Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls (21 page)

Margarita opens a panel by touching it with her thumbprint. “Maybe I like her. Maybe I just don't like what I've learned about here. Maybe both. Don't worry about me ratting. If you let me, I'll take one of the gravs and get outta here when you do. If I stay, I'm gonna be dog meat, first by my ‘chums' and then by the boss.”

“Okay,” Abalone says. “If Head Wolf agrees.”

She takes the key card Margarita gives her. “You come and wait with the Pack, lady. Sarah and I will go and get this Jersey.”

Head Wolf only gestures and Midline comes with us. Professor Isabella turns and joins us without requesting the permission which Head Wolf grants anyhow with a fond
smile and a royal wave of his slender hand. Apparently, they have reached an agreement of sorts.

We run back to the third floor, Margarita's warning giving us new urgency. I send Athena soaring ahead, but the caution is unnecessary. No one meets us and once Abalone has cut off the intercom, only silence greets us.

Snatching the key card from Abalone, I unlock the door, but Midline shoves me back before I can open it, a low growling warning me not to cross him. But when he cautiously opens the door, nothing comes out after us but a wave of acrid body odor.

Midline enters first. I listen for Jersey's indignant cry at the invasion, but the only voice is Midline's.

“Sarah, come quick.”

I hurry in, knowing that the others follow. Midline motions me to a side door and steps back to let me pass him. When I cry out, a wordless, inarticulate thing, his hand is on my shoulder and somehow I find in it courage to advance.

Jersey lies sprawled on his bed, sheets and blankets neatly folded over a chest that no longer rises or falls. His eyes are closed, but I doubt that his death was peaceful, for his expression is twisted in a rictus of dismay.

On the bedside table are a few sheets of paper and a computer disk. As I bend to touch Jersey, as if somehow I can change what has happened, I see an ampule and an injector on the floor.

“C'mon, Sarah, you can't help him,” Midline says, then his hand leaves my shoulder. “Hey, these got your name on them!”

I straighten then with a first and last kiss for Jersey. Midline has gathered the papers and disk and handed them to Abalone.

I look down. “Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

Then I leave, ignoring the others' comforting gestures, running as soon as I reach the hallway. When we reach the room the Pack is using as a command center, only Head Wolf, Margarita, and Edelweiss remain. A kit bag leans against Margarita's leg and she holds my aquarium clasped in her arms.

She shrugs. “The Wolf let me get my stuff and I grabbed this from your room. Not even a carp deserves to starve to death.”

I motion as if to take that tank and she seems pleased. “You want it? Good. Think of me sometime.”

“Naked I came into the world,” I answer. “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

When we get to the outer door, Margarita turns with a wave and climbs aboard a small grav cycle.

“Better than severance pay,” she says, then is gone.

The rest of us pile into a somewhat more cumbersome van. Peep raises us and sets a course, then he turns to us.

“I redid her vehicle registration,” he says with a shy smile. “She can sell it with a clear record whenever she wants to.”

Tense silence falls then, as if quiet will help make certain that we can get safely away. Only when we are out of the tropical zone completely does Professor Isabella recall the papers that Abalone still clutches.

“Sarah, may I see what Jersey left you?” she asks.

I nod, inordinately pleased that she has asked since she knows that I cannot read. Abalone hands them over and Professor Isabella skims them, her eyebrows rising slightly as she does.

“Sarah, do you wish to hear these now or later?”

I shrug, gesturing at those in the van. “We be of one blood, ye and I.”

She nods and clears her throat. “Sarey, I thought a great deal about what you told me in the Comp-C and I've gotten a message out. If there are people looking for you as good as that girl you mentioned, they'll find you.”

Abalone grunts as if acknowledging the compliment, but she looks puzzled, too. Professor Isabella goes on with the letter.

“I thought that my link wasn't detected, but I find I'm locked into my room—mechanically, so I can't override. What I told you about me is true, Sarey. I'm an addict and if they don't come with my fix, I'll start dying—have a breakdown first, though. So, when I know there's no coming back for me, I'll finish myself. The computers I built up in the Comp-C were a great idea, but I wish now I'd never pulled it off.

“The data disk contains what information I could scrounge on my employers. It also has what dirt I could find on Dr. Aldrich. That one scares me more than Dr. Haas—I don't think he even sees you as a person. Maybe this information will help you to stay clear once you get out of here.

“If I don't get to tell you myself, I'm rooting for you, and it was real nice talking to you. Yours, Jersey.”

Silence holds for a moment after Professor Isabella finishes, then Head Wolf asks softly, “He could talk to you?”

I nod, unwilling and glad to be unable to explain.

Head Wolf seems to appreciate that I have reasons for my silence.

“Lucky man,” he says. “We'll keep you safe now, all of us.”

“We've got a new Jungle now, Sarah,” Abalone says, bouncing a bit, “better than the Cold Lairs under the highway. You'll see. Bet you'll like it.”

I smile slightly.

“Sarah,” Professor Isabella asks, her curiosity digging for the final pieces of the puzzle. “Did you ever find out about your brother and sister?”

I look at her, then pull Betwixt and Between close. “I am a brother to dragons, a companion to owls.”

And that's all there really is to say.

B
UT, OF COURSE, THAT'S NOT
.

Head Wolf may be willing to leave unanswered the questions raised by Jersey's letter, but Abalone is all mongoose—eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity—and Professor Isabella isn't any better. Abalone saw enough of Jersey's office to have an idea of what he was doing with the Comp-C. Now she wants to recreate it.

I'm not so certain. I miss talking. I dream of conversations as once I dreamed of freedom. Yet, I am haunted by Jersey's swollen corpse, a specter that reminds me of the price I would pay for speech. Nor can I forget that the price would not be mine alone to pay, but would be extracted from any who gave in to the temptation to join me.

Still, despite my lack of enthusiasm, Abalone's pride has been piqued by Jersey's achievement. She delves into the library banks of a dozen networks, copying every article that he ever published, no matter what the subject.

“Weird man, your friend Jersey,” she says, rubbing her eyes as she looks up from her tappety-tap. “I sure wish you hadn't busted up his machine.”

“Veni, vidi, vici,”
I reply, more calmly than I feel.

“What did you conquer?” she says with frustration. “I understand that there were drawbacks to his system, but I'm sure I could have worked them out.”

“I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound into saucy doubts and fears,” I answer.

“You doubt it?” She tries to smile and fails. “Sarah, don't you wish that you could just tell me what you want without all this roundabout hunting for words?”

“Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise.” I pat her hand, pushing her tappety-tap away, offering her pipe.

“You really don't want me messing with this, do you?” she says, accepting the pipe. “Grab the dragon and come outside.”

Our new Jungle is a burned-out high-rise which Head Wolf has outfitted with a new Web. Where a solid fragment of floor remains, Professor Isabella has set up her own residence, claiming that she is too old for ropes and hammocks. The Free People no longer rate her as one of the Tabaqui, not since she helped to free both Head Wolf and me. Since she refuses to let Head Wolf direct her, she is called Wontolla, the Outlier, and everyone is content.

When we pass by, she makes her way to join us.

“Going out for some air? Good, Abalone is looking pale. Some moonlight will do her good.”

“Very funny.”

Edelweiss smiles and waves as we head out. She's no longer antagonistic toward me, but she's still happier to see me heading out. Most of the other Free People are hunting.

We amble to a park that is little more than the overgrown rubble of a building destroyed in the same fire as our own Jungle. As we settle among the weeds and vines, Abalone distractedly draws her pipe to life.

“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,” I comment, pointing upward, “wi' the auld moon in hir arms.”

“Pretty,” Professor Isabella replies. “Abalone, relax and take a look around. You're too quiet, child.”

Abalone leans back against a bit of shattered cinder block and looks at the sky. Her smoke rings drift to join Athena, who snaps at them in lieu of moths. In my shoulder bag, Betwixt and Between grumble to each other about the possibility of a late-night snack.

“I'm a mess over Jersey's project,” Abalone admits. “I've scrounged for every article I can, cross-referenced, plowed into obscure databases, and yet…”

“You do your job too well, Boca Blue,” comes a voice from the darkness, “and now they looking for you. And for her.”

Margarita steps out to where we can see her. She's dressed in a grey coverall that whispers uniform, but her sidearm is holstered and her smile is friendly.

“Hey, Sarah,” she says, “bet you not plan on seeing me again. How's the fish?”

“Oh health! health! The blessing of the rich!” I reply, miming a swimming fish with one hand.

“It's fine,” Abalone interprets dryly, “but I doubt that
you hunted us out to find out about Sarah's goldfish. Why are you here?”

“And how did you ever find us?” Professor Isabella adds.

“That's what I was trying to tell you,” Margarita says, “before I stop to say ‘hi' to my
amiga
. You've looked too hard after Jersey's stuff, Boca Blue, and now the Institute has got a line on you and they're going to use it to reel Sarah in.”

I shrink back, my gaze darting into suddenly unfriendly shadows. In response to my fear, Athena wings out to survey the area.

“Easy,
chica
,” Margarita soothes, “I'm more than a jump ahead of them, this time. You've got a day, maybe two before they come to take you. Plenty of time to get away.”

“How did you learn this?” Abalone says suspiciously. “When we saw you last, you were running as fast as you could.”

“
Sí
, I was running—or flying—but the money I made selling the bike gave me the means to clear my name”—she grins—“or at least to get the ears of the right people. I have a new employer who has set me to watch the old.”

“And while you were watching,” Professor Isabella prompts, “what did you learn?”

“Sarah probably couldn't tell you, but the Institute was being funded by an…economic concern called Ailanthus. They were using Sarah's talents, and those of her brother before that, to steal information that couldn't be had any other way.”

“Yeah, we had some idea from Jersey's letter,” Abalone
says, “but clearly we didn't understand just how things were.”

“The Ailanthus company is run by dangerous people, who like getting their own way, but that don't mean that they're stupid.”

Margarita perches on a rubble heap. “They've had people checking to see if anyone was showing too much interest in Jersey's research. Kinda a long shot, but they figured that the people who took Sarah might also be interested in talking with her.”

“And then from that they were able to trace back to her,” Professor Isabella says. “They won't stop, will they?”

“No. What she can do is worth too much money.”

I listen, my illusion of safety shattered again. Yet, I am a different person than the woman who was sent away from the Home, a different person even from the one who surrendered to let her friends escape. I may be insane, but I value my freedom, and, Jersey was right, I do value being in control of myself.

“We'll have to hide her again,” Abalone says, “maybe even fake her death. I can give up my research for now and pick it up once the heat is off. Wouldn't make much sense to push it if Sarah isn't around to share.”

“We could go to the countryside,” Professor Isabella says, “or perhaps back to the apartment near the park.”

I put my hand on her arm, shaking my head in blunt refusal.

“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”

“Sarah, what are you saying?” Abalone says. “We aren't running 'cause we're chicken. We're running to save you.”

Again, I shake my head.

“Why should there be such turmoil and such strife, to spin in length this feeble line of life?”

“Sarah! You can't mean to kill yourself.” Abalone turns pale beneath her paint. “That's craziness.”

Weary with hunting for words, again I shake my head. Hearing my dragons sigh with relief, I lower my hand to scratch their heads as I search for a way to make my meaning clear.

“When the blandishments of life are gone, the coward sneaks to death,” I reply at last.

“And you're not a coward,” Abalone says. “Right, Sarah?”

I smile and Athena comes back to my shoulder. She bites my knuckle affectionately and reassures me that, for now, the night still belongs to us. The wind through the park ruffles my too-short hair, forcibly reminding me of my captivity.

“I have not yet begun to fight,” I state firmly, my jaw set against any further protest.

“Fight!” Margarita says, her brown eyes wide with shock.

“What else can she mean?” Professor Isabella says. “She refuses to run and she certainly won't volunteer to return to those horrendous people.”

I nod vehement agreement.

“What good will going after their mercenaries do?” Margarita asks. “That's all they'll send after her and there are always more to be bought. Your wolfy people won't last against them, even with the choice of battlefield.”

“Into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred,” I say.

“Six hundred? We're not six hundred.” Then understanding awakens on Abalone's face. “Oh, you mean that we should take the fight to them.”

I nod. “But be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.”

“Oh, my,” Professor Isabella says. “Yet, this may be the way to end this madness, a strike into their black hearts.”

“Black?” Margarita shakes her head. “No,
señora
. There's nothing as clean as blackness in their hearts. They're a messed-up swirling of all the colors of banknotes; the power at their heart is only what they can buy.”

“We have no idea where they are or what defenses they might have or anything at all,” Abalone says, but from how she toys with her pipestem I can see that she is merely listing research points, not admitting defeat.

“Some of this I may be able to give you,” Margarita says after a thoughtful pause.

“No, we cannot expect you to risk your job,” Professor Isabella says. “You have already given us a warning.”

“She,” Margarita says, touching my arm, “gave me my life. I want to do this thing and give her a chance to have her own.”

I smile.
“Amiga, gracias.”

“Well.” Abalone rises. “As Sarah would say, ‘If it were done 'tis best it is done quickly.'”

“Isn't that from
Macbeth
?” Professor Isabella asks with a wry smile.

“Maybe once, but it's Sarah's now.” Abalone turns to Margarita. “Are you free tonight?”

“And tomorrow,” she replies. “I am visiting my sister and little niece and they will cover for me if anyone asks questions.”

“Good,” Abalone says. “Let's go to one of my safe houses and start planning. Best to bring this to Head Wolf as a reasoned-through plan rather than asking for support without an idea of what we'll need.”

I nod agreement, but as I trail them to the hotel room, I resolve that support or no support, I will carry this through.

The conference proceeds smoothly—I realize that we are becoming something of old hands at this and that Ailanthus owes itself for our training. Margarita rattles off information which Abalone files. I know my Baloo well enough to realize that nothing will be taken on faith, but she has sense enough not to start cross-checking in front of our guest.

“Now, we've decided that you want the building where Dr. Aldrich has been set up. It will do you good—he stays there and does his work there and keeps his records there. The impression I got is that he is under sort of house arrest, maybe because he lost Sarah,” Margarita says. “Not so good is that he is there because the building is in a well-guarded complex. There are a whole lotta sensors—heat and motion and plain old video. Human guards roam the place and some of them have dogs.”

“Ouch,” Abalone says, wrapping a fiery lock around her index finger. “Not very hopeful—rules out any frontal assault.”

“Well, there is a bright spot,” Margarita says. “The big
shots, they don't want to have to deal with all that every time they come to work, so there is a way in that all you need are pass codes and prints for fingers, eyes, and voice. Then you take a capsule trolley to whatever building you want and never cross the grounds.”

“I may be able to do something about prints,” Abalone says slowly. “Can you get us the codes?”

“They're changed on an erratic schedule,” Margarita says. “You couldn't count on what I got for you being right. Sometimes they change every week, other times every couple of days, sometimes every couple of hours. The Security Chief didn't want to set up this entrance at all, so he's a bastard about avoiding patterns that could make it easier to get in.”

“Clever,” Professor Isabella says, looking up from the volume of Sun-tzu that she's been reading.

“We may have to blow the doors,” Abalone growls, “and that means giving up any chance of getting in unnoticed.”

Margarita looks surprised. “Hey, aren't you forgetting Sarah?”

Abalone tilts her head in puzzlement. “Sarah? She can't read or even tell left from right all of the time.”

“Yeah, but things talk to her. She's the sweetest little codebreaker in the world.” Margarita wags a finger. “What you think they were using her for or why they so hot to get her back?”

“I…I didn't think,” Abalone admits. “I knew, but I didn't think. I'm so used to looking out for her that I forgot what she can do.”

Betwixt and Between blow her a Bronx cheer—in duet,
but I am content to look smug. Then uncertainty seizes me. What if I can't do it? What if the lock is impersonal or has nothing to tell me?

Tentatively, I stretch my senses in a way I have not since Betwixt and Between first mentioned Dylan in my presence, but now there is a difference. Then I was not aware of my talent; now I know of it and to some extent have trained it. Within me, I turn a dial, move an imaginary volume control.

First, I hear only Betwixt and Between squabbling amiably with each other over some oatmeal cookie crumbs. Athena is asleep with her head beneath her wing and I can hear the rise and fall of her breath.

Turning up the imaginary volume, I hear Abalone's tappety-tap coaching her through a data heist. Louder still and Sun-tzu's words rise from the tattered book that Professor Isabella drowses over. Margarita's uniform giggles with pleasure over the kevlar threads in the apparently soft weave and her concealed sidearm announces its patient presence, as does the wicked tempered stiletto in her boot top.