Moonfeather seemed not to hear, but remained standing there, one red fingernail pressed against her full lips, deep in thought or reverie.

"Frag this!" With blinding speed, Thumbs opened a storage locker and retrieved a length of thick rope. "Tie me!" he shouted, tossing the loose end to Delphia.

Delphia wound the rope around the middle of the big troll and knotted the end tightly. Then Thumbs lurched out the hatchway, struggling through the raging bombardment of water to reach the railing and tie a second rope about a stanchion to anchor himself. His boots constantly threatened to slip underfoot, and his clothes were soaked in mere ticks.

"Moonfeather?" said Silver. No response. Even when a horde of leeches started for the bound troll at the starboard gunwale.

"Delphia, cover fire!" Silver screamed, her Seco firing away. Assuming a combat stance, Delphia unlimbered his Japanese-made SCK 100 submachine gun and cut loose with short, controlled bursts.

The noise seemed to rouse Moonfeather suddenly. She ripped open the bag of grenades and rushed over to the port hatch. Speaking to each grenade first, she began tossing them fast as she could, underhand, overhand, and sideways. The spheres and pineapples flew toward the monstrous serpent, the blasts illuminating the night but barely damaging the creature.

"Aim!" shouted Lieutenant O'Shanassey into a mike above the howling of the storm. "Lock!" But the final command never came as a leech smashed through the weakened windshield and landed full on her face. O'Shanassey fell back into the bridge, clawing wildly at her head.

From his position at the wheel, Captain Villiers drew a Colt and blew the First Officer's brains out. In mindless feeding frenzy, the leech didn't stop sucking the juices of the decapitated corpse until Villiers fired again, and again, puncturing its slick, rubbery skin. Black ichor poured out thickly as the dying thing continued feeding, human red tinting the ebony blood in pumping swirls.

"Captain on the com," announced an unshaven Lieutenant, saluting smartly as the commander of the pirate submarine Manta stepped through the aft hatchway of the submarine. The rumpled crew at their posts merely grunted at the announcement and continued working, the rainbow of lights from the controls giving the cramped room of the military killing machine an almost holiday feel.

"Carry on," growled Captain, moving past the effete nancyboy in annoyance. Bloody hoopkisser. His First was a deserter from the UCAS Navy, and still followed regulations meaningless to a pirate boat. Who cared about such drek? As long as the crew instantly obeyed his every command, Captain didn't give a frag if they washed or stood straight. Damn idjit. At least the gleeb had stopped shaving every day. It was a waste of good hot water.

When Captain first joined the IronHell pirate group, he found it disturbing that most of the crew were called by their jobs when on board: gunner, engineer, cook, rigger, etcetera.

"Have we found them yet, Number One?" he asked, taking his chair-not original equipment, which he considered foolish of the old submariners. Why should the commander stand?

But the vessel was very old, an Acoola Class Red Star from before the Awakening. The original crew had disappeared from within the locked sub during a mana storm in the dreaded Triangle some twenty years ago. It had only recently been found intact by a Gunderson oil survey probe his Bermuda contacts had followed out to sea. After locating the sub, his contacts had notified him and he'd notified IronHell of the vessel's location, as usual. Nuyen changed hands as it always did in such scavenger activities, enough nuyen to make those contacts his for life.

Within a month, the wreck was upgraded and renamed Manta. Her liquid crystal display on the rusty conning tower converted from the innocuous serial number of a bogus oceanographic institute to a blazing skull-n-crossbones at the flip of a switch. Startled the drek out of people.

Eventually, his prize was given a choice assignment-hit a merchant class ship for the contraband it held and try out the newest piece of IronHell tech, some sort of laser gun. If all went well, he might be able to split from IronHell and form his own band. Maybe even own a piece of the Caribbean. But the Captain was no fool. He knew dreams never came cheap.

"Aye, aye, sir. Radar contact is confirmed." Lieutenant passed over a handcomp with a datachip already in the slot. "Here's the manifest and purser's list."

Captain pressed the search pad, then skimmed the info it presented, interested only in passengers. They already knew this was a rich ship, a ripe plum. A cornucopia of Italian machine parts made from valuable ceramic composites. On top of that were the Asian chips: simsense prototypes, military Hunter/Killers, biochips, and more. Not to mention the secret stuff being smuggled in from the labs of Angola. Oh, yes. This fruit cart would never reach home port.

No passengers worth ransom or good-looking enough for the white slave market, however. Merely the standard crew of malcontents and some gutter mercs. Nothing to worry about. No mages on board. Good. The last thing you want on a sub is a mage. Can't control those mana freaks.

"We're taking everything on this one, so kill as you please!" Captain shouted to the crew. They muttered assent. Aye, and after they were done stripping the ship clean, he'd send her straight to Davy with a torpedo in her belly. Always a fine sight. His masters would be very pleased. Put the fear of IronHell back into the corp's belly. Damn suits were getting uppity again. "Storm status?"

"Wave height increasing," announced Tactical. "Winds up another twenty kph."

The squall was getting worse. "All stop," Captain ordered, reversing his cap. "Gimme periscope depth. Stabilizers on full."

"Aye, sir. We are."

At fifteen meters depth, their periscope was above the ocean's surface, but the endlessly crashing waves hid their target in a choppy maelstrom. "Up five meters," said Captain, forearms resting on the side supports of the 'scope. Someday, he'd get jacked and see the outside inside his head through their pinhead cam on the hull. But he'd yet to find a chummer he trusted enough to stand guard over him while he was unconscious and under the laser.

"Aye, sir," said Lieutenant, scratching his stubble. "Helm, up five, zero bubble."

Rigger nodded, fully jacked into the sub's brain so man was boat and boat was man. His hands also hovered over the main control panel as he watched the dials before him intently. "Confirm. Five at zero!"

As the periscope focus adjusted automatically for the distance, the captain of the Manta punched for night vision. Lights were flashing over the craft. What the hell was going on? "Ah, drek!" he said finally. "They're fighting a snake!" Murmurs came from the bridge crew.

"Sea serpent," corrected Captain grimly. This was not part of their plan. But the sea was always full of surprises. "Big fragging mother. Forty, fifty meters long."

"Leeches?" asked Lieutenant grimacing.

"Tons of 'em."

"An old snake then. Bloody hell."

"Aye." Standard procedure was to wait for the target ship to come out of a squall and then attack while the crew was still weak and disorganized from battling the elements. But a sea serpent!

"Prepare torpedoes," ordered Captain briskly. "No, belay that! Prep the Firelance."

The Weapons officer awoke from his dozing. "Sir?"

"You heard me, Wep. The big laser. Now move! Let's give this baby a test run. That's why we got it!" There were rules at sea, even for pirates. And one of the most important was, everybody killed snakes. Just for different reasons, that's all.

17.

Standing in the open doorway of the bridge on the forecastle, Delphia squinted against the sheets of rain. He lowered the SCK and reached into his jacket for his Zeist glasses. He put them on, the frames giving a low hum, the lenses swirling with colors, and suddenly his machine gun was back in action, chattering away into the raging darkness.

Just steps away, Thumbs touched the third molar in his mouth with his tongue and his reflexes kicked into overdrive. He always liked using his reflex trigger, it gave him such a rush. He slashed his monofilament blades at the sea serpent with chipped speed, a blur in the rain. The rest of the crew was battling the leeches crawling over the deck of the Esmeralda like roaches on a wet kitchen floor. Green-black waves rose above the radio mast to crash on the decks harder than piledrivers, smashing the last few lifeboats and washing off everything and everybody not holding on for dear freaking life.

Silver meanwhile had found her spare cable and had jacked directly into the automated weapons control panel of the ship. She was no rigger, but she figured it was now or never. It wasn't a rigged vessel, thank the gods, and it only took her a nano to seize control of the weapons systems. The Emmy seemed to have only one defensive battery, class four, honeycomb formation, Rockwell and Boeing manufacturer.

Carried 10 four-meter-long missiles. Loaded with old-style Amsterdams, almost a decade out of date, all-purpose missiles: surface-to-air, ship-to-ship, and ship-to-land.

Drek! Only three remaining, and all set for detonation upon impact, not penetration! Useless against the adamantine scales of the fragging snake. Frantically, Silver raced through the menu, changing the codes to alter the timing sequence on the big 15-kilogram warheads. She hoped to drek the others could keep those leeches off her while her consciousness was here doing this. With its doors open and lights full on, the elevated forecastle and balcony seemed to be a lure for the filthy things. Bloodsucking monster leeches. She shivered.

Grenades used up, Moonfeather was shooting at any leeches that tried to gain entry into the bridge. But easily half her rounds twanged off the steelloy deck, and one big leech got so close it almost bit her with a fanged proboscis even as the thing horribly exploded.

"Thanks!" she called over her shoulder.

"Not a problem," shouted Delphia from the other side of the bridge. "Can't you see through the storm?"

"Hell, no!"

Four more fast shots. "Then I'll give cover! You do something else!"

"And make it big!" Villiers added.

Nodding, Moonfeather holstered her weapon and moved over to the center of the room. She sat down crosslegged and pulled a leather fetish from her belt. Holding it like a sword, she took a deep breath and went very very still.

Moonfeather was standing on a vast desert, its shifting dunes reaching to the shimmering horizon.

Her combat gear was gone. She was dressed in a flowing garment made of purest white silk and leather sandals. The sand under them was rippled like waves on a lake, and Moonfeather noticed her feet were in shadow, at the very tip of a pointed triangle of darkness. Turning around slowly, she flinched. The afternoon sun was blazing directly behind a huge structure of some sort.

Impossibly, the sun rose into the sky as if on celestial tracks. The shadow receded toward the structure, pulling her along with it as if she was attached to it. As the sun reached azimuth, she crested a low hill and saw a tremendous stone pyramid rise majestically before her. It was enormous, bigger than anything she had ever seen, towering three, four hundred meters tall. Dominating the entire desert, the featureless expanse of the geometric shape seemed brand new, not crumbling and ancient like those of Egypt or Mexico.

Reverently advancing in the shifting sands, Moonfeather spotted a small opening on ground level. It was a metal doorway, the detailed stone skindle and jambs edged with elaborate hieroglyphics and cartouches. On either side of the entrance, supporting the massive lintel with inhumanly muscular arms were twin statues. Apparently carved from hard mountain granite, not soft sandstone, the statues were of norms with the heads of cats, their angled eyes glittering the same color as the door itself. Some sort of amber gems? No, polished bronze, or gold. Golden doors?

In the distance, Moonfeather heard soft voices singing sweet songs of praise, and the silvery tinkle of bells. A soft wind blew the sands away from before her, exposing a walk of polished jade leading directly to the mighty door.

Approaching, she noticed the statues moving slightly, tracking her every step. Their granite hands were claws, and ebony swords hung sheathed on their belts, but Moonfeather felt no fear. Theirs was the kindly gaze of an amused friend or perhaps an elder sister.

Distance fooled her sense of perspective. As she stood before the massive door it stretched above her like a golden cliff. No hinges or lock were in view. Moonfeather walked closer, and as she moved between the guardians, the door slid silently aside, going into the pyramid. Beyond was the sandstone side of the structure and a normal-sized passageway, a minuscule mousehole compared to the gigantic door.

Tricks and illusions. Moonfeather knew she was being played with. Every time she visited her totem, the landscape was different; a hollowed-out tree larger than any megacorp skyscratcher-its branches stretching out to cover the world, bejeweled cities of paper and silk, steaming savannahs, always different, yet always the same. Tricks and illusions, games and tests.

As she stepped into the passageway, soft fur brushed her cheek and the door closed with a whisper of the air pushed out of its gargantuan way. It was much cooler in here, even though the corridor was lined with dozens of smokeless torches. The steady light illuminated a long narrow passageway whose walls, ceiling, and floor were completely covered with painted scenes of solemn ceremonies attended by endless hordes of worshippers lovingly offering tribute to whatever was down the passageway.

The far end was open, the golden doors spread wide, inviting entrance. Walking at a steady pace, Moonfeather could almost taste the mana in here, it was so thick. She felt invigorated, almost giddy and fought the feelings down. Another test. Remember, dignity, always fragging dignity!

Beyond the doors was a single massive chamber larger than any sports arena, the vaunted ceiling stretching out of sight. The floor was covered with thick rugs and piled with plump cushions. The interior walls were mirrors, reflecting everything. Prominent in the exact center-and somehow she knew it was the precise and exact center-was a tiered rise of jade, framed by statues of brawny humans holding aloft a golden bower edged with sparkling jewels. Sprawled almost bonelessly on a silken divan in near obscene comfort was a large tan cougar. Although the creature purred in pleasure, the black tip of its tail was a metronome of impatience. Only the overly large eyes watching her minutely showed startlingly human expression. It was Cat.

"Little one, I do not like to be kept waiting," throated Cat, giving a long slow blink of welcome.

"I did not know I was expected," said Moonfeather honestly.

"My followers should think ahead of the now." Cat hunched her shoulders as if preparing to pounce, then relaxed and tilted her head. "However, you are forgiven. When you struck that hougan and left My mark upon him, that was very good. His kind had no fear of me, now they do. I am pleased."

"Thank you, I-"

"You wish a favor?" Emerald eyes narrowed and widened. "You have not asked of me for many years. Yet you always boast of my songs, tell of my power, and wear my marks. Even when it endangers your life. Your request is granted."

Moonfeather was stunned. So easy? Words filled her thoughts, but she forced herself quiet. Here was the game. Don't ask for two things when offered one. Don't ask for what cannot be given. Magic had limits.

"Beloved mother, sister of the night, please touch me . . ." She shook her head and began again. "Show me a song to summon an ocean spirit to banish the storm."

Cat purred louder and gave a smile. With a sigh, Moonfeather knew she'd asked correctly. As the storm departed, so would the serpent. Teaching her could have taken hours or days, depending on how attentive she was. Showing her was much faster, and time had nearly run out. Cat only gave what was asked. It was part of the game. Without rules to secretly break there was no point to life itself.

Leaping from the divan, the great feline padded close to Moonfeather and rubbed her stiff whiskers against the palm of her hand. Moonfeather stopped herself from stroking the head or scratching the ears as she had not been invited to touch the Old Mother.

Another purr, deeper, almost a rumble.

"You may touch," said Cat, circling the woman.

Moonfeather tenderly stroked the velvety fur, feeling a sensual pleasure at the contact. After a few moments, she stopped, although she ached to touch her totem more. Rising to stand on her hind legs, Cat rested both massive paws on Moonfeather's shoulders, their eyes centimeters apart. Moonfeather tried her best to show no fear, but she felt her reverence tinged with impatience. Deadly black claws slid out from the soft pads and Moonfeather felt her skin pricked by the needle-sharp points, but said nothing. There was nothing to say, this was Cat. Implacable as the wind. You did not argue or cajole, but accepted whatever was offered. Pain or pleasure. Life or death.

"Ah, wisdom at last. You are no longer a kit," throated Cat, releasing the woman. Reverently, Moonfeather blinked once slowly and purred under the praise.

Sitting on her haunches, long tail wrapped around her on the floor, Cat licked her paws with a rough tongue, and the claws retracted.

"A song of summoning, little sister? Very well, listen and learn." Cat began to croon, a low melody of tranquillity. It steadily grew in complexity and power, and Moonfeather followed as best she could, trying to remember the song for herself. From outside the pyramid, she could hear the silvery bells ring louder and louder, until the noise shook the structure like primordial thunder.

With a deafening boom, sheet lightning crashed among the thunderheads in the boiling sky. In the open doorway of the bridge, Delphia stopped firing at the leeches when a missile whooshed by close overhead. Backing away, one arm held before his face, he cursed as the leviathan snake twisted out of the way at the last moment and the missile disappeared into the churning sea.

"Close! Try again!" he shouted at Silver, as the ship plowed through a turbulent swell. The craft was tossed upward, then paused in midair for a breathless moment, before crashing back down into the yawning trough. Delphia grabbed a stanchion near the doorway with both hands, losing the SCK 100 as it happened again. On the bow, the fat ork cook screamed and was gone.

A red light flashed on the bridge control board. "Gods almighty, it's over! We're done for, matey!" shouted the captain, his dark face contorting with effort as he fought the stubborn wheel.

The Manhunter slapped into his wet hand as Delphia turned to look at him. "What are you talking about, man!"

"The stabilizers are gone! We're helpless at the mercy of the storm!"

Delphia's jaw dropped. "We're helpless?"

Her body motionless as a statue, Silver's fingers raced over the old controls of the bridge console as if she was playing a silent piano.

Tightening its grip about the ship as another wave battered the little craft, the snake went motionless and a snarling Thumbs attacked with a vengeance. But the deck underfoot was slick with the rain, and once more he nearly lost his balance and went into the roiling sea, only the nylon rope keeping him secured.

Lightning illuminated the world as Thumbs charged and rammed his blades through the scales and deep into the soft flesh underneath. The noise of the storm was eclipsed by the scream from the serpent as Thumbs twisted his arm about and yanked, pulling out a plug of flesh larger than a soybeef roast. The whole ship shook as the beast trembled from the wound. Another fiery dart lanced by, but the serpent batted it with its neck, and the missile hit the hoist near the cargo hatch. The detonation blew a dozen sailors to fiery pieces.

Blood gushing from the hole in its torso, the sea serpent swung its gigantic head toward Thumbs, jaw wide, rows of fangs exposed, its open gullet filling his universe.

"Scrag you, worm!" screamed Thumbs, rearing back his arm for another slash when a scintillating rod of destruction sliced through the deafening storm. A burning rainbow rod of blinding intensity that vaporized the tips of his blades and struck the beast just behind the flared fins on its thick neck. Deck metal crunched, as the snake screamed in shock and pain, a fountain of pale blood gushing from the gaping wound.

Thumbs staggered in shock, staring at the slagged tips of the cyberware jutting less then five millimeters from his forearm. His blades were gone above the wrist, his skin red and blistered from the passing of the deadly beam.

"My blades!" he screamed in shock and rage. "My fragging blades!" He switched off his reflexes with a quick flick of his tongue.

Its scales rattling, the snake's squeal of anguish climbed higher and higher. The leeches swarmed over its thrashing form, trying to stanch the pumping wound with their own bodies. The energy beam struck again, but only vaporized leeches as countless more coated the serpent as a living shield.

Firing his Mossberg, a trembling Thumbs fell against the chain railing. Delphia holstered his own weapon and was just grabbing a bloody Crusader chattergun from a corpse when Moonfeather pushed him aside and walked boldly out into the storm. As if on cue, the winds died sharply and the waves ceased crashing so violently across the bow of the battered ship.

As the rain noticeably slowed, twice more shimmering stilettos of energy stabbed at the beast, killing only leeches. Stumbling over the bodies and wreckage, Moonfeather charged insanely at the snake. Bounding onto the twisted ruins of the cargo crane, she took a deep breath and jumped.

She hit the snake's body hard, gasping at the impact. Frantically grabbing the sharp scales with her bare hands, she forced herself to concentrate. Out of her hands came a bolt of electricity that she focused directly into the pulsating hole. Instantly, the reptilian flesh turned yellow and large blisters full of virulent white puss began to form. The sea beast doubled over in agony, jaw agape, its eyes fully dilated in unbearable pain.

"What the . . . she's insane!" screamed Captain Villiers. "We all are!" shouted Delphia, the muzzle of his appropriated weapon searching for an opportunity to shoot.

At the console, Silver smiled.