to your nature, or your nature to
it. The order is unclear. Like the very ability to do
magic, or the type of magic of which a person is ca-
pable, totems are not something that is chosen. A per-
son is as God has made him, gifted or burdened as He
wills. We must use our gifts and shoulder our burdens
as we attempt to find our way nearer to Him. He has
given us free will that we may choose, and He has
given us His love to guide us in choosing wisely. Ac-
cepting your shamanic nature will not drive you from

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 255

Him. Your gift comes from Him. How could He make
you so that you are unacceptable to Him?"

Sam felt the wisdom in the priest's words. He said
thoughtfully, "I should have spoken to you sooner,
father.''

Rinaldi smiled warmly. "Regrets gain nothing, son.
You must look to the future."

"Easy to say," Sam said with a wave of his hand
taking in their cell. He shrugged and said, "So when
Dog speaks to me, it's not a betrayal of God."

"Your totem is a link with ..." Rinaldi quick
answer died abruptly. "Did you say your totem speaks
to you?"

"Yeah. He doesn't always make sense and some-
times he talks too much."

Rinaldi put a hand on Sam's shoulder and stared
earnestly into his face. "But he talks directly to you?
In words?"

"How else does anybody talk? Other than dragons,
that is."

"I don't know; I've never spoken to a dragon."

"Try to avoid it. They're accomplished liars," Sam
said. Bitterly, he added, "Like elves."

"Twist, how many times have you spoken with ...
was it 'Dog'?"

Rinaldi, intent with his own thoughts, had paid no
attention to Sam's sour tone. Sam forced thoughts of
her lies away and tried to answer Rinaldi civilly. "Dog
sure enough; he kind of looked like a mutt I once
befriended. I guess we've had three or four conversa-
tions now. He teaches me songs. Crazy, isn't it?"

"No, not at all," Rinaldi said. He thought for a
moment then said, "When was the last time?"

"Just before she . . . just before I got shot."

"You were facing death?"

"That was later." Sam laughed nervously. "I guess
I'm a little confused, and I'm confusing you. Must be


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Robert N. Charrette

the aftereffects of the drug. When I talked to Dog,
Herzog had been helping me break through to the spirit
planes. He wouldn't help us against the Circle, but he
was willing to take me through the ritual so I could
get the power I needed to face the Circle's abomina-
tions."

"The Circle? What circle?"

"A bunch of renegade druids who call themselves
the Hidden Circle. They're homicidal manics.
My . . . , " Sam paused, "... friends and I were
trying to stop them."

"Twist," Rinaldi said softly. "Tell me about this
Hidden Circle."

Why not, Sam thought. If he and Rinaldi were really
captives of elves, nothing would get back to the Circle.
Sam knew how much the druids hated metahumans;
these elves wouldn't be allied with the Circle. If Rin-
aldi's presence and the "elven captivity" were some
kind of subtle ploy, what did it matter? Sam was on
his own now, and even Dog's songs wouldn't be
enough if he were in the Circle's hands.

Sam recounted his involvement with the Circle's
machinations, beginning with the bungled extraction
of Raoul Sanchez and ending with the disastrous raid
in the East End of London. The priest's questions were
sharp and probing. Sam's answers seemed to disturb
Rinaldi. Throughout the tale, Sam observed the priest's
growing agitation. If he was an actor, he was very,
very good.

Rinaldi listened to Sam's recounting of the runners'
speculations as to the druids' plans, then said, "Twist,
we've got to get you out of here."

Sam could see the intensity in the priest's face. Sam
revised his opinion. Rinaldi had spoken freely and of-
fered aid without asking a reward. If Sam rejected that
kind of selflessness, he would never be able to trust
anyone again. But then, was trust important to a shad-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 257

owrunner? Sam was surprised that he didn't need to
think about it long.

"Call me Sam, father."

33

Sam and Rinaldi talked for hours before the grind-
ting rasp of the opening cell door interrupted them. A
* pale-skinned elf entered as soon as the door had risen
high enough to clear the shock of yellow and pink hair
ethat stood straight up from his scalp. His pointed ears
!were especially prominent against the shaved sides of
his head. Though his manner was nonchalant, Sam
noticed that the elf kept a hand near the weapon hol-
tstered low on his right hip.

The elf stepped to one side of the doorway and a
ishort, squat shape took his place in the arch. Their
fsecond visitor was neither an ape nor a man, but some-
ling in between. Thick brown fur sheathed its torso
land lower legs, while a fine, sparse fuzz covered the
f rest of its body. The digits of its hands and feet had
sharp, thick nails that were almost talons. The narrow,
broad-nosed face shifted expression from fearful skit-
teriness to a threatening snarl and back again. It wore
no clothes, but carried a bundle of cloth from which
Sam could see the soles of a pair of boots projecting.
The elf grunted at the hominid and pointed at Sam.
The furred being crouched at the sound of the elf's
voice and looked at him. It made a few guttural noises.
The elf repeated the sound he had made more loudly
and jabbed his hand emphatically in Sam's direction.
The creature shuffled forward, side-stepping toward
Sam, and rapidly shifted its gaze from Sam to the elf.


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Robert N. Charrette

When it was a meter from Sam, it tossed its burden at
him and scampered out of the cell to stand hesitantly
just on the other side of the threshold.

Sam caught one of the boots and what seemed to be
a shirt of fine white silk. The other boot and the rest
of the clothes landed on the floor around him.

"Drek-eating munchkins," the elf muttered. He
made a barking noise and stamped his foot in the di-
rection of the hominid. The munchkin bared its teeth
at him and hissed, before spinning in place and scam-
pering down the corridor. When it reached a group of
its fellows clustered where the corridor forked, it
stopped, hopping back and forth as it screeched at the
elf. The elf stamped his foot again, and the whole
group of munchkins pelted out of sight around the cor-
ner.

"Must be tough getting good help around here,"
Sam said as he bent to gather up the fallen garments.

Rinaldi chuckled, but the elf only frowned.

"Dress," he ordered.

"There are only clothes for one. What about Father
Rinaldi?"

"He stays here."

Sam started to protest, but Rinaldi's hand on his arm
stopped him.

"It's all right," the priest said. "But you'd better
clean yourself up first. You obviously have an inter-
view with the Lady and there's no point in making a
bad impression."

"What about you?"

"I expect she's had her fill of me. Go on. I'll still
be here when you get back."

Sam had time to think while he showered in the
cell's small sanitary alcove. He continued thinking as
he put on the clothes that had been brought for him.
He had even more time to think on the trip to the
audience chamber. He spent most of the thinking pu\a171-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 259

zling over the why of his capture. He found no an-
swers.

He realized that he knew damn little about Hart. His
runner contacts vouched for her competence in the
trade and pegged her as a hermetic mage. Both those
things he knew were true from his personal experience
of her. But the streets had no tale to tell of her origins.
She was supposed to be a mercenary, but what if she
were not? What if she had been an agent of the Shidhe
all along? He knew so little about her past. Although
the subject had never come up, he realized that he
knew no more about Hart than he did about Sally
Tsung. His involvement with Sally had sprung into be-
ing almost overnight and become a tempestuous affair
quite unlike his earlier involvement with the staid Ha-
nae. Like Hart, Sally was strong-willed and quite sure
of what she wanted. Their becoming lovers had been
mostly her idea. Mostly. But what of his involvement
with Hart? Whose idea had that been?

The Man of Light had preyed on Sam's own loyal
impulses when he had suggested that Sam was betray-
ing Sally by his involvement with Hart. But Sam knew
Sally had been through lovers before. He doubted she
had gone without comfort since he had left Seattle. It
just wasn't her style. He was both comforted and dis-
turbed by that thought. She had done a lot in helping
him adjust to the shadow life, and he wanted nothing
but the best for her, but he had been raised to believe
in fidelity.

So what had he been doing fooling around with
Hart?

He didn't have an answer. His feelings roiled under
the heat of suspicion planted by the Man of Light. Was
it real magic or just the old biochemical magic of hor-
mones and psychological need?

He realized that he didn't know Hart well enough to
answer for her. Would she tell him honestly if he talked


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Robert N. Charrette

to her? Could she? That night on the rooftop he had
been afraid to tell her everything the Man of Light had
said, confining himself to the less personal issues.
Still, he remembered how she had shivered when he
spoke of the magical compulsion to forget the encoun-
ter at Glover's mansion. What had her reaction meant?
He didn't know. In truth, he didn't know her at all.
He remembered the sadness her eyes had held as she
pulled the trigger. Why had she done it? There was so
much he didn't know about her. For all he knew, Hart
might actually be the Lady Brane Deigh.

Did that explain everything? Anything? He thought
about it for a while, too, and finally dismissed it as
paranoid fantasy.

The time for ponderings ended as he was ushered
into the audience chamber. At the far end of a gauntlet
of courtiers was a tiered dais upon which sat three
thrones. The right one was occupied\a151the Lady Brane
Deigh, he presumed. To the enthroned queen's side
stood a tall, dark-skinned elf. Hart stood among the
courtiers nearest the dais.

Sam was shoved from behind by the elf accompa-
nying him. After an initial misstep, he strode forward,
determined not to show the turmoil he still felt. He
ignored the scattered titters from the crowd as he
stopped before the triple thrones. He stared defiantly
at the queen.

"Why am I here?"

"You are my guest," she replied sweetly.

"Guests aren't kept in cells."

"Let us say, then, that you may be my guest. As
such, you shall be given the freedom of the court, but
my guests are well-behaved and display courteous
manners. Though lately you have associated with less
attractive elements of society, you are a child of cor-
porate culture; thus I know you to have been educated
in reasonably civilized behavior. Offend none of my

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 261

court, and you shall have a long life among us. Prove
yourself entertaining or of value, and it shall be a
pleasant life."

Not a guest at all, but a prisoner. Or worse, a pet.
"I want no part of your court."

"It is not your choice. Are you so ungrateful as to
throw away what the Lady Hart has won for you?"

"Oh, I'm grateful," he said icily, staring at his so-
called benefactress. Hart would not meet his eyes.
"And I'm sure there are many innocent souls in Lon-
don who would gladly cry her praises as well. If they
could."

"You need not concern yourself over matters in
London."

"Then the Circle is destroyed?"
"Broken, certainly. And much of that work was
yours. You are resourceful, for a mortal. I like that."
Sam didn't believe that the Circle was defeated. They
had still been active, and he had heard no evidence to
the contrary. So why was the Lady complimenting
him? Were elves by nature deceitful? He knew the job
wasn't done\a151the renegade druids were still at large.

"You haven't said that they're destroyed; therefore
they will still be at their evil work. They must be
stopped."

"They will be," the Lady assured him.
"Then you are working to stop the Hidden Circle?"
"They will be exposed and their evil seen by all the
world. Their crimes are repulsive to all sentients. Pub-
lic revelation of their evil will shatter their warped
dreams of power.''

Sam didn't want to hear vague promises and flowery
rhetoric.

"When?" he demanded.

"In time."

Lord Almighty, this woman is playing games with


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Robert N. Charrette

people's lives. She was far more beautiful in body, but
no better in soul than Haesslich.

"No! They must be stopped at once. If you are op-
posed to them, you must act now. People are dying."

The lady's warm manner frosted over. "Do not pre-
sume to tell me what to do. You cannot know of the
large concerns at stake here, with your mortally lim-
ited view of time. Perhaps you should talk some more
with Padre Rinaldi. In many ways he is as intense as
yourself, but his organization has learned to take the
long view. You could learn patience from him; he has
learned his place."

"His place? His place is out in the world, not suf-
focated here as one of your guests. Why is he being
held prisoner?''

"He is so very quick of tongue," she said, folding
her hands in front of her left breast. Abruptly, a hint
of her former warmth returned, "Could it be that he
has not told you his tale?"

Suspicious, Sam replied, "He has not."

"Then you see that even he does not consider it any
business of yours.''

"I do not believe he has broken any laws. Whatever
business it is, you have no right to hold him. Keep me
here, if you must," Sam said. If you can, he added to
himself. "But set him free."

"You may make no demands here. Never forget that
you are an illegal alien in this land. You live on my
sufferance." The lady returned her hands to the arms
of her throne. "Still, Padre Rinaldi's wit is quick and
keen, and his arguments, though insufficiently in-
formed, did amuse me. However, it is not proper for
me to arbitrarily rescind his confinement, and I find
that I miss him. It is a dilemma."

The dark-skinned elf spoke into her ear. His words
were pitched to carry to the audience as well. "The

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 263

Lady Hart is a member of your court. Perhaps she
would sponsor the priest as she has the shaman."

The Lady turned her attention to Hart. "Are you
interested, Lady Hart? A toy for your toy?"

Hart didn't look at her mistress immediately. For a
moment she stared straight ahead, then her face turned
to Sam. Her left eyebrow rose minutely, a silent ques-
tion. He thought at first to keep his expression passive,
to force her to decide without any input from him.
Then, he thought about how much harder it would be
to plan an escape without Rinaldi; the priest was his
only ally here. Sam had no idea of Hart's motivation
in bringing him here, but she had certainly not asked
his permission to kidnap him. Would asking her to
take the priest's part work for or against him? The
moment was stretching out uncomfortably. He nodded
to Hart.

"I shall stand for the priest," Hart said.
Lady Deigh laughed lightly, then smiled expan-
sively. Sam got the sudden feeling that, in some ob-
scure way, he had served Lady Deigh's ends, whatever
they were. If this little tableau had cost Hart some-
thing, that was only justice. But he had been set up,
too, and he didn't like it. In the past, whenever he had
been manipulated to serve other people's ends, bad
things had happened. The Lady was playing some sort
of game here, and she seemed pleased by Hart's ac-
ceptance of responsibility for Rinaldi. Sam didn't know
enough of what was going on and that worried him.

The Lady rose from her seat, precipitating a rustle
in her crowd of attendants as they moved to anticipate
her reaction.

"Let there be music," she said. "I would dance."

A soft strain of harp music began, filling the room

and seeming to come from everywhere at once. The

notes were clear, yet held faint echoes of other songs.

The trill of a flute joined in, adding its lively tones to


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Robert N. Charrette

the ethereal sweetness of the melody. A drum slipped
in and increased the tempo as the Lady stepped up to
Sam and held out her hand.

"Dance with me, Samuel Verner."

Not knowing what else to do, Sam took her delicate
fingers in his own. He felt coarse and awkward as she
turned him toward the open floor, but a sudden flood
of insight brought him the steps of the dance. He tasted
the magic of the subconscious instruction and knew
that the Lady's strong will powered it. She would not
be embarrassed by an untutored partner. They were
soon whirling across the floor, feet flashing in the
rhythms of the jig. Pairs of elves followed behind
them; each courtier strove to outdo his or her partner,
and each couple attempted to outshine rival couples
with the intricacy of their footwork. None danced with
such flair or elegance as the Lady herself.

Hart did not join the dance. Each time Sam's gaze
swept across her position, he found her cold bronze
eyes following him and the Lady across the floor. The
music seemed to go on for hours, and Sam danced,
but he didn't feel his exhaustion until the music finally
ended on a wild, shrill clash. Panting, Sam looked
around. He didn't see Hart among the milling cour-
tiers.

34

Days passed. Or at least Sam thought they did. Time
seemed to be a mutable commodity in the illusion-
ridden palace of the Shidhe. After that first interview
with Lady Deigh, Sum had seen nothing of the ruler

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 265

of the palace. Hart he had seen, but not talked to;
every time he approached her, she slipped away.

Father Rinaldi was his near constant companion.
The two wandered the halls, groves, and shadowed
passages of the Seelie Court, talking. As soon as the
priest was released from the cell, Sam had demanded
the reason for Rinaldi's imprisonment. The priest had
revealed that he was investigating rumors of renegade
druids. When his attempts to gather knowledge from
the Irish elves had uncovered the existence of the Hid-
den Circle, his welcome had come to an end. Lady
Deigh had called for an interview and Rinaldi had re-
vealed too great an interest in the subject. Apparently,
the Lady had her own plans, though the priest had no
idea of their content. She had ordered him imprisoned.
The priest had not spoken of his involvement in the
affairs of the Hidden Circle earlier for fear that Sam
would distrust him as an agent of the cabal.

They concluded that the elves had thrown them to-
gether in the hopes that they would reveal things about
the Circle. Sam didn't know what he knew that the
elves didn't. He suspected that they knew more by far
and were just being cautious. Once Sam and Rinaldi
discovered they were opposing the same adversaries,
they postponed their discussions until Sam, with the
help of Rinaldi's theoretical knowledge, managed to
adapt one of Herzog's spells to cloak them in silence.
Protected from prying ears, they pooled their knowl-
edge and reached the conclusion that they needed to
escape confinement as soon as possible. The renegade
druids had to be stopped.

They wandered the halls of the palace, alert for any-
thing that might offer an opportunity of escape. They
knew they were followed, usually by a single elf; the
watchers made little secret of their surveillance. Fol-
low they did, but the watchers did not interfere unless
Sam and Rinaldi strayed towards one of the zones for-


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Robert N. Charrette

bidden to them. At such times, the lone watcher was
rapidly reinforced by other elves with munchkin min-
ions who blocked the prisoners' path and ordered them
to turn back. They were never told why they were not
allowed to proceed further. Sam maintained that they
had gotten too near the outer precincts, but Rinaldi
seemed more inclined to think that they had only ap-
proached some reserved sector.

Three times the great tables in the main hall were
replenished with the elaborate meals Sam had dubbed
"dinner" before he and Rinaldi stumbled upon a ser-
vice passageway that led to a space under the open
sky. The Shidhe's cloak of illusion made the open
space appear to be a natural clearing in a forest. The
confusing fog of active magic was weaker in that place,
and Sam's astral senses let him pierce the masking
spell to see open space as it was: a modern helipad
designed to facilitate the loading and unloading of
cargo craft. Four more "dinners" passed before Sam,
using some of Dodger's tricks and paying a terrible
price in headaches, managed to tease a transport
schedule from the palace computer .system while the
watcher thought he was reviewing library files.

From that list, they learned of a regular cargo shut-
tle run. Sam was relieved to see that the aircraft
assigned to the run was an Ares Wyvern, a small
single-rotored cousin of the massive twin-rotored
Dragon that seemed to be the mainstay of the Irish
helicopter transport fleet. He wasn't sure he would be
able to handle the big ship; he was nervous enough
about trying a small helicopter even with the help of
the sophisticated autopilot with which Ares equipped
their aircraft.

Sam and Rinaldi started taking irregular walks,
making sure that their paths frequently took them near
junctions close to the service passage. They honed
their plan to hijack the Wyvern and use it to cross the

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 267

Irish Sea to England. Periodically, they checked the
palace computer system's bulletin board, watching for
the dummy message that was the signal from the
knowbot Sam had left monitoring the cargo schedule.
Sooner than they dared hope, the Wyvern arrived.
They redirected their path, hoping that they still ap-
peared to be wandering aimlessly while they were in
fact taking as direct a route as possible to the landing
pad. They wanted to time their arrival to coincide with
its final clearances for takeoff, and they didn't have
much time.

Two archways from the pad, they ducked into the
shadows on the side nearer their goal and waited for
the elf who had been following them. Their watcher
had grown complacent; he stepped through the arch-
way totally unsuspecting. Sam's punch took him
cleanly in the belly. The elf folded, gasping for air.
Grabbing handfulls of collar and of pants, Sam di-
rected the elf into the wall. Sam winced at the crunch
the elf made but was relieved to see his knees buckle.
The elf sprawled on the floor, unmoving.
"Let's go," Rinaldi urged.

Sam tore his eyes from the fallen elf and followed
the priest down the corridor. They cut through another
arch into a more crowded thoroughfare. It was torture
to move at the more sedate pace, but Sam knew they
had to do it. He felt that the elves and other beings
they passed were aware of what he had done, what he
and the priest were trying to do. But despite his fears,
no one tried to stop them.

At last they reached the side passage that would take
them to the landing space they had discovered. It was
a service corridor lined with crates and parcels and
bereft of the cloaking illusions so prevalent in the
Shidhe palace. This stretch of passage might have been
in any airport in any metroplex. Once through the il-


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Robert N. Charrette

lusion that hid the corridor's mundanity and assured
that the way was clear, they ran.

They couldn't have timed their arrival at the arch to
the landing pad any better. Through the cockpit win-
dows of the cargo helicopter, they could see the pilot
going through his preflight checks. Fortunately for the
escaping prisoners, the pilot had set his craft down so
that the boarding ladder was turned toward them. The
bulk of the Wyvern screened the ladder from the con-
trollers' blockhouse.

Focusing his concentration, Sam cast the spell to
project the words he whispered into the pilot's head-
set. He held his breath, praying for success. He swal-
lowed hard as the pilot tapped his headset in apparent
frustration over mechanical difficulties. Sam saw the
pilot's lips move as the elf asked for a clarification.
Refocusing his auditory illusion, Sam whispered again
the words he wanted the pilot to hear. To his relief,
the elf listened intently, then took off his headset.

The pilot hauled himself out of his flying couch and
disappeared into the body of the helicopter. He ap-
peared again in the hatchway, kit bag in one hand. The
elf slung the bag over one shoulder before clambering
down the ladder. He walked around the nose of the
aircraft and headed for the illusory clump of trees and
brush that was really the pad's control blockhouse.

Sam allowed himself a sigh of relief before forming
the visual illusion that would cloak himself and Rin-
aldi, making them appear to onlookers as elven pilots.
Having seen the flight suit and insignia of the departed
pilot made it easier to get the details right. He hoped
no ground crew showed up to intercept them. The il-
lusion was purely visual, since overriding one sense
was all he could handle. Anyone who touched them
would feel the diiference immediately. Even sound
could give them away; the imaginary clipboards hang-
ing at their sides would not be making the normal clat-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 269

ter and ground crewmen would not fail to notice that
discrepancy.

They stepped onto the tarmac together and tried to
look casual. Sam hoped any onlooker would think they
were chatting when, in fact, they were watching over
each other's shoulder for any sign that they had been
unmasked. Sam was sweating by the time they passed
the nose of the aircraft and out of sight of the unseen
elves in the control booth.

Rinaldi was standing at the foot of the ladder and
Sam was halfway up when a cold voice ordered them
to freeze. Sam looked down to see the elven pilot
emerging from beneath the Wyvern. The elf held an
automatic pistol trained on them. For all the awkward-
ness of clambering out from under the aircraft, the
muzzle remained steady, leaving no doubt in Sam's
mind that the elf was more than capable of using his
weapon. The elf's smile was that of a cat who had just
caught a mouse.

"Now just ease yourself down," he said to Sam.
"Your work's not too bad for a norm. The aural bit
had good resolution, even if you had me wondering
why O'Neill had gotten so formal all of a sudden. You
really need work on your visuals, though. It was a
good likeness, but even if it hadn't been me who saw
you, you would have been hosed. Should have varied
the spell for the old guy; I'm not twins."

Rinaldi had to move aside to clear space for Sam.
The elf didn't react to priest's motion; his attention
was mostly focused on Sam. Thus, the pilot was wide
open when Rinaldi snapped his foot up into a kick.

The priest's foot connected with the pilot's elbow,
wrenching the elf's arm straight. The gun fell from the
pilot's suddenly numb hand. Before the weapon hit the
ground, Rinaldi stepped toward the elf and grabbed
his arm. Jerking the pilot forward, Rinaldi drove his
knee upward. Air whooshed out of the elf and he


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Robert N. Charrette

started to collapse, and Rinaldi helped him down by
slamming his left elbow into the base of the elf's neck.
The pilot's head snapped back and he hit the concrete
chin first. Sam heard teeth and bone snap.

Rinaldi snatched up the gun and tossed it to a sur-
prised Sam.

"Don't stand there," Rinaldi said. "Get in the
helo."

"But you ..."

"Did what had to be done."

Rinaldi bent down and slipped his hand into the elf's
armpits and started to drag him toward the ladder.

35

Hart knew she was lucky to be the first one to find
Donahue. She bent over to check him out. He had
been assigned to follow Sam and the priest and had
run afoul of them. The signs were obvious. No one in
the court would have run him into the wall, or if they
had, they wouldn't have left him in one piece. Sam
was trying to escape.

Donahue groaned. Hart straightened and stepped
away from him, so that when he emptied his stomach,
she was well clear. He started to roll over, but she
whispered a spell. In his weakened state, he had little
resistance and succumbed to the enforced sleep she
pressed upon his mind. She tapped the hall's illusions,
extending them, to cover the sprawled body. Stretch-
ing an existing illusion was something that she couldn't
do anywhere, but the mana-rich environment of the
palace allowed certain liberties to be taken. The mask-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 271

ing was an imperfect job, but it might delay discovery
of the sleeping Donahue for a few minutes.

She checked the passageway and found it still de-
serted. Sam had chosen his ambush site well. Sam and
the priest certainly hadn't passed her, so they had to
be somewhere ahead. She took a moment to set her
ally spirit Aleph on overwatch, warning it to watch
specifically for Sam. Then, she hurried down the cor-
ridor, trusting her mundane senses to warn her of
non-magical problems.

She could do no more than pick archways at ran-
dom, because there was no way to tell what path the
fugitives had chosen. As she crossed a threshold and
heard the distant whine of a helicopter engine, she
guessed their destination and suspected she was too
late.
She ran.

She hit the clearing as the landing gear of the Ares
Wyvern lifted from the pad. She could see Sam at the
controls in the cockpit. He saw her, too, and smiled
savagely.

Hart ducked back through the archway and pressed
against the wall of the service passage. No alarms
clamored. No one shouted to her. Sam had hijacked
the helicopter successfully and she seemed to be the
only one who knew. It was important that she not be
seen here.

She didn't have much time before the Lady learned
what had happened. Hart herself could tell Deigh, but
she didn't know if the Lady would have her killed be-
fore or after they shot down the helicopter. When
aroused, the Seelie Court could be every bit as ruth-
less as their less seemly cousins of the Unseelie Court.
A violated parole and a stolen aircraft would certainly
anger the Shidhe.

Hart had taken responsibility for Sam and the priest.
Their escape was her failure, her responsibility; by the


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14

Robert N. Charrette

Sam moved down the aisle, checking faces. The
craft swayed as it continued its taxi. Fringes on his
jacket's arms brushed across the tops of the outer seats
as he passed, occasionally flicking into the face of one
of the seated passengers. No one complained.

Was Sanchez really on-board? The passenger man-
ifest Dodger had boosted had said that he was. The
man should have reacted to the code words, but he
hadn't. Maybe he was scared, getting cold feet now
that his escort away from cozy corporate security had
arrived. Sam was annoyed. What did Sanchez have to
be afraid of? His corporate exile would only be tem-
porary. Mr. Johnson had a comfy hideyhole all ready,
and in a week or two Sanchez would be back at work,
safe and sound in his new corporate home.

Three rows from the forward bulkhead, Sam found
Sanchez. He was staring fixedly ahead, sweating. The
corporate's hands were rigidly gripping the arms of his
seat. Sam spoke the man's name, but was ignored.
Reaching out a hand to shake Sanchez, Sam was sur-
prised when the man shrank away,

"Come on, Sanchez. We don't have time to fool
around."

Sanchez finally turned his head to look at Sam. The
man's dark eyes stared, wide and full of terror. He
swallowed convulsively before saying, "Please. I have
done nothing."

Sam didn't know what to say.

"Frag it, Twist. If that's the suit, get him moving."
Jason moved up the aisle as he spoke. Reaching the
perplexed Sam, he stretched an arm past and pulled
Sanchez to his feet. "Last thing we need is getting
hosed cause the suit's gone limp."

Jason shoved his gun muzzle under Sanchez's chin,
forcing his head up. "You don't jerk us. Comprende,
chummer?"

"Please, senor. Do not shoot," Sanchez pleaded.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 15
' 'I do not know what you are talking about. I am only
a technician. I am not a ahman. I have no access to
secrets. I am nobody."

"You'll be nothing but a corpse if you don't get your
ass out of here."

Sam reached out to touch Jason's arm but the sam-
urai shifted, placing Sanchez between them. "Jason,
I think Settor Sanchez knows less about this run than
we do."

"I don't care what he knows. We're taking him
out."

Sam frowned. There was more going on here than
they knew, and he didn't like what he was thinking.
"Otter, check outside. Dodger, anything moving on
the air traffic grid?"

"Negative, Sir Twist," the elf replied instantly. He
must have been monitoring the conversation through
Sam's microphone. When she ducked back in, Otter
gave the same report.

So much for his first thought. "Well, whatever the
screwup is, it doesn't seem to be a trap. Still, we'd
better buzz."

Otter nodded and started to undog the cabin door.
Fishface looked as blank as usual, but remained stand-
ing where he was, his eyes fixed on Jason. The Indian
still gripped Sanchez.

"It stinks. It's got to be a trap and this pedro's a
part of it." Jason leaned into his gun, forcing San-
chez's head even further back. "Ain't that right,
pedro? Sure it is. You're too nervous. Don't like being
the bait when the fish have teeth, do you? I don't like
being fooled, pedro."

"Chill it, Jason," Sam snapped. "You've got a gun
in his throat. Of course he's nervous. Let's just get
him out of here. The sooner we're gone, the better."
Jason slowly turned his mirror eyes on Sam. "I say
we smoke him. It'll be a lesson."


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26

Robert N. Charrette

self will not accept that he has a shamanic calling. He
clings desperately to his scientific view of the world."

"Then he has abandoned investigations into his
magic?"

"Quite the contrary. He struggles to learn. It's driv-
ing Lady Tsung crazy."

Laverty actually looked surprised. "Ms. Tsung is
attempting to teach him?"

"Attempting is the right word. Were Sam not so
stubborn, he'd see that he and Lady Tsung have incom-
patible magical orientations."

"Given what you have said, his lack of vision now
seems unsurprising. Try to bring him back."

"He won't come. He wants to find his sister first."

"Such loyalty is admirable. And very valuable. But
do what you can to bring him here."

With that, Laverty turned and left the library. Estios
and Chatterjee followed. Teresa remained standing at
the door, making no move to leave. Estios aborted his
own exit, and they exchanged a few words, speaking
too softly for Dodger to hear. After a few moments,
Estios straightened and threw a hostile look in Dodg-
er's direction. Dodger returned a smile, which only
infuriated the elf even more. He said one last thing to
Teresa before striding angrily through the doorway.
Dodger was left alone in the room with Teresa. He
waited and she made the first move, walking softly
across the carpet to the desk where his cyberdeck lay.
Dodger stood as she approached.

She reached a hand past him and took the chip that
the machine had extruded. She weighed it in her hand
and said, "You seem very fond of this Samuel Ver-
ner."

"I have told him that I will help him find his sister."

"You've set yourself another task?"

"A noble quest. We have learned that she was sent
to Yomi Island. 'Tis a foul place where the Japanese

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 27
send those unfortunate enough to be inflicted with meta-
human genes. We would liberate her from such vile
durance."

"Once you would have gone charging in."
"Yomi is not the sort of place where one could do
that easily. There must be preparations. We will go
when we are ready. First, we must gain information
and credit because transportation, equipment, and
muscle are not cheap. While we gather what we need,
we hone our skills with shadowruns. Were Sam less
fastidious about the runs, we would be further along."
She made a tentative motion, almost reaching out to
touch him. "You would have made a wonderful pala-
din."

The old pain seared. Dodger turned his shoulder to
her; he did not want her to see the emotions her words
had wakened. "I am no paladin. I never will be. I
refuse to be twisted to serve any person's will."

"Yet you serve this norm," she said softly.

"I do not serve him. I help him." Dodger turned to
look at her, but her face was shadowed under her hair.
His hands hung uselessly at his side. "There is all the
difference in the world between those two words."

"You always did worry about words." Teresa toyed
with the chip. She would not look him in the face.
"Why are you helping him?"

"We are friends."

She tilted her head slightly. He could see her pensive
expression now, achingly beautiful in its somber com-
posure. Her serious mien shifted into a wistful smile.
"We were friends once."

Dodger swallowed hard, "/thought so."

At last she met his gaze. Her eyes were pure emer-
ald and as bottomless as he remembered. He had lost
himself in those eyes long ago. He found himself ready
to do so again.

"But you left," she said.


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Robert N. Charrette

time in the shadows had toughened him, honing away
the fat and softness of his corporate life. He opened
the door to the apartment, allowing Inu to scamper in
through his legs, and found that Inu's excited yapping
had done its work. Sally was awake.

"Get enough exercise?" she asked slyly as she
tossed back the covers.

He smiled, knowing what kind of exercise she had
in mind. "I thought we were supposed to have a lesson
this evening."

"Too much work makes Sam too dull." She
stretched, testing his resolve. Seeing that he withstood
the temptation, she shrugged and pulled on her shorts.
"I thought we'd try a conjuring tonight."

Sam frowned. "Why? You know I don't want to do
that kind of stuff."

"Every magician needs to know how," Sally said,
lacing the strings on her halter. "If you don't know
the basics of conjuring, you can't banish an enemy's
sending. That's too useful a skill."

"Banishing is sort of like an exorcism, isn't it?"
"Give the boy a gold star. Yeah, it's like that but it
doesn't have any of the religious nonsense attached."
Knowing it was a sore point, Sam said, "Religion
is not nonsense."

"Don't start with me." Sally's eyes flashed with ad-
amant heat, then softened. "Anyway, what I wanted
to do tonight was to get you an ally spirit."

Sam knew what she meant; he'd done some reading.
Perversely, he played dumb. "You mean like a famil-
iar."

"Another star."

"You don't have one," he pointed out. He was sur-
prised by the petulant tone in his voice. From the look
on her face, Sally noted it too.

"I'm not hung up on learning magic, either. An ally
may be what you need to break this block you've got."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 33

She was not going to give up. Well, neither was he.
"I won't deal with the devil."

"Idiot! There aren't any devils but the ones running
the megacorps. Spirits may quibble and bargain, but
they're not demons. They're just energy forms cast into
a particular construct by the intelligence whose energy
forces them to coalesce. They don't have any connec-
tions with fallen angels or cosmic malignancies or
anything like that. All that drek is stories made up by
pasty-faced old men to scare impressionable kids into
following orders that are too stupid to defend logi-
cally. I thought you had a better mind than that."

"You're entitled to your opinion," Sam said huffily.
He knew that most of what was said about spirits being
demons was garbage\a151he wasn't a total idiot. "This
dealing with spirits just doesn't seem right. Even you
say that they talk. That implies sentience, but whether
they are free intelligences or not, talking to spirits is
just too crazy for me. I had enough of that in those
nightmares last summer when I talked to the dog spirit.
I haven't had one of those episodes in months, and I
don't want to do anything to start them again. I'm just
getting back on track. I've put all the troubles that
followed Hanae's death into the past where they be-
long. I don't want to wake that kind of craziness
again."

Sally shook her head, her expression hardening into
contempt. "You'll never learn with that kind of atti-
tude."

"I'll survive," Sam said defensively. "I've done all
right so far."

"Babe, you're in the woods. You're alive 'cause I
keep you alive."

Sally might believe it, but Sam knew better. He had
learned his lessons. "You weren't there last night."

"And you nearly got smoked."

"We did fine."


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Robert N. Charrette

ment programs, and subsidized communities, while
shipping what they considered refuse to the hell they
called Yomi. They had seduced Sam from her. Yes, he
would refer to her as a kawaruhito, if he referred to
her at all.

In just one month Yomi had taught her more about
the world and how it worked than her eighteen years
in corporate society. The lessons were harsh, but she
had learned. She'd had to. Failure meant death. De-
spite the pain, the rejection, and the horrible realiza-
tion that she was no longer normal, she had not been
ready to die.

She'd learned just how luxurious her former corpo-
rate life had been. Renraku menials had a better life
than even the self-styled overlords of Yomi. The depths
to which the weak and ordinary inmates sank was be-
yond rational thought. It was just as well that most of
those confined to the island didn't remain rational long.
She had learned how to survive.
Over a year ago her body had changed, and twisted
her life into a new pattern. Now, for whatever reason,
her body had changed again. Was she condemned to
keep changing? God forbid that she was infected with
some nasty new type of goblinization that never
stopped. She had survived one change and was
stronger for it. Thus far, she had coped with the new
change, but she didn't know how much she could take.
What if she changed yet again?

The face she now saw in the mirror was alien. After
her first time, she avoided looking in mirrors, having
found the asymmetry of her ork physiognomy repul-
sive. But her new visage was more regular, though
hardly more human. She was finding her new body
shape more congenial as well. She had expected to
find the fur unbearably warm, but it hadn't been so.
Her long limbs were still uncoordinated, making her
every movement awkward. She felt ungainly and frus-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY

51

trated at her lack of control. If Shiroi hadn't found her
in the Walled City, she would have been prey for the
jackals who scoured that garbage heap.

But he had found her and offered help. She had been
scared when she had accepted his offer. Scared of her
surroundings. Scared of what had happened to her.
Scared of trusting him. So she had taken a chance.
After all, what did she have to lose?

Now, her life was taking another crazy twist. This
time it was a dream instead of a nightmare. Her mem-
ories of her "luxurious" corporate life were being tat-
tered to shabbiness. With Renraku, one had to be at
least a vice-president of a regional branch to rate a
private aircraft such as the one in which she travelled.

The flight was over now. The craft had taxied to a
halt and the vibration from the engines had stopped.
The pilot emerged from the cockpit, nodding and mo-
tioning her forward. His smiled was forced. The rest
of the crew was nowhere in sight. She'd be seeing Shi-
roi soon. Who was he, to command such extrava-
gance?

She rose from her seat. With three long, wobbly
strides, she reached the pilot's side. Undogging the
toggles, he lifted the latch and swung the cabin door
wide. Brilliant sunshine flooded through the opening,
forcing her to squint painfully. The cabin's climate
control coughed and shuddered into high gear to fight
the invasion of hot, humid air. For a moment, she was
back on Yomi and she shuddered. Remembering to
breathe, she sucked in air. It was thin, and she felt
light-headed. Even her new, larger lungs didn't seem
to have enough capacity.

The pilot stepped through the hatchway and pressed
himself against the railing of the stairway. He seemed
to want to give her as much room as possible. Up
close, she could smell his fear. What did he think she
was going to do? Eat him? Ignoring him, she looked


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Robert N. Charrette

Shidhe's law, her life was forfeit. Only Sam's death at
Hart's hands might release her from that harsh judg-
ment.

It took Hart three minutes to run through the halls
to her quarters. Worry nagged at her the entire way,
almost disrupting the concentration she needed to
maintain her invisibility spell. She knew some of the
palace's guardian creatures had marked her passage.
The damned, cluttering leshy seemed to see her too,
but none of the elves she passed were aware. That was
good.

There were no guards at her quarters. The alarm had
yet to be given. She wasted no time packing, only
grabbed the working bag she had kept ready out of old
habit. Before leaving the room, she used the computer
to log a "do not disturb" order and a delayed order
for a meal delivery with the palace household staff. It
was a weak ruse, but it might buy a few minutes.

On her way to the outer precincts, she only paused
once at a storeroom. The room was supposed to be
secure, but she had penetrated better systems. She was
in and out at the cost of only a few precious minutes,
her bag stuffed with Sam's gear. There were ways to
use the items as tracking links.

Just before she hit the outer, public section of the
palace, she dropped her invisibility spell. There would
be mages on watch at the boundary, and her conceal-
ment spell would only mark her as someone to be de-
tained. To her relief, she found at the gate that her
privileged status hadn't been revoked. The guards lis-
tened dutifully to her story about a trip to the south-
west, and even offered her good wishes as she left the
building.

She passed through the park surrounding the palace
and entered the rail station without incident. Her good
fortune held; a train was in the station. She slipped a
certified credstick into the turnstile slot and dumped

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 273

enough nuyen for a month's open pass. The gate
opened and she made it to the platform in time to
board just as the doors were closing.

By the time the train pulled into the main station in
Dublin and she left the car to mingle with the city
crowds, she had worked out the bones of her plan. Her
first step was to contact her decker Jenny and arrange
transport to England. As soon as she secured a little
backup, she would intercept Samuel Verner. She was
very sure she knew where he was headed.

Dodger had never felt so tired. He stared at the da-
taplug in his limp hand for a full minute before letting
it drop to the idle cyberdeck. He was hungry and his
muscles ached from hunching over the cyberdeck. His
meat was failing under the strain. Running the Matrix
steadily ground a decker down. Trying to do the work
of a whole team of deckers changed the grinding wheel
of exhaustion from carborundum to diamond grit. He
was worn down.

The search for Sam and Hart had been a total bust.
The Matrix offered no hints of any operation, and his
checks on druid holdings gave no indication that they
had anything to do with the sudden disappearance of
his fellow runners. Willie had come up with zilch as
• well. Even Herzog's street contacts had nothing, no
matter what price was offered. No avenue Dodger had
explored had yielded any information on the platinum-
haired lady elf or the brown-bearded American sha-
man. Neither should have been able to hide for so long
in the London sprawl.

Dodger was frustrated. Hart he could take or leave;
something about her flashed a warning mode. But Sam
. . . Dodger had gotten him into this mess and now
his friend had vanished without a trace. His feelings
of guilt were uncomfortable as much for their rarity as


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Robert N. Charrette

for their strength. Those feelings were exaggerated
every time he thought about how much time he was
spending on the other problem.

The hunt on that issue had turned up only negative
clues, but the puzzle drew him like a siren. Driven to
look, and repelled at the same time, he haunted the
Matrix searching for anything that might tell him more
about the Artificial Intelligence that had called itself
Morgan le Fay.

Dodger had visited with some of the best deckers in
the Matrix, but they knew nothing. The rumor mill at
Syberspace was empty. Or rather, it had been when he
checked into the virtual club. It wouldn't be now. He
knew that he would have started a whirlwind of spec-
ulation with his guarded questions. The habitues of the
decker club were not stupid\a151nobody stupid could deck
through the ice that armored that exclusive little Ma-
trix hideout. His fellow Matrix runners would guess
what he had hinted at and begin looking for them-
selves. Soon someone would know.

Or would they? Was the AI too good for mortal
deckers? Could it hide in the Matrix in ways beyond
any decker ability to detect?
He wished he knew.

All he knew was that Renraku still had not an-
nounced the Artificial Intelligence's existence to the
world. That meant that something in their program had
fouled up. If they were sole owners of a functioning
AI, they should be media-blitzing. The technological
coup was worth too much.

Unless they were using it for shadowrunning. Could
the rewards of applying it subversively be greater than
the killing to be made on the open market? The AI
had been present in the Hidden Circle's architecture.
Dodger's investigations had revealed no significant
connection between Renraku and the Circle. There
were the usual minor connections between some of the

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 275

druids' corporations and the megacorp, but no more
than could be expected in the interconnecting world of
modern business. Renraku had contracts with the Brit-
ish government, but Dodger had been unable to detect
any unusual activity or connections there, either. Nor-
mally, he would have assumed that everything was just
too well hidden. But with the AI involved, he couldn't
be sure. The Hidden Circle's antics just weren't Ren-
raku's style.

So what was the AI doing in the Circle's architec-
ture?

His first thought had been that Renraku might be
moving against the Circle, too. Such criminals might
attract the attention of a civic-minded megacorp. The
publicity for squashing murders and terrorists was al-
ways worth a few points on the stock exchange. But
the AI hadn't done anything to the Circle's system, and
Renraku operations were quiet. The fragging local Red
Samurai contingent had just been withdrawn for tem-
porary assignment on the continent. Dodger's every
runner sense screamed that Renraku wasn't involved.
So who was running the AI?
It wasn't the renegade druids. If they had that kind
of Matrix power, Dodger would be a vegetable by now.
The AI was just too much Matrix muscle.

For all its power, the AI was a riddle. It had found
him in the Circle's architecture. How? It had even
brought him a present. Why? Could it have been fol-
lowing him? Again, how and why? What in all the
electron heavens and hells was going on?

Dodger had begun to think the only one with the
answers was the AI itself. If he met it, he could ask.
That was a concept that burned while it froze. When
he was jacked in and experiencing the AI in the Ma-
trix, he had no desire to stay in its presence. No ra-
tional desire, anyway. But an irrational attraction was
there. He could no longer deny it. There weren't sup-


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Robert N. Charrette

posed to be emotions in the Matrix. The electron world
had no pheromones to clog a man's brain and force
animal reactions on a rational mind. When he stood
under the electron skies, in the presence of the mirror
woman with the ebony clothes, something called to
him in a way he had never experienced before. At least
not in the Matrix. He felt very afraid when he realized
that the pull was too much like what he felt in Te-
resa's presence.

The meat and the mind, enemies ever.
So what was going on?

He was tired and confused and hungry. Knowing he
wouldn't be able to deal with any problems if the meat
collapsed on him, he rose shakily from his seat and
stumbled across the squat toward the refrigerator. He
hoped Willie had stocked the thing before she had re-
located her base of operations.

He hadn't thought that was a good idea. Sam or Hart
wouldn't know where they had gone, and leaving a
message with a map was just as dangerous as staying
put if the bad guys tracked them down. More danger-
ous; in a new base they'd feel safer than they were.
She'd argued that splitting their reduced forces was
dangerous, and been incensed that he refused to leave.
But then, she'd already been smoking over the time he
spent chasing his Ghost in the Machine instead of
looking for Sam.

The refrigerator door didn't rattle when he opened it.
Even as bleary as he was, he knew that wasn't a hopeful
sign. The vegetable bin was empty save for a browning,
wilted bunch of celery. The shelves held a few soggy
pasteboard cartons sagging with the weight of their con-
tents and a trio of bottles of Kanschlager fortified ale.
The detrius of their patronage of the local food mer-
chants he understood, but Willie's abandonment of some
of her booze was a surprise.
He picked up one of the bottles. He squinted his weary

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 277

eyes at the label, but couldn't read the fine print. How the
mighty have fallen from their lofty ideals. Alcohol was
another sin of the flesh that dragged the mind from the
clearer realms. Still, it would taste better than what they
called water around here.

A sudden clatter from the doorway showed him just
how strung out he was. He dropped the bottle. It shattered
at his feet, spraying shards of plastic and sticky ale over
his bare feet. A glance over his shoulder wiped such petty
concerns out of his foggy brain.

Two men had entered the squat. The noise had come
from the one clothed in dark garments. He had slipped on
the remains of Dodger's last meal and grabbed the table
where the cyberdeck and Willie's radio lay. The rattle of
equipment had betrayed their entrance.

The second intruder was already halfway across the
room. At first, Dodger thought he was a Shidhe because
of the cut and material of his clothes, but the wild beard
that spilled from the shadows of the hood dispelled that
thought. Emanating menace, the intruder closed the dis-
tance between them in four quick, long strides. Dodger
tried to move out of the way, but his flesh, the poor abused
meat, betrayed him. The norm caught Dodger easily as
he tried to slip past to reach his gun.

Pain shot through Dodger's spine as he was slammed
into the edge of the kitchen counter. The norm forced
him into the counter, grinding the edge into Dodger's
arched back. The cold muzzle of a gun forced his chin
up.

"So confident that you didn't even bother changing
your base of operations? Should I shoot you now or
let you try to lie your way out of it again?''

Dodger was shocked to recognize the voice.
"Sam?"

Sam grinned with surprising savagery. "Surprised,
aren't you? She couldn't hold me."

Sam wrenched Dodger upright and shoved him


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Robert N. Charrette

against the refrigerator. Dodger's right elbow caught
the edge of the door painfully. He cried out and
grabbed for it with his other hand as he struggled to
stay on his feet. Sam took two steps back and leveled
his weapon at Dodger's chest. The gun's muzzle
seemed far too large for the pistol's size.
"Sam, that's not a tranq gun."
"No, Dodger. It's not. Give me a good reason not
to use it on you."

"Use it? What are you talking about? What hap-
pened? We've been trying to find out what happened
to you and Hart for a week. We were really worried.
Who's the other guy? Where's Hart? Is she okay?"

Dodger knew he was babbling, but the words just
kept pouring out. Sam's face was stony. His lack of
reaction and warmth rattled Dodger almost as badly
as the gun his friend was pointing at him.

"Hart's in deep drek with her friends. Excuse me,
your friends."

' 'My friends? What are you talking about?''
"Dump it, Dodger! I've had enough of your lies,"
Sam shouted. His hand was shaking with the violence
of his emotions. "Look at you! You're pathetic. What's
the matter, chummer? Drinking away your sorrows?
Or are you trying to get up enough courage to sell
Willie into captivity, too? Why don't you just have her
killed? It'd be kinder than putting her into some elf
zoo. See the halfer rigger and the crazy wildman from
Seattle! Amusing! Entertaining! All courtesy of
Dodger and Hart Enterprises. You've conned me for
the last time."

Dodger let go of his bruised elbow and drew himself
to his full height. If this was going to be the end of
the flesh, he wouldn't cringe. He didn't know what had
set off his friend, but there really wasn't anything he
could do about it. Sam was obviously confused, maybe

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 279

mind-controlled, and he wasn't listening. But talk was
the only weapon Dodger had.

"You're wrong, my friend. Whatever happened to
you, I had no part in it."
"You're a liar!"
Sam raised his pistol.

The muzzle pointed directly between Dodger's eyes.
Death was a finger twitch away. Sam's hand began to
shake.

"Drek! I can't do this!"

Sam threw the gun across the room. His companion
stretched out an arm to catch the weapon, but its tra-
jectory took it just out of his reach. The pistol hit the
wall, gouging the wallboard, and rebounded onto the
mattress Dodger had been using for a bed. For the first
time, Sam's companion spoke.

"It's just as well, Sam. I don't think the elf is lying.
His aura indicates that his confusion is real."

Sam turned away from both of them. His hands
clenched and unclenched at his sides. Sam's compan-
ion stood silently watching him, an expression of con-
cern on his face. The companion turned to look at
Dodger, his eyes full of curiosity.

Dodger didn't know what to do. He was shaking
himself. While he dithered, Willie's voice burst from
the radio receiver.

"Twist! Is that you, Twist? What's going on?" There
was a pause. "Frag it! Somebody answer me!"

Sam walked to the radio, avoiding eye contact with
anyone.

"I'm here, Willie," he said shakily.

"Frag, but I'm glad you're back. Where ya been?"

"Took an involuntary vacation."

"Hell of a time to go sightseeing, but you could've
come back sooner."

"Would have if I could have, Willie." Sam took a


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Robert N. Charrette

deep breath and released it. When he spoke again, his
voice was steady. "My tour guide had other ideas."

"What counts is you're back. You ready to run
again, chummer?"

"All cylinders."

Dodger thought it sounded likle false bravado, but
Willie obviously took it at face value.

"Good 'cause the ante's going up and you're the last
magicker on-line."

"The last . . . what's happened?"

"Just had a drone in for a meet with Herzog. He's
dead. Somebody raided his sanctum, but he put up the
good fight. Made 'em pay. Took out four or five, my
count on the body parts was a little iffy."

"The Circle?"

"Neg. Not unless they've got a lot broader of mind
while you were gone. The hitters were all elves."

Sam turned to stare at Dodger. "Say again."

"I said the guys who took out Herzog were all
elves."

"Elves," Sam repeated softly. "Talk to me,
Dodger."

36

Jenny's check on the power draw for the squat con-
firmed that either Dodger or Willie was still operating
out of the apartment. There wasn't enough usage to
supply both the elf's cyberdeck and the rigger's board.
One of them had moved out. The broad-band receiver
Hart carried didn't show any unusual broadcast activ-
ity, so she assumed it was the elf. As far as she knew,
Willie didn't use booster stations to hide her location.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 281

Hart's surveillance hadn't picked up any activity for
over an hour. Jenny confirmed power draw, so that
meant Dodger was decking and the others asleep. It
was time to move.

She left her perch and made her way down through
the building, exiting around the corner and out of sight
from the runners' lair. Timing her crossing to coincide
with traffic, she crossed the street screened from the
apartment's window. Once on the same block, it was
easy to move unseen through an adjoining tenement
and up onto its roof. She leaped across the gap be-
tween the tenements and landed with satisfactory si-
lence. Crossing the rooftops, she hesitated only a
moment near the brick shack that Sam had tried to use
for cover against her shots. She shook off the thoughts
that threatened to upset her centering and proceeded
to the cornice at a position above the flat's biggest
window, where she set her bag down. In a few min-
utes, her gear was rigged, and she sat down to do an
astral scout of the squat three floors below her; she
didn't want any surprises.
She got one.

The flat was astrally warded! Unable to penetrate
the protection to view the interior, she returned to her
body. She would have to go in blind, relying on the
mundane reconnaissance she had already performed.
There was no reason to delay. She shed her long
coat and clipped the drop line to her harness. Satisfied
that it was secure, she went over the side, walking the
wall past darkened windows.

The winter air was chill, but she barely felt it. Her
doubts kept her warm. Was she doing the right thing?
With a swiftness born of familiarity, she squirted
lubricant into each side of the window frame. She let
it penetrate for two minutes, then tried to lift the sash.
It moved smoothly and silently; as she had remem-
bered, there was no lock.


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Robert N. Charrette

With the kitchen window open, the blackout curtain
was the only impediment to entrance. She folded her
legs, then straightened them, pushing off from the
wall. The extra force from her right leg angled her
return so that she would pass through the aperture. Her
feet brushed aside the curtains and as her hips went
through the frame, she hit the friction clamp and re-
leased its tension. She hit the floor and tucked herself
into a forward roll. The soft clack of harness buckles
against the floorboards was the only sound she made.
She came up into a crouch and froze, listening.

The apartment was silent save for the soft back-
ground hum of an active computer system. The soft
glow from a terminal screen was the main room's only
illumination. No one moved in what she could see of
the room.

Hart remained in place for five minutes or more,
and heard nothing else. Satisfied that she had alerted
no one, she stood up and stepped forward. Her curse
broke the peacefulness.

There was no one there. The computer hummed only
to itself, but there was a message on the screen:
It read:

"Not what you expected, is it?
"Too bad.
"There's a new twist in the game.

"Press ENTER for more."

She knew better than that. She left the way she had
come in.

"A return to old haunts when the other side is on
to you can be fraught with danger," Glover said pe-
dantically. "But then, I suppose you have already
learned that. The restraints are not too uncomfortable,
I hope?"

The captive had only one eye, since the other had

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 283

been closed by the purplish black bruise covering most
of one side of his face. Still, he glared. Glover found
it amusing.

"It would have been better for you had you simply
kept running. You could hardly expect to succeed
where your associates had failed. You are only one
person and nowhere near as skilled as they were. But
don't feel too impotent. Your friends did some dam-
age, and they might have done more against us had we
not already been alert for those who would sabotage
our great work."

"God will see you punished," said the prisoner.
"God? Whose god, my pathetic friend? Yours? In
the olden days, they believed that the stronger god
would overcome the weaker and set his people above
all others. You can see the motif in so many stories
that one must think in the days when myths were made,
before the old magic lessened, that there was a factual
basis for such replacement. Today, you sit defeated,
and I stand victorious. Your god has forsaken you, but
the Sun shines on me."

"Your pride will be your fall."
"Stubborn." Glover chuckled. "One might almost
think you still held hope for a rescue. Do not. The rest
of your little band have gone the way of all flesh and,
in doing so, have strengthened our cause. You shall
join them when the appointed hour comes. Perhaps I
myself shall wield the sacrificial knife that drinks your
blood."

"You are deluded. Your murders bring you no
power. Your path is corrupted."

"How could you know? Our rituals are steeped in a
tradition that antedates your pitiful church. We have
reached back to touch the old ways, the true ways of
power. I have felt it."
"You have felt lies, murderer."
Glover backhanded the prisoner, rocking him back


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Robert N. Charrette

and almost toppling the chair to which he was bound.
Blood spurted from the prisoner's nose to spatter the
white cuff of Glover's shirt with incarnadine stars.

"I had thought you an educated and intelligent man,
Father Rinaldi. Your fellow Sylvestrines spoke so
highly of you in interrogation that I thought you might
be able to see beyond your prejudices, once con-
fronted with the truth. I see I was mistaken. Still, your
soul will fuel our paean to the Sun."
"Your blasphemy will be stopped."
"Your faith is touching, father. Would it be shaken
if you knew one of your fellow priests told us every-
thing we needed to know about your communications
with Rome? As far as your superiors know, your team
has found nothing as yet. You are, however, pursuing
a most diligent investigation. By the time any of the
fossils in Rome suspect that they are being fed false
information, the cycle of rituals will be complete and
our Circle shall no longer need to be Hidden. We shall
set the king on his throne, and the restored land shall
be as it was."

"You're mad. Corrupted by evil."
"And you're powerless. Consumed with envy."
Glover laughed loud and long. "The weak will never
understand the strong. Never having tasted power, they
are incapable of it. You and your weakling breathren
will never know the true power the Circle has touched.
Even when we reveal it, you will see only a shadow
of the truth. Well, your fellows will see. You, my dear
father, will be long gone."

"It shall not be. Even on earth, you are opposed."
"Perhaps you refer to the meddling of shadowrun-
ners. They had been causing us some difficulty, but
their masters are too ill-organized to control their min-
ions and insufficiently committed to maintain bother-
some pressure. Their bumbling runners ran afoul of
their own internal factions, and the team crumbled

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 285

away, leaving only a handful of pox-ridden elves to
annoy us. Stings only. Why, just last night we swatted
one of the annoying insects. Their importance dimin-
ishes to insignificance as we grow in strength. When
we have established the new knigdom, we will deal
with the shadowmasters and they will regret opposing
us."

The buzz of the telecom cut off Rinaldi's response.
Glover was annoyed; he had ordered that he was not
to be disturbed. He returned to his desk, intent on
giving his secretary a piece of his mind, but he
changed his mind when he saw which line was lit.
Tapping the command to transfer the call to headset,
he settled the earpiece and opened the line. The call
was swift and to the point. Cutting the connection, he
faced the priest.

"Someone else has taken an interest in you, Father
Rinaldi. You should feel honored."

37

The garden mezzanine of the Hawthornwaite Resi-
dential Tower was deserted save for three animated
shadows near the banks of private elevators. Faint mu-
sic from the bar in the lobby three levels below masked
what few sounds the shadows made as they huddled
near the control panel. One detached itself from the
group and moved to stand by the brazen doors bearing
the GWN graphic on the left panel.

Listening at the door, Sam could hear the elevator
car approaching. If the car didn't stop, they might as
well go home. If they could.

As the car sighed to a stop, Sam cocked the bolt on his


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Robert N. Charrette

Narcoject Hypnos. The rifle version of the tranquilizer
gun felt bulky and obvious. But this was a raid and incon-
spicuousness wasn't a high priority. If the elevator dis-
gorged security troopers, he'd probably need the extra
capacity the rifle's magazine afforded. Briefly, he won-
dered if he might be better off using the captured LD-120
pistol that rode in the holster at his hip. No, the building's
guards would just be doing their jobs. Did that deserve
death? The druids and their acolytes deserved no mercy,
but what of their unsuspecting minions?

Dodger, seated on the floor next to the doors, con-
centrated on his cyberdeck. Willie readied the elf's
Sandier submachine gun and laid it near his right hand
before cocking her own.

"Give me first shot," Sam said.
"You sure?"
Sam nodded.

"Wilco," Willie confirmed as she backed along the
wall to give her a line at the part of the car Sam
wouldn't be able to cover in the first sweep.

With a pneumatic hiss, the doors slid open to reveal
an empty car.

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was hold-
ing. With its release, tension drained from his mus-
cles. They'd made it past the first hurdle.

He held the door while Willie trundled inside to
catch the door button. Dodger jacked out and began
reeling in the datacord he had patched into the elevator
controls.

"Hurry up, Dodger," Willie urged.
"Patience, Mistress Machinerider. If aught appears
amiss after we depart this floor, the alarums will ring.
'Twould be most unfortunate if haste undid our plans
at this stage."

"Just do a good job, Dodger," Sam said.

"Assuredly, Sir Twist."

Dodger finished his fussing and gave the panel a

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 287

quick polish with a rag before joining the others in the
car. Willie released her button and the panels hissed
closed. Sam reached across to tap the bronze strip la-
beled OWN and start them on their journey to the
ninetieth floor.

"Pray tell, Sir Twist. Where is the priest? I thought
he had joined our team.''

"He had other business."

Willie snickered. "You bust him out, and the first
time you need help, he's off doing errands? Some grat-
itude."

"His other obligations had first claim on his loyal-
ties. If all goes well, he'll be joining us later. With
help."

"But not tonight?"

"No, not tonight."

"And why should we need help tonight?" Dodger
asked sarcastically. "We are but three intrepid souls
invading the residence of a multinational corporation's
highest officers. Since we hope to beard their local
executive officer in his home, why should we be con-
cerned with numbers? He is only a dreadfully power-
ful shaman and will, no doubt, have only a battalion
or two of mundane guards. What have we to fear from
them?"

"Dump it, Dodger." Sam didn't need the elf's sar-
casm. They might not know exactly what they were
getting into, but they had all studied what information
they had. They all knew who the target was. The time
for cold feet had been two hours ago. Dodger may not
have had anything to do with Herzog's death, but he
was not yet back in Sam's good graces. "You know
why we're here."

" 'Twas your choice."
"You didn't have to come."
"Pray, tell. What would you have done without me?
Scaled the building?"


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Robert N. Charrette

"We'd have managed," Sam replied. Dodger's
whining was beginning to get to him. "Willie's good
with electronics."

"Take it easy, Twist. Dodger's just nervous like the
rest of us. I gotta admit, I don't like moving on this
guy when we don't know if he's dead or alive."

"Alive. Dead," Dodger scoffed. " Tis a difference
that makes no difference to this run."

"It'll make a difference if the fat man's waiting for
us," Willie observed, gripping her weapon tighter.

"The villain is dead. Did not Sir Twist see Hyde-
White go down during the raid on the ritual?"
"But there was no body," Sam said.
" 'Twas present if you accept the wendigo corpse
as his. Such a hypothesis explains the more grisly as-
pects of the Circle's operations. 'Twould account for
the sluggishness of GWN's business reactions as
well."

"Jeez, Dodger. You can't still believe that," Willie
said. "The druids are still doing their Bone Boy stuff.
That dead wendigo ain't the answer. I think Hyde-
White is still alive, but wounded. That would fit with
the business problems."

"A clattering fit to the facts, Mistress. The wendigo
is dead. Hyde-White is missing. Therefore, Hyde-
White is dead."

"That's pretty shaky, Dodger."
Sam interrupted Willie before she could get rolling.
"Whether Hyde-White is alive or dead, OWN is still
functioning and serving the Circle. That's more than
enough reason to hit it. Since the company's a poten-
tial target for more than the opponents of the Circle,
we'll be able, with a little lucik, to hide our incursion
under the guise of an ordinary shadowrun against the
corporation. Besides any damage we do to GWN, we
should be able to find out the truth about Hyde-
White."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 289

"And if he's alive, Twist?" Willie asked.
"We cut him out of the Circle."
Dodger waited a moment before asking, "Sir Twist,
are you saying we shall kill him?"

Sam kept his gaze riveted to the doors, but he could
feel Dodger's eyes on him. "There are still too many
druids to take them on all together. We need to chip
away at them."

"You have not answered my question."
The slowing of the elevator was an answer of its
own.

"Get ready," Sam ordered.

As they had hoped, the guard at the station was slug-
gish. He had no time to do more than catch a glimpse
of them from the corner of his eye before Sam cast his
spell. Sam knew it was a success as a puzzled look
crept over the security man's face. He had succumbed
to the illusion and was seeing an empty elevator car.

The guard stood up and started around from behind
his desk, muttering about technical malfunctions. Sam
shot him with the Hypnos as soon as he was out from
behind the desk. The guard's puzzlement slipped into
bafflement as he sank to the plushly carpeted floor. He
was snoring when the runners stepped over him to get
|to the desk controls.

Willie ran her hands along the controls. Her stubby
I fingers touched each lightly as if she could divine their
function by mere contact. She nodded to herself,
tongue sticking out to touch her upper lip, as her
roaming hands came to rest on a row of buttons be-
neath a flat metallic panel. She tapped the first, and
the panel clicked, its left side separating from the
desk's surface. Willie flipped the panel open, revealing
a hidden set of switches and a datacord receptacle.

"Rig option," she announced. "Ain't it nice when
the info ya buy is right?"
Her partners didn't bother to answer her question,


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Robert N. Ckarrette

but she didn't seem to mind as she settled into the still-
warm chair. In thirty seconds she had jacked in and
switched the security system management over to rig-
ger control.

Sam had never understood how a rigger made the
translation between body sense and the diverse com-
ponents of a building's systems. Rigger security con-
trol was even more alien than the way they piloted
vehicles. "Nothing to it," she had said when he pro-
posed the raid. "It's just like a big body; ya get itches
where something's happening." The concept was
creepy to Sam. It lacked the purity of the Matrix or
even the more understandable body-control concept of
vehicle rigging. But Sam didn't have to understand or
like it. It was Willie's job\a151all Sam had to do was
count on her to do it right.

"What's going on in the residence?" he asked.
"Quiet," she replied. "I don't think anybody's
home."

' 'And no signs of recent occupation,'' Dodger added
confidently.

"Wrongo, elf. Plenty of signs: dirty dishes, rum-
pled bed, private line call logged out less than two
hours ago. But nobody's there . . . wait a min. There's
something funny about that level."
"Looped broadcast?" Sam suggested.
"Neg. All eyes are live. But they're not seeing ev-
erything."

"Alternate sensors tracking something?"
"Neg on that. There aren't alternate systems any-
where but on this level. I think . . . yeah, it's got to
be. There's part of this level that isn't covered by the
security system."
"A black room?" Sam speculated.
"Could be." Willie agreed. "Looks like you two
will be doing an in-person visit after all."
"Thrilling," Dodger said.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 291

"You can handle the locks, Willie?"
"Null perspiration. You want to go up by lift or
stairs?"

"Stairs. More options for retreat."
"Allow me," she said. Across the lobby a doorway
opened. Through the arch, Sam could see stairs.

He tapped Dodger on the shoulder and started for
the stairs. Sam could hear the elf grumbling under his
breath as he followed. The unprofessional bitching
stopped as they reached the landing below Hyde-
White's residence. Guns ready, they advanced up the
last flight. When Sam signaled their readiness to the
stairway camera, Willie opened the door. Dodger went
through low while Sam covered him.
They got the drop on an empty room.
When nothing reacted to their presence, Sam said
softly, "You there, Willie?"

"Affirm." Her voice came from the building inter-
com speaker. "I see you but they won't. I dumped a
copy of an all-camera scan, just in case we need to
know the layout of the place for some future op, and
I'm using it to run refeed on the room cameras from
the five minutes before you got there. If anybody no-
tices, it'll look like a digital overprint. Just let me
know if you need more time. But try to be quick, a
second blip'll start looking suspicious."
"We'll do that. Now where's this blind spot?"
Hyde-White's residential level was made up of a be-
wildering arrangement of spaces demarcated by free-
standing walls and half-walls and room dividers. There
were also several spaces which were completely en-
closed. Willie directed them as well as she could, but
it still took them five minutes to isolate the area that
was in the rigger's blind spot. Dodger found the door
hidden behind a tapestry.

"Sir Twist," his muffled voice called. "You must
needs see what I have found."


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Robert N. Charrette

Sam pulled aside the tapestry preparatory to enter-
ing the hidden chamber and immediately felt the tingle
of magic. Warily, he leaned against the outer wall and
probed with his astral senses. The room was sur-
rounded by the rosy glow of an astral barrier. Some-
thing coiled about the top of the domed-shaped
protection, but it seemed inactive. Sam sensed no
threat from it. Concluding that the ward was only a
protection from astral intrusion, Sam returned to his
mundane senses and probed the open doorway with a
tentative hand. Nothing happened, so he followed
Dodger into the chamber.

The stench was the first thing he noticed. The place
smelled as though something had died there. Rotting
meat was Sam's first thought, but the temperature was
so low that meat would have been unlikely to spoil.
Sam was already chilled despite his winter clothes.

The room was only a few meters across, but it was
jammed with an eclectic collection of furniture and
artifacts. Dodger was poking about among the jack-
daw's nest of furnishings and decorations, but Sam
paid him no heed. His eyes were locked on a large oil
portrait of a woman that dominated the wall opposite
the doorway.

"Quite attractive for a norm," Dodger commented
when he noticed Sam's fixed stare.

"Janice," was all Sam could say.

38

"Find anything interesting?"
Dodger reached for his Sandier as soon as he rec-
ognized the voice, but she was faster. She snatched

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 293

the weapon from his fingers before he could get a grip.
He kicked the chair back as he stood, but she skipped
clear. He spun, hoping to get inside her aim, but again
she was too quick for him. He eased back against the
table, forcing his muscles to relax. Elven reflexes
weren't good enough to dodge bullets at this range.

Hart smiled at him. "Much more reasonable reac-
tion."

"What do you want?"
"To talk."

"That is obvious. Else, I would not be breathing."
She shrugged and lowered the muzzle of the Sandier,
but Dodger felt tension in her still. Gauging the distance
between them, he briefly entertained the idea of a move,
before dismissing it as foolish. He'd seen her in action
and knew he wasn't her match. She would be ready for
anything he tried.

"Speak, then. You have captured my attention."
She hesitated before saying, "I want to offer my
help."

Was she serious? After what she had done to him,
how could she expect Sam to let her anywhere near
him? "He doesn't trust you anymore. I don't either."
Her smile was sad. "You should understand how
compelling previous arrangements can be, Dodger.
Have you told him who had you get him involved in
this mess, or that you're still passing his plans on to
Estios?"

"You didn't tell him, did you?"
"Not yet, but I could."

She gripped the Sandier by its barrel, carefully low-
ered it to the floor, and leaned it against the wall, and
stepped away from the weapon. Her actions were likely
intended as a sign of her peaceful intent and meant to
reduce the tension between her and Dodger. He found
himself considering her motivations, and the possibil-
ities only made him more nervous.


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Robert N. Charrette

"We can help each other, Dodger."
"If you really want to help, you'll go back where
you came from. He's screwed up enough now as it is."
Her brow furrowed. "What's happened? Is he
hurt?"

Her concern seemed genuine, but she was a good
actress. She had thoroughly fooled Sam. He consid-
ered the wisdom of telling her what was wrong with
Sam, and decided that her reaction might provide a
clue to the motivation behind her recent actions. If
not, there was the slim chance that she might have
some data that applied to the riddle of the painting.

"There was a picture of a norm woman in Hyde-
White's sanctum. He said it was his sister."

She grasped the situation at once. "A norm woman?
I thought she had goblinized. When was the painting
made?"

"The date within the artist's cartouche was mis
year's."

"And the artist?"
"His identity is a mystery."
"So what have you been doing?"
"He's been brooding when he hasn't been rerunning
the tapes we got of Hyde-White's apartment. I've been
trying to break into the OWN personnel files."
"With no luck, I expect."

He was annoyed by her casual assumption of lack
of progress. "I am the Dodger. It is only a matter of
time."

"Isn't it always."

She reached into her satchel, and he tensed again.
She offered him a tentative smile along with a raised
hand. Her other hand slowly emerged from the bag,
holding a slim black chip case. Dodger relaxed as she
opened the case and selected an unmarked chip car-
rier. When she held it out, he recognized the molding
as UCAS government issue.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 295

"Try this in your deck," she said. "It's a one-shot
can-opener. I've been saving it for a special occa-
sion."

Dodger took the carrier. Unable to contain his cu-
riosity behind the thrust and parry of shadowtalk, he
asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Let's just say I've got an inquiring mind."
The lure of using her toy did not keep him from
running diagnostics on it before slotting it into his
deck. Slipping into the Matrix soothed him; in the
electron world he had no worries. Well, only one; and
it hadn't shown its mirror face in weeks. His meat was
already at her mercy, but he would be safe enough
until she got what she wanted.

He was amazed at the beauty and elegance with
which her can-opener cut the OWN ice and slipped
him into their files. The hunt was short and successful.
He dumped his swag back to the deck and exited the
GWN architecture. As he cleared the boundary, the
can-opener evaporated. He jacked out.

Janice Verner's name was on a list of special con-
sultants for GWN that he scrolled onto the display
screen of his cyberdeck. Most of the other names
meant nothing to Dodger; they had never before ap-
peared in all his searching through portions of the Ma-
trix associated with the members of the Hidden Circle.
The one name he recognized was that of Karen Mon-
tejac. Unfortunately, Hart noticed his reaction to the
name.

"You know her?" she asked.

"The, ah, lady works for a ... a former client."

"So, what's the connection?"

"There isn't one."

Hart wouldn't let it go. "Guessing, or do you have
evidence?''

' 'I have deferred the evaluation of connections to a
higher authority who has ruled out the possibility.''


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Robert N. Charrette

The look on Hart's face told him that she didn't like
his answer. From her earlier threat, he suspected that
she knew he was referring to the professor. She finally
nodded in acceptance, apparently willing to concede
to the professor's judgment.

"What is in the Verner file?" she asked.
Dodger brought it up on the screen. It took only a
little manipulation to crack the lock. The first entry
was a transit pass for a corporate flight from Hong
Kong to Mexico City.

"Not Yomi?" Hart asked musingly, then she smiled.
"There's your answer to your problem. The date on
that flight is after Sam's sister's exile. If Hyde-White
recruited her, it would have been at the gulag, and she
would have been whatever she had turned into by then,
no longer a norm woman."

"The painting may have been done from an old pic-
ture."

Hart snorted. "Even if it were, what reason would
he have for wanting it? She wouldn't, if she's like most
people who go through the change. No, Sam was
meant to see this painting. The fat druid's a manipu-
lative bastard and likes playing mind games."
"How do you know that?"

"Personal experience," she said bitterly. "Trust
me. The portrait's got to be a fake, a ploy to throw
him off stride."

Something seemed out of place to Dodger. "How
would Hyde-White have known Sam was going to see
it?"

Shrugging, Hart said, "Maybe he was going to plant
it somewhere else."

Her explanation still seemed to be missing a chip.
"Why do it at all?"

"I don't know. But I do know that the fat man's a
devious bastard and a class-A manipulator. He's the
one who really started the Circle, you know. Even led

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 297

the research that got them the wicker man ritual. He's
the real power behind the Circle."

"As Merlin was behind Arthur," Dodger said, re-
membering the imposed imagery of the Circle's com-
puter architecture.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just a literary allusion. So, what to we
do about this?''

"You tell Sam, and then keep me posted. I've got
other things to do."

Dodger's suspicions flared again. "More trouble to
cause?''

"You betcha," she replied jauntily. "When you see
him, give him these."

Hart dug a wrapped packet out of her satchel. The
bundled had filled most of the bag's volume and, when
the soft sides collapsed, Dodger could see the outline
of a gun. He took the offered bundle. From his weight
and balance, he suspected a second weapon was
wrapped within its softness.

"Why should I?" he asked as she headed for the
door.

She kept walking, saying over her shoulder, "He'll
need them."

Sam didn't know what he expected to see, but he
kept rerunning the tapes Willie had made from the
trideo monitors in Hyde-White's residence. Willie
watched them with him, getting twitchier with every
repetition. The copy spun to an end and Sam reached
for the controls to rewind the tape.

"Ain't ya seen enough?"

"One more time, Willie."

"Jeez. Ya been through through it a billion times.
Look, Twist. I'm not a forensic expert, but I am a


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Robert N. Charrette

woman. I'd say there was a woman living in that res-
idence. Ain't that what ya want to know?"

Sam nodded abstractedly as the tape clicked over
and started to play again. "But what kind of woman,
Willie? A norm, or something else?"

"Do I look like a parabiologist?" Willie bounced
up from the floor, grabbed a half-full bottle of
Kanschlager, and downed it. "The blowups show a
lot of hair scattered around, but, frag it, that don't tell
us anything without chemical analysis. The fat druid
and his woman could have a dog; there's enough
gnawed bones in the kitchen."

"It didn't smell like a place where a dog lived."

"Well, then, a cat! Jeez, Twist, what do you want?"

"I want to know about my sister. They told me she
had goblinized." Would Sato have lied about that? No,
the doctor had said she was in the kawaru ward, so it
had to be true. But what about later? Maybe she had
died, been killed by Hyde-White and his flunkies.
Maybe that was why Renraku had never let him com-
municate with her.

Sam didn't want to believe it. He felt sure he would
know if she was dead\a151he was a fragging shaman with
fragging mystical powers! If he couldn't sense the
death of his own sister, his only living relative, what
good were those powers? Still, he had been a reluctant
shaman and had avoided a lot of what he needed to
know about his gifts. He couldn't be sure that the
magic would let him know if she was dead.

The portrait in Hyde-White's sanctum didn't have to
be his sister. It could be a coincidence. So why didn't
he believe that?

He tried to picture the painting in his mind. He
wanted to remember a detail, any detail that would
confirm or deny the subject's identity. All he suc-
ceeded in doing was calling up the horrid smell again.

That awful stench seemed somehow . . . familiar.


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Robert N. Charrette

In his memory, it had another quality that was absent
in the chill confines of the sanctum. Sam knew he had
smelled the odor before; suddenly, he knew where. It
had not been in the mundane world, but in the realms
of the spirits where the Man of Light had worn fire
like fur, and exuded that stench.

Sam remembered what the Man had said about ma-
nipulating his emotions and meddling with his mem-
ories. Had Dodger seen the same woman in that
portrait?

"Hyde-White, old man. Good to see you," Glover
exclaimed. "Recovered from your injury?"

"Almost."

Janice knew better. Though Hyde-White still wore
bandages and limped, Dan Shiroi had long ago recov-
ered from the injuries dealt him by a ravaging band of
shadowrunners. She disliked the fat shape Dan wore.
She was not skilled enough to pierce his mask and so,
like his coconspirators, she could only see the obese
bulk of Hyde-White even though she knew Dan's lean,
furred shape hid within it. His obsession with masks
no longer bothered her. She understood and embraced
the necessity. She looked forward to the day when he
would teach her enough to mask her own shape as
effectively as he did his own, and she would be able
to deceive the slimy Glover and his like.

"Your pet appears as ravishing as ever," Glover said
archly.

When he thought he was unwatched, Glover re-
garded her with the disgust one usually reserved for
things that crawled out of one's food. She suspected
he knew her true form; he was a druid, after all. She
also suspected that his attitude was more than the pre-
vailing English class consciousness. The man seemed
to have a pathological hatred for metahumans. But

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 301

then, did that make him different from the average
norm?

Glover struck her as a petty, small-minded man de-
spite his grandiose plans for the country. She didn't
like him, and wished Dan didn't find it convenient to
associate with him. The other druids were nearly as
bad.

Dan had told her how his Hyde-White identity was
involved in the plot to replace the monarch. She had
thought the plan put him too near the spotlight of pub-
licity, but had dropped her arguments when he ex-
plained that his participation would place him in a
position to influence policy regarding their metatype.
The risk seemed worth it; they needed every protec-
tion they could get from the swarming norms. Even if
it meant using such unsavory persons as Glover.

With her presence at these increasingly frequent din-
ner parties, she had come to see just how well Dan
had the druids under his influence. They treated Dan
like a revered elder. Alone at his home, she and
Dan had laughed at them, especially Glover. The arch-
druid was so devoted to Hyde-White and the cause.
Glover, who hated all metahumans, fawned on one
regularly without ever knowing the truth. It was a rich

oke.

Much better than the hoary jests exchanged by the
rest of the druids once she and Dan joined them. There
was the usual round of pleasantries from which she
was excluded. The snubbing didn't bother her; she only
came for Dan's company, and the food.

The seemingly interminable interlude in the lobby
ended and Barnett, the hosting druid, opened the doors
to the feast hall. The site was one of his company's
conference centers, and he seemed unduly proud of it.
Janice found the decorations tasteless and boring. The
table, on the other hand, was set with superb style.
The selection of condiments and sauces was exten-


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Robert N. Charrette

sive, offering a wide variety of flavorings for the main
course of rare meat which dominated the setting. To
either side of the golden platter with its mound of bite-
sized morsels, were baskets of sourdough rolls, excel-
lent for sopping juices. Save for the guest's place, each
diner's setting included a delicate ewer containing his
or her favorite beverage. The guest's plate was flanked
with two glass goblets, one brimming with iced water
and the other gleaming with a dark wine.

Scattered among the auxiliaries to the main course
were small dishes of vegetables and fruits. They added
a splash of bright color to the table, but Janice no
longer found such foods appetizing. Her changed me-
tabolism was exclusively carnivorous.

The guest was already seated at the table across from
the seat of honor, which was always given to Dan at
these affairs. The seats for her, the druids, and their
companions were ranged along the opposite side from
the seated man, flanking Dan's chair on either side.

The guest didn't look up as the feasters entered. In
the subdued lighting, Janice at first did not notice the
extensive bruising on his face; but as she took her
place, his battered visage was obvious. His dark
clothes were tattered and stained, and his posture made
them hang on his gaunt frame as if he had been
shrunken within them. He had the air of a man re-
signed to an unpleasant fate.

"You could have gotten our guest a change of
clothes," Dan said to Glover as he seated himself.
"I did," the archdruid replied. "He refused them."
"Perhaps you should have offered sackcloth and
ashes," suggested Ashton.

His remark raised general laughter around the table.
Janice didn't get the joke and didn't join the merri-
ment. No one noticed.

"You are impolite, my friends," Dan chided gently.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 303

"Pietro Rinaldi is our guest. If he wishes to attend in
casual dress, I will not spurn him from my table."

Rinaldi looked up when Dan said his name and his
eyes widened slightly when they rested on the speaker.
He looked next at Janice and she smiled at him, hop-
ing to set him at ease. He shivered and his gaze slid
away to skim over the lavish meal set upon the table.
Dan handed the great platter of meat to Glover,
starting it down the side of the table away from Janice.
As he awaited its return, he engaged their guest in
conversation.

"I was pleased to learn you had been persuaded to
stay with us, Pietro. An opportunity to interact with a
person of your quality and distinction is far too rare a
pleasure."

Dan waited for Rinaldi to speak, but he rudely re-
mained silent.

"Come now, Pietro. It will not imperil your soul to
talk to me."

Rinaldi glared at him before saying, "Will it not? I
know what you are."

"Ah. Your gift of sight. Your fellow Sylvestrines
told me that it was very strong. It must be difficult,
always seeing things and never having the experience
to truly understand them. You have my sympathy."

"Spare me," Rinaldi said. Janice thought the tone
of his response was rude. "I understand your kind
well enough."

"Do you, Pietro. I hardly think we have been rep
resented fairly in the arcane libraries in which you have
studied. I expect you have seen nothing but biased
accounts, half-truths, and ill-informed speculations.
But rather than arguing about what you think you
know, I'd like to talk with you about something you
know very well.

"You see, I know about you, Pietro Rinaldi. I know
the facts of your career and numerous small details of


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Robert N. Charrette

your history. But more importantly, I know what kind
of man you are. You are a doer, a man of action.

"As I learned of how your gift had been limited, I
was saddened. To find yourself only able to watch the
magic that makes the world live . . . such a limitation
is a criminal shame. You are not a watcher, Pietro. It
must gnaw at you to always see and never do."
"I have accepted my lot."

"Fine words, and a noble sentiment. I'm sure your
superiors approved and encouraged that attitude.
However, acceptance of the inevitable is no virtue.
Virtue requires sacrifice, does it not? At the very least
it requires voluntary abstention. But your inability to
touch the real magic is far from voluntary.''

As her own had been, Janice remembered. She had
yearned for the magic, and had despaired when she
was told she hadn't been blessed with the ability.

Rinaldi said, "I learned long ago not to aspire to
what cannot be."

Dan shook his head. "You mean, what you were
told could not be. Are you really sure that you can
never have the magic flow through your hands?''

Janice had been sure until she met Dan. He had
shown her the way.

"Pietro, your ignorance made things safer for them.
With your access to magic limited, you were no threat
to them."

Dan accepted the platter back and forked several
juicy chunks onto his plate. "Knowing what I am, you
know that I walk ways different from those of the bulk
of humanity. Those paths have taken me to places of
arcane knowledge. The power I have touched in those
places transcends moral strictures, and 1 have learned
how to share that power. 1 can offer you a way to
transcend your own strictures. Magic, Pietro! If you
accept my ways, the binding can be broken. I can lead
you into the realms of power and show you the secret

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 305

paths. I can give you the magic you long for. All I ask
is that you embrace us and our cause." Dan held out
the plate of meat. "Eat with us."

Rinaldi kept his hands on the table, but his gaze
skimmed along the seated diners. "I know you better
than they do. Retro me, Satanas. "

Dan lowered the plate and laughed. "I am a per-
suasive fellow, but I have never claimed to be that
particular silver-tongued devil."
"But you are a devil none the less."
"So I have been called, but I am not. I am a crea-
ture of the earth, Pietro. No more, no less. The earth
is as much a home to me as it is to you, and we each
have a place in the grand scheme. I am only attempt-
ing to offer you a better place, one in which you can
exercise the power that you long for. You are obviously
superior to the masses who throng the outside world.
The superior are not bound by the conventions of the
inferior. It has always been so. Haven't you always
known that your destiny was to be a magician?
"Join with us and it can be so."
Rinaldi ignored the newly offered plate and said,
"God is my armor. He offers all the power I need."
Foolish man, Janice thought. God set the natural
order on the earth and in that order, one relationship
was paramount: predator and prey. If you were not
one, you were the other, and the superior preyed upon
the inferior. Having made the world as it was, God
understood. How could Rinaldi not see that?

"Your vision of God offers you nothing but frustra-
tion and privation," Dan said. "Knowing no better,
you accepted that distortion of reality. But you are no
longer an uneducated child, sheltered by a limited view
of creation. You have seen magics, great and small.
You have seen the spirits moving through the air. How
can you just be a bystander? How it must gall you to
be unable to partake in the wonders!"


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Robert N. Charrette

"It is as it must be," Rinaldi said.
Janice thought his voice held less of the obstinate
conviction with which he had started. Dan had said
Rinaldi was an intelligent man; perhaps he was begin-
ning to see Dan's wisdom. Janice found herself hoping
that he would.

"Must be?" Dan questioned. "Very little must be
to a man who has the strength to seize opportunity.
You can see that if you just look around you. My com-
panions have partaken of my table, and they are whole.
They are better than whole; they are stronger than they
were before they joined me. Your gift lets you see that,
doesn't it?"

Rinaldi hung his head and said nothing.
"Look at them!"

Rinaldi's head snapped up at the command. He
stared at the feasters with eyes as bleak as winter.

Dan sat back, smiled with satisfaction. "Yes, you
can see that their auras are stronger for partaking of
my feast. You can be stronger, too. Strong enough to
burst the bonds that tie you and touch the face of
magic. You want to feel the magic, don't you?"
In a very small voice Rinaldi said, "Yes."
"Then join us," Dan said, leaning forward to offer
the platter for the third time. "It's not hard. Partake.
Take the power of another into yourself. Make your-
self strong."

Rinaldi's nostrils distended. He began breathing
hard, as if he was exerting himself physically. Sweat
beaded on his brow and upper lip. His eyes devoured
the meat on the platter.

"Come, Pietro. You can't deny me. I'm only trying
to help you fulfill your destiny."

Rinaldi locked his fingers together, elbows resting
on the table and lowered his forehead to his hands. He
was shaking.
Dan snorted and passed the platter to Janice. She

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 307

took a portion for her plate and passed it on. She felt
sorry for Rinaldi. Why was it so hard for him to accept
a place among them? How could he not want what Dan
offered him?

The platter completed its course and the feasters be-
gan their meal. From behind the barrier of his folded
hands, Rinaldi watched them. His eyes grew wilder.

At last he shouted, "Don't you all realize what you
are eating?"

Silence descended on the table. Dan smiled at Jan-
ice and she smiled back. "Prey," she mouthed si-
lently to her lover. Dan's smile grew wider. Glover
cleared his throat and spoke.

"Oh, yes. We are quite aware. We partake of the
ritual portion. It is necessary for the completion of
the ritual. We purify the impure and return them to
the holy cycle of the earth. Through us they are
cleansed and, through them, we are strengthened."

"God save you! You're eating human flesh!" Rin-
aldi seemed verging on the edge of hysteria. "Give up
your sin! Fight off the evil influence of this creature!"

"We partake of a ritual sacrament," Ashton re-
sponded calmly.

"And here I thought the Church had become more
broad-minded about alternate religions," said another
druid.

"We do this for the good of the land," added a
third.

Rinaldi tried to get up, but Dan gestured and an
invisible hand threw the priest back into his seat.

"It is impolite to leave the table before the meal is
finished," Dan admonished him.

"Let me go! I reject you!"

"I am patient, Pietro," Dan said, unruffled by Rin-
aldi's outburst. I'll give you another chance."

"I will die first."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am persuasive as well as


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Robert N. Charrette

patient. I'm sure you will come around to my point of
view. Soon or late, everyone gets hungry."

39

"I've got a line on the priest," Jenny's synthesized
voice announced from the telecom.

Hart considered telling her decker to put her time
into higher priority searches, but data was data and
Jenny, like any good decker, collected whatever was
lying around. Hart knew she should be thankful to be
relying on Jenny again, instead of the more technically
brilliant, but emotionally unstable, Dodger; but the
stress under which she was operating was disturbing
her usual crisp grasp of the situation.

"What's the word, Jenny?"

"A street runner posted an FYI on the local shad-
ownet after seeing a magically assisted snatch outside
St. Basil's in South London. Dated the op just after
noon yesterday. Victim matches the priest's descrip-
tion."

"Could still be a thousand people."

"A thousand people don't attract the attention of
other people, two of whom match descriptions with
your druids,"

"You got any more details?"

"Negatively. Spotter didn't want to get involved.
Beat feet soon as he twigged to the op. Said catching
fireballs wasn't his style."

"Smart."

There was a pause, then Jenny said in a tentative
voice, "I thought we were, too, boss."

"You got a problem, Jenny?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 309

"Negatively, boss," she responded quickly. "You
pay the bills and I run the Matrix. What could be bet-
ter? I just think this one's running a little close to
overheat, and you're awful close to the fire."

"Just do your job, girl. I'll be all right."

"Hope so. Just don't want to see the boss getting
hurt for no good reason."

Hart didn't like the idea of getting hurt, for any rea-
son. Jenny's fears weren't groundless. There were too
many factions scrambling around. The sooner things
were settled, the better.

"Did you get the meres lined up?"

"Prepaid bond locked them down, but if they're as
good as they claim, we don't have enough in the ac-
count to pay the completion fee. Logistics ate a lot of
the budget."

"Don't worry, they'll take enough casualties. Feed
me the rendezvous data."

The telecom beeped, signaling a datafeed on the
second line. Hart split the screen and reviewed the
details. They were satisfactory.

"Time to go to work, Jenny."

"I'm gone, boss." Jenny's voice faded out in sim-
ulated doppler echoes.

Word of Father Rinaldi's fate finally reached them,
and it was not good. In attempting to contact the in-
vestigative team his order had sent to the British Isles,
the priest had run afoul of agents of the Hidden Circle
and been captured. Sam had no doubt that the priest
would be one of the victims at the renegade druids'
next filthy ritual.

Rinaldi's capture complicated things, and Sam didn't
need any more complications. Everything was too
confused as it was. He stared at the opened packet that
Dodger had brought.


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310

Robert N. Charrette

Weighting down the curl of the paper was a pistol
holster wrapped up in its belt. The smooth black
leather encased his Narcoject Lethe, the same pistol
that Dodger had given him and that Hart had taken
away after she shot him. The other end of the wrap-
pings was held down by a fossil tooth. "Some kind of
Late Cretaceous dinosaur,'' the paleontologist had said
when Sam had taken it to the museum open house.
Sam thought he had a better idea of its origin but he
had been wounded and delirious that night in the bad-
lands when he had broken it free from its sandstone
entombment. Whatever it had been, it had become a
power fetish for him when he drilled a hole to take a
ritually knotted cord so that he could wear it around
his neck. Folded neatly between the gun and the tooth
was the fringed kevlar-lined leather jacket that Sally
had given him after his first solo shadowrun.

What had motivated Hart to give Dodger this packet
of gifts for Sam? It didn't seem to be boobytrapped;
Sam had detected no residues of spells, and Willie had
confirmed that no technological bugs infested the con-
tents of the package. "He'll need it," she had told
Dodger. For what? Against her? If it was meant as
some sort of apology, why hadn't she contacted him
herself? The unlocked for return of his goods only
confused him more, raising additional worries.
Time was running out.

With Rinaldi needing to be rescued, the runners had
to split their already pitifully weak forces. It couldn't
be helped. If their attack against Hyde-White went off
before they rescued the Circle's captives, there was too
great a chance that the captives would be killed out of
hand. If they made their rescue attempt before the
spoiling attack, the Circle would be alerted that Sam's
team was back in action. That surprise element was
their only advantage, and a pair of simultaneous op-
erations was the only way to use that advantage. It was

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 311

also a good way for the runners to be defeated in de-
tail.

They were so pitifully undermanned for what they
had to do. Herzog was dead, and Willie's street con-
tacts had told her that the shaman's death had effec-
tively cut off any chance of local help. The word on
the street was that the run was suicide. Dodger was
still trying to contact some out-of-town friends, but
Sam didn't have much hope that they would be able to
stand up to the druids. He had detailed them, should
they show, to helping Dodger go after Rinaldi. With
the distraction Sam's attack would provide, Dodger's
group shouldn't face organized opposition. At least
they had been able to make connections through Cog
to outfit Willie for the raid.

The plan was weak and Sam knew it. But they'd
make the run. The split weakened the effort, perhaps
fatally; but Sam couldn't abandon Rinaldi, and he
couldn't see a way to stagger the operations. It was all
at once or not at all.

He tossed his head back and closed his eyes, using
the exercises Herzog had shown him to reduce the ten-
sion. When he felt his neck muscles relax a little, he
sighed and brought his head upright again. Beyond
Hart's engimatic gift the telecom screen glowed with
a frozen image. The screen showed a hardcover book
lying on a rug, half covered by a sheet. Due to the
forced image enlargement, the image wasn't sharp, but
it was clear enough for Sam to recognize it. While
Dodger's electronic delvings seemed to contradict
Sam's certainty that the woman who was residing in
Hyde-White's residence was his sister, the book ar-
gued otherwise. And, to Sam, the book won the ar-
gument and spurred his haste.

Only the author's name and half of the title were
visible, but Sam knew the book, anyway. It was
R. Norman Carter's Queen of Sorceries. The original


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312

Robert N. Charrette

spine of the cover was gone, replaced by a strip of
plastiboard taped down to protect the binding. Sam
remembered his father standing behind his shoulder
monitoring him as he carefully lettered the name of
the book onto that now-scuffed piece of board. He
could hear Janice crying in the other room and the
soft, comforting tones of his mother as she tried to
soothe her frantic daughter. Sam had still been mad
and unrepentant about teasing his sister about her
fondness for the story. His father had said it had been
cruel to tease Janice, but Sam hadn't understood at the
time. He had thought that his father would approve of
his attitude. After all, the book glorified magic. Sam
had thought he was rescuing Janice from the perils of
magic.

What he hadn't known when he was nine.
Even with its shoddy repair, or perhaps because of
it, the book had remained one of Janice's childhood
treasures. Like their father, she had always been sen-
timental about books. Sam didn't understand the pas-
sion she felt for the physical object, but he knew that
she would have used her limited weight allowance to
take her favorites with her to Yorni.

Now that book sat in Hyde-White's residence, and
Sam could not believe that it belonged to anyone other
than his sister. Somehow, Hyde-White had rescued her
from Yomi and seduced her. For the first, Sam had to
be grateful; the druid had done something Sam had
been unable to do. But, for the second, the man had
only earned Sam's enmity. Janice had obviously ex-
changed one form of bondage for another, and she
probably was more than grateful for the attention the
fat druid gave her. Her goblinized form would not be
beautiful.

Sam could not leave his sister living a lie. He was
all the family she had left, and he would have sought
her freedom even if Hyde-White had been no more

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 313

than a wealthy and jaded corporate with an exotic taste
in bedmates. The druid's evil taint made Janice's res-
cue and Hyde-White's elimination imperative.

Dodger knew that the electronic contact would have
been safer. Not that he was worried about physical
safety; he had chosen the meeting site carefully.
Though elves were uncommon throughout the plex,
their presence in this dive of a pub was less remark-
able; London's metahumans showed remarkably more
tolerance for each other than the norms did for any of
the metatypes.

Even though a Matrix connection would have given
him less opportunity to screw up, he wanted an in-
person meet. It wasn't because he wanted to deal with
Estios face to face\a151that was a pain on which he would
gladly pass. He felt a need to see Teresa again.

He was on this third V-juice when Estios and Teresa
entered the pub and took a booth in the back. From
his shadowed position at the bar, he waited, watching
to see if they had a tail. Satisfied that there were no
obvious followers, he flipped a one-band credstick to
the ork behind the bar and joined them.

Teresa looked tired and worn down, but she had a
smile for him. Beneath the layer of exhaustion, Es-
tios's expression was even more sour than usual. The
hand he tapped nervously on the table was wrapped in
surgical tape. The exposed flesh at the base of his fin-
gers looked raw.

"Let's get to it, alley runner. I don't like being out
in the open like this."

Dodger gave him a smile as wide and honest as that
of a megacorp's public relations director. "Indeed, I
think 'tis a lovely evening as well, and your inquiries
into my health are sincerely appreciated."


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314

Robert N. Charrette

"In your pointy ear, smart-ass. We lost Chatterjee
the other night."

Dodger swallowed his levity. He hadn't particularly
liked or disliked the Indian elf, but he had respected
him as a competent runner. "I know. I'm sorry."

"That don't change anything. He's still dead. If we'd
had some more muscle on the floor, he might not be."

Dodger's retort was cut off by Teresa.

"There's no need to lay guilt on Dodger. You went
ahead with the raid after you knew he couldn't make
it."

"Don't start," Estios snapped.

Teresa sat back. Estios's heated reaction seemed to
assure her that her point had been made.

"Chatterjee knew the risks, alley runner," Estios
said directly to Dodger, as if he needed to explain his
own responsibility in the other elf's death. "We're not
playing games here. But his death costs the team, and
I don't plan on losing anybody just to have a chat with
you. Make your point quickly, or we're gone."

"Very well. We've gotten reliable information on
the itinerary of one of the Circle. There will be an
opportunity for a strike."

"I assume your presence here means that Verner
isn't going after him."

"Her. It's Wallace."

"Whatever," Estios said, dismissing the correction
with an irritated wave of his injured hand. "You had
reported that his strategy was to whittle them down."

Dodger tried to sound properly offended by Estios's
implication. "I have reported all with scrupulous ac-
curacy. Sir Twist wants to wait for a shot at bigger
fish."

"But, Dodger, why pass this information on to us?
If we hit Wallace, it'll stir the Circle up," Teresa ob-
served. "That would seem to complicate Verner's
plans."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 315

"A successful raid will also weaken the Circle."
He turned to Estios. "I think even you can see that an
opportunity to weaken them will be to all our bene-
fits."

"There will be just the one?" Estios asked, still
suspicious. "They been hanging pretty close since we
iced Carstairs."

"For this occasion, the Circle will be separated.
One druid and a minimum amount of muscle is all
there will be. The Circle continues to expand their
shadow contacts, and there is to be a meet with an
important runner. Since the site is within Wallace's
turf, the politics of the situation demand a show of
trust. Security will be light."
"You've got plans for the meet site?"
"Of course." Dodger slid a chip case across the
table. "Times and routes as well."

"And you're willing to take Chatterjee's place on
this hit?"

Dodger hesitated. "I'll ride Matrix cover."
"Some brave fellow, eh, Teresa? Can't get shot or
flamed in the Matrix."

"There are dangers enough in the Matrix," she said.
Dodger wondered if she was worried about him. Es-
tios made his own feelings clear by saying, "Not when
we all know the Circle hasn't got a decker in his
league."

"Is that a backhanded compliment, Estios?" Dodger
said in mock surprise.

Estios glowered at him and stood. He half-dragged
Teresa from the booth. "If you do the job, alley run-
ner. We'll take out the druid."

The abrupt end of the meeting spoiled Dodger's
hopes of talking with Teresa. His pique roused him to
take a jab at the departing Estios. "What's the matter,
Mister Competence. Don't you trust me?"


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

40

Wind whistled past the cockpit. The rush of air al-
most drowned out the moan and hum of the taut fi-
bercables connecting the Fledermaus to its untenanted
twins. The cables slaved the autopilots of the other
craft, forcing them to duplicate Sam's maneuvers. The
dogbrains were left just enough latitude to compensate
for slight differences in the air flow.

In the distance, the triple towers of the Brighton
Centrum stood like spires of light against the night.
Below and beyond them, the lights of the district dot-
ted the landscape like a mass migration of hopped-up
fireflies.

Somewhere down there various radars would be run-
ning, watching the skies. The cables ensured there
would be no transmissions to unmask them, while the
foamed exteriors and composite construction materials
masked the metallic contents of the craft. To any vig-
ilant watcher, the vee formation of Fledermaus should
look like no more than a small flock of night-flying
seabirds.

Sam hoped that was true. Cog had assured him of
it, but Cog was safely on the ground. Sam turned the
nose of his craft toward the land, riding the predawn
seabreeze. Behind him, the other two ultralights turned
in his wake like obedient dogs.

Hart tongued the button on the boom mike of her
headset, silently acknowledging Jenny's signal. A
glance over the edge of the roof showed her the two

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 317

iiicles carrying the meres moving into pre-assault
sitions on the plaza between the towers. It was al-
st time.

Jenny had managed a reasonable crop, given the
constraints of time, and they were every bit as cocky
jfas the decker had said. But then most of their breed
I were that way; they didn't have enough brains to be
otherwise. Still, they were well equipped with un-
traceable equipment, which she had checked herself at
the briefing. More importantly, they were hopped up
and ready to go on what they thought was a retaliatory
property smash.

Hart had arranged for the bloodballs that they had
demanded in their contract. The combat drug would
raise their pain thresholds and boost their adrenal
functions, making them more effective physically while
cutting down on reasoning functions. Just the thing for
a shoot-and-scoot where no tactical subtlety was
needed. She had sternly admonished them to take only
one apiece, but she knew most of them would pop a
"few more. In fact, she was counting on it, and had
made sure the drug was above average purity. A mere

I who succumbed to its false promise of invincibility
probably wouldn't last the fight, but until then he'd be
worth two or three straight shooters.

They'd need the edge; she hadn't told them about
I the magic they would be facing.

Hart laid the Conner grapple gun on the parapet and
fused the sight to check the opposite roof. It was still
clear. She wished she could see inside, but she didn't
dare send Aleph or make an astral check herself. Sur-
prise was vital.

She tried to relax as she waited for Jenny's go sig-
nal.


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318

Robert N. Charrette

"Two doors down on the left."
Dodger watched Estios and Teresa move down the
corridor. She'd cover while the black-haired elf moved
forward. Then, he'd hold until she joined him. They
were careful and quiet. If Dodger hadn't been moni-
toring the hall camera, he would not have known they
were there; the sound pickups didn't register their
presence due to Estios's silence spell.

The pair reached the designated door. As Teresa
crossed in front to take a position on the side of the
frame opposite Estios, Dodger switched cameras and
checked the room to satisfy himself that all was well.

"All clear," he sent on the tight band. "Bonding
charge is off. Only the panel lock left.''

Estios nodded once to Teresa. He barely waited for
her to signal her own readiness before stepping away
from the wall. He faced the door and kicked. A por-
tion of the frame tore free. Estios used the recoil of
his kick to drop back in a crouch. Teresa cut through
the door and rolled to the left as Estios aimed into the
room, ready to take out any threat.

As Dodger had known all along, there was none.

A dazed Pietro Rinaldi awoke with a start. He
blinked sunken eyes into at the gun-wielding elves fac-
ing him. Like any intelligent person, he made no ex-
traneous movements.

Estios released he left-hand grip of his Steyr and
slammed a fist onto the floor. Furiously, he shouted
into his microphone. "What kind of drek you pulling
here, alley runner!"

"Please, noble rescuer. Lower your voice. I think
you're disturbing the good father. As well as possibly
alerting ATT-Multifax's sluggish but still present se-
curity forces.

"Father? This guy's & priest?"

Dodger was inordinantly pleased with himself. See-
ing Estios lose his cool was so gratifying. "Now, now.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 319

Don't let your prejudices show. It's bad for public re-
lations. Times are difficult and 'the enemy of my en-
emy' and all that. The good father opposes our mutual
foe and is their prisoner."
"That's his problem."

"You are being short-sighted, Ice Eyes," Dodger
chided. "This gentleman will have information we can
use."

Estios began to bristle, working himself up for a
blistering retort, but Teresa touched him on the arm.
"Dodger's right," she said softly. Her words made Es-
tios flinch, but at least he stopped sputtering. "Besides,
since he has seen us, we can't leave him for them."

"And leave you should. I've got activity on the mo-
tion detectors in the cross-corridor at junction three."
"Frag it!" Estios exclaimed. "I don't like being
used, alley runner. I'll get you for this."

Despite his comment, he helped Teresa get Rinaldi
to his feet. An elf on either side, the priest was able
to shuffle fairly quickly down the passageway.

Dodger guided them through the building, steering
them past guard stations and roving patrols. His best
information said that the staff of ATT-Multifax weren't
part of the Circle's conspiracy, but their building se-
curity was still charged with apprehending intruders.
Two elves escorting an emaciated priest would defi-
nitely attract their attention.

Once the elves and the priest were in the elevator
and on their way to the roof, Dodger decided to switch
back to the level where Rinaldi had been held. It
wouldn't do to have a hue and cry go up. He switched
to the zone in time to see a group of four people mov-
ing toward the now-vacant holding area.
"Drek! It really is Wallace."
"What did you say, alley runner?"
Estios's query made him realize he had broadcast
his surprise.


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320

Robert N. Charrette

"Nothing," he responded quickly. "Just get in the
veetole and go."

Estios made some kind of response, but Dodger was
too busy studying the druid's party through the secu-
rity camera. He couldn't see any transmitters, which
was good; he would have a chance to slow them down.
He started isolating the floor by activating all the tele-
communications circuits for the zone. As the druid's
party discovered their prisoner was gone, he was un-
leashing an expert program that would flit about the
system causing mischief. Until someone isolated the
bug, it would look as though a bush league hacker had
broken through the building's ice and was flexing his
muscles by messing with the telecommunications
lines. By then, Dodger would be long gone. He hoped.

As he expected, the first move of Wallace and her
goons was to use a telecom to alert the rest of the
Circle. While they struggled with the phones, Dodger
continued his guerrilla tactics. His ground team had
exited onto the roof, so he shut down the elevators.
He tensely waited for the veetole to lift before initiat-
ing the next sequence.

Finally frustrated with the telecoms, Wallace led her
goons toward the elevators. He had only seconds be-
fore they decided to use the stairs. One by one, he cut
off the security cameras in the sub-basement, starting
with the one commanding a view of the elevator lobby.
He was rewarded when the ATT-Multifax security
triggered the building's intruder alarm. The alert status
let him tweak the response and initiate the magnetic
locking of the stairwell doors, to completely trap Wal-
lace and her flunkies on a level about to be assaulted
by security teams. As a parting shot, he programmed
the sub-basement's sprinkler system to function in ran-
dom bursts and set off the fire alarms throughout the
basement levels. The noise and discomfort, would go

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 321

a long way toward distracting Wallace from using
magic to solve her dilemma.

He wanted to stay and watch the fun, but there
wouldn't be much for him to see with the cameras out.
Besides, he had places to be. He sent the go signal on
ahead and slipped out of the ATT-Multifax system as
stealthily as he had crept in.

Glover watched the lights of the departing helicopter
disappear into the distance. The craft was carrying
Ashton to investigate the trouble at the ATT-Multifax
complex. There had been no word from Wallace and
something seemed to be amiss on the lower level where
Glover had arranged for the storage of Hyde-White's
prize captive. The disturbance might have nothing to
do with the captive priest; there were enough targets
throughout the complex to attract shadowrunners. The
Circle had taken care of the rest of the priest's team
and were still successfully blocking the Vatican's in-
quiries. It seemed unlikely that a second team would
have been dispatched this soon, and the priest hadn't
been in the country long enough to ally himself with
other parties. Still, with Wallace out of touch, Glover
didn't want to take any chances. If there was a threat
to their interests, Ashton's magical muscle and his
overly enhanced bodyguards would handle it.

But until Wallace and Ashton returned, the Haw-
thornwaite Tower's magical defenses were weakened.

With Carstairs' loss to the shadowrunners, the Cir-
cle had lost its best situated connection in the local
government. The protection afforded their operations
hadn't totally disappeared, but it had been reduced, forc-
ing them to regroup. They had been using Carstairs'
residence as their chief base of operations, and his
death mandated that they seek a new location. Nearby
living quarters for all members was desirable for mu-


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Robert N. Charrette

tual support, and easy access to the lower classes a
vital necessity for the continuance of the ritual cycle.
Plausible mundane world connections were needed,
for the Circle was obliged to remain hidden until the
power ritual cycle was completed.

Brighton Centrum had seemed the perfect choice.
Sir Winston Neville owned the land on which the Cen-
trum was built, and besides being the leaseholder, he
was a major stockholder in the holding corporation
which administered the complex. The former arch-
druid's public connections with Gordon made it easy
cover his transfer to the Complex beneath the guise of
social affairs. Some of the Circle needed no special
arrangements to move their operations to the Cen-
trum. Hyde-White's GWN Corporation already main-
tained residential floors in the Hawthornwaite Tower,
as did Ashton's Miltech Research. ATT had residences
in all three towers, and it had been simple for Glover
to invoke executive privilege to take a residence in the
tower. Bringing Barnett's General Services in to re-
place the security corporation had only left Wallace
without a business reason to be there, and she was rich
enough to afford one of the luxury flats. Thus had the
Circle gathered under one roof, with no one the wiser.

A buzz from the telecom interrupted Glover's chain
of thought. Barnett answered it, as was appropriate:
the call tone had indicated the building security line.
There was a hushed conversation, most of which
Glover didn't hear clearly, but he had caught enough
to be unsurprised when Barnett said, "I say, Glover.
Security seems to be having a spot of trouble on the
plaza level."

"Why should it concern us?"

"Well, really, I am not sure that it does." Barnett
stroked his mustache in a nervous gesture that Glover
found irritating. "We've been having a rash of alarms
throughout the complex tonight. Most of them have

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 323

been false, but this is most definitely not. Sec desk is
reporting ten or more heavily armed intruders wreak-
ing havoc on the lobby and mezzanine levels."

"Have they attempted to force entry into the Tower
proper?"

Barnett shook his head. "Not as yet. Their violence
is without pattern, and individuals are reported to be
evidencing berserker fury, which has led Sec Desk to
suggest that we are dealing with a flashmob outbreak.
Personally, I find the scale of this assault disturbing."
Glover was annoyed by the whining tone in Barnett's
voice. "Then perhaps you had best attend to it per-
sonally."

"But the Circle's anonymity ..."
"Will be safe," Glover finished for him. "You are
a licensed druid and no one think twice if you defend
your residence, especially in aiding a security corpo-
ration which you own."
"Good point."

Barnett demonstrated his concern by leaving the
apartment posthaste. Glover returned his attention to
the skyline. Ashton's helicopter had long since van-
ished. After a moment, Glover felt a presence at his
back. Refocussing his gaze, he saw Sir Winston Nev-
ille's gaunt face reflected in the transparex.

"Now shall we tell Hyde-White, archdruid?" Nev-
ille asked petulantly.
Glover frowned.

Archdruid indeed. The title he had coveted for so
long had a hollow ring these days. While Glover wore
the title, the members of the Circle always seemed to
look to Hyde-White for direction. Without a struggle,
the fat old man had leeched the leadership role and
prestige from Glover. How had Hyde-White managed
it without Glover noticing? He never missed a power
shift in ATT and had always moved with the flow to
increase his own influence. So, what had happened


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Robert N. Charrette

within the Circle? Without the fat old man actually
present, Glover was still master of the others, so
Glover was not totally without influence. Hyde-White
was foolish in allowing Glover to garner the lion's
share of the power their rituals raised; one day that
shortsightedness would turn around and bite him.
Glover would not stay first in the Circle in name only.
He may have missed the opening pitch, but the wickets
weren't down yet.

"Archdruid?" Neville prompted.

Glover shook himself free of his brooding and turned
to his questioner. Neville stepped back, apparently
startled by something he saw in Glover's face.

"I just thought that," Neville began. "I mean\a151if
there is a significant danger, he should know.''

' 'And show weakness by running to him over some
petty problem that most likely has nothing to do with
the Circle? You don't know him half as well as I do,
Sir Winston. You would only earn his scorn."

"And if it does concern tie Circle?"

"Then we shall resolve it and present him with the
evidence of our efficiency. We captured the priest
without his involvement, as you recall. We shall show
him that the Circle is no longer weak."

And I will have shown that I no longer need his
strength.

Sam could see some kind of commotion at the base
of Hawthornwaite Tower. Flashes of light from heavy
weapons fire and magical blasts lit the sky with the
sudden violence of summer lightning. The arcane bolts
were coming from inside the building, which most
likely meant that one or more of the druids was in-
volved. The Centrum's security company had no on-
staff magical talent, relying on quick response from
the municipal police forces. Sam was pleased. The


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Robert N. Charrette

distraction would only make his job easier, perhaps
changing the odds of success from utterly impossible
to only mostly impossible.

He banked the Fledermaus, sending it in a wide
curve around the western tower. Locking the maneu-
ver into the autopilot, he relaxed and sent himself
down into trance to free his astral body. Any warning
his reconnaissance might give now would be minimal.
He ghosted through the target floor and found nothing
alive. The thing coiled on the sanctum's arcane dome
hissed at him, but did nothing to impede him. As he
passed through an area set aside as an office, a com-
munications device buzzed, demanding attention. An
immediate response cut off its strident complaint.
There had been a telecom in the sanctuary; Hyde-
White must have answered the call from there.

He rejoined his body as the Fledermaus finished its
turn. Sam called up an overlay graphic to the heads-
up display and confirmed the target floor. Dipping the
nose of the craft, he headed in.

One hundred meters from the tower he switched on
the auxiliary motors, giving the three craft the extra
power they'd need to deal with the updrafts around the
building. His screech transmission to Willie was an-
swered at once. Sam blew the armament covers, send-
ing fragments of radar-absorbent panels fluttering
toward the ground, then cut the trailing craft free.
They'd be under Willie's control for the final approach;
there was no longer any need to maintain comm si-
lence.

"Fifty meters, Willie."
"Affirm."
"Launch on three."
"Wilco."

"One. Two. Thr\a151"

The Fledermaus bucked as it launched the single
air-to-surface missile slung under its belly. Flashes of

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 327

fire lit the cockpit from either side as the remotely
piloted craft launched their missiles simultaneously.

The floor-to-ceiling transparex windows of the tar-
get floor dissolved into millions of fragments under the
hammer blows of the triple explosion. Sam fought the
controls as the backblast washed over the Fledermaus.
Somehow he managed the keep on the flight path. An
updraft caught the craft just as its nose reached where
the windows had been. The tail drifted forward and
one wing dipped. Dipped and caught against the build-
ing. The 'Maus slewed around, flopping hard on its
belly. The light craft bounced, then came down again
on its nose, balancing precariously. Sam, hanging in
the safety harness, saw one of the other craft nose up
as it crossed their newly made threshold and kiss the
ceiling inside the residence. The collision canceled its
momentum. The Fledermaus's tail was still hanging
outside. With a grinding roar, the craft slid backwards
and out into space again. Sam could picture it tum-
bling toward the plaza.

Thank you, Lord. That could have been me.

His own craft rocked backwards, its precarious
balance disturbed by the rush of air chasing the plum-
meting Fledermaus. Sam's teeth slammed together as
his aircraft crashed to rest in a horizontal attitude.
Half-dazed, he flicked the harness's quick release with
one hand and with the other triggered the explosive
charges that blew the canopy open.

He crawled shakily from the wreckage of his Fle-
dermaus, eyes flying across the area in search of any
opposition. Finding no immediate threats, he checked
the status of the third craft. The other 'Maus had
made a perfect landing and was discharging its cargo.
A dozen rigger drones rolled down the extended
ramp.

Each drone ran on four fat, deeply treaded tires and


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Robert N. Charrette

looked remarkably like a child's radio-controlled toy.
But no child had ever had such a toy. The drones were
armored with ceramic composite plates and armed
with fully automatic pistols mounted in extendable tur-
rets. Each was equipped with a dog-brain that allowed
it limited tactical responses when the rigger wasn't di-
rectly controlling it. The expert system wasn't a great
shot or a canny fighter, but the drones would make
good pillboxes capable of suppressive fire. Their small
size made them difficult targets.

Once off the ramp, each drone turned in a different
direction. Most were headed for the entrances to the
residence level; their job was to limit reinforcements
for Hyde-White. Some stolidly climbed up and across
obstructions, proceeding in direct lines to their sta-
tions. Others whizzed around debris, taking corners as
if they were driven by tiny, demented road rally driv-
ers. Sam thought he knew which ones Willie was run-
ning. Within thirty seconds, only three remained in
sight, and they had taken up station in a triangle with
Sam at the center. Their turrets swiveled to allow gun
and camera sight to cover a circular field of fire.

Smoke from the missile explosions filled the air,
cutting visibility. Sam crouched, trying to keep his
head below the smoke. He had to move cautiously;
there were plenty of places to hide in the warren of
living spaces that made up the residence level and no
guarantee that Hyde-White was still in the sanctum.

Sam drew the Lethe. If by some chance Janice had
been present in the sanctum and was now roaming the
floor, he didn't want to shoot and kill her. Once he
had a better idea where the opposition was, there
would be time to shift to the heavy Ares Predator fill-
ing the holster on his left hip.

The stalk through the apartment was slow, lengthened
by Sam's caution. The metroplex's night sounds were

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 329

distant. They faded from Sam's awareness. Only what
was near at hand mattered. He stepped carefully, try-
ing to move silently. He listened for the slightest
sound. The drones escorting him hummed almost in-
audibly.

"Bogey. North Quarter," Willie announced sud-
denly in his ear reciever causing him to jump. "Tally
ho!"

A short burst of weapons fire ruptured the silence,
followed almost immediately by a howl of pain. More
gunfire followed, and the sound of a heavy body crash-
ing into things, but there were no more vocalizations.
There was a crack like thunder and a flare of light
washed the ceiling in the north quadrant.

"Drek. Oh drek!" Willie wailed in his ear.

Sam's escort drones swiveled their turrets and surged
forward. As the last one careened out of sight around
a corner, more gunfire erupted.

Sam arrived at a waist-high partition and ducked
behind it. Cautiously raising his head, he got a glimpse
of the battle. The drones were racing about, dodging
beneath and behind blood-spattered furniture while
taking pot shots at Hyde-White, who was dodging with
surprising agility. He too was using the residence's
furnishings as cover while he sought a clear shot at the
whizzing drones. The fat druid looked uninjured, and
his right hand glowed with some kind of spell held in
readiness to cast.

Before Sam could decide on a course of action,
Hyde-White spun and faced a drone that had backed
itself into a corner. Disdaining to use his prepared
spell, the fat druid reached out with a stubby-fingered
hand and grabbed. With a casual flip he smashed it
into the opposite wall. The drone split open on im-
pact, scattering innards like shrapnel. With a sizzling
pop, it tumbled from the drone-shaped dent in the wall


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Robert N. Charrette

and landed sparking on a couch. The fabric began to
smoulder.

Sam was startled by the druid's display of strength.
Belying their toylike appearance, the drones weighed
almost twenty kilograms apiece. They were not easy
to toss around, and the druid had thrown one with
sufficient strength to crack it open.

Sam's stomach flipflopped. The last time he had seen
a man display such strength, the "man" had not been
a man at all, but a dragon concealed within a shape-
shifting spell. Allowing Willie's drones to carry the
fight, he slipped into astral perception.

In his altered perspective, the attacking drones be-
game blurs of murderous intent, their clean-lined me-
chanical appearance replaced by a fuzzy presence of
intent and purpose. As machines the drones were not
truly present on the astral planes. But Hyde-White, a
living being, remained clear in Sam's eyes. The fat
druid glowed with raw power. It was a dazzling aura,
but in its tone and strength unlike anything Sam had
seen before in a human.

One of the drones must have caught the druid cleanly
with a burst for he suddenly staggered backwards. A
smaller man might have been dropped by the impact
of the bullets, but the massive Hyde-White only reeled.
Sam expected to see the man's torso splattered all over
his fancy wall hangings, and the live glow of his astral
spirit dimmed and dying.
What he did see frightened him badly.
Hyde-White's astral glow remained steady and
strong. The image Sam saw looked like a double ex-
posure he had once seen in an old photograph collec-
tion. There were two Hyde-Whites occupying the same
space, the sharply defined astral image and the in-
creasingly tattered flesh form. Sam saw muscles tear,
bones shatter, and blood burst forth from the flesh

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 331

form to stain the room incarnadine. But the druid did
not fall. Torn skin crawled and flayed muscles writhed
as though imbued with lives of their own. Splintered
bones swayed together to disappear under closing
wounds. New flesh spread across gaps where chunks
of muscle had been torn away. Once the process be-
gan, Hyde-White regenerated the wounds caused by
the drone's gunfire as soon as they were made.

Despite the fat druid's appearance, Sam could no
longer believe the fat druid was human. Whatever
Hyde-White was, he was invulnerable to physical
damage. Sam's throat tightened with fear.

41

The explosion on the side of the tower was the cue
for which Hart had waited. She settled the butt of the
Conner firmly against her shoulder and sighted in. Fif-
teen pounds of pressure on the trigger ignited the pro-
pellant. The grapple gun kicked into her shoulder as
it sent its alloy missile two hundred meters across the
gap between the towers.

The missile struck cleanly and buried its head in
the concrete wall. Moving quickly, she attached the
carry line to the tension wire and to the takeup reel.
She hit the go button and rechecked her gear as the
winch reeled in the thin line and dragged the heavier
weight-carrying wire through the pulley on the at-
tached grapnel and back to itself. When the load-
bearing wire returned, she attached it to the anchored
winch. She slipped the wheels of the pulley slide be-
tween the now-parallel strands of wire, snapped the


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Robert N. Charrette

cover down tight, and attached the safety wire. Re-
versing the winch, she tightened the line and tested
the grapnel's grip. It stayed firm at four times her
weight, so she slacked the tension back.

The gunfire from within the residential level, though
nearer, was barely louder than the increasingly spo-
radic noise from the plaza. There was no time left to
waste. She sat on the coping and got a good grip on
the handle bar of the pulley slide. She pushed off with
her feet and started herself on the slide down to the
Hawthornwaite Tower.

Glover felt the tremor in the building. He didn't
know what it meant, but he felt sure that it wasn't a
result of the ruckus at plaza level. The source of the
vibration was somewhere above the level he was on.

"What was that?" Neville asked fearfully.

Glover didn't bother to look at the old fool.

"We must tell Hyde-White."

He may be dead already, Glover thought. He found
himself wondering if that would be a bad thing, and
after a surprisingly short moment of indecision, de-
cided that it would. The fat old man was still neces-
sary if they were to achieve their goal of restoring the
land.

Barnett's office did not offer the full range of sur-
veillance monitors available to the security desk in the
main operations center, but the telecom controls al-
lowed an operator to route input through the telecom
itself or one of the two wall screens. Glover took ad-
vantage of the access afforded to Barnett's station and
demanded data on the status of the GWN floors. The
computer showed no contact with the security systems
on those floors. The condition was flagged with an
immediate response request that had gone unan-

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 333

swered, since the building security forces were en-
gaged in the battle on the lower levels.

Clearly, the Circle was under attack. The apparently
coincidental actions were obviously planned, designed
to separate the members of the Circle. It had been
cleverly staged. Glover suspected the enemy's goal was
to isolate the members of the Circle and eliminate them
individually. It was a clever strategy, but one he would
not allow to succeed.

So far, the only direct thrust against a member of
the Circle was the assault on Hyde-White's residence.
That would be the enemy's major thrust, barring more
attacks to come. Whatever the case, the Circle needed
to combine their strength as much as possible.

As he reached his decision, the office door slid open
to admit a disheveled Gordon. His face was fixed in
an angry frown as he swept the room with his gaze.
The narrowed eyes lighted on Glover and he strutted
up to the archdruid.

"What the devil is going on, Glover? I was enjoying
a nice quiet evening preparing myself for the next rit-
ual and then all bloody hell starts breaking loose. First,
Barnett stops by my flat and informs me that there is
some kind of row going on downstairs. Then, there's
a bloody great explosion that shakes the whole build-
ing. Is it the shadowrunners again? You must have got-
ten some of them, since one of their bloody aircraft
went tumbling past my window." Gordon stopped
suddenly in the midst of his tirade. "Where is he? Is
he all right?"

Glover didn't need to ask to know that Gordon
wanted to know what, if anything, had happened to
Hyde-White. Bel's blistering face! Did no one accord
Glover his pride of place as archdruid? Glover stifled
the thought. The land came before any questions of
dominance, and the needs of the land would not be


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Robert N. Charrette

met if the enemy succeeded. The foremost need was
to end the threat to the Circle.

"He is in his residence, Your Highness. Neville and
I were just on our way there.''

Gordon didn't see the surprised look on Neville's
face, and his own words drowned out those of the old
druid.

"Then I'm going with you. I must know if he has
been hurt. Those shadowrunners almost killed him be-
fore. If he's alone, he'll need our help."

Glover shook his head as he stepped past Gordon
and grabbed Neville by the shoulder. He hustled the
former archdruid toward the door, saying over his
shoulder, "There's no need for you to go, Your High-
ness. Sir Winston and I will deal with any problem
that might have arisen."

He might as well have saved his breath. Gordon fell
in behind them, and his bodyguards behind him. The
parade lasted all the way to the lobby, where Glover
stopped in front of the GWN shaft. Gordon's constant
babbling about Hyde-White's safety almost made
Glover fumble the security code that called a car.

Glover shoved Neville into the car as soon as the
doors hissed open. He turned to insist that Gordon
remain behind, but before he could speak the man
brushed past him and entered the car. Realizing that
argument was useless and time was passing, Glover
entered the car himself. The two bodyguards crowded
in behind him. Glover tapped in the code for Hyde-
White's floor. The doors slid shut and the car began
to rise.

After only a few seconds, the car lurched to a stop.
"Power's still on," observed one of the guards.
"Must be a security check."

"Are you sure you entered the right code, arch-
druid?"

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 335

Neville's tone was unusually catty for the increas-
ingly timid former archdruid.

"It was correct," Glover replied. He didn't bother
to hide his annoyance.

"Well, call security and get this elevator moving
again," Gordon ordered. "Hurry! He needs us."

Glover snapped open the panel covering the emer-
gency comm unit with more than the necessary force.
The cover rebounded from the wall to rap him sharply.
He cursed as the edge jarred his hand with pain.

" Tis evocative, but hardly likely," a voice com-
mented from the speaker. The comm screen glowed to
life with the image of a white-haired, male elf. "Good
evening, archdruid, Your Corrupt Highness. Ah, Sir
Winston, I'm very glad you're here as well."
"Who are you?" Gordon asked belligerently.
Sudden suspicion bored in on Glover. ' 'What do you
want?"

"Much cooler, archdruid. As to what I want, shall
we just say that I hope you're as cool in hell. Going
down."

The elevator began to plummet.
The initial lurch of car threw its occupants off bal-
ance. As Glover recovered he could see fear etched in
the faces of his companions. Even Gordon's body-
guards were afraid\a151their reinforced bones would not
save them from a forty-story plummet.

"No need to bother with the emergency brake," the
elf said jauntily. "It's disconnected."

One of the bodyguards slammed the button with his
fist anyway. As predicted, there was no response. The
guard slammed it again and again, denting the sur-
rounding panel with the force of his blows.
"Do something, Glover! Save us!"
Gordon's voice was shrill with panic. Glover blocked
it out and concentrated. Raising his personal protec-


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Robert N. Charrette

tion spell only took the archdruid a moment\a151a mo-
ment in which the elevator car gathered speed in its
downward rush. Glover knew that maintaining the
protective spell would make other magic difficult, but
he was sure he would need the safeguard.

Glover raised his arms above his head and spread
them. He focused his energy and blew the roof from
the elevator car. Fluorescent panels, structural mem-
bers, and supporting cable volatilized. The sound of
the car's downward passage no longer muffled, a rush-
ing sound filled the car.

Gordon grabbed Glover's shoulder, dragging down
one arm. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"
"I'm leaving. The land needs me."
"What about me? The land needs me, too!"
"There are others of royal blood."
Glover struck the grasping hand away and pressed
his palms together at chest level, fingers pointing out.
He rotated his wrists until his fingers pointed up, and
the elevator car dropped away. He remained floating
in the shaft.

The decker's frustrated cursing joined the screams
of Gordon, the howls of the bodyguards, and the des-
paring wail of Neville. The din grew fainter as, driven
by his will, Glover shot up the now-vacant shaft.

Sam watched as an arcane bolt caught the last of the
three drones that had escorted him. Its armor bubbled
and darkened. With a burst that sent shards of the de-
vice in all directions, the drone exploded, its ammu-
nition cooked off in the magical heat.

A fragment whizzed past his head, scoring his cheek
before its tumbling flight buried it several centimeters
deep into the wall behind him. He cried out from the
sudden pain.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 337

Hyde-White turned to face him. Red-rimmed eyes
bored into his own.

"So it is you. You should have heeded the warning,
Samuel Verner, You've only brought death upon your-
self by coming here."

"Don't be so sure, monster," Sam blurred.

The druid laughed, a deep booming sound. "Mon-
ster? Is that anyway to describe a person who only
seeks the well-being of his fellows?"

Hyde-White's reaction puzzled Sam. The savagery
of the druid's fight with the drones had been unex-
pectedly replaced by a calm, and somehow sinister,
playfulness. Sam didn't know Hyde-White's game, but
every minute the druid talked gave Sam a chance to
think of something to do. Unfortunately, every minute
also increased the chances that the druid would get
reinforcements.

"Your deeds speak loudly enough of your nature.
For all that you look like a man, you're not human."

Hyde-White sighed. He looked around for a mo-
ment, then sauntered to a chair that remained mostly
intact and threw himself down.

"You had me fooled for a moment. I suppose I
should have known better. I have been an initiate of
my magical tradition for more years than you have
walked this wounded earth. It was ridiculous to even
entertain the thought that you might have penetrated
the mask. I expect I was misled by your potential."
Sam was confused by Hyde-White's ramblings.
"You look so perplexed. It's quite a wonder." The
fat man chuckled. "Since your death is inevitable now,
the mask doesn't matter anymore. Shall I let you see
the truth? You won't like it, and I suppose you might
even find it a little frightening, which is all to the good.
Fear adds a wonderfully subtle flavor."
Hyde-White stood up again and stretched languidly.


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Robert N. Charrette

The stretch seemed to go on beyond the bounds of his
flesh. He grew taller and slimmer. His arms length-
ened, as did his legs, and the clothes covering his body
changed to become a white pelt. Wrinkled, liver-
spotted hands widened and darkened as fingers elon-
gated into taloned digits. His facial features melted
and re-formed into a bestial visage.

The thing that had hidden in the shape of Hyde-
White looked down at Sam and smiled a carnivore's
smile. Like a stage magician signalling a completed
trick, he gave a twisting Sick of his hand and said,
"You see, I haven't been human for decades."

Sam stumbled back from the divider behind which
he had crouched, and bumped into a wall. He straight-
ened up, letting the wall take some of his weight. Oth-
erwise, he feared his knees would buckle.

The stench of decay and corruption emanating from
the furred apparition was almost overpowering. Sam
had expected the smell after his invasion of the sanc-
tum, but he hadn't expected to see what he was seeing.
Like the odor, the being's silhouette was familiar from
his troubled dreams and frustrated attempts to enhance
his magical power. He had seen a similar creature
when they had raided the Circle's murder ritual. Both
Willie and Dodger were right and wrong. Hyde-White
was a wendigo, but he was very much alive.

"You were the Man of Light."

It was the wendigo's turn to look confused. "The
what?"

"The one who blocked my path to the totem
realms."

"Ah. You use the past tense, implying that you have
breached the barriers I set in your mind. This is un-
fortunate. When I touched your astral form on the Sol-
stice, and learned who you were, I sought to save you
from yourself. You have been very persistent, as I

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 339

should have expected from one with so strong a will.
Perhaps I was not so foolish to worry about your abil-
ity to pierce the mask."

Sam shuddered as the wendigo spoke. All lingering
thoughts that the Man of Light was something he had
dredged from his own subconscious vanished. His
mind had been violated, his memories subverted by
the wendigo. He felt sick and revulsed. He felt hatred.
"You bastard! I'm not a toy for you to play with.
I'm a man, you godless, soulless beast! You fragged
with my mind just to frighten me away from the power
I needed to stop you."

"Stop me? A pup like you?" The wendigo laughed.
"That's rich. But then, she said you had a strange sense
of humor.''

The muscles in Sam's face went slack. He felt chill
all over as he remembered his not entirely strategic
reason for selecting Hyde-White as the first target.
"Janice," he whispered.

"Of course, Janice. You knew she was here, didn't
you?" The wendigo paused to study Sam's expression.
"I see you did. So it was she who motivated you to
come after me. So much for noble motives. It does
always seem to be kinbonds that motivate the hunters.
I, of all people, should not have forgotten the power
of that draw."

Indignation fueled Sam's anger. "How dare you call
yourself a person? You're a murderer, an eater of hu-
man flesh, and a corrupter of minds. You have for-
feited any claim of humanity. God as my witness, you
have forfeited your right to life."

"What right have you to judge me?" The wendigo
pointed an accusing finger at Sam. "You are of the
blood of man, a scion of the long line of corrupters of
the earth itself. The human race has fouled its nest
since its infancy. Humanity is the true despoiler, and


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Robert N. Charrette

I am relieved that I am no longer a part of that dese-
cration. Were you able to understand your place in
nature as I do mine, you would see the truth.

"By blood, I am born of the earth and I act as my
blood directs. By temperament, I have responded to
the atrocities your precious humanity has visited upon
its collective mother, and have learned to call the cor-
rupted spirits of the earth. I will see the vermin of
humanity scoured from the face of the planet they have
defiled. I will turn the corruption back upon the real
evildoers. All you need to do is look around yourself
to see that I speak the truth. If you were truly moral,
you would join my crusade."

Sam felt the tug of the wendigo's words. He, too,
hated what man had done to the environment. He felt
his despair and frustration curdle into rage over the
thought of the betrayed trust. Then, he remembered
the filthy feel of the wendigo's previous presence in
his mind and shouted. "Liar! You twist the truth to
suit yourself, and I won't fall for it. You 're the corrup-
tor, the seducer, the defiler, and the despoiler. You're
evil by nature, and I will destroy you."

The wendigo let out a low growl through clenched
teeth. Then his lips closed down over his fangs, and
he smiled.

"If I am evil, what of your sister?"
"I won't let you hurt her."

"Hurt her?" The wendigo laughed. "I have no rea-
son to hurt one of my own. You are her past and I am
her future. She no longer belongs to your world, but
to mine. Forget her."

That was something Sam would never do. He felt
guilty enough over how little he had accomplished in
finding her. "Where is she?"

"She is safe from your misguided attentions. When
Glover told me of the disturbance at ATT-Multifax, I
thought it best to take precautions."

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 341

"What have you done with her?"

"Brought her into the fold."

"No!"

"Oh, yes."

"No!" Sam screamed again. He threw himself away
from the wall and summoned his magic. Howling the
words of Dog's song, he poured his will into the effort
of summoning a spirit. As soon as he felt a presence,
he demanded service of it.

A luminous mist rose from the floor. Streamers of
mist floated from the walls to join the cloud beginning
to swirl in the space between Sam and the wendigo.
The mist thickened, becoming almost liquid in den-
sity, and poured upwards to form a shape as if filling
a mold. The last of the vapor joined the hulking shape,
and the whole thing became more solid, taking on the
texture of poured concrete.

The floor groaned under the weight of the mani-
fested building spirit. Between its wide, humped
shoulders there was a knob that might have been a
head. Two pits of darkness opened in the knob, and
Sam felt the spirit's attention settle on him.

The spirit's stare unnerved him even more than the
realization that he had succeeded in summoning it.
The spirit's intensity, underlaid by hostility, scraped
stainless steel fingernails on the chalkboard that was
the inside of his skull. The spirit was insistent; it
wanted his orders, for only by discharging its duties
could it leave the physical plane.

"Destroy the wendigo," he told it. "End the blight
on the city.''

The spirit turned away abruptly. Spreading its arms,
it advanced on the wendigo. Each step sent tremors
through the floor.

Sam had expected that his enemy might show some
fear at this sudden manifestation of power. He was


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Robert N. Charrette

disappointed. The wendigo began to vocalize. The
sound started as a deep rumble in the massive chest
and occasionally burst forth in a feral growl. The
stench of putrefaction increased as the wendigo also
spread his arms wide.

The spirit lumbered forward and raised one blocky,
fistless arm to smash its victim. The wendigo stood
his ground. His only action was to convulse his out-
stretched fingers closed into fists.

The spirit froze as pain flared in Sam's head. The
mystic bonds by which he directed the spirit tattered
and tore. He tried to re-form them, but they slipped
through his grasp.

Across the room, the spirit turned. The smooth,
seamless lines of its form had become more jagged,
and its facade was pitted and marred. Like lurid tat-
toos, graffiti and slogans of violence defaced its sur-
face. It took a step toward Sam. Portions of its outer
covering flaked away as it moved. It stalked toward
him, leaving footprints of garbage and sludgy residue.
The wendigo gloated. "A poor choice, puppy sha-
man. Cities are one of the great blights that man
spreads across the earth. Know now, if you had not
already discerned it for yourself, that Blight is my to-
tem. I have embraced the toxic defilement of the earth
to turn it back on the source of the pollution. This
cold, concrete tower has no true hearth. By its nature,
the spirit you have summoned is more my servant than
yours. All you have done is given me the tool for your
destruction."

42

Janice was worried as soon as she heard the explo-
sion. Her failure to get through on the telecom only
intensified her concern. Suddenly Dan's uncharacter-
istic request, that she carry a message to a business
partner who lived on a lower floor of the tower, made
sense. It had just been an excuse to get her out of the
residence.

She detached her spirit and sent it upwards through
the building. Dan was there and well, but he was being
menaced by a hostile spirit. The shaman who had sum-
moned it was there as well, fully capable of more mis-
chief. Since she hadn't yet learned the secrets of
casting magic through her astral body, she fled down-
wards and returned to her physical body.

Hoping to reach the residence in time to help her
lover, she ran to the elevator lobby. In her excitement,
she fumbled her first try to enter Dan's code. She got
it right on the second try, but there was no response,
not even a call acknowledgment.

The shaft was the only one with direct access to the
residence floor. Frustrated, she slammed her fist into
the door. The metal buckled. She hit the door again
and a gap appeared between the two panels. She dug
her fingers into the space and pulled until she forced
the seal. As the pressure lock released, her strength
proved too much for the structures. The left panel
buckled and jammed, while the right folded and
slipped out of its track. She flung the useless thing
behind her.


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Robert N. Charrette

The shaft smelled of magic, making her fur rise.

She stuck her head out over the abyss and looked
down. The bottom of the shaft was obscured in a dust
cloud. That puzzled her until she realized that there
were no cables in the shaft. Someone had sabotaged
the elevator, and there would be no car arriving to
carry her to the residence.

She leaned into the opening she had forced, keeping
her balance with one hand gripping the frame of the
opening. With her free hand, she grabbed the rungs
of the emergency service ladder and tugged. To her
relief, it seemed solid enough to support her weight.
Careless of the jagged metal edges protruding in her
way, she swung into the shaft. The gashes she sus-
tained began to heal as she started to climb.

The elevator doors on Hyde-White's residence level
buckled and blew inward with explosive force. There
was no roar of explosives, only the metallic scream of
tortured metal and the shattering pop of plastics. Hart
knew magic when she encountered its effect.

Toylike, a four-wheeled silver thing rolled out from
under one of the lobby's low tables and took up station
in front of the opening. As the machine pulled into
place, its turret swiveled to point a gun barrel into the
shaft.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the drone
began firing its weapon in shrill hiccups of short-
duration autonre bursts. Hart heard bullets spanging
off metal and concrete, but there was another sound
as well, a high pitched whang which a norm would be
unable to hear. The source of the sound appeared, as
Glover drifted out of the shaft. Flares of light accom-
panied the strange sounds as bullets struck an invisible
shield that protected the archdruid.


CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 345

The drone briefly ceased fire as Glover drifted over
it and touched down on the thick carpet. The drone
revved its motor and began to circle him, firing bursts
at different portions of his anatomy in a random timing
sequence. Glover watched contemptuously as the drone
sought a weakness in his defense. On the third circle,
Glover lashed out with his foot, deflecting the drone's
course. Before its onboard expert system could com-
pensate, the little machine hit a piece of debris from
the doors and bounced into the air. It came down on
its right front fender and toppled forward. Its momen-
tum was so great that it rolled right through the open
doorway of the elevator shaft.

"Pathetic gadfly," Glover sneered as the machine
vanished from sight.

Hart dropped her invisibility spell and pointed her
pistol at Glover.

"Shouldn't have dropped the levitation spell, arch-
druid. You don't have an invitation to this party."

Glover started at her words, but recovered quickly.
"I have no further need for it and I don't need any
invitations, elf. You are no impediment to me. I pre-
sume you were watching and saw how ineffectual guns
are against a magician of my skills and power."
"I saw."

"You don't seem properly impressed."
"Oh, I was impressed. That bullet shield is a real
powerful trick, but I've got a few of my own."

She dropped her aim to the floor by his feet and
pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The
first explosive bullet shredded the carpet and pitted the
floor. Its concussive force tossed the archdruid from
his feet. The second bullet chewed through the floor-
ing and into the subflooring, and the third punched
through the ceiling of the floor below. The destruction
was so rapid that the stages were indistinguishable to


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Robert N. Charrette

the eye. When gravity reclaimed Glover, it pulled him
through the new hole. As he passed through the open-
ing, Hart saw the shock and surprise on his face, but
he looked physically unhurt. She was surprised at the
effectiveness of his protection spell.

Hart approached the gap cautiously, carefully test-
ing the footing before trusting her weight to the weak-
ened floor. Looking over the edge, she saw Glover
lying on top of a pile of debris. His clothes were dusted
over by late-falling chunks and settling dust. She had
hoped the fall would kill the archdruid; it hadn't. He
was dazed though and had dropped whatever spells he
was maintaining. As a mage herself, she knew the
strict concentration necessary to maintain powerful
spells.

"Are you awake, Archdruid Glover?"

He groaned. Conscious, but not composed enough
for magic.

"I actually came loaded for bigger game, but a good
hunter never passes up an opportunity."

She fired three more times. Without the protection
of his spell, he was just meat. Then, he was no more.

Sam crashed into things as he ran. He needed time
to gather his wits. Walls and furniture that were im-
pediments and bludgeoning obstacles to him did noth-
ing to slow the corrupted building spirit; it just walked
through them as if the object wasn't there. The only
things it detoured around were plants and the thieves'
cache of art objects scattered around the residence.
Fortunately, the spirit was moving more slowly than
he, as its summoner, knew it could. Under control of
the wendigo, the spirit seemed inclined to play with
its prey.

Gunfire from one of the drones reminded Sam of

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 347

Willie. The plan had called for her to concentrate on
dealing with physical threats while he handled the
magic, Her drone's lack of success against the wen-
digo in his Hyde-White guise had put the monster in
Sam's purview. Sam hoped she was doing better
against the security guards who were probably storm-
ing up the stairwells by now.

Collision with a musty tapestry told him where he
was in the maze of the residence. The wendigo's sanc-
tum was hidden behind the hanging. Its magical bar-
rier would probably stop the spirit, but the small room
would be a trap where the wendigo could deal with
him at leisure.

But, he realized, what would halt the spirit would
blind it as well. In a desperate burst of speed, he cut
around to the side of the sanctum, placing its barrier
between him and the spirit. A groan like overstressed
steel told him that the spirit had lost sight of him. If
it hadn't been limited by the manifestation, he would
never have been able to pull off this little trick. Sam
ran down the first hallway and cut right, trying to keep
the sanctum between him and where he thought the
spirit was. The longer he could keep it up, the further
away he could get. Breathing heavily and lungs burn-
ing, he stumbled into one of the few enclosed cham-
bers of the residence floor.

For now, he could run no more. He leaned his back
against a wall and let himself slide down to the floor.
Opening the seal on his leather jacket, he reached in-
side and closed his hand on the tooth. Peace, he told
himself. Peace to find the center. His breathing slowed
and his fear-fogged thoughts began to focus.

He envisioned the building spirit clumping toward
him. He visualized the strings of power that bound it
to the building. Tracing their flow from the essence of
the structure, he followed the threads to the spirit's


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Robert N. Charrette

manifestation. Because he had summoned the spirit,
he knew how those mana threads were twined and
knotted as they stretched to twist through the bound-
ary of astral space. Without such a connection, the
spirit would not have been able to manifest on the
mundane plane. Sam felt along the strands of power,
seeking to untangle them.

Sooner than he expected, a groping, handless arm
thrust through the partition. A second limb followed,
then the rest of the spirit emerged through the wall. It
was only a meter away. Sam could smell the mold and
rotting garbage odor of it as it cocked one arm back
to smash him.

He tugged on the astral strings.
The manifestation jerked. Sam tugged again, harder.
The spirit staggered back a step and lost a bit of its
substantiality. Digging mental fingers into the strands
of power, Sam pried and pulled. As he unraveled the
binding of the spirit's form, its physcal shape lost co-
herence, returning first to the liquid mist and then to
nothingness. He had banished his summoning.
It was a short-lived victory.

The wendigo trotted through the door to the cham-
ber. He betrayed no surprise. Having been in control
of the spirit, he would have felt its dissolution.

"An excellent banishment, if unexpected. You re-
buke my nonchalance, and rightly so. She is coming
and it will be better for all of us if you are dead by
then." The wendigo bared his fangs and advanced,
taloned fingers extended. "It is time for the end."

Sam knew he was no physical match for the three-
meter monster, but he scrambled to his feet, any-
way. He crouched, presenting a smaller target. He
hoped. The wendigo was stronger and faster than he
was. Staring death in the face and having no better
idea, he dove forward, surprising the wendigo and

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 349

slipping beneath the outstetched paws. But Sam was
not fast enough to escape unscathed. The wendigo
whirled and raked Sam across the back, slicing fringe
into a scattering of leather scraps and cutting through
to shred the jacket and its lining. Four rows of fire
burned into Sam's upper torso. The impact knocked
him to the floor and beneath of the sweep of the wen-
digo's second swipe.

Sam rolled away, trying to gain enough room to get
to his feet again. Pain seared through him as he flexed
his muscles to keep moving. Each time his back hit
the floor, the agony spiked.

An immense vise closed on his right ankle and he
knew his maneuver had failed. The wendigo lifted him
by his ankle and he dangled in the monster's grip. The
Ares Predator slipped from its holster, whacking Sam's
elbow as it fell. His arm went numb.

"I thought you were Dog, not Rabbit," the wendigo
scoffed.

Inexplicably, the wendigo howled in pain and flung
Sam away.

Sam was parallel to the floor when he hit the wall.
Pain exploded in his chest and he blacked out for a
second. He came to on the floor. His ears were ringing
and he felt like he was going to vomit. His left leg
was twisted underneath him. He felt no pain from it,
but by the angle, he knew it had to be broken. It hurt
to breathe, causing sharp stabbing pains in his chest.
Ribs broken too, he thought. No more running now.

The wendigo was clawing at the back of his left
shoulder as if madly trying to scratch an itch. He
roared in rage and pain. Sam heard a metallic click,
and the wendigo straightened up, one arm wrapped
across his chest to hold the opposite shoulder.
"Over here, furface."

With the ringing in his ears, Sam thought he did
well to recognize the voice as female.


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Robert N. Charrette

The wendigo turned to face the newcomer's voice.
Sam could see blood leaking from beneath the black-
skinned hand. Even through the scratches that the
wendigo's own talons had made were closing as Sam
watched, the monster still bled from the weapon
wound.

"You too. I should have known."

"Payback time, furface."

The wendigo dodged to one side and a whirring
metal disk rushed through the space he had occupied.
The weapon buried itself in the wall over Sam's head.
He looked up. It was a spoked wheel with a series of
wickedly sharp curved blades along its perimeter. It
was a signature design, a shuriken in the shape of a
Katherine's wheel.

"Hart," Sam croaked.

He could just catch glimpses of her beyond the bulk
of the wendigo. She was a wraith in black leather,
night to the day of the wendigo's white fur. Her right
hand was cocked back, another of the shurikens ready
to throw. In her left she carried a heavy pistol. Having
watched the fruitless attacks of Willie's drones, Sam
knew the gun would do little harm to the wendigo.
The wendigo himself seemed contemptuous of it as
well; his attention focused on the hand that held the
throwing weapon. It must be the metal. Some awak-
ened beings had allergic reactions to certain metals.

For long moments the two opponents feinted. Each
seemed unwilling to commit to a move that might open
an attack line for the other. Hart's hand blurred for-
ward suddenly, unleashing a glittering star toward the
wendigo. He shifted to his right fast enough that the
shuriken whizzed past. He had anticipated her throw,
but had not foreseen the diving roll to her right that
she made as soon as the throwing weapon left her
hand. He checked his charge and started to turn to her

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 351

new location. Hart fired from the floor and the wen-
digo's right hand vanished in an explosion of blood
and shattered bone fragments.

The wendigo's howl nearly deafened Sam. The
sound, which should have been full of pain, carried
nothing but outrage. He thought he heard the scream
re-echo through the residence as the monster recov-
ered from his surprise and charged Hart.

Trying to stand, Hart missed with her next two
shots. The bullets blew craters in the wall. As Sam
had done, she tried to duck under the sweep of the
wendigo's arms. Also like Sam, she wasn't fast
enough. One arm caught her in the hip and sent her
spinning into a bookshelf. Covered in blood, she col-
lapsed in a pile of books, artifacts, and simsense car-
tridges.

In two steps the wendigo reached her, but instead of
going for her, he grabbed the top of the bookcase with
his remaining hand and tugged. The heavy wooden
shelves creaked as they leaned out from the walls, the
anchor bolts squealing as they pulled free from their
moorings. The shelves crashed down just as Hart
scrambled out of their way on her hands and knees.

"Do something, dogboy!" she shouted at Sam.
"Throw a spell! Call a spirit! Do something!"

What could he do? He had called a spirit already
and the wendigo had corrupted it and turned it back
against him with contemptuous ease. What could he
do against such powerful magic? He was just a Dog
shaman.

He was\a151

He was in a forest glade in the middle of a city,
sitting on the grass. A mongrel sat by his side.

"Dog!" Sam exclaimed.

"Man," Dog said, mimicking Sam's intonation. "I
was wondering when you'd get to me."


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Robert N. Charrette

"I thought you were always with me?"
"I am. You're just not always with me. "
"I don't know what to do, Dog. Tell me," Sam
pleaded.

"Tell you? You're the one out in the world, man.
You've got to make your own decisions. You wanna be
a pup all your life, that's okay. 7 can live with it, but
you can't, 'cause it ain't gonna be a long life if you
don't wake up and smell the world like it is.
"The world smells like death."
"That's the wendigo talking. I thought you were a
man."
"lam."

"So show me," Dog yelped. "The men I know
don't give up so easily. Fight it, man."
"I don't know how," Sam complained.
"If you don't despair, you do."
Somewhere else, the wendigo advanced on Hart. She
drew a dagger from her belt. The orichalcum symbols
inlaid in the blade's side glowed slightly, the power of
that most magic of metals would enable the blade's
kiss to wound the wendigo. But it was only a dagger;
he had talons and fangs, and was more than twice her
mass.

"He'll kill her," Sam said to Dog.
"Yup," Dog agreed jauntily. "Then you. Then lots
more people. You gonna stop him?"
"What can I do?"

"Where's your faith? Us dog types believe in you
men types."

Somewhere else, the wendigo smashed the dagger
out of Hart's hand. The disarming move cost him a
deep gash in his forearm, but he seemed content with
the trade. His return strike was an open slap that
caught Hart on her right temple. She tried to roll with
the blow but the force was too much. She went down.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 353

"She's got no hope, Dog."
"She's got you. Show some spirit, man."
Sam felt utterly stupid. Dog had been telling him
what he had to do all along, and he was just being
dense. The wendigo had turned the building's spirit
because it was primarily the spirit of the place; and
places, no matter how pure they had been, could be
corrupted. Places were just things made to be used.
But people were more than things. Certainly they were
physical bodies, but they were more as well, hearts
and souls. Hearts could be corrupted too, but the soul's
purest essence was not so easily swayed. Confused,
tricked, and misled for a while, perhaps; but not for-
ever, as long as there was hope and faith and belief in
the ultimate goodness of life.

The wendigo had embraced death and despair, but
even his creed was tainted with hope. Though the
wendigo called Blight his totem and walked a toxic
path, he still saw a hopeful end. He used his corrupt
tools in his warped fight to rid the earth of what he
considered a plague. His was a terrible path, but ul-
timately a misguided one. For the shaman, Sam sud-
denly felt pity. For the wendigo nature of the being he
felt no such pity. The being it had been deserved the
pity, but that being had long since died inside the great
furred body.

Sam opened himself to the spirit world. Brighton
Centrum was full of people, full of life. He avoided
the dark corners and sought the light. In a rundown
squat of a shack cobbled together in the mall space of
a section scheduled for reconstruction, he found what
he wanted. Nurtured by the love and hope of a family
who had taken all the drek that life had thrown at them
and stayed a family, a spirit dwelled here. It was a
little grungy around the edges, but it had never known
despair.


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Robert N. Charrette

Sam sang the song Dog had taught him, wooing the
spirit. At first it seemed deaf to his pleas, but at last
it heard the song and stirred. Sam coaxed it from its
place with flattery and fed it his strength. The spirit
drifted through the distanceless space and joined him.
Sam rejoiced. He spoke to it of the urgency of his
need. Its aura pulsed, flaring in indignation and rage
as he told it of the wendigo. The spirit allowed him to
sculpt its raw purity into a concentrated crystal of di-
amond clarity and adamantine strength.
All the while, Dog sang counterpoint.
As Sam returned his consciousness to the mundane
world, the wendigo pinned Hart beneath his foot. He
leaned forward, putting his weight onto her chest. Sam
heard her ribs crack. He feared for her life, but he was
not distracted from the song. If he gave in to the fear,
all hope would truly be lost.

The spirit forged of man's nature manifested as a
small child. It was dirty and wore ragged castoff cloth-
ing. It held a pipe in its right hand which it smacked
grimly into the palm of its left.
"Yo, furball!" it called.

The wendigo turned his head at the new interrup-
tion. His eyes narrowed and nostrils distended as he
drank in the power of the spirit.
"You gotta go, furball," the spirit said.
The wendigo moved faster than Sam had ever seen
him do before. The foot that had been crushing the
life out of Hart swept around toward the manifestion.
The spirit blocked with one hand on either end of the
pipe, stopping the blow dead. The spirit then slid its
upper hand down to the lower, raised the pipe above
its head, and slammed it into the wendigo's still-raised
leg. The room shook as the wendigo crashed to the
floor. The splintered ends of bones protruded from his
leg.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 355

The spirit's assault didn't slow. Its pipe blurred up
and down, pummeling the wendigo. The spirit's
strength was magical, unconstrained by its physical
appearance. The wendigo was no match for its fury.
.Soon, he lay helpless.

The spirit drove the end of the pipe through the wen-
digo's left shoulder and into the floor. With two swift
hammer blows of its tiny fist, it bent the pipe over,
forming a staple that pinned the wendigo to the floor.
The fight seemed to go out of the wendigo and he lay
limp on the floor. He watched fearfully as the spirit
knelt on his chest and placed a hand on either side of
his broad head. Their eyes locked, and the wendigo
screamed.

The air seemed charged with electricity, but Sam
knew it was magic. He slipped into his astral senses
and saw the storm of mana that raged between the
spirit and the wendigo. Glowing like a sun, the spirit
poured golden light from its eyes into the wendigo's
dark orbs. At first, all that glorious light fought against
streamers of darkness that emanated from the wendi-
go's eyes and wrapped around the twin columns of
light as if to smother them. Seconds later\a151or was it
hours?\a151the dark wrappings started to fade until they
finally turned translucent and drifted away like smoke.
The body of the wendigo began to glow from inside
as the golden light poured into him from the spirit.
The spirit grew dimmer as the wendigo grew brighter
and brighter, until Sam could no longer bear the in-
tensity. Just before he dropped back to his mundane
senses, he thought he saw a shape within the wendigo's
form. But the glare made it too hard to be sure.

On the mundane plane, the wendigo's body looked
shrunken, a bag of skin over a frame of bone. The
spirit stood by the side of the body and pulled the pipe
free.


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Robert N. Charrette

"The darkness is gone," it said in a voice only Sam
could hear.

"You have done all that I could ask, spirit. I can
think of no better way to thank you than by giving you
your freedom."

"You would do this for me? I still owe you ser-
vices."

"We fought a common foe. You owe me nothing,
and I ask nothing more of you. You are free."

"Honor to you, man," the spirit said as it faded
from sight.

Sam could have followed its departure astrally. He
wanted to. He desperately wanted to know where the
spirit would go. But somehow that didn't seem right.

He crawled past the husk of the wendigo toward
Hart. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, and he
hurried even though he knew that he was aggravating
his own injuries. Pain seemed a small price to pay to
be by her side. He touched her face with his hands and
found that she was crying. She stirred at his touch and
opened her eyes. It took her a few seconds to recog-
nize him. Once she did, she tried to raise her arm.

"Wrist," she gasped.

Trying not to hurt her, Sam unsnapped the cuff and
rolled back her sleeve. Sam recognized the name and
logo of DocWagon on the circuit board embedded
within the clear plastic band she wore. The base color
of the board was platinum.

"Don't leave home without it." She tried to smile
at him, but the effort to talk had exhausted her waning
strength.

He pressed the stud that would summon the medical
service.

His own injuries sapped his strength, but he knew
that unless he did something foolish, he would prob-
ably live. He was not so sure about her. After all she

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 357

had done to keep him from stopping the wendigo, she
had risked her life to save him and give him the time
to call the spirit.

"Why?" he asked.

"I wish I knew."

She passed out.

43

By the time Janice reached the residence floor, ev-
erything was quiet. That made her nervous. She had
heard his last scream. It had been so full of pain that
she feared for his safety. How could anything have
happened to him? He was stronger than any norm sha-
man.

She skirted the hole on the entryway floor. Unlike
in the elevator shaft, there was no strong residue of
magic. The destruction here was purely physical.

The doors of the formal entrance were open.
Through them wafted the faint odor of blood. Tense
and alert, she padded through the archway.

There were a lot of scents in the air, but all were
faint; the floor's climate control system was busy
pumping warm air out the shattered northern window
wall and diluting the concentrations below the level
she could track. Still, she identified the scent of
strangers lingering in the air. One, a male, was vaguely
familiar, but the other, a female, was new to her. There
was also the ozone tang of machines like the one that
had almost struck her in the elevator shaft. That odor
was strong enough to indicate that there might be sev-
eral of the things; they didn't have enough individu-


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Robert N. Charrette

ality for her to tell if there had been only the one or if
more might be lurking about. The machine had been
small enough to hide effectively.

The one scent she most wanted to smell was the
most elusive.

A high-pitched, sequenced beeping reached her. It
was beyond the range of a norm hearing, or even an
elf's. It was clearly a signal. She knew of nothing in
the residence that would emit such a noise; the device
must belong to the intruders. She listened carefully,
then shifted position and listened again. The sound
seemed to be originating somewhere east of the sanc-
tum. She moved cautiously toward the source.

As she drew nearer, her apprehension grew. With
the air flow moving toward her the odors, all of them,
grew stronger. Dan's was among them. But her mo-
mentary flare of relief was snuffed by the realization
that the intruder's signal continued. Dan would not
have let it continue if he were able to stop it. Worse,
she sensed a lingering tingle of magic.

She stopped before one of the studies where blood
spattered the floors and walls. Beyond the hallway in one
of the large living areas, she could see a crater in the
wall. From somewhere out of sight around a partition,
she could hear a male voice whispering assurances. It
was not Dan's voice. She crept forward.

She reached the corner, and her wary peering re-
warded her with a sight that tore her heart. Dan's body
lay sprawled on the floor. His limp form was emaci-
ated, his bones pressing against his once-glossy pelt.
The white fur was fouled and matted with blood. A
great, gaping wound covered his left shoulder, and his
right hand, the hand that had stroked her so tenderly,
was missing. It had been jaggedly severed and was
nowhere in sight.
Her caution and fear were swept away. She rushed


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from concealment and threw herself on him. He was
so still. She didn't want to believe he was dead, but
her eyes could only see the blood and the wounds. Her
ears could not hear him breathe, and her touch found
only chill. He was far colder than he should be. Tears
streamed from her eyes, blurring her sight. Her ears
filled with the sounds of great sobs which she knew
were her own. She felt him cold under her hands and
wanted to deny what she felt. It was not possible, he
couldn't be dead.

"Fragging drek, Twist. It's got a mate."
The words broke through her grief. Those words
were meant for the norm shaman and whispered from
his earpiece receiver, but she heard them. She raised
her tear-blurred eyes and looked at the intruders for
the first time.

The woman lay against a wall, unconscious and
nearly dead. The man was the shaman she had seen
raising the spirit against Dan. He was battered and
covered with blood. Though his face was screwed into
a rictus of pain, he was struggling to prop up his torso.
In one hand he held a dagger of red-gold metal, but
he seemed otherwise unarmed. Save for his magic, she
reminded herself. One of the machines sat near his
head; the gun barrel of the tiny turret pointed directly
at her.

These were the ones who had taken Dan from her.

She sat back on her heels, noting as she did that the
machine's gun tracked her motion. Ignoring them she
passed a gentle hand along Dan's face. They had closed
his eyes. Her fingers lingered on his lips. They had
stolen his smile. She let her hand trail down to his
chest. They had stilled his heart.

She focused her intent, wrapping herself in the il-
lusion that she was as she had been, grieving over
Dan's body. Beneath the image, she crouched in readi-
ness.

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 361

They would die.

She leapt.

Her illusion vanished as she moved. The killers fi-
nally reacted, but, they were too late. The gun turret
could not swivel fast enough to track her. The shaman
was too weak to come close to matching her speed.
She was already in the air and soon she would rend
them.

She slammed into an invisible wall, and her lethal
pounce was converted into an ignominious tumble to
the floor. She felt her mind teeter on the brink of mad-
ness\a151the magical barrier tasted of Dan.

As she turned to his body, she found his head
turned slightly in her direction. His eyelids seemed
to be open, but she could not see the glitter of his
eyes.

She returned to him and kissed his lips. Her joy
faltered. He was cold, and his chest remained still.
And yet, with no air in his lungs to force the sounds
out of his throat, he spoke.

"I could not let you do it."

She probed with all her senses and only confused
herself. He was there but not there. She wanted him
alive. Her tears fell upon his face but not a muscle
twitched. She didn't know what to do.

"No kindeath. The blood is too strong. It taints. It's
so heavy. It taints. For you, my darling, I fear it would
be fatal."

She combed his mane with her talons. "Be quiet,
my love. I shall sing the healing songs for you."

"No songs. The meat is finished, and the feaster is
no more. From the brink of the dark I heard you weep
for me, and your tears, your love, let me save you this
once."

"Save me? I would have killed them for you."

"No," his sepulcral voice insisted. "Promise me.
Forswear the kindeath."


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Robert N. Charrette

"What are you saying, my love? What is this kin-
death?"

"Promise."

His voice had become fainter and echoed hollowly,
but she recognized his force of will in the demand.

"Anything. I promise. No kindeath. Whatever you
want. Just come back to me," she pleaded.

"The Dog shaman. He is your brother."

With that dire pronouncement, Janice felt him leave
and knew that all Dan Shiroi had been was gone. For-
ever. She poured her anguish into her scream.

Sam could not believe what he was hearing. The
voice from the dead wendigo was something he feared
would haunt his nightmares. But as terrifying as that
was, the words the voice spoke were worse. Was this
great furry thing, this female wendigo, his sister Jan-
ice? God could not be so cruel.

He shifted to astral perception and studied the
being's aura. He knew now how to recognize a wen-
digo aura, and he had no doubt that he was seeing
one. But he had not been magically active the last
time he had seen his sister. Nor had she gone through
the change. How would he know if this was she?
He could not be sure. Like a half-remembered
dream, something in the being's aura nagged with
familiarity.

"Janice?"

The red-rimmed eyes that turned to him were bleak.
The face in which they were set was totally unfamiliar.
He could not find a hint of his sister's fair features. He
had already heard this wendigo's voice and found
nothing to recognize in it.

"Sam?"

His throat constricted when he heard her pronounce

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 363

his name, "Sa-am." His doubts fled. "Lord in
Heaven, it is you."

There was so much to say, but Sam couldn't find the
words. Ever since he had heard of her goblinization, he
had feared for her. His attempts to contact her through
Renraku had been inexplicably stifled. But he had
never forgotten her, never stopped trying to figure out
a way to contact her. She stood before him now and
the moment was nothing like any he had imagined. He
had been afraid kawaru had left her an ork, or worse,
a troll\a151but this! Ever since he had learned what wen-
digo were, he had hated them.
Janice only stared at him, her dark eyes an enigma.
Finally he stammered, "I want to help."
"Where were you when I needed you before?" she
asked accusingly.
"I tried to-"

"If you had really fragging tried, you would have
done something. Dan was there when I needed him.
You abandon me, then you come back into my life,
and you take him away from me. You want to help
me? Bring him back."
"But he was a wendigo."

"And what do you think / am?" she shouted, slam-
ming a great paw against her chest.
"There has to be a way to help you."
Her laughter was bitter. "And I grew up thinking /
was the romantic and you were the practical one.
There's no redemption for me. Don't you see I'm al-
ready damned?"


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

44

"I can't believe that you just let her leave."
Estios stormed back and forth across the short space
afforded him. The apartment was one of Hart's safe-
houses. The back room had been roomy for Willie and
her rigger board, but with all the runners gathered,
space was at a premium. Most of the fine furniture had
been pushed back against the walls to make room for
the Mitsuhama Medical Technologies Home Convales-
ence Bed in which Hart lay. The runners, both the
unscathed and the wounded, and their gear looked ab-
surdly out of place among the wainscoting, natural fi-
ber rugs, and timber-beamed ceiling.

As soon as Estios passed him, Dodger stuck a foot
into the open space. Estios's attention was focused on
Sam; he remained unaware of the obstruction as he
retraced his path. Teresa elbowed Dodger in the ribs
and he retracted his foot just before Estios would have
stumbled over it.

Monitoring the readouts on the MMT bed, Sam was
only half-aware of Estios's ravings. Sam was no ex-
pert, but he thought the readings indicated that Hart
should be conscious. Though her eyes remained closed
and she didn't respond when he whispered her name,
he felt sure she was awake, refusing to acknowledge
anything around her.

He was afraid that he was what she was avoiding.
But it might have been that she didn't want to deal
with the loud-mouthed Estios, or maybe she just
wanted to rest. Either made sense. They had all been
through a lot and no one wanted to hear Estios rant.


CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 365

Sam looked around the room. Dodger and Teresa
were holding a private conversation where they sat on
the long couch. They were intense and Dodger looked
unhappy. Willie sat hunched over her rigger board and
was ostentatiously busy with the controls. Father Rin-
aldi, when they had been exchanging tales in the
Shidhe holding cell, had told Sam that he disliked any
kind of computer-human interface, but he was helping
Willie watch the viewscreen. From what little Sam
could see of the pictures relayed from her spotter
drones, nothing much was happening. Obviously, Jan-
ice was still inside the rundown tenement where she
had gone to ground.

Sam suddenly realized Estios had stopped talking
and was looking at him. The elf must have asked a
question. With no memory of having heard the ques-
tion, Sam had no hope of answering it.

"Look," he said with a sigh. "It's over. The Cir-
cle's broken."

"Weren't you listening? It's not over as long as
Ashton and Wallace are still out there."

"If you're so worried about them, go do some-
thing about it. I think they were just minor players.
With the others all dead, especially the wendigo
who built the Circle and fed them the power they
thought their sacrifices gained them, they won't be
a problem. An anonymous message to the Lord Pro-
tector's Oversight Board will get them their come-
uppance."

"They might still escape and recruit new members.
Even if they do not, the monster's mate is still out
there."

Sam buried his face in his hands and tried to mas-
sage away the anger he felt toward the obtuse Estios.
"Forget her. She wasn't part of the Circle."
"I can't forget her. She's a wendigo. That's enough
reason for her to die."


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Robert N. Charrette

Sam got to his feet. His ribs ached within the re-
straint of his torso bandage. He was wobbly, but the
walking cast on his leg made a limping shuffle possi-
ble. He hobbled across to Estios and looked up into
the elf's face.

"You're not going to kill her."
Estios curled his lip; he put his hand on Sam's chest
and shoved him backward. Sam landed in a chair with
an agonizing shock that sent a wave of blackness and
wheeling lights across his vision. He was glad he had
fallen in the cushioned chair; hitting the floor or a wall
might have caused him to pass out. He didn't think
Estios would have cared.

"You're too emotionally involved, Verner. I will as-
sume that the painkillers have fogged your reasoning,
and overlook your criminal shortsightedness. She
stopped being your sister the day she grew fur." Es-
tios surveyed the room. "We've wasted enough time.
Put the drones on standby and transfer control to your
van, rigger. Priest, you'll stay here with the wounded.
Everybody else, grab your gear. We're going hunt-
ing."

Willie looked to Sam. She had never liked Estios
and hated taking his orders. She seemed torn between
her loyalty to Sam and the weight of the elf's argu-
ments. Her eyes asked for a release from the burden
of decision.

Seeing that no one else was going to stand up to
Estios, Sam gritted his teeth. There was a table next
to the chair, and he grabbed it, hoping to take some
of the pressure off his ribs as he attempted to stand.
Pain rocked him as he tried, and he collapsed back
into the chair.

Dodger was across the room and crouched at Sam's
side in an instant. The elf used one hand to steady
Sam in the chair while his deft fingers adjusted con-


CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 367

trols on Sam's torso wrap. There was a brief hiss as
more gas pumped into the bandage's tubes to increase
its rigidity.

"He's going too far, Teresa," Dodger said. "This
is a dangerous plan."

"If you're scared, alley runner, you can stay be-
hind. We'll be playing in the real world where people
get really hurt. You wouldn't like it. Why don't you
go hide in your electron fantasies?'' Estios took a step
toward the couch and held out his hand to Teresa.

Dodger stepped forward. "Don't go with him, Te-
resa."

Teresa stared past Sam, obviously meeting Dodger's
gaze. Sam could see wavering emotions on her face.
Dodger was out of Sam's line of sight, but he felt
Dodger's tension through the elf's grip on his arm. The
grip tightened as Teresa dropped her eyes and took
Estios's hand.

Estios helped her up, then bent, retrieved her
weapon, and tossed it to her. All the while Estios
grinned at Dodger like a kid who had won a prize at
a carnival.

"Get a move on, rigger," he said, slapping a hand
against the back of Willie's chair. "We've got vermin
to exterminate."

Estios reached for his own Steyr, which leaned
against the table with the rigger board, and froze as a
new voice entered the conversation.

"Touch it and your boss will need a new number
one, Ice Eyes."

Hart's voice was hoarse. Her eyes, sunken and dark
ringed, were open and burned with fever. Their gaze
was fixed on Estios. Her left arm lay across her body,
which took most of the weight of the gun she held.
She pointed the muzzle at Estios. Sam had no idea
where she had gotten the weapon, but she wasn't in


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Robert N. Charrette

any shape to use it effectively. He thought he noticed
a slight tremor in her hand.

Estios looked at her, his face stony. Then, appar-
ently dismissing the threat, he started to reach for his
gun.

Thunder boomed in the room. Estios recoiled as
splinters of wood exploding from the table drew blood
from his outstretched hand.

"That was your one warning," Hart said. Her com-
plexion was paler, and fresh sweat plastered locks of
hair to her forehead. The recoil from the shot had ob-
viously caused her pain. Her hand shook visibly now.
Estios rubbed at his small wounds with the thumb
of his uninjured hand.

"Put the gun down, Hart. I could hit you with a
power dart before you could fire, and I don't think
your spell defense is up to competition levels right
now.''

"You can try me, drekhead. It's the only way you'll
know.''

Estios appeared to be weighing the odds.
Rinaldi reached across and grabbed the Steyr by the
muzzle. He set it down again against the wall, well
out of Estios's reach.

"I think that you might reconsider your position,
Estios. One cannot condemn a person for possibilities.
If that were so, all people would have to be con-
demned, for we are all capable of crimes. As far as
we know, Janice has killed no one yet."

"But she has eaten human flesh," Willie said. "The
other wendigo said she was just like him. We know he
was a killer."

Rinaldi shifted his stance so that he could speak to
Willie without taking his eyes off the stalemate be-
tween Hart and Estios.

"We also know he was a liar. If Janice has eaten

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 369

flesh, then she has committed a crime and a sin. But
the crime is not a capital one, and the sin may be
forgiven. I do not find it beyond the bounds of reason
to think that she was under the influence of the evil
she called Dan Shiroi and did not fully know what she
did. If she repents, there is hope for her redemption."

"Redemption," Estios repeated in a mocking tone.
"As long as she is a wendigo, she will crave the meat.
Tell me, priest. Can you change her back to the way
she was, then?"

Sam's heart raced, ignited by hope.

But Rinaldi turned away from Estios and gripped his
left hand in his right. He rocked his hands up and
down at waist level and shook his head sadly. "Alas,
no. But neither can I condone murder. That is what it
shall be if you kill her without evidence that she has
succumbed completely to the wendigo nature. Cold-
blooded murder.''

"Let her kills be on your head, then."

Rinaldi shifted as if Estios's suggestion made him
nervous. "Her actions are her own responsibility. As
yours are your responsibility. Every individual must
make his or her own choices."

Each of Rinaldi's minor changes of position had put
him closer to Hart's bed. In a sudden lunge, he
snatched Hart's gun. She was too weak to fight him as
he easily removed the weapon from her grasp. He
slipped on the safety and tossed the pistol into a cor-
ner.

"As I said, I will not condone murder," he said to
Hart.

She threw back her head and clenched her teeth.
Sam could hear her fist pound once against the edge
of the bed.

"Nice move," Estios said. "For a priest. Thanks
for saving me the trouble."


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Robert N. Charrette

' 'I did not disarm Hart for you alone,'' Rinaldi said.
"And I still maintain that you are premature. Janice
must live as her own conscience demands. If she is
weak and embraces the demands of her parabiology, I
will help you hunt her down."

"I don't want any help from you, priest."
"That will not stop me from joining the hunt," Rin-
aldi said resolutely.

Their casual talk of hunts and death and murder was
finally too much for Sam. Janice wasn't an animal.

"Shut up!" he shouted. "Shut up, all of you! There
won't be any hunt. She's my sister."

"She's a wendigo," Estios said. "You're a fool to
protect her, Verner. That kind of collaboration would
get you the death sentence in the Tir. We know how
to treat those who help the wendigo. If you think that
being her brother will save you from her, you're a dou-
ble fool. The wendigo is conscienceless evil; it knows
no family."

Sam looked at Estios, but his eyes were seeing the
events of the previous night. He saw the spirit of
humanity wrestle with the spirit of Blight in its wen-
digo embodiment. He heard the wendigo's voice
pleading with Janice. That hollow voice had spoken
words that didn't fit Estios's evaluation. Those caring
words had come from a husk that had been burned
clean of evil, but they had been born of one human
spirit, twisted as it was, reaching out to another who
responded. He had seen the tears of the wendigo Jan-
ice and knew that the human Janice was still alive
somewhere inside.

"You just don't understand," Sam insisted. "She's
sick."

"You're crazy, Verner," Estios spat back at him.
"She's a killer. She has to be stopped."

"She has killed no one," Rinaldi said. "Hunting
her down and killing her would be murder.''

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 371

"She's a wendigo. It's necessary," Estios said.
"It's murder," Sam said.

"It's moot," Willie said. "At least for now. I've
called back the drones."

"You stupid halfer," Estios screamed. He grabbed
his Steyr and headed out the door. "Come on. If we
don't hurry, the beast will get away."
Teresa slung her weapon and started after him.
"Teresa!" Dodger called, stopping her halfway to
the door.

"You're not like him, Teresa," Dodger insisted.
"Don't go with him."

She stood still for a full five seconds, then ran out
the door. She didn't look back. Dodger slammed his
fist into the wall, then sought out a corner and col-
lapsed in it, arms folded over his drooping head.
"Willie, what have you done?" Sam asked.
"Got rid of a real loser," she said. "Sorry about
your bird, Dodger."

"She made her own choice," Dodger said glumly.
' 'But they're going after Janice,'' Sam said. "They'll
kill her."

"Neg. She'll be gone. I dropped a drone in to spook
her. All they'll find is an empty squat."

"But you have lost her to us as well," Rinaldi
pointed out.

"Neg, again. Got a pair of drones still on her
tail."

"Clever, Willie," Rinaldi said.
"Affirm," the rigger agreed as she returned her full
attention to monitoring her drones' progress.

Sam forced himself to ignore the pain and rose to
his feet. Unsteadily, he limped to Rinaldi. Taking the
priest by his arm, Sam leaned close. "You're an expert
on magic, father. Tell me there's a way to cure her.
There must be a way."


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Robert N. Charrette

Rinaldi bowed his head for a moment, then looked
Sam in the eyes. "I just don't know, Sam. Science
knows next to nothing of the wendigo metatype, and
magical tradition adds precious little. If the tales from
the north are true, the wendigo nature is a curse. If
that is the case, it may be that she can be restored.
But if it is a biological change and nothing more, I
fear there is little hope. I will pray that your faith and
love be rewarded, but I just don't know."
"You won't really hunt her, will you?"
Rinaldi turned his head away.
"First things first, Sam. You and Hart are hurt and
must be taken care of. Janice is fresh and strong, while
we are tired and weak. I have no doubt she has been
well trained in combat and magic by the evil. If we
try to restrain her she will fight, and she might kill
most of us."

"She would never kill me. I'm her brother."
"You could be right. I pray that you are. That might
be her way to redemption."
Might. Could be. Maybe. Wasn't anything certain?
"I'll never be sure, will I, father?"
"In this life? I think not, Sam. But one can al-
ways pray, and trust in the Lord. He is always with
us."

Sam said nothing for a few minutes, quiet as he
thought about Janice and about what Rinaldi had said.
Finally, he said, "I think you're right, father. I think
He will be with me in this. You might even say that
He's dogging my path."

Frowning, Rinaldi said, "You sound like a shaman
I once knew."

Sam just smiled. All those mights, could-bes and
maybes were full of possibilities. All kinds of possi-
bilities. It was only despair that made the future seem
dark. He didn't have to look at it that way and vowed

CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES CAREFULLY 373

that he wouldn't. Dog had shown him the enlightening
and redeeming power of hope.

Sam knew he'd find a way to do what had to be
done.