n the near future when artificial 

intelligence makes computers nearly 

as intelligent as human beings, and 
where the rule of law is determined by the 
dollar sign, Native American searcher Diane 
Death Song takes on a job that puts her skills 
to the test. She believes she’s been hired by 
a large corporation to track down a 
genetically altered "Silver Tiger" which a rival 
company has stolen. But soon the searcher is 
involved in something much more sinister, 
and considerably more dangerous. 

As Death Song’s life unravels, she finds 
that no one can be trusted, including those 
who hired her. With memories of the past 
that she discovers are most likely 
fabrications, she seeks the Silver Tiger, the 
creature that holds the key to the truth. 

And the key to her survival. 


SILVER 
TIGER 


DUNCAN LONG 



Story Copyright © 1996, 2003, 2004 by Duncan 
Long. All rights reserved. Cover Illustration © 2003 
by Duncan Long. All rights reserved. 

For more information and free access to short 
stories, artwork, music and articles by Duncan Long, 
visit: http://duncanlong.com/ 

All rights on both text and cover artwork 
reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this 
book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever 
except as provided by US and international copyright 
laws. Any resemblance between characters in this 
book and those living or dead is purely coincidental. 


C 1 1 
D
D
iane Death Song realized she was making a 
mistake when she took the I-35 exit. But she 

didn’t have any choice. 

A cherry red Two-Teo muscle car had her boxed 
in from behind with a double semi-trailer flanking her 
in the left lane. When the Federal train truck plowed 
into what had been an old Volvo seconds before, the 
only opening she had was the exit ramp. The 
wreckage of the Volvo cartwheeled directly into 
Diane’s path; the collision warning beeper shattered 
the silence inside her Eldorado. 

She ignored the admonitions of the automap, 
cranking the wheel and shooting toward the off ramp 
to avoid a bumper somersaulting in front of her car. A 
bouncing hubcap crashed on the hood leaving a deep 
gash in its mirrored finish. 

“It is highly recommended that you navigate 
across the intersection and take the on ramp back to 
I-35,” the automap advised her as she skidded down 
the steep incline, dodging an old crate that lay in the 
middle of the lane. “PD warnings report the street 
ahead to be in a plague area,” the machine added as 
she braked frantically to avoid scrapping the 

1 


guardrail. 

Finally at the bottom of the ramp, Diane closed 
her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she removed 
the tint from the side windows and glanced up and 
down the avenue, squinting in the sunlight before 
muting the windows and checking the video display. 
The streets looked safe. Behind her the muscle car 
came to a halt, having no doubt followed her evasive 
actions to avoid the pileup that was destined to 
occur. 

Beyond the muscle car, up the ramp and back on 
the interstate, she watched as the twisting wall of 
dented vehicles grew, writhing with each new 
impact from the heavy rush-hour traffic streaming 
toward it. Within seconds a giant ball of fire leaped 
from the plastic and steel rubble and climbed 
skyward as the propane, alcohol, and gasoline that 
had powered the wrecks ignited. 

Turning her attention back to the street in front 
of her, she saw that the on ramp leading back to the 
interstate was totally blocked with rusted car 
bodies, apparently piled up to keep anyone from 
getting back onto I-35 from Union Street. 

She eyed the bullet-pocked stop sign and the lone 
drunk dancing along the littered street to be sure 
there was nothing that posed any immediate danger. 
Satisfied she was safe for the moment, Diane leaned 
over and hit the “Alternate” button on the automap 
mounted in the dashboard. 

“Turn right; travel one dot seven five kilometers; 
turn left on State Line Road and continue on to I-35 
South.” 

“Okay,” Diane said, running a hand through her 

2 


jet-black hair. She powered up the Eldorado’s engine 
and shot across the nearly empty street with a 
whining of rubber on concrete. 

The driver of the muscle car behind her hesitated 
a few seconds and then followed her lead, taking care 
not to crowd her as the two vehicles picked up speed, 
weaving in and out of the rusty wrecks that littered 
the route. 

At first the ragged bundles on the sidewalk 
escaped Diane’s attention. Then she realized that 
they were actually bodies, littering either side of the 
avenue. “Cleanup rats haven't gone through here 
yet.” Must not have been through for days from the 
look of it. She wondered if she was being exposed to 
the plague and nervously glanced at the filtration 
system on her car. With relief she saw its green light 
glowing reassuringly. 

Kan-Topeka City. Between the epidemics and the 
violence, the crews were getting behind. It would just 
be a matter of time before some serious diseases got 
into the water system with this many dead left on the 
streets. One good rain was all that was needed. Then 
things would get really serious. 

She reminded herself that she had to escape the 
metropolis. City life was getting too hectic. 

“Time is seven PM,” her clock announced. 

“Going to be late, besides everything else,” she 
muttered, dodging a corpse that lay in the street. She 
glanced down to locate her comphone, then forgot it 
when she glanced back toward the street. A mob 
spilled onto the narrow avenue a block ahead of her, 
shoving two cars ahead of them as they came, their 
forms silhouetted in the sun that was now nearly at 

3 


the horizon. 

She eyed the muscle car following her to be sure 
she wouldn’t be rear ended, then slammed on her 
brakes, screeching to a stop that left her car sideways 
in the street. The muscle car stormed past, its driver 
seemingly oblivious to the trouble ahead. Diane 
watched, as if the scene in front of her was on the 3D 
rather than real. 

The polished muscle car pummeled three of the 
rioters, throwing them aside as it bumped over a 
fourth with a sickening bounce. Then, as the numbers 
of people ahead of the car grew and the two derelict 
cars were pushed into his path, the driver lost his 
nerve and slammed on his brakes. The moment he 
stopped, a hail of bottles and rocks pounded the car’s 
skin. 

The driver jerked the vehicle into reverse and 
attempted a bootleg turn. The molotov hit halfway 
through the turn; flames splattered across the 
windshield and dripped in a waterfall of fire onto the 
tires, a cloud of black smoke rising into the Spring air. 

“Stay in the car,” Diane whispered, willing the 
driver to stay inside the relatively safety of his 
vehicle. 

But her hushed warning did no good. The driver 
and passenger released the wing doors that flipped 
open on their hydraulic lifts and then the two leaped 
in panic from the flaming car. The driver only 
managed two steps before the crowd was on top of 
him, ripping his leather jacket off before attacking 
him with the long machetes they carried. 

The woman got five meters before she was 
thrown to the pavement and her clothes ripped off. 

4 


Diane didn’t wait to see more. There were too many 
of them and nothing she could do, even though she 
was armed. Shifting into first gear, she floored the 
accelerator, her Eldorado screeching around with 
tires smoking. 

Then she slammed on her brakes. 

The National Guard APC that blocked her path 
had its 25mm and .30-caliber coaxial guns leveled at 
her windshield. She wondered how close she’d come 
to being snuffed by the most-likely edgy crew inside 
the tank-like vehicle. 

Foot soldiers accompanying the APC jogged into a 
flanking position next to her car and motioned her to 
sit still. Beads of sweat formed on her face as she sat 
motionless, knowing better than to ignore their 
orders. Most of the troopers turned their attention to 
the crowd running toward them, raising their baton 
guns and firing short bursts of plastic bullets toward 
the mob. 

A sergeant motioned to Diane, his pistol pointed 
at the driver’s door as he held up an ID reader with 
his free hand. “I need your number,” his helmet-
amplified voice told her over the noise around him. 

Diane reached to the dashboard and turned a 
control knob, lightening the Eldorado’s windows, 
transforming them from their thickly smoked gray to 
fully transparent. She held her national ID number, 
tattooed to the back of her hand, to the window. The 
sergeant scanned her hand and then waited for 
confirmation. 

“How long does it take you guys to check an ID?” 
Diane wondered aloud, knowing the soldier couldn’t 
hear because of the din of guns and crashing bottles 

5 


outside. She eyed the rear view in the CRT display. 

The crowd was within fifty meters of the troops 
who were very slowly retreating toward the APC as 
bottles and stones rained around them. Diane put her 
left foot down firm on the brake and then throttled 
the accelerator with her right toes, revving the motor 
slightly to be sure it didn’t die when she sped off. 
“Come on,” she whispered. Should I wait for the ID to 
be okayed or make a move? Get shot up by the APC or 
chopped up by the mod? She glanced at the rear 
view. 

The crowd was almost on top of them. It was 
almost time to move whether the sergeant gave her 
the okay or not. 

As if anticipating her actions, the twin guns on 
the APC opened fire. The moment she saw its barrel 
light up with the first projectile, Diane threw herself 
to the floor of her car. The Eldorado’s armor might 
stop pistol bullets, but the 25mm projectiles would 
make mincemeat of the vehicle. 

The impacts she’d expected didn’t come. Instead 
there was a tap at the window. 

Diane looked up to see the plastic face plate of a 
sergeant. “Your ID’s okay,” his voice said through the 
helmet speaker. He waved her past him. “Hurry up. 
Go on, get out of here.” 

Sitting up, Diane eyed the dead and dying behind 
her where the APC’s explosive barrage had struck. 
Beyond the carnage was the smoking remains of the 
muscle car that had been following her only minutes 
before. She ignored all of it and shoved down on the 
accelerator, leaving with a whine of burning rubber 
on the hot pavement. 

6 


The staccato of fire erupting from the APC 
echoed up and down the street. Tracer-lit bullets 
streaked past her, slamming into another small knot 
of people who had appeared in the alley opposite the 
soldiers. The grim-faced driver of the APC eyed the 
Eldorado from his hatch, the sunset glistened blood 
red in his goggles. Then he turned his attention back 
toward the street as another salvo of gunfire pounded 
the last of the rioters. 

Diane sped along, placing more space between 
herself and the soldiers. When she was finally at a 
safe distance, she lifted her comphone in shaking 
fingers and spoke into its mike. “Last number,” she 
told the machine and waited for it to dial. 

The number rang twice and then a mechanical 
voice answered. “Message,” it demanded. 

“Tell Mr. Moton I’m going to be about fifteen 
minutes late to our meeting,” Diane said. “Nothing 
serious. Just the usual traffic snarls.” 

“Message recorded.” 

She put the comphone into its cradle and hit the 
alternate button on the dash board once more to find 
another route to the interstate. 

7 


C 2 2 
“W
“W
e break in the old fashioned way,” 
Nathan Smiley whispered his unblinking 
snake eyes glistening in the streetlight. 
“Now give the door your code, Janet.” He shoved the 
muzzle of his pistol into the small of her back. “Hurry 
up.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded. 

“Punch in the code.” 

Janet hesitated a moment and then tapped the 
glowing keyboard. Smiley watched carefully over her 
shoulder, memorizing the twelve number sequence. 

“Code correct. Enter,” the door said. 

The two of them stepped into the black hallway 
whose lights activated when they sensed their 
presence. 

Smiley listened intently. All he heard was the 
gentle blowing of the heating system and the labored 
breathing of the woman whose arm he gripped. “Are 
there any more locks?” Smiley demanded of her. 

“No — yes.” 

“Make up your mind. Which is it?” 

8 


“Each lab door has a keyed lock.” 

“No keypads or electronics?” 

“No. They all need keys.” 

“Step in here,” Smiley ordered, motioning toward 
an open doorway with his pistol. 

“You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?” 

“Hey, it’s only me, Janet. The guy who’s been 
waking up with you the last few weeks. Don’t worry 
so much. It isn’t good for you.” 

Janet’s expression softened and she sighed. 
“You’re crazy, you know it?” 

“I don’t suppose you can forgive me for taking 
advantage of our friendship like this.” 

A brief grin flickered over her face. “You’re a 
real bastard. But I can see why I fell for you.” 

“It was a two-way street, babe. I only wish I 
could stick around. But I can’t. Now get on in.” 

She backed into the darkened room. “I don’t 
know what you’re up to, but I half way hope you get 
away with it,” she told him. And then a look of terror 
covered her face. 

Smiley tapped the trigger of his pistol three times 
and she dropped to the floor. He stepped into the 
room and put another bullet in the back of her head. 
Then he left, closing the door behind him and 
pocketing the pistol. He whistled as he checked the 
door numbers, searching for the room containing his 
treasure. 

One thing was sure: The locks on the inner doors 
were a joke. “If this is the best it can do, Biotech 
Universal deserves to loose the animal,” Smiley told 
himself. “Here we go,” he said, pausing at a door and 
running his fingers over its number. “Now let’s see 

9 


what’s behind door number four.” 

He took a crowbar from his belt and placed its 
edge into the space between the frame and the door. 
To bad there isn’t more time; a guy could make a 
fortune with security like this. He yanked back with 
all his weight and the door popped open. 

A musty smell greeted him as he stepped into the 
dark room. A rumbling growl burst forth from the 
blackness, making Smiley cower; the noise seemed to 
shake the floor beneath him. Nervously he flipped on 
the light switch next to the doorway and looked 
around, for a terrible moment wondering if the 
animal was not in its cage the way he’d been told it 
would. 

“There you are,” Smiley said, relief showing in 
his voice. He studied the creature pacing behind the 
bars, its fur glistening in the light, displaying a subtle 
pattern of silver and black tiger stripes. Finally the 
thief spoke. “Man, oh, man. You’re one magnificent 
animal. Tiger, tiger shining bright... No wonder 
everyone was ready to pay a bundle for you.” And 
you’re going to be my last caper. My ticket to 
retirement. 

The thief stood silent for a moment, then visually 
searched the room. He spied what he was looking for: 
The surveillance camera, camouflaged as an air duct. 
“Naughty, naughty.” A single crack of the pistol 
shattered the camera’s lens. 

Another savage growl came from the tiger as he 
battered against the cage before retreating back into 
the shadows. 

“It’s okay,” Smiley told the animal that paced 
back and forth nervously in its cage. Is this thing as 

10 


smart as they say? He was beginning to have his 
doubts. It didn't look much different that any other 
caged animal. 

The animal closed its eyes, threw back its head, 
and roared again. 

“It’s okay,” Smiley said. “Calm down. I didn’t 
mean to scare you. Here, I’ve got something for you.” 

He took a bundle from under his jacket and 
slapped it onto the desk beside the tiger’s cage. 
“You’ll like this,” he said, flicking his switchblade 
open and cutting through the string. He shut and 
pocketed the knife, then unwrapped the thick, bloody 
steak. “Smell it? Know that smell, don’t you, boy?” 
Smiley bent over and shoved the meat toward the 
opening at the bottom of the cage bars. “Here you 
go. Careful of my fingers. I might be needing them 
again some day.” 

The tiger growled softly and, for just a moment, 
Smiley thought it sounded remarkably like, “Thank 
you.” He laughed at his mistake as the creature 
grabbed the beef in its mouth and retreated to the 
back of its cage where it held the food between its 
two giant paws and tore off chunks which is 
swallowed whole. 

“Just enjoy it. You’ll be getting sleepy in a bit. 
Nice dreams. Then I’ll have you to your new home.” 

Waiting for the drugged meat to take effect, 
Smiley carefully collected all the data discs on the 
desk and placed them into his pockets. 

Fifteen minutes later, Smiley straightened up, 
flexing his back. “Man, I’m going to have to shell out 
money for a hernia operation after this.” Straining to 

11 


get the unconscious tiger onto the gurney had been a 
monumental effort. He checked his watch. At least 
we’re still right on schedule. 

He shoved the gurney through the doorway and 
down the hall. At the door leading outside, he 
punched in the sequence of numbers he’d memorized 
when Janet had opened the door. 

“Code correct. Exit,” the door said, clicking 
open. 

Smiley eased the gurney through the doorway and 
followed it into the cool nighttime air. Then he pulled 
out his night vision goggles and put them on, flicking 
their infrared light source: One long burst followed by 
two shorts. 

The van parked in the shadows at the end of the 
complex started and drove forward, stopping at the 
door where his hired thugs, assisted by an industrial 
bot, helped him load the sleeping cat into the 
vehicle. Three minutes later the van was gone and 
the alarm system reactivated without any hint they 
had been there. 

Five minutes later, Smiley had walked two blocks 
from the main gate. He stopped next to a rusty truck 
and, after satisfying himself that no one other than 
a group of snappers playing below a distant street 
lamp might see him, opened the door of the vehicle 
and he gave the computer connected to the engine 
and steering system its order: “Go to your 
destination.” 

The turbo engine cranked up and then 
transmission made a grinding as the computer 
shifted it into first gear. The truck rumbled forward, 
its powerful engine gradually picking up speed as it 

12 


shifted to a higher gear. On it continued, gradually 
accelerating as it headed for the lab complex at the 
end of the street. 

Smiley stepped to the curb and crossed to stand 
in the shadows where he had a clear view of the 
compound two blocks away. 

“Hey buddy,” his slurred voice whined. “Could 
you spare a few bucks for an old timer down on his 
luck?” 

Smiley turned and faced the junkie staggering 
down the sidewalk. 

“Get lost,” Smiley replied. 

“Come on fellow, give me a break.” 

“I guess I do have something for you.” Smiley 
reached under his jacket and brought out his 
switchblade which he shoved precisely between the 
man’s ribs, piercing his heart. He stepped away with 
practiced precision to avoid the spurting blood from 
the puncture wound, expertly wiping his blade on 
the back of the falling corpse. The weapon vanished 
under Smiley’s clothing as he turned his attention 
back to his target. 

The truck had accelerated beyond the legal 
limits, continuing to gain speed as it flattened a 
bicyclist and grazed a horseman. Now reaching the 
end of the street, it leaped over the curb and then 
burst through the chain fence and ribbon wire, 
setting off clanging alarm bells. 

The automated guns at the corners of the fence 
opened fire the same moment an explosion ripped 
through the back of the truck, rupturing the propane 
storage tank hidden inside. Gas erupted from the 
container as the guns continued to fire. 

13 


Three seconds later a second explosion, this 
time from the cab of the truck, ignited the cloud of 
gas, creating a ragging inferno that swept through 
the area, its heat searing the oxygen from the 
atmosphere as the tongues of fire licked across the 
buildings. The hot vapor expanded violently and 
then imploded as it rose, sucking in more air to fill 
the vacuum. This was followed by a re-igniting of 
the fuel, creating an even more massive 
conflagration that quickly encompassed the entire 
complex. 

Smiley stepped back into the doorway where he 
stood, holding his breath as he shielded his face with 
the flame-proof jacket he wore. The blast of 
superheated gas approached him, the pressure wave 
shattering windows as it traveled down the street. It 
passed, leaving an eerie silence. 

Stepping from his shelter, Smiley eyed the 
blazing bodies where the snappers had stood. 
Secondary explosions of chemicals in the lab’s 
storage canisters rocked the street, momentarily 
drowning the roar of the inferno that marked the 
spot where the Biotech Universal Laboratories 
research center had been. 

After admiring the smoldering block at the end 
of the avenue for thirty seconds, Smiley dusted the 
ash from his clothing and headed for the getaway 
car he’d parked around the corner. By the time the 
first of the looters arrived four minutes later, he was 
nowhere to be seen. 

14 


C 3 3 
M
M
oton had set up the exchange in the rain 
forest. The location Damocles as far as Diane 
was concerned. She cautiously stopped her 
car in the nearly empty parking lot. The street lights 
had been shot out, leaving the area unlit. 

Diane flicked on the sensors on the exterior of 
her Eldorado. No signs of life on the infrared band. 
She switched to the electromagnetic band; a moment 
later there was an all-clear beep signaling a lack of 
laser and microwave activity. 

So far so good, she told herself, snapping open 
the door. “Self defense,” she ordered her car. After 
looking around to be sure there was no sign of 
trouble, she reached back into the vehicle and 
retrieved a large, sealed envelop, a small plastic box, 
and a night vision monocle. Then she slammed the 
door shut and pocketed the envelop and box and 
pulled the monocle over her eye, lighting up the 
darkness in green and white. The vehicle beeped its 
“alarm armed” signal. 

15 


Two minutes later Diane had traveled the trail 
leading to the domed rain forest exhibit. The door 
was unlocked so she sauntered through the air lock 
and pushed through the second set of doors leading to 
the riot of foliage and animals inside. She blinked at 
the bright electric lights filtering through the trees, 
the humid air assaulting her nose with foreign smells 
of damp earth and rotting vegetation. 

She sidestepped a lizard that went chasing down 
the path and started down the curving walkway that 
wound through the broad-leafed rubber plants and 
sawtooth palms. She’d only gone twenty yards when a 
whistle sounded. 

“Up here, babe,” a voice growled from above. 

Diane glanced upward toward the voice and spied 
Moton and his two bodyguards standing on the high 
viewing cliff at the center of the rain forest. Turning 
down the path, she discovered the up ramp a short 
distance ahead. She carefully paced toward the 
incline, inspecting the forest around her, trying to 
see if Moton had any other henchmen hidden in the 
thick growth. 

“Have you got the information?” Moton asked her 
when she finally stepped onto the man-made ridge. 

Diane held up the envelope. “It took some extra 
work. But it’s all here.” 

Moton held out his hand. 

Diane made no move to give him the envelope. 
“Before you get this, I need the other half of my 
payment.” 

“I want to check your data first.” Moton snapped 
his finger and both henchmen drew their automatics. 

“You’ve done a good job training them,” Diane 

16 


quipped. “Have you taught them to speak?” 

Moton held out his hand again. “The envelope.” 

Diane handed it to the nearest henchman who 
stepped forward and snatched it from her hand. The 
burley man then ripped the envelope open and 
passed it and the sheet inside to his boss. Moton took 
the sheet and looked around for a moment, then 
handed the empty envelope to his other bodyguard 
who took it and stuffed it into his baggy pants for safe 
keeping. 

Moton studied the sheet for only a second and 
then hissed, “It’s coded.” 

“PGP-10. No breaking that, even if you had 
access to a DNA supercomputer — which you don’t. 
You’ll get the key to the code when I get my 
payment.” 

“You searchers all think you’re so smart. Maybe 
I’ll just have my men beat the key out of you.” 

The two bodyguards stepped forward, 
anticipating the order. 

Diane smiled. “I think you should reconsider. Did 
you notice the powder on the paper?” 

Moton rubbed his fingers on the sheet and the 
henchman who’d opened the envelope unconsciously 
looked at his hand. The other bodyguard patted his 
pocket where he’d put the empty envelope 

“That dust on your hands is S-5 spores. Do know 
what that means?” 

“That new bug?” Moton asked, his voice having a 
notable quiver to it as he wiped his hand on his pants. 

Diane nodded. “One of my clients was a little 
short of cash so we struck a deal. The dust on that 
envelop is safe now that it’s been exposed to the air 

17 


for a few minutes. But when you opened the envelope 
and got it on you, the spores started tunneling into 
your skin. By now they’re starting to grow and 
multiply.” 

Both Moton’s bodyguards glanced toward their 
boss from the corners of their eyes and stepped away 
from him when they saw that his face had become 
noticeably pale. 

“You can’t do this,” Moton sputtered. “You’ve 
got to help us. I was going to pay — I was only 
kidding. We were just having a little fun.” He forced 
a toothy grin on his face and motioned to his men 
who holstered their firearms. 

“The antidote is here in this building,” Diane told 
them. “But you’ll never get it in time unless I tell you 
where it is. I’d say you have about one minute left to 
pay up before the point of no return. Or else I’ll have 
to search what’s left of your corpses on my own for 
the money.” 

Moton swore loudly, his cry scaring the bats 
hanging on the high curved ceiling over his head. 
Their leathery wings rustled in the still air and then 
the jungle was quiet again. Diane remained silent, 
standing with her legs slightly spread, waiting to see 
if they were going to become violent; Moton glared at 
her and then beckoned to the henchman on his left. 
“Pay the... Pay the lady.” 

The man stepped forward quickly, pulling a thick 
envelope from his pocket and handing the package to 
the searcher. 

Diane shook the envelope, testing its weight. 
“Feels a little light to me. You’re not trying to short 
me, are you?” 

18 


“It’s all there,” Moton whined. “I swear it. Have 
a little mercy. I can feel it working on my insides. The 
money’s all there.” 

“Call me sentimental; I’m going to trust you this 
time.” Diane stuck the envelope into her inside 
jacket pocket and fished out the plastic case she’d 
picked up earlier. She held up the black box at eye 
level. “Listen up, boys and girls. There’re five vials in 
this case. All you need to do is drink the contents of 
one — and only one — to counteract the S-5. Drink 
two of the vials and you’ll be about as bad off as you 
would be without it. Any questions?” 

“Give it to me before the spores jelly our 
insides,” Moton demanded, holding out a fat paw. 

Diane tossed the box into the vegetation behind 
Moton. 

“You bitch,” Moton growled before turning 
around and diving into the brush. 

“I’ll send the key to the PGP-10 by e-mail,” Diane 
called after Moton and his bodyguards who were 
plowing through the thick bamboo. Unlike some of us, 
I keep my half of a deal, she added to herself, 
watching the three men thrashing madly through the 
bush, looking for the plastic box. 

Satisfied they weren’t going to try anything else, 
she turned and left before they found the five vials. 
One thing’s sure, Diane told herself, they’d have 
sweet-smelling breath once they take the “antidote.” 

It was surprising what a little talcum powder and 
a packet of perfume samples could achieve after 
some creative story telling. 

Three minutes later, Diane stepped over the 

19 


unconscious body of a would-be car thief and placed 
her thumb on the lock of her Eldorado. “Deactivate 
defense and alarm,” she told the car. 

The lock clicked open and the door swiveled 
around. She slipped into the vehicle and slammed the 
door behind her. “Report,” she ordered the car. 

“One attempted break-in. One thief downed, 
three fled. Should I file a report with the 
authorities?” 

“No. We’ll let him sleep it off to rob another day. 
I don’t have time to file a report and do a bunch of 
paper work. Erase the record from your memory.” 

“Record erased,” the security system told her. 

Diane removed her comphone from its cradle, 
opened it into its phone configuration, and spoke into 
it’s mouthpiece. “E-mail, to.” 

“E-mail ready.” 

“Send packet morton.key to its address.” 

“Packet sent.” 

Job done, she thought, folding the comphone. 
Now Moton would be able to decode the material 
he’d paid her to find. 

Diane started her Eldorado and drove away. 

The two men stood in the alley, nearly hidden in 
the shadows. In the distance a siren faded into the 
night, lost in the cacophony of the city. 

“You’ve put the girl’s name at the top of the 
list?” Ziggler asked, his unblinking eyes locked on 
those of the data manager. 

“Yes, sir. It’s a done deal. I modified the data so 
Deathsong was first choice. Puffed a little here and 
there in her résumé and then made the others seem 

20 


less than —” 

“So she’ll get the searcher job?” 

“Yeah. Ranbaugh’s slated to talk to her 
tomorrow. And she’d have to be crazy to turn down 
the deal with the amount of money Biotech is willing 
to pay to get their cat back.” 

Ziggler reached into his jacket pocket and 
removed a small packet. “Look’s like a job well done. 
There are ten platinum bars in here. When she’s 
hired, I’ll give you the other half of your fee.” He 
passed the packet to the data manager who looked up 
and down the alley to be sure no one had seen the 
transaction. 

“In the meantime,” Ziggler said. “I don’t want 
anyone — anyone — to know about our little deal. I 
don’t want to be linked to this in any way. 
Understand?” 

Nate licked his lips before speaking. “Don’t 
worry. No one will hear about it from me. If anyone 
knew, it would cost me my job.” 

“Your job?” Ziggler said, flashing a toothy smile 
that looked out of place below his cold eyes. He 
stepped forward so his face was only four inches from 
that of the data manager and whispered, “The loss 
will be one of your life if I have any reason to think 
you’ve told, or might tell, anyone.” 

21 


C 4 4 
K
K
osner studied the waves of heat rising off the 
Kansas desert, then fastened the helmet strap 
under his chin and checked his mask. Satisfied 
his equipment was working, he waving off his flight 
assistant and climbed the rusty ladder into the 
cockpit of his ancient Harrier jet. Minutes later, the 
aircraft’s tired engines had whirled to a fever pitch 
and lifted him from the ground. 

The grizzly pilot let the plane hang in the air 
above the Border Patrol landing pad for a few extra 
seconds, savoring the power under his command. 
Once again he marveled at the raw power the old 
plane exuded. Finally he wheeled the aircraft around 
and eased the throttle forward, slowly picking up 
forward speed as the blast from the jet’s engines was 
diverted from the underside to the rear of the plane. 

The radio headset crackled in Kosner’s ears. 
“Captain, we have a report of Mex intruders four 
clicks south of us.” 

“Better check it out then, hadn’t we?” he replied 
with a sneer. Things had been heating up along the 

22 


border. He figured it was only a matter of time 
before Mexican raiders came across again. 

Glancing at his radar to be sure nothing was near 
him, the pilot throttled the engine to a higher pitch 
and raced away from the airfield, watching his 
instruments to be sure there were no malfunctions. 
“John, are you going to guide me or do I have to fly 
by Braille?” he finally grumbled. 

“Sorry, Captain Kosner,” the voice of his ground 
control officer replied. “I keep forgetting you don’t 
have an on-board link. The satellite’s a little fuzzy 
today. Here, it’s coming up now. You got it?” 

“Yeah,” the pilot answered, watching the 
monitor that had been jury ridged into his console. 
“Just so it doesn’t go off-line like last night,” he 
added, adjusting his course so it was the proper angle 
from the beacon behind him. 

Four minutes later Kosner was almost to his 
target area. 

“Can you see them?” John asked over the radio. 

“Negative,” Kosner replied, his tired eyes 
squinting at the dust clouds that rolled across the 
sand and scrub below him. “You sure the satellite 
doesn’t have me chasing a heat echo again?” 

“Pretty sure, Captain. The target’s been traveling 
on a straight course counter to the prevailing wind — 
it’s definitely not a heat echo. I think you’ve got a 
real unidentified.” 

“Then I guess I’d better wheel around for another 
look.” The pilot kicked his pedals and brought the 
stick around, swooping in a large circle over the 
ocean of sand below him. His eyes narrowed. “I think 

23 


I have them. Got a faint trail in the sand. What’s 

their barring?” 

“They’re heading southwest from you.” 

“I think I’ve found their tracks.” Kosner 
continued his course, watching the faint tread marks. 
Then he had them, trying to hide under a dead tree, 
their armored vehicle almost hidden in the brush. 

“No wonder I didn’t see them,” Kosner mumbled, 
half to himself. “John, the vehicle must have had an 
environmental shield. It’s a close match to the desert 

— almost invisible to my infrared DS. Definitely Mexs 
— Bet they’ve come North to try an’ derail some more 
trains.” 

“I copy you,” John finally answered. 

“I’m requesting permission to engage.” 

“Just a minute, I’ll enter the code,” John’s voice 
came back, it’s pitch climbing as the hot desert air 
distorted the radio waves. 

Ten seconds later the message came through. 
“Master control has given you a go ahead.” 

“Request a repeat of the last message,” Kosner 
said, making sure that his flight recorder would 
capture the clearance in case he ran into trouble with 
the brass later on. He didn’t want any unrighteous 
shoot records in his files. 

“Master control gives permission to attack as 
necessary.” 

“Thanks. I’m getting into position now. They 
seem to have spotted me.” 

“Be careful, Kos.” 

“Hey, kid, I was being careful when you were in 

diapers.” The pilot armed his weapons systems and 
matched his speed and course with the now-moving 

24 


six wheeler that bounced over the sand below him. 
Then he eased his plane ahead and fired his machine 
guns, raising plumes of dust ahead of the vehicle. 

“I’ve fired my warning shots,” Kosner reported. 
“Hopefully they’ll take the hint and surrender.” 

The driver of the armored car slammed on his 
brakes and Kosner thought he was about to surrender. 
But then the vehicle on the ground kicked up a thick 
cloud of dust, its wheels spinning as the driver 
changed course so the jet overhead hurtled past him. 

“Nice maneuver,” Kosner said, half in 
admiration. “Should have been ready for that. I’m 
getting too complacent.” He slammed his Harrier to 
the left, anticipating the next move of the Mexican 
soldiers behind him. A stream of tracer bullets passed 
through the space his jet had occupied just seconds 
before. 

Kosner thumbed the radio switch again. “They’re 
firing on me and have ignored my warning shots. I am 
now arming my ATG missiles and preparing for 
attack.” 

“That’s a roger,” John’s voice replied. 

Kosner took his jet behind a hill for shelter as he 
stroked the four buttons on his armrest, arming the 
guided missiles that road under the planes wings. He 
kept the plane low as he brought it into a hover, then 
gently lifted it so he could peek over the hill between 
him and the speeding armored car without 
unnecessarily exposing himself to enemy fire. 

Good, he told himself when he spied the armored 
car. He was well out of range from his target that was 
now nearly a mile away — but still well within the 
range of his missiles. He finger hesitated over the 

25 


launch button as he locked the brackets of the head-
up display on the vehicle speeding away from him. 

For a moment he had a mental picture of the 
men that were bouncing inside the hot interior of the 
armored car, terrified that any moment they would 
be killed, yet hoping that somehow they would 
achieve the impossible and escape the plane pursuing 
them. 

Kosner pushed the vision from his mind; his finger 
stabbed the button. 

The first missile below the jet’s wings hissed 
away on a tail of fire, dropping before its main 
engines kicked in, taking it toward the target in a 
brilliant rush of speed. 

Five seconds clicked away with the rocket 
twisting in the sky, homing in on the vehicle whose 
driver frantically tried to elude it. Almost invisible in 
the distance, the weapon connected with its target. 

There was a flash and then the armored car 
disintegrated. A fraction of a second later, the fuel in 
its gas tank ignited and sent an angry black cloud 
skyward, peppered with flashing explosions as rounds 
of ammunition burst in the heat. 

Kosner didn’t bother to check the wreckage. 
There was little need to do so. The desert would 
make sure there were no survivors. And as far as 
Kosner was concerned, anyone invading his country 
deserved a slow and miserable death, anyway. 

26 


C 5 5 
“W
“W
arning. You have twenty seconds to 
identify yourself or leave,” the thick 
metal door announced. “After that we 
will take terminal action. We do not call the police.” 

Diane eyed the snub barrel of the door gun which 
trained itself on her. She held up her hand so the 
door could scan her ID. “Diane Death Song. I have an 
appointment to see Mr. Ranbaugh.” 

The door was silent for ten seconds, then spoke, 
whisking open. “Identification confirmed. You may 
enter. Welcome to Biotech Universal Incorporated’s 
headquarters, Ms. Death Song. Mr. Ranbaugh is in the 
third door on your left.” 

Diane strolled down the wide marble hallway, her 
leather boots echoing as she went. The door 
indicated dilated open as she approached. 

“Ms. Death Song. Come in.” The pale man behind 
the huge oak desk flashed a condescending smile and 
motioned toward the plastifoam chair. “Sit down. 
You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got a meeting coming 
up so I must be brief.” 

27 


Diane settled into the chair and crossed her legs, 
smoothing fabric of her jump suit. Her face a mask, 
she waited for Ranbaugh to speak. 

He pyramided his fingers and then spoke. 
“Biotech Universal needs to have an object recovered 
that has been stolen from us. It’s too sensitive for the 
police and beyond our own rent-a-cops. Our sources 
say you’re both good and discrete.” 

“I think there’s been some sort of 
misunderstanding. I don’t do recoveries. I’m a 
searcher. I normally track down goods and my 
customers take it from there.” 

“No misunderstanding. We understand your 
standard operating procedure. But we need a 
minimum of involvement with outside help. And 
we’re willing to pay double your usual price — and 
throw in an extra — if you do it all for us.” 

“Extra?” 

“Like an absolute transfer pass for one person.” 
Ranbaugh laughed. “I can see by your face you’re 
surprised at how thorough a background check we’ve 
done on you.” 

“I’m glad you’re not in the blackmail business.” 

Ranbaugh said nothing, an amused smirk on his 
face. 

“I’d like to hear what the job is before I declare 
myself,” Diane said. 

“Fair enough.” Ranbaugh hit a button on the desk 
and a large 3-D lit up on the wall beside him. A silver 
tiger with black stripes materialized in the air beside 
his desk. “This is our Project 41. He’s a beauty, isn’t 
he? We’ve been working toward reviving several 
extinct species — a very lucrative business as you can 

28 


imagine with the recent exotic pet craze, despite the 
high taxes involved in owning one. A few of our 
creations for use as smart weapons, this being one 
that we’ve altered, as you can see by its coloration. 
But someone has stolen this first clone breeder.” 

“Someone stole this cat?” 

“Right. And our data files that go with it. It’s 
called a Tiger — that’s T-Y-G-E-R. Trademark thing, 
you know. It represents ten years of work that can’t 
be easily duplicated, not without a lot of time and 
expense. The same people also destroyed our 
research complex last night. Burned it to the 
ground.” 

“And you know that the tiger wasn’t lost in the 
fire?” 

“Yes. Whoever started the fire tried to use it to 
cover their theft of our animal. But this bit of video 
was relayed from an outside camera before the fire 
started.” A new picture appeared, showing a group of 
men pushing a large dolly with the Silver Tiger draped 
over it. “Let me enhance this,” Ranbaugh said, 
zeroing the picture in on the face of one of the men. 
“We were able to identify this man through a 
computer search.” 

“I don’t see how I could handle a cat that size,” 
Diane protested. “I think perhaps an animal handler 
would be in order.” 

“He isn’t dangerous. We bred it as a fighter — it 
obeys orders. And he’s nearly as intelligent as the 
average person — though that may not be saying 
much these days. He’s capable of reasoning and — 
once he knows you’re bringing him back — he will be 
easy for you to handle.” 

29 


Diane raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

Ranbaugh continued, “You should look at this as 
more of a kidnapping victim rescue rather than the 
retrieval of a wild animal.” He studied her eyes a 
moment and then hit another button, changing the 
display. “Before you make up your mind, you might 
be interested in knowing that this is the gentleman 
that we believed stole our cat.” 

Diane leaned forward, her eyes narrowing at the 
lean face that become visible in the display. His face 
was familiar, yet she didn’t know him. 

“Don’t recognize him?” Ranbaugh asked. “Well, 
guess you don’t watch enough of the tubes. He’s a 
frequent ‘guest’ on the World’s Most Wanted — if you 
know what I mean. Even with the long bangs and ear 
rings, there’s no mistaking Nathan Smiley. He’s the 
other reason why we chose you for this job. Our 
source said you’d be able to handle a nut case like 
this guy if you had to.” 

“I don’t work for free. You know my terms for 
something like this?” 

Ranbaugh nodded. “Due to the added danger, 
we’re doubling your standard fee: Two hundred gold 
kodos up front and two hundred on completion of the 
job. Off the record we will give you the universal 
transfer pass once the job’s completed — that cost us 
about as much as the rest. 

Ranbaugh paused to flash a grin. “We also have a 
termination authorization on Smiley and anyone 
helping him so you won’t run into hassles with the 
authorities should you need to, uh, handle things. And 
I’ve also secured a multinational weapons permit for 
you in case you need to follow him past the frontier. 

30 


Finally, we’ll pay all your travel expenses. What do 
you say? Does it sound like we can reach an 
agreement here?” 

“I’m not an assassin.” 

Ranbaugh laughed. “Of course not. The 
termination authorization is just to protect us and 
you should you run into some unexpected trouble. If 
you want to scalp him and leave him in an ant hill, 
that’s up to you. We just want our cat back.” 

Ranbaugh scooted a data dot across the table. “I 
have everything you need to know here. I don’t think 
you’ll have much trouble. We wouldn’t have hired 
you if we’d thought you couldn’t do it. The bottom 
line is we need that cat back and we think you’re the 
one that can do it for us.” 

“Let me be sure we agree on this. I track the 
stolen animal down, get it from Smiley, and then 
bring it back? ” Diane shook her head. “We’re not 
talking house cat here. That thing must weigh, what? 
A hundred forty kilos?” 

“More like two hundred forty. But you mustn’t 
think of him as an animal. He’s intelligent and highly 
trained. He’s been conditioned.” 

Diane raised an eyebrow. 

“Trust me,” Ranbaugh said. “We wouldn’t spend 
this much capital if we didn’t know you would gain 
control once you had him. When you find him, just 
tell him you’re taking him home and have him to sit 
in the back seat of your car or hop onto public 
transport and head back here. Piece of cake. We 
were tempted to do it in-house but didn’t have 
anyone who could track down Smiley. That’s the only 
part you’ll really need to worry about.” 

31 


Diane picked up the data dot and inserted it into 
a belt pouch. She needed the money but could live 
without it if she had to. There was another reason to 
take the work: The universal pass. Someone at the 
company had done a good work-up on her if they 
knew that she needed it. 

“All right,” she finally said, rising to her feet. 
“But you understand that the advance goes to me 
even if I can’t deliver the animal back to you. If the 
job’s harder than you say, you’ll be out of the 
advance. No refunds.” 

“I understand,” Ranbaugh said, rising to his feet. 
He came around the desk and shook Diane’s with a 
limp-handed grip. “I have to leave now. My secretary 
will pay your advance and answer any further 
questions you have. Here’s my card. You can reach 
me at those numbers day or night. Don’t hesitate to 
call immediately when you have the animal.” 

With that, Ranbaugh checked his watch and left 
without another word. 

“I’ve got her,” Ziggler told himself. Dressed in 
black and hidden in the shadows, he knew he was 
almost impossible to see from the street level. Two 
bad the bug we put in her wasn’t equipped with 
quality batteries, he thought. Then he wouldn’t have 
to be doing his high wire routine in an effort to keep 
track of her. 

But he was beginning to think his luck was 
turning. He’d managed to discover the link between 
her and the Silver Tiger by sheer chance — or close to 
it. If he hadn’t dusted off the old instruments to test 
them, he would never have stumbled on the 

32 


connection between the two. And with just a little 
more luck, he would be able to maneuver all the 
players together so he could exploit their untapped 
potential. 

Time to move, he told himself. She was getting 
into her car. Snapping the micro-cable to his harness, 
Ziggler stepped off the ledge of the ten-story building 
and dropped rapidly toward the street. 

33 


C 6 6 
“C
“C
ome on in,” the balding man behind the 
counter said, a crooked smile crossing his 

face. “What brings you —” 

With forefinger still at her lips as she entered the 
smoky store, Diane shoved a slip of paper across the 
counter top. 

The storekeeper squinted, adding more wrinkles 
to his face as pulled down the visor-like magnifier so 
he could read the message, a worried frown replacing 
his smile. Without a word, he dropped the paper into 
his shredder where it vanished in a cloud of dust. He 
turned and pointed toward her comphone. 

Diane removed her comphone from her utility 
belt pouch and handed it to him. 

Louis hooked a cable into its input jack, placed 
the unit into a metal box, and punched a string of 
code into keyboard on the countertop beside him. A 
low hum filled the dusty shop and then climbed in 
frequency until it could no longer be heard. 

Diane raised her eyebrow. 

34 


“Clean,” Louis mouthed, taking the phone from 
the box and placing it on the counter. He turned his 
computer screen toward Diane and typed. “I’LL SCAN 
YOU NEXT. IS THAT OKAY?” 

Diane nodded, crossing her fingers and closing 
her eyes as he rounded the counter with a telescoping 
metal rod in his hand. There was another hum that 
rattled her teeth and made the old scars on each side 
of her temple ache. Then the rod moved over the 
back of her skull and down her neck. 

There was a beep, followed by a low, 
“Humrumph,” from Louis. Then he continued his 
search until he’d waved the rod over every inch of 
her body. 

Louis put down the detector, a grimace on his 
face. 

Diane again raised an eyebrow. 

Louis nodded, holding up his index finger. 

One. He’d found one bug. 

A sick feeling boiled in Diane’s stomach and her 
knees threatened to buckle. She had tried to tell 
herself it was impossible. But he had found one. 

Retreating behind his counter, Louis tapped on 
the keyboard with the screen still pointed toward the 
searcher. “Burn it under your skin or remove it?” 

“Remove it,” Diane whispered. She didn’t want 
to live with the thought of something left in her, 
violating the privacy of her own body. 

Louis scowled, started to type something more, 
then thought better of it. He tugged at his lip, then 
turned and opened one of hundreds of storage bins 
lining the wall and rummaged around in the plastic 
drawer. Finally he produced a stainless steel box that 

35 


bore all the ear marks of a home-made piece of 
equipment. He gently placed the box on the counter. 

He turned to the computer keyboard and typed. 
“It’s here.” He tapped the nape of her neck. Then he 
pressed a button hidden from view behind the 
counter. A panel hissed open on the counter top, 
causing Diane to blink in surprise. Inside was an 
electric pistol and a first aid kit. He broke the latter 
open and produced what the searcher recognized as a 
pain killer tube. 

Diane held up her hand and shook her head. She 
couldn’t afford to be groggy; there wasn’t time to 
recover from any drugs. 

“Sure? This is going to hurt.” 

She nodded, closing her eyes. 

He replaced the tube into the kit and tapped the 
hidden button. The panel vanished, becoming part of 
the counter top once again. 

Taking a small scalpel from its sealed packet, he 
sprayed antiseptic on her neck. “Ready?” 

Diane nodded, taking a deep breath as she 
released her consciousness. She felt her spirit leave 
the room, rising upward at the speed of thought, 
fluttering on thick feathers. For a moment she felt 
dizzy, and then relaxed, wheeling westward on her 
strong raptor wings. 

She felt the air whistle past the soft feathers of 
her face as she glided through the air, lifted skyward 
by the warm air lifting from the rolling plains below. 
Wheeling, she cocked her head and studied the 
ground passing below. Then she spied herself in the 
green field, years ago. 

“Let’s pick the black-eyed Susans,” her young 

36 


sister had said, shading her eyes from the bright 
sunlight, oblivious to the Mississippi kite gliding 
overhead. 

“No.” Diane grabbed Karen’s hand before she 
could pluck the flower. “They deserve to be left 
alone. Once they’re picked they’ll wither and die.” 

“They can’t feel anything, can they?” 

The wind ruffled the sea of prairie grass, sending 
a wave racing across the earth and mussing the two 
girls’ raven hair as Diane groped for an answer. “No. 
They feel no pain.” 

“Then why not pick it?” Karen asked. 

The Mississippi Kite above made a plaintive cry. 

“It’s hard to explain, little one,” Diane said. 
“They are part of the earth, part of what makes it 
great. Part of the beauty that belongs to life.” 

“I don’t see why picking one would make any 
difference.” 

How could she explain such a concept to a child? 
Diane wondered. A concept that was more feeling 
and wisdom than one of knowledge — and a concept 
she didn’t fully understand herself. She started to 
speak again, but was distracted by the insect that 
hummed angrily, buzzing past her face as she tried to 
shoo it away. You don’t belong in this memory, she 
thought. 

The bee settled on the back of Diane’s neck, it’s 
tiny claws scratching at her skin as it gained a 
foothold. Before she could flick it off, the searing 
pain of its sting spread through her body causing her 
to gasp as she was transported backward in time. 

What happened? 

For a moment she felt disoriented. Then, still in 

37 


confusion, her spirit tried to leap skyward and once 
again. But she was bound to the table, in the place 
she had forced herself to forget. 

Outside the beam of light that enveloped her, 
one of the Dark Ones stood, his features hidden in the 
shadows. But Diane knew what he was all the same. 
An evil man with the tool that caused the searing 
pain. He stepped toward her. There was no escape. 
The rod touched her skin and a fiery agony coursed 
through her young body, causing her back to arch as 
she writhed against the straps, trying to escape. 

There was another rustling of feathers. 

She was free! 

“I’m almost finished,” Louis said, his distant 
voice drifting into her thoughts as she wheeled 
through the air, free once again. 

And then she was back in the shop. 

Diane caught herself, holding onto the edge of 
the counter, feeling disoriented and confused. 

“There,” the shopkeeper said. “We’re all done. I 
don’t know how you pulled off that parlor trick you 
just did. If someone had been digging that out of my 
neck, I’d have screamed like a banshee. It was like 
you weren’t here, like you were somewhere else.” 

Diane said nothing, glancing around the dingy 
shop, half surprised to be where she was. There was a 
cool spray on the back of her neck and the pain that 
had slowly inched its way into her consciousness 
receded to a dull throbbing 

“Be sure to change this plas-dress tomorrow,” 
Louis admonished her, slipping the bandage on her 
neck. “And for goodness sakes, don’t get it wet.” 

“What can you tell me about the bug you found?” 

38 


Diane asked, ignoring her pain. 

Louis retrieved a projectiscope from under the 
counter and blew the dust off it. Then he flicked on 
its switch and placed a tiny BB-sized object on its 
stage. He focused the machine on the tiny object and 
then turned the screen so Diane could see. 

“Looks like a military job,” he mumbled. “See 
the barbs? Designed to dig into your skin and then 
stay in place once it gets under the surface. Nasty. 
Who’d you cross anyway, the gov?” 

“Still transmitting?” Diane whispered. 

“No. It’s dead. Hard to say when it quit. Might 
have been a day ago, might have been a minute — 
when was the last time you were checked?” 

“Capabilities?” she asked, ignoring his question. 

Louis took the bug off the stage and transferred 
it to another instrument, then tapped his keyboard 
and waited a few moments. The computer made a 
belching noise and the shopkeeper studied the display 
a moment before speaking. “Homing circuit. And a 
mike for transmission of sounds. Probably only forty 
meters or less.” 

“Whoever was using this had to be pretty close?” 

Louis nodded. “To get the audio transmission. 
The homer probably ranges up to a kilometer. So 
you’ve noticed anybody following you lately? Or seen 
any drones?” 

Diane shook her head. “Just had a feeling I was 
being watched — they were good. So they must have 
been using a secondary to re-transmit the audio?” 

“That’s how I’d do it. How about your car?” 

“I don’t think so. Probably somewhere by my 
apartment.” 

39 


“More than likely. That’d let them relay it to a 
satellite link and — who you been crossing lately, 
young lady?” 

“I’m not sure. Quite a few people, really.” 

“You remember when this thing was implanted? I 
mean, it would have hurt to get that inserted under 
your skin without a pain killer. Any medical work 
lately?” 

“No.” Diane was silent a moment, then snapped 
her fingers. The memory of being stung hadn’t been 
caused only by Louis’s removal of the bug. Among the 
flowers, lost in thought. “A bee sting. Last week, in 
Central Gardens. I was in the Wild Plants of the Plains 
exhibit and—” 

“Must have been fired from an air gun.” 

“No. It really was a bee. I killed it after it stung 
me. It flew around me, landed on my neck, and stung 
me.” 

“Wish you’d saved its little carcass. I would have 
liked to have seen it. Must have been one piece of 
engineering.” 

“Can you give me a scanner upgrade so I can 
locate the relay myself? I’ve checked every morning 
and every night since I don’t know when. But didn’t 
detect anything.” 

Louis rubbed his bristly chin. “This operates on 
low sideband from the looks of it. A detector’ll cost 
you. The new stuff’s hard to catch — you pay through 
the nose for the equipment. And believe me, anyone 
that can do this is going to have the very best bugs 
you’ve ever seen.” 

“Two gold kodos?” 

Louis laughed as he removed the keyboard from 

40 


her comphone and then cracked open its access 
panel. “Two koos will more than cover it. OK. And 
you just have enough room to squeeze in another 
memory upgrade and the scanner in your system. I’ll 
mount them and then load in the newest virus 
software, too. That should make us even. But you’ll 
have to promise not to let anyone know where you 
‘found’ the detection grid. It’s a little, uh— Shall we 
say ‘hot’? I don’t want someone panting down my 
neck and asking where it came from.” 

“If anyone puts a gun to my head and asks where 
I got the gear, I’ll remember I bought it on the street 
from the trunk of a nondescript guy’s car on the other 
side of town.” 

Louis chuckled as he installed the upgrade and 
new chips. 

41 


C 7 7 
S
S
miley sat in the pilots seat of the stolen H-2000 
helicopter he guided westward, hugging the dry 
bed of the Arkansas River that carved its way 
through the no man's land of the Great Kansas 
Desert. The sky ahead was inky black laced with an 
occasional lightning flash that was amplified daylight 
bright by the night vision goggles he wore. 

The auto pilot altered the control column, as if 
an unseen ghost was flying the chopper, taking them 
on a winding course over the silicon sea below, 
staying in the ground clutter so the border-patrol 
radar would be less likely to detect his presence. 
The computer eased the H-2000 toward the right in 
a gentle turn that followed the snaking sand below 

“Doc, how’s the cat doing?” Smiley asked over 
the intercom, his cold eyes scanning the horizon. 

“Tiger’s okay,” reported the veterinarian. 
“Sleeping like a kitten. It’s got the prettiest fur.” 

“Just take care of the cat. Don’t drool on it. 
Remember we’re going to be trading it for some 
cold, hard platinum.” 

42 


“Right, boss.” 

Smiley shook his head as he double-checked 
their course; the auto pilot was right on the money. 
Leaning back in his seat, he glanced toward the left 
where the black silhouette of the weapons pod hung 
on the port side of the chopper. A flash of distant 
lightning momentarily illuminated the pod, revealing 
the antique .30-caliber machine guns next to the 
scarred 70mm Hydra rocket pod. Ancient but lethal, 
the armament waited patiently for a battle Smiley 
hoped wouldn’t come. 

The helicopter hauled itself into a tight climb 
over an island of dead cottonwoods who skeletal 
branches glowed white with another lightning flash. 
The chopper leapfrogged the dead trees in a giddy 
jump and then the dead vegetation vanished behind 
them and they dropped in an exhilarating dive to 
follow the wider opening that skirted a second 
diminutive island of scrub brush. 

“Radar alert,” the console reported, bringing a 
cathode ray display to life in front of Smiley. 

“Report,” the pilot ordered. 

“Traces from a long-range system.” 

The pilot swore under his breath as he leaned 
forward to study the array. “Still pretty far away,” 
he muttered to himself, studying the screen. 
Probably just a pleasure balloon off course. 

But then again it might be a National Guard or 
Border Patrol plane. Since the recent forays of the 
Mexican infiltraters the Kansas/Mexico border, 
everything had been tense in the area since the war 
had gone from cold to hot between the two 
countries after the peace talks had broken down a 

43 


week ago — something that now threatened to throw 
a money wrench into Smiley’s carefully laid-out 
plans. 

Time to put whatever’s out there to the test, 
Smiley told himself. “Auto pilot, alter course 14 
degrees North and maintain heading.” 

“Course change 14 degrees, north,” the auto 
pilot said. The chopper banked to the right in a 
weaving turn that took advantage of the bend in the 
dry river of sand racing past below them. 

Smiley watched the scope. 

The radar traces from the blip altered its course 
to match the new heading. A subscreen popped up 
on the display and the computer spoke. “Probable 
aircraft: US military scout or mini-gunship.” 

The pilot swore under his breath, then adjusted 
the mike on his helmet and spoke to his crew. 
“Look’s like trouble. Some kind of military craft is 
shadowing us. I’ll try to bluff our way out of it. But 
everyone get strapped in, in case we need to make a 
run for it.” 

“Will do,” Frank’s gruff voice replied from the 
passenger compartment. 

No rest for the wicked, Smiley thought, locating 
the switch that would take him from auto pilot to 
manual control. The switch to manual flight would 
prevent the short-range terrain following/terrain 
avoidance radar from giving them away if the 
approaching aircraft hadn’t yet spotted them. If 
things got sticky, he might be able to hide — 
provided the other aircraft didn’t have a radar 
signature coming from their auto pilot to spot. 
Smiley grasped the control column. “Auto pilot, 

44 


disengage.” 

“Warning: Auto pilot is disengaging.” 

There was a slight shudder in the control stick in 
Smiley’s hand as the computer transferred to 
manual control. Taking control of the aircraft, the 
pilot dropped the H-2000 slightly to adhere to a napof-
the-earth flight that held them three to five 
meters above the tree tops, in an effort to get off 
the approaching aircraft’s radar. Then he shoved the 
control column to the left, angling his helicopter 
along a thin beach that cut through parched river 
banks. The pink sand raced past below him, the 
faint whooping of its composite blades throwing tiny 
dust waves in the wake of the down blast. 

Smiley glanced toward the radar screen. The 
blip had altered course again. 

They’re getting ready to cut us off, Smiley 
thought. “Doc, is the cat tied down, I may have to 
do some fancy maneuvers.” 

“It’s strapped down.” 

Smiley lifted the covers on the control panel of 
the weapons module, then tapped the exposed 
buttons to arm his weapons pods. The panel glowed 
green and, with a series of tapes from the pilot’s 
thin fingers, transformed itself into an angry red. 
Smiley swiveled the control switch on the side of his 
helmet and the weapons display appeared in the 
right eyepiece of his night vision goggles, painting a 
ruby ring over the green and white display. 

"OK,” the pilot said to the blip on the screen. 
“Now we try to lose you.” He shoved down on the 
collective pitch lever to skim the dry bank, 
attempting to retain the radar cover offered by the 

45 


sand hill beyond. 

For a moment the blip was lost in the ground 
clutter. Then it resurfaced on the scope. 

And it had altered course. Now it was heading 
straight for them. 

Must be using look-down radar from a satellite, 
Smiley thought. There was no way the pilot could 
have tracked them through the last maneuver. If 
that was the case, it was probably a US military 
aircraft. He would have to either shake it or knock it 
from the air before the interceptor could call in 
more muscle. “Looks like we’re going to have some 
trouble,” Smiley warned his crew. “But I’m going to 
set us down and see if we can tough it out.” 

The pilot drew back on the control column, 
decreasing the pitch of the four main blades, 
slowing their air speed; simultaneously he lowered 
the collective pitch lever with his left hand, 
plunging the helicopter toward the sand below 
them. 

“Approaching TF/TA radar detected,” the 
computer announced. “Aircraft will intercept our 
position in fifteen seconds.” 

Smiley ignored the warning and continued 
lowering the chopper earthward toward the shadowy 
clearing below. 

“Interception in ten seconds,” the computer 
warned. 

The advancing aircraft was quite close. The 
warning beeps from the approaching plane’s radar 
grew louder as the helicopter’s computer 
intercepted them, the noise bleeping faster as it 
overtook them. 

46 


A thundering roar passed over the helicopter. 

He might not have seen us, Smiley told himself. 
But as he watched the screen, he saw the radar 
image created by the output of the high-tech jet’s 
narrow its pattern, focusing on their position as the 
pilot started a wide, banking turn. There was no 
doubt they’d been spotted. 

“OK,” Smiley said. “We’re going to have to take 
him on. He probably won’t fire until he has a 
positive ID on us. Everyone just sit tight and let me 
handle this.” He thumbed on a fake IFF signaler, 
hoping to fool the approaching pilot into thinking he 
was dealing with a lost amateur pilot rather than a 
stolen military helicopter. 

The radio crackled with the voice of Captain 
Kosner. “Unidentified helicopter, this is Military One 
Zero Two Fiver. I’m reading an outdated IFF from 
you. I need to have your identity. You’re been flying 
too low and have not logged your flight plans on the 
national system. If it weren’t for the fact that the 
Mexs don’t have any whirligigs like yours, I would 
have shot you down already.” 

Smiley lifted the helicopter back into the air, 
then spun adjusted the radio frequency so it was 
slightly off that of the approaching jet’s. “This is uh, 
AM 205,” Smiley said, giving the fake ID his IFF was 
also sending. “Sorry we’re in the wrong spot. We’re 
lost. We were headed for Kan-Topeka.” 

“Stay right where you are,” Kosner warned. “If 
you try to escape, I’ll be forced to attack. I need 
your personal ID code for verification.” 

“Hang on a second, it’s here somewhere,” 
Smiley lied, his thumb inching toward the launch 

47 


button on his control stick. 

The hovering jet ahead of him was just out of 
range. It wasn’t all bad, though. While the National 
Guard pilot had claimed to have weapons trained on 
them, in fact Smiley’s computer showed that the 
jet’s targeting radar had not yet been activated. 
Most likely his weapons were cold as well. That 
meant he must think they were just civilians off 
course. 

A big mistake if I can get you into range, Smiley 
thought, centering the crimson sighting ring in his 
goggles over the hovering aircraft in front of him. 
“Come a little closer said the spider to the fly,” he 
whispered. 

As if complying to the killer’s thoughts, the 
border patrol pilot eased the Harrier forward, its 
down-blast kicking up a sandstorm below as it came 
closer. He halted, just inside the effective range of 
the helicopters unguided rockets. “AM 205, what in 
the world have you got on your wing? If I didn’t know 
better, I’d say you were armed.” 

“Exactly right!” Smiley replied, thumbing the 
launch button. The rocket hissed from its tube, 
lighting the side of the helicopter. 

The pilot of the Harrier attempted to escape the 
rocket, but reacted too slowly and his jet, too 
sluggishly. The rocket smashed into the wing of the 
jet and ignited, the fiery blast turning the night into 
day. As the debris dropped earthward, a secondary 
explosion of the jet’s fuel shattered the plane and 
scoured the ground with flames. 

Smiley circled the fireball that rose from the 
wreckage, his helicopter’s down-blast whirling the 

48 


smoke into huge spirals as they passed. “Anyone see 
a survivor?” he asked his crew. 

“I thought maybe I saw the pilot eject, but I’m 
not sure,” Doc called from the back. 

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “I saw a chute. Off to the 
right.” 

“Ahead of us?” Smiley asked. 

“Yeah. Ahead and to the right.” 

Captain Kosner staggered to his feet, ripping at 
the release on his harness to free himself from the 
chute that threatened to drag him along the desert 
floor as it billowed in the wind. Finally he was free 
and the webbing fell away from his shoulders. 

He got to his feet and jerked off his helmet, 
tossing it to the ground. Then the Harrier pilot stood 
motionless in the darkness, his ears straining for the 
faint whooping of the blades from the chopper that 
had attacked him. The sound became louder, 
echoing through the dead cottonwoods making it 
hard to locate. 

There, he warned himself. To the left and 
coming closer. 

Kosner spun in the sand and raced in the 
opposite direction. With any luck they hadn’t yet 
spotted him. He might still escape and hide until the 
rescue planes came to see what had happened to 
him. 

The pilot dashed toward the top of the hill 
ahead of him, his feet slipping in the sand with each 
step. If he could get the hill between himself and 
the helicopter, he had a chance of remaining 
unseen, even if the pilot of the chopper had an 

49 


infrared viewer. 

But the chopper had altered its course to follow, 
closing the distance between them. 

They’ve seen me, Kosner warned himself. He 
dived over the ridge ahead of him and rolled 
downward into the pitch black valley below, scrub 
brush cutting his face and hands as he rolled blindly 
in the darkness. Finally he reached the bottom 
where he lay still for a moment, his breath whistling 
from his throat. 

At first he thought he saw another flash of 
lightning in the distance, followed by a ripping of 
thunder. Then, when the bullets pounded the sand 
around him, he realized that he was being fired 
upon. 

He jumped to his feet as the helicopter circled 
for another pass, running in the opposite direction 
of its turn in order to maximize the distance 
between the chopper and himself. Knowing that 
hiding from the infrared viewer the pilot chasing him 
must be wearing was impossible, Kosner 
concentrated on running, hoping his pursuer would 
decide to leave him in the desert to die rather than 
try to track him down. If that happened, then there 
was a chance that he would be found by those 
searching for the Border Patrol pilot when he failed 
to return to base. 

He figured any chance, however slim, was 
better than standing still to be slaughtered. So he 
charged blindly through the darkness for all he was 
worth, hoping somehow to survive. 

He thought he’d made it when suddenly the 
chopper sprang over the hill behind him and 

50 


descended with a long burst of fire that raised 
plumes of dirt all around him. Abruptly Kosner found 
he could no long run; he tumbled to the ground, 
rolling in the fine sand until he came to rest on his 
back as the helicopter thundered overhead. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to 
rise, then realized he couldn’t move his legs. A dull 
throbbing climbed up his back as he dropped back 
into the fine sand that was sliding down from the 
hill, settling in around him. 

The helicopter came to a stop and slowly turned 
back around, training its guns on him as he lay in the 
sandstorm the blades were generating. A second 
salvo from the guns chewed up the earth around 
him. 

And then there was blackness. 

“Nice shooting, boss,” Frank said over the 
intercom as the chopper circled the still form below 
them. 

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Smiley replied. 
Satisfied there were no other survivors, he wheeled 
the helicopter back toward the river valley, cut 
nearly a hundred years earlier when water had 
flowed in the now-dry river bed. Guiding the H-2000 
back onto their original course, he prepared to 
resume his journey. 

The computer plotted a secondary course; 
Smiley switched back to auto pilot. After studying 
the console a few moment to be sure there were no 
signs of any other Border Patrol jets, he leaned back 
in his seat and almost instantly fell asleep, the 
satisfied grin on his face barely visible in the glow 

51 


from the instruments. 

52 


C 8 8 
D
D
iana armed her car as she entered the parking 
lot, slowing so she could carefully inspect the 
lot both visually as well as in the vehicles 
detection displays. Easing her car into a parking 
space and stopping it, she pulled out the H&K MP-5Z 
machine pistol that she kept below the front seat on 
the driver’s side. Watching the street, she 
unfastened her comphone from her utility belt. “Dial 
Tim Mann.” 

“Connecting,” the phone said. 

“Hello — that you Diane?” a mechanical voice on 
the other end asked. 

“Ready to come in,” she answered. “How do 
things look from up there.” 

“Let me jack into the outside cameras and 
check things out. Ummm... You at the South 
entrance — yeah, I see your car. New armor on the 
grill?” 

“Is the path clear?” Diane asked, trying to keep 
her impatience in check. Sometimes Tim acted like 
time had no meaning — which it probably didn’t for 

53 


him. 

“Looks like you might encounter an ambush 
about midway down the East wall. Big goon and the 
two little pigs, judging from the heat signatures; 
hiding in the brush at the last corner before the 
main door. Looks like five bangers at the front 
entrance just inside the gate. But they’ve already 
hit someone and are drugged out of their minds from 
the look of them. But you might want to keep an eye 
on them when you pass.” 

“Anybody else you can see.” “That’s a negative. 
Slow night in Goonsville, I guess. Come by when you 
get in?” 

“I will. Got a job for you.” 

“I’ll be waiting with baited breath.” 

Diane clicked off her comphone, folded it, and 
dropped it into its belt pouch, fastening the cover 
over it in case she had to move quickly. “Self 
defense,” she ordered her car. “And auto destruct,” 
she added, deciding she’d rather see her vehicle 
destroyed than let some young thug have it if he 
somehow managed to circumvent its defenses. 

Checking the street again, she cycled a 10mm 
cartridge into her MP-5Z, looping the submachine 
gun’s sling over her shoulder. She brought her night 
vision monocle down over her right eye and activated 
the infrared aiming laser on her gun as she opened 
the door and slid out. The laser beam cut through the 
night, more as a warning to anyone that might be 
watching her with night vision goggles than anything 
else. 

She slammed the car door shut. The Eldorado 
beeped its “alarm armed” signal. Swallowing, she 

54 


broke into a run, sprinting toward the front gate. 

If I ever get a little spare cash, I’ve got to move 
to a better neighborhood, she thought. The 
apartment building whose courtyard she raced for 
was a windowless, high-rise fortress, created nearly 
two decades earlier during the flurry of bombing 
attacks from the Peace through Pieces movement. 
Unfortunately the design dictated a large courtyard 
to prevent car bombings. And that courtyard, with 
the passage of 20 years, had become a small, 
overgrown jungle of brush and ever malfunctioning 
flood lights. Now it was infested with beggars and 
thieves intent on robbing those who lived in the 
apartments beyond. 

The bangers at the front gate ignored her as she 
went past them. Ordinarily she would have at least 
fired toward them, leaving any she had chanced to 
hit for a clean-up rats that passed through each 
morning; but tonight the thugs lucked out because 
she didn’t want to alert the ambushers near the 
main door that she was armed and dangerous. 
Otherwise they might start shooting first, trying to 
take her by superior firepower as she approached 
them. 

She rounded a thick pine and could just barely 
discern the heat signatures of the three criminals 
between her and the front door of the apartment 
complex. She slowed her pace and placed her thumb 
on the selector of the MP-5Z. 

A giant punk with a Nazi helmet stepped onto 
the path ahead of her. She flicked her laser sight 
across his eyes but got no reaction. “No night vision 
gear,” she whispered. That was a plus in her favor. 

55 


Must be low-tech brooters. 

“Hold it right there,” the giant bellowed. 

Diane ignored him, watching the heat signatures 
from the other two that were still behind the hedge 
row, circling around behind her. Then she slowed to 
a stop and spoke. “Let me pass and I won’t have to 
kill you and your friends.” Her thumb clicked the 
selector on her gun into its burst position as she 
brought the weapon into firing position. 

“You going to stop me with that pea shooter?” 
the giant asked. “Haven’t you ever heard of ballistic 
vests? We’re armored, baby.” He threw back his 
head and howled just as his two accomplices burst 
through the foliage next to her. 

Without thinking, Diane tightened her finger on 
the trigger the moment the aiming dot of the laser 
passed over the chest of the attacker nearest her. 
She dodged the machete he swung as he fell. Before 
he fell at her feet, three more bullets exploded from 
her submachine gun, downing her second opponent. 
He dropped to his knees, keeping a grip on the 
butcher knife. 

“Drop the knife,” Diane ordered. 

He struggled to rise. Another burst from the MP5K 
ended his efforts, causing him to collapse over his 
fallen comrade. 

Diane turned back toward the giant who was 
now trying frantically to get through the brush. 
“Guess you guys haven’t ever heard that armor-
piercing bullets pierce ballistic vests.” 

“Lady, take it easy,” the giant yelled, clawing at 
the thick brush that formed an unyielding wall of 
thorns that prevented his escape. “We didn’t mean 

56 


you any harm.” He flashed a smile that exposed 
sharpened teeth. “Lady, we were just trying to have 
a little bit of fun. It was just a joke.” 

Diane hesitated only a moment, remembering 
the bloody body of Mrs. Goldberg who had lived 
down the hall from her. 

Her finger tightened on the trigger. 

Three times. 

The riddled body of the giant drooped, hanging 
in the thorns that had prevented his escape. His 
helmet bounced onto the sidewalk, spinning like a 
wobbly top as Diane dashed toward the main door. 

“That’s for Mrs. Goldberg,” she whispered to the 
corpse as you passed it. It might not do the departed 
neighbor any good. It’s impossible to help the dead, 
Diane reflected. And chances were good the three 
thugs lying behind her weren’t involved in 
butchering Mrs. Goldberg. 

All the same, it gave the searcher a good feeling 
in the pit of her stomach to think she’d evened up 
the scales of justice just a bit. Little by little, she 
and her MP-5Z were making the world a better 
place. 

She smiled grimly, placing her hand on the 
scanner that opened the heavily armored door to 
the apartment complex. 

57 


C 9 9 
D
D
iana stared at the muzzle of the autogun in 
Tim’s door. “Tell your door to lighten up,” she 

said over her phone after dialing his number. 

“Don’t get into a panic,” Tim’s voice answered. 
“It must have mistook you for a door-to-door 
salesman.” 

The gun abruptly swiveled away from her and the 
door popped open a crack. 

Diane pushed her way through the opening, 
closing it behind her and listening to be certain the 
electric locks latched securely. “You need to check 
your defense program. I could hear the safety on the 
gun disengage and the trigger linkage tighten. Some 
day you’re going to ace a friend if that thing 
malfunctions.” 

“Maybe,” Tim answered, his face a motionless 
mask of stainless steel. He rose from his chair with a 
clank and turned toward her as she entered his 
apartment. Although only his hands and face had 
actually been replaced with metal parts, he had 

58 


added enough armor and cyborgic modules to his 
anatomy to give the impression to a casual observer 
that he was all metal — a misconception he enjoyed 
exploiting from time to time. 

“Your door can’t have a legal defensive program 
in it,” Diane said, unslinging her submachine gun and 
laying it on a table piled high with old computer 
manuals and a slice of fossilized pizza. 

“I’ll admit I tweaked the program a bit. But I 
figure better safe than sorry. If anything goes wrong, I 
can always get new friends should I fry one by 
mistake.” 

“Very funny,” Diane said. “When your gun 
malfunctions, leaving my corpse in the hall, you’ll 
have a lot of lonesome nights with only your ethereal 
cyber babes to keep you company. I’m not sure who 
else would want to be a friend to a rust bucket like 
you.” 

“Stainless steel and copper doesn’t rust. What 
you’re mistaking for corrosion is an attractive patina. 
Like an ancient statue of a Greek god.” He struck a 
pose and stood completely motionless in front of the 
massive table containing his computer and meter-
wide flat screen. 

“Cut it out. You know it gives me the creeps 
when you do your statue routine.” 

“Listen,” Tim said, abruptly coming back to life. 
“Did you come here to make jests at your faithful 
bionic friend’s expense or did you need something?” 

“I need information.” She laid fishing the data 
dot from a belt pocket. She handed the chip to him. 
“But first we need to do some house cleaning.” She 
retrieved her comphone and switched on its new 

59 


circuits, extending the extra long antenna. Stepping 
over a partially dismantled sweeper-bot lying on the 
floor, she initiated her electronic sweep of the room. 

“What?” Tim asked. “You’re not going to 
rearrange everything so I can’t find it, are you. You 
remember how that messed me up last time.” Then 
he saw what she was doing. He turned to one of the 
keyboards on the desk behind him and typed, then 
cleared his throat to get her attention. 

Diane turned glanced toward him and read the 
meter-high letters that had appeared on the giant 
monitor. 

“Bugs?” he had typed in neon pink fonts that 
jumped from the screen. 

She nodded, thankful he had the good sense not 
to say anything that might tip a listener off so he 
could shut down any of the electronic listening 
devices that might be present, making them harder to 
find. 

The display on the comphone lit up. “Detection — 
1 circuit.” Diane turned the tiny screen so Tim could 
see. 

He retrieved a screwdriver from his desk and 
plugged it into the end of one of his metal fingers. 
“I’ll handle this part,” he whispered, reaching to take 
the phone from her. 

She shook her head. “It doesn’t rain but it 
pours.” 

“More?” 

“Probably.” She picked up a pen from his desk 
and circled the spot the bug was embedded in the 
wall. Then she continued the sweep of the room. 

Five minutes later, she was finished. “That makes 

60 


three all together,” she said, smashing a cockroach 
under her boot. She studied the smashed creature a 
moment. “Now we’re down to two.” 

“You didn’t have to smash the cockroach,” Tim 
protested. “I could have used the transmitter it had 
glued to its back.” 

“We don’t have time to capture bugged bugs so 
you can dissect them. Besides, you can play with the 
two mechanicals we found in your walls. Let’s dig 
them out.” 

They spent the next three minutes retrieving the 
twin transmitters embedded in the walls of the room. 

“Of course you’ll need to pay me for destroying 
my expensive décor,” Tim said, extracting the last 
from the sheet rock. 

“Loss of yellowed wallpaper isn’t covered in our 
contracted expenses.” Diane smiled. “And the dead 
cockroach spot on the carpet will never be noticed 
among all the grease stains. Besides, if you’d been on 
the ball, no one would have been able to plant these 
in here. Don’t tell me you actually left your 
apartment long enough for someone to get in here.” 

“I haven’t.” Tim held one of the tiny units under 
a magnifier. “But I think I know how they did it with 
me here. I opened the door for a delivery man a 
couple of days ago — he supposedly had a wrong 
address. I was suspicious at the time, but didn’t think 
about the possibility I had let in some bugs.” 

“Surprised your door didn’t fry him before he 
could get your attention.” 

“Very funny. I bet when I opened the door to talk 
to him, the cockroach hopped in and the mechanicals 
flew in as well. Look,” he said, stepping back from 

61 


the magnifier. “See the tiny engines? These are the 
new self-propelled units. They use a ram jet engine 
and a couple of drops of fuel for a short burst of 
power, then settle into the woodwork and operate on 
batteries.” He leaned back over the magnifier. “Hey, 
wait a minute. These are only relays. There must be a 
miked transmitter somewhere, too.” 

“Already found it.” 

“Where?” 

“In my neck. Louis removed it a little while ago.” 

“Your neck?” Tim said, jumping to his feet so fast 
he clanked. “And you were brow-beating me for 
letting these sneak in. Can’t imagine how someone 
could plant a bug under your skin without being 
noticed.” 

“I thought it was a bee sting.” 

He tapped his fingers on his skull for a moment. 
“These guys are crafty. Hey, do mind if I keep these? 
Might be some circuits I could use. They look 
expensive.” 

“I can’t use them — they’re yours.” 

“So now that the bug hunt is over, what else can I 
do for you?” Tim asked, settling back into his antique 
office chair. He opened a steel box and carefully 
deposited the bugs into it. 

Diane cleared a stack of data storage cubes off a 
chair and sat down. “I need a bio rundown on the guy 
listed on the data dot. Most of what you’ll find about 
him is probably already on the data dot. But I’m 
hoping you can create a profile on him and then give 
me some clues as to where he is right now.” 

Tim dropped the dot into the reader of a 
computer that looked as cobbled together as its 

62 


owner. 

“You should probably start by checking into the 
break-in at the Biotech Universal Incorporated labs 
over on 14th and Anderson last night. I don’t think 
the company reported the break-in to the police, but 
you might check for reports.” 

“You’re willing to pay me enough to break into 
the police comps?” he asked, turning back toward 
her. His metal finger tips tapped at the steel plate 
over his skull, making a faint pinging. “Somebody 
must be paying you pretty well on this job.” 

“Yeah. You can splurge a little tonight if you 
need to in order to get what I need. Just keep it in 
bounds.” 

“Time frame?” 

“I need the data yesterday,” she said, getting 
back to her feet. “Early tomorrow morning at the 
latest.” 

“Don’t hold your breath on yesterday. But you’re 
in luck. My hot date called while ago to cancel, so my 
usually full schedule has an opening tonight. Want me 
to check to see if there’re any unusual reports from 
the neighborhood around the lab?” 

“Good idea. And while you’re searching for leads, 
watch for any missing large vans or aircraft. Better 
check the veterinarians around the city, too. Missing 
supplies — stuff like that.” 

“What exactly are we looking for? An animal of 
some kind?” 

“A large tiger. A silver tiger.” 

“Is this a Native American thing — like that 
sacred albino buffalo myth?” 

Diane started to make a flippant answer, and 

63 


then stopped. “Hadn’t thought about that, Tim. It is 
sort of odd, isn’t it, that I’d be searching for 
something like this. But the cat’s purely manmade, 
I’m afraid. And the name is a trademark. Silver Tiger. 
Tiger being spelled with a y instead of an i in this 
case.” 

“Hey, no problem. That’s how I always spell 
tiger. Good spelling’s a prime asset for a professional 
researcher like myself.” 

“When you’re finished, PGP your report and relay 
it to my comphone ASAP, okay? By morning, perhaps.” 

“Will do, but it might be a big data dump. You 
got that new memory chip I told you, you needed?” 

“Yeah. Got it today from Louis.” 

“You must have struck pay dirt today. But just 
wait ‘til you see my bill. I have a feeling tonight is 
going to be very expensive.” 

“Lucky your scalp is already missing or I’d make a 
counter threat. I’ve got to go now. See you later.” 

Tim made no movement but the door behind 
Diane cycled open at his mental command. “See you 
later,” he said, his molded face as expressionless as 
ever. 

She retrieved her gun from the table and turned 
to go, then looked back over her shoulder where her 
friend sat motionless, the cable he’d plugged into his 
neck carrying commands to his computer, directly 
from his brain. “I appreciate all you do for me, Tim,” 
she said. “You’re a good friend.” 

“You’re a good friend, too,” he replied, turning 
his head toward her as he spoke. “Now get out of 
here. I’ve got work to do and can’t risk getting 
sentimental. Tears make me rust.” 

64 


C 10 10 
K
K
arren Deathsong pushed her way through the 
animated Cigar Indians who were hocking their 
drugs and bodies to any tourist willing to pay 
for their ware. Throngs of Hispanics and Whites 
flowed in drunken clots along the wide plaza, 
looking for action in the form of gambling or 
legalized perversions. Those willing to search long 
enough could find everything from a bingo game to a 
small covey of whores available for the right price. 
The reservation was lawless and dangerous, 
attracting thrill seekers the way a flame draws a 
moth to its fiery destruction. 

“What’s more disgusting?” Karen’s sister, Diane, 
had asked her. “The outsiders who created the 
reservation and come to spend their money, or our 
people who have prostituted their heritage in 
exchange for the cash?” 

“Tradition is for squares,” Karen had answered. 
“Ripping off the Europeans is our way of getting 
ahead. It evens the score for what they’ve done to 

65 


our people.” 

Now, studying the gaudy Native American shops 
and booths along the walkway, Karen had little 
doubt that many of her own people were being 
captured in their own traps. The tar they had 
smeared to trap the invaders had snared them as 
well. The leaders of the reservation, and many of 
those around her, had become just as depraved as 
those they sought to fleece. In feeding the 
perversions and vices of their customers, they had 
become just like what they hated. 

“We have girls, girls, girls,” a barker with a huge 
headdress that looked like something from a 
Hollywood movie yelled as Karen passed. “We have 
topless,” the barker cried, “we have bottomless, we 
have legless, and we have armless. Hey buddy, you 
like animals? We have those, too. We have goats, we 
have...” 

Karen held her hands over her ears, trying to 
block the amplified insanity swirling around her. The 
tribal leaders had sold their souls for the interlopers’ 
cash. Of course they liked to blame the government 
that created the opportunity by ruling that the UN 
laws didn’t apply to the Native American 
reservations. But Karen knew her own tribe had 
made the conscious decision to squander their birth 
right for cars, jewelry, and drugs. The Uttawa tribe 
that had once prided itself with being at one with 
their land were now only at one with e-cash and the 
mad money-making schemes concocted by the Grand 
Chief of the Americas. 

Stepping around a group of snake eaters, Karen 
found her way blocked by a emaciated woman with 

66 


her head in a cybervise; she cackled insanely, blood 
oozing from her ears as she stood in Karen’s path. 
“Come into the shadows and play with me,” she 
blubbered. 

“Get out of the way,” Karen yelled. 

“Come into the shadows,” the woman cried. Her 
claw-like fingers grasping at Karen’s wrist. 

For a moment Karen felt that she was looking 
into a warped funhouse mirror, staring through time 
and viewing herself. She stood frozen by a confusing 
notion that the face hidden by the cybervise was 
her. With near panic she shook herself free of the 
scrawny grip. “Let go of me, you fool.” 

The woman released her grip and staggered on, 
oblivious to her surroundings, a crooked smile 
showing beneath the deadly helmet she wore. 

No! Karen told herself. I will never sink that 
low. 

Yet she knew that perhaps, just perhaps, one 
day she would get that desperate. Some day, when 
the craving for some electronic pleasure overcame 
the need for self preservation, she might give in and 
take the risk. And take it again and again until the 
life started oozing out of her. 

She battled the thought, increasing the speed of 
her gait as she jostled through the tourists; she 
nervously fingered the small pill in her pocket that 
argued against her resolve. No, I’ll never sink that 
low, she promised herself. Yet the tiny white tablet 
under her fingertips disputed her promise. 

She shoved the thought from her mind, turning 
down the side street where there were fewer 
people. After going twenty meters, she had escaped 

67 


the chase lights and noise. She paused and then 
pushed her way through a plastic panel in a 
holographic sign advertising Tribal Beer. 

As she crept down the dark, narrow corridor, 
she whispered. “Diane, I miss you.” Her footsteps 
echoed off the brick walls around her as she traced 
the path toward her apartment. “You were the only 
one who understood our need to leave this 
hellhole.” 

How I wish I’d left with you when I had the 
chance. 

But she hadn’t. 

Now she was trapped, unable to pay the price 
required to buy back her freedom. What she had 
seen as an opportunity to get rich from the 
squandered money of the Gringos and Hispanics was 
now a trap that held her as tightly as anything that 
had ever been fabricated from spring steel. 

The lid from a garbage can clattered on the 
concrete next to her, bringing her thoughts back to 
the present. 

“Hey, chick,” a slurred voice called from the 
shadows. “How about giving me a little?” A hand 
snatched at her sleeve. 

“Let go,” she ordered. 

“I can pay you. You don’t mind rough stuff, do 
you?” His grip tightened on her arm, the other hand 
hovering over her breast. 

“Get your hands off me. Now!” 

“Playin’ hard to get, huh?” 

She placed her free hand over the claw holding 
her arm, securing it against her flesh as she twisted 
and leaned forward. 

68 


There was a gasp of surprise from the stranger, 
followed by a dry snapping of bone muffled under 
torn flesh. The stranger dropped and writhed on the 
cement, holding his broken wrist. “I’ll kill you,” he 
hissed. 

“Not tonight.” She stared hard at him. 

He started to rise, then moan and fell to the 
ground, unconscious. After looking around to be sure 
no one could see her, Karen knelt and patted the 
stranger down, checking first one pocket and then 
the next, until finally she felt what she was 
searching for. 

She fished the e-card from the stranger’s pants 
and quickly slipped it under her blouse. Glancing 
around again to be sure no one was watching, she 
unconsciously wiped her hands on the front of her 
micro-mini skirt as she left the stranger to sleep off 
his stupor. 

Minutes later Karen was safe inside her armored 
apartment, pouring a bowl of milk for the beat-up 
Tomcat she kept for company. Her hands shook as 
she remembered her encounter with the drunk. The 
savagery of her response to his attack didn’t bother 
her as much as the fact of how, without thinking 
about it, she’d stolen his money. 

I’m not any better than the others, she 
reflected, stroking her stripped pet’s back as he 
attempted to purr and slurp milk at the same time. 
A thief, even one who simply steals from surly 
drunks, is only a notch above those who sell their 
bodies or fleece the marks in the rigged games of 
chance. 

I’ve sold out, just like the others. She had 

69 


become what she hated, had become what she had 
vowed never to become. And she didn’t even have 
anything to show for it, because now she spent all 
her money for the pills like the one clinched in her 
fist. 

Diane had been right. She should have left when 
she’d had the chance to go. Having nothing but 
being free was worth more than all the empty 
promises of quick and easy wealth. 

Karen stroked the cat once more, then rose and 
crossed to the center of the tiny room where she 
settled into the thread-worn easy chair that, along 
with a sleeping bag and old mattress, comprised the 
sum total of furniture in her apartment. She gulped 
down the pill she had purchased, pulled a video 
mask over her face, and escaped into the imaginary 
world she had created for herself in an effort to 
escape the horror of reality. 

The coolness flowed through her body. In her 
mind she spread her wings and leaped into the air, 
wheeling northward in the darkness to leave the 
soiled streets of the reservation far behind her. 

70 


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D
D
iane sleep fitfully. Only when morning 
approached did she finally sleep, reliving a 
time of her childhood, altered by the illusory 
imagery of her dream. 

Ravenfoot sat behind the smoky campfire, stirring 
it with a green stick. Karen and Diane sat across from 
the medicine man, listening to the crickets. The old 
shaman poked the red embers, freeing glowing sparks 
ascend into the night air, mixing with the cold blue 
and white points of light which blazed, brighter and 
more vivid than ever before in the sky. 

“I know you two are star dancers,” the patriarch 
said evenly, his wrinkled features augmented by the 
cavorting flames. “You have the powers of the 
ancient ones. For many generations these skills have 
been lost. It has been hidden from your tribe and now 
only return in our time of great need.” 

Diane said nothing, wondering if the great need 
had something to do with the fighting that had been 
going on between the tribal leaders. And the visits of 

71 


the Dark Ones, she thought with a shudder. 

“Star dancing is just pretend,” Karen protested, 
breaking her sister’s line of thought. “Our mother 
says that your stories are just make believe and that 
you are—” She stopped with a gasp as her older 
sister’s elbow caught her in the ribs. She fought back 
tears rather than continue. 

The medicine man pointed his smoking stick 
toward Diane. “You had no need to hurt your sister 
for speaking the truth. There is nothing wrong in 
telling the facts. It wasn’t that long ago that I, too, 
believed the same thing your mother does. But I’ve 
been watching you two and I know.” He paused and 
stirred the embers, raising another storm of sparks 
that flew skyward, dying as they rose. 

Diane held their breath, wondering if he really 
knew about what they had been doing. So far she’d 
been able to keep it hidden from everyone. Even 
Karen didn’t realize what had been happening, even 
though she was a part of the whole thing. Karen 
thought she had only been dreaming, not that the 
two were actually traveling while they slept. 

“I’ve seen you two in the fields when you thought 
no one was watching. You can do things others can’t. 
And you’ve been invading my dreams with regularity 
now — yes, that hidden lodge with the ancient tools 
where you two like to venture. It’s right here.” He 
tapped his head. “And I know about the flint knife — 
and how you, Diane, cut your finger in the dream. 
You were star dancing.” 

Diane gasped at the revelation that exposed her 
secret. There was only one way he could have known 
about the razor-sharp obsidian that she had foolishly 

72 


grasped by the blade. 

“That’s right,” he said, reading her thoughts. 
“You and your sister were careless. You played with 
something you knew nothing about and you got hurt. 
And I know the wound emerged not only in your sleep 
but in your waking as well, didn’t it?” 

Diane held her finger behind her back, as if trying 
to hide the truth. 

“In fact we are all in one dream now,” Ravenfoot 
continued. “Don’t look so surprised. Each time the 
dreams contain more and more that is real. One day 
soon, you two will star dance when you’re awake — if 
you don’t continue to repress your skills.” 

“And if we can keep you hidden from the Dark 
Ones,” Ravenfoot added, poking at the last 
smoldering fire The crickets around them grew silent 
as if terrified at the mention of those that Diane tried 
not to think about. A cloud blotted the stars from the 
sky. 

“I only hope you remember to help your people 
and not just yourselves,” Ravenfoot added as the last 
of the embers sputtered into blackness. “If you let 
me, I can help you learn the ways of our ancestors.” 

There was a snap of dry leaves behind Diane. She 
turned saw the form moving through the shadows. 
She tried to warn the others, but her voice was 
trapped in her chest; she wanted to get up and run, 
but was paralyzed. She turned toward the campfire. 
Its flame was extinguished and the shaman and Karen 
were gone. 

Then she was lying on the white sheet, strapped 
to the table, the leather belts preventing her from 
escaping as the shade stepped toward her. Diane 

73 


screamed, fighting her bonds. 

Then she was suddenly free. She sat up in her 
bed, throwing off the covers. Only a dream, she 
reassured herself, catching her breath. She glanced 
toward the clock in her windowless bedroom. 

Five thirty. It was still too early to rise. She 
needed her rest for the task that was coming up. 

It never happened. Only a dream. She was a 
searcher, not a star dancer. Yet somehow she wasn’t 
so sure. The Dark Ones had never been a part of her 
childhood. At least she didn’t remember that they 
had. And she and her sister had never gone anywhere 
with Ravenfoot. 

Becoming conscious of the pain in her finger, she 
snapped on the light next to her narrow bed, and 
examined the digit. 

“What?” she asked. She rubbed the wound in 
disbelief. There was the open cut that Ravenfoot had 
seen. Only now it was new, as if it had just occurred. 
I must have cut it earlier in the day, she told herself. 
A lot had happened. It would have been easy to miss 
in the excitement of her race for the front door of 
the apartment. 

Yes, that has to be it. She switched the light off 
and turned over, snuggling her head against the 
pillow while trying to force the troubling thoughts 
from her mind. 

74 


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T
T
he golden rim of the rising sun sent crimson 
light streaming across the mountain peaks and 
glimmered off the glaciers as Smiley brought 
the M-2000 in low, skimming up the southern slope 
of the new Kansas Mountain range. Moist air rising 
from the Colorado plains to the west was suddenly 
cooled as it reached the summit, creating tiny ice 
crystals of angel dust that shimmered and pranced in 
the air around the chopper, flashing tiny rainbows at 
the pilot’s eyes. 

The newly formed volcanic craters ranging 
northward through the western boarder of Kansas 
created the perfect hideaway. Not only was the 
terrain inhospitable, the threat posed by the 
scattered radioactive waste the volcanoes had 
haphazardly strewn across the area years before, as 
well as the random eruptions of the active region, 
posed too great a threat for even Mexican 
infiltration operations. That meant the criminals 
should have the peak all to themselves. 

75 


Smiley circled the crater once more, inspecting 
the area just the same. He hadn’t stayed alive and 
free by being careless. He never took chances if he 
didn’t have to. “Anyone see anything,” he asked 
over the intercom. “I don’t want to land and 
discover some fool bandito band has decided to set 
up camp down there.” 

“Looks clear from back here.” 

“All right then. We’re going in.” He brought the 
control column back to the left to straighten his 
course, then drew back on the control column, 
simultaneously lowering the collective pitch lever 
with his left hand, dropping them toward the rocky 
slope below. With a bump of the landing gear, they 
were down. Smiley quickly shut down the engine. 
Thirty seconds later he was back in the passenger 
compartment as the blades above them whirred to a 
stop. “How’s the cat doing, Doc?” 

“Still asleep.” The veterinarian stroked the 
animal’s fur. 

“You sure?” the pilot asked. “I thought you said 
it’d be awake by now?” 

“It’s asleep. Breathing and pulse rates are 
normal.” 

“You didn’t give it another shot, did you?” 

“No. It’s been out longer than I thought it would 
be, but seems fine. No adverse reactions to the 
drugs or anything like that.” 

“Okay,” Smiley said, picking up a large tube 
from the rear of the cabin along with his gear bag. 
“Keep the straps on it just to be sure. I don’t want it 
waking up unexpectedly.” He turned toward his two 
henchmen, “Frank, help the Doc get it ready to 

76 


move the cat into the Viper. Joe, get our wheels 
from the cave. And be sure all the ammunition 
we’ve been storing is loaded into it. We might need 
to use the Minigun along the way.” 

Smiley leaped from the open side door of the 
chopper, shivering in the cold mountain air as he 
stretched tired muscles. 

The rock and gravel of the peak had no 
vegetation on it and only pockets of volcanic dust. 
They wouldn’t leave behind tracks. With a little 
luck, whoever might discover the chopper would 
assume it had crashed, bringing an end to those who 
had stolen the machine and brought it into the 
wilderness. Smiley had pitted his skills against law 
enforcement officials long enough to know how 
quickly they’d jump to believe any facts that meant 
a quick and speedy solution to a crime. He aimed to 
leave just the right clues behind for them to find. 

The earth shook under his feet with a minor 
tremor as Joe turned the engine of the Viper turned 
over and the motor sputtered to life. Satisfied that 
their transportation was functioning properly, Smiley 
turned his attention back toward Doc and Frank. 

And froze in his tracks. “Doc, don’t do that!” 

“What?” The veterinarian turned around toward 
Smiley, a loose leather strap in his hand. 

“Don’t loosen the restraints.” 

“It’s okay,” the veterinarian said with a 
dismissive wave. “The cat’s still out cold. We’ll have 
it in the Viper by the time it—” 

Before he could complete his sentence, the tiger 
sprang to live, claws racking down the doctor’s side. 

The doctor stood for a moment, a stunned look 

77 


on his face as blood spurted from a severed vein, 
then he dropped to his knees. A second swipe of the 
cat’s massive paw threw him aside into the gravel. 

Smiley fumbled with the tube he held, dropping 
his bag as he struggled to tear away the wrapping to 
expose an electronic firing pad. At the same time 
the tiger tore at the last strap constraining her hind 
legs, ripping it with sharp claws as if it were 
constructed of cardboard. Freed, the animal leaped 
into the air, its rear feat kicking at Frank as he 
turned to run. The claws slashed open his shirt; his 
intestines fell to the earth and trailed after him for 
the two steps he took before dropping. 

The animal turned toward Smiley as he raised 
the tube and set the selector to fire position. “If you 
are as smart as they say, you’ll know I can down you 
before you can reach me,” he warned, bracketing 
the aiming dot of the pop-up scope on the face of 
the savage creature he faced. 

The Silver Tiger answered with a low growl. And 
then it spoke in a raspy voice that Smiley could 
understand, even though his brain almost refused to 
comprehend the message. “You are slow,” the tiger 
said. “Soon you will be dead.” 

The cat leaped. 

78 


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K
K
aren startled herself awake with a jerk of her 
leg muscles. For a moment she couldn’t 
remember where she was; she clawed off the 
metal helmet, aware of the terrible taste in her 
mouth. She swallowed, shaking her head. The dream 
had been more real than what was surrounding her 
now. 

She opened her eyes once more and looked at 
her surroundings in disbelief, as if seeing them for 
the first time. In her dream she had known heaven; 
now she’d been cast back into hell. Yet she knew, 
from the dream, that her time of redemption would 
soon come to pass. If she was ready for it. 

“Time to clean up your act,” she whispered. She 
stood, stretching tired and abused muscles. “Past 
time.” There wasn’t any time to waste. Ravenfoot 
had made that clear in her dream. 

Time to straighten things out and get yourself 
straight. She studied the helmet in her hand for a 
moment, then dropped it onto the floor and crushed 

79 


its electric circuits beneath her heel before she had 
time to think about it twice. She next trekked to the 
bathroom and retrieved all the bottles from the 
medicine cabinet, opening them one at a time and 
emptying the colored pills in each into the stool. 
When the cabinet was empty, she carefully flushed 
the stool, watching her past whirlpool away into the 
sewer. 

She turned to leave; the mirror caught her 
reflection as she closed the medicine cabinet. A 
haircut would be in order. And a shower. And then 
some makeup — she had some somewhere from 
before. 

“Time to get straight,” she repeated to herself, 
studying the crow’s feet that had crept into the 
corners of her eyes and which had gone unnoticed 
until today. 

She had to get ready. Ravenfoot had told her in 
her dream: Diane is coming soon to take you away. 

She shook her head in disbelief that she’d put 
much stock in a helmet-induced dream involving the 
imaginary childhood creation she hadn’t thought 
about for at least ten years. But somehow she knew 
Ravenfoot had become real. As real as what she was 
experiencing now. 

And he had told her Diane was coming soon. 

Just as the tiger leaped toward Smiley, the 
criminal thumbed the fire button on the goop tube 
he held. The front of the cylinder erupted, throwing 
expanding streamers of foam into the air, hurtling 
directly at the cat that was now flashing toward the 
source of its wrath. 

80 


The ooze and the cat collided in mid-air. 
Although the volume of the sticky mass was as great 
as that of the tiger, its mass wasn’t. So sticky slime 
and growling cat tumbled toward Smiley who leaped 
aside, narrowly avoiding becoming enmeshed in the 
two hundred forty kilograms of snarling claws and 
teeth that hissed past him. 

The cat continued to growl and struggle, rolling 
on the ground as it attempted to free itself from the 
glue-like goop that had nearly immobilized it as it 
rapidly hardened into a rubber-like mass. 

Smiley watched for a moment and then turned 
from the animal, satisfied that it wasn’t capable of 
getting free. 

Joe came running up behind him and slid to a 
stop next to his boss, drawing his pistol. He took a 
careful bead on the tiger and was squeezing the 
trigger just as Smiley hit his hand with the empty 
launch tube, causing the bullet to go wide of its 
mark and ricochet with a whine off the boulder it hit 
instead. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 
Smiley screamed. “I’ve half a mind to kill you.” 

“It ripped Doc and Frank to shreds,” Joe 
sputtered, glancing toward the two bloody corpses 
and turning white as he looked away. The gulped 
and then continued. “I thought we’d better—” 

“Killing it won’t bring them back. Besides, that 
animal you were so casually going to shoot is worth 
more than you’ve ever even dreamed of. Even if 
were sitting on me and chewing off an arm, I 
wouldn’t want you doing anything to hurt it on the 
off chance I might somehow survive the attack and 

81 


still be able to sell it. Do you get my drift?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now, let’s see if our friends are as dead as they 
look.” 

They were. Despite muscle twitches, they were 
very dead from wounds that had efficiently severed 
major veins and arteries, causing them to bleed to 
death in a matter of moments. 

“Can’t fault that cat for being unskilled,” Smiley 
said evenly, his hands still shaking from the 
adrenaline rush of facing the four-legged killer. 
“Couldn’t have done better myself. And I guess it 
saved me a little work — and you your life,” he 
added, glancing toward Joe. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’d planned on leaving two corpses behind for 
the authorities to find. Since Doc was supposed to 
continue caring for the cat, that left you and Frank 
to play the part of the corpses.” 

Joe swallowed hard. “You’re kidding, aren’t 
you?” 

Smiley grinned a wicked smile. “Why don’t you 
collect Franks guts and help me drag him into the 
chopper. I replaced my dental records with his, so 
he gets to sit in the pilot’s seat. Come on, we don’t 
have much time. The sun’s up and the Tell-All 
satellite will be covering this section in a half hour.” 

Minutes later they’d positioned the Doc and Frank 
in the chopper. While Joe struggled to get the gurney 
pulled from the passenger compartment and 
positioned near the cat, Smiley went to the back of 
the cabin, flicked open his switchblade, and 
commenced sawing at the thick rubber fuel line 

82 


exposed in the back of the compartment. 

Although the original military tanks had been 
designed to prevent catching on fire when a leak or 
puncture occurred, he’d had them replaced with 
standard tanks — hoping investigators would mistake 
the modification for an amateur attempt to extend 
the range of the helicopter. An attempt that led to a 
fatal accident that killed all aboard, including the 
stolen tiger. 

Gasoline started to spurt from the cut line. 
Smiley flicked shut the knife and turned toward Joe. 
“Now help me with this bag.” 

The two pulled the heavy plastic pouch over and 
carefully opened it. Joe swore loudly, “What’s in 
there — how long’s it been dead?” 

“That rotten corpse is the most expensive part of 
our escapade,” Smiley answered, grimacing at the 
smell as he took the bottom of the bag and lifted to 
spill out the mess of bones and decaying pelt onto the 
floor of the cabin. “You’d be surprised how much a 
dead tiger commands these days. But the expense — 
and nausea — is necessary to complete the effect we 
need to achieve.” He straightened and tossed the 
empty bag into the front of the chopper where it lay 
over Frank’s upturned face. “Now let’s get the real 
Silver Tiger loaded into the Viper.” 

Fifteen minutes later the two had managed to 
get the still struggling beast into the back of the 
eight-wheeled Viper. After Joe had driven the vehicle 
as safe distance, Smiley climbed from the vehicle, 
aimed a flare gun at the H-2000, and pulled the 
trigger. 

The white hot projectile of flaming magnesium 

83 


arched toward the open side door and ignited the 
fumes, throwing a fireball upward into the sky, 
followed by a column of black smoke that rose into 
the frosty air above amber flames. The fire in the 
cabin spread, the aluminum beams on the door 
sagged and popped in the heat, the flesh of the dead 
crackling in counterpoint. 

Smiley watched the inferno for a moment, his 
face expressionless. Then he chuckled and climbed 
back into the Viper. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, 
settling into the passenger seat and slamming the 
door shut. 

“E-talk message #25126-2349718,” the comphone 
said. Karen watched the screen as the recorded 
communication came through. 

Diane’s face materialized on the screen. “Hi, 
Karen. Sorry I keep missing you. I have some good 
news and a proposal that I’m hoping you’ll think over 
carefully. 

“I have a client that has offered me a Universal 
Pass in partial payment for a job I’m doing for him. 
What I’d like to do is use it to get you off the 
reservation — if you want to leave. I don’t want to 
pressure you. If you want to stay where you are, 
that’s up to you. But if you’d like a chance to get 
away, I’d be happy to help you. You could even camp 
out in my apartment for a while. In fact, you could 
probably help with my business if you wanted — at 
least until you find something better to do. 

Diane shook her head. “I guess I’m getting ahead 
of myself here. Just let me know if you want to use 
the Universal Pass or not. If you don’t, then I can sell 

84 


it for some cash. Either way is fine so do what you 
want to do. 

“I’ve got to go now. I really miss you. Stay in 
touch.” 

“End message,” the comphone announced. 

Karen wiped the tears from her eyes and 
switched off the screen. 

85 


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D
D
iane opened her eyes, glanced toward the 
clock, and groaned when she saw the readout. 
It was past time to get going, but she felt far 
from rested. 
For a moment she mulled over her dream of the 
night before. 

Ravenfoot. 

She shook her head and smiled. The name 
sounded like a Native American’s. But she’d never 
known anybody by that name. As for the idea of star 
dancing… She shook her head as she sat up in bed. 

The Dark Ones was a different story, she 
thought, as she climbed from bed and donned a 
housecoat over her nude body. She remembered 
sitting around a campfire and hearing tales about 
those who came to steal children from their parents, 
taking them into the wilderness for hideous rites. But 
there had never been any sign that stories were more 
than camp tales told to frighten the uninitiated. 

“Screen on,” she ordered the house computer. 

86 


The far wall transformed itself from a painting of 
an Indian on a pony to a view of the outside 
courtyard. Despite the fact that it was nearly seven 
o’clock, the courtyard and buildings around her were 
still in the shadows. Yet it wasn’t cloudy; in the 
distance, the sun glistened off the American 
Brokerage needle. 

“Damned advertising blimp is blotting out the sun 
again,” she whispered, heading for the bathroom. 
The eyesore of an airship had positioned itself over 
the buildings in the neighborhood for nearly a week 
now, the holographic screens on its sides telling 
anyone who looked up at it the latest consumer 
product information. It seemed immoral to keep the 
sun from shining on her apartment, but there was 
nothing she could do about it, short of going up the 
roof and blast the thing from the air. 

Of course having that much tonnage drop on the 
apartment complex would be far from pleasant, she 
reflected. She’d have to put up with the nuisance. 

After finishing in the bathroom, she popped a 
mind enhancement pill into her mouth and swallowed 
it as she headed for the kitchen. “Breakfast,” she 
told the house computer as she settled down at the 
worn walnut table. 

“Usual?” the machine asked. 

“Yeah. Skip the news reports and let’s see any 
messages from Tim.” 

“You have one multimedia e-talk message from 
Tim.” 

“I’ll take it in the living room,” she said, picking 
up the steaming mug of coffee and hot, buttered bran 
muffins that popped from food dispenser on the 

87 


stove. Carefully balancing the cup, she settled into an 
easy chair as the far wall transformed itself into a 
view screen. 

“Well, good morning beautiful,” Tim said, his 
face magnified so it was five feet tall and warped into 
a globe by the nearness to the lens. “By the time you 
get this you’ll probably have put in a fitful night’s 
sleep, knowing you. Can’t ever relax while you’re 
waiting to get to the chase, can you—” 

“Forward,” Diane ordered. Tim got carried away 
sometimes and it was too early in the morning for her 
to put up with his verbose nonsense. After fast 
forwarding to what he had actually discovered, she 
restarted the e-talk message and watched, sipping 
her coffee. 

As she continued through the report, she could 
see that the researcher had come through for her 
again. He’d found a record of several stolen military 
vehicles, including a helicopter. “And if you look at 
Smiley’s records,” Tim’s off screen voice said as a set 
of documents appeared on the screen, “you’ll see 
that he used this same model helicopter in a bank 
robbery four years ago.” 

“Now here’s where I’ve really earned my 
money,” Tim continued. “While I was rooting through 
the police computer system, I discovered these noise 
complaints at the western end of town early last 
night. Low flying helicopter which the police and 
military couldn’t account for. Then this report: a 
Border Patrol jet shot down last night.” 

A map come into view on the screen. “Now, if we 
plot these two events, I’m taking the liberty of 
assuming they’re related and that might be a 

88 


mistake, but that’s my working hypothesis — then we 
can plot a path from here toward the Kansas 
Mountain Range. Which, as you know, would be an 
ideal hideout for—” 

The picture froze as the computer interrupted. 
“Incoming message of extreme urgency from Tim.” 

“Let’s have it,” Diane said. 

The steel head of her friend appeared on the 
screen. “I think I’ve found your guy,” he said. 

“What have you got?” Diane asked. 

“I figured there was an outside chance they 
might be captured on the Tell-All satellite. It passed 
over the Kansas Mountains ten minutes ago so I 
charged for the latest download and then searched 
through it with a template that — ” 

“What’d you find?” 

Tim laughed. “Sorry. Here’s what I found.” A 
high-altitude photo filled the screen. “Now I’m going 
to zoom in on the area that has changed since the 
last pass of the satellite over the area.” There was a 
giddy increase in the size of the mountain and then 
a dark blotch in a rocky crater showed in the center 
of the screen. 

“I know that doesn’t look like much,” Tim said. 
“But look at it with some computer enhancement.” 

Diane leaned forward as the next picture 
appeared. “A helicopter?” 

“Definitely. The bad news is it looks like it has 
sustained some major damage. A crash and maybe a 
fire from the looks of it. The wreckage is new. It 
doesn’t show on yesterdays fly over by the Tell-All. I 
suspect that everyone aboard bought the farm, from 
the looks of it. Should we report it?” 

89 


“It would probably take days for anyone to 
check on it.” 

“You kidding? Anyone in their right mind stays 
away from there, what with the radioactive waste, 
active volcanoes, and — You’d be lucky if a patrol 
went in during the next three months.” 

Diane thought a moment, and then narrowed 
her eyes as she eyed Tim. 

“Wait a minute, Babe, I know that look. And you 
know I prefer to stay here in my apartment and just 
—” 

“I could use a good ultralight pilot to take me to 
the site,” Diane interrupted. 

“Last time I flew an aircraft, it took them three 
days to get me back together. What kind of an 
endorsement is that for my flying skills?” 

“I’ve seen you fly. Get a rental lined up for us 
and then pack an overnight bag. I want to be on our 
way in a half hour.” 

“But—” 

Diane signaled the computer to disconnect 
before Tim had a chance to protest. It would be 
good for him to get out again. 

90 


C 15 15 
“Y
“Y
ou’re sure the courtyard is clear?” Diane 
asked, an uneasy feeling making her think 
it was not. 

“Yes,” Tim said. “I scoped the front courtyard. 
Nobody there to worry about. Just the bag people 
along the south wall next to the front gate. You’re 
such a worry wart.” 

“Worry warts live longer,” Diane replied, shifting 
her duffel bag to her shoulder and brought her 
submachine gun forward on its strap, checking to be 
sure a round was chambered in it as the elevator 
headed toward the street level. 

They came to a stomach wrenching stop, and the 
door slide open. After checking the lobby, Diane led 
the way toward the front entrance which slowly 
creaked clear, presenting an exit into the shadowed 
courtyard beyond. 

“See,” Tim said, stepping onto the concrete and 
gesturing with his arms. “All clear.” 

“It’s too quiet,” Diane said, cautiously venturing 

91 


into the open. She followed Tim down the narrow 
path, gun held at the ready. 

“Hold it right there, babe,” a familiar voice 
growled. “And I’d suggest you put your sidearm down 
if you and your mechanical marvel don’t want to be 
left behind for the cleaning rats.” 

Diane made no move to drop her weapon as 
Moton stepped from the underbrush, standing behind 
a plexishield. His two bodyguards weren’t in sight. 
Not a good sign, Diane thought. 

“Run for it?” Tim whispered. 

“No,” Diane said softly. “Not yet.” She raised her 
voice. “This guy just came down on the elevator with 
me. Why not let him go on his way. This is just 
between you and me.” 

Moton laughed. “How sweet. Dorothy tries to 
save the Tin Man. Let’s see, that must make me the 
Wicked Witch.” 

“Or something that rhymes with that,” Tim piped 
in. “I’ll give you a hint: It starts with ‘son of a’.” 

Moton whispered into the microphone he wore. 

A laser beam hissed from the foliage to the left 
and was answered by the crackling of steel and the 
smell of burning plastic. 

Diane turned toward Tim. 

He stood, his face as expressionless as ever, 
examining the stub of his wrist where his hand had 
been a moment before. “Lucky I brought a spare,” he 
quipped, lowering his arm. “Guess I’ll have to send 
you a bill, Mr. Whoever-you-are.” 

“Name’s Moton. And if you don’t shut your trap, 
you’ll be needing a spare head as a replacement 
part.” 

92 


“Let’s cut the games, Moton,” Diane said. “What 
do you want?” 

“The payment I gave you for the last job would 
be nice.” 

“The money’s mine. I earned it. You owed it to 
me.” 

“I think you forfeited the right to keep it when 
you tricked us. I had your ‘antidote’ analyzed — 
perfume. It took me all day to get the taste out of my 
mouth.” 

“You drank the perfume because you tried to 
cheat me. If you’d paid up in the first place you never 
would have—” 

“Perhaps a little more alteration of your friend 
would convince you to pay up.” Moton signaled with 
his hand. 

Before another shot could be fired, Diane 
stepped in front of Tim, shielding him with her body. 
“You’ll have to do any of your alterations on me, not 
my friends. And if you hurt me, I swear you’ll never 
get your money. Even if you kill me, my apartment’s 
armed and has an auto-destruct. You’ll die before you 
can steal anything from it. You might as well pack up 
and go home.” 

“In that case, perhaps we should simply make an 
example of you. I am a business man and it doesn’t 
do for my associates to see some smart-mouthed 
broad cross me without paying the price.” 

“Time to run,” Tim suggested. 

“Now!” Diane agreed, bringing her submachine 
gun up and firing a burst a Moton. The bullets slapped 
against his shield, embedding themselves in its 
surface. Despite the fact that he wasn’t hurt, Moton 

93 


flinched and ducked, giving his victims the chance to 
make a dash through the brush. 

Diane knew there was no way they could reach 
safety before one of Moton’s men cut them down. But 
there was nothing to do but try. 

“Fry them,” Moton yelled into his microphone. 

There were two muffled pops accompanied by 
groans in the undergrowth. 

But no laser fire. 

“What the hell’s going on,” Moton screamed, 
turning toward where his men were hidden. “Kill 
them, they’re getting away.” 

Diane paused at the front gate and looked back 
over her shoulder toward where Moton stood, his face 
beet red. 

There was another distant thud and suddenly 
blood spurted from Moton’s shirt, spraying the inside 
of the shield in front of him. He stared and Diane 
with a look of surprise on his face, then toppled over 
into the bushes. 

“Never thought I’d be happy to see a sniper in 
the neighborhood,” Tim said. “Come on, let’s leave 
before he tests his skills on us.” 

Diane said nothing as she turned and left the 
courtyard. She’d caught a glimpse of the black-
cloaked sniper on the ledge of the distant building 
and had an odd feeling she’d seen him somewhere 
before. She pushed the thought from her mind, 
watching for more dangers as they crossed the street 
to her car. 

Diane headed for the toll tunnel leading to the 
airport; the guarded thoroughfare was expensive to 

94 


drive on, but the fact that the patrols simply killed 
anyone who engaged in criminal activities along their 
route keep it relatively safe. Easing her Eldorado 
down the entrance ramp, she removed the tint from 
the windows as they entered the tunnel. After 
pausing to hold her hand up to the scanner, she 
gingerly accelerated into the traffic speeding down 
the four-lane system. She pulled behind an armored 
train, smiling at the rear gunner who waved back. 

Tim had been quiet the whole trip. Finally he 
spoke. “They would of fried my right hand,” he 
groused, digging through the old bag he’d brought 
along. “All I brought as a spare is a left one. This is 
going to be awkward. At least they didn’t melt 
anything above the detachment sleeve.” He 
removed the stub and snapped the replacement unit 
onto his wrist. “What do you think?” he asked, 
holding the hand up for Diane to inspect. 

“Can you use it like that — your thumb’s on the 
wrong side of your hand.” 

“That’s what I mean,” Tim said. “They should 
have shot off the other hand. Not very thoughtful. 
Fifty-fifty chance and they shot the wrong one.” 

“I’m sure if you’d suggested that the hit the 
other one, they would have obliged you.” 

“Yeah, right. You sure have some weird 
associates.” 

Diane glanced at Tim adjusting his replacement 
hand with a small screwdriver. “I sure do.” 

He glanced toward her and then made the 
electric clucking that passed as a chuckle. 

95 


C 16 16 
D
D
iane eased the Eldorado into the nearly empty 
underground parking lot at the airport, then 
shut down the engine and armed the alarm 
system. An intact armored truck was parked two stalls 
down; but most of the vehicles had parts missing from 
them and a few were little more than frames on 
cinder blocks, obviously stripped by criminals while 
their owners were traveling. Tim and she cautiously 
climbed from the Eldorado. 

“Give your wheels a little protection, lady,” a 
voice echoed through the cavernous lot. “It’d be a 
shame for a classic like that to be damaged when you 
come back from your vacation. This place is notorious 
for car theft, you know.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Diane said, eyeing the 
seedy looking stranger stepping toward them. “How 
much do you charge?” 

“Hundred yen per day — or the current equiv in 
US dolls.” 

“How about a gold spanner?” 

96 


“Per day? 

“For the week.” 

“It’s a deal. Half in advance.” He held out his 
hand. “My name’s Pete.” 

Diane ignored the hand. “Can I trust you?” 

“Hey, lady, is this an honest face or what? A face 
like this doesn’t need no stinkin’ references. 
Besides,” he added, his voice taking on an ominous 
tone, “you don’t really have much choice, do you? 
Take it or leave it.” 

Diane moved so rapidly Pete only had time to 
blink, then stare at the barrel centered against his 
forehead. 

He whispered, “My price is a little high, maybe?” 

“I’ll pay your price because I’m feeling generous 
today. But I need to be sure you’ll keep your end of 
the bargain.” 

Pete crossed his eyes, looking at the barrel still 
on his forehead. “No problem, lady. No problem at 
all. You have my word. Swear on my mother’s eyes 
and hope she turns to — Hey, what’re you doin’?” 

With her free hand, Diane had removed a large 
copper ring from the side pocket of her duffel bag 
which she slapped against the side of Pete’s neck. 
The device flipped around his throat and clanked shut 
behind his head, collaring him in the ring as its 
electronic lock cycled shut. The device beeped, a 
green diode glowed on its front, and it said, 
“Warning. Explosive packet is armed.” 

“Goes nicely with your plaid shirt,” Tim offered 
as Diane withdrew her gun from the young hoodlum’s 
pale face. 

“Lady,” Pete said as Diane stepped back, “this 

97 


thing isn’t what I think it is? It isn’t an execution 
collar, is it?” He cautiously felt it with his fingers. 

“If the burglar alarm in my car is activated,” 
Diane said, “or if you get more than fifty yards from 
my Eldorado, then the explosive charge over your 
throat will explode. That explosion will propel the 
crystal filament ringing your neck inward. Then—” 

“Heads you lose,” Tim finished. “I’d suggest you 
try real hard to take care of the car ‘til we get back. 
Otherwise you’ll be carrying your head under your 
arm the rest of your life.” 

Pete swallowed. “You’re just kidding, right? 
You’re going to take this thing off before you leave.” 

“Afraid not,” Diane said. “We need to get going. 
I’ll see you when we get back.” 

“Have a good trip,” Pete croaked as the two left 
him standing next to the Eldorado. 

Minutes later Diane and Tim crossed the air port 
lobby toward the rental counter. Tim glanced back 
toward the main entrance and then leaned over and 
whispered, “That wasn’t a real execution collar was 
it?” 

“It’s real.” 

“But — what I mean is — you were just bluffing. 
It’s not activated, is it?” 

“I never bluff when it comes to that car.” 

Tim made a mental note not to place any 
scratches in the finish of the Eldorado. 

A holograph of a young man stood behind the 
counter as they approached it. “Welcome to Arcane 
Rentals. How can I help you?” 

“I’m Tim. I made a reservation for a rental 

98 


plane.” 

“Ultralight for a trip west,” the image said. 
“Please place your hand in the scanner for ID.” A 
palm reader extended itself from the counter and 
waited for activation. 

“Ummm, I’m sorry but I don’t have any 
fingerprints,” Tim said. 

“Please place your face in the reader,” the image 
replied without missing a beat. 

“My face won’t register — and neither will my 
eyes,” he added, anticipating the next suggestion. “I 
do have a—” 

“Please wait one moment.” The image faded and 
disappeared. 

“This is always a hassle,” Tim told Diane. “I have 
a handicaped ID, but the machines are never 
programmed to use it. I guess most people either 
have a hand or a face.” 

A door behind the counter opened and a plump 
man stepped forward, adjusting a fake tie that he 
had haphazardly slapped onto his T-shirt. “How can I 
help you?” 

“I need to give an ID for the rental — but lack a 
face or hand.” 

“Oh, yes,” the attendant said, clearing his throat 
and looking away from Tim. “You have a valid ID?” 

“Yes.” 

“I believe we have a transponder somewhere 
here,” the attendant said, rummaging around under 
the counter. “Ah… Here it is.” 

Tim took the wand and held it in front of the 
small infrared laser at the side of his head. The wand 
beeped and he handed the unit back to the clerk. 

99 


“Very good, sir. Now, if you’ll sign here... 
excellent. And before you leave, you need to listen to 
our taped message.” The clerk pulled off his tie as he 
turned to leave and the holograph reappeared. 
“Thank you for your business,” it said. “You can trust 
the plane that you rent from Arcane. Arcane Rentals 

— simply the best. 
“Special alert to all travelers,” the machine 
continued. “The US Border Patrol has issued a 
warning that Mexican infiltraters may be encountered 
along the southern boundaries of the United States, 
especially in the southern Kansas and Colorado areas. 
Caution is advised and flights should stay above 2,000 
feet whenever possible to avoid ground fire. For your 
added safety, all Arcane aircraft have automatic IFF 
transponders for quick and accurate identification 
with government authorities. Have a good trip.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Diane was flying toward 
the Great Kansas Desert, staring at the meandering 
riverbed that snaked along the earth far below them. 
She took a deep breath of the cold air in the cabin. 
The iridescent wings of the ultralight broke the 
sunlight into rainbows around them as they sat in 
bucket seats almost totally surrounded by the 
transparent canopy. The structure gave the illusion 
that they were suspended in the air, hurtling through 
space. The noise cancellation circuits reduced the 
roar of the jet engine to a low drone that threatened 
to lull her to sleep. 

She sat silent a moment and then spoke over the 
intercom headset she wore, ““You fly this thing like a 
pro.” 

100 


Tim laughed. “Guess I should. Logged over a 
million miles in my day.” 

Diane knew he wouldn’t say much more about his 
past. Usually she couldn’t get him to shut up. When it 
came to his shadowy past with the military, he 
refused to talk much. She knew she could easily find 
the information about the accident that had taken 
much of his skull and face as well as his two hands. 
But she knew he valued his privacy; prying into his 
past wasn’t something she felt comfortable with. 

She stared into the distance. The Kansas 
Mountains loomed far ahead of them, the sharp 
volcanic peaks looking out of place on the desert 
plain. 

“It’s still an hour before we get there,” Tim said. 
“Why don’t you lean back and take a nap?” 

“Don’t you want some company?” 

“No offense, but you look like hell — just like you 
always do when you’ve missed some sleep. I can do 
without your brilliant chatter for a while. I’ll run a 
radio input into my audio circuits and it will be just 
like having you chattering at me.” 

“You certainly know how to sweep a lady off her 
feet. I guess you’re right, though. I’m bushed.” She 
reached down and released the lever on the side of 
her seat, pulled the hood of her parka up to cover her 
head, and settled back. 

“Pleasant dreams,” Tim said. 

“Nighty night.” 

Ten minutes later she was asleep. 

***** 
“Slow down!” Smiley yelled. “Stop there behind 
the scrub brush,” he directed, taking his binoculars 

101 


from the glove compartment in front of him. “I 
thought I saw something. Stay here while I check.” 

Joe knew better than to say anything. He waited 
behind the wheel while his boss dashed off, rounding 
a sand dune, binoculars held at the ready. How did I 
ever get mixed up in this mess? Joe asked himself, 
glancing in the rear-view mirror toward the tiger in 
the back. 

What he saw nearly made him choke as he 
reached for his pistol. Drawing it, he twisted in his 
seat, aiming toward the old man that sat in the back, 
next to the tiger. “How’d you get back there?” Joe 
demanded. 

The Native American’s leathery face didn’t move. 
Clad in a fringed buckskin jacket, he just continued 
to stare at the henchman without speaking or moving. 

“Answer me or so help me I’ll blow your freakin’ 
head off, you old crow.” Joe sighted down his barrel 
and clicked of the gun’s safety with his thumb. 

The air between him and the old man blurred. 
Joe thought he could hear the faint beat of drums 
being played far away, and then the Indian was gone. 

There was no one in the back except for the cat. 

I’m losing it, Joe thought, his hand shaking as he 
continued to point the gun toward the back of the 
vehicle just in case the man came back. 

“You could release me,” the tiger softly purred. 
“It would be the right thing to do. You would feel 
much better if—” 

“Shut up,” Joe said, turning away and putting his 
gun back into his should holster. No wonder I’m losing 
it, he told himself. A talking tiger and a boss that was 
two sandwiches short of a picnic, perfectly willing to 

102 


kill his own men if it suited his needs. It’s no wonder 
I’m starting to see things, he thought. The surprise 
was that he hadn’t seen a pink elephant in the back 
instead of an old man. 

“If I ever get out of this, I’m going straight,” he 
vowed. But somehow he had the feeling he wasn’t 
going to make it. He’d probably end up like Frank and 
the Doc. Smiley seldom hired the same people twice. 
And Joe was beginning to think he knew why. 

He glanced back in the mirror again, half afraid 
he’d see the old man again. But there was only the 
tiger, bond by the hardened goop that held it in 
place. 

The door to the Viper suddenly popped open, 
causing Joe to jump. 

“Damned Mexican infiltraters,” Smiley said, 
sliding into his bucket seat and slamming the door 
behind himself. “Armed to the teeth. They’re headed 
east. Probably going to try and knock out some power 
lines then sneak back across the border. Idiots. We’ll 
be lucky if the Border Patrol doesn’t find us while it’s 
tracking them down.” 

“Should I switch on the radar just in case?” Joe 
asked, motioning toward the small unit mounted in 
the dashboard. 

“Yeah,” Smiley said. “Good idea. Border Patrol 
stuff usually isn’t stealthed. We might pick it up 
coming in and be able to hide before they got to us. 
Damn, if things weren’t bad enough, we’ve got to try 
to do business in the middle of a blasted war zone. 
Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for the rendezvous 
with our buyers.” 

Joe flipped the radar on and slid the Viper into 

103 


gear. 

104 


C 17 17 
“W
“W
e’re almost there,” Tim announced, 
causing Diane to start. She tried to 

think where she was. 

“Time to wake up,” Tim Man said. 

She opened her eyes. The sun had vanished 
behind the clouds and a light snow was falling, 
sprinkling a white coat over the dormant volcanic 
peak they were circling. The wreckage of the 
helicopter spotted by the satellite was quite visible 
below, even though the blackened wreckage was 
slowly being hidden by the snow. The level of 
destruction that had taken place with the helicopter 
left little doubt in her mind that her quest for the 
missing tiger was about to end if it had been aboard 
the aircraft below. 

“I’m taking us down,” Tim warned. “It’s going to 
be a little rough — there’s a cross wind — there’s a 
storm moving in.” He pulled the rudder and circled 
the crater, losing altitude quickly as he adjusted the 
jet vents to slowly bring them into a hover. By the 

105 


time their forward motion was nearly gone, they 
were only forty meters off the ground. 

The wind shook them during their slow descent, 
then the wheels of the ultralight bumped the 
ground. Tim quickly reserved the jets as they 
bounced on the surface, anchoring them in place, 
then he told the computer to initiate the power 
down sequence. 

As the computer shut down the systems, Tim 
reached into the bag next to his seat and removed a 
hand-held Geiger counter. “Let me check the 
radiation before we get out. There’s no telling how 
hot it might be out there.” 

Diane studied the helicopter as she waited for 
him to complete his survey. The chopper’s plastic 
canopy had melted away. And the two corpses 
exposed inside left little doubt in her mind that they 
must have crash landed. 

“Just background radiation,” Tim said, fastening 
the meter to a metal stud on his chest. “Probably 
less than we’re normally exposed to at our 
apartment.” 

“That’s reassuring,” Diane said, snapping open 
her door. 

A gust of cold wind greeted her, bringing with it 
a swarm of cold flakes that stung her face. She 
pulled her parka more tightly around herself, 
waiting for Tim to join her before cautiously 
approaching the wreckage. 

“You’re the aircraft expert,” Diane said, 
speaking loudly to be heard over the howl of the 
wind. “Would you say they crashed and burned?” 

“I’m not so sure,” Tim answered. “Most of the 

106 


distortion in the frame and rotors appear to have 
been from the heat of the fire. It doesn’t look like 
they came in too fast. Not fast enough to kill the 
pilot and copilot.” 

“I didn’t know these things could burn. Aren’t 
they supposed to be designed to avoid this type of 
damage.” 

“They’re supposed to be,” Tim said as he looked 
through the open side door into the passenger 
compartment. “Is it okay to touch things in here?” 

“Yeah,” Diane answered, climbing into the cabin 
ahead of him. “The fire would have destroyed any 
fingerprints.” She brushed away the snow that had 
drifted over the large mound on the center of the 
floor. “Look at this,” she said, exposing a large 
feline skull with bits of burn flesh adhering to it. 

“Looks like you found your tiger.” Tim man 
studied the skeletal remains a moment, then turned 
and crossed toward the back of the cabin. 

Diane stood, dusting off her hands. “I’d hoped 
to find the Silver Tiger alive — I don’t think bringing 
back its ashes was what my employer had in mind 
when he hired me for this job.” 

“As long as they didn’t put that in the fine print, 
you should still be able to collect on it, right.” 

“Yeah. They should pay up. But I’d still wish I 
could have delivered — it was a beautiful creature. 
Any sign what caused this fire?” 

“Looks like they replaced the flame-proof issue 
tanks with a custom system. Probably to increase 
their range. Big mistake — as you can see from the 
crispy critters up front.” 

“I’m not so sure it was an accident,” Diane said. 

107 


She held up a charred hose. “What’s this lead to?” 

“That would be the fuel line if I’m not mistaken. 
And I see what you’re getting at. That’s been cut, 
hasn’t it.” 

“Looks that way to me.” 

“But why would they… Why steal a tiger, bring it 
out, and burn it up. Along with the two guys in the 
front.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe someone just 
wanted to slow down Biotech so they could leap 
ahead in the patent arena.” 

“Corporations,” Tim said with disgust. 

Diane turned and crossed forward toward 
cockpit. “Let’s check these guys up front.” 

“According to his file, Smiley had a stainless 
steel plate in his mouth that allow the authorities to 
ID him if he’s up front.” 

“Yeah. That would give us a positive match if we 
find it.” Diane entered the cockpit and squeezed 
between the two corpses sitting in the front bucket 
seats. 

“What do you mean, ‘if we find it’? I don’t look 
like a medical examiner, do I?” 

“With all the fighting along the US/Mexican 
border, it could be months before anyone comes up 
here to check this out. If we want to make any sense 
of this, we’re going to have to do it ourselves.” 

“I don’t know…” 

“You want to get paid, don’t you?” 

“These two are definitely dead,” Tim said, 
shaking his head at the sight of the charred bodies. 
“How much more detail do you need for your 
report.” 

108 


Diane took off her mittens and put on a pair of 
rubber gloves. “You’re going to have to help me get 
the pilot’s helmet off. Here, put on a pair of 
gloves.” 

“Oh, man,” Tim said, taking the gloves. “I was 
afraid you were about to ask that. I’m betting his 
head pops off when you pull on the helmet. This is 
the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done. Glad I 
can’t smell anything anymore.” 

Diane studied the body in front of her a 
moment. “I think if I hold his jaw while you pull the 
helmet, his head will stay in place.” 

Tim swore softly as she grasped the corpse, then 
clutched the helmet, trying to position his upsidedown 
thumb for best leverage. “Ready?” 

Diane nodded. “Easy does it.” 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if he jumped up and 
hollered ‘boo’?” 

“Get on with it, Tim.” 

He wiggled the helmet a little. “I think it melted 
into his skin.” 

“Keep trying.” 

He wiggled it more and suddenly it popped lose. 
He eased it off the skull, exposing the charred head 
inside. “Oh, great, the skin’s not burnt off under the 
helmet. Looks he’s medium done to me.” 

Diane removed a slender knife from her belt, 
then made an incision across the surface of the 
exposed upper mandible and wriggled away the 
flesh, exposing the teeth beneath — and the glint of 
metal. “There’s our steel dental plate.” 

“Then this is our guy?” 

“Most likely. Unless he had some way to change 

109 


his records.” 

“Always possible when you’re dealing with a 
criminal — but probably not too likely. So what’s our 
next step?” 

“I’m going to contact my client and relay some 
video from here to him. Hopefully I can also 
convince him to pay up the rest of his fee even 
though the tiger is dead meat. After that, I’ll report 
this crash to the authorities so they can retrieve it 
whenever if they want. Then we can head home.” 

“I’ll wait in the ultralight. This place gives me 
the creeps. Don’t be too long; the storms about on 
top of us from the looks of things.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I’m through here.” 

As Tim left, Diane took off her rubber gloves and 
donned her mittens. The snow was getting heavier 
by the moment and she found herself wondering if 
the signal from her call would break up. Better not 
put it off any longer. She unfolded her comphone 
and ordered it to contact Ranbaugh at Biotech 
Universal. 

“Dialing,” the phone announced. “Connected. 
Call is being recorded from the receiver’s end.” 

“Hello, Deathsong,” Ranbaugh said. “You got 
something for me already? That was so fast you 
make it look easy.” 

“I did expect it to be a little tougher,” Diane 
answered, looking at his face on the miniature 
screen. “I think I found your tiger — but I’m afraid 
it’s not alive.” 

The smile vanished from his face. “Well, I had 
hoped maybe… Let’s see what you have.” 

She turned the comphone around, using the 

110 


viewfinder to send a picture of the cabin to him. 
“This is the inside of the chopper we’ve located. I’m 
in the cockpit right now. As you can see, we have 
two corpses. The files you sent us indicated that 
Smiley knew how to pilot this model of helicopter, 
so when I found one had been stolen in the Kan-
Topeka area, I started there and was able to track it 
to here — in the Kansas Mountains. This corpse 
you’re seeing now is — according to his medical 
records — the late Smiley. This metal dental plate 
right here matches the one in his records,” she said, 
zooming in on the plate in its jaw. 

“I’ll take your word for it and let my photo 
analyst double-check your work. What happened to 
these two guys. They look like charcoal. Did you do 
that to them?” 

Diane grimaced. “Not hardly. They’re sitting 
here in the wreckage of the stolen chopper. I can’t 
determine exactly what happened. It looks more like 
sabotage than an accident.” 

“And the tiger? You say it’s dead?” 

Diane stepped back toward the passenger 
compartment. “It’s back here. It apparently died in 
the fire as well.” She brushed away the light 
covering of snow, exposing the skull once again. 

“That’s definitely a tiger skull — no mistaking 
that.” Ranbaugh was silent for a few moments and 
then spoke. “I suppose any computer records Smiley 
had on him would have been destroyed in the crash 
as well.” 

“Undoubtedly. This fire got hot enough to melt 
some of the aluminum frame. Any data chips would 
be useless.” 

111 


“Then I’d say your job’s completed to my 
satisfaction. While we would have liked to have got 
the cat back, the main thing is that now we know 
our trade secrets are safe. It will take a few years, 
but we can culture another cat. Regaining our 
patent rights in a court of law would be iffy at best, 
especially given the economic setbacks we’ve 
suffered recently. As per our agreement, I’ll be 
FedExing your Universal Pass to your office along 
with a bonus. Good job.” 

“Thanks.” 

Ranbaugh cut the connection. 

Diane folded up her comphone and left the 
chopper, stepping into the drifting snow. She looked 
toward the ultralight and saw a figure trudging 
toward her, obscured by the blowing flakes. 

At first should mistook the form for Tim. 

But as the figure came closer, she realized her 
mistake. 

112 


C 18 18 
S
S
miley kicked the Viper. “I can’t believe it” 
“I thought you said these were run-flat 

tires,” Joe said. 

Smiley gave him an acidic look, then turned 
away to stare at the desert spread in front of them. 
“I spent good money for run-flat tires. I guess you 
have to steal ‘em to be sure you’re getting what you 
paid for.” 

Joe stood beside his boss, unsure what to say. 

Smiley turned back toward the henchman. 
“Don’t just stand there — get out the tire tools.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Smiley shook his head. They’d managed to put a 
little space between them and the M-2000. 

But not enough. 

If someone had chanced to see the wreckage in 
a satellite shot, there was an outside chance they 
would scan the generally area. If they did that, they 
could spot them, sitting in the middle of the Kansas 
desert with a flat tire. All that was needed was one 

113 


hotshot to zero in on them from space. 

That’s not likely to happen, Smiley thought, 
trying to reassure himself. But things hadn’t been 
going at all as planned lately. The cards were 
stacked against him tonight. Just when everything 
looked like it was going according to plans, the 
Joker seemed to pop up. 

He checked his watch. It was going to be touch 
and go if they reached the meeting in time. And he 
had a feeling the New Delhi Diversity Corporation 
representative wasn’t going to be waiting around for 
long. The corporate rep acted like he’d had beans for 
lunch once too often. 

And if Smiley missed the representative, he’d be 
stuck with the tiger. That meant he’d lose his chance 
to make any cash because unloading something this 
specialized would be a near impossibility. He didn’t 
know anyone who’d be willing to pay what the New 
Delhi Diversity Corporation had offered. 

He turned back and scowled at the flat tire. 
When I find the guy that decided to substitute these 
tires on the Viper instead of the run-flats I paid for, 
I’m going to skin him alive, Smiley promised himself. 
Skin him very, very slowly. 

Nelson stood in the shadowy alley, wondering 
why Ziggler insisted on meeting in such creepy places. 
He glanced back and forth to be sure no one had seen 
him enter for the meeting, then reached in a pocket 
and retrieved a Joy syringe, ramming the automatic 
injector against his thigh. He closed his eyes as the 
peptides coursed through his blood, docking on 
receptor cells in his brain to create a feeling of well


114 


being. He tossed the tube away, a euphoric smile 
plastered across his face. Looking up, he saw the 
lanky figure approaching, wearing his trademark a 
black leather coat. 

Ziggler’s unblinking eyes locked on those of the 
data manager. “You’re stoned.” 

“Just a jolt,” Nate replied. “To settle my nerves. 
I’m not used to doing things like this.” 

Ziggler grimaced, then spoke. “You’ve succeeded 
in getting the girl on the job?” 

“As promised. She’s hot on the trail of the lost 
merchandise.” 

“And I promised a handsome payoff if you 
succeeded in getting her on the job.” 

“Correct,” Nate agreed, smiling insanely. 

Ziggler reached into his jacket pocket and 
removed a narrow box. “Here are your twenty 
platinum bars.” 

“And you can depend on me to keep our, uh, 
secret,” Nate promised, dropping the container into 
his shoulder bag. 

“I know I can. Be seeing you.” Ziggler turned on 
his hill and sauntered away. 

Nelson waited until he was gone, and then fished 
the box from his bag. Might as well admire my little 
treasure now as later, he thought. He put a 
thumbnail into the catch and popped the lid open. 

The muffled explosion wasn’t loud. There was no 
flame or smoke. Just a plop and the sizzle of a high-
speed filament cutting through the air. No one on the 
street passing the alley even noticed; the event was 
lost in the noise of the traffic. 

But the blast had a devastating effect, all the 

115 


same. The micro-thin carbon thread expelled by the 
C6 uncoiled from the perimeter of the box, slashing 
through Nelson’s flesh and bones as if they were 
made of butter. 

He stared in disbelieve as the fingers that had 
been holding the box rained along to the pavement, 
followed by each of his arms. There was a loud “clop” 
as the top of his torso came loose and slid off the rest 
of his body, toppling onto the ground as he lost 
consciousness. 

His legs and pelvis stood alone in the alley for a 
moment before they, too, collapsed onto the now-
bloody pavement. 

Ravenfoot stood in front of Diane, a crooked 
smile on his face as he pulled the heavy blanket he 
carried around his body. “You seem surprised to see 
me.” 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Diane said. 
“How’d you get here anyway? And who are you really? 
I know there was never any real medicine man like 
you in my past.” 

“There should have been.” 

“Perhaps. We circled the mountain when we 
came in. How come we failed to spot you?” 

“It is cold up here, isn’t it?” He turned away from 
her to face toward the east. “Hot on the plains this 
very moment. Yet freezing up here.” 

Diane said nothing, cautiously studying the man 
that she thought was only a figment of her dreams. 
The biting cold of the wind convinced her she wasn’t 
dreaming. And he certainly looked real enough. Yet 
his existence as well as his appearance at the crash 

116 


site deified a rational explanation. Her mind churned, 
trying to make some sense of the situation. 

Ravenfoot faced her, his long snowy hair blowing 
in the wind. “You know that the body of the tiger in 
the helicopter is not the one you’re searching for.” 

“I suspected as much but hoped that wouldn’t be 
the case. I don’t suppose you can tell me where the 
tiger I’m looking for is.” 

“I can help.” 

“Yes?” 

“I can’t tell you precisely. But if you take a route 
toward the direction of the sunrise off the mountains 
and then cut that way,” he said, motioning toward 
the north, “you’ll be on the trail of those who have 
stolen…” He paused as if thinking. “Who have stolen 
the creature,” he finally finished. 

“Who has it, anyway? The man I thought had 
stolen it is dead in the helicopter. That would rule 
him out.” 

“That flying machine is called a helicopter?” 
Ravenfoot asked. 

Diane’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.” 

“The tiger killed two men who now sit in the 
helicopter. The one who stole the creature put them 
in the helicopter and made it burn. Do you have a 
picture of this man who you thought stole the beast 
you are searching for?” 

Diane took her comphone from its pouch on her 
belt. “Bring up the photo of Smiley,” she ordered the 
machine. His picture appeared on the screen which 
she turned toward Ravenfoot. 

His pupils in his eyes dilated when he saw the 
photograph. “That one’s still alive. He’s the one 

117 


attempting to transport the tiger northward as we 

speak.” 

“Where are they going?” 

“That I do not know. But he’s having problems. 
The wheel on his vehicle has…” He paused and then 
continued. “The wheel has broken and they are 
replacing it as we speak. If you hurry, you may catch 
up with him. But to do that, you must go now. I had 
not realized how quickly the wheels could be 
exchanged.” 

“But—” 

“I can answer no more questions. Time is running 
out. Follow the eagle, it will lead you to them.” 

There was something about what he said that 
made Diane decide not to argue or question what he 
had told her. She folded her comphone and turned to 
go, then paused and turned back. “Ravenfoot, do you 
have a way off this mountain.” 

“There is no need for transportation when I’m 
not even here,” he answered with a sad smile. He 
took a step back from her, became transparent, and 
vanished with a gust of wind that swirled through the 
snow. 

“Ravenfoot?” Diane called, peering through the 
storm for some hint of his weathered frame. There 
was no sign of him. 

Nothing. 

It was as if the wind had swept him off the face 
of the peak. She started to leave and then looked 
down. Her tracks were still visible in the blowing 
snow. But there was not even the hint of a track 
where Ravenfoot had been standing. Diane 
shuddered, but not from the frigid air. 

118 


Was Ravenfoot a friend? “Or is he a Dark One, 
come to life?” she whispered, her voice lost in the 
moan of the wind. 

Diane opened the side door and climbed into the 
ultralight, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“You took your time back there,” Tim said as 
Diane brushed the snow off her parka. “I think we’d 
better get going before this storm gets any worse. 
We’re going to be pushing the design limits taking off 
in this as it is.” He threw several switches on the 
console and then initiated the computerized startup 
sequence. Satisfied the engine was starting properly, 
he turned toward Diane. “Buckle up tight. We — Why 
are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” Diane replied, forcing herself to look 
at the shoulder harness rather than his face. Then she 
closed her eyes and wondered if she was losing her 
mind. Not only had she seen Ravenfoot, a person 
who, as far as she knew, existed only in her dreams, 
now she realized that Tim’s face had somehow 
changed. That should have been impossible for a face 
molded of stainless steel. 

Yet where before it had always displayed just a 
slight hint of a grin, now the metal plate that served 
as his face wore a large, grimace like what one might 
expect to see on someone about to groan or cry. 

What had happened? How were such 
impossibilities taking place? 

She said nothing as Tim powered up the engine. 
She wondered what his reaction would be when he 
discovered his transformed face. More importantly, 
she tried to puzzle out what could have modified a 

119 


solid steel plate without him being aware of the 
transformation. 

120 


C 19 19 
“H
“H
ang on,” Tim warned as the ultralight 
shook in the blizzard. “We’re going to 
have a few minutes of rough flying ahead 
of us while I take us to a higher altitude. I’m going to 
try to get above and ahead of this storm where things 
are calmer.” 

The plane shook as the wind buffeted it. Tim 
slowly pulled the stick joystick, taking them into a 
steep climb. The engine whined a loud complaint, 
drowning the howl of the wind as its blast rose above 
the capabilities of the noise cancellation circuits. 

Diane closed her eyes to the snowflakes that 
splashed against the canopy in a random pattern that 
cut visibility down to just feet ahead of them. Biting 
her lip, she wondered if they plane was capable of 
surviving the strain of the maneuver Tim was putting 
it through. Would it suddenly break apart, sending 
them both cart-wheeling through the gale until they 
dashed on the rocky slope far below? 

After several minutes, the shaking subsided and 
she opened her eyes. The sun shined overhead and 

121 


there, spread out far below them were the plains. 

“Wow,” Tim said, glancing toward her. “The 
clouds just dissolved away and then we were ahead of 
the storm.” He leveled out, unaware that she 
continued to stare at him. 

She pulled her eyes away. Somehow the grimace 
was no longer plastered on his face; he wore just a 
hint of a grin, the way he had been before. 

“We should be home before long with the 
tailwind we’ve caught,” the pilot said, taking them 
lower as lowered the throttle.. “I bet old Pete will be 
glad to see you return to take his collar off,” he 
added with a chuckle. “If he’s still alive. Want to 
place any bets as to whether he’s had his fool head 
blow off?” 

“Turn to the north five degrees,” Diane directed. 

“That will take us off course.” 

“Just humor me for a moment. We need to get 
closer to the ground.” 

“Will do — you’re paying for the fuel we use.” He 
brought the stick to the left, bringing the airplane 
lower. 

“Take us down to a thousand feet.” 

“Woe, lady. That will put us in harm’s way if 
they’re any Mexican raiders in the area.” 

Diane gave him a sour look. “Since when have you 
been one to be cautious?” 

“Okay, okay. Heck, I was tired of playing it safe.” 
They dropped down quickly, leveling off when it 
appeared they were about to be driven into the 
ground. 

“One thing I can say about you, Tim,” Diane said, 
her face drained of color. “You never do things half 

122 


way.” 

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” 

“See that eagle down there?” Diane asked, 
pointing out the front canopy. 

“Yeah.” 

“Follow it.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Diane shook her head. 

“Oh, boy,” Tim groused as he lowered the 
throttle so their speed would match that of the dark 
rapture flying through the wisps of clouds far below 
them. “We’ve done some crazy things together, but 
this makes most of them look normal.” 

“Just humor me.” 

“You’re the boss,” Tim said. 

Diane started to say more, but was interrupted 
by her comphone. “Priority message,” it informed 
her. 

She took it from her belt, unfolded the screen, 
and pressed the receive button. Her sister’s face 
appeared on the screen. “Karen!” Diane exclaimed. 
“How are you?” 

“Fine. Sorry to bother you with a priority 
message. But I tried your apartment and you weren’t 
there, so I figured—” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’ve been 
hoping you’d get in touch. It’s been so long and I 
never catch you at home.” 

“Listen, I know you’re busy so I’ll make this sort 
and sweet. I want off the reservation. You were right 
about it being… You know. Bad for people. If your 
offer is still open…” 

“It most certainly is. We have some loose ends 

123 


we’re trying to tie up here. But my employer said he 
was transferring the pass to my apartment. It should 
be there when I get back. Then you will be my next 
order of business.” 

Karen shook her head. “This seems too good to 
be true. You’ve really come through for me, Diane.” 
She reached out and touched the screen. 

“It will be nice to see you face to face,” Diane 
said, touching the screen where Karen’s hand 
appeared to be. 

“I got to go,” Karen said, her voice quivering. 
“Get here as soon as you can.” 

“I will.” 

Karen cut the transmission before Diane could say 
more. 

I love you Karen, Diane thought. Why was it she 
could never say that to her little sister? 

“What the—” Smiley yelled a fraction of a 
second after the alarm went off in the Viper. He 
glanced at the radar, taking in the warning display. 
Something coming in slowly, at a thousand feet. He 
flipped on the speaker on the unit. 

“Report?” he told it. 

“Ultralight jet. Most likely military scout.” 

Smiley swore, then told Joe, “Pull over next to 
that hillside. We won’t be able to stay hidden here 
in the open, but we might be able to buy some time 
if we get next to that hill. That’s it, get into the 
shade. That will make us harder to spot from the 
air.” 

“Won’t they just fly by when they see we’re not 
Mexs?” Joe asked, bringing the Viper to a standstill. 

124 


“They probably would,” Smiley answered. “But 
we don’t want anyone to know we’re here. 
Otherwise someone might put two and two together 
and link us to the Harrier we downed last night — or 
the stolen tiger in the back. So I’m going to 
improvise a little to buy us some time before our 
client meets us at the rendezvous point to take the 
cat off our hands.” 

Joe steered toward the hillside and slammed on 
the brakes. Smiley jumped onto the seat and pushed 
the sunroof back on the Viper, then pulled the 
hydraulic lever next to it, raising the four-barreled 
Minigun into place. Though the gun fired only rifle 
cartridges, it did so at a high rate — high enough to 
bring a low-flying aircraft like the one homing in on 
them down. 

After looking through the mechanical sight on 
the gun, Smiley hit the autogunner button, armed 
the weapon, and turned on its targeting radar. The 
servo motors controlling the gun hummed to life and 
the unit adjusted its aim. “Target in range. Locked 
on. Await command.” 

Smiley grinned. “Fire.” 

The gun erupted a stream of fire, sending 
hundreds of bullets skyward toward the ultralight 
heading toward them. But at the same instant, the 
tiger in the back of the Viper started growling, 
thrashing in its bonds and rocking the vehicle with 
the violence of its action. 

The weapon stopped firing. “Target lost. 
Retracking,” it said. 
* * * * * 
The barrage of bullets racing upward toward 

125 


them, sunlight glistening from their polished copper 
jackets. 

“Someone’s shooting at us,” Tim yelled, jerking 
the stick so the plane jetted to the side. 

His reaction came too late. The bullets pelted 
the right wing, causing huge chunks of the 
composite material in them to crack and break 
away. The aircraft abruptly cartwheeled toward the 
left before the computer compensated for the wing 
damage. 

“There has been a major malfunction in the 
right wing surface,” the computer announced. “It is 
recommended that you service the aircraft at the 
soonest convenient date.” 

“Will do,” Tim said, pulling back on the joystick. 
“Should we survive long enough. Hang on, I’m taking 
us higher so we’ll get out of range of whoever’s 
trying to ventilate us.” 

Diane looked at the ground where the string of 
bullets had come from. And in her mind’s eye, she 
could see the tiger that lay trussed in the back of 
the Viper. “Hurry,” she told Tim. “They’re getting 
ready to fire again.” 

Smiley studied the aircraft through his 
binoculars. The jet now had a clipped wing, but 
remained up, the majority of the rounds apparently 
missing their target. But its luck wouldn’t last, he 
vowed. He waited until the cat was quiet and the 
vehicle motionless. “Fire,” he ordered, the 
computer on the gun. 

The spinning barrels belched another burst. This 
time the tiger remained deathly silent until the 

126 


Minigun stopped firing. 

Smiley lifted his binoculars and watched, 
satisfied to see the fuselage abruptly shatter as the 
jet engine caught a string of bullets which caused its 
rotors to tear and shake its apart. The ultralight 
wobbled violently, breaking into sections, with the 
main compartment of the aircraft abruptly diving, 
spiraling toward the ground. 

The criminal lowered the binoculars and leaned 
back into the Viper to holler to Joe, “That took care 
of ‘em. Now let’s get going. This place is going to 
get hot before long when the Border Patrol starts 
looking for the scout they just lost.” 

127 


C 20 20 
D
D
iane gripped the dashboard in front of her as 
the aircraft executed a stomach-wrenching 
lurch forward. The rending of plastic and the 
engine casing continued for what seemed an eternity, 
the ultralight twisting out of control, like a giant leaf 
suddenly free of its tree branch. They fluttered 
downward, nearly weightless. 

“There has been a major anomaly,” the 
computer announced. “It may be necessary to take 
action in order to avoid a crash or other serious 
accident. It is recommended you shut down the 
engine. Emergency parachute is being deployed.” 

“Brace yourself,” Tim warned. “The chute will 
break our momentum.” 

Diane closed her eyes and waited. 

Nothing happened. 

“The emergency parachute has failed to deploy,” 
the computer said. “Please activate the manual 
release. For further information, please press the 
help key on the dashboard to your upper left.” 

“I’m activating the emergency chute,” Tim 

128 


hollered to Diane. “Hang on. This could be a rough 
stop.” He lifted the cover of the release and then 
pulled the lever below with a hard jerk. 

Nothing happened. 

He swore and tried again. And then again. 

“It isn’t working,” Tim said evenly, his fingers 
staying poised over the emergency release for a 
moment before he withdrew his hand. There was an 
the abrupt silence as the computer went down, 
silencing the warning beepers, which Diane hadn’t 
been aware of until they went off, as well. The 
whistle of the air increased as they twirled 
downward. The features on the terrain grew larger 
and larger. 

“Impact in 50 seconds,” the computer announced. 
“Please manually deploy your emergency 
chute. For more information—” 

Tim switched off the computer and turned 
toward Diane, taking her hand in his. “Sorry, kid, but 
without the chute... Must have been damaged by the 
barrage that killed the engine. I wish we had more 
time.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Diane replied, releasing her 
shoulder harness so she could lean over and hug him. 
She held him tightly for a moment; smiling when she 
realized he smelled like plastic and old metal. “It’s 
my fault, I should never have made you fly so low. I 
don’t know what I thought I was having you do — it 
was crazy to think following a bird could lead us to 
the—” 

“You’re babbling,” Tim interrupted. “If we only 
have sixteen more seconds to live, I’d like to do it 
with you just hugging me.” 

129 


Diane laughed, and then sobbed. “It’s a deal.” 
She closed her eyes and held him tightly as he 
wrapped his arms around her. She tried not to think 
about what was about to happen. It would be over 
soon. 

Quickly. Any moment. 

She closed her eyes tight. Without warning 
found herself outside the aircraft, looking down at it 
as it tumbled ahead of her. Without thinking she 
folded her wide wings and dived after the wreckage, 
strong talons unclenched and ready to capture it as 
the ground rushed up toward them. She brought her 
head closer to her body, turning herself into a 
feathered dart that fell so fast, the giant feathers in 
her wings thundered in the air that sped by. 

She could see she was gaining on the descending 
vehicle. But she knew instinctively it would be touch 
and go once she reached it. There wasn’t enough 
time. She would barely overtake it before it struck 
the ground. 

The huge bird dropped closer… 

Ever closer. 

And then the aircraft was within reach. Diane 
snatched it in her talons, sharp claws ripping 
through the thin skin to wrap around the titanium 
skeleton. She unfurled her wings and spread her tail, 
muscles straining against the rushing air and sudden 
weight of the plane she held. 

They slowed, but not enough. They continued to 
plunge downward. Diane spread her wings farther, 
feeling muscles pull and tear as she strained against 
the inevitable. The ground continued to rise and the 
short distance between sky and earth vanished in a 

130 


violent collision. They struck the earth with an 
impact that threw sand upward, cracking the frame 
to fling wreckage in every direction. 

Diane’s feathered body broke over the frame. 
Her head impacted the sand, knocking her senseless. 

The darkness of unconsciousness turned to dim 
light. In the distance, the sun was hidden behind the 
Kansas Mountains. The storm clouds that had 
threatened them were now gone, leaving the sky 
blood red. 

With great exertion of muscles and servo 
motors, Tim forced his gaze away from the sunset, 
to survey the rest of his surroundings. As his head 
turned, he became aware that the steel collar 
holding his head in place must be seriously warped 
out of shape. His head rotated sluggishly. He tried to 
make some sense of what he surveyed in the 
panorama of wreckage scattered around him. 

Then he noticed he could only see from one eye. 
“Just like the good old days,” he muttered, 
remembering the destruction he’d endured long ago; 
that had cost him his hands and face. 

Only then there had been fellow fliers around to 
help. Right now he seemed to be on his own. He was 
going to have to pick up the pieces himself, this go 
around. 

Where was Diane? 

Panic rose in his throat. He’d forgotten that she 
had been with him. The loss of an eye was nothing 
compared to the possible loss of Diane. He was not 
sure he could endure such a loss — and yet he knew 
he probably would be forced to do so if he survived 

131 


much longer. 

That he had survived at all was miraculous, 
given the initial rate of their decent. Even with his 
brain encased in steel, he hadn’t expected to see 
the light of day again. The chance that a frail body 
like Diane’s might have survived seemed too remote 
for him to even hope for. 

But he had to know. 

He pulled the wreckage away from his lower 
body, taking inventory of the damage he had 
sustained as he threw away the trash that had 
covered him. Lifting a wind flap from his legs, he 
was shocked to see that his right foot was missing, 
severed just below the knee. 

“Well, that’s not too handy,” he told himself, 
the appearance of the stub seeming more humorous 
than serious. He laughed, then realized he had no 
reason to. He was feeling very lightheaded. 

You’re losing it, he warned himself. He sat still 
for a moment, trying to think through the haze that 
enveloped his mind. 

And then his old training took over. 

Better get the bleeding stopped before you pass 
out. Do it before the pain sets in. He knew he could 
not afford to go into shock; on his own, that would 
be a fatal happenstance. His thinking was already 
cloudy from loss of blood. He was in danger of losing 
consciousness if he didn’t do something. 

“You can’t pass out again.” Not yet. Not until 
you discover what’s happened to Diane. “Get with 
the program,” he ordered himself. 

He searched his surroundings and spied what he 
needed. He reached over with a hand that was now 

132 


missing two metal fingers and pulled a ribbon 
connector from what was left of the dashboard 
computer. After carefully wrapping the wiring around 
the stump of his leg, he twisted the cord until 
enough pressure was exerted to get the bleeding 
stopped. Then, noticing more damage, he pulled a 
chunk of fabric from what had been a seat and 
stuffed it over the gapping wound in his chest where 
pink, scarred skin lay exposed, no longer covered by 
the metal breastplate that normally hid it. 

“Well, a fine howdy do you’ve gotten us into 
this time,” he muttered to himself as he reached up 
and pulled away the tab that prevented his head 
from moving freely. Once he’d pried the metal 
away, his head more or less normally. “That’s better,” 
he said. He figured he’d done about as much as 
he could for himself short of going to a hospital 
emergency room. 

Now to find Diane. 

Sitting up, he pushed the wreckage out of the 
way so he could see better. It was getting dark. It 
would be night soon. He had to locate her now. In a 
few minutes it would be impossible to see. 

He strained his eye, sitting up in an effort to see 
enough to make some sense of the wreckage that 
had once been the ultralight; fragments were 
scattered 50 meters in all directions. However most 
of the cabin debris appeared to be close to where he 
sat. Diane was most likely buried in the wreckage 
somewhere close by. He lifted himself up higher on 
his arms in an effort to get a better look at his 
surroundings. 

There, he thought, spotting Diane’s white coat, 

133 


barely visible beneath what had been one of the 
bucket seats. “Diane?” he called tentatively, rising 
on his knees. “Diane, can you hear me?” 

There was no answer. No hint of movement. A 
gust swept across the wreckage, blowing chunks of 
fabric and plastic across the open plain. But Diane 
remained motionless. 

Tim grabbed a long titanium rib and, using it 
like a crutch, stood on his good leg and hobbled 
toward her, trying to ignore the growing stain of 
blood that was blotting through the surface of her 
white coat as he watched. 

He paused a moment, leaning on a titanium rib 
as he attempted to catch his breath, fighting off the 
blackness that dimmed his sight. After a moment his 
sight returned and, taking a deep breath, he hopped 
toward her again, attempting to disregard the pain 
that was throbbing up from his foot — or from where 
his foot should have been. 

A shooting spasm traversed his chest and he 
gasped for breath, closing his good eye and 
swallowing hard. Before long he was going to go into 
shock. You’re probably going to die here in this godforsaken 
desert. 

Maybe. 

But he refused to die ignorant. First he was 
going to reach Diane. He had to know whether she 
was dead or alive. 

After six slow, painful steps, he finally he 
reached her. Careful, he warned himself. Don’t 
move her until you know how serious her injuries 
are. He knelt and started carefully removing the 
wreckage away from her still form as the last of the 

134 


daylight faded away. 

135 


C 21 21 
Z
Z
iggler stood inside the ebony muscle van as it 

sped down I-75 toward Biotech Universal 

Corporation’s office building. Outside, the 
lights of the glittering needle scrapers of downtown 
Kan-Topeka glimmered in the nighttime sky like 
jeweled scepters. 

Around Ziggler were the ten members of his 
team. Company insiders euphemistically called them 
corporate raiders; others, headhunters. Ziggler liked 
to think of his squad simply as problem solvers. Over 
the years, Ziggler had demonstrated his abilities to 
the House of Mao Corporation, first bringing in 
unexpected dividends. When the company management 
had realized how he achieved his ends — and 
after he railroaded the replacement of the chairman 
of the board by one more friendly to his methods — 
he had been given more and more sensitive jobs to 
take care of. 

Tonight’s business was taken on his own 
initiative, in part to round up the lose ends and in 

136 


part to get everything in place for the House’s 
takeover of his pet project 

Of course he’d seen a slight setback with the 
theft of the Silver Tiger. 

But that hadn’t been all bad, he reflected, since 
it had put the Biotech Corporation on the ropes. He 
studied the faces of the corporate raiders sitting 
around him as he completed his pep talk. 
“Remember, the fate of our house rides on our 
success tonight,” he finishing, looking at the somber 
faces of the five women and six men who were all 
dressed in black military gear. He paused, then lifted 
his hand to give the company salute. “For honor and 
company.” 

“For honor and company,” they answered 
solemnly. 

“Lock and load,” he ordered as the van slowed. 
“And double-check your masks.” The van stopped. 
“We’re there. Here we go.” 

Ziggler pulled his mask down and checked its 
seal as the wide doors at the rear of the vehicle 
hissed open. The hydraulic suspension lowered the 
van to street level, a ramp extending for his men 
and women to charge down. The point man’s rifle 
spit fire and the automated gate died in a shower of 
sparks. The raiders at the front of the column quickly 
defeated the lock and opened the door for their 
comrades who sprinted up the stairwell at the north 
side of the building. 

Clemonti, the M306 grenadier, dropped to one 
knee and discharged her weapon sending a 20mm 
grenade smashing through the glass door leading to 
the lobby, flooding the stairs with nerve gas. 

137 


“Let’s go,” Ziggler ordered, his voice sounding 
tiny through the small radios in the gas masks he and 
his squad wore. He dived into the smoke-filled 
lobby, his boots scraping along the marble floor as 
he headed for the elevator. “Disable that,” he 
ordered; a team member armed with a ball peen 
hammer obliged, smashing the controls with a single 
blow. “Put a grenade in the stairwell.” 

The launcher coughed and the glass leading to 
the stairwell shattered. There was a dull thump as 
the grenade exploded. 

“You stay here to guard our exit,” Ziggler 
ordered the tall blond armed with a laser. “The rest 
of us will take the stairs and head up to our target.” 

Ziggler paused before entering the stair well, 
turning his head to and fro for better visibility in the 
gas mask. Visually sweeping the stairs, he spotted 
the automated gun as it rotated toward him through 
the smoke. He fired his needle gun before the 
machine could react, the blast reverberating 
through the stairwell. 

Racking another cartridge into the chamber of 
his weapon, Ziggler raced up the stairs, checking for 
another auto gun. Observing none, he ascended the 
steps, two at a time, his raiders behind him as he 
bounded, their boots and equipment creating a 
deafening riot of noise in the stairwell. 

As Ziggler neared the entrance, he spotted a 
human watchman, a gas mask covering his face, 
running toward the glass door in an attempt to block 
their advance. The guard activated his laser, blazing 
away in the dim light, sending beams of energy 
splattering along the wall beside Ziggler. 

138 


Hot slag splattered the bare skin on the back of 
Ziggler’s neck, forcing him to blink back tears of 
pain as he shouldered his gun and fired. The barrage 
of needles erupted from the muzzle, slashing into 
the watchman's body, splattering the wall behind 
him with blood; the man fell through the glass 
counter behind him with in a shower of broken glass. 

Ziggler hurdled through the broken door, past 
the fallen watchman, ignoring the pain of the deep 
gash that had resulted when a bit of broken glass 
from the door cut his hand. 

The team members clamored into the hallway 
behind him and he raised his hand. “You stay here to 
guard the top of the stairwell,” he told a short man 
with a short-barreled shotgun. “The silent alarm has 
had to have gone off by now, so we only have five 
more minutes. Watch for any automated guns or 
more watchmen. Let’s head for the main computer. 
Remember what we’re after — don’t get distracted.” 
Ziggler and the others dashed down the 
hall while the designated guard dropped to his knee, 
weapon at the ready. 

Ziggler tapped the transmitter on his mask, 
leaving behind a bloody smear from the cuts on his 
fingers. “How’s it look down there?” he radioed to 
the guards he’d posted on the ground floor. 

“All clear, chief.” 

“Keep your eyes peeled and let me know if 
there’s any problem. Out.” 

Ziggler saw the shadow of someone crouching in 
a room ahead of them. He raised his hand and his 
men stopped behind him with practiced precision. 
He turned toward his grenadier. “Clemonti, put 

139 


some nerve gas at the end of the hall. I thought I 
saw someone.” 

The young woman lifted the M306 to her 
shoulder and fired; the projectile flashed from the 
launcher and smashed against the far wall, flooding 
the area with poison gas. Three seconds later, there 
was a paroxysm of coughing and then sudden silence 
in the hall ahead of them. 

“Sounds like we splashed someone,” Clemonti 
said grimly, chucking another shell into her gun. 

“Good shooting,” Ziggler said, rising to his feet. 
“Let’s move.” He yanked a stun grenade from his 
flack jacket and thumbed it on. “Fire in the hole!” 
he warned as he half tossed, half rolled the grenade 
toward the end of the corridor. The device bounced 
to the end of the hallway and exploded, Ziggler and 
his team racing down the hall after it, taking 
advantage of any confusion the loud explosion might 
have caused to anyone that might be waiting for 
them. 

A watchman in exo-armor staggered into the 
hallway in front of them, blocking their path as he 
brought up his machine gun. A fraction of a second 
later, all hell broke out in the passageway as Ziggler 
and his raiders tried to down their foe whose firearm 
blazed in response, lighting up the nearly dark hall 
with the flashes from the hot barrel of the gun he 
commanded. 

Ziggler finally managed to strike the watchman’s 
unarmored neck, causing him to drop to one knee, 
and momentarily release the trigger on his deadly 
weapon as blood spurted from his wound. 

Yelling for the raiders to hold their fire, Ziggler 

140 


ran ahead down the hall, pumping his weapon and 
spraying wildly at his wounded foe as he advanced. 
Several of his missiles had an effect, causing the 
watchman to topple over with an agonizing groan, 
his armor now defeated in several spots where blood 
oozed through the white plastic. 

Cautiously stepping up to the fallen watchman, 
Ziggler placed the barrel of his needle gun against 
the man’s bleeding throat, and pulled the trigger, 
severing his head with the explosion of steel needles 
and flesh. 

Ignoring the profuse bleeding from a bullet 
wound to his thigh, Ziggler turned toward his 
people. “You two help the wounded back to the van 
and wait for us to return. You three will help me 
collect our treasure and place the charges on the 
computer.” 

“Yes, sir,” his raiders answered almost in 
unison. 

One employed a thermite unit to cut the lock on 
the data repository with a shower of sparks. He and 
the others ran into the room, collecting materials 
with proficiency. Ziggler following them into the 
chamber, limping as he went. His men stripped it of 
useful documents and discs, then placed charges on 
the main ultra computer and its slaves. 

Ziggler smiled as his team demonstrated its 
abilities. He was proud that he’d been responsible 
for molding them into the competent corporate tool 
that they were today. He reached down and touched 
the wound on his leg. It wasn’t as sore as it had 
been a moment before. Rubbing his finger over it, 
he was surprised to see the hole close and then scab 

141 


over. 

He looked at his hand; the cut was gone. 

He smiled, then got back to business. “Hurry it 
up, lets’ go. Clocks running,” he warned them 
needlessly. 

They quickly finished up as he gently chided 
them. Then they all raced for the exit. 

It doesn’t get any better than this, Ziggler told 
himself, smiling despite the slight pain that 
remained in his leg as he limped along after his 
corporate raiders. It just doesn’t get any better 
than this. 

142 


C 22 22 
T
T
im Mann knelt over Diane’s still form and 
lifted the debris that covered her. He reached 
up to his forehead and popped open the small 
panel there, then turned on the emergency diode 
light so he could see. Reaching toward the pool of 
light he focused on her, he gently pulled at her 
jacket to see how serious the wound which had 
stained her coat in blood really was. He steeled 
himself for the sight of what he expected to be an 
jagged gash in her side. 

The coat parted... 

And then he laughed. 

Because there was his lost, severed foot lying on 
her side, just inside the coat. He pulled the lost 
member from under the jacket and studied it for a 
few moments. A few minutes before, it had been 
part of him. Now it was like an alien piece of meat, 
totally useless and disgusting to even look at. “Any 
rescue headed our way won’t get here in time to 
reattach this to me,” he decided. And he knew the 
sight of the bloody foot would alarm Diane if she saw 

143 


it. He tossed his foot into a distant heap of rubble 
where he hoped she wouldn’t notice it. 

He knelt down and felt Diane’s neck. Her pulse 
was strong; her breathing seemed normal. The truth 
started to sink in: She was alive. 

Tim continued to examine her, being careful not 
to move her in case she’d suffered any spinal 
injuries. Her face and exposed skin didn’t even have 
a scratch, though there was an ugly bruise forming 
on her temple. That might be responsible for the 
fact that she’d lost consciousness. 

The night air was getting chilly. The cold air 
coming down of the mountains would lower the 
temperature considerably during the night. They’d 
need shelter. If she could move on her own, that 
would make things a lot easier. Better try to get her 
awake. 

“Diane,” he said, leaning over her. “Diane, can 
you hear me.” 

The was a groan and then she mumbled 
something unintelligible. 

“Diane.” 

Her hand weakly pushed his away. “Go away. 
Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Diane, we’ve been in a plane wreck. 
Remember.” 

Her eyes fluttered open. “Tim.” They closed and 
then jerked back open. “The crash!” She sat up and 
glanced around, then looked back at him. 

“Don’t move just yet,” Tim ordered. “Can you 
wiggle your toes.” 

She concentrated and then said, “Yeah. I’m 
fine. But… You’re hurt.” She pointed to the bloody 

144 


rag he’d plastered in the hole in his side. “And your 
eye’s… Gone.” 

“Oh, I’m all right,” he replied. And then 
promptly fainted. 

Tim awoke beside a crackling fire. 

“Among the land of the living again?” Diane 
asked, throwing some more dead cottonwood 
branches onto the crackling blaze. “I have to hand it 
to you, Tim. How you could be up and wandering 
around the wreckage with major parts of you missing 
is beyond me.” 

“Guess I’ve kind of gotten used to losing body 
parts in plane crashes,” he answered. “Besides, I 
thought maybe you were seriously injured — or 
dead.” 

“I appreciate your efforts. Even if you about 
bled to death in the process.” 

“So what do we do next?” 

“There’s no we in the plans, Masked Man. You 
are going to lie there until the cavalry comes. I’m 
going to go on and find the Silver Tiger on my own.” 

“Wait a minute. That bump on the head must 
have been more serious than I thought. The tiger is a 
crispy critter — remember the charred skull you 
found in the helicopter?” 

“That’s a decoy. The real tiger is out there 
somewhere.” She pointed into the night. “I can… 
feel it. Waiting.” 

“Sounds like a concussion to me. How are we 
going to get the authorities here to help us?” 

“Already taken care of,” Diane answered, 
bending over him and placing her blinking comphone 

145 


next to his head. “It’s on auto-homing. They should 
be here in a half hour — right now they’re busy with 
a major battle on the Colorado/Mexican border. 
When they get through duking it out there, they’ll 
send a rescue crew around to pick you up.” 

“Not just me. Us. Pick us up.” 

“No, just you,” Diane replied, tucking her coat 
up under his chin so he’d stay warm in the chill air. 
“I’m going to head Northeast to locate the tiger. I’ll 
try to leave a trail behind so they can find me. The 
cat is stolen property, so they’re obligated by law to 
help locate it.” 

“If they aren’t otherwise preoccupied hunting 
down infiltraters or fighting invaders — or have you 
forgot that finer point of the law?” 

“They’ll find me. I have a feeling you’ll see to 
it.” 

“Stay here,” he said, taking her hand in his. 
“There’s no telling what you’ll run into, tramping 
through the desert at night.” 

“I have to go.” She bent over and planted a kiss 
on his steel forehead. “There’s more to this than I 
thought. You take care, Tim.” 

Before he could protest, she slipped from his 
grasp and vanished into the night. 

“I can’t believe it,” Smiley said, raising his night 
vision goggles as he returned to the Viper. “This 
area is thick with Mexs. They’ve set up a camp just 
east of here. We’re going to have take the long way 
around and hope they haven’t discovered our cave 
so we can hole up in it.” 

“What are they doing this far north?” 

146 


“Damned if I know,” Smiley said, as he stood at 
the open side door. “They’re going to get smoked 
for sure if the border patrol noses around here. 
They’re right in the open.” He swore. “If the New 
Delhi reps see them around here, they’ll be spooked 
for sure. Those Pakistanis are good at programming, 
but they’re not brave. This is a sorry mess.” He 
swore loudly and kicked the vehicle three times. 

Joe sat quietly until his boss’s rage had 
subsided. “Should we head for the cave then?” 

Smiley sat down on the passenger seat and 
rubbed his chin. “Yeah.” 

Joe put the vehicle into gear. 

147 


C 23 23 
D
D
iane slowly picked her way through the desert, 
walking almost blindly with only the dim 
starlight to guide her. She knew her destination 
was toward the northeast. By locating the North Star, 
she was able to travel at an angle toward her goal. 
But she was constantly stumbling in the uneven sand 
and snagging her clothing on the scrub brush which 
she often failed to see until she’d trudged into it. 

Is this completely crazy to be doing? she asked 
herself. All she really had to go on was an old shaman 
who only existed in her mind, as far as she could tell. 
She stopped for a moment, and debated going back. 
Turning around and backtracking would be the 
sensible thing to do — and Tim could certainly use 
someone to watch over him. What had she been 
thinking, leaving a man with severe injuries 
unattended? 

She turned around and started to retrace her 
steps. She had traveled only ten paces when she 
became aware of the dim figure traveling alongside 
her. 

148 


She stopped, her heart pounding. “Who’s there?” 
she asked. 

“If you want to know who’s here,” a low voice 
answered, “why not illuminate the area?” 

“Who are you.” 

“I think you already know the answer. All you 
need is to imagine being able to see — and you’ll be 
able to.” 

“Ravenfoot?” 

“Think about being able to see in the darkness.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“Think it.” 

Diane closed her eyes for a moment. And opened 
them to what appeared to be daylight, though the 
blackness of the sky and the stars twinkling and 
dancing in the cold atmosphere argued otherwise. 

“Isn’t that better?” the medicine man asked. 

“Impossible is what it is. I don’t understand 
what’s happening to me. I see things — like you. I 
know you can’t exist, that you’re impossible. And —” 

“Your questions will be answered in good time,” 
Ravenfoot said, holding up his hand. “Right now you 
need to go and rescue the Silver Tiger. I need it to 
complete my work.” 

“Your work? If it’s your work, why don’t you go 
rescue it yourself?” 

“There are some things I can’t do.” 

“Now there’s an answer worthy of a 
hallucination.” 

Ravenfoot smiled. “Come this way.” He turned 
without waiting to see if she would follow, cutting 
through the brush to ascend a low hill. Diane followed 
behind, wondering where they were headed. As they 

149 


descended the mound, she spied the deep tracks of a 
vehicle that had recently crossed through the sand. 

“You were headed the right direction,” 
Ravenfoot said. “Your instincts are good. But if you 
follow these tracks, they’ll take you directly to the 
Silver Tiger.” 

“I think I should go back to Tim. That’s the only 
thing that makes sense. Besides, the military team 
coming to pick Tim up could easily swing around and 
follow these tracks to wherever they lead.” 

“They will have to wait before going there. They 
would be too late. The tiger is slated to be sold in a 
few hours when daylight comes. The Army has been 
delayed — fighting along the border.” 

“How could you possibly know that.” 

“I must go now,” Ravenfoot said, becoming 
transparent. “Listen to your heart, not your head.” 

“Wait!” 

He was gone. In the distance was a brief 
pounding of tribal drums, the likes of which Diane 
hadn’t heard since she was a child. And then the 
drumming was gone, too. 

She closed her eyes and rubbed her aching 
temples. What should she do? She hesitated. 
Something was very wrong and she knew Ravenfoot 
wasn’t what he appeared to be. Yet for some reason 
she trusted him. 

“Real bright,” she told herself. “You’re putting 
your trust in something that’s most likely a 
hallucination symptomatic of a mind that’s becoming 
delusional.” 

But sometimes faith is more important than 
logic, she decided. If she was going crazy, why not go 

150 


out in style? Abruptly the doubt was gone. Her mind 
made up, she turned to her left, following the path 
Ravenfoot had indicated she should take. 

Tim awoke in the middle of a sand storm. “What 
the devil,” he yelled, holding his hand in front of his 
face to keep the debris from scratching his one good 
mechanical eye. 

Abruptly the storm lessened and the whopping 
of helicopter blades revealed what was happening: 
Rescue had finally arrived. He sat up and waved at 
the chopper, hoping they hadn’t decided to leave 
after a quick survey of the wreckage scene. 

To his relief, he saw the twin-engine chopper 
land some distance away. Before it had hardly 
settled down in the gale of dirt it kicked up, five 
soldiers leaped from its side door and charged 
toward him. 

“Am I glad to see you guys,” Tim said as they 
came toward him. 

“Are there any more survivors in the area?” the 
sergeant asked. 

“There was one — but she’s headed northeast,” 
Tim replied as two of the soldiers unfolded a 
stretcher. 

The sergeant grimaced and glanced at his men, 
motioning the medic to look at Tim. 

“We’ll be able to pick her up, won’t we?” Tim 
asked, ignoring the doctor who was examining his 
leg. “She’s after stolen property — she logged the 
information when she sent our emergency assistance 
request.” 

“We got the request,” the sergeant replied, his 

151 


plastic armor glistening in the firelight. “But we 
can’t honor it right now. We’re ferrying casualties 
from the battle eighteen clicks south of here. If your 
injuries hadn’t been serious, we wouldn’t have 
made a side trip to get you. As it is, we don’t have 
time to recover stolen property when the lives of 
our boys are at stake.” 

“But we can at least swing around and pick up 
Diane, can’t we?” 

“Was she injured?” 

“No. But she didn’t have any water or—” 

“We’ll send someone to pick her up tomorrow — 
and maybe look for the stolen property then as well. 
Right now we have to get going.” 

“But —” 

“I have severely wounded men on that chopper, 
Mister.” 

“But—” 

“Get him to the chopper,” the sergeant told his 
men, turning to return to the waiting aircraft. 

“There it is,” Smiley said, pointing to his left. 
“I’ll get out and remove the environmental shield. 
You pull the Viper in and I’ll pull it back over the 
entrance so no one can spot us.” 

Smiley opened the door and got out, jogging the 
short distance to the bunker he’d constructed 
several years back. Pulling back the plastic curtain 
that covered the mouth of the cavern, he waited for 
Joe to drive into the chamber. Once the vehicle had 
passed, Smiley carefully lowered the tarp and made 
sure it was weighted down so the breeze couldn’t 
whip it out of the way. 

152 


After turning on the red lights inside to dimly 
illuminate the chamber, Smiley turned toward Joe. 
“Help me get the cat into its cage. Then we’ll set up 
the Minigun in case some of those damned Mexican 
infiltraters are in the area.” 

Within minutes the two men had the cat in its 
cage. Smiley bathed it in water, dissolving the bonds 
that had bound it. The creature paced back and 
forth in its cage, glaring at the two men. 

“I’m going to be glad to get rid of that thing,” 
Smiley said. “It’s starting to give me the creeps.” 

“At least it doesn’t talk much,” Joe ventured. 

“Yeah, it could be worse I guess,” Smiley 
agreed. “Let’s get the Minigun and radar set up so 
we won’t be taken by surprise.” 

153 


C 24 24 
S
S
miley awoke when the radar alarm went off. 
“What the hell?” he muttered, crossing to 
the radar screen. It showed several people five 
hundred meters from the bunker. And headed 
toward it. 

Smiley switched off the lights in the bunker and 
pulled back the environmental cover so he could 
peer outside with his binoculars. Switching them to 
their infrared mode, he quickly spotted the heat 
sources of the approaching men, all of whom carried 
rifles. 

“Mexican soldiers,” Smiley muttered to himself, 
studying the advancing forms. Even if they didn’t 
know about the bunker, they were headed right for 
it if they didn’t change their course. 

Smiley pulled the cover back farther, exposing 
the four barrels of the Minigun. Stepping behind the 
weapon, he activated it and targeted them. 
Watching them on the radar of the weapon, he 
hesitated in firing. He didn’t know how many more 
might be around. Once he fired, anyone seeing the 

154 


bunker would know something was going on. And if 
any other troops were close by, the muzzle flash 
produced by the Minigun’s four barrels at night was 
nothing short of awesome. They’d spot it for sure 
and know right where he was. 

So he waited, seeing if they’d change their 
direction and miss the bunker. 

No such luck, Smiley muttered as he watched 
them continue toward him. He picked up the 
binoculars and studied them more closely. One of 
the six had an ancient radio strapped to his back. If 
they spotted the bunker, one call on the radio and 
Smiley might have untold unwanted guests 
descending on him from the Mexican camp he’d 
spotted earlier. 

“Can’t risk it,” he told himself. He’d have to 
gun them down before they had the opportunity to 
inform their comrades where he was. 

He switched on the motor to the gun, causing 
the barrels to whir as they came up to speed. His re-
centered the weapon’s sights on the band, 
concentrating on hitting the radioman first. “Lock 
onto multiple targets,” he ordered the gun’s 
computer. 

“Targets locked on.” 

“Fire.” 

The gun thundered to life, breaking the silence. 
The salvo tagged the radioman who spun and was 
down with a yelp. Two follow-up bursts brought the 
others down. All lay still in the darkness. 

“Secondary targets?” the gun asked. 

“Standby,” Smiley replied, peering through the 
smoke rising from the four barrels that had just 

155 


unleashed their power on the unsuspecting Mexican 
intruders. Were they the only ones? 

“Boss, what’s all the shooting,” Joe asked, 
coming from behind to stand next to Smiley. 

“Nothing to worry about,” Smiley replied. “Had 
some Mexs headed our way. But I just aced them. 
Put on your night vision goggles and go to the 
emergency exit at the back. Keep your eyes peeled. 
The racket may bring more our way.” 

Ten minutes later, Smiley had shut down the 
gun and went on his own patrol of the area. He’d 
traveled only 200 meters from the bunker when he 
stumbled into another Mexican, apparently coming 
to see what had happened to the soldiers that had 
been gunned down. 

Hiding in the darkness, Smiley centered the 
electric sight of his pistol on the advancing soldier. 
These guys must not have heard of night vision 
equipment, he thought as he waited for the man to 
fully reveal himself. As the Mexican stepped into the 
open, Smiley squeezed the trigger, sending a single 
145-grain bullet across the short distance between 
them. The slug smashed into the soldier’s neck; the 
man tumbled to the sand and lay still. 

As far as Smiley could see, there were no more 
of the soldiers. But something was strange. They 
seemed intent on coming straight to where he was, 
as if they knew he was holed up in the bunker with 
the cat. Smiley clicked on his radio. “Joe, I just 
tagged another one. Keep your eyes peeled. The 
desert’s thick with them.” 

“I read you,” Joe’s voice replied. 

156 


“I’m going farther out to check around. Don’t 
shoot me by mistake. Be sure of your target.” 

“I understand.” 

It’s a sorry state of affairs when you have to 
depend on someone like Joe to guard your back, 
Smiley reflected as he adjusted his night vision 
goggles. Of course there was a ray of light. The cat 
had saved him having to kill Frank so someone could 
find his body, check the dental records, and assume 
Smiley was the dead man. 

A silver lining to every cloud, Smiley told 
himself, pausing as he neared a clearing among the 
scrub brush. After cautiously inspecting it, he 
sprinted across the open ground, passing the body of 
the soldier he had just killed. An angry whine, 
followed by the distant report of a rifle caused him 
to drop to the ground. A second bullet cracked over 
his head. 

They might not have night vision equipment but 
that was pretty damned close, he told himself. He 
was going to have to be more careful not to 
silhouette himself in the darkness. 

He rose to his knees, searching for the sniper 
that had nearly got him. He stared in the direction 
of the reports, and then saw five men spring from 
the brush and charge toward him. 

“Got to hand it to them, they’re brave,” Smiley 
said, raising his pistol and taking careful aim at the 
rearmost runner. He fired, downing one and then 
another of those coming toward him. 

The infiltraters saw the muzzle flash of his 
weapon and lifted their rifles, expelling a furious 
salvo in his direction and forcing him to hug the sand 

157 


for six seconds as their fired. As their bullets 
cracked by, he noticed a Mexican machine gunner to 
his left had joined in. The tracers from the 
automatic weapon flashed far to his left, indicating 
that the gunner was firing blindly. 

When the shooting had subsided, Smiley gritted 
his teeth and rose in the darkness. The remaining 
three soldiers were now quite close, walking toward 
his position slowly with their guns ready for the least 
sign of danger. 

As the approached, a jackrabbit suddenly sprang 
from its hiding place, loping off at right angles from 
the soldiers who opened up again, their bullets 
raising plumes of dust around the scampering 
animal. 

Smiley took advantage of their mistake, quickly 
downing two before they realized they were being 
fired upon. The remaining soldier whirled and fired 
blinding into the night, just as Smiley aimed and 
pulled his trigger. The slug hit the soldier in the 
chest. Despite his wound, the man remained 
standing, bringing his rifle around. 

Smiley shot again, this time catching him in the 
face, dropping him where he stood when the bullet 
smashed into his brain. 

Smiley groaned as the machine gun opened up 
once more, this time beating the dirt just ahead of 
him, causing the bullets to ricochet through the 
night as he dropped and kissed the sand. The 
criminal reached up and turned on the radio 
mounted to his night vision goggles. “Joe?” 

“Read you, boss.” 

“A machine gunner has me pinned down here. 

158 


Can you come around to the front of the bunker and 

pick him off with the Minigun?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“You’d better do more than try. Get a move 
on.” 

Another barrage slashed over Smiley’s position. 
“Hurry up.” 

The machine gun opened up with another short 
burst. This time the bullets struck well to his left. At 
least they aren’t sure where I am. What’s taking Joe 
so long? 

“Boss?” the radio crackled. 

“What?” 

“Keep your head low. I’m taking out the Mexs 
gunner now.” 

“I’m as low as I can get here.” 

A withering fire erupted from the bunker, the 
bullets tearing into the machine gun ahead of 
Smiley, clanging off the metal weapon and churning 
up a cloud of dust on the hill. The shooting ended, 
leaving only the moaning of the wounded. 

“That should slow them down for a while,” 
Smiley said. “Good work. Now turn off the Minigun 
and return to the back of the bunker in case they try 
to circle around. I’m headed back in.” 

Smiley got to his feet, turned, and found himself 
facing one of the wounded soldiers who had his rifle 
leveled at him. 

Instead of dropping back to the ground, Smiley 
fired three slugs at the infiltrater just as he opened 
up with his own weapon. The henchman felt a 
stinging pain in his leg; the soldier clutched his 
stomach and dropped to his knees. Smiley followed 

159 


up with a head shot. 

After glancing along the sand dunes on either 
side of him to be sure there was no sign of any more 
Mexicans, Smiley staggered back toward the bunker. 

The desert was quiet. 

Smiley holstered his pistol and examined the 
wound on his leg. Just a scratch. An inch over and 
he would have lost the leg to one of the explosive 
bullets the Mexicans used. As it was, the round had 
grazed his skin, most likely exploding when it had 
passed him. Maybe my luck’s changing after all, he 
thought. 

He glanced across the desert once more, double 
checking to be sure there were no more of the 
soldiers around the area. 

And then he saw her. 

Smiley’s mouth dropped open and he felt like a 
small child who had just been convinced that ghosts 
were real — and hiding under his bed. Because the 
specter coming toward him looked like nothing if not 
a ghost. Her skin glowed a phosphorescent green in 
the darkness and beams of blue light shot from her 
eyes, lighting up the area around her and 
overloading the circuits on his night vision goggles 
when she stared at him. 

He ripped his glasses off and peered into the 
darkness to see that she was visible even without 
the night vision equipment. “What the hell?” he 
asked himself, drawing his pistol. He forced himself 
to control his growing sense of panic, standing his 
ground as the goddess came toward him. “Hold it 
right there,” he commanded, wondering if the thing 
was able to hear or would react to his order. 

160 


Her eyes grew brighter, bathing him in their 
light. Then the light vanished and he found himself 
looking at a young woman, standing in the darkness. 
“Where am I?” she asked, blinking as if she’d 
awakened from a dream. 

“Never mind,” Smiley said. “Just keep going the 
way you were headed. I’ll follow.” 

She turned and continued toward the bunker, 
her eyes again glowing up to bath her path in light. 

What in the world have I captured here in the 
Kansas desert? Smiley asked himself as he followed 
the strange creature. 

161 


C 25 25 
“T
“T
hat’s an MRI of the frontal lobe of the 
youngest girl,” Ziggler told the four 
chairmen of the House of Mao 
Corporation. The four elderly men sat at a polished 
conference table in the darkened room. He pointed 
to the crisscross of white tissue that floated over the 
table. “It resembles a filmy tumor — at least that’s 
about the only thing it’s like. In fact the doctor who 
first discovered it mistook it for some form of 
cancer. He was the reservation doctor. His fear that 
it was some sort of malignancy is what led to our 
discovery of them in the first place.” 

The magnified picture vanished and was 
replaced by an old e-mail document. “He was 
baffled by the data and put the scan along with this 
note up on the old Med-Net system. One of our 
corporation’s computers collected it during a data 
mining and our people thought it might be 
something important for our biological warfare 
projects — there was lots of money in that field back 

162 


then.” 

A chuckle ran around those sitting at the table. 

“Fortunately for us, the team checking into the 
tissue didn’t discard the project when they found it 
wasn’t a disease, otherwise our corporation would 
be a lot poorer, today. Our initial program 
attempted to discover just what the tissue was after 
adding the doctor to our payroll.” 

And later killing him, Ziggler added to himself. 

“The next question was what exactly it was that 
the two girls had sitting up there in the front of 
their cortex,” he continued. “Had they been lab 
rats, the next step would have been obvious.” 

This time those around the table laughed a bit 
nervously, perhaps aware of the recent spat of 
lawsuits regarding charges that their military 
division had been using volunteers in retirement 
homes as guinea pigs for developing new drugs. 

“Since they weren’t lab rats,” Ziggler 
proceeded, “we first embarked on a battery of 
tests. We found the two girls very ordinary in every 
way we could imagine. However we did get more 
detailed scans of the tissue. This picture shows how 
the fine dendrites are tied in to all the major parts 
of their brains. In fact it is a mutated brain cell, 
with the dendrites exhibiting greater chemical 
activity than would otherwise be the case. This 
speeds up some of their responses to a very minute 
degree. However none of these seemed to serve any 
practical purpose. The two were not measurable 
smarter, faster, or more skilled than any of the 
other girls on the Uttawa reservation. So we chalked 
it all up to some evolutionary fluke.” 

163 


Ziggler was silent a moment as everyone studied 
the 3-d projection floating between them, then he 
spoke. “We were ready to write off our expenses 
and pack up when this event occurred. Fortunately 
we had a camera running at the time.” 

A new three-dimensional picture appeared. A 
group of youngsters were collected around a 
matronly dark-skinned woman who motioned with 
her hands as she spoke to them. The children all sat 
in a semicircle around her, paying rapt attention to 
what was being said in the Uttawa language. 

“This woman is a story teller,” Ziggler 
continued. “She was part of the international 
project to preserve the Native American heritage of 
story and crafts. She’s telling them about the Dark 
Ones, legendary monsters that rise up from the 
creek beds at night, capture small children, and 
drag them down into the mud to live with them.” 

“Nice bedtime fair,” the wizened chairman 
quipped. 

The woman in the film continued to gesture and 
make faces, speaking in the ancient tongue. The 
children all giggled, then were quiet as she 
continued her story, her hands mimicked claws as 
she raised her arms above them. 

Ziggler spoke, lowering the volume of the 
soundtrack. “I want you to pay special attention to 
the coffee mug one of our workers left on the edge 
of the table behind her. Keep your eyes on it… The 
most frightening part of the story it coming up… 
Right… Now!” 

The woman leaned forward and then suddenly 
straightened to her full height, obviously yelling. 

164 


The children all jumped, covering their faces with 
their hands and displaying fear and surprise. 

The coffee cup behind her slide to the left and 
fell, throwing coffee into the air as it shattered into 
fragments. 

The picture faded. 

“Someone must have jarred the table,” the 
eldest company officer suggested, pulling at the thin 
collar on his Chinese jacket. 

“That’s what we thought must have happened,” 
Ziggler said. “But it seemed curious to me at the 
time. Later I re-examined it and had it enhanced. 
After that I did some checking and discovered there 
were reports from all over the reservation of strange 
incidents of objects breaking — some of the older 
people believed there was a evil spirit or poltergeist 
in the village.” 

“A ghost?” 

“A very special one. One that could move 
objects and often destroy things. So we analyzed the 
film very carefully. Here’s what we got from 
computer enhancement.” 

Another picture appeared showing a greatly 
enlarged mug sitting on a table. “The speed has 
been slowed. Now watch… There it goes. You’ll 
notice it’s already breaking apart, shattering before 
it hits the floor. The mug not only leaves the table 
by itself, it also shatters for no apparent reason long 
before it hits the concrete floor. 

“After we discovered this,” he continued, 
backing the film up and freezing it on the cup as it 
shattered in mid-air, “we realized the importance of 
what we were sitting on. Comparing the girls’ 

165 


physical locations to the poltergeist reports proved 
the two young women were somehow connected to 
the events. The key that fear or intense emotion 
often triggered the effect. So our next step was 
producing the right conditions to cause similar 
results on a more predictable basis.” 

As he talked, Ziggler recalled the early days of 
the testing and how it had become a torturous 
ordeal for the girls. Because the results had only 
occurred when the two children were afraid or in 
pain. 

He didn’t give the full details to the chairmen 
sitting at the around him now; instead he gave them 
the sanitized, company version of the story, 
omitting the times they’d been forced to strap the 
girls to the table, the times that he and the others 
had dressed as the Dark Ones to scare them and, 
when that didn’t work, how they used electric prods 
jabbed at soft, young skin to produce the pain that 
gave them the results they were searching for. 

The procedures had changed the girls — and 
him. The experiments ended with hypnotherapy 
which eventually erased all memories of the affair 
from the minds of the two youngsters, saving the 
company from any possible lawsuits or criminal 
proceedings in later years. And the destruction of all 
the written records and “accidental” deaths of all 
those who had been a part of the program with 
Ziggler covered up all the loose ends and possible 
leaks that might become embarrassing. 

“We eventually established that our subjects 
had no real control over their abilities,” Ziggler 
continued, catching the eye of the eldest chairman 

166 


as he spoke. “They weren’t even aware of them for 
the most part. So we took another route. We 
obtained small tissue samples and started culturing 
the cells in our lab.” 

He cycled to another picture of a laboratory for 
the directors to see. “The cellular material was well 
suited to artificial growth and quickly spread and 
connected with host cells when planted in a living 
brain. But we were never able to create any sort of 
telekinesis like that the girls displayed, even when 
transplanting the cells into human subjects. 

“Eventually,” Ziggler proceeded, looking at 
those around him to be sure they were following 
him, “we tabled the work. However, since we found 
the tissue did grow in a wide variety of brain cells 
without any problem with immune responses from 
the host, we eventually made money from the 
project by selling rights to reproduce it to Biotech 
Universal Laboratories.” 

“Isn’t that the place that burned down several 
nights ago?” one of the directors asked. 

“Yes,” Ziggler answered. “A stroke of bad luck— 
for them. You gentlemen probably know where this 
is heading. Biotech exploited the cells to enhance 
the biological fighting unit they were perfecting for 
the South Africans.” 

The picture of the Silver Tiger appeared at the 
center of the table. “The project ended with this, 
every bit as ferocious as it looks. They put the tissue 
in the brain of this modified tiger and claim that not 
only can it understand orders given it, it can actually 
speak and reason. Needless to say, a very effective 
weapon in the field or in situations requiring brute 

167 


strength. Unfortunately they also managed to lose 
this beast along with all their data records shortly 
before the explosion at their labs.” 

“Before?” one of the managers asked. 

“Yes,” Ziggler replied. “We’ve, uh, intercepted 
some of their in-house memos. They learned that 
someone had broken into the complex shortly before 
the explosion — which was apparently set off to 
make it appear to be a terrorist act.” 

“So do we have any idea who has the animal 
now?” the chairman asked. 

“Our spies believe the New Delhi Diversity 
Corporation may be behind it.” 

“Them again — it figures,” the manager said. 
The others around the table nodded and murmured 
agreement. “So how does this effect our 
organization?” 

“We can take advantage in two ways,” Ziggler 
replied. “My lawyers informed me that much of the 
rights will revert back to us if Biotech goes 
bankrupt. At that point we can exercise our options 
and take over all their research projects. It will take 
some time in court, but we should be able to 
eventually secure the rights from any of their 
creditors. 

“Second,” Ziggler continued. “I worked behind 
the scenes to be sure they hired a person who could 
track down the people that had stolen the tiger and 
data. And this is the real kicker — the searcher I 
maneuvered into place to do the job is none other 
than one of the girls the tissue was originally taken 
from.” 

“What?” one of the previously quiet managers 

168 


sputtered. “But this sounds like madness.” 

Ziggler laughed. “You haven’t seen the crazy 
part yet,” he replied. “When I heard that the Silver 
Tiger was on line with Biotech, I retrieved some of 
my old equipment we’d used in the early tests. We’d 
developed a quite sensitive instrument that 
measured the minute fluctuations in power 
produced by the brains of the girls — sort of like a 
mental seismograph. It could measure very minute 
changes that normally would be imperceptible to a 
human being. We used it to gauge the minor changes 
in pressure and gravitation these girls produced. And 
as I suspected, the tiger was producing very small 
but measurable changes as well. 

“And then,” he said, tapping a button on his 
comphone so another display appeared at the center 
of the table, “the measurements went right off the 
scale. I had placed a surveillance camera across the 
street from Biotech Universal to record what was 
happening each time this occurred.” 

A scene of the street appeared. Cars went 
driving by but nothing out of the ordinary appeared. 
“That’s right. Nothing special inside or outside the 
lab. Except for this.” 

The camera zoomed in on the Eldorado passing 
by the complex. 

“The passage of this car from time to time 
caused my equipment to go off the scale. Still not 
enough for anything out of the ordinary to really 
happen other than dimming lights, broken windows, 
or the like, but measurable and growing results each 
time. I hired one of our men to allocate a new bug 
we’re developing for the government, had it 

169 


embedded in her neck surreptitiously, and 
eventually discovered our Native American girl, now 
grown up and working here in the city as a 
searcher.” 

“So what causes the effect you’ve been 
measuring?” one of the chairmen asked. 

“We knew that nothing happened with just one 
girl alone. Both were needed for any effect in our 
early experiments. Apparently the amount of brain 
tissue is critical. And now the interaction between 
the tissue in the tiger’s head and that of the girl 
gives even greater results than before — a mental 
symbiosis, if you will. She doesn’t realize what’s 
going on and no longer has memories of what went 
on when she was a child. 

“Currently I’m working toward bringing both 
girls and the tiger together. Then, I’m expecting 
some fireworks. We’ll bring them back together in 
our laboratories and — with your permission — I will 
resume my research.” 

“An excellent idea,” the director said. “But I 
thought you said the cat had been stolen.” 

“It has,” Ziggler said. “But I have every 
confidence our girl will track it down and bring it 
back.” 

“But isn’t she working for Biotech?” the 
chairman asked. 

“I have it on good authority that Biotech will be 
going belly up soon. They won’t be there to receive 
the cat. I will. Because I happen to have one trick 
that will make sure we get the two girls and the 
cat.” He quickly detailed his plans to them. 

“Now,” he continued after his explanation, “I 

170 


have a final clip for you to see — before I present 
you with the budget I’m asking for to resume this 
work.” 

A three-dimensional image appeared in the 
center of the desk again. 

“This was taken outside a surplus electronics 
part shop at the east side of town. The owner sells 
all sorts of bootleg computer and spy type 
equipment. Apparently the girl went there to 
purchase some equipment. That old geezer with the 
knife is about to dig the bug we planted under her 
skin. He’s doing the work without any pain killer.” 

The chairman swore in Chinese. 

“Exactly. Lots of pain. But watch this — The 
stolen cat was only miles from where she was, yet 
she exhibited a unique demonstration of the powers 
we can expect to unleash with our new experiments. 
I’m going to slo-mo so you can see what happens. 
There he’s starting his incision. Now watch.” 

A bird materialized in the shop over Diane’s 
head. It fluttered for a moment inside the shop, 
then melted through the roof, reappearing in the 
sky. The rapture glided upward and suddenly 
vanished. 

“That, gentlemen,” Ziggler said in a low voice, 
“is unlike anything modern man has ever seen 
before. A mental projection — something of ancient 
legends. I am theorizing that shamans and fakirs 
once could do such things. Remember the myth of 
Zeus turning himself into a bird. What we once 
thought of as magic is now within our grasp, 
gentlemen. And I will be able to extract it for you, 
package it, and help you sell it to the highest 

171 


bidder.” 

“Imagine what our advertising department could 
do with this,” the director beamed. “We’ll be able 
to sell godhood to the highest bidder.” 

Ziggler smiled, knowing he’d be getting all the 
funding he’d ever need. 

“You have our platinum bars,” Gindali asked his 
secretary who stood in the narrow aisle of the 
corporate jet. 

“Yes, sir,” Amanujum answered, holding up the 
aluminum brief case. 

“And my pistol?” 

“Right here.” Amanujum said, removing the 
small firearm in its tooled leather holster from the 
case and handing it to his employer. 

Gindali took the gun and strapped the gun to his 
belt, then buttoned his coat and sat back, stroking 
his beard a moment before speaking. “Tell the pilot 
to take off. Speed is of the essence if we’re to get 
our product at dawn as agreed upon. Go.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Three minutes later, the engines on the UD-6400 
whined to life. The attendant trotted back, passing 
him to stop by his two bodyguards who sat quietly in 
the back. “Please fasten your seat belts,” the 
mechanical device told them. Then it turned and 
hummed back down the aisle, stopping beside 
Gindali and swiveling to face him. “Please fasten 
your seat belt,” it said, flashing a plastic smile. 

Gindali ignored the machine. 

“Please fasten your seat belt.” 

Gindali glowered at the device. “Go away, you 

172 


cursed machine.” 

“Enjoy your flight,” the stewardess said, turning 
and zipping stiffly back to the front of the aircraft 
where it climbed into its closet. 

Gindali closed his eyes and reviewed his plans, 
wondering if there were any flaws in his logic. 
Dealing with the criminal element was always 
dangerous. Yet in this instance, it was the only way 
to get ahead. The opportunity had presented itself 
and he had seized it. Once the Silver Tiger and the 
data dots were in his possession, he was certain he’d 
be able to advance to the upper echelons of his 
company. Then those who had laughed at him would 
see how far he could go. 

“Ascend to the top,” Gindali whispered to 
himself. “That’s the goal.” You have to take risks if 
you’re going to get ahead. 

Gindali aimed to get ahead. Even if he had to 
risk his life to do it. He closed his eyes and tried to 
visualize himself sitting in the director’s leather 
chair at the New Delhi Diversity Corporation’s home 
office, smoking a cigarette in an elegant carved 
holder, his sandal-clad heels on the polished desk. 

173 


C 26 26 
“I
“I
‘m coming in,” Smiley warned. 
“I read you,” Joe’s voice answered. 
“I’ve got someone with me, so don’t 
panic,” Smiley added. Whatever he had, she looked 
normal now — which he found all the more spooky. 
One minute she’d been glowing like a haywire nuclear 
power plant and the next she was an attractive, dark-
skinned young women. Smiley shuddered, wondering 
what was wrong with her. 

Joe took one look at her, then saw Smiley’s gun 
covering her. He stepped back from the two of them. 
“What—” 

“Just stay back,” Smiley said. “She looks normal 
enough, but I think she must be a mechanical of some 
sort. Or have some really sophisticated cyborg parts 
in her.” 

“She can’t be a mechanical,” Joe said. “She looks 
too real.” 

“Yeah? Well her eyes glow in the dark — and her 
skin was glowing, too. Now stand back in case she 

174 


tries something.” 

Diane crossed toward the Silver Tiger. 

“Wouldn’t get too close to that,” Smiley said. 
“He hasn’t eaten for a while. Even if you’re a little 
different, he might give it a go. Sit down,” he added, 
waving his pistol at her. 

Diane said nothing and sat on the ground. 

“Secure her while I keep her covered,” Smiley 
told Joe. “Use the 2000 mph tape in the back of the 
Viper.” 

Joe went to the parked vehicle. 

“What are you?” Smiley asked Diane. 

“I’m a searcher. I don’t know how I got here, but 
I was looking for the Silver Tiger. I banged my head in 
a plane crash — can’t seem to remember everything 
that happened but now I’ve found it, I guess.” 

“You most certainly have,” Smiley said. He 
turned to Joe, “Whatever it is, you would mistake her 
for a normal human being. Maybe we can get New 
Delhi to cough up a little more change for her. Be 
careful. Don’t get too close.” 

No one spoke as Joe wrapped her tightly in the 
super-strong tape. 

“I’m not getting off this chopper until someone 
promises to go back and rescue Diane,” Tim told the 
Lieutenant hovering over him. 

The medical officer shooed the two MPs away and 
then spoke to the cyborg lying on the stretcher. 
“What’s the problem?” 

“We left Diane behind. She’s—” 

“Diane?” 

“Diane Deathsong. She’s the one that was with 

175 


me when our plane got shot down. We — your men — 
left her stranded in the desert. She doesn’t have any 
water or food and is just—” 

“Hang on a minute,” the officer said, the wash 
from the nearly silent rotors whirling above him 
blowing his long hair into his eyes. “Let me check 
your records.” He scanned the plastic bracelet around 
Tim’s wrist. “Let’s see… Okay. There’s a report that 
says she was left behind… And our computer shows 
we’ve got a team scheduled to search for her day 
after tomorrow. You don’t have anything to worry 
about.” 

“Day after tomorrow? She didn’t have any water 
with her. Someone needs to go now to—” 

“She’ll be okay. If she’s healthy, she’ll be able to 
survive until—” 

“You’ve got to send some one now. She was 
tracking a stolen—” 

“According to this order, once they locate her 
they’ll assist her in picking up the stolen property she 
was after.” 

“You’ve got to let me talk to someone and get 
them out sooner. Hey, what are you doing?” 

“That will help you relax,” the medic said, 
replacing the syringe back into his pouch. “You’re 
getting too upset.” 

Tim felt himself getting drowsy. He started to 
speak, but found he was unable to. 

The officer continued to look at the screen a 
moment and then switched off the reader. “Don’t 
worry. They’ll take care of it. Now you need to get 
patched up before infection sets in.” The officer 
turned toward the mechanical orderlies. “Take him 

176 


directly to the infirmary.” 

The two devices picked up the stretcher Tim lay 
upon and removed him from the floor of the 
helicopter. Then they shifted him to floor level, and 
rolled with him down the hallway, heading for the 
dispensary. 

Tim closed his remaining eye. Darkness encircled 
him as he fell asleep, too exhausted to prevail against 
the weariness that had overwhelmed him. 

177 


C 27 27 
Z
Z
iggler stood in the back of his team’s muscle 

van as it slowed, taking the exit off I-73 

toward the Uttawa Indian Reservation. He 
eyed the giant billboards with their holographic 
displays of scantily clad dancers and happy 
gamblers. 

The natives have quite a scam going here, he 
thought as he looked at the bright displays. And they 
don’t even realize they have an even bigger gold 
mine sitting in their back yard. But he and his team 
would snatch it from them before they had even the 
hint of what was going on. 

“Okay, raiders,” Ziggler said to the ten members 
of his team who sat around him. “This is the first time 
for some of you. Just stay calm and stick to what 
you’ve been trained to do and we’ll all get through 
this in one piece. You’re on double-over time today — 
no need to do a half-assed job.” 

Everyone laughed. 

“Remember, ladies and gentlemen,” Ziggler said, 
“our house is depending on us capturing the girl 

178 


without being detected. Our job’s going to be harder 
if we take too long — daylight is just a few minutes 
away. That means we’ll be operating in the light 
during most of our mission. If we can get in and out in 
a hurry, then we have a good chance of succeeding. 
The longer it takes, the greater our chances of 
detection. 

“I chose this time since it’s when the fewest 
number of people are on the streets in the casino 
area. That means minimum exposure and, hopefully, 
a minimal body count. Don’t neutralize anyone unless 
you have to — then do it quick and neat. Silencers on 
all firearms, set your suppressers to maximum. I’d 
rather have to buy a few new units than have too 
much noise and give our operation away. And use 
your knives instead of guns when you can. Last and 
most important, we use our goop guns when we get 
the girl; I don’t want a scratch on her. Any 
questions?” 

None of the three women and seven men sitting 
around him spoke. 

“Okay then: For honor and company.” 

“For honor and company,” they answered 
solemnly. 

“Lock and load.” 

They neared the front gate where a security chief 
dressed in feathers and buckskin stood under a 
flashing neon light, waiting to collect the driver’s 
payment for a parking permit. The van slowed; the 
guard peered toward the back of the van, as if 
straining to see what was inside. 

“Just flag us through,” Ziggler whispered, 
watching through the smoked windows. “If you get 

179 


curious, it will prove fatal, old man.” 

The security officer spoke to the driver again. 

“Get ready for some action,” Ziggler said. “If this 
idiot decides to inspect us, we’ll have to ace him and 
try to get in to snatch the girl.” 

The security officer laughed at what the driver 
had said, then stepped back and waved them 
through. 

As the van eased through the entrance, Ziggler 
exhaled the air he’d held trapped in his lungs. So far 
so good. 

The muscle van eased its way through the thick 
traffic on the main thoroughfare which was packed 
with partying tourists, professional gamblers, and 
prostitutes. The whole street looked dim and dirty, 
painted orange by the sun peaking over the distant 
hills. The van turned down a side street where there 
was considerably less traffic. 

And slowed to a stop. 

“What’s going on?” Ziggler asked, standing back 
up to look toward the front. Standing in the street 
was a reservation cop, waving them to a stop with a 
glow tube. The officer walked to the side of the van 
and spoke to the driver. 

“He wants to inspect us,” the van driver’s voice 
informed Ziggler over the radio. 

“We‘ve picked up their beacon, Mr. Gindali,” 
Amanujum’s voice said over the intercom. “Our pilot 
says we will be there in forty seconds.” 

“Good,” Gindali replied, hitting the enter key on 
his comphone, sending his latest orders for stock sales 
to his broker; the speakers on the device erupted 

180 


with a short sitar phrase, indicating the message had 
been bounced off several satellites and deposited in 
the proper e-mail box half way around the world. 

He folded his comphone twice and compacted it, 
then inserted it into the breast pocket of his baggy 
jacket. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax as 
the jet slowed and went into a hover above the bleak 
desert that was painted pink by the rising sun. The 
engines rose in pitch, slowing their descent; then 
they rapidly wound down as the plane settled onto 
the ground with a gentle bump. 

Gindali took a deep breath, then got to his feet, 
motioning his two bodyguards to follow him as he 
went forward and met his secretary at the front. 
“Tell the pilot to be ready for an immediate takeoff,” 
he told Amanujum. “This shouldn’t take long.” 

The secretary bowed and went back into the 
pilot’s cabin to convey the message, his eyes wide 
with fear. 

Gindali turned toward his bodyguards. “When I 
pull the handkerchief from my sleeve, kill all of 
those we’re dealing with immediately. Just take 
care not to injure the Silver Tiger. You must act 
quickly and surely; this man is a killer and won’t 
hesitate to eliminate us if he thinks he can get away 
with it. Today we will beat him at his game.” 

Both men gave a slight bow. 

The side door popped open and extended 
upward with a pressurized hiss. “This way, please,” 
the stewardess said, beaming a toothy plastic smile 
toward Gindali as he passed toward the stairs that 
had extended themselves from the side of the plane. 
“I hope you enjoyed your flight,” the machine 

181 


added. 

Gindali grimaced. The stewardess was even worse 
than the so-called living gods in his homeland. It was 
one thing to see a life-like creation in the temple. 
Quite another to have to endure such a contraption 
when conducting business. When he became director, 
the first thing he would do was have all the plastic 
travesties removed from the company planes, thrown 
into a pile, and burned. 

Yes, that would be nice, he thought, visualizing 
the pyre as he descended the ramp to the hot desert. 
He looked around and saw nothing but endless sand 
and scrub brush. He turned his back to the sun, 
glancing downward at the long shadows the four of 
them cast over the dunes in front of them, like 
giants crossing the wasteland. 

“Are you sure the pilot got the right 
coordinates?” Gindali asked Amanujum. 

“He was certain he had,” the secretary 
answered, looking nervously back toward the plane. 

Before Gindali could say more, the air in front of 
them shimmered and a snake-eyed man with an evil 
grin appeared from nowhere. “Welcome, Mr. 
Gindali,” Smiley said, closing the environmental cover 
behind him so it once again projected a picture of the 
desert. “I trust your trip was a pleasant one.” 

“As good as air travel can be,” Gindali answered, 
trying to ignore the sweat that was oozing from the 
pores under his arms and soaking the collar and back 
of his silk shirt. “We are ready to conduct business.” 

“Right this way,” Smiley said, lifting the 
environmental curtain to expose an opening into the 
man-made cavern beyond. With his bodyguards 

182 


flanking him, Gindali stepped into the lair. 

183 


C 28 28 
G
G
indhi strode into the bunker, his henchmen 
flanking him, and discovered the caged beast 
standing, looking at him intently. “The Silver 
Tiger,” he gasped. “It’s even more beautiful than I 
imagined.” He stared at the magnificent creature, 
unable to take his eyes off it as it paced back and 
forth in its cage. 

“Sometimes it even talks,” Smiley said. 
“Although right now the cat seems to have its 
tongue.” 

Joe laughed loudly and then quit when he saw 
no one else was laughing. 

“Do you have your payment?” Smiley asked. 

Gindali reached for the handkerchief in his 
sleeve; his two henchmen stiffened, their hands 
snaking toward their guns. 

“Careful,” Smiley said, stepping in front of the 
cat. “I don’t want you to be tempted to do 
anything—forgive my choice of words—stupid. So let 
me direct your attention toward the automated 

184 


Minigun that my associate is standing next to.” 

Gindali’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the four 
barrels aimed toward them as Joe waved. 

“Yes,” Smiley said. “That’s a genuine, 
automated Minigun. It’s computer is set to fire at my 
command or at the sound of gunfire — see how it 
tracks you as you step aside. Obviously it would be 
unwise for you or your men to try anything 
underhanded.” 

Gindali’s brow glistened as he continued to stare 
at the four rotating barrels that pointed directly 
toward his heart. He realized his fortunes had 
abruptly taken a turn for the worse. He had little 
doubt that Smiley was about to double cross him. 
Yet there appeared to be no way to save his skin 
other than to play the criminal’s game. “We have 
your payment right here,” he said, motioning to 
Amanujum to bring the brief case forward and 
present it. “In platinum bars, just as you asked,” he 
added, nudging his secretary. 

Amanujum nervously stepped forward ad placed 
the briefcase on the sandy floor, clicking the latches 
open. He thrust the case of platinum bars toward 
the American, continuing to kneel on the floor 
beside the treasure he’d been entrusted with, his 
eyes on the floor ahead of him. 

“Looks good,” Smiley said. “But before you pay 
for the cat, I found something else you’d be 
interested in. I’m not sure what it is.” He crossed 
behind the vehicle parked against the wall, then 
reappears dragging a beautiful, dark-skinned woman 
on the end of a rope. “Looks like a young lady, 
doesn’t it? I thought it was a mechanical. But now 

185 


I’m not so sure. Her skin is soft and her hair has to 
be real.” 

“What makes this person so special,” Gindali 
asked, hoping he could stall for more time or 
somehow bargain his way out of the danger he was 
in. 

“She’s got cyborg parts,” Smiley explained. 
“Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. She’s able to 
throw light from her eyes at night. And her skin 
glows in the dark.” 

Gandhi said nothing, raising an eyebrow. 

“I know it sounds crazy,” Smiley continued. “But 
last night she looked like a spook. Nearly gave me a 
heart attack. I bet if you put her on the dissecting 
table back in India, you’d find a few more tricks that 
your company could patent.” 

Gindali decided he must surely be dealing with a 
madman. 

“Want to make me an offer for her?” Smiley 
asked. 

Licking his lips, Gindali tried to think. He was 
fearful of saying anything that might make the 
criminal lose his temper. And the way her eyes bore 
into him, he knew she could never be broken into 
being a submissive slave. Yet he wanted to avoid 
upsetting Smiley at all costs. “Perhaps we could 
throw in another 500 NK Rupees for her,” he 
suggested. “Would that be suitable?” 

Smiley scratched his head. “I don’t know.” He 
paced across the narrow bunker. “I had in mind a bit 
more.” 

“Then let’s make it one thousand — but that’s 
my top offer.” 

186 


“I could live with that,” Smiley said, slapping 
the spinning barrels of the Minigun. He turned back 
toward the New Delhi representative, stepping in 
front of the Minigun as he did. He started to say 
more. Then he stopped, a look of horror crossing his 
face. 

Seeing that Smiley was between them and the 
Minigun, Gindali pulled the handkerchief from his 
sleeve and his two bodyguards drew their weapons. 

Smiley swore loudly, diving toward the floor to 
get out of the way of the Minigun as his foes’ 
machine pistols spewed bullets his way. 

Ziggler motioned to a burley man sitting next to 
him. “Yarley, sneak around to the front and take out 
the joker who’s stopped us. You two,” he said to his 
best marksmen, “neutralize any witnesses. It will take 
the authorities a while to figure out what’s wrong if 
there aren’t any witnesses to inform them. Don’t 
forget to hit the surveillance cameras.” 

Ziggler switched his radio to his driver’s 
frequency. “Keep the cop occupied so Yarley can take 
him out.” 

The three designated team members silently 
popped the back door of the van open and slinked 
into the dawn, looking out of place in their black 
armor. The snipers knelt on the pavement, 
positioning themselves to cover both ends of the 
street while Yarley went around the side, coming up 
behind the officer who was studying the map that the 
driver was holding in front of him. 

Yarley pulled his stiletto from his belt, grabbed 
the policeman by the face from behind, and jerked 

187 


back the same moment he shoved the sharp blade 
into his victim’s back, shoving the steel upward into 
the man’s kidney. Yarley twisted the knife, sending 
the cop into shock, then pumped the blade into his 
moaning prey three more times, silencing him. Yarley 
re-sheathed the weapon and dragged the body back 
away from the van before dropping it on the street. 

As soon as the cop was down, the snipers opened 
up on the ten people who had witnessed the murder, 
as well as those who happened to be standing or 
strolling on the nearly deserted street; the two 
operated with quiet professionalism, dropping their 
targets with barely audible reports from their 
silenced rifles. Only the brief, bubbling cry of one fat 
tourist betrayed that anything unusual was going on; 
a follow-up head shot put an abrupt end to the 
hullabaloo. The snipers then turned their fire on the 
security cameras mounted to the lamp posts, 
shattering the units which raining bits of glass and 
plastic on the street. 

Their jobs done, Yarley and the two snipers 
jumped back into the van which started immediately, 
speeding toward their primary target. 

“Okay, team,” Ziggler said as they made a sharp 
corner to travel down an alleyway, “our element of 
surprise is gone and the clock is running. It’s going to 
be tight. Everyone will need to concentrate on doing 
at their best.” 

The van slowed at a narrow doorway, half-way 
down the alley. 

“This is it,” Ziggler said. “Let’s go.” 

The team members leaped from the back of the 
van, two positioning themselves at either end of the 

188 


alley while the others broke down the door and raced 
down the narrow passage toward Karen’s apartment. 

Diane threw herself onto the floor as the first 
salvo from Gindali’s bodyguards riddled Smiley’s body 
with bullets. The projectiles exploded violently upon 
impact, flaying his head and chest as he fell. 

She glanced up to see the two gunmen turn their 
aim toward Joe. That was their last mistake. Because 
while they were concentrating on hitting the 
henchman, the Minigun activated itself, reacting to 
the noise of gunfire in the fail-safe mode Smiley had 
programmed into it. 

Joe fell beneath the bodyguards’ barrage, a 
bullet smacking into the side of his head and blowing 
out the back of his skull the same instant the initial 
burst from the Minigun discharged across the narrow 
cavern. The automated weapon directed its four 
barrels toward Gindali who stood between his guards. 
The forty rounds that the gun spit toward him 
splattered blood across his white jacket as he turned 
to run. A cry escaped his lips and then he was dead; 
his lifeless body dropped to the floor, his 
handkerchief drifting down and settling beside his 
corpse. 

The bodyguards desperately turned their guns 
toward their mechanical opponent. But they were too 
slow. The damage from their fusillade was minimal 
since they barely got six rounds off during the time 
the automated weapon fired two hundred cartridges 
their way, a hailstorm of high-velocity projectiles 
perforating both their bodies. 

The two dropped, falling atop Amanujum who 

189 


had thrown himself over the platinum bars when the 
shooting had begun. Amanujum struggled a moment 
under their weight, trying to rise, then froze as the 
Minigun swiveled toward him, its barrels smoking 
ominously. 

“I’d suggest you remain motionless,” Diane 
whispered from where she lay on the bunker floor, 
her back against the bars of the tiger cage. 

“I most certainly will,” Amanujum promised. 
“When will that infernal device shut itself off?” 

“Probably not until its batteries run down or it 
gets the correct command to disarm itself — and only 
Smiley knew that.” 

“Oh, my,” Amanujum said, closing his eyes 
tightly with a shudder. “I never should have taken 
this job.” 

“Don’t give up just yet,” Diane said. 

“My family will never see me again,” Amanujum 
said mournfully. 

“There must be some way to shut this thing 
down.” 

“May I offer a suggestion,” a low voice growled. 

“Another country heard from,” Diane said, very 
slowly turning her head toward the tiger cage. “So 
you really can talk.” 

“I believe you are the one I’ve had contact with,” 
the Silver Tiger said. “At night, when the dimness of 
the mind occurs.” 

“I don’t think so,” Diane replied. “I was hired to 
track you down but I’ve never been in touch with—” 

“In the dreams. You speak to Ravenfoot.” 

Diane tried to understand what the animal was 
trying to say. “What do you know about Ravenfoot?” 

190 


she asked. 

“He appears — when I sleep. Last night, he told 
me you were coming — and then you came. I had 
assumed that he was unreal. But your coming made 
me think otherwise.” 

“I know of Ravenfoot but—” 

“Ravenfoot told me you have a powerful control 
over things,” the animal said. “You can change things 
simply by thinking. Star dancing, he calls it. Think an 
event into happening. We must try your powers on 
the machine. Think it into malfunctioning.” 

Diane felt confused. If the tiger knows about 
Ravenfoot and star dancing, then perhaps these 
things weren’t simply part of her imagination and 
dreams. But it seemed so impossible to her. Certainly 
not something she would risk her life on. 

“Concentrate on the machine,” the Silver Tiger 
said, interrupting her train of thought. “All we need 
is a very small malfunction. A very tiny bit of energy 
on our part to make the electronic chip controlling it 
make the wrong decision.” 

This is crazy, Diane thought. 

“At least try,” Amanujum said. “We have no 
other options at this point. The criminal said you 
were special. Perhaps he was right.” 

Diane closed her eyes. The whole thing was 
crazy. “Okay. I’ll try,” she finally said. “But it’s just a 
waste of time.” She closed her eyes, trying to erase 
everything from her thoughts except making the 
Minigun shut down. 

Then opened her eyes and moved her leg and 
inch. 

The Minigun swiveled toward her and waited for 

191 


another movement. “It’s useless,” she said. “It’s still 

working. I told you it was a waste of time.” 

“We are lost,” Amanujum said. 

“I think we should make your need to alter the 
weapon greater,” the tiger said. “I’m going to move 
toward you very rapidly. If my assumption is correct, 
the weapon will spit fire at us — if you don’t take 
action to make it stop.” 

“No, don’t do that,” Diane said. “That would be 
crazy. It will only get us killed. There has to be 
another way.” 

“Get ready,” the animal warned. “I’m coming 
toward you — now.” 

The tiger leaped; the Minigun swiveled toward 
them. 

And fired. 

192 


C 29 29 
Z
Z
iggler paused a moment so his people could 
align themselves on either side of the door. He 
didn’t expect their target to be armed, but 
wasn’t taking any chances. Like the others in the 
entrance team, he carried a goop gun that would 
quickly incapacitate Karen without harming her, 
should she put up a fight. 

“Ready,” he said, looking at the team members 
who had aligned themselves on either side of the 
door. “One, two, three.” 

The explosive charge on the door exploded, 
kicking the door from its frame as Ziggler shoved his 
way past it. He covered the room with his gun as 
other members of the team passed him, one going to 
the kitchen while another sprinted toward the 
bedroom. 

There was a scream and the blast of a shotgun. 
The raider who had been going through the bedroom 
door staggered back, his breastplate caved in by the 
buckshot it had stopped. His backup jumped into the 

193 


door way, goop gun firing as a shotgun blast threw 
another swarm of shot just inches from his head. 

Ziggler stepped toward the doorway where his 
man now stood, gun pointed upward. “I believe we 
found our target, sir.” 

The young woman struggling against the sticky 
plastic that was congealing around her, caught 
Ziggler’s eye. Emotions flooded into Ziggler’s head, 
causing him to stagger back from the mental 
onslaught. 

“Stay back,” he warned those around him. He 
regained control of himself as the woman strained at 
the bonds which had hardened around her. She 
screamed and the furniture in the house started to 
shake; magazines and pillows leaped from the 
couch, forming a whirlwind in the middle of the 
room. A pair of scissors went slashing through the 
air, impaling themselves in the wall four inches from 
Ziggler’s face. 

He stepped back toward the bedroom, dodging a 
plate that sailed past, crashing into the way. He 
crossed the room and stood over the woman lay on 
the floor, struggling to get free. 

“It’s impossible to break free from that,” he 
told her. 

“Damned you,” she hissed, her curse 
strengthened by a wooden chair that was inched 
toward Ziggler. 

“Don’t you want to be a guest of the Dark 
Ones?” he asked. 

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? That’s 
only—” 

“Make believe?” Ziggler asked. “It’s all too real, 

194 


my dear. The Dark Ones have returned for you. Now 
quit fighting. You’re feeling very sleepy; relax and 
go to sleep.” 

Her eyes fluttered and then opened. Drums 
pounded in the room, drowning the shouts of the 
team members. The light bulbs overhead exploded, 
leaving the room lit by an eerie emerald glow. 

The chair that had been sliding toward Ziggler 
lifted from the floor and flew at him as he held out 
his hand to protect himself. The seat stopped in 
mid-air, remaining suspended a moment. Then it 
started to vibrate as opposite forces shoved against 
it, gently shaking at first and then oscillating more 
and more violently until it exploded into splinters 
which rained across the room. 

Turning back toward Karen, Ziggler’s eyes 
glowed red. The drums grew so loud that the walls 
shook with each beat. 

Karen’s mouth dropped open as she watched the 
transformation that came over the man facing her. 
His skin grew wrinkled; his hair, gray. 

Then she recognized the face from her dreams. 
“Ravenfoot?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed and, for 
a moment, Ziggler was transformed back into 
himself. 

“Just take it easy,” Ravenfoot told her, 
reappearing. He took her hand and stroked it. 
“Everything’s going to be all right. Soon I’ll have you 
and your sister back together and both of you off the 
reservation. You’ll enjoy working for me. You just 
wait and see.” His eyes grew brighter, making it 
hard for her to see. 

Karen fought against the darkness enveloping 

195 


her, then felt as if she’d been hit by a ball bat. Her 
body went limp, her face relaxed. At the same 
moment, the maelstrom in her apartment abruptly 
ended, the objects that had been hanging in the air 
dropping to the floor with a clatter. The pounding of 
drums stopped. 

“What happened?” the team member nearest 
Ziggler asked. “It was almost as if… It looked like 
you two were glowing. It was so bright I couldn’t 
see.” 

“You may soon start believing in witches, my 
friend,” Ziggler replied, getting to his feet. “I can 
promise you, you haven’t seen the half of it yet. 
Now I suggest we get her loaded into the van before 
she comes to. They we’re going to high tail it off the 
reservation before the tribal authorities realize 
we’re here.” 

As they picked Karen’s unconscious body and 
carted her toward the door, Ziggler rubbed the scars 
on his temples where, ten years earlier, the tissue 
samples from the girls had been injected into his 
brain. Slowly it had grown, integrating it into his 
head. He had forced himself to develop the powers 
he’d seen in the girls. Placed himself in danger, 
endured terrible pain. 

Today it finally paid off, he told himself. Not 
only had he gained many of their powers, he’d 
actually surpassed anything they had. He could now 
go into their minds at will, no longer controlling just 
the images of the Dark Ones, but the fabrication of 
the shaman, Ravenfoot. Using him, he was able to 
get past the two women’s mental barriers, hitting 
them when they opened up to the trust they felt 

196 


toward the medicine man he’d projected into their 
dreams. 

Soon I will be able to harness their raw, 
undeveloped capabilities and combine them with 
the latent powers of the Silver Tiger. 

He smiled. It was impossible to even imagine 
what might be possible for him to achieve after 
that. 

197 


C 30 30 
T
T
he Silver Tiger charged to the side of its cage, 
stopping directly behind Diane who sat outside 

the bars. 

The Minigun whirred, swiveling to acquire its new 
target, and then fired. The burst miraculously missed, 
traveling just inches over Diane’s scalp as she 
watched the weapon, her eyes wide open in fear. The 
gun hummed, changing its alignment so it pointed 
directly at her and fired again. 

In just a fraction of a second, two hundred fifty 
bullets were launched toward her as she sat bound on 
the floor. The projectiles flashed toward her, riding 
on the flames of unburnt powder. But before they 
reached their intended target, they decelerated so 
abruptly they glowed from the friction generated. 
Then they dropped to the floor, thudding in the sand. 

The Minigun hummed loudly, vibrating wildly, and 
then was silent. A thin wisp of blue smoke rose from 
the unit’s computer. 

Diane looked at the machine in disbelief. 

198 


“You see,” the Silver Tiger said. “I knew you 
could stop it.” 

“If I weren’t tied up,” Diane said evenly, “I’d 
pick up one of the guns lying in front of me and shot 
you, you stupid beast. I came within just inches of 
becoming little Miss Swiss Cheese.” 

“I can understand your anger,” the Silver Tiger 
replied. “But it worked, didn’t it? Now hold still.” A 
sharp claw reached through the bars and slashed the 
tape binding her wrists behind her back. “Fear makes 
the blood run hot. When you were frightened, you 
had the power to stop the killing machine. Ravenfoot 
said emotions must be strong before your powers will 
work.” 

“Ravenfoot,” Diane sputtered, tearing the last of 
the tape that had been restraining her off. “Sounds 
like he’s told you more about me than I know myself. 
You talk like you two are on a first-name basis.” 

“He has visited me often. And he says that your 
mind has a block in it, making you forget much of 
what he says.” 

“Well, I think this Ravenfoot is a crock. Even his 
name sounds phony. I don’t think there’s ever been 
any real Native American by the name of Ravenfoot. I 
don’t understand who or what he is, or why he 
appears in my dreams, but I don’t think he’s what he 
appears to be. Something isn’t right.” 

“Then how do you explain your ability to stop the 
bullets?” 

“There’s a lot I can’t explain,” Diane said, 
throwing down the strips of tape she’d pulled off. 
“We’ll worry about that later. Right now we need to 
leave and get you back to Biotech where you belong.” 

199 


“I believe Smiley kept the key to this cage in his 
right pant’s pocket.” 

“A good thing,” Diane said. “His pants are about 
all that’s left of him. What were those guy’s using, 
mercury filled bullets?” she asked, glancing toward 
Amanujum who was still lying on the floor. 

“I don’t know,” he answered, rising to his knees 
and clicking the brief case shut. “I am only a lowly 
secretary to Mr. Gandhi. The late Mr. Gindali,” he 
added, glancing away from the bloody corpse lying 
behind him. “Are you sure it is wise to release the 
cat. It looks, uh, somewhat dangerous.” 

“If you don’t do anything stupid I won’t hurt 
you,” the cat answered. 

“I was not planning on doing anything stupid,” 
Amanujum answered. “I don’t plan on ever doing 
anything stupid again. This brush with death has 
opened my eyes to how brief life can be. See, I am 
unarmed.” He pulled his bloodied jacket open. 

“So what are you planning on doing, now that 
your boss is history?” Diane asked the 

the secretary as she located the key in what was 
left of Smiley’s pants. 

“I will return to my company and be reassigned. 
With any luck, I’ll have a more responsible master.” 
He again glanced nervously toward Gindali’s bloody 
corpse. “You know, I should thank you. You saved my 
life, too, when you stopped the weapon from tracking 
our movements.” 

“No thanks is necessary,” Diane replied, 
unlocking the cage. “There,” she said to the tiger, 
swinging the door of the cage open. She crossed over 
and picked up one of the bodyguard’s machine pistols 

200 


and stuffed it into her utility belt. “The next question 
is how we’re going to flag down a ride out of here and 
get you back to Biotech.” 

“We can take the vehicle Smiley brought me here 
in,” the Silver Tiger suggested, beckoning toward the 
Viper with his head. 

“Guess that’s the best bet,” Diane said. She 
sighed. “Well, we better get going. It’s going to take 
a while to get out of the desert and onto the 
interstate.” 

“Perhaps I could give you a lift somewhere,” 
Amanujum offered. “I would feel good if I could help 
you in some little way. The corporate jet we came in 
is at my disposal now — I think. As the only surviving 
member of the business party, I believe it is mine to 
command. I could have you anywhere in this 
hemisphere within a few hours.” 

“We could use a ride to Kan-Topeka,” Diane 
said. 

“Which is where?” Amanujum asked. 

“About 150 miles east of here.” 

“No problem,” the secretary said. “I’d suggest 
you also take that briefcase over there. I suspect it 
contains the data dots that were to be traded along 
with the tiger.” 

Diane crossed to the table he’d pointed to and 
clicked open the satchel. “What’s on these, anyway?” 

“All the research materials collected in building 
the Silver Tiger,” Amanujum replied. “My boss 
thought they would be worth a fortune. He claimed 
there was enough material there for at least fourteen 
new patents.” 

“Guess we’ll take them along.” Diane snapped 

201 


the briefcase shut. 

“It would be unwise to trick us,” the cat warned 
as Diane joined him. 

“Believe me, I know better than to attempt to 
trick you,” Amanujum replied. “I shall be a straight 
arrow from this day onward.” He motioned toward 
the door to the bunker. “Shall we go?” 

Diane settled into one of the padded seats on the 
jet as the giant tiger curled up at her feat, blocking 
the aisle with its huge body. She promptly fell asleep, 
awaking only when the plane landed at the Kan-
Topeka air field. 

“Thanks for the trip,” Diane told Amanujum as 
she left the plane. 

“My pleasure. Good luck.” 

“I’ll probably be needing it,” Diane said with a 
tired smile. 

She quickly escorted the Silver Tiger off the 
tarmac and through the airport, hoping no one would 
try to stop them. Within minutes they were in the 
parking lot, headed for her Eldorado, passing the 
dismantled vehicles littering the parking spaces 
around it. 

“You’re back!” Pete’s hoarse voice echoed 
through the cavernous lot. “I thought you would 
never return.” 

He stood up and threw the blanket he’d been 
wrapped in down, then staggered toward them. “Get 
this thing off my neck, will you?” 

“Not so fast,” Diane said. “I want to be sure 
everything’s all right with my car.” 

“No one came near it,” Pete said, eyeing the 

202 


tiger that positioned itself beside him as it licked its 
chops. 

“Everything looks in order,” Diane said after 
pacing around her car. She reached into her utility 
belt and removed a bar of silver. “Nothing’s damaged 
or missing. Here’s your spanner.” Since she no longer 
had her comphone, she placed her hand on the door 
lock. “Emergency override delta, alpha, five, four, 
exclamation mark, twenty.” 

“Emergency override of burglar alarm 
successful,” the car announced as the lock on the 
door popped open. “You may get in.” 

Pete licked his lips as she opened the door of the 
car. “Don’t forget to take my execution collar off.” 

“You mean you don’t want to keep that?” 

Pete gave her a sour look. “I lost my sense of 
humor yesterday.” 

“My friend will take care of you if you try 
anything,” Diane warned with a nod toward the Silver 
Tiger. “Turn around.” She tapped in the release code 
on the ring around Pete’s neck. The device beeped 
and snapped open. 

Pete swore, rubbed his neck, and sprinted away 
without saying a word, nearly tripping over a cleaning 
rat as he rounded the corner. 

“Now,” Diane said, turning toward the Silver 
Tiger. “Where are you going to ride?” 

“In the back seat of your vehicle, perhaps?” 

“Let’s try it,” Diane said, opening the back door. 
The tiger squeezed through the opening and settled 
on the back seat, the rear of the car sagging 
noticeably under his weight. “Glad I got new tires and 
shocks not so long ago,” Diane muttered as she 

203 


slammed the door shut after he had lifted his tail out 
of the way. She tossed the execution ring and the 
satchel containing the Biotech data dots onto the 
front seat beside her and settled behind the steering 
wheel. “I’m going to take you back to Biotech. I hope 
that’s not going to upset you too much.” 

“Biotech takes good care of me,” the cat replied. 
“I’m anxious to get back.” 

“Next stop Biotech, then,” Diane said. “I don’t 
have my comphone so we’ll just drive there and 
surprise them.” Then I should be finished with this 
crazy job once and for all, she added to herself. It 
was fortunate all of her work didn’t go like this or she 
would look for a new line of work. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was standing in the 
glassed-in lobby where the Biotech International 
Offices had been. “I’m sorry,” the man behind the 
bullet-proof counter said, “but we can’t let you go in 
there. Biotech is in receivership and the accountants 
are going over all the records. If you don’t leave, I’ll 
call animal control.” 

“But this animal belongs to Biotech,” Diane 
protested. “I reported it as being burnt in a 
helicopter crash — but that was a mistake on my part. 
As you can see it’s actually—” 

“Miss, there is no record of a tiger in the 
company files. I just checked them twice just a 
minute ago, if you’ll recall. Even if there were a 
record of such an asset, we have no way to keep it. 
We’d just be forced to put the animal down or give it 
to the local zoo — if they’d take it. The taxes on 
exotic animals have just about made it impossible for 
a zoo to own one. Especially a tiger. I didn’t know 

204 


there were any of those left.” 

Diane said nothing. 

He leaned forward and whispered, “Frankly, Miss, 
if were you, I’d take it to the country and dump it. 
It’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth. One 
meal on your neighbor’s Aunt Eddie and you’ll have a 
lawsuit on your hands, if you know what I mean.” 

“Thanks for the advice,” Diane said 
emotionlessly. Turning, she told the cat, “Come along 
and stay quiet.” The last thing she wanted was for 
the animal to speak in public. The tiger was 
attracting enough unwanted attention as it was. 

Time to get back to my apartment and try to sort 
things out, she decided. 

205 


C 31 31 
A
A
fter reaching her apartment, Diane opted to 
let her e-messages go ignored for a while 
longer, instead concentrating on taking a hot 
shower. After reapplying her makeup and drying her 
hair, she feed the Silver Tiger a slab of steak, then 
let him retire to the bathroom. To her surprise she 
soon heard the water running. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, cracking the door 
to the bathroom open. 

“Can’t a cat take a shower without raising a 
ruckus?” the tiger growled. 

“Sorry,” Diane said, discretely closing the door. 

She sat and ate breakfast, wondering how much 
her utility bill might cost by the time the animal in 
the bathroom finished with the electric hair drier. 
And how he managed to hold the hair drier. She 
made a mental note to ask him when he was in a 
better mood. 

Finally the animal emerged, a feline grin on his 
face as he strolled in. “I could get used to this,” he 
said as Diane activated the mail service on her 

206 


computer. 

“Priority e-talk from Karen Deathsong,” the 
apartment computer announced. “Message is 
marked ‘ultra urgent’.” 

“Let’s hear it,” Diane said. 

“Diane,” Karen said, her face appearing on the 
screen that filled the far end of the living room. 
“They’re holding me— Don’t do what they tell you 
to—” 

“Hello, Diane,” Ziggler said, his face replacing 
Karen’s. “I have a very short and sweet message for 
you. If you want to see Karen alive again, you will 
bring the Silver Tiger to me. I’m at the House of Mao 
Corporate headquarters on Washington Ave. I’ll have 
people waiting to escort you to my office. And don’t 
try anything. All I really need is her head. I’ll discard 
the rest if you try to double-cross me.” 

The screen went blank. 

“Sounds serious,” the Silver Tiger said. 

“I think that’s a safe bet.” Diane went to the 
security door in the hallway, placed her hand on the 
sensor pad, and opened it after it clicked unlocked. 

“Who’s the female human in the message?” 

“My sister. I’m going to get her out of there.” 

“Who’s the man?” 

“That I don’t know. But I’m certain I’ve seen 
him before, somewhere.” She entered the small 
armored closet and placed the briefcase of data dots 
on a shelf. Then she started choosing the equipment 
she might need in getting her sister back: A ballistic 
vest, four throwing knives, and an MK-5Z 
submachine gun, similar to the one she’d lost in the 
ultralight crash. 

207 


“You’re trading me for your sister?” 

“No. I know this type. He’ll simply kill us after 
he gets you. We’re going to try to kill him first — if 
you’ll help me.” 

“I will help. But couldn’t we simply call the 
authorities and report the kidnapping of your 
sister?” the Silver Tiger suggested, running a paw 
over his whiskers to straighten them. 

Diane laughed. “You have a few things to learn. 
The corporations own the police. Going to the 
authorities for help would get us nowhere.” She 
carefully strapped on her equipment and then 
racked a cartridge into her submachine gun. “Come 
on. We’ve got some loose ends to tie up.” 

“We’ll take that,” the guard at the door said as 
Diane stepped into the armored lobby of the House 
of Mao building. Diane hesitated, then noticed the 
six heavily armored raiders who stepped into the 
chamber, backing up the guard with their rifles. She 
handed over her weapons. 

“I’d rather not have to goop you,” the guard 
said, covering her with a projection tube. “It’s hell 
to get that stuff out of the carpet. But if you even 
look crossed-eyed at me, I will.” 

The tiger growled, causing the color to drain 
from the guard’s face as he pointed the tube toward 
the cat. “That way,” he said, motioning toward the 
elevator. 

The lift stopped half way up at the two-
hundred, twentieth floor. “Straight ahead,” the 
speaker on the wall instructed them. 

208 


Diane cautiously stepped from the elevator and 
headed down the hall, the Silver Tiger stalking 
alongside her. She heard a muffled cry and glanced 
to her left as the door hissed open, revealing a large 
paneled room with Karen sitting in its center, a 
bright spotlight bathing her in brightness and 
reflecting off the titanium straps securing her. 

Even though she knew it was most likely a trap, 
Diane ignored her fears and entered the room, 
dashing to her sister’s side. “We’ll have you free in a 
moment, Little One.” She examined the lock and 
then hit the release button on the back of the chair. 
The metal bands that had held Karen’s wrists and 
ankles snapped away. 

The cat sprang into the room behind them. The 
door to the hall slammed shut trapping the three of 
them in the room. 

Karen screamed. Diane turned and looked at 
her, then realized the problem. “It’s okay,” Diane 
told her sister, prying her hand off her arm. “He’s 
with me — here to protect us. Right now we need to 
worry about getting out of here.” She took a step 
toward the door, then stopped, looking upward at 
the barely discernible hiss. 

A gossamer-fine power net, crackling with an 
electrical charge, dropped from the ceiling. Diane 
stood still, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“So,” Ziggler’s voice said from the shadows. 
“You are finally mine.” 

The Silver Tiger growled and crouched to attack. 

“No,” Diane warned. “The power net will injure 
you if you touch it.” 

But her warning was ignored. The beast sprang 

209 


toward Ziggler with a wail, its claws slashing the air 
ahead of it before it slammed into the charged 
netting. 

For a moment, it appeared the weight of the 
animal would overcome the strength of the 
crystalline fibers whose energy surged through the 
creature as its paws raked jagged tears in the 
material. Then the mesh sprang back, throwing the 
cat toward the center of the room where it tumbled 
in a limp ball of muscle and fur. 

“You’ve killed him!” Diane cried, kneeling 
beside the fallen animal, her hands smoothing its fur 
helplessly. 

“Only stunned it,” Ziggler said, sauntering up to 
the electrified barrier. “I’m not about to destroy 
something so valuable as the Silver Tiger. He’ll come 
to before long.” 

Diane turned toward him, a furious look on her 
face. The net in front of Ziggler started to shake, 
then ripped apart. The floor beneath his feet shook 
as if there was an earthquake. “Very good,” he 
shouted. “Your powers are starting to take effect. 
The three of you together are quite strong.” 

The paneling around the room snapped and 
cracked apart, splintering from the floor as the light 
overhead abruptly went out, leaving them in the 
dark only for a moment before an eerie light was 
emitted from Ziggler’s face. 

Both sisters transformed themselves into giant 
raptors, flapping their wings to rise toward the top 
of the room where they fought the netting 
entrapping them. Sparks flew in the darkness as the 
two birds battled for their freedom, ripping at the 

210 


fabric with their talons. 

“Enough!” Ziggler screamed. He raised his hand, 
making a swatting motion. 

The two raptors fell from the air. The birds’ 
feathers shimmered as they transformed themselves 
back into human forms which crouched in the center 
of the cage. 

“You see,” Ziggler said with an evil smile. “I 
have more power. More than you two combined, 
even with the cat adding to your capabilities. I can 
harness your power and throw it back at you. I can 
force you to do my bidding. Sit down!” 

Diane tumbled to the floor, her sister sprawling 
beside her. 

“You two will remember all that has been 
hidden from you — now. It’s time for your hypno 
conditioning to be lifted. You will remember now.” 

Diane cried in pain as the suppressed memories 
from her childhood flooded into her mind, nearly 
overwhelming her. The pain of the table, the fear of 
the Dark Ones, the taking of tissue samples from her 
young brain— it was all there, in jolting detail. 
Fighting against the painful memories she glared at 
Ziggler. “It was you. You were responsible for the 
Dark Ones — and the nightmares.” 

“That’s correct. And now I have the powers I 
coveted so back then. Because I’ve grown more of 
the cells that made you two special. The samples I 
stole have multiplied here, in my very own skull,” he 
said, tapping his temple. “And unlike you two, I can 
really control my powers. With the added power you 
two and the tiger bring together, I can make my 
wishes become reality.” 

211 


“Ravenfoot,” Karen sobbed. “He will help us—” 

Ziggler threw back his head and laughed and 
then was silent, wiping the tears from his eyes. 
“Who do you think Ravenfoot is, my dear?” he finally 
asked. 

Neither sister replied. 

“Come now. I know from the looks on your faces 
you’ve already guessed. I am Ravenfoot. I was the 
one who sneaked into your heads at night in an 
effort to make you exploit your powers. But it 
proved so hopeless. You’ll never be able to achieve 
what I have. Apparently it’s only when the tissue is 
injected into another living, human brain that it 
really expands and gains its full abilities. I can’t 
explain it, but that’s what seems to have happened. 
You can supply me with your power, but you can’t 
use it yourselves. Ironic, isn’t it?” 

There was a flutter of light in the corner of the 
room. 

Ziggler glanced toward the spot. “What’s that?” 

The distant pounding of tribal drums echoed in 
the distance, growing louder. 

“Stop that,” he said, turning back toward the 
girls. “Stop it!” he yelled, holding his ears. His fury 
enveloped Diane’s mind in blackness and she gasped 
at the pain that shot through her frame. Then it 
vanished as quickly as it had started. At the same 
time, the thumping of the drums grew louder, 
accompanied by the distant chanting of a tribal 
gathering. A clay flute added its counterpoint. 

“It it’s not coming from you two,” Ziggler said, 
“Where’s that coming from?” 

“From me,” a disembodied voice said. “Your 

212 


time of power has ended.” 

A transparent form materialized beside the girls 
and Silver Tiger. “It is time for you to leave this 
wicked man,” Ravenfoot whispered in their minds. 

“What are you saying?” Ziggler sputtered. 
“You’re not real. I created you. You can’t be here 
without being called into being by me.” 

Ravenfoot grew translucent and then became 
solid. “Right now, I’m just as real as you are.” 

“But I created you,” Ziggler protested. 

“I chose to put the idea of creating me in your 
mind,” the shaman replied. “Your delusions of 
grandeur let you imagine that I was your creation, 
even though you should have known better.” 

“But there’s no one named Ravenfoot,” Ziggler 
protested. “There never was.” 

“Once, long ago,” the medicine man replied. “I 
was called back by your foolish experiments.” 

“Called back?” Ziggler asked. 

“From the past,” Diane supplied. “That’s why 
you knew so little about aircraft and other modern 
things whenever I talked to you.” 

The Indian nodded. “That is more or less the 
truth.” 

“No,” Ziggler yelled. His skin glowed so brightly 
it hurt Diane’s eyes. Fire flew from his eyes, 
stabbing at the shaman. Then the blaze grew, 
transforming the shaman into a pillar of flames that 
burned the carpeting beneath him and scorched the 
ceiling as the blazing form inside the inferno toppled 
over, arms waving for a moment and then becoming 
still. 

Diane choked at the smoke and heat, falling to 

213 


her knees, gasping for breath as the room abruptly 
cleared itself of smoke. 

Ziggler laughed. “Good riddance,” he said. 
“Some medicine man.” 

“You won’t get rid of me so quickly,” 
Ravenfoot’s weary voice said. “I think I’m growing 
tired of this.” The old man motioned with the eagle 
feather that appeared in his hand. 

Ziggler cried and dropped to his knees, holding 
his head. His face shook, his eyes bulging and 
becoming bloodshot. There was a flash of light that 
rose from his head as he tumbled forward, sprawling 
on the floor. 

The room was abruptly silent. 

“Is he dead?” Karen finally asked. 

“No,” Ravenfoot answered. “Only unconscious.” 

“What will keep him from causing trouble when 
he awakes?” Diane asked. 

“He no longer has the tissue he stole from your 
heads in his brain. He will awaken but will never 
again be a threat to anyone. He will have the mind 
of a child from this time forth, unable to tell anyone 
your secrets. As for you two and the Silver Tiger,” 
Ravenfoot said, turning toward the sisters, “you 
three must leave.” He bent down and touched the 
cat. The animal shook its head with a growl, then 
rose to its feet. 

“Come with us,” Karen said to the medicine man 
as they started to leave. She took his scarred hand 
in hers. “You could teach us a lot. We need you.” 

He gave her a tired smile. “You don’t need me 
any more. And you don’t know what you ask. Being 
here instead of in my place in the sky is painful. 

214 


Once the sweetness of Heaven is tasted, everything 
else is bitter. 

“Your powers will be almost gone when I leave,” 
he continued, waving the eagle feather toward 
them. “I only augmented them to bring about 
Ziggler’s downfall. But you will still be able to star 
dance. And in addition, I am leaving two small gifts 
for you. You must bestow them wisely because they 
will only last for the rest of today. After that, you 
will be as you were before. You must go now.” 

Karen started to speak, and then was quiet. 

“Thank you for your help,” Diane whispered for 
them both. 

Ravenfoot vanished. 

The elevator stopped at the main floor and the 
doors opened. Diane, Karen, and the Silver Tiger 
stood frozen as the guards in the lobby raced toward 
them, guns held at the ready. 

“What’s going on?” one of the raiders cried, 
looking right through Diane. 

“Must be a malfunction,” another said leaning in 
to study the ceiling. “The elevator isn’t supposed to 
come down empty.” 

Diane looked at Karen. Then the two 
smirked. 
The tiger turned toward the sisters. “They can’t 
see us? The first gift?” 
“What was that?” a sentry asked, raising his gun 

menacingly. 

Diane held her finger to her lips. 

The tiger nodded. 

Then the three carefully picked their way 

215 


through the maze of watchmen, being careful not to 
bump into any as they passed. 

As she neared the front desk, Diane paused to 
retrieve her gun and belongings which had been 
confiscated on the way in. Then the three pushed 
through the exit and were free, leaving the guards 
behind to speculate on what had caused the 
entrance doors to open and close of their own 
volition. 

216 


C 32 32 
“A
“A
re you up to having some visitors?” Diane 
asked, peeking around the door into the 
hospital room. 

“Whoa,” Tim answered, sitting up in his bed. He 
fluffed up the pillows behind him and then leaned 
back. “Come on in. It’s nice to see someone who isn’t 
interested in draining blood or poking cold 
instruments on my skin.” 

Diane stepped in, followed by her sister and the 
Silver Tiger. 

“Is that thing house broken?” Tim asked, pointing 
toward the feline. “Hey, it isn’t dangerous, is it?” 

The cat stepped up to his bedside, sat down on 
the floor, and frowned at him. “I’m only dangerous 
when provoked.” 

“How’d you do that?” Tim asked, looking first at 
Karen and then Diane. “It really looked like it was 
talking. You didn’t tell me it was a mechanical.” 

“He isn’t,” Diane said. “The Silver Tiger is very 
much real and he really does talk — and reason.” 

217 


“And lose his tempter when he’s insulted,” the 
Silver Tiger added, placing a huge paw on the bed 
beside the man, flexing its claws for added effect. 

“Well, I’ve always liked cats,” Tim said. “And 
just to change the subject, how did you guys sneak 
him in here. They don’t allow pets and they for sure 
don’t allow wild beasts — no offense meant,” he 
added, eyeing the animal that watched him 
unblinkingly. 

Karen giggled. “They can’t stop what they don’t 
see.” 

“You must be Karen.” Tim said. 

“Yeah,” Diane said. “I forgot you two hadn’t met 

— in the flesh. This is my little sister Karen, fresh off 
the reservation and still wet behind the ears.” 
“Yeah, I bet,” Tim said. “I’ve heard about your 
reservation. You can probably teach me a thing or 
two — if we can shake your big sister long enough to 
leave us alone for a while. Seriously, I’m glad you’re 
finally free. Diane’s told me a lot about you.” 

“Not too much, I hope.” She batted her eyes. 

Everyone was silent. Then Tim pulled back the 
sheet. “How do you guys like my new leg?” he asked, 
sticking a golden foot from under the covers. 
“Thought the beryllium finish contrasted nicely with 
all my stainless steel and aluminum.” 

“Tim,” Diane said. “We can’t stay long. But 
before we leave, I have a question for you. I want you 
to answer it — and for once be truthful instead of 
trying to jive your way out of giving a straight 
answer.” 

“Hey, I’m the guy who’s always on the level?” 
“Tim!” 

218 


“Okay, I promise. Nothing but the truth. What’s 
the question?” 

Diane bit her lip and then spoke. “If you could 
look any way you wanted, would you go back to being 
your old self or remain as you are now? Would you be 
flesh-and-blood or stay with your metal and plastic 
replacement parts?” 

“What kind of question’s that?” 

“I’m serious.” 

Tim drummed his fingers on his metal skull for a 
few moments and then answered. “Well, I sort of like 
the idea of going back to how I was before; I miss not 
being able to raise an eyebrow or flash a leering smile 
when a good-looking babe passes by. But on the other 
hand, metal has its pluses. Things that would have 
killed me back when just bounce off my hard head 
these days — in our blood-thirsty culture that can be 
a lifesaver. And no one bothers you in public if you 
look like a monster.” 

He was silent a moment, then continued. “But 
when it’s all said and done, I guess more than 
anything else I hate being trapped in this mask. I’d 
like to smile or frown — or really give a belly laugh 
that isn’t just a loud he-haw from a speaker 
embedded in my face.” 

Karen and Diane exchanged glances. 

“Guess I kind of danced around the question, 
didn’t I?” Tim finally said. 

“Not really,” Diane said. 

“So you’re saying the best choice would be metal 
that was as responsive as flesh?” Karen asked. 

Tim nodded. “I guess a cross between the metal 
and flesh would be the ticket, but that’s not possible. 

219 


But it’s all just academic with today’s technology. 
What kind of a game are you guys playing, anyway? I 
mean, I’m stuck with what I’ve got. Pretty much like 
everyone else is stuck with what they are.” 

“Not necessarily,” Diane said. “Close your eyes a 
moment. We’re going to try something.” 

“Now who’s not being serious?” Tim asked. 

“Just do it,” the Silver Tiger growled. 

“Okay, okay. No need to be threatening.” He 
closed his mechanical lids. 

Diane put her hand on the Silver Tiger’s head and 
then took her sister’s hand, staring intently at Tim. 

Nothing happened for ten seconds. Then Tim’s 
features softened and very subtly reformed 
themselves, his pink skin taking on a metallic sheen 
while his face plate flowed and flexed into a normal 
looking, but golden, face with skin and steel 
becoming a seamless whole. Two minutes later, the 
transformation was complete. 

“You can open your eyes now, Tim.” 

“Gee, I think I feel asleep there, for a minute,” 
he said, his voice suddenly deep and melodious. “Was 
I out long? Hey, what’s going on? My voice sounds — 
strange.” He reached up to touch his mouth, then 
stopped, gazing at his hands which were now like 
fine, polished metal, yet flexed naturally like flesh as 
he held them in front of his face. “What in the 
world?” He glanced toward the mirror at the side of 
the bed, his hands shooting up to feel his new face. 
“How did that happen?” he asked sitting up on the 
edge of the bed. “And my feet are alike — I must be 
dreaming.” 

“We’ve got to go now,” Diane said softly as Karen 

220 


opened the door and exited, the Silver Tiger behind 
her. 

“You three did this, didn’t you?” Tim asked. 
“Somehow you transformed— I’m beginning to believe 
in miracles.” 

“I think you should be by yourself for a while so 
you get the hang of your new body,” Diane said. “But 
I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“You promise?” Tim asked, looking intently into 
her face with his new, fiery eyes. 

Diane reached down and squeezed his hand which 
felt soft and warm. “I promise.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to talking,” Tim said, a 
tear sliding down his cheek. “I’d like to have a serious 
conversation for a change.” 

“I’d like that very much.” Diane gave his hand a 
final squeeze and turned to leave. 

But before she could get out of reach, he pulled 
her back, catching her in his arms as she tumbled 
onto the bed. 

Without another word, the two kissed. 

For a long time. 

221 


About the Author 


uncan Long is an internationally recognized 

author with over seventy books that have gone 

into print. His subjects include everything from 
how to survive chemical, biological, and nuclear 
weapons to health manuals to how to handle 
firearms. Long has authored the Spider Worlds 
trilogy, the nine-book action/adventure Night Stalkers 
series as well as the science fiction novel, Anti-Grav 
Unlimited. 

His manuals can be found in the private libraries of 
the CIA, US Marines, FEMA, and other US agencies 
as well as the library of at least one foreign embassy 
and the EPC (Emergency Planning, Canada); the FBI 
has requested that his non-fiction books be sent to 
their FTU (Firearms Training Unit) at Quantico. 

Reviews of Long's books have appeared in The 
Journal of Civil Defense, Emergency Planning Digest, 
and other magazines. He has also been featured on 
radio and TV shows and for a time had his own radio 
program named (appropriately enough), The Duncan 
Long Show. 

Read more of Long’s short stories, novels, and 
articles—and browse a wealth of pictures and 
download MP3s—at: http://duncanlong.com/ 

222