The Fury and the Terror Read Online Free PDF

adept, could lower her own rate to six beats a minute. The Avatar could get by on eight beats an hour.
    Darkfeather sat beside Cheng. Her presence provoked no movement or sign of recognition.
    "Kelane?"
    Cheng answered after a time lag, as if Darkfeather's voice were circling the moon to get to her.
    Yes? Darkfeather couldn't be sure she had actually spoken, but the response was clear in her mind.
    "I want to apologize for—you know. She shouldn't have done that. Shot Romanzo. There was no call. I don't know what gets into Ro—into Zephyr, sometimes."
    Cheng's lips moved, but again Darkfeather had the sensation of mind-to-mind communication.
    What is your name?
    "Portia Darkfeather."
    How did you find us? Were we betrayed?
    "By someone in your group?" What the hell, Darkfeather thought, let's find out what a good little audile she is. No. Listen, we've got some pretty fair people ourselves. You've heard of Psi Faculty? What we call a proprietary in our—
    No time lag in comprehension now, which concerned Darkfeather.
    I know all about them.
    Darkfeather spoke aloud, easing the strain on herself. Thought communication was hard work. "Affiliated with major universities. Nobel Prize winners on staff. Enough funding makes any area of academic inquiry respectable. When the Cold War ended, we also picked up some of the Russians who were cutting edge in psi research."
    Do they realize who—and what—they are actually working for?
    "Why make us out to be the bad guys, Key? The rest of the fucking world hates the good old U.S., no need to wonder why. Maybe it's our come-to-Jesus statesmanship. There's always been and always will be another war. We're simply defending our country with the best means at our disposal." She added, sub-vocally, Like the Avatar .
    There was a slight change of weather in the twilight pall of Cheng's face. Why do you treat me like this? I am American born. I went to Harvard. My stepfather owns a Buick dealership in Paso Robles.
    "United Way. Rotarian. Registered Dem. Put on some weight since I saw him last. But I like a man with girth."
    Have you hurt him?
    "Absolutely not! He was cooperative. You scare him a little. Look, Kelane. We all need to work together in this thing. Or else, frankly, there goes the Buick dealership. Paso Robles too, most likely. We're all but in a state of siege here."
    Don't talk to me about loyalty. Who are you?
    "I told you already. Por—"
    I know your name. That wasn't my question. How can you do her work, and live with yourself?
    "It's where I used to live, that's the only thing ever bothers me," Darkfeather said hostilely.
    Yes, I see it , the Avatar responded after a few moments. The grasslands and sugar-beet fields. The Mission school. The mobile home in which you lived.
    Her recall gave Darkfeather a chill. "Call it a home. Call it a bed I slept on if you want to. That old pissed-up mattress where I was fucked by half the dam workers at Yellowtail while my uncle Louis Badger Foot hunkered down outside the door, taking the money I earned in his dirty hand."
    The hand with the missing thumb joint and—
    "God damn you! I work for Zephyr because she loves me. I own a condo in Falls Church. I've got ranchland. Quarter horses. Get out of my head!"
    You came to me.
    "All I came in here for was to say I was personally sorry about Frank Romanzo, it was a mistake. But you don't rile Zephyr. Man, you never do that."
    The ensuing silence in Darkfeather's head was worrisome. She stared down at Cheng. Such stillness. Her rhythms at the brink of death. But Darkfeather understood that the attempted apology had failed. The Avatar wasn't ready to die. Not until she'd settled with them all.
    And Darkfeather lost her nerve. Knowing that she had made herself momentarily vulnerable. Thoroughly unprofessional. She left Kelane Cheng and in a rage lit into the medical team, compounding her own anxiety.
    "I'm telling you! She was in my head like a plumber's snake, rooting