"Wizard! Trust me, Kellan, you won't regret this."
"Okay, Squeak. I'll see you in an hour."
"And Kellan? Come alone." Squeak added before hanging up.
Kellan looked at the phone for a moment, and then hit the end button. Come alone? Squeak had been slotting too many simsense chips. She wondered again what Squeak had found. Well, there's only one way to find out. With an hour to get to Syberspace, she had just enough time to catch a quick shower and change into her working clothes.
Chapter 4
Syberspace, as the name implied, was a club catering to deckers, warez doods, and other tech-heads like Squeak, who were more comfortable in the virtual world of the Matrix than in real life (RL, as the deckers called it). The interior of the club was styled to look like the inside of a Matrix host system, using the widely accepted Universal Matrix Standards. The walls and floor were polished black macroplast, reflecting lights and images in their inky depths. The furniture was all chrome and pure white plastic in simple geometric shapes: tables and chairs cubeshaped or cylindrical, with some white-and-chrome spheres and pyramids scattered around the room as decorations. The pyramids served double duty as terminals for ordering drinks and paying for services via credstick. Multicolored neolux tubing ran along the ceiling and accented the walls, and edged the rails around the main dance floor, where it strobed and flashed in time to the music.
The dance floor itself was the centerpiece of the club. The floor was made up of blocks of translucent plastic, and multicolored lights flashed from below. Supposedly, the lights were programmed in sequences linked to the music. Rumor had it that the flashing lights sometimes transmitted subliminal messages, or caused people to have seizures or hallucinations, but Kellan had never seen evidence of either one.
The club wasn't too busy when she got there. Things wouldn't pick up for at least an hour or two, and that suited Kellan just fine. She was there on business, and the fewer people who noticed, the better. Syberspace wasn't one of her regular hangouts, but she'd been there often enough to know the lay of the land. Her credstick informed the bouncer she was twenty-two rather than nineteen, and he chose not to question her. G-Dogg had made sure Kellan's ID was good enough to pass casual inspection—it was sort of his specialty.
She glanced casually around the club and saw Squeak sitting by himself in a booth near the back, looking a little nervous. He noticed her at the same time, but didn't acknowledge her presence. Well, at least he's not standing up and waving, Kellan thought as she made her way over to the table. She slid into the opposite side of the booth.
Squeak probably earned his street name from his unfortunate resemblance to a nervous rodent. He was small and slightly built, with a pasty complexion that was rarely exposed to the sun. His hair was dirty blond and already beginning to recede from a high forehead, despite the fact he wasn't much older than Kellan. His blue eyes weren't original equipment. They were cybernetic implants, with faint silvery circuit patterns visible in the irises. Unfortunately, getting cybereyes hadn't eliminated Squeak's nervous tendency to glance from side to side, and his implants gave a slight click every time he did, a sound that set Kellan's nerves on edge.
"Hey, Squeak." she said.
"Hoi, Kellan." the warez dood replied with a shy smile and a click of his eyes. "Thanks for coming."
"Null sheen. I hope this is something worth my time."
"Oh, it is." Squeak replied. "It is." The eyes clicked rapidly from side to side as he leaned closer across the table.
"I've got a proposal for a run." he said.
So, it wasn't information about her mother. Kellan was a little disappointed. Still. . . .
"What kind of run?" she asked, keeping her tone carefully neutral.
"A very profitable one." Squeak said. He glanced past her at the club again. Click-click. "I was going through some datadumps I collected, you know, mostly trash files and drek like that, seeing if there was anything worth selling off. I found some encrypted files on some old storage media—I'm talking like older than you or me—so I transferred them to my system to see if I could work with them."
"I broke the encryption and recovered some partial e-mail files. The headers said they were United States military communiques from around the time of the Ghost Dance War."
That piqued Kellan's interest. "Are you sure?" she asked, and Squeak nodded enthusiastically.
"Positive. I triple-checked, and I'm convinced the files are for real."
"What were they about?" Kellan asked. Squeak grinned.
"That's the good part." he said. "The e-mails concerned a United States military stockpile in what is now Salish-Shidhe territory. They were top secret orders to destroy the stockpile before pulling out of the area. From the dates, the orders went out right after the Treaty of Denver was signed and the United States started withdrawing from the Native American Nations."
"So?" Kellan asked. "Where's the run? Those orders went out, what, forty years ago or more. The U.S. troops must have destroyed the stockpile and gotten the frag out of there."
"Yeah, but what if they didn't?" Squeak asked. "What if they never got the orders, or they weren't able to carry them out? There are no confirmations in the files, no evidence the orders were actually carried out. There was a lot of drek going down in the Ghost Dance War, and that part of the country was under NAN control by then. Maybe the U.S. forces didn't get a chance to dispose of all the weapons. What if they're still there?"
"That's a fragging big 'if,' Squeak."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said, "but think about it, Kellan!"
"I am." she said. "But even if there are still weapons there, who says they're any good after all this time? They're probably corroded, and besides, they're like forty or fifty years out of date."
"I don't think so." the warez dood replied, his cybereyes clicking in excitement. "This drek was top secret, Kellan. It wasn't just racks of assault rifles or grenades or drek like that. We're talking some serious weapons."
"How serious?"
"I don't know." he said. "I couldn't find out from the files, but I'd say something more . . . strategic."
"Stra—" Kellan paused to absorb the implications. "You mean . . . ? Nah. . . ."
Squeak shrugged and shook his head, cutting her off.
"Like I said, I dunno, but think about the possibilities."
Kellan's mind was racing with possibilities at that very moment. Squeak was implying the weapons stockpile could contain military grade weapons of mass destruction, most likely chemical or biological, or even tactical nuclear weapons. The old U.S. govemment certainly had such weapons during that time period, but never deployed them, being unwilling to target the Native American guerrilla forces fighting on their own soil. They were also unwilling to suffer the kind of civilian casualties those weapons would cause.
Though multiple corporate and governmental agreements prohibited the stockpiling of such weapons, it was an open secret in the shadows that governments and megacorporations both had them, in case they were ever needed. If Squeak's information about the weapons cache was good, and there were old U.S. military weapons there, the information—and the weapons—would be worth a fortune to the right parties. It would easily net her more nuyen than all the other shadowruns Kellan had done put together, including her runs for Lothan.
"Okay." Kellan said, gathering her thoughts. "Even if there is something there after all this time, why me? I mean, if you've got this data, why not just go after those weapons yourself?"
Squeak gave a short, mocking snort. "C'mon, Kellan! I'm a warez dood, not a shadowrunner! My biz is putting together data, writing programs and building hardware, not going on runs. I wouldn't even know how to get into the NAN to check this place out."
"So why don't you just sell the data to the NAN or UCAS governments, or someone on Shadowland?"
He shook his head.
"Because I don't know if it's worth anything yet." he said. "Besides, if I even hint about what I've go
t to the Feds or the NAN, then they'll know there's something there. Who's to say they won't just cut me out of the deal, or try to arrest me? No way. But if I've got proof or, better yet, if we have the weapons . . ."
Then the UCAS and NAN governments, and a few others, would be willing to pay a lot, Kellan concluded silently.
"But first I need someone to check things out." Squeak continued. "That's where you come in."
"And what's in it for me?" Kellan asked.
"A percentage." Squeak said. "I provide the data and we split the profits fifty-fifty."
"All the risk for half the profit?" Kellan said incredulously.
"Not all the risk." Squeak protested.
"Most of it. What if it turns out there's nothing there?"
"It's there." Squeak stated positively. "I can feel it, Kellan, but I need your help to confirm it."
"Then I'm going to need more like eighty percent." Kellan said. When it looked like Squeak was going to object, she continued. "If I'm going to put together a team and pay them, then I need more."
Squeak thought about it for a moment, but Kellan knew she had him. He didn't know enough other runners to shop around his idea, especially since the more he talked about it, the more likely someone would figure out what he was up to.
"Seventy-five." he offered. Kellan considered for a moment.
"All right."
"Wizard." he said, extending a hand and grinning as Kellan shook it. "When do we get started?"
"Well, if we're doing biz, then I need something to look at so that I can confirm this info is as legit as you think it is." Kellan told him. "I'll get it checked out and get back to you. If I agree that it's good info, I'll put together a team and we can see about making a run."
The warez dood grinned wider and handed her a datachip. "Way ahead of you. I know I'm right.
"Let me buy you a drink. This is the big time, Kellan, I can feel it. We are gonna be fraggin' rich."
* * *
"You're out of your fraggin' mind, kid." G-Dogg muttered. Kellan looked at Liada, but found no support there. The elf sorceress simply nodded in agreement with G-Dogg's assessment of her proposal.
Kellan had asked the two shadowrunners to meet her at an all-night diner on the outskirts of downtown Seattle. She outlined the general idea of the run, leaving out the details about who had the information and the exact location of the supposed weapons cache. Kellan watched looks of disapproval grow on both their faces as G-Dogg and Liada listened to what she had to say.
"It's way too risky." G-Dogg continued. "You don't know for sure that this swag even exists. Taking an out-of-town run is tricky to begin with, but going into foreign territory just because something might be there? Not worth it." He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, as if he were cutting all potential ties he might have to it.
"He's right." Liada said, before Kellan could say anything. "It's a waste of time. Anything could have happened in the last forty years. Then there are the border crossings, and actually finding whatever it is you're looking for. Besides, if you ask me, some of the drek from the Ghost Dance War is better left buried. Just assume you do find it. How are you going to sell it, and who are you going to sell it to?"
Kellan hadn't really thought that far in advance. Liada was right; finding a buyer for high-grade military weapons wouldn't be easy. There would also be the matter of moving whatever they found out of the NAN and smuggling it into the metroplex, though she supposed she could cut a deal where the buyer moved the goods and she and Squeak split a sizable finder's fee.
"Forget about it, kid." G-Dogg said, noticing her thoughtful look. "This one is just too big."
"Oh, really?" Kellan said, her attention drawn back to the ork. "Is that what you think? That I can't handle the big-time runs?"
"We're just saying don't rush into such a dangerous job on your own, Kellan." Liada said. "You haven't been working the biz in Seattle that long! You've still got a lot to learn. . . ."
"I guess so." Kellan retorted. "For example, I thought running the shadows involved taking risks."
"Justified risks." G-Dogg said. "You take chances every time you go out the door. The trick is learning what chances are worth taking and what chances aren't—and trust me, this one ain't worth it."
"Fine." Kellan said. She slotted her credstick into the tabletop reader and pushed the key to pay for her share of the tab. Then she stood up to leave, jamming the stick into her pocket.
"Kellan." Liada said, putting a hand on her arm. "Don't take a bad risk just because of what Lothan said. You've got nothing to prove—to him or anyone. You're building a reputation for yourself—"
"Yeah, as Lothan's apprentice." she muttered. "Frag Lothan!" Liada said in a low, fierce voice. "If you're tired of living in his shadow, then find yourself another teacher. But don't go off half-cocked. Promise me you'll at least think twice before you do anything about this run?"
Kellan looked up and saw genuine concern in the elf woman's eyes. Liada had shown before that she truly cared about Kellan's feelings—a rarity in the shadowrunning business. It upset Kellan that Liada couldn't understand how important this run could be to her.
"I'll think about it." she told her friend. "I promise. I gotta get going." She slung her bag over her head, settling it onto her shoulder as she stepped away from the booth. "See you later." she told G-Dogg and Liada.
As she made her way down the street to where she'd parked her Yamaha Rapier, she thought about what her friends had said. Was she just doing this because Lothan had hacked her off? She examined that thought for a few minutes, trying to figure out her true motivations. She finally decided that Lothan had just brought to the surface a feeling she already had been struggling with for a while.
She believed she was meant for more than being some old mage's apprentice. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life working the shadows. Lothan had been a shadowrunner since before Kellan was born. If he was so great, why hadn't he hit the big score? Kellan knew why: because he wasn't willing to take the big risks, and it seemed that neither were the runners he worked with. They played it safe, doing little jobs and staying just ahead of the law and their own expenses. When the money started to run out, it was back to another little job.
Kellan couldn't see herself living like that. If she hit the big time, she would have enough cred to set herself up for life, buy herself a new identity and a comfortable life somewhere. Then she'd have the cred to find out what happened to her mother and start a real life for herself, instead of always hustling from one job to another. That was worth a little risk, wasn't it? It was at least worth trying to find out if Squeak's data was solid.
She threw one leg across the seat of her bike and sat there for a minute. Maybe she could talk Squeak into selling the data and cutting her in on a percentage instead of setting up a run. Anyway—when it came to checking out data, Kellan knew who to call.
She took her phone out of her pocket, flipped it open and punched a button. She waited a couple of rings before a female voice answered, "Go."
"Jackie." Kellan said. "We need to talk. I've got some work for you, if you're interested."
* * *
Though Kellan had seen Jackie Ozone in person on a few occasions, the decker preferred to meet in the Matrix. So Kellan broke out her new Novatech deck. She sat up comfortably in bed, with pillows propped behind her, and slipped the trode net over her head, adjusting the elastic band so the electrodes rested against the nerve induction points at her temples and brow. Then she powered up the deck, feeling a slight tingle as the diagnostic systems made sure all the connections were up and running. She settled into a comfortable position, looking around to make sure everything was set. Then she punched the go button on the deck.
There was a moment of disorientation—a sensation of falling, like just before going to sleep. Suddenly, the bedroom of Kellan's apartment was gone, replaced by another room, in another world. It was a small, almost featureless white room, the vir
tual representation of Kellan's deck. Floating icons represented data files available to her, but Kellan ignored them. Instead, she moved to the "door" of the room. The trode net detected the impulses Kellan's brain sent out, and interpreted them as move commands, directing her virtual persona accordingly.
Outside the little room lay the electronic vista of the Seattle Matrix. A flat black plain stretched off in every direction as far as the eye could see. Kellan's private room was nothing more than a meter-high white pyramid at her feet (the feet of her virtual self, that is). Glowing lines of data stretched off in every direction. The icons of other systems and hosts were visible in the distance. Kellan saw the familiar sights of the Mitsuhama Pagoda, the Aztechnology Pyramid (looking much like its real-world self) and the Nova-tech Star, giants dominating the virtual skyline. Smaller systems clustered around, making the Matrix look like a fantastic city, where the only limits on construction were imagination and the Universal Matrix Standards, which dictated how certain things looked and felt in cyberspace.
Kellan stepped away from the white pyramid onto a dataline. There was a rush of motion as she surged down the line, glowing packets of data whizzing past her, the virtual landscape nothing but a blur. Kellan felt several rapid changes in direction, but the sim-sense safeguards kept her from feeling nauseous or disoriented.
In an instant, she found herself standing beside another nondescript white pyramid representing another host system. The only way she knew she had moved at all was the change in perspective. The skyline was different here.
There was no sculpting to call attention to the host system, nothing making it any different from thousands of other minor systems and access points in the Matrix. Kellan knew that if she wished, she could superimpose an LTG code over the pyramid—its "address" in cyberspace—but there was no need. She already knew "where" it was, and what it was. She took a step forward and entered.
Her cyberdeck and the host system carried out a complex dance, exchanging passcodes and information, so quickly Kellan wasn't even aware of the process. The host system verified her identity, and she suddenly found herself at the entrance to a bar. If the host computer had not approved her ID, she would have found herself somewhere considerably less pleasant. She'd heard stories about the shadow-cells, and the stories alone were enough to convince her to avoid them at all costs. Deckers talked about existing in a complete void, an eternity of nothingness: blind, deaf and adrift in endless darkness, unable to jack out of the Matrix. Exile to a shadowcell usually lasted for only for a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity, and there were stories of people whose minds never really came back. The sysops of Shadowland took their security seriously. They had to, considering that their clientele consisted primarily of shadowrunners, who guarded their privacy as jealously as any corp.
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