Freedom TM

ignored PlineyElder, who was waving frantically. He moved toward the rings and held his hands over them, motioning in counter-rotating circles while speaking the darknet incantation that would permanently bind them with the spell. He’d practiced it many times in the shower at the hotel, and he hoped he’d get it right on the first try.
“Fasthu, agros visthon, pantoristhas, antoriontus, pashas afthas.”
    Happily, as he finished, each ring pulsed with D-Space light.
    Ross stepped back, and the welding robot zapped each of them again, this time in a different place. As it withdrew, Ross moved in again and repeated his spell.
    The process was performed twice more, and as he spoke the last word, PlineyElder and WuzzGart were already next to him, holding their arms over the pedestal and chanting the words of a fictitious language of a fictitious race of people that had probably been thought up by some writer in a cubicle at Cyberstorm Entertainment in Thousand Oaks, California.
    Nonetheless, the Daemon had imbued these words with power.
    As the three reached a crescendo and simultaneously completed their chants, a brilliant D-Space light emanated from all the rings and slowly cooled, fading and ultimately disappearing. Now, however, the individual D-Space call-outs above each half-ring had been replaced by a single D-Space call-out, centered above the lone crystal on the parent ring.
    PlineyElder grinned. “The masterwork is a success!”
    They all shook hands, and Ross stood by eagerly as WuzzGart extracted the finished rings from the jig and dunked them in a bucket of water. He placed all four of them on a ShamWow he found on a nearby workbench and showed them off to Ross and the sorcerer.
    “Behold the Rings of Aggys!”
    The cloth held two sets of matching rings, one set smaller than the other. All were still steaming. The lone call-out on the ring with a crystal was an inscrutable alphanumeric sequence.
    WuzzGart pointed. “Note the quality of the welds. No alpha phase or swirling. You could get those buffed anywhere, and they’ll shine up like white gold.”
    PlineyElder nudged Ross and pointed up at his call-out. “Congratulations.”
    Ross just then noticed that he’d gone up a level. He was nowa seventh-level Rogue. He’d missed the alert in his HUD display amid all the excitement. He nodded to both men. “Thank you, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
    WuzzGart placed the rings in a small velvet bag and handed them to Ross.
    PlineyElder pointed at the bag. “Those are powerful rings, master thief! Do not use them lightly or they will destroy themselves. Or even
you
.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    WuzzGart started cleaning the pedestal with the ShamWow. “You must have a use in mind for these rings to go through so much trouble.”
    Ross nodded. “I’ll need them for a journey—through hostile territory.”
    “If it’s so hostile, why go there?”
    “Because I need to.”
    WuzzGart looked into Ross’s eyes, then he looked to PlineyElder. “I’ll bet you a thousand credits it’s a woman.”
    Both men laughed.
    “You have my thanks, gentlemen.” Ross put the velvet bag in his suit coat pocket, nodded once more, and headed for the exit.

Chapter 13: // Epiphany
    Sir! We need immediate air support! We are being overrun!”
    The panicked face of the lieutenant filled the monitor, his head distorting on-screen as it darted side to side. Staccato gunfire chattered in the background.
    “Air support? Where the hell do you think you are, son, ’Nam? You’re in Illinois.”
    “We need help!”
    “Where’s your commanding officer?”
    “Dead, sir!”
    The Major sat in a windowless operations center thousands of miles away in an office park in Bethesda, Maryland.
    The screen broke up for a moment.
“We need evac! We have been surrounded and are being overrun!”
    Gunfire in the background was suddenly much louder. There were screams of wounded and the sound of roaring engines—a sound that The Major was all too familiar with.
    “Son. I need you to calm down and provide a concise report.”
    “Sir—”
    “Report, goddamnit!” The Major hit the MUTE button on the console and turned to a nearby technician. “What group is this?”
    “Optimal Outcomes, sir. An outfit out of Dallas.” The technician brought up a map on his own screen that showed a satellite view of a planned community. “They’re bivouacked in a half-finished housing development in