The doctor and nurses had been efficient and solicitous, but uninformative. Their language was circumstantial evidence that he was in Quebec, but far from definitive. They hadn't even twitched when he had mentioned Quebec or Genomics, both words that would have been understandable even if all the rest were not. Had Jacqueline lied when saying she would take him to Genomics, claiming it was her employer? Wherever he was, the medical equipment in the room and the attention he received were top-notch. He had rapidly regained his strength.

Sometime during the second day, one of the nurses brought a tray with a datareader and the few belongings Sam had carried with him in the Little Eagle. These included the Narcoject, which had been cleaned and oiled. The ammunition had been removed. It was distressing to see how poorly his old photographs had fared, but when all this was over he would try to get them restored.

Nothing was missing from the chip case, whose contents were the only alternative to staring at the walls. He reread Bible passages that had comforted him in the past, but now he saw odd interpretations for them and caught himself wondering what Dog would think of them. Thoughts of Dog had turned to thoughts of magic and so he had begun to scan the professor's instructional chips.

Some descriptions of the astral experience awakened disturbing memories of his dream on the mesa. Cautiously, dreading success, he had tried the exercises for astral projection. His first attempt had brought on an airy feeling while the colors in the room shifted, much as the colors had done on the mesa. From the texts, he expected to be able to pass beyond the walls of the room, but he stayed right there on the bed, unable to move.

In the midst of one exercise, the doctor had entered the room. She had seemed full of a green light that, except for a dimness on her right index finger, glowed brightly through her skin. The apparition had startled Sam back to wakefulness, where he saw that her finger was bandaged. He had husbanded his strength and practiced further, but never again achieved that state while another person was in the room.

Now, as he approached the great double door that sealed the end of the corridor, he wondered if his astral perceptions had been only more hallucinations. If real, they should enable him to see what waited on the other side. What harm in another try?

He composed himself and willed the shift. The light muted and the color shift began, then everything jerked back to normal, with Sam suddenly lying on the floor. The result brought back memories of the Dwarf mage in Laverty's guardroom and Sato's magical bodyguard. Both had seemed to slumber, giving Sam the impression they were lackadaisical about their work. Now he realized they might have been working after all, using astral projection while their bodies seemed to sleep. He picked himself up, stepped to the corridor wall, and leaned against it. The exercise text hadn't warned that he would lose control of his muscles, only recommended lying down to practice. Now he knew . Braced, he tried again.

Once the colors shifted, he forced his point of reference to the door, hesitating a moment before pressing forward. His vision blackened for a fraction of a second, and then he was perceiving the chamber beyond the doors. Or at least thinking he was.

The immediate area was an antechamber that opened onto a larger space. On the walls hung paintings of great beauty, their emotional content varying wildly. The lure of those images and the pulsing sculptures that stood beneath the paintings at first distracted him, but once his view touched on the prominent occupant, he had eyes for nothing else. Behind a transparent wall of blue and enthroned on a mound of gold, silver, and jewels, lay a Dragon.

The beast seemed made of golden crystal that sparked power with every motion. Distortions of light like tiny auroras flickered in the air about its head. The Dragon was in conversation with a tall, hairy figure that Sam recognized at once as Jacqueline, though she looked different. The Sasquatch carried a tasseled shoulder bag and an amulet of intricate design hung around her neck. At her side flashed a smaller aurora. Sam had no time to register more, because the Sasquatch bowed as though receiving orders. With the conversation over, Sam feared the Dragon would somehow see him if its attention turned his way. He dreaded discovery, for his spying would be considered impolite, at best. He knew the stakes had gone up and did not want to compromise his position with his apparent host, whatever that position might be. Besides, his new ability was an asset, all the more potent if kept secret. He retreated.

Sam was standing in the middle of the corridor when the doors swung open and an attractive woman with silver-blonde hair exited the chamber. She wore a business suit, but her necklace pendant was identical to Jacqueline's amulet.

"Ah, Monsieur Verner," she said. "You may go right in."

There was no recognition on her face, and no sign that she had noted his intrusion. He nodded and walked past her, wondering what kind of game this was.

The moment Sam crossed the threshold, his eyes were riveted on the Dragon. Its golden scales glinted brightly, seeming to reflect and merge with the sparkling wealth that made up its bed. Its long neck was arched and its chin rested on a peninsula of treasure near the edge of the mound. It appeared to be asleep.

Sam drew nearer, treading softly. Of the rippling auroras there was no sign, but he suspected that whatever magic they represented had not gone away. The blue wall was also invisible, but he felt a tingling as he stepped past where it had stood. Looking down, he noted a strip of arcane symbols inlaid in the floor.

Nearing the Dragon, Sam became truly aware of the beast's size. Its head was longer than he was tall, and several of the teeth, jutting past the scaly lips, were longer than one of his hands. It was the first Western Dragon he had ever been near, but something about it was familiar. He put it down to general dragonishness because its odor was similar to Tessien's. He took another few steps closer, stopping when he felt the breath sighing through the Dragon's nostrils ruffling the light cloth of his trouser leg. The beast's presence was oppressive, and Sam longed to flee, to escape from the great predator. He held his ground, though his knees felt weak and his legs rubbery.

Should he speak? What does one say to a Dragon?

The eyes opened, regarding him with pools of liquid opal.

"I am Lofwyr."

It was as though Sam's ears heard words, but he recognized that the Dragon's voice was only in his head. He had not realized it before, but Tessien spoke the same way. This creature, however, was far more menacing than the feathered serpent. That worried Sam. It lay before him almost dormant, while Tessien had destroyed a panzer with flame and magic. He swallowed nervously, then hoped his voice would remain steady. "They call me Twist," he said.

"Your they are not many, Samuel Verner." Amusement rippled in the air. "Though I expect their numbers will grow."

Startled by its attitude and use of his real name, Sam forgot some of his fear. "You know who I am?"

"Obviously."

The dracoform had the advantage of knowledge while Sam was in the dark. How did this beast come to know about him? Emboldened by his annoyance, he asked, "What do you want with me? Why have you brought me here?"

"You are here because I wish to help you."

Help was the last thing Sam expected from a Dragon. "Why is that? We've never even met before today."

"My reasons are my own. As Jacqueline informed you, we have a mutual interest in the affairs of Genomics Corporation."

Unless the creature could read his mind, denial seemed the safest course. "I have no interest in Genomics."

"You had a decker inquiring into its affairs and personnel."

"What is that to you?" Sam asked with a brashness he really didn't feel. "Are you a cop? Are you going to charge me with data theft or something?"

"So belligerent." The Dragon's expression remained placid. If that fixed, toothy smile could be called placid. Sam felt its disdainful tolerance. "A. A. Wilson, an employee of Genomics, seems to be someone who interests you particularly."

"So?"

"Mr. Verner, you are not a child of your kind. Leave off the games. Normally, I would take your prying less than well, but your poking about has alerted me to an injustice against me and mine.

"Doctor Wilson has been making unauthorized use of Genomics resources and personnel in a project of his own. Though such initiative is sometimes admirable, he has not had the good judgement to confide his successes to me. As benefactor, I have supported him, symbolically fed and clothed him, and now he shows his gratitude by gifting another with the fruits of his labors. You are familiar with Mister Drake?"

All too, Sam thought.

"I can see that you are."

Sam relaxed the muscles in his face, realizing it wouldn't take a mind-reader to see his hate. "Do you want to help me bring him to justice? He has deaths to answer for."

"Death is the only answer for death, Samuel Verner.

"Though you have tasted his violent villainy, he has caused little harm to me and mine as yet. Were he to do so, I would take action and openly chastise him. But a solution suited to me is not necessarily suited to you.

"Any direct action by me would be hard to justify in your world's courts. He has committed no crime against me. Has he stolen from me or killed any of my retainers? Until now, he has only taken advantage of a faithless person, who will face his own reckoning in the fullness of time.

"Whether by plan or chance, all evidence of the misuse of Genomics resources leads only to Doctor Wilson. The doctor has been deceived by a lying tongue into believing that he works in his own interest. In the end, Doctor Wilson will be returned to the Earth and I will be deprived of the benefits that I sought to nurture.

"It is presumptuous of this plotter to believe that he may cull his feast from a herd that I have bred. And I find this schemer and his presumption . . . offensive." Contempt hung in the air. "I am informed that you too find this Mister Drake offensive. And that is where our mutual interest lies."

"So you want me to do something about Drake." Sam sensed the Dragon's agreement, and suspected he knew what Lofwyr wanted him to do. "I won't kill him for you."

"I understand. If you killed him, it would be for yourself."

"Just what do you want?"

"I have yet to determine the exact nature of Mister Drake's plans. I find that vexing. What I want is for you to continue your efforts against Mister Drake, to uncover his scheme, and report it to me."

"Why not have Jacqueline do it? She seems quite good at finding things and she's already on your payroll. Why me?"

"You are an unanticipated player."

Player? People had suffered and died, but this creature seemed to think it was all part of some game. Did the Dragon see Humans as nothing more than pawns to be shuffled around a gameboard?

The Dragon stretched a paw and raked talons through its hoard. Sam took the motion to indicate its response to any refusals.

"Will you do as I ask?"

Sam feared to say no and dreaded saying yes. He needed a way out that would not anger the Dragon. "What do I get for doing your dirty work?"

"A great deal of money and a new identity, both of which you will need to find your sister and return her to her former estate."

"How do you know about her?"

"Research, Samuel Verner. Surely you understand the value of good research."

"And when it's all over, I end up working for you?"

"If you find that congenial. I can be a generous employer, as Jacqueline will tell you."

As long as you are a good little samurai, blind to everything but orders, Sam suspected. "And what if I kill Drake? Do you keep murderers in your employ?"

"How you resolve your differences with Mister Drake will be your own affair. I have asked only for information. When the affair is settled and if you have not compromised yourself with the local authorities, after all is said and done, then you may contact me through the commcode you will receive on your way out. I can make your new path easier, Samuel Verner."

The Dragon's voiceless words implied that his help would be more than merely mundane; an offer of magical instruction from a Dragon was hardly an everyday occurrence. Why did every powerful figure Sam met want to teach him magic? He didn't want to learn it. He just wanted to be himself. Couldn't they see that? "I don't need your help."

Disbelief swelled between them, then ebbed into amusement.

"This Mister Drake who you seek to topple is not all that he seems. You will find him a formidable foe."

"I have other resources."

The disbelief returned as the dracoform's eyelids dropped, half-closing off the fluid orbs. "Very well. Arrangements have been made for your return to Seattle."

"I haven't agreed to work for you."

"You will do my work."

The eyes closed. He had been dismissed.

Part 3 It's Dangerous Out Here

38.

Dr. Andrew A. Wilson sat at his desk, scanning the letter of introduction. As he waited, Sam studied his own image on the accompanying corporate identification tag. The well-trimmed blond hair and newly grown beard framed a narrow face with calm hazel eyes and a slightly bored look. He had lost weight, but that hadn't hurt him. What showed of the suit he wore was a conservative, mid-level administrator's cut. The man in the picture looked to be a good salaryman.

What didn't show were the beginnings of toughness and smarts Sam had acquired during his recent ordeal. He hoped they'd be enough to get him through this little charade in the corporate world.

As the woman he knew as Jacqueline was hustling him onto the jet that would bring him to the Genomics reservation, she had told him that the I.D. card would only last the day. While it did, he was Samiel Voss, a Genomics certified accountant on assignment to investigate the books of Doctor Wilson's staff.

"Purely routine, doctor."

Wilson nodded, but his expression was sour as he ejected the disk from his desk console. "Everything does appear to be in order, Mr. Voss. I hope the wait hasn't inconvenienced you."

"Not at all," Sam said with a bland smile. He hoped that was the right response for an accountant kept standing while a corporate superior displayed displeasure at an interruption. It would have been the correct one at Renraku, but he didn't know the subtleties of Genomics corporate protocol.

"Fine." Wilson seemed satisfied. "I'll arrange for a work station to be assigned to you."

"I believe that my orders specified that I was to work in your office, Dr. Wilson."

"That's quite out of the question."

"Your station provides the most direct access to your staff's files, sir. Then there is the matter of confidentiality. I'm sure that Vice President Fleureaux . . ."

"All right. All right. No need to disturb the vice president." Wilson held up the I.D. tag and the introduction disk. "The station's in the corner."

"Very good, sir," Sam said as he recovered his documents. He stepped over to the work station and placed his case on the floor. Straightening, he indicated the lock. "If you would be so kind?"

With bad grace, Wilson heaved himself up and joined Sam at the workstation. The research director thumbed the lock pad, and shielding it from Sam's view, typed in an access code. As the computer beeped its readiness, Wilson stepped back to allow Sam to sit, then took up a position behind his left shoulder. Hands resting lightly on the keyboard, Sam looked up at Wilson.

"Sir, need I remind you that the International Corporate Employee Rights Act of 2035 specifically states that managers may only view an employee's personal financial records after securing a form 3329-11 and furnishing proof of malfeasance, misfeasance, criminal association, or disloyalty on the part of the employee?"

"You are going to be looking at them."

"Dr. Wilson, I am a certified accountant. Section 35.22 of the ICER Act specifically allows for periodic reviews of data up to the green security ratings as part of a just-compensation review. Such reviews may be instituted at any time by a call from the duly elected employee compensation spokesperson or no more than once a year by management. Additionally, in certain jurisdictions, agencies of the national government may request such reviews for purposes of ascertaining that proper tax, work permit, residency, and other requirements are being met. Furthermore-"

"Enough," Wilson cut him off. "Will you be long?"

"It is a minimal check. No more than two or three hours."

Wilson pursed his lips and exhaled through distended nostrils. "Have my secretary call me when you are finished. I'll be in Lab Three."

"Very good, sir. Have a nice day."

Sam managed to hold in his laughter until the disgruntled Wilson was out of the room. He had no idea what section 35.22 of the act contained, but apparently neither did Wilson. From the way the doctor's eyes had glazed over during Sam's matter-of-fact recitation of chapter and verse, he doubted that the research director would check.

Sam didn't waste any time getting down to business. As the workstation was slightly different from those he was used to, he took a few moments to check it out. Wilson's cyberterminal had no datajack feeder cable, for which Sam was grateful. To jack in would have been risky, and now Sam didn't have to worry about making that decision.

From his case, he retrieved the cartridge that had been Jacqueline's other gift. Like the I.D. card, it had a built-in time limit. He suspected other built-in limitations as well. Slotting it, he clicked it on. It began immediately to open files for him as its unfolding programs did the work of a trained decker. As all of Wilson's financial records scrolled onto the screen, Sam recognized several from the work he and Dodger had done in their squat in San Francisco. The doctor's own records showed Drake's money. Or so Lofwyr's chip would have him believe. The Dragon could be setting him up, duplicating the information Sam had already obtained to make it look like this raid on Wilson's files confirmed the doctor's connection to Drake.

With these thoughts, Sam realized that maybe he was beginning to understand life in the shadows, but paranoia only took a person so far.

When Sam directed the chip at Wilson's data files, the screen obligingly filled with lists of documents. None were secure research files, but that was no surprise. Lofwyr's generosity did not extend to revelations about Wilson's work.

Out of curiosity, Sam accessed the research director's personnel file. Most of it was routine, showing the steady progress of Wilson's career, with only one or two reprimands for exceeding the budget on minor projects. Nothing indicated either the corp's dissatisfaction with Wilson or his work. Indeed, Sam noted that Wilson had reported several attempts to bribe him and attempts by agents of United Oil to seduce him away from Genomics for his work with gene-tailored organisms. If Wilson was working outside the corporation, it was still a secret from his bosses.

More than ever, Sam wanted to know the nature of the doctor's research. He tried again, specifying that the chip seek out research files, but all he got back were "unacceptable instructions" messages. Using some tricks that Dodger had taught him, he set up an override program on the cyberterminal and applied it to Lofwyr's chip. The sideways approach slipped the chip's overrides and placed its penetration programs at his disposal. Grinning with satisfaction, he ordered the chip to duplicate its routines onto a blank cartridge. But when he slotted it into the console, he barely managed an abort when the chip flashed "copy attempts will erase all data." He sighed; it had been worth a try. If he was to do anything with Lofwyr's powerful can opener, it would have to be today.

He sent the chip after Wilson's research files.