Chapter 20

MacDowell jerked awake, the dream he'd had vivid in his memory. <That was... I'm not sure just -what- that was. I was Thunderbird, and challenging one of the Immortals? No... -another- one of the Immortals. And winning until this Dreamweaver took me away?> His next thought was more disquieting. <And the last thing she said – she was going to make him wake up, and -I- would remember the dream. Was that -real-?> He got out of bed and Googled 'Thunderbird myth'.

* * * *

“That's it. The civilians have finally gone insane. And I even -voted- for the guy last election.” Lieutenant Colonel David Maximilian, USAF, 'Blue' to his friends and squadron, was, to put it gently, not pleased with his newest mission profile. “A deep penetration mission into Syrian airspace to airdrop a full loadout of pallets to a group that they assure me isn't ISIL, even though it's deep in their territory. And they've assigned a Navy Captain as my co-pilot for the run. I've looked her up, Robbie. A female carrier fighter jock. She had, as of last Friday, an entire twenty hours of flight time on the Herk, most of it last week at Pensacola. Probably an affirmative-action boondoggle on top of it, she's a Changeling, too.”

Major Robert Gilbert, also of USAF, shrugged in response. “I can't imagine even the President pushing that kind of bull through the joint chiefs, sir, if it really is bull. Might want to wait and meet her. Some of the Changelings have some freaky stuff going on, and her call sign is Shadow...”

“Still doesn't change the fact that she'll be trying to fly a Navy fighter. We have an emergency, her reactions aren't going to be set for a Herk when she's got four hundred times the hours as a fighter pilot. I don't care -how- good she might be at that. It's not what's needed here.”

“I think they know that, sir. She outranks you, but they're leaving you as the pilot in command. My brother's an AWACS tech, though, and there are stories about this one in their community.”

“Stories?”

“I don't think he was supposed to talk about it, and you didn't hear this from me, but... if she's the one in the stories, she can make an entire plane drop off radar -and- infrared tracking when she wants. The President might actually know what he's doing.”

“That'd be a first for a politician. Some of this magic stuff, then?”

“Could be. I'm thinking of bumping Ted and taking the flight engineer slot for this one. It just might be interesting...”

“Hmmm... so you think there might be something to it?” Maximilian frowned, more thoughtfully this time. “Fine. I'll give all of them the benefit of the doubt for now. But she'd better know what she's doing.”

* * * *

“And now I know why it is important to help this Sayeed fellow, John.”

“Oh?”

Lowe grinned. “It was rather funny watching their reactions when I sent that email to them. But they did seem disposed to accept aid and break from ISIL before they go down with them, so I went ahead and started looking for the snake-changeling they're worried about.”

“And?”

“Spotted her coming back from the river, and tracked her back to her lair. She's denning up in one of the hidey-holes that Saddam Hussein set up back in the first Gulf War when it became obvious to him that we were going to inspect his facilities whether he liked it or not. No idea if the Syrian government knew about it or if he just bribed some local officials to look the other way... but she's in a very well concealed bunker with four little snakeling children – and three small fission weapons.”

“So that's where they come from.”

“Exactly. ISIL takes over from Sayeed's locals, someone talks about the snake, or their people see her themselves, and eventually track her back to the bunker. And even ISIL has a few people who can recognize and refurbish a nuclear weapon. The main barrier to entry into that club has always been getting the needed materials, not the design of the weapon itself. After all, they did it from scratch in the 1940s, with slide rules and log tables. With computers and CAD programs? No real problem for any nation-state or large corporation – as long as they can find the plutonium or super-enriched uranium to make it from.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“It's still worthwhile helping Sayeed. But I'd like to offer the snakes asylum. Get them all out of there, and bring the weapons along. Solves both problems at once.”

Whitford stared into the fire as he thought. “You'd need a helicopter, though. Nowhere to land an airplane close enough to do any good, and a truck convoy would just be asking for trouble. You'd have to go through either ISIL-controlled territory, Kurdish-controlled territory, or Turkey – and Erdogan is a bit Islamist himself these days. Wouldn't trust any of them.”

Lowe nodded. “Got that right. Anyone in that corner of the world would be trying to figure out a way to keep the weapons for themselves if they knew they were there. And none of them are people I would like to see with that kind of artillery.”

“So what's your next step?”

“Next step is, I try to make contact with her. The trick is finding a way to open a mirror when the bunker doesn't have one, or anything that matches the other normal methods. I'm hoping she'll light a fire when it gets dark.”

* * * *

“You're in early today, sir.” The security guard who'd replaced Sommers nodded to the eagle-changeling.

MacDowell shrugged. “Couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well get some work done before the day's meetings started.” The information he'd gleaned from the Net was... disturbing in several ways. Thunderbird -was- some kind of weather-related legend of the North American native peoples. The weather satellites -had- recorded an unusual burst of storm activity over New Mexico. Sleep deprivation -could- indeed cause serious problems. And while there hadn't been any relevant entries for Dreamweaver, the name did turn up a conspiracy website with a list of the supposed Immortals who had caused the return of magic – a list which also included Thor, Cerrunos. Quetzalcoatl, and Wei Lung. “Kind of a restless night.”

“Meetings, eh? Anything to do with the VIP visitors scheduled for today?”

“You know I can't answer that, Tony. And you're not supposed to be asking, either.”

The guard nodded. “True. Just thinking out loud, I suppose. Sorry, sir.”

“Can't stop you from thinking, Tony. But keep it inside your head.”

“Yes, sir.” He handed over the day's badge. “Here you go.”

* * * *

In spite of arriving two hours early, Isaac got very little work done that morning. By quarter to nine, he'd read over his notes from Los Alamos twice, and couldn't remember a thing about them. When the scheduling program on his laptop beeped to remind him of the upcoming meeting, he closed up his work folders with a mixture of relief and trepidation. <At least, whatever is going to happen, I'm going to find out what it -is- finally.>

He walked down the hallways toward the administration wing of the complex. He'd been shocked when Stardancer had told him that she was going to call in the Stormchild to consult about his odd memories – her existence was officially acknowledged by the government and her services had even been loaned out on occasion - but the fact that she had memories of a previous life was a very tightly held secret. The conspiracy webpage he'd found hadn't even hinted at anything like that, in a case of truth being even stranger than paranoid ravings.

Conference 10-C turned out to be a fairly small and intimate room, with space for just six people at the table. The coffee service was just being laid out when he arrived, and he snagged a donut to munch while he waited. He didn't have to wait for long, though. The door opened again at five minutes to the hour, and Stardancer smiled at him. “Good, you're here already.” She entered the room, and ushered in her three guests, waving them toward the snacks. “Ladies, this is Captain Isaac MacDowell. He's the one who's been having trouble with some odd memories. Captain, I'd like you to meet Nancy – or Katlynn, sometimes – who hosts the Stormchild, Captain Sterling, aka Shadow, and Dr. Levaux, the Dreamweaver.”

MacDowell sat down heavily, staring at the mouse-femme. Dreamweaver broke the silence with an amused air. “We done met. He remember, I garontee.”

The eagle sagged, his hands over his eyes as he leaned on the table. “My God, it WAS real...”

“Sure was, Captain. Le'ss start today wit' what you can remember, all de little t'ings dat have popped up into your waking memories, an' den tonight we see about talkin' to Thunderbird.”

The eagle nodded. “That's reasonable... what do I remember?” He sat for a few minutes, considering all the odd little bits of deja vu, skills he didn't remember practicing, and languages he'd never learned. “Three basic categories, I guess you could say. Things I can do that I don't remember learning, bits of deja vu about places and sometimes people, and... well, attitudes, I guess. I thought that might be part of being a Changeling, eagles are supposed to be aloof and independent birds, after all, but after last night...”

Stardancer nodded. “So, let's start with languages. You mentioned speaking Oglala to greet Sommers when you mistook him for the Eldest. Any others?”

“Quite a few, actually. I experimented with that afterwards, using online audio files. Navajo, Ndéé, Cherokee – weirdly, I could read English transliteration but not Cherokee written in its own alphabet – Shoshone, Mohegan, Seminole, Algonquin... most of the American native languages that I could find online, in fact. I suspect there are others. And I can read Mayan glyphs, but not Aztec. I did find a Navajo speaker to test what I could do. He told me that I reminded him of his great-grandfather's speech – and he was in his eighties, himself. So...”

Dreamweaver nodded. “So what you be rememberin' is likely from de long-ago. Mebbe Aztec writin' is too new fo' you to know.”

Stormchild nodded. “That is why I depend on the modern part of myself, after all. I don't remember anything past the Romans invading Britain except for what she has learned. Star... is the Eldest still here? You mentioned he was training the young unicorn in how to shape-change.”

“You're thinking we should bring him into this discussion?”

She pointed at MacDowell. “He already said he remembered him. Maybe he knows something about what's going on here...”

* * * *

The Eldest and his young protege were currently at a local hospital in humanoid-equine forms; Sommers was trying to channel his healing magic in a controlled fashion without triggering the full shift to unicorn. So far the results had been... mixed, at best. Cerrunos was optimistic, though. “You're helping people, and at least you're getting a lot of practice shifting back to humanoid.”

“I'm going through one heck of a lot of hospital gowns, too, sir.”

“That's because you're a prude, boy. You'll get over it eventually. You get to be my age, you'll have lived in cultures that run the complete spectrum from nudist to Victorian, with side trips to places you wouldn't even believe right now.”

Sommers was spared from trying to answer this when his phone beeped. “Hello?” He listened for a few seconds. “He's right here, ma'am.” He handed it over to the Eldest. “For you, sir. Someone named Dreamweaver is asking if you can come back to the Lab.”

* * * *

The Eldest smiled at his guide as they reached 10-C and sent her on her way with a pat on the backside. Stardancer gave him a rather sardonic look as he sat down. “Still not quite up to the modern era, are you?”

“You of -all- people should know better than to send virgins to meet with me, 'Dancer. She'll get over it. She's a bright kid, she -needs- to contribute to the next generation. How's Tad doing these days?”

The witch blushed nearly as red as her hair. “He's fine. I honestly didn't know... it's not the sort of thing you -ask- during interviews these days. Besides, I didn't know you still had that effect in your human form.”

“Yep, still do. Not as strong, though.” He nodded to the others. “This is Captain MacDowell, I assume?”

Stormchild nodded. “He is. And between Dreamweaver and I, we're pretty sure he's Thunderbird this time around. Doesn't seem to be integrating well, though.”

“The Cycle is still young. Pleased to meet you, Captain.” He offered a handshake. “They generally call me Eldest, but my true name--”

The eagle-morph interrupted. “... is lost in the depths of time. But since the days of the cave painters, you go by Cerrunos.” He shook his head. “How do I -know- that?”

The blond man looked at him with ancient eyes. “Because you are the Thunderbird, Isaac. And he and I have known each other for a long time indeed. He is the essence of Father Nature, as Stormchild is Mother Nature. In one way, they are both far older than I am, but both fell in battle against the Uskaraji necromancers. They were reborn in the following Cycle as they always are, but without their ancient memories.”

Stormchild frowned, trying to remember something. “You have told me this before, I believe.”

Cerrunos nodded. “More than once, Katlynn. More than once.” He shook his head. “But that's not the issue on the table today, is it? Thunderbird's always had more trouble integrating with a new host each Cycle than you do, Stormchild, and this time around it seems he's really made a hash of it.”

MacDowell looked up, indignant. “You mean he's -supposed- to take over my life?”

The Eldest shook his head. “No, he's supposed to form a partnership with you. Doesn't usually take more than a couple years, though. Stormchild usually manages it in days.” He leaned back in his chair, thinking, for several minutes. “Dreamweaver? You got through to him for a bit last night. What did he say...?”

“He seem to be t'inkin' dat we were de invaders of his territory, dat he was -protectin'- de Sout'west from de rest of us. Like he couldn't figger out, or just din't care about, where de boundaries is now. Got downright nasty 'bout it.”

“Maybe that's the problem. If he and the Captain have a lot of disagreements, philosophically speaking, that could be blocking the integration.”

MacDowell stared at the man. “I don't think that's a bad thing, sir. I don't really want to lose myself to this... force of nature.”

Stormchild shook her head. “It's not like that at all. You gain memories and abilities. You don't lose yourself, you expand. Remember, you're blocking him because he doesn't agree with you yet. He'll have to come around to your way of thinking to merge with you, or at worst persuade you that he's right. You won't get overridden.”

MacDowell frowned. “Can't hurt to talk to him, I suppose. Miss Dreamweaver... what are you planning to do tonight?”

“We sleep here, or somewhere close togedder if dey ain't no beds here. An' I bring everyone into de same dream to talk. Dat means you and T'underbird separate, an' de rest of us to chat.”

“One request. Can you have Stormchild and her host there separately? To prove that it's not an override?”

The mouse looked at the lynx. “Up to you. Wanna try it?”

The lynx sat for a few minutes, giving the strong impression that she was holding a conversation inside her own head. Eventually she nodded. “We... think we can still do that.”

“Den we meet for dinner tonight, an' after, we dream togedder. Is gonna be a wild ride.”

* * * *

Dinner had been a rather strained affair. MacDowell especially was nervous about what was going to happen even if the dream-meeting went well. Katlynn was worried about being separated and whether or not they would need to start over afterwards. Shadow had tried to find out more about the battle against the Uskaraji that the Eldest had mentioned, and the old unicorn had said just enough to disturb everyone at the table. Dreamweaver shook her head, trying to forget what they'd been told. That fight had been the horror that still rattled around in the collective human subconscious as the original Zombie Apocalypse. <Crazy bat. How we gonna get everyone to fall asleep after -dat- ghost-story I dunno.>

Eventually everyone did, though, and she brought them into the same Dreaming. She chose the Lab conference room for the venue, with a few more chairs and a circular conference table. Stormchild and Nancy sat side by side, lynx and elk separate but obviously uncomfortable with it. Shadow and the Eldest flanked Thunderbird, and she sat beside MacDowell, the two eagles opposite each other. Stardancer sat between her and Shadow.

“Still interfering, dreamwalker?” Thunderbird's avatar was still angry with her.

“I'ze just runnin' de meetin', darlin'. At de request of de Eldest.” She nodded to the man whose dream-self wavered uncertainly between human and unicorn.

Thunderbird turned toward him, his features a mix of shock and surprise, hope and fear. “Cerrunos? You have always been a friend before. Why...?”

“I am still your friend, Thunderbird, if you will accept it. We are trying to help. It has been four years since the last Convergence, and you have barely even begun to join with your host.”

“That long...? It's all so hazy, as if I have been sleeping. As if it were the end of a Cycle and not the beginning...”

“And when I was sent to try to help, brother, you treated me as an invader.” The elk doe was speaking in ancient Gaelic, and yet everyone understood her. “And you forced your way into control while your host was asleep to do it, which has not endeared you to him in the least.”

“But I have always protected the mortals of my territory, sister. And always before you have been on the far side of the ocean. This Cycle is so confusing... and when you approached, it was at such speed! What was I supposed to think?”

She nodded. “The Eldest told you that the mortals did something new this time. And you may deride their realms as mere lines on the ground, but here they have but three such realms over the entire continent, two of them – including three-fourths of the population and nine-tenths of the land - so friendly as to be almost as one. You cannot protect part of that realm from the rest of it. As for how fast I approached? That was a mortal conveyance. If you'd been -learning- from your host from the beginning, as I do, you would have known that.”

“Truly?”

Dreamweaver chuckled. “Fo' sho', De pilot's right dere beside you, an' she ain't happy witchu neither. We done tol' you t'ings is different dis Cycle. You need to -talk- to your host, not jest assume you know what needs doin'. Males...”

MacDowell spoke up for the first time. “We are both here now, and your... sister...?”

Nancy and Stormchild glanced at each other, and shrugged in unison. “It's complicated.”

MacDowell nodded. “I'll believe -that-.” He picked up the thread of his statement. “Stormchild and her host assure me that it -is- truly a partnership. If that is true, let's talk. Find out why we haven't been able to cooperate, and maybe we can. So far, I've had weird dreams, and you still do not understand the modern world...” He paused at a snort from the Eldest. “All right, the current situation, then. You say you want to be a protector, and that is my job as well, as an officer in the Air Force of the United States.”

“Air Force? The -mortals- have an army in the -air-?”

Shadow nodded. “We do. Two of them, if you count the Naval branch separately.” She grinned. “His boys never got the hang of landing in one spot, they just fly down to meet the ground and -then- start slowing...”

“As if you don't. You just try to yank the tails off your planes when you hit the deck so you don't fall into the water...”

Thunderbird watched the back-and-forth, bemused by the implications. Dreamweaver produced a gavel and banged it on the table to interrupt. “Focus, chillun. Thunderbird? Will you talk to us?”

The great eagle nodded. “Very well. Perhaps we -can- learn from each other....”