while the sensitive, and the norms were placed in the other. Once inside the wagons, the patients were propped up against straw-fi?lled pillows and covered with wool blankets.
And that’s where Rebo was when the dream ended, his eyes opened, and a man with a handlebar mustache said,
“Here . . . This’ll fi?x what ails ya!” and poured a half ounce of fi?ery liquid into his mouth. The whiskey went down the wrong way, and the runner began to choke.
Norr raised a hand in protest. “Don’t give him spirits. . . . What we need is some warm tea. . . . Or some caf.”
The medics were more than happy to dispense lukewarm tea from the insulated bottles fi?lled earlier that day and consume the medicinal whiskey themselves while the wagons rattled through a village and began the long arduous climb to the citadel. Having passed through a well-guarded entrance, the wagons ground to a halt in front of a one-story infi?rmary, and the patients were carried inside. Within a matter of minutes they were stripped of clothing and immersed in warm baths. Phan, Hoggles, and, to a lesser extent, Rebo were treated for their various wounds before being brought back together for some hot soup. Then, after a good deal of fussing over by some very effi?cient female nurses, the travelers were packed off to bed. Norr wanted to sleep more than anything—but refused to cooperate until the staff returned her clothes. Then, clutching a ratty-looking coat to her chest, the sensitive allowed sleep to overtake her. The nurses shrugged, sent the rest of her fi?lthy apparel out to be burned, and left the room. Once the nurses were gone, and the door was closed, Logos spoke. “Lonni? Can you hear me?” But there was no answer other than a cough, followed by some nonsensical words, and the sound of the sensitive’s breathing. “I know I don’t say this sort of thing very often,” the AI whispered.
“But thank you.”
The sun had set three hours earlier, which meant that most travelers had been forced to camp out or seek the hospitality of a country inn. But Shaz and his party were the exceptions to that rule. Not only could the forwardranging metal men “sense” obstacles, they could “see” whatever fell under the blobs of white light that projected from their “eyes” and break trail for the angens. Travel remained diffi?cult, however, especially since the humans and their mounts had been on the road for twelve hours and were close to exhaustion.
But it had been two days since the combat variant had spotted one of the red ribbons that Phan typically left adjacent to the road or picked up a written message from the assassin. And that was why the operative insisted that the party continue to push ahead. Of course there are limits to how far one can ride in a day, and the angens had begun to stumble by the time the robots followed a multitude of tracks up to the rise where four X-shaped crosses stood, and paused to look around. A quick reconnaissance revealed an area of heavily churned snow—but it was impossible to know who had been there or why. “We’ll camp here,” Shaz announced to the androids. “Build a couple of fi?res, pitch the tent, and feed the angens.”
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.”
