Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 03 (3 page)
Read Stackpole, Michael A - Dark Conspiracy 03 Online
Authors: Evil Triumphant
lifetime. Not literally, of course, because I had not really died between then and now, but in a cognitive sense, that life had ended. When Coyote, my predecessor in the Coyote identity, had arranged for my
capture and a chemically induced amnesia, he had destroyed the person Fiddleback had created.
Coyote had also rebuilt me, but he did so in his image. He groomed me to be his heir and managed to
show me why his legacy, his legend, had to be continued. He put a face on the evil malaise that worked to grind humanity down to nothing, and he showed me how to fight it. He showed me that I
had
to fight it.
The office in which we appeared had all the expensive appointments one would expect in the domain of a
successful executive. The thick, plush ivory carpeting matched Vetha's flesh-tone so perfectly she seemed for a second to be a piece of sculpture somehow grown up out of it. The Yidam's jet-black skin and
golden talons likewise were appropriate, as the wall-to-ceiling bookcases behind him were made of
ebony, and the glass doors were fixed with gold hinges and latches.
Only Crowley and I did not look like part of the furniture, and Crowley appeared uncomfortable there.
Freed of the shadow that covers him in the dimensions, the slender, well-groomed man did look as if he
could have claimed the office as his own, but he would have required a more suitable wardrobe. While
perfect for extra-dimensional travel, the black fatigues, Kevlar body armor and a web-belt bristling with ammo pouches and twin Mac-10 submachineguns was not quite the thing for corporate board meetings.
I also wore body armor, but it was not as thick or as obvious as Crowley's. It was barely noticeable
beneath the green polo shirt I wore. The shirt, in combination with the khaki slacks I wore and the white, V-neck sweater on the chair behind my desk, marked me as a prosperous corporator who had just stepped
in to the office before heading out to the links for a quick nine holes.
Or it did after 1 removed my two shoulder holsters and tucked the Colt Kraits in a cabinet beside the
desk. I glanced at my watch and noticed the hands read 9:15 a.m., but the digital window in it had the
time as 1 p.m.
I had gotten used to time moving faster or slower in the proto-dimensions than it did here on Earth, but
the mismatched settings on my watch were an unwanted reminder of the paranormal reality of the
universe. If not for the watch and its evidence, I could always try to imagine what I had seen and done as one long nightmare.
"It's already afternoon here." I dropped into the big chair behind the XR-8500 datadesk and looked at its broad, flat surface. The whole glassy desktop was a touch-sensitive computer screen. 1 pressed my finger
against the flashing clock icon and it exploded out into a time-stamped memo from my executive
assistant. I scanned it, then frowned.
"Lilith has picked up Mickey's father and sister from the airport. They should be back here very soon, which means I'll have to deal with that situation straight away."
Crowley nodded thoughtfully. "You have my sympathies." He turned to Vetha. "If you will come with me, I will get you situated. If you can tell me your needs as far as food and housing are concerned,
arrangements will be made."
The ivory creature nodded her head, then followed Crowley out through the office's side door. Looking
up, I saw the Yidam's scarlet eyes focused far away. "You are welcome to stay for this. They have both seen your daughter, which means they might be ready to understand you..."
The Yidam shook his head and folded both pairs of arms across his chest. "No, I do not think they are ready for me. It is just that I know the boy's kin will doubtlessly feel about the truth as my daughter must feel about me. I was lost to her, and now I am found, yet I am not the same person or being she
remembers." He
opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness that mocked his powerful build and fearsome aspect.
"Somewhere inside of me there is much that remembers her, but the past three decades have changed
me a great deal."
I tried to smile sympathetically. The Yidam and his daughter Rajani were both members of an
extraterrestrial race called the
Jes'da.
The race is psychomimetic, which means it conforms its
physiology to that prevalent among the dominant race where they grow up. Such protective
coloration made evolution easier for them, but the ability to change deserted most of the
Jes'da
by the age of 6. Practitioners of a philosophical discipline known as
c'dithrta
retained their psycho-morphic abilities and could even, through long years of meditation, direct their change.
Rajani had spent nearly 30 years in isolation and stasis so she could change and become a tool to be
used against Fiddleback. Her father had hidden away in a monastery in Tibet. While the monastery
kept him safe from discovery by Fiddleback, the prayers and beliefs of the monks deprived him of
the isolation given his daughter. As a result, the monks' influence managed to remold him into the
form of a Buddhist godling and guardian.
"You and I have not had much chance to see your daughter, but the information I get from the rest of my people is that she is very open and bright." I let a genuine smile cross my face. "Sinclair is very high on her, and his judgment is not to be dismissed. Rajani is more than capable of being self-reliant, so she will not depend upon you, but she does
needy
ou because you are the only link she has back to her mother and her heritage."
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"I know, and I see her as my
link to the future." The
Yidam smiled, which was not a terribly pleasant thing to see. "It is just that the transformation I have undergone is more than physical. The monks made me over into a deity and, while I do not have the
powers and abilities ascribed to a Yidam, I have been given some of
a
god's perspective on the world. I do not like it."
"Perhaps getting to know your daughter again will provide you a counter-balance."
"Indeed, I hope this is so, Coyote." He looked out my window toward one of GBI's internal courtyards.
"She is down there with Mickey and Bat. 1 will go speak with her."
"Good luck, my friend."
My desktop sounded a pleasant tone as the Yidam left through the door Crowley had used, then shut it
behind him. I hit the icon of a speaker. "Yes?"
"I have Mr. Farber and his daughter here, Mr. Loring. Shall I bring them in?"
"Yes, Lilith, please do." 1 hit the icon again, severing the connection, then stood and moved around in front of my desk. The door across from me opened, and my blond executive assistant ushered the two
guests into my office. "I am pleased to see you made it. I'm Michael Loring."
"Tadd Farber." Mickey's father offered me his hand, and 1 shook it. His palm was wet and his pale flesh looked almost corpselike compared with my tan. He wore a suitcoat and slacks that almost matched, but
had clearly been bought off the rack a dozen years before. He had lost a lot a weight since then, for it
hung on him as if he were in an advertisement for a drastic weight-loss clinic. He had combed his thin,
straw-colored hair sideways over his head, exposing a broad expanse of forehead above brown eyes.
"This is Dorothy." His daughter stepped forward and
offered me her hand. She seemed ill at ease wearing a floral-print dress, white gloves and socks and black patent leather shoes, but she tolerated the situation bravely. I took her hand in mine and found a stronger grip than her father's in it. Her honey-blond hair had been combed and trimmed, and her bright blue eyes
were full of curiosity.
I pointed the both of them to the chairs in front of my desk. "Before we begin, can we get you anything?
Coffee? Soda? A beer?"
Tadd's eyes lit up when I mentioned beer, then dulled down again. He looked at the floor rather than at
his daughter, then shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Dorothy?"
"I'm fine, too."
"Very well," I smiled. "We will get something later. I'll buzz you if I need you, Lilith."
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Lilith le
ft us alone and closed the main door. I returned to my chair and sat down, then looked up at t
hem.
"I m
ust thank you for coming all this way on such short notice. I know my people were less than communicative. I appreciate your willingness to trust me."
Tadd raised his eyes to meet my gaze. "They said you had information about Mickey." His left hand unconsciously sought and found his daughter's hand. "Do you, Mr. Loring?"
I nodded and leaned back in my chair. 1 knew in an instant that I could spin a tale that Tadd Farber would believe because the world had hammered him with tragedy after tragedy. 1 knew, from what Rajani had
told me and from the files Jytte had coaxed out of computers half a world away, that Tadd Farber had
sold his' proxy for voting to Daizaimoku, the
zaibatsu
that all but controlled the northern half of Arizona.
His wife died after a protracted illness, and alcoholism had
sucked him down. He had sunk so low that he had arranged to have his children sold off. Then, when
they were returned to him and he started the slow climb back to respectability, Mickey had vanished.
Fooling him would be no problem. He was a man who had been broken by the world. He accepted what
corporations told him was the truth. He no longer wanted to think critically about the world, and his skills at doing so had atrophied away to almost nothing. He would be easy, but his sharp-minded and street-smart daughter would be something else entirely.
"I do, Mr. Farber, and you must call me Mike. 1 heard that your son Mickey had gone missing..."
Dorothy's cerulean eyes narrowed. "You did? But we didn't tell nobody."
I met her stare openly. "1 have many sources, Dorothy—may I call you Dot? Your brother refers to you that way, so 1 have come to think of you as Dot."
The girl gave me a cautious nod, but still watched me with the interest of a mongoose watching a cobra.
"You know where Mickey is?"
"I do indeed. You see, when I heard about him, well, Mickey is what 1 was called when I was growing
up. I don't know why, but finding him became something personal with me. I was determined to find him,
but I didn't disturb you with my efforts because, quite frankly, I didn't want to get your hopes up in case 1
failed."
Tadd grunted, and Dorothy's expression eased a bit, but she remained wary. "Can we see him? Is he
okay?"
"All in good time and, yes, he is fine." I chose my words carefully. "He is also changed."
Tadd's head came up. "Changed?"
"The individual who abducted your son is, well, is psychotic. He is an individual of incredible talent and, in addition to being a egomaniac, fancies himself a
sculptor of sorts. His choice of medium is the human body, and his work would be celebrated worldwide
except he chooses to perform his work on those who do not or cannot stop him."