Crash Cogburn
by
Richard Alan Dickson
Published by Grey Cat Press
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 © Richard Alan Dickson
Discover other titles by Richard Alan Dickson at Smashwords.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
* * *
Table of Contents
Other Titles by Richard Alan Dickson
Bonus: A Sneak Peek at the novel "Diver Down!"
* * *
by
Richard Alan Dickson
Prolog
A bitter haze hung low over the battlefield, thick and gray in the pre-dawn light. More smoke than fog, it flowed over the twitching shoulders of the once mighty war dragons lying broken on the ground. Drifting slowly through a forest of shattered lances littering the grassy English hillside, the ghostly shroud covered scores of armor-clad bodies—a fitting end for the last desperate charge of the gallant and weary knights.
It was over now. The clash of steel and claw had fallen silent, except for the echoes that rang through the ears of the few stunned survivors holding vigil over their fallen comrades while waiting to greet the morning sun.
They'd won the battle at a terrible price.
None realized how badly they'd lost the war.
On another battlefield in a forest clearing a short distance away—the true battlefield—a powerful figure in fearsome armor of red and black held a man in a simple brown smock by the throat. With little effort, the warrior lifted the former wizard high into the air. A moment later, tendrils of glowing blue energy leached out through the victim's vacant eyes.
Breathing deeply, the Warlord of Valholl fed on the spoils of victory, consuming the mystic powers of the last remaining wizard on the planet known by some of its inhabitants as the Earth.
Three captains knelt at the Warlord's feet, heads bowed and awaiting his pleasure. Each had a hand in the night's victory, and each had served faithfully for centuries, but the Warlord's mood was a fickle thing. Length of service meant absolutely nothing to the supreme power in the universe.
Bountiful harvests were rewarded.
Meager conquests were punished.
Unfortunately, none but the Warlord knew which it would be until after the final battle was over and the last wizard was drained. Each captain knew that some of the best prospects turned out to be the worst failures. The Earth had certainly shown great promise, but the simple fact that the Warlord hadn't spoken since his arrival suggested he was not happy.
"More."
Lifting his head, the Warlord negligently tossed the human husk aside, adding it to a small stack of other mages and acolytes at the edge of the clearing. Taking a step forward, he loomed over his henchmen.
"I must have more."
Behind the Warlord, a dark-haired woman in a red and black gown guarded a swirling red vortex—the energy gateway created by the Warlord to bring his army to the Earth. Arms crossed at her chest, she smirked down at the captains, holding herself aloof as she enjoyed their discomfort.
"Um... that's it, my Lord," the middle captain said, his forehead tight to the ground. "These were the last of the sorcerers. There are no more."
The Warlord's voice was dreadfully quiet, yet it carried through the clearing. "I'd hoped that I was wrong, impossible as that would have been. You were sent out to find a feast. You brought me to this pitiful planet, instead. You have failed me Raynar. You have all failed me."
Turning on his heel, the Warlord marched toward the gateway, leaving his captains kneeling on the battlefield. He'd used far more magical energy in opening the gate and transporting his forces to Earth than he'd gained from his tiny snack. He'd be hungry for centuries.
The Warlord of Valholl brushed past the still smirking sorceress. As she turned to follow, she bumped into an invisible barrier and fell backward onto the ground. Blinking her confusion, the sorceress stared up at his back in growing disbelief.
She'd had little to do with the planet's conquest. The Warlord, however, was not in a forgiving mood.
"I said, you have all failed me."
Resuming his march, he stepped through the portal. With a sound like tearing cloth splitting the early-morning air, the portal shrank behind him to a mere pinprick of light. Then, it disappeared.
"Guess someone's not his favorite, anymore," Raynar chuckled.
The sorceress known to her peers as Morgan le Fey continued to stare after the vanished gateway as the cruel laughter and spiteful comments continued—most coming from the captain on the right, and much of that containing barely concealed innuendo.
"Yeah, looks like the Warlord finally wore out her welcome, as well as other things, I would imagine."
Morgan's face slowly flamed red.
Her jaw hardened.
Frosty, her eyes went flat.
"Would you care to repeat that, Nikolai?" she asked in a voice even more quiet than the Warlord's.
The laughter abruptly died away.
Silence returned to the clearing, a silence that was matched at the other battlefield, where a few gallant survivors destined to recount an inaccurate history of the night's events continued to hold vigil and await the morning sun.
Chapter One
Jason Cogburn worked his fingers out of his VR gloves and slid his VR goggles up onto his forehead. Reaching up, he pulled the lever hanging down from the ceiling to lock the flat trackball flooring beneath his feet into place. The lighting came up in the room—a black cubicle ten feet on each side and at least twelve feet tall.
With the tug of the lever, the room reset itself for the next gamer. The overhead heat lamp that simulated the feel of the sun within the game powered down, the wall vents creating the woodland breeze squeaked shut, and hidden speakers began playing a cheesy muzak—a mix of woodwinds piping out a bouncing melody that sounded a lot like laughter.
With a heavy sigh, Jason shook his head.
It was a fitting tribute.
Some magician he'd turned out to be.
After spending the time to walk across town, pay his twenty bucks, log into the game, wait in the lobby for an empty room, and strap into his virtual reality gear, he'd hoped to be playing for the rest of the morning. He'd barely lasted long enough to settle into his gear.
Just once, he'd like to leave the Lair in triumph.
Was that too much to ask?
Popping the quick-release latch on his chest, Jason slipped out of the five-point harness that still supported most of his weight and stepped down onto the floor. He didn't even want to think about looking at his score on his way out the door. He'd never died so fast in his entire life. It had to be a new Lair record.
With a disappointed frown, Jason shrugged out of the VR coveralls and hung them up for the next player to use. Snagging his red windbreaker from the hook, he zipped it over the yellow sweatshirt that hadn't smelled too dirty when he'd thrown it on, slapped some dirt off the worn jeans that hadn't been too deeply wrinkled, and headed for the door.
He had a long wait for his friends.
An average game lasted about two hours.
He'd died after just ten minutes.
"I should have stayed in bed."
#
Lucinda's Lair was a video game center in the middle of Seattle catering to all types of gamers, from the casual quarter-carrying lunch-hour businessman to the after-school teenager looking for a place to hang out. For the more dedicated players, however—like Jason and his friends—the Lair also provided a bigger challenge: Massively Multiplayer Virtual Reality Role Playing Games, the ultimate evolution of the popular online MMORPG's of the previous decade.
Thousands of kids in centers scattered throughout the country played in the same virtual medieval fantasy world. There were thousands of chances to meet new friends, thousands of chances to make new enemies...
Thousands of chances for new ways to die.
"I'm not sure why you're so depressed, Jase," Troy said to Jason a short time later. "We won, didn't we? It was a slaughter."
"Without my help," Jason complained. Actually, in spite of his help would have been more like it. He'd glanced at the scoreboard on the wall as he left the gaming lounge on his way to the Lair's tiny cafeteria.
He'd finished with negative points.
He hadn't even heard of negative points.
He could have earned a higher score by staying at the base camp and taking a nap while everyone else went out on the mission.
"Nonsense, Jase. We're a team, like those three musketeers. When one wins, we all win."
"Troy's right," Emily told him. "Don't be silly."
"Yeah, well there were four musketeers, and none of them made a habit of dying every week," Jason said, snatching his paper cup from the table and leaning back in his chair—a flimsy little aluminum and plastic job just like the rest of the chairs in the small cafeteria.
Sticking the straw between his lips, he sucked—squirting the flat cola through the gap in his front teeth.
He sucked here in the cafeteria.
He sucked there in the game.
Maybe this was just his day for sucking.
Troy rolled his eyes from across the table. Snagging the last slice of pizza from his paper plate, he popped it in his mouth in one bite.
Troy was one of the bigger kids at Seattle Central High. He had an appetite to match. He could have been a football star at any school in the state. He had a hard jaw, wide cheeks and a heavy forehead, with short blond hair and hazel eyes.
Today, Troy wore black jeans and white tennis shoes, along with a blue Seahawks jersey—number eighty, in honor of his hero: a go-to guy who'd always managed to get the job done, unlike the whiners on the high school's losing football team.
Troy didn't care about winning or losing, but he hated whiners.
"Let him whine, Em," Troy said through a full mouth as he was chewing. "The noise will eventually hurt his ears."
"I'm not whining," Jason whined. "It should have worked, that's all."
Troy finished chewing and wiped his hands on his pant legs. "Well, then, what happened? I was kind of busy and didn't get a chance to see it."
Jason tried to explain what happened. Lately, his gloves had been fighting him. They made his fingers do the wrong things, messing up all his spells... detonating fireballs six feet in front of his face, rather than sixty yards downrange.
He opened his mouth a few times, but kept shutting it like a fish out of water as he searched for words that wouldn't sound like he was blaming his gear for his mistakes. In the end, he gave up. Anything he said would just sound like more whining.
"I guess I need more practice."
"Practice ain't the problem, Jase. I promise you that. Have you ever considered something that doesn't involve all that finger wiggling?"
Troy didn't think much of traditional magicians. He played a battle mage within the game, ignoring the art of casting spells by using an enchanted staff to spray fireballs across the battlefield like some gangster in an old movie, Tommy Gun blazing away at his hip.
"I seem to get by without spells," Emily agreed. The tall brunette was fast becoming one of the most notorious assassins in the game, specializing in taking out enemy magicians.
"I wasn't suggesting that you swear off magic, entirely. Just stick with the basics. You know," he added with a grin," like that ancient philosopher once said, all you need for some serious fun is a good blaster at your side."
"That's not what he said," Jason snorted, remembering Han Solo in that old Star Wars movie—the one before they tried to make it look like Han didn't shoot first. It was a ridiculous idea. People who enjoyed their blasters always shot first.
"Whatever," Troy said, waving aside the comment. "The point is that it's not about practice. It's about fun. You're not having fun playing the game as a magic user. Try something else. Besides, nobody wastes twenty bucks for a room just to practice."
"Nobody gets negative scores, either."
"I give up," Troy said. "You talk to him, Em."
"I'm not getting involved in this," Emily said, shaking her head and emphasizing her decision by standing and gliding gracefully through the maze of tables in the middle of the room to the vending machines on the other side. Weekdays after school, she'd have had to stand in line at the machines. This early on a Sunday morning, Troy and his microwave pizza had been the cafeteria's only customer.
"Coward," Troy muttered.
There might have been a smirk as Emily adjusted her studded leather belt and black tee-shirt at the machine. She was like that. As the rest of her friends blossomed, she'd developed a wry humor and her own style, which was fine with Jason. They'd all been friends a long time. He was more comfortable with her in dark jeans, hiking boots, and shaggy hair than he'd ever be with her parading around in big hair, heels, and a frilly pink dress.
An orange door slammed open out in the hallway behind them. A dozen players filed out of the gaming lobby and past the entrance to the cafeteria. Four of them did a double take when they saw Jason.
"Hey, there he is!" the leader of the little gang called out. He was a small kid dressed much the same as Jason, with the same red hair and freckles, too. In the game, he was known as Sticks. Jason didn't know the kids behind him—the one in the center or the twins on the ends—but their button-down shirts and smug expressions told him all he needed to know.
"Hey, Crash," Sticks called out, "I like the negative score. It suits you, man. Keep up the good work."
Jason's neck reddened to match his hair. The tips of his ears flamed. He dropped his eyes to the table and stuck the straw in his mouth, nursing the last of his cola as he pointedly ignored Sticks and his stuck-up friends.
"At least we can see how you earned your nickname," Sticks added. "I swear, those mental cogs of yours really froze up today, didn't they?"
"Yeah," Center Kid added. "He crashes. He burns. Look fast. There goes Crash Cogburn!"
"You'll have to do something about that one of these days," Troy told him as the four slapped each other on the backs and wandered off, laughing at their little joke.
"Ignore them, Jason," Emily said, suddenly appearing at his side. "They didn't last much longer than you. I smoked the twins while they were arguing about whether to go to the country club or take a ride on their boat this afternoon. Martin fried the third guy in one of his nasty little fire traps. As usual, Sticks screamed and ran away."
"You didn't want anything to eat, Em?" Troy asked, noting that she'd come back from the vending machines empty handed.
"I'm not in the mood for pretzels," she said, making a face. "I was thinking about fish and chips down at the waterfront."
"Count me in," Troy replied.
"You just had a whole pizza."
Troy shrugged. "It was a small."
Rolling her eyes, Emily turned to Jason. "How about you?"
Jason shook his head. "Nah. I'll stick around here for a while. Maybe I'll wander out front and play some games that don't shoot back," he said, but his eyes flicked to the orange door leading back to the gaming lounge.
"Give it a rest, Jase! You don't need more practice. It's just a game."
Jason protested that he'd been thinking nothing of the sort... that he just wanted to blow off steam and pound on some simple games—something he still did pretty well. Troy's eyes said he didn't buy it, but Emily's rumbling stomach settled the issue.
Rising, Troy followed Emily out of the cafeteria, but he glanced back long enough to wag a warning finger at Jason before leaving.
"No more practice," he said. "Go play. Have fun."
"I promise," Jason said, but he only voiced half the promise aloud. His full promise was to never again end up with a negative score, no matter how much practice that might take.
He waited five minutes before leaving, just in case they came back to check on him. Then, Jason Cogburn crossed the room and disappeared through the orange door.
Chapter Two
Jason rechecked the number on his gaming receipt—number sixteen. It matched the number above the gunmetal gray door set into the back wall of the Lair, but there had to be a mistake. The VR rooms were stacked in a honeycomb three stories high in the middle of the floor behind him, each identified by a triple-digit number beginning with the floor number—one through three—and each accessed through a latticework of catwalks and steel stairs. He'd never heard of rooms beginning with zero, and he'd certainly never seen any gamers going through a door in the back wall.
It looked like a metal closet door, but maybe it led to a practice room. That might explain why it was off to the side of the main complex, and why he'd never seen anyone go inside. Like Troy said, nobody ever paid twenty bucks just to practice...
But then, why only one door when the wall had room for more, and why the number sixteen?
Stepping inside, Jason let the door close behind him. A metallic clank echoed through a darkened corridor in front of him. It was fairly modern, with gray indoor-outdoor carpeting and a space-station feel. Smoked glass lined the two walls, which were a little too close to be comfortable. A smooth gray paint had been applied to the low ceiling. The only lighting came from a track of neon blue light at the base of the left-hand wall.
It wasn't the VR room he'd been expecting, but Jason started forward just the same, hoping he'd find his room around the corner up ahead.
The corridor curved to the right and began spiraling down. Jason's nose twitched and he sneezed. In the blue gloom, the gray carpet didn't look new, but the corridor was thick with the dry, new-carpet smell that always burned his nose and gave him a headache. He hoped the room wasn't much further. It was bad enough to blow another twenty bucks just to practice. He wasn't looking forward to doing it with a headache.
After a few minutes of spiraling downward, the corridor ended at another metal door that opened out onto a steel catwalk fastened to the wall of a huge room. The rattle of an air conditioner echoed hollowly overhead, but the unit itself was lost in the glare of the halogen lights that shined down to illuminate a sunken floor that stretched for fifty yards in each direction twenty feet below the catwalk.
In the middle of the room down there beneath the lights, four kids stood easy and chatted quietly, waiting for something or someone.
"So, you're the one," a female voice remarked, coming from about ten feet to his left.
Jason's head snapped up and he turned. He hadn't seen anyone standing there when he'd come through the door, which was hard to believe because the person in front of him should have been impossible to miss.
She was tall and thin, nearly regal in a long blue gown that was belted at the waist. Silver hair flowed down her back. Her skin was pale, almost creamy, and her eyes sparkled with an electric blue that made his own eyes suddenly flick away.
"You're a funny one," she laughed.
Jason shrugged, not knowing what to say.
Unlike Troy, he'd never been comfortable talking to pretty girls; and even if she was a few years older and no longer technically a girl, the young woman in front of him was a very pretty girl.
"Thank you," he finally managed, proud that his voice didn't crack and pleased that he'd found the courage to answer. He even tried a smile, growing more comfortable when she returned it, but then his world shattered.
"You're the one who got the negative score this morning, right? Aren't you Jason Cogburn?"
Jason's ears reddened and his ears burned.
So much for impressing the ladies.
"You heard about that, huh?"
"Of course," she laughed. "I'm Lucinda. I know everything that happens here. This is my place. I am Mistress of the Lair."
"No way," Jason blurted before he could stop himself. He tried to keep his eyes from going round. This girl couldn't be Lucinda; Lucinda would be... old.
"Way," the young woman laughed again. Then, gliding toward him across the catwalk without making a sound, she took his hand and led him back to a stairwell at the far end. One way spiraled up to a door near the ceiling, but they didn't go that direction.
"It was bravely done," she told him as they descended the stairs to the floor below. "You passed the test."
"Test? I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake. I'm not here for any test. I just came to practice."
Lucinda laughed again, tugging him forward across the floor.
Pretty or not, Lucinda's laughter was starting to make him nervous, especially after he noticed that only one of the kids up ahead was dressed in normal clothes. The rest were hard-core gamers... people his father would have called nut jobs. Jason liked the game as much as the next guy, but the other three wore outfits identical to their favorite characters.
Exactly what had he gotten himself into this time?
If he hurried, perhaps he wouldn't be too late for fish and chips, after all.
#
The first of the four gamers Jason met was Bruce. He was the biggest—the one dressed as the warrior. His leather pants and chain mail shirt looked very similar to the outfit Troy wore inside the game. He had a stern face, with brown hair parted at the side and a scar running down his left cheek. He also had a massive sword strapped down the center of his back—a three-foot blade with a glittering crystal pommel sticking up over his head.
"Nice, um... nice rig," Jason said when Lucinda introduced them.
"You'll understand in a few minutes." Bruce told him with a nod, shaking his hand. It was an odd reply, but Jason was pretty sure that odd was exactly what he should expect from this quintet... Lucinda included.
"And this is Paul," Lucinda said, turning to the archer in the green leathers. A pair of green eyes and a wisp of blond hair peeked out from the shadows of his jacket's oversized hood. The fletching from a dozen arrows stuck up from behind each shoulder blade. He held a black compound bow in his left hand and waved an easy greeting with his right.
Anna, the third person Lucinda introduced, was the scariest of the bunch. She was dressed as an assassin, wearing black leather pants, soft black shoes, a black tunic, and a black mask that hid the lower half of her face. A double bandolier of throwing knives crossed her chest, with four black metal throwing stars fastened to the outside of each sleeve.
Her gray eyes were hard, and the flat look she flashed his way as she said, "Charmed," suggested that she was anything but.
The last member of the group was smaller than the rest, nearly a foot shorter than Jason. His street clothes consisted of green tennis shoes, blue jeans, and an orange tee shirt. In his hand, he carried two pairs of VR goggles, a set of VR gloves, and a belt pack.
"I'm Steven. Lucinda says you're the guy who tried my spell."
"Your spell?" Jason pulled his eyes away from Anna and took a good look at Steven. His thin arms and the way his high voice hadn't yet changed said he was about eleven years old, twelve tops. He was barely old enough to even play the game, let alone invent spells.
"Yeah, the cold blast that backfired and blew you out of the game. I'm the one who invented it." Then, noting Jason's skeptical look, he added, "What? Don't let the size fool you. I'm a pretty fair magician."
"If you say so," Jason said, deciding to humor the kid. "It was a nice spell, even if it didn't work out. I'm sure I'll get it next time."
Steven held out the VR gear. "Why not now?"
"Come again?" Jason asked, confused.
"Try it now," Steven nodded. "You came here to practice, right? That's how you logged the room, at least. What better way to practice than with a little personal coaching from the spell's creator?"
Jason looked at Lucinda, who nodded encouragingly. The others looked on with various expressions of bored indifference, but nobody else said a word. Apparently, Jason wasn't going to find out what was going on down here until he humored the kid.
"All right," he said, taking the power pack and strapping it to his waist. "Let's get this over with."
Jason slipped into the gloves while Steven helped him plug the leads into the power pack, along with the leads from both of their goggles. Then, pointing to the far wall, Steven slid the extra set of goggles over his eyes and stepped back to give Jason enough room to work.
"No pressure," Jason said to himself.
Taking a few calming breaths and wiggling his fingers, he settled the gloves firmly in place. Ignoring the others, he dropped his own goggles over his eyes and prepared for the show.
...but nothing happened.
Usually, the scene changed once he donned his goggles... a quaint countryside... a medieval courtyard... an isolated target range... something. This time, he continued to stare at a blank wall.
"Is this thing on?" he asked, reaching to his belt and flipping the power button a few times.
"I didn't program any scenery," Steven's calm voice replied. "I just want to watch the way you move through the spell. If you need a target, use your imagination."
Jason shook his head, sure that he was going to be the butt of some kind of joke. This was certainly the day for it. Nothing had gone right since the moment he got out of bed. But...
"When in Rome," he muttered.
Cupping his hands, Jason dropped them to his right hip and began working the spell. He'd rehearsed it many times at home, so his fingers flew through the knots that were supposed to twine the strands of invisible energy into a sudden blast of frozen air...
But as he worked the spell, an unexpected chill swept up his back and the taste of electricity came to his tongue.
Something was definitely wrong.
His fingers slowed.
"Did you do something to these goggles?" he asked, suddenly wary and wondering how badly he'd get burned if the power pack shorted out.
"Never mind that," Steven barked. "Finish it."
"I want to know—"
"Do it!" Steven roared in his ear. "Now!"
The urgent tone told him not to argue.
Making the last finger motions and feeling the tingle swim up his back like a school of wriggling goldfish, Jason hurried to finish the spell and rip off the goggles before they shorted out and burned his skin.
Lifting his foot, he stomped forward and pushed out his hands, ending the spell. The icy tingle that had been building reversed itself, suddenly racing down through his stomping foot and into the ground.
As if in reply, a white-hot fire charged back up through the floor, burning his spine and shooting out along his outstretched arms.
Jason cried out, stiffening his arms out of reflex.
Turning his head, he closed his eyes.
A blast of cold flew from his cupped hands to slam into the wall, ringing the chamber like a huge bell from the heavy impact. The energy had burned like fire, but the shockwave bouncing back from the wall carried a frigid gust that nearly froze the side of his face.
Exhausted, Jason wobbled on his feet.
Bruce was suddenly there, easing him to the floor.
"What was that?" Jason demanded when his mouth started working again, lifting the goggles from his head and dropping them to the floor.
Steven snorted, his lip curling. "A pretty miserable excuse for an ice bolt, if you ask me. In the future, don't interrupt your spells. That's a really bad idea. And keep your eyes open. I swear. If you're aiming at nothing, that's exactly what you'll hit."
"A moment ago, you asked if this thing was on," Lucinda reminded him, unbuckling his battery pack and working the latch to free the cover. She held it out so he could see inside the empty chamber. "No, Jason, it is not on... not in the way you've been led to believe. Everything you've been taught until now is a clever deception—history's biggest lie. Magic is not the myth you've been told. Magic exists."
"Excuse me?" Jason asked, not quite certain that he'd heard her correctly, but Lucinda promptly assured him that he had.
"Magic is real," she repeated. Then, she dropped the real bomb shell. "Science is the lie."
Chapter Three
"Say what?" Jason Cogburn demanded.
He knelt on the floor in the basement of Lucinda's Lair, a virtual reality gaming parlor in the heart of downtown Seattle. He was sweating and exhausted and surrounded by a group of people who took their gaming a little too far, which might have been why the one with the silver hair and dressed as a fairy princess had said such a bizarre thing.
"You heard me, Jason."
"I'm sorry," he told Lucinda, rising to his feet. "Science is real. I know. I got a 'C' in it last quarter at school. Not only that, we see it in action every single day—"
"Do we?" Lucinda sweetly interrupted. "Where, exactly, do we see it?"
"All around us," Jason replied, pointing up. "Lights, for one."
"Electricity heating a filament in a vacuum?"
Jason nodded. "That's it. Science in action."
"I see," Lucinda said, pursing her lips. She walked a slow circle as she considered her words, her blue dress barely fluttering where the hem swept the floor. The four other people in the room were mostly silent, waiting for Lucinda to finish whatever point she was about to make—although Anna may have whispered briefly to Bruce, who may have stifled a reply. It was hard for Jason to tell over the rattle of the air conditioner.
Apparently, however, it was not hard for Lucinda.
"Do the two of you have something to add?"
"No, Lucinda," Anna said, dropping her eyes.
Shaking his head, Bruce agreed.
"Good, then perhaps the two of you would care to get in some sparring practice while the rest of us finish our discussion."
There was a little grumbling, quickly silenced when Lucinda paused to look up. Nodding, the warrior and the assassin turned and jogged deeper into the empty room, with Anna drawing a pair of knives and Bruce freeing the broadsword from the center of his back.
"Blades," Paul called without turning around. The green-clad archer sat on the ground next to Steven, cradling his compound bow and watching Jason struggle to understand the ways in which his world was changing.
"Forget it, Paul," Anna called over her shoulder.
Lucinda nodded. "Good idea. Blades, it is."
This time, there was a definite grumbling. From the far side of their little practice circle, a look of annoyance crossed Bruce's face. Whatever blades meant, it obviously involved a lot more energy than he'd been hoping to expend on the impromptu practice session.
Before Jason could ask, Bruce stared at his sword. The three-foot blade burst into flames.
"Geez!" Jason gasped. "What the hell!"
Anna's arms flicked out to her sides as she dropped into a crouch. A green glow spread the length of the razor-sharp edges of the daggers that she twirled lightly in each hand.
"What is electricity?" Lucinda asked, ignoring both Jason's outburst and the sudden clashing of blades that came from the other side of the room as warrior and assassin charged at each other.
But Jason was having a hard time concentrating on the question. Flailing at each other with flaming swords and razor-sharp daggers went far beyond nuts.
What exactly were they trying to prove?
No matter how he sliced it, there was absolutely no longer any doubt in his mind. He should have gone for fish and chips down on the waterfront with the others.
#
"What is electricity?" Jason repeated, trying to focus on the question.
"Come to think of it, never mind," Lucinda said, withdrawing the question before he had a chance to think of a reply. "I'm sure you'd recite some spiel about charged particles that you've never seen, or perhaps about electron valences that can only be measured with equipment that you don't understand, except in theory. The problem with theory, of course, is that theory was invented as a rationalization to explain unexplainable facts."
"I've seen lightning bolts," Jason said, trying to be equally nonchalant about the battle taking place off to his right, but failing. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce's burning sword flash through a tight figure eight, roaring like a wind-blown fire. The blade missed Anna on its overhand strike, skittering harmlessly off one of her glowing blades on the return stroke.
Anna responded to the charge by spinning as she dropped to the floor, lashing out with the back of her leg to sweep Bruce's feet from beneath him... but he suddenly wasn't there, leaping backward and out of range at the first twist of her shoulders.
"Lightning is a powerful magic," Lucinda agreed, pulling Jason's attention back into the conversation.
"There's nothing magic about lightning," he replied. "It's natural."
Lucinda smiled tolerantly. "True magic is the manipulation of energy. Whether that manipulation occurs within your television set, your car, or all by itself out in the middle of the plains is irrelevant. When energy is manipulated, magic is involved. You see it every day. Modern humans have simply been taught to call it by another name... science, most often."
"If you say so," Jason said, keeping the smile on his face as he took a few unsteady steps to work some life back into his legs. "Look, I gotta go. I got some friends down on the waterfront—"
"What about matchbooks?" she asked, ignoring his efforts to change the subject and leave. "Is that science, or magic?"
"Science, of course."
"You sound so sure, but do you remember striking your first paper match? It didn't work, did it? Your first few matches ended up smeared all over the striker. How would science explain that?"
"That's no great mystery," Jason said, ignoring an evil chuckle from Anna and a quiet curse by Bruce. "I just didn't know how it was done—"
"Science demands that it wouldn't matter. Science relies upon consistency of results, regardless of whether or not a person knows what to expect. Science says matches must ignite whenever the heat of friction is applied to two reactive substances, usually phosphorus and potassium chlorate. There is no choice in the matter. That reaction must occur, yet it didn't.
"In fact, Jason, you didn't believe in your heart that the fire would come, so it didn't. You practiced, however. You watched others and learned. In time, you knew that you couldn't fail. Your mind opened. Now, it's easy. The science of a matchbook is now infallible in your hands, but that's not the way it started. Science can't explain that."
"I've really got to get going—" Jason said, starting for the stairwell.
"Of course, you do," Lucinda said. "Your logical brain isn't willing to face the real question." She again showed him the empty power belt. "Batteries not included, Jason. If science is really running the universe, how were you able to make anything happen, just now? If it was all an illusion of the virtual world, what did you feel traveling through your body?"
"You know about that?"
At this, Paul and Steven chuckled.
"That's the way it works," Steven said. "Picture a magnifying glass. You focus the sunlight on a leaf and make it burn. You're not the source of the energy, but you feel it passing through you. That's why I told you never to stop a spell. I'll give you three guesses where all that focused energy ends up if you do, and it ain't on the leaf."
"Okay, let's say I buy it," Jason told them. "I'm not saying I do, but let's just pretend. Why all the games? Why not come right out and tell people what's going on?"
"Not everyone can do it," Paul replied, fingering his bow. "And some of us are limited. Once the mind gets set in its ways, it's just too hard to believe. As Lucinda said, belief is critical in making magic—"
"Which is why we gave you the VR gloves," Lucinda told him, smoothly interrupting whatever Paul had been about to say. "It was a familiar tool in a familiar place. If you believed you were still operating in a virtual world—a world created and ruled by science—you'd have less difficulty with your first spell. The gloves have other uses, though. They're what we use to tell us who might be ready to peek into the larger world and who should simply be left alone... but you were heading for the door, I believe. You're free to go, or would you like to hear the rest?"
The stairwell beckoned, but Jason suddenly wasn't in a rush. He turned and looked into Lucinda's eyes, seeing no hint of deception. Whether she told the truth or not, she believed that she did.
Behind him, the battle continued. There was more clashing and more banging, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like the slap of the flat of a blade against someone's leather-clad butt.
Anna gave an outraged cry.
Lucinda's lips turned up in a slight smile.
"All right," Jason said. "Let me have the rest. Why me?"
"When players are hooked up to the game, they believe they can cast spells. The VR gloves ensure that never happens by disturbing certain patterns in the nerves. Imagine the difficulty I would have if that little cold blast you'd shot during the game knocked down the side of the building and froze most of Fourth Avenue."
"We do all of our serious practicing down here," Steven added. "It's isolated, underground, and heavily reinforced. But you don't get invited down here until the computer flags you as a serious candidate—"
Jason's eyebrow rose. "The negative score?"
"Precisely," Lucinda told him. "The more often a VR glove needs to interfere with a player's natural impulses, the lower the score. People playing like it's all just some video game, people relying on muscle memory to repeat the same winning combination over and over, those kind of people rack up the points and never suspect the game might be anything else."
"They strut around up there thinking they're the top dogs," Paul chuckled. "We just smile and nod."
"Okay, but... why? I mean, if magic is real and science is fake, that's a pretty big deal. There's got to be more to the secret."
"Agreed, and there is," Lucinda replied, "but that will have to wait. We don't have the time. You don't have the time, rather. Bruce is leading a team on a reconnaissance mission tonight. I think you should join them."
"Now, wait a minute, Lucinda," Bruce said, appearing like magic behind Paul. "He's not trained. The team's already set. We don't have the time or the resources to watch out for some newbie." Realizing what he'd just said, Bruce's eyes flicked down to Jason. "No offense, dude."
"We all have to cut our teeth," Lucinda said. "Give him a chance."
"Bad idea," Anna said from behind her mask.
"Why?" Paul asked. "We aren't expecting any trouble, are we?"
"No more than usual," Steven replied.
"He goes," Lucinda said, a note of finality in her voice. "You still have a few hours before dark. Suit him up and walk him through the basics. I'm counting on the four of you. Don't let me down."
"I have a bad feeling about this," Bruce said as Lucinda turned and headed for the stairwell. "There's no helping it, though. Once she makes up her mind, it's pointless to argue. You're in, Jason. Let's go get you some gear and get you some training. And tonight, you stick to me like glue."
Stick to a big guy with a bad attitude and a burning sword like glue?
Not hardly. They were the crazy ones, not him.
On the other hand, what did a big guy wearing armor and carrying a burning sword have to fear in the middle of the Seattle business district after dark? Perhaps there was wisdom in at least hearing him out.
The more Jason thought about it, the more he began to wonder.
Chapter Four
Jason Cogburn hurried along the dark Seattle sidewalk. Ahead of him, Bruce passed beneath a streetlight, stepping out into an empty intersection and angling over to the other side. His sword sat at rest on his back, but his eyes were on the move. Ranging out on his left, Paul prowled the night in a full cloak of woodland green, his bow resting easily in his left hand. On the right, Anna's dark armor blended seamlessly into the shadows, with only the occasional flicker of movement giving her position away.
After a sufficiently dramatic pause, Bruce tossed a quick look to his rear and disappeared down the next of the darkened streets, with Anna and Paul hot on his heels.
"Are they always like that?" Jason whispered.
Beside him, Steven's grunt was instantaneous, but his reply was a while in coming. Down the hill to the right, a pair of gulls called to each other near the waterfront, their echoing cries drifting up the side street on a cool breeze heavy with the smell of salt and the promise of rain.
Another rainy Seattle night.
What a surprise.
Aside from the gulls, the city was silent. In the morning, it would return to its normal busy self for the rest of the week. Gawking tourists would choke the sidewalks. Idling cars would plug the streets. Angry businessmen would curse anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. For now, though—Sunday evening after the last of the department stores had closed—the city was quiet and at peace.
"You have no idea," Steven whispered back. He'd added a brown jacket to his outfit, but was otherwise dressed much the same as Jason—blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a comfortable sweatshirt. "They love sneaking around. It's the video gamer in them. They can't do anything without bringing a bit of drama to the table. You'll learn to ignore them."
The streets they traveled were a no-man's land of tightly packed two-story buildings located between the waterfront and the city center. They were mostly abandoned, with closed shops on the bottom floors and empty offices above. Victims of the economy, the buildings were too close to the popular landmarks to carry a reasonable rent, yet too far away to entice tourists to walk up the hill and visit the shops.
It was close to the city, yet far from prying eyes... the perfect place for a hidden enemy base, or so Lucinda feared.
"Tell me about this Brotherhood," Jason whispered. Lucinda hadn't been totally clear on who the Brotherhood was, or why they were to be considered an enemy. It was just one of the many things she'd promised to discuss with him later.
"We shouldn't be talking," Steven told him quietly, shaking his head. "Some of them have sharp hearing. Keep your own ears open. Signal if you hear anything at all, even if it seems to belong. Let me decide."
Jason nodded and crossed the street, following Bruce into the dark, dead zone of the city. The only sign of life came from an oasis of light up the street to the left, where an auto dealership seemed to have set up shop since Jason had last passed this way.
Strings of brightly colored pennants snapped in the breeze beneath a wash of at least a dozen floodlights. Sixty SUV's were stuffed into a parking lot built for about twenty normal sized cars. With gleaming bumpers reaching out over the sidewalk, the sea of windshields and painted metal ran all the way back beneath the branches of a stand of maple trees sprouting out from the side of a grassy bank that climbed up to the cross street above.
A flash of movement tugged at Jason's vision.
His eyes jumped to the right—
And then relaxed.
It was only his reflection in a window on the angled wall of a recessed entryway door—a small reflection, at that. Just some kid in a red and blue windbreaker, with red hair and freckles. The kid should have been home instead of prowling the streets in a bad part of town with a gang of strangers he'd just met a few hours before. If there was any chance his parents could be home, he might have even felt a little guilty about it, too. Here, at least, he was needed. There? Puh-lease.
Bruce picked up the pace, hurrying past the car lot and its bright lights, moving deeper into the shadows along the sidewalk next to the abandoned buildings. He hadn't gone far, however, when his feet slowed. Then, they stopped.
Raising a fist, Bruce crouched against the side of the building. Anna and Paul ducked in behind him against the wall.
At the end of the block up ahead, a gargoyle stood beneath a streetlight in the intersection. It was a genuine stone statue, hunched over and facing the other way—a six-foot sculpture with pointed ears rising up from both sides of a smooth head and huge bat wings growing out from its shoulder blades—
And it was moving!
Magic might be real, but Jason never expected to meet a living statue, especially a living statue in the middle of a Seattle street. The gargoyle definitely didn't belong there, so he assumed they'd just found what they were looking for. The smart bet would be to back away and return to the Lair with the information.
Trouble was, Jason didn't know these people very well; and from the gleam in Bruce's eye, he suddenly wasn't so sure that the wannabe warrior was in the mood to play things smart.
#
Jason huddled against the dirty brick wall behind the other members of his new team, watching the gargoyle over their shoulders. It turned its head first one way and then the next before repeating the pattern in its steady, rhythmic cycle. It appeared to be guarding the street on the far side of the intersection and not interested in turning around... for the moment.
That was fine with Jason.
He just hoped it was fine with Bruce, as well.
Signaling to get their attention, Bruce pointed to a narrow alley off to the left. Jason breathed a little easier. It was a half-block short of the gargoyle, and they'd be exposed to anyone watching while they crossed the road—including a gargoyle if it should happen to turn around—but Bruce was motioning for a flight, not a fight. If they made it to the other side, they could duck out through the alley and slip away unnoticed.
Waiting for the gargoyle to swing its gaze back to the right, Bruce motioned for Anna to cross the road... but she was already gone. Once he'd pointed to the alley, she'd slipped through the shadows to scout it out. She crouched next to a beat up green dumpster that peeked out from just inside the mouth of the alley. Waving, she beckoned them forward.
Steven touched Jason's arm and cocked his head in her direction.
They'd go first.
Swallowing, Jason kept low and moved out into the street, his eyes fixed on the bat wings of the distant gargoyle. An eternity of endless seconds later—five or six, perhaps—Jason made it safely to the other side. It was only afterwards that he wondered if he could have used some kind of invisibility spell to hide their presence.