The androids were extremely effi?cient, so it wasn’t long before the two humans were sitting on small folding stools and warming their hands over a crackling fi?re. Meanwhile, an oil-fed stove had been established not far away, and a hearty stew would soon be burbling in a pot. Confi?dent that the routine matters were under control, Shaz eyed the sensitive seated across from him. Even allowing for the fact that the campfi?re lit Dyson’s face from below, the other variant looked older than he was. His skin had taken on a sallow appearance, and his hands shook all the time. Some of that could be blamed on the rigors of the journey and the stress associated with it, but Kane was responsible for the rest. The situation was diffi?cult for Shaz to assess, not being a sensitive himself, but having been acquainted with Kane prior to his death, it was easy to understand how unpleasant the task of bringing him through could be. But there was no getting around the need to communicate with the dead operative from time to time. Even if that was painful for Dyson, who sat with shoulders slumped, his eyes on the fi?re.
“Your tea is ready,” a robot announced, and waited for the humans to extend their mugs before starting to pour. Then, having given Dyson an opportunity to sip the hot liquid, Shaz broke the silence. “I know you’re tired, but we haven’t heard from Phan in quite a while, and I need to speak with Kane.”
There was a moment of silence as the sensitive blew the steam off the surface of his tea and took another sip. Finally, his eyes peering out from cavelike sockets, Dyson looked up. It took a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady. “I would like to quit. There’s no need to pay me. . . . I’ll take my bedroll and walk away.”
“Don’t be silly,” the combat variant replied dismissively.
“I know Kane can be unpleasant, but I’ll keep the session short, and the whole thing will be over in a matter of minutes. Then, after a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
The other variant was determined to have his way, the sensitive could see that, so there was no point in stalling. Dyson closed his eyes, sought the inner peace that lay deep within, and partially withdrew from his body. Kane, who had already been drawn to the physical plane by the combat variant’s thoughts, was ready and waiting. His beingness fl?ooded into the newly created vacuum, where he hurried to seize control. The fi?rst thing the spirit entity noticed was the wonderful tang of woodsmoke, followed by the aftertaste of unsweetened tea and the innate heaviness of the channel’s physical body. A vehicle that was both tired from a long day in the saddle—and hungry for the food that was being prepared nearby.
Shaz became aware of Kane’s presence when Dyson’s body jerked convulsively, some of his tea spilled into the fl?ames, and the fi?re hissed in protest. Then, once the steam had cleared, the combat variant looked into a pair of dead eyes. “So,” Kane croaked, “we meet again.”
“Yes,” Shaz responded cautiously. “Thank you for coming. I could use your help.”
“You have but to ask,” Kane answered generously, as he held his left hand out toward the fi?re. The warmth was wonderful—and he reveled in it. Dyson tried to reassert control but couldn’t. Gradually, bit by bit, Kane had become so skilled at controlling the sensitive’s body that the sensitive was powerless to displace him. Dyson uttered a long silent scream, but there was no one to hear, and the conversation continued.
“Good,” the combat variant continued. “We lost contact with Phan—which means we lost contact with the others. Can you tell me what happened to them?”
“Probably,” Kane answered confi?dently. “Give me a moment.” After pausing to swirl a mouthful of tea around the inside of Dyson’s mouth, the spirit entity directed his attention outward. Other disincarnates could be seen within the thick glutinous material that overlaid the physical plane. One such individual was quite upset regarding his unexpected death. Others sought to comfort the dead man and escort him to a higher vibration. Kane hurried to project his consciousness into the mix. He listened for a while, asked a series of questions, and received most of the answers he needed before the entity’s spirit guides pulled him away. Shaz had started to wonder if something had gone wrong when Dyson, which was to say Kane, suddenly spoke. “I’m back.”
The combat variant lifted an eyebrow. “And?”
“And Phan is alive, as are the others,” the disincarnate reported. “Although they had a close brush with death prior to being spirited away by a group of people that my contact wasn’t familiar with.”
Shaz felt a sense of relief. His greatest fear had been that some sort of calamity had befallen not only Phan, but the AI, resulting in the machine’s loss. It should be a relatively simple matter to fi?nd out where the group had been taken and free them should that be necessary. “Thank you, that is very helpful.”
“You’re welcome,” Kane said politely. “Something smells good. . . . What’s for dinner?”
Shaz, who expected the spirit entity to withdraw at that point, felt the fi?rst stirrings of concern. “Stew. . . . Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Kane replied, as Dyson struggled to eject him.
“It’s been quite a while since I ate real food. I think I’ll stay and have dinner with you.”
The combat variant felt the short bristly hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He struggled to keep his voice level. “You can do that?”
“Why, yes,” Kane answered coolly. “I believe that I can.”
“And Dyson?” Shaz wanted to know. “How does he feel about your plan?”
“Oh, he’s against it,” the disincarnate admitted carelessly. “But, I have the poor bastard right where I want him, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it?”
The challenge was obvious, and the air around the combat variant began to seethe as his body prepared for combat. Fortunately, Dyson had consistently refused to carry a weapon, which meant it would have been easy to shoot the sensitive’s body, thereby preventing the disincarnate from controlling it. But what if Shaz needed more information?
Sensitives were hard to come by—and it wouldn’t be a good idea to offend Kane.
The creature sitting opposite Shaz nodded understandingly. “Oops!” the spirit entity said lightly. “I guess this puts you between a rock and a hard place doesn’t it? But, hey, not to worry. . . . We’re after the same thing. And later, after we install Logos on Socket, I plan to reincarnate. You’ll be an old fart by the time I make my presence known. As for Tepho, well, he’s your problem. Slick, huh?”
That wasn’t the way the combat variant would have described it, but he was a realist and nodded in agreement.
“Welcome back. . . . I hope you enjoy your dinner.”
Meanwhile, in a place where no one could help him, Dyson continued to scream.
Rebo awoke to the sound of bells. His eyes felt as if they had been glued shut but eventually opened to reveal a room so narrow there was no more than two feet of space on either side of his bed. Sunlight poured in through the paned window over his head and threw an asymmetric pattern onto the door across from him. Then, just as the bells stopped ringing, the runner felt the unmistakable pressure on his bladder and knew it was time to get up.
The fi?rst attempt to throw the covers aside and swing his legs out over the edge of the bed resulted in an explosion of pain. That caused Rebo to fall back against the pillow and probe the circumference of his skull. It quickly became apparent that there were three different dressings on his head. Fortunately, none of his companions had been killed as a result of his mental lapse. Still conscious of his full bladder, the runner gritted his teeth, battled to swing both feet over onto the cold fl?oor, and stood. By placing one hand on the wall, he was able to remain upright even as a tidal wave of dizziness attempted to pull him under. He felt for his amulet in hopes that the charm would steady him and discovered it was gone. Lost during the battle with the Army of God, Rebo supposed.