' 'I know.''
"That's a start."
For hours they ran and walked and talked. Along the way, Dog taught him a new song.
"That's why I wanted to talk to you alone," Sam concluded.
Hart seemed edgy, as if something about his tale of his encounter with the Man of Light bothered her. The nervous play of her fingers in her hair had increased as he told her what the Man had said. Her reaction unsettled him, eroding the confidence he had felt since he'd returned from Dog's green land. So he had edited the story and had not told her of what the Man had said about their relationship. What would she say if confronted with the Man of Light's story that their love was concocted by mind-controlling magics? Would she deny their love was forced upon them? He hoped she would, but he couldn't be sure. Even if she did profess a real love for him, would that be real or just an implanted reaction?
For a minute after he finished, she continued twisting ringlets into her errant locks. Then she tossed her head back, shaking her fashionably curled hair back into place, and gazed out over the rooftops as if searching for a response. He waited. No one would disturb them up here for a while, since Willie was sacked and Dodger still roaming the Matrix. Without looking at him, she spoke.
"Whatever your apparition was, he was a liar. Nobody is good enough to affect all three of us at once. You maybe; you're still learning. But while Estios is an ass, he is a strong mage." She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. ' 'If something raped all of our minds that easily, I don't think I'd want to face it when it wasn't busy." Hart walked away from the edge of the rooftop and sat on the rusting hulk of a climate control unit. "But I don't think that'll be a problem."
' 'Why not? Are you sure that our memories of what we found at Glover's estate are correct?"
"Yours match mine," she said, as if that were confirmation enough.
She unslung her bag and dumped its contents onto the flat surface. She unholstered her onyx-handled Crusader machine pistol, laying the weapon by her side before fishing among the haphazard pile of matte black containers she had released from her bag. She chose the largest, the one which held her Crusader's accessories in custom-fitted compartments. She snapped open the lid and removed the cleaning kit. Checking her gear was one of the ways she calmed her mind. Sam let her get the gun disassembled before he crossed the roof to continue the conversation. *'If the Man of Light wasn't what he said he was, what was he?"
Hart shrugged and continued cleaning her weapon. "Don't know. I'm not a shaman, but I've heard that some voyagers encounter a being that blocks the way to the higher planes, some kind of guardian they call the dweller. From the descriptions I Ve heard, it could look like anything, even your Man of Light. The way I figure it, this Man was the dweller\a151and the dweller, like the tunnel and the totems, is a construct, a way for a mind to wrap itself around the possibilities of magic. All those things are just symbols for a mind structured toward a mystic rather than an hermetic approach."
That was what Sam had thought before he experienced the Man's presence and before his last conversation with Dog. How could Hart be so sure? She wasn't a shaman and had never talked with Dog. More importantly, she hadn't been there and felt what he had felt. The whole thing didn't add up unless the Man was telling the truth.
Sam watched Hart wipe clean the parts of the Crusader and begin reassembling them. Her hands moved with a practiced quickness; those slim fingers, whose touch he knew so well, deftly fitted the pieces together with a precision born of long habit. Any turmoil that might be roiling her mind was submerged in the routine. To watch her was to see a professional machine that matched her reputation in every particular.
Sam knew better. In their time together he had touched a different Hart, one that yearned for tenderness and love as much as he did. She was hiding that need now, avoiding his eyes and his touch. He wished that he knew what to do, to say, but for all their intimacy, there was a lot he still didn't know about her. Then there was the doubt the Man had left in him. Her own supposition that the Man was a barrier Sam had constructed for himself made him doubt his own feelings. He wanted reassurance that what he felt was real, not planted in his mind for someone's perverted pleasure or, worse, a fantasy of his own to hide his guilt over violating Sally's trust.
' 'But if the Man of Light was a construct of my own mind, why would he claim he had altered my memories?"
"I'm a runner, not a psychologist. Maybe you were projecting your fears and frustrations onto a convenient scapegoat. I know how much you hate that shamanic mumbo-jumbo. Maybe you should just give it up. We could get out of this place; go somewhere else, where you could study hermetic magic."
"You were the one who suggested I work with Herzog in the first place."
"So maybe I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time."
Her voice held an unfamiliar note of bitterness; it stung his heart. She had always banished his ill tempers with her sarcastic humor. Trying to use her own medicine, he laid a hand on her shoulder and quipped, "A rare confessional moment from the unequalled shadowrunner.''
"Don't push it, dogboy," she snapped, slapping away his hand.
Sam was taken aback. She was not acting like herself at all. Something was seriously wrong. The only thing he could see was that she had lost confidence in him. Confidence and more. How did shadowrunning elves brush off their no-longer-interesting paramours?
"Are you telling me now that you don't think I can cut it?"
"No, Sam," she said softly. For the first time since he began the tale of his power ritual, she met his gaze. Her bronze eyes glistened in the twilight. "I know better. You'll do all you can. That's the problem."
Instead of continuing, she dropped her head and concentrated on her weapon.
"You're not making sense," he said.
He watched her bite her lower lip. When she spoke, her voice lacked her usual resolution.
"It's too dangerous, Sam. The payback's just not there."
' 'I thought you were a hot-shot runner.''
"That's not the point and you know it. The Hidden
Circle is bad business. We were outclassed before Es tios and his people went missing." "I've got magic now and Dodger cutting a deal that'll get Willie all the combat drones she can handle.
We can do it."
"We can get ourselves all killed. The druids have resources we can't match, and we no longer have the element of surprise. If they've taken Estios or one of his people, which is highly likely, they know who we are and what we can do. They'll be ready for us. Is that what you want? Are you trying to get us all killed?"
"I'm trying to see justice done. I'm trying to see that no more innocent people die to feed some lunatics' ideas of the path to power. I'm trying to…"
"You're trying to get yourself killed," she said bitterly.
"I don't want to die, Katherine. But I can't let those druids go on with what they are doing."
"It's not worth it, Sam."
She finished reassembling the Crusader. He heard the soft click of plastic as she sought the magazine. Sam took her by the shoulders, but she wouldn't look him in the eyes. He felt the movement in her arms as she loaded her weapon. The job was done and offered no more distraction. Only then did she meet his gaze.
"Are you asking me to run away, Katherine?"
"Would you if I did?"
"You know the answer to that."
"Yes, I do."
He felt her tense and looked down to see the Crusader pointed at his belly.
"I'm sorry, Sam," she said.
Sam threw himself violently to his left. He felt the bullet snag his long coat. The smell of propellant harsh and accusatory in his nostrils, he vaulted over the climate control unit onto a lower level of the roof. He ran toward a workshed that offered safety only a few meters away. Her second shot gouged the wall of the shed as he reached it. Sharp fragments of brick spattered into his cheek. He threw himself forward and down, hoping that the sudden maneuver would spoil her aim as he tried to get out of her line of fire. It was a vain hope. His body twisted as he felt a slug slam into his shoulder. Striking the rooftop out of control, he scraped more skin from his already lacerated cheek. He tried to push himself up, but the muscles of his arms failed and he collapsed. His injured arm was numb and cold. He managed to roll over onto his back as she approached him, gun held ready. Her eyes were sad, but her jaw was clenched with determination.