HOMEWARD BOUND
Part One
Morgana ran her hand over the amulet, silently blessing Jackal once more for bringing it to her. She hated to leave this world, where she had grown so comfortable and familiar, back to her now alien home of Earth.
Earth, Morgana's inner mind conjured up the image that she remembered the best. The back fire-escape from Sally's squat, complete with the presence of a scummy squatter or two, and the multitude of carboard boxes that owed their existance to the Soy-Fude Shop on the ground floor. With her eyes shut, the adept felt the tendrils and power of this other-worlds magic overtaking her.
Morgana's first thought was that it hadn't worked. She didn't hear anything at first, no hum of traffic, no bustle of Seattle morning. But, as her metallic silver eyes cracked open, viewing the early first light of morning, she inhaled deeply. And began to cough. She had no doubts about it any longer; only Seattle could smell that bad.
Thick fog covered the city. It was earlier here then it had been in that Otherworld. She smiled ruefully to herself.
Well, Morgie, she thought rather cynically, Now's your chance to prove 'em all wrong!
With a spring in her step and a grin spread over her lips, she strode out into the street. Turning, she noted that the Soy-Fude Shop had been replaced by a Stuffer Shack, a little run-down dive filled with all the junk food a hungry Elf could wish for. Pausing at the entrance, she rummaged through the spare belongings she carried with her since her abrupt appearance in the Otherworld. She muttered to herself incoherently as she felt empty pockets, the pistol Jackal had given her (complete with the dum-dum bullets), and an empty bottle of whiskey that had somehow found its way into her jacket.
Finally, she slid from her boot-sheath her Bowie, and slid from the Bowie's hollow grip, her last few nuyen. The rolled paper crinkled in her hands as she laughed aloud, and pushed her way into the Stuffer Shack.
At the counter, the pimply-faced teen eyed her like she were the first Elf he'd ever laid eyes on. Morgana perused the shelves quickly, noting price increases and product change as she did so. Her bronze hair kept falling over her shoulders in an annoying manner, causing her to repeatedly sigh, stop and flip it back. The peaks of her ears peeked out from the fall, and she constantly pushed a few locks behind them, concious of the eyes on her.
I must be outta style, she thought as she tugged a small bag of BBQ Soy-rinds from the shelf. She knew her hair had grown out from its original trendy sprawl-shag cut, and its length was beginning to bother her. As she approached the counter, she found it came naturally to flirt with the young clerk, winking at him and swaying her hips as she walked.
Dumping the rolled nuyen into his hand, she paused in thought, finding these actions all too familiar. A brief scene of drinking and laughing with Jackal flitted past her eyes. You're not stayin' Morgie! So don't get too used to the surroundings...
The clerk was disappointed as she walked away without continuing the game. Morgana's mind focused itself as she exited from the Shack, glancing up at the frosted and broken windows of Sally's squat. She wondered if the gang was up there... or if they had taken off for more secure lodgings.
There was only one way to find out....
Silence. Morgana rested her ear against the door again holding her breath and concentrating all her ability on boosting her hearing. Silence. Then, fainter than a whisper and barely audible through the door. tap tip tap Dodger.
Morgana's breath caught in her throat as she drew away from the door. That could only mean that Dodger was in there, jacked into the extensive Matrix. Her heart fluttered; Dodger... his presence meant that Sally and Ghost-Who-Walks-Inside weren't far behind.. She took a long deep breath, and pushed open the door.
It made no sound.
Dodger would be in the back room, where the interface was. She kept repeating over and over in her mind: I am not staying, I am going back, I am not staying... and then, moments later, it changed to: oh, God, please, no, I need Jackal... why did I come? Am I an idiot, or just a glutton for punishment?
After a few tries, her voice, hoarse and dry, cracked out in a near whisper. "Dodger?"
The sound of her voice was enough for Dodger's attentions to shift from the Matrix. As he swung his chair around, his long fingers disconnected the plug from his datajack. Morgana knew the movement from memory, recalled just how his silver-white hair rippled as she spun in his seat to face her. Their eyes met across the room.
"Morgana? But.... but..." he struggled with his words. Morgana supressed a smile. The archaic tang that flavored his speech was utterly absent under surprise. "You're dead!"
Morgana's smile faded as she could see the fear in his frosty blue eyes. Dodger moved swiftly from his chair, reaching for the Ingram Valiant that lay not far from his grip. The weapon easily swung to aim at the adepts midsection. She knew better than to move.
"Dodger, it's me, chummer.. I'm not a cold cut yet!" She head her hands up to show how unarmed she was. But she knew, as well as Dodger, that she was a physical adept, a rung below a real magic user, but still as deadly.
"Do not think about taking any hostile actions towards myself, my lady...." Dodger said in a low tone. His tang was returning as he recovered that aloof cool he had become famous for. "I knew my Lady Morgana better than any.. therefore, young Elf, you are not Lady Morgana.."
"I am!" Morgana gasped, starting to frustrate with his omnipotent attitude. "I can prove it!"
Dodger didn't laugh; he barely even acknowledged that she spoke to him, continuing on with his speech. "I witnessed my Lady's tragic end at the hands of a corportate magi, just outside Renraku Arcology. Burned like a common witch at the stake."
Morgana reflected on her knowledge of the circumstances that had brought her to the Otherworld. Indeed, her clothes and hair had been singed upon awakening in the forest, but she had been unharmed overall. "Look.. lookit this, chummer, it's really me..." Morgana moved slowly, tugging on the left corner of her shirt, lifting it to reveal the top of her hip, and the tip of the scarlet scar that marred her beauty.
Dodger glanced, looking at the scar. Then his hands slowly lowered the gun, his jaw hanging open slightly. "You're... you're..."
"Morgana," she supplied.
"A clone!" He moved forward, the muzzle of the Ingram pressing into her abdomen now. She took a step backwards. "Renraku finally did it.. a living, breathing clone! Identical in everyway to the original.. You are not going to last very long, my lady, not in this place.."
Morgana saw his finger tightening on the tigger. A flare of magical energy propelled her limbs faster than the eye could follow; she dodged the explosion that would have ripped a hole in her belly the size of a baseball. And still, she wasn't fast enought to avoid it as such close range. Scarlet flashed in her vision as the bullet tore into her upper arm, and then flashed again as she sheilded her face.
Shards of glass stuck in her arms and in her shoulders as she leapt through the closed window, out onto the fire-escape platform. Her third leap was magically propelled, taking her to the buildingroof next plot over. She crouched down behind a broken chimney as bullet fire riddled her escape route. Morgana tried to staunch the blood flow as she hid, breathing hard. At that instant, she knew.. that it would be hard getting back to her true home.
PART 2
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