Into the Shadows

by Jordan Weisman

  "There are ways to beat these. I can try and scan for the monitored spots, and generate a signal that will match the one their system wants. Ideally, once we’re inside the perimeter, I can hack the codes out of a terminal without trying to get through their Ice. That’ll let me rig up transponders that make us sweet and clean as far as the sniffer circuits are concerned.

  "The usual deal would be to run a decker in and neutralize the defenses through the controlling computers. The trouble is, now that they are expecting trouble, UniOil is going to have that system locked up tight. Any hint of intrusion, and they’ll go berserk."

  Iris grimaced. "I hate like hell going in without Matrix cover on a job like this, but as you say, Thorn, that’s what they’re going to be expecting. We might as well march in with a brass band as with a decker."

  Thorn pointed to a two-story building in one corner of the compound. "Moving right along, boys and girl, our third and biggest headache: this building over by the parking lot houses corporate security troopers. More than a hundred of ’em. We can dazzle the drek outta their technical security, but against that kind of muscle, we need a little diversion."

  "Judging by your insufferably smug expression. Thorn, I gather you already have a masterful plan prepared," murmured Neddy.

  "By odd happenstance, Dr. Fortescue, you are correct. There are only two things we gotta worry about. First. I sure hope Mr. Johnson gave you a big credstik to play with. This won’t be cheap. "

  The magician wore the expression of a confirmed lemon-eater. In the two days Thorn had known him, he had learned that Neddy preferred having a fingernail torn out to parting with a single, extra nuyen. "And your second issue, Thorn?"

  "I just hope the guy I’m seeing today is crazy enough to take the job I’m gonna offer him."

  * * *

  Thorn studied the man across the table. Two years ago, he’d been one of the million or so viewers who’d watched him on the trid, leading a house-to-house through the crumbling streets of Tripoli. Colonel Steely Sam Hampton had made it to the top of the mercenary heap in that corpwar: leading his troops to win a 250-million nuyen settlement for EBMM against Mitsuhama and achieving the highest audience ratings in history on the battle channels. Now he was sitting in a sleazy dive negotiating a deal that might get him killed for a few thousand nuyen.

  Some of Thorn’s feelings must have shown on his face, because Hampton glanced at him and said "How the mighty are fallen, right, boy?" The voice was a soft Georgia drawl, overlaid with the gravelly hoarseness typical of thickened orkish vocal chords.

  "Something like that, Colonel."

  "Hell, sometimes it surprises me, too, and I was there." The mercenary picked up his cup of rum-laced mate, and neatly inserted the traditional silver straw past one of his tusks. "Thought I had it made. First ork to pull a field command in a major corp fracas. First unit ever to get 100K a minute for commercial time, too. I forgot a fella c’n ride the curve down a helluva lot faster than he can climb it.

  "Figured I didn’t haveta pull the dirty little jobs anymore. So when some mid-level suit tells me to go in and clean out squatters on a resource preserve, I tell him to stick it. Women'n kids in there, y’know? SINless, sure, but hey, they weren’t hurtin’ anything. So he says a few words, and I say a few more, and next thing, he’s in the hospital and I’m dodgin' the company cops. End of story."

  Hampton slurped up the last of the herbal tea and stared musingly into the dregs of the cup. "S'funny thing, though, how many of my boys and girls jumped contract to stay with me. I wasn’t thinking of that when I punched out suit-boy’s lights. First I knew of it was when they cooled the half dozen corp cops who tried to bust me. After that, it seemed kinda late to tell ’em not to be stupid." He shook himself back to the here and now. " ‘Kay, Thorn, you've heard my curriculum vitae. What's the gig?"

  Thorn chucked discretion out the window. "Bait, Colonel. As far as anyone knows, you and your unit are being hired for a raid on a United Oil research facility. We fit you out. That's no scam, by the way, you'll have a 50,000-nuyen credit line with Geyser. Only we want leakage. We make a big show outta security, then hose it up so word gets out on the street."

  The ork grunted something that might have been approval. "For a supermarket sweep through Geyser’s toy store, me'n my guys’d probably try and take this UniOil joint f’real. That dwarf has the prettiest ordnance I ever did see. But from what you’re sayin’, I assume we don’t make the strike. What are we, boy, a quaker cannon?"

  "Bang on. Colonel. We want all eyes on you and your team. We're counting on UniOil to go after you and that’s when we go in."

  "So you make your real move while their heavy security is somewhere else, tryin’ to kill us?"

  Thorn felt faintly queasy. He’d have preferred anger, contempt, anything but the calm, analytical way Hampton had summed up his strategy. "Yes, sir. that’s about it."

  "Well," chuckled Hampton, "I’ll say this for it. No one would believe we’d be stupid enough to sign on for a gig like this. "

  Thorn cleared his throat. "Colonel, the guy who fixed up this meet tells me you folks have been living kinda hand to mouth. This gig lets you stock up on ordnance you wouldn’t be able to buy in a year of running tenth-yen jobs for . .

  A cold glance from Hampton stopped the words in his throat.

  "The Sioux have a saying you may have heard. ‘Only the rocks and mountains are forever.’ We need the money and we need the guns. I don't have to like what we do to get them. Just don’t tell me what a big favor this is. Thorn, or I'm likely to forget that little fact. We’ll take your job.’Course, y’all got some mighty stingy ideas about what this’s gonna cost."

  "Colonel," grinned Thorn, "this is your lucky day. I don't much like the guy I’m doing this for, and it’s his credstik in the slot. Let’s order us another round and parlay."

  * * *

  Major Yoshimori Fuhito, United Oil Corporate Security Force, hated meetings with his boss. He told himself that it was merely the indignity of taking orders from a non-human. Had anyone reminded him of his grandmother’s tales of fierce Dragons and what they did to naughty children, he would have laughed. A trained ear might have detected the false note in that laughter, for Fuhito did, of course, recall every gory word that his soba-san had to say on the subject. Sitting in a briefing, watching Haesslich’s huge, golden form draped over the dais at the end of the room, he could almost hear the old woman’s voice.

  All in all, the Major preferred to deal with his superior by trid. This was not an unusual attitude among UniOil personnel in the Seattle area, and Haesslich was well aware of it. The Dragon was, therefore, more than a little surprised when one of his secretaries buzzed to say that Fuhito was outside, requesting an immediate appointment. Such a break with both corporate decorum and the Major's own character suggested that something important was on his mind.

  Haesslich rumbled a greeting in formal Japanese, which the Major returned in the same tongue. Both continued in English.

  "Haesslich-sama, I have reports that the scum who attacked my facility are preparing another attempt. I request your permission to nip their efforts in the bud."

  "That’s surprising. Major Fuhito." the Dragon responded. "It hardly seems professional to take a second shot so soon after the first one missed."

  "Whoever our enemy is, sir, subtlety is not his strong point. My sources inform me that a renegade band of mercenaries has been commissioned for an attack in force on the facility. I want to send my forces after them even before they finish getting organized."

  "Won’t that leave your site undermanned?" Haesslich asked,

  "Not dangerously so," said the Major. "With this threat neutralized, a skeleton staff can handle any onsite problems that may arise. Since the last intrusion, we’ve been alert for further attempts. Having broken enemy security, we must preempt them while we still have the element of surprise on our side. I’d like to hit them tonight."

  Haesslich contemplat
ed the human. Though he was a pompous little martinet. Fuhito seemed competent. If the opposition was really going to try again, with an assault by mercenaries, no less, then the recommendation to attack was a sound one. Yet . . .

  "They've moved fast in only a week."

  "Exactly my point, Haesslich-sama. They cannot be fully prepared yet. If we strike now, they will be caught off guard."

  It made sense. "Very well, Fuhito-san, I’ll approve this request, but I want you to stay at the lab. Captain Murrough should be capable of leading the actual attack." The little man looked so crestfallen at the loss of his dreams of samurai glory that the Dragon added. "After all, in times of danger to our corporation, I need my best people where they can coordinate the big picture, neh?"

  Fuhito straightened up. "We shall destroy them utterly, Haesslich-sama."

  After Fuhito left, Haesslich heaved a deep sigh. The traditional corporate loyalty that Japan inculcated in its people produced competent, dedicated underlings, but they could be so tedious.

  Well, the attack would be a good workout for the troops. He felt slightly guilty that he would not be present for the raid, but he had other commitments that promised to be equally exciting, and infinitely more pleasant. He flipped open the casket, small enough by human standards, and tiny compared to his own bulk, which rarely left his side. One talon caressed the golden metal shape inside as he murmured to himself, "But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

  * * *

  Iris stuck her head through the curtain that separated the front seat from the van’s cargo compartment. "UniOil troop carriers just pulled out, heading north. Safe bet they’re on their way to Hampton's squat. I’ve alerted him. Hey, who came up with the dippy codenames, anyway."

  Thorn slapped a magazine into his Browning and worked the slide. "Hampton’s idea, Iris. He seemed to think they were a giggle. O.K., lady and gentlemen, it’s showtime. Hampton and his troopers are going to play tag with death to give us this shot, so let’s make it count." He slid open the van’s doors and glanced approvingly at the overcast night sky. Lovely weather for a burglary.

  Thorn and the others quickly unloaded the van's cargo. They were parked in a large, open lot slated for future development and empty tonight, courtesy of Mr. Johnson. They all wore black fatigues, stiffened with bulletproof plates. Each carried personal weapons and an assortment of equipment carefully stowed in packs and pockets.

  "Remember, the main point of this hardware is that we don’t want to use it, people," the elf whispered. "In quick, out quick, like making love to a—"

  "S’O.K.. Thorn, we got it down," interrupted Nameless. "Let’s do this thing, chummer."

  They began opening the bundles of black plastic they’d removed from the van. Having had a day or two to practice, they moved surely, quietly. No wasted motion, no need for words.

  * * *

  "Any word from the guys on the roof, Sarge?" inquired Hampton.

  Johnny Roman Nose glanced back over his shoulder at his commander. "Not yet. Colonel. I’ve got Sandra and Bull Pup up there. Between her eyes and his ears, we oughtta spot them coming in even if they can beat that detection gear we got from Geyser. Soykaf?"

  "I heard that. Thanks."

  The two men waited in silence for a time, sipping from their steaming cups. "We got the word from Thorn’s people fifteen minutes ago. We oughtta be getting some action ..."

  "We got choppers on the scope, sir. Bull Pup says he’s picking up some heavy motor sounds coming in on the ground, approaching from the south-southeast." The voice came in clearly over the receiver implanted in Hampton's mastoid bone. Roman Nose was already issuing orders over the unit’s command frequency. Hampton drained the last of the kaf and picked up the new Fabrique National assault rifle that had been standard-issue with the unit since yesterday. He hefted the weapon thoughtfully. His mercenaries had reacted like kids at Christmas when he’d turned them loose in Geyser's warehouse. He just hoped the bill for this load of hardware wasn’t going to be ruinously high.

  "Ugh," grunted Roman Nose. "Injun make-um heap hot for paleface."

  Hampton grinned, snapped out of his melancholy by the big NCO’s act. "Ook ook," he responded. "Ork smash ’em good!" The joke went back to their early years as fellow grunts fighting corp wars in the nastier corners of the world.

  Hampton picked up the sealed transceiver that connected him to Thorn. "Rosebush, this is Georgia Peach. Rosebush, this is Georgia Peach. We have an oil spill, repeat. . . .

  * * *

  "... We have an oil spill." Iris glanced over the autopilot settings one more time, tapped a final command onto the dashboard console, and unplugged the cable that connected her left wrist datajack to the vehicle. She slid out of the van and ran over to Thorn. "Hampton’s people have spotted the UniOil force coming in."

  Thorn finished tightening a wing strut, then stood back. A black, ultralight, barely more than an engine, a pair of seats, and triangular wings, stood in the middle of the street. Two more of the tiny aircraft were set up down the block. "Here’s where we see if this idea’s worth diddly. You ready?" She nodded, and moved over to her own plane. Let’s do it, people," Thorn called out. "Keep your heads up! This is where the rough part starts."

  He slid into the pilot’s seat of one ultralight. Neddy clambered in behind him. The lead plane held Iris and Nameless. Smedley had the third craft all to himself. Thorn and the troll switched on the drone links plugged into the consoles of their craft, then sat back. Iris jacked into the master controller in her lap. She closed her eyes briefly, synchronizing the neural input from the three planes. A pulsebeat of concentration, then the light, strong plastic props began to spin, the electric motors making a low, humming sound. One by one, the ultralights taxied to the end of the field, turned, and took off.

  The van stood for a moment, deserted. Then, as if unwilling to be left behind, it started its engine and trundled slowly out of the yard and into the street.

  * * *

  Captain Murrough cursed into the radio as his pilot swung the chopper over the dark streets of the Redmond Barrens. "Dammit, Meissen, don’t you have them men in position yet?" The Captain was peeved. You’d think troops on a simple butt-kicking mission like this could get their . . .

  "Sir, we have established the jump-off position, as ordered."

  "It took you long enough. I want this smooth and by the book. Lieutenant. Troop carriers lay down covering fire, and hit any entrenched resistance with missile launchers. Infantry goes in behind them. Go."

  "Moving now, sir. We should ..."

  Meissen’s voice was drowned out in a thunderous explosion. A ball of red flame billowed up from the streets. Murrough stared in horror. "Meissen! Meissen! Dammit! What the hell happened?"

  A softly hoarse voice interrupted the Captain. "Looks like one of your APCs found our little welcome mat, Captain.

  And did anyone ever tell y’all about comm security? Lotta chatter on y'all’s frequencies tonight."

  "Wha . . . who is that? This is a secure channel, dammit!" stammered Murrough.

  "Do tell? Guess I better tell Geyser that he’s sellin’ non-reg scanning gear. Hate to break this off, Captain, but some of your folks are knockin’ on my door. Nothing personal, but we don’t need your 'copter complicatin’ things. S'long."

  "Get the hell outta here, fast," Murrough screamed at his pilot. "The fragger’s set us . . ."

  Again, Captain Murrough was interrupted. This time it was by an Ares Silver Merlin SAM. The cyber-guided missile impacted square on the main engine of the command copter. Flaming, the craft plummeted to the hungry streets below.

  * * *

  Iris stood in the shadows on top of the main building at UniOil's R&D facility. Sweat beading her ivory skin, she guided Thorn’s craft down, its motor cut back to a hair above stall speed. Landing her own ultralight on the building’s roof had been rough enough. Bringing one in on remote control, even through a rigger interface, was sheer murd
er. Their computer simulations had shown it was possible to land in the space available, but drek, it was close.

  The wheels touched the surface of the roof, and immediately, Iris reversed the prop and began braking. The light machine skidded and threatened to spin out before she brought it to a halt. Nameless ran over to the plane as Thorn and Neddy clambered out. The three of them broke down the wings and wheeled the craft out of the landing area. Iris concentrated on bringing Smedley in. The controls were sluggish and the weight and placement of the troll unbalanced the tiny plane badly.

  "Dammit." She bit her lip. Every time she tried to reduce the ultralight's speed, the overloaded craft started losing altitude too fast. "Problem, gorgeous?" came Thorn’s voice from behind her. She spelled out the situation in the mechanical tones of a jacked-in rigger, her voice revealing nothing of the urgency she felt. She was distantly aware of a muttered conference behind her. After what seemed like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, Neddy spoke to her. "All right, my dear. When I count three, cut power to our robust friend and relinquish control. Here we go. One, two, three!"

  The count turned into a murmured phrase in a sonorous, rhythmic language. She felt the drag on the ultralight fade to almost nothing as she killed the engine. The craft lurched terrifyingly, then went into an impossibly smooth glide that brought it over the roof, where it hovered and then descended to the landing area.

  She jacked out and turned to see Neddy leaning against a ventilator shaft, breathing hard. Nameless and Thorn were disentangling the almost hysteria! troll from the ultralight.

  "We must simply hope that this little cantrip was not sufficient to alert any colleagues I may have on the premises," panted the mage.

  "Well," Iris responded, "dropping a troll into the middle of the compound would have gotten their attention, too. It all evens out, Neddy."