"Your words can never be believed," said Harlequin.
"I am not words, Har'lea'quinn. I am emotion, I am passion, I am what you feel."
Harlequin was silent.
"And you feel them, do you not?"
"I feel nothing."
"You can taste them in the air."
"I taste nothing."
"Smell them on the wind."
"The air is still."
"Hear them laughing in the silence, calling for their due."
"I hear only your maddening voice."
The figure lowered its arm. "You lie to yourself."
Harlequin rushed toward the figure. "I do not!" he howled, his hands clenched into sweaty fists. He shook them at the robed figure. "It is too soon!"
"They are coming."
Harlequin spun away, then rounded back on his antagonist. "It is too soon! They cannot be coming!"
"You lie to yourself."
"It is you who lies to me!"
"As I have said."
Harlequin turned again and stumbled back toward the fire. "It is too soon…" he mumbled. "Nothing is right…I cannot understand…"
"You do not wish to understand. The humans play with things they do not comprehend because no one teaches them."
Harlequin whirled back to face the figure. "And telling them would stop them? I think not."
The figure shifted. "The humans have danced their little dance, Har'lea'quinn. They shook this world, and the others. Now they pay the price."
Harlequin grasped his head and shook it. "No…It is too soon…"
"You will still be saying that when they tear the fingers from your hands and blind you with them. Have you fallen so far, Har'lea'quinn? Have you forgotten the horror?"
"I can't…"
"Nor can I." The figure stared at Harlequin. "I expected more from the last Knight of the Crying Spire."
Harlequin stared back at the figure. "The Northern Islands are gone. Forgotten dust of a forgotten world."
"As all shall be, Har'lea'quinn, as all shall be."
"What would you have me do?" Harlequin cried.
"Destroy the bridge."
Harlequin blanched. "That cannot be done…How…"
"Thayla's Voice."
Harlequin sat abruptly. "No…"
"You know where she roams. Her song will shatter the bridge and cast them back from the chasm. It will take them time to find it again."
Harlequin stared off into the darkness and nodded. "Yes…"
"Travel lightly. Some already wander the netherworlds. It will not be safe. They will smell you coming."
Harlequin continued to nod. "I understand…"
The figure moved forward, walking past Harlequin toward the dying embers of the fire. "Move quickly, Laughing One; they have experience in building their bridge."
Harlequin did not answer but stared off into the darkness of the room, still nodding.
The figure shook its head and stepped into the fire. The embers flared and kindled, but no heat warmed Harlequin. At last he looked up and saw his growing shadow on the wall, and turned. He saw only the last swirls of burning cloth as the heat from the now-raging fire danced them higher and higher.
He stared at the fire. The large, ornate doors at the far end of the room swung open and Harlequin stood quickly. A young woman entered, her long, white hair falling in waves over the black satin dressing gown she clutched to her body with one hand. The other hand held a heavy-barreled chrome pistol. "Did you…" she stammered. "I felt…"
Harlequin nodded and walked toward her. "Indeed you did. Prepare yourself; it is time to see how much you have learned."
She stared at him. As he moved past her he turned and continued walking, backward.
"The netherworlds…" he paused, and smiled. "Pardon my anachronism. The metaplanes will ring with the sounds of battle and songs long unsung." He walked backward out of the room and down the hall.
She followed quickly. "I don't…What happened?"
"Call up your files, dear Jane, and find us some heroes."
She snorted. "Yeah, right."
Harlequin grinned broadly. "Yes, times have changed." His path arced across the large hall they'd entered and he began ascending the staircase.
She stopped at its foot and yelled up after him. "Will you tell me what the frag is going on?"
"Why, my dear," he said, turning away from her, "Harlequin's back. Can't you tell?"
OLD BONES
by Jennifer Harding
The beach was cold this time of year, the gray waves sliding over the pebbles and sand. Roan stood at the edge of the waves. He didn't turn when the Johnson approached, didn't speak; just watched the ill-tempered waves splash gray sludge over the rocks.
"Roan, I presume?" The Johnson broke the silence. Roan nodded. "You come well recommended. I have an extraction, needs to be done quietly, this week. Are you interested?"
"What's the corp?" Roan asked, still not looking at the Johnson. Cami had scanned the man, and Delta had assensed him, before he stepped onto the beach. No cyberware, no magic, no interesting weapons.
"Academic, actually. No corporate affiliations at all."
"Mm-hm." And I'm a choir boy. "Willing?"
The Johnson laughed softly. "There'll be no complaints from him," he replied. "I know your standard fee. I'll add 20% for the necessity of speed. Is that satisfactory?"
Roan nodded. He sent account information to the Johnson, then waited quietly. A few seconds later, he heard a "nuyen's good," in his ear. Roan turned, scanned the man with flat gray cybereyes. Elven, blond, wearing an expensive long coat and shoes that would be ruined by the beach sludge. Idiot.
"Well, Mr. Johnson. Looks like we can do business. Who's the target?"
The elf smiled, as if at a private joke. "He's the Kennewick Man." Should I know that name? Roan sent to Cami. I'm on it, she replied. "He's at the University of Washington," Mr. Johnson continued, with that smug smile.
"A professor?" Roan asked. "A student?" He was missing something here.
Ah – Roan? Cami interrupted. Not a who. A what. Roan frowned at the data that burst onto his AR. "You want us to extract a skeleton?"
"Yes, that's it exactly." The Johnson flashed a perfectly white smile. "You have my number. Call when you've secured him. Oh, and do be gentle. He's a delicate sort." With those final words, the elf turned and walked away.
Roan stood on the beach, bemused.
Well, Cami said into his 'link, At least this one won't whine.
They met back at Roan's doss. Delta shared a place with a half dozen other orks and had no privacy. Cami refused to let them in her place, not since Delta and a small drone had a 'misunderstanding' a few months back. Roan lived alone, in a two-room apartment on the edge of Redmond. The building barely missed being a slum. Still, the neighbors kept to themselves and the roaches didn't eat too much.
"What do you have for us, Cami?" Roan asked.
Cami tapped long fingers on her commlink. Her gold cybereyes focused on him.
"Not much," she replied. "Looks like a lot of the records were lost in the Crash. It's a skeleton, found in 1996, supposedly about 8,500 years old. I found some references that it was moved in '21 to a storage facility, attached to the Burke museum up at the U."
"Damn, Roan. I thought we did extractions," Delta complained. Delta was a big man, even for an ork. The neon blue nanotattoos running up his skull were a startling contrast to his midnight-black skin. "We gonna be thieves now?"
"You had me turn down our last two offers," Roan reminded him. "We keep doing that, biz will dry up."
"We agreed to do willing extractions," Delta replied, defensive.
Cami rolled her eyes at him. "And you figure this guy's gonna care where he's parked?" she asked. Roan knew she was in her mid-twenties, but Cami looked a decade older. She'd been clean for about two years now. The drugs had left her face and body scarred, but they'd spared her mind. Which was more than most addicts could claim.
"Enough," Roan snapped. "We took the money, we do the job. Cami, go hack the storage place. Delta, do a fly-by."