Poison Agendas

by Stephen Kenson

  High-priced deckers like Jackie Ozone didn't live in Redmond, but the combination of Matrix accessibility and cheap (read: usually free) real estate made it attractive to minor-leaguers like Squeak. You just had to be willing to live with the gangs, the scavengers, the squatters and the complete lack of any metroplex services, including police. It was the life of a lot of people in the shadows.

  As Kellan crossed Lake Washington, she toyed with half-formed ideas for explaining the situation to Squeak. Afterward, she figured she'd drown her sorrows at one of the local watering holes. Squeak's place was close to Touristville, on the border between Redmond and Bellevue. It was where the straight citizens came to experience life on the edge, a night of "slumming in the Barrens." Redmond's most successful clubs and bars were located there, along with the denizens who could afford to live in this "upscale" area. People knew Kellan's face in some of those clubs, but she was confident that she'd be able to avoid any unwanted company.

  The area around Touristville was Brain Eater turf. Even if Kellan didn't already know it, graffiti proclaimed it to everyone who wasn't legally blind. brain eaters rule! and other such brilliant slogans were splashed across buildings and fences, along with the gang's red-fez-and-green-brain logo. The Brain Eaters were techies, scavengers and warez doods like Squeak. In fact, Kellan assumed Squeak was a member of a gang, or had been at one time. Like her, he was probably counting on this being his big break, his chance of getting out of the gang and the Barrens. Kellan hated to be the one to disappoint him.

  She parked her bike in the alley beside the rundown apartment building, engaging the security system as she dismounted. It would set up a hell of a racket if anyone touched the bike. People in the Barrens ignored vehicle alarms, of course, but at least Kellan would know before she left the building that someone had fragged with her ride—or tried to. She looked up at the side of the graffiti-encrusted building and the rusting iron latticework of the fire escapes looming overhead. Once, the place was probably pretty nice, decent apartments for corporate employees working in the district. Since the Crash, it had clearly deteriorated. Most such places were now owned by metroplex slumlords. They squeezed out extra profit by refusing to pay for maintenance, taking full advantage of the fact that most of their tenants didn't even legally exist. It wasn't like metroplex health and safety inspectors came out to the Barrens.

  Kellan took the front steps two at a time and stepped into the building's small, dimly lit foyer. The smell of mildew and rotting carpet assaulted her nose as she hunted on the panel for Squeak's apartment number. She hit the buzzer and waited. There was no response.

  Damn, Kellan thought. She knew she'd been taking a chance that he wouldn't be home when she decided not to call first. But Squeak struck her as someone who didn't get out much, so she'd figured it was a gamble with better than even odds. She hit the buzzer again and waited. Still nothing.

  Maybe he's jacked in. If that was the case, he'd barely be aware of the real world at all. He sure wouldn't hear the buzzer. Maybe I should have just called. But Kellan wanted to do this face-to-face—maybe she could call Squeak and find out where he was, and just leave a message and be done with it if he didn't answer. Then at least I'd have given it my best shot.

  As Kellan reached for her cell phone, an ork woman came down the inside stairs. She was spilling out of a lime green tank top and pair of shiny black neospandex pants, her hair dyed a brilliant red, and gelled and moussed to within a centimeter of its life. She pushed open the door and passed Kellan with a sidelong glance. Kellan caught the inner door before it closed and stepped inside.

  She headed up the stairs. Maybe, if Squeak was home, she could get his attention. If not, then she would call and leave him a message and tell him no deal. She climbed up to the third-floor landing and scanned the hallway. The carpet was worn and the lights dim—low-wattage bulbs, compounded by damage to some of the fixtures. All the apartment doors were closed, but Kellan could still hear pounding music and voices shouting in Cityspeak as she walked past.

  She stopped at Squeak's door and rapped firmly. The door swung inward slightly when she knocked, and Kellan involuntarily took a step back. There was no light inside the apartment. Kellan didn't have a good feeling about this. Glancing up and down the hall to make sure it was empty, she reached into her jacket and withdrew her Ares Crusader machine pistol. Holding the weapon in both hands, she took a deep breath, then kicked open the door all the way, dropping into a firing crouch.

  Dim light from the street and the alleyway spilled into the small apartment through the open blinds, laying down pale stripes on the walls and floor. Squeak's place had been a mess the first time Kellan had met with the warez dood, but now it looked like a bomb had gone off. Everything was overturned. Chips, casings, spare parts and scraps of electronics were scattered all over the floor. The one set of shelves had even been pulled down, their contents spilled across the room.

  Kellan cautiously stepped further into the room, swinging her weapon right and then left to cover either side of the door. There was no one there.

  "Squeak?" she called out softly. There was no answer. She moved deeper into the apartment, her nerves alert for the slightest sound, the slightest movement. She swung around the doorway into the small kitchen. It was dark and silent, dirty dishes piled up in the small sink, discarded food containers on the countertop. Then she noticed a faint light spilling out into the hall from a half-closed door.

  Kellan found Squeak in the small bathroom. He was lying in the tub, completely dry and fully clothed. She crouched down and pressed her fingers to his carotid artery, but she knew before she touched him that he was dead. His skin had a bluish tinge and was even more pale and waxy than normal. She carefully lifted one slack hand. It fell loosely back over the side of the tub.

  He hasn't been dead long, Kellan thought, since rigor mortis hadn't set in yet. She wished she knew exactly how long. Probably only a few hours. How long did it take for a corpse to stiffen up? Everything Kellan knew about forensics she learned from the trid and from hearing other shadowrunners talk. She looked closely at the warez dood's body. There was no blood, no sign of injury that she could see, no bruises on his neck or any other indication he was strangled.

  "Aw, Squeak ..." she muttered. What the frag happened?

  Her first thought was a robbery. Some chipped-out punk, maybe even a group of them, busting down the door to rip off whatever they could sell. The place was certainly torn up enough, but it didn't explain the condition of the body. Gangers would have beaten Squeak to death or simply shot him, but there were no wounds, and no blood anywhere.

  Suicide? Didn't seem likely. Squeak might have gone off the deep end if he figured out on his own that his weapons data was worthless, but why trash the place first? Anyway, he just didn't strike Kellan as the suicidal type.

  She crouched beside the tub, looking at the still, slack-jawed face.

  Magic? Now that was a definite possibility, and unfortunately there was only one way to be sure. Kellan focused her attention on the corpse and willed her perceptions to shift, opening herself to the impressions of the astral plane. She braced herself for whatever she might sense there. She knew it was going be like jumping into icy water.

  It was cold, the recent impression of death. She was right; Squeak had died not long ago. Though his living aura was gone, traces of what he once was still clung to the body, like fragrance to a dead flower. But there was nothing else. Kellan saw no sign of any spell or spirit, no thread connected to a ritual—whatever caused Squeak's death, it wasn't magic.

  Poison, Kellan thought, looking at the blue-tinged face and lips again. She wasn't sure what made that word leap into her mind. Was it something she sensed mystically about the body, or just intuition? Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Poison certainly fit with the condition of the body, particularly the lack of evidence of any kind of violence. A poison could have been administered in any number of ways that would leave no trace, and t
he body dumped into the tub after it had done its work.

  Maybe drugs. . . . Kellan pondered that for a moment, but it didn't make sense either. Squeak was too much of a deckhead to bother with chemical mind-benders when there were so many digital choices available—simsense chips that could duplicate the effects of any drug you could imagine and more, all without the biochemical effects. Of course, he could have been chipping, but there was nothing in Squeak's datajack.

  A noise caught Kellan's attention, and she allowed her astral perception to fade, shifting back to her mundane senses and standing up from her crouch beside the tub. She gripped the Crusader in both hands again and stepped quietly toward the door. Almost immediately, she heard someone, maybe more than one person, moving around in the main room of the apartment.

  Kellan's heart raced, and she tightened her grip on the pistol. Maybe they were chummers of Squeak's; maybe they were just urban scavengers who saw an open door and an opportunity. She didn't know if they were armed, or how many were out there. So she stayed by the door of the bathroom, flattened against the wall, listening carefully to the sound of footsteps in the apartment beyond.

  A hand opened the half-closed door and Kellan swung around, pistol leveled directly at the intruder.

  "Holy drek!" he shouted.

  "One move and you're dead." Kellan said as evenly as she could, and the guy immediately understood he was in no position to argue.

  He was human and a Brain Eater, the latter made obvious by the red fez with a gold tassel tipped at a slight angle on his head—part of the gang's colors. He couldn't have been much more than sixteen or so. He was wearing loose-fitting cargo pants and a vest with numerous bulging pockets over a long-sleeved jersey. He was holding a palm-sized taser.

  Kellan nodded toward it, and he dropped it on the floor with a clatter.

  The Brain Eater's eyes flicked past Kellan to Squeak's body sprawled out in the tub.

  "He's dead." Kellan said flatly.

  "Then so are you." the ganger replied, mustering the courage to face her down. "You won't make it out of here."

  "I didn't kill him."

  "Yeah, right." he snorted.

  "It's the truth," Kellan said, "I found him like this. We were working on some biz—"

  "Keefer, what the frag're you doin' back there?" asked a voice from the direction of the kitchen. Then, "Holy drek!"

  Kellan grabbed Keefer's arm and jerked him into the bathroom as another ganger appeared in the hallway, similar in age and dress. She locked her arm around the slender ganger's neck, pulling him back against her and pressing the muzzle of the Crusader into his side. His buddy's eyes widened in shock and he reflexively reached for his weapon.

  "Don't." Kellan warned.

  "Don't do it, Zoog!" Keefer gabbled in a panic, his meager bravado disappearing the instant he felt Kellan's Crusader against his body.

  "Who the frag are you?" the other ganger demanded.

  "She killed Squeak!" Keefer blurted.

  "I don't fraggin' have time for this." Kellan sighed. "I told your chummer here that Squeak and I had biz. I came in and found him dead."

  "You expect us to believe that?" Zoog asked incredulously.

  "I really don't fraggin' care what you believe." Kellan snapped. "I'm not lookin' for trouble. I'm going to walk out of here now, and your chummer is coming with me by way of insurance. He's the first one to catch it if the drek starts to fly. So let's all just stay nice and calm, and then nobody gets hurt, wakarimasuka?"

  Zoog didn't seem to know what to do. All Kellan wanted was to clear out of Brain Eater turf before the situation got out of control. There didn't seem to be much chance of convincing the gangers she had nothing to do with Squeak's death, especially not while she was holding one of them hostage, but she didn't want to let Keefer go and lose her bargaining position. Right now, the best she could hope for was to get out of the warez dood's apartment in one piece. There would be time to smooth things over with the Brain Eaters later, if need be.

  "How many more of you are there in the building?" Kellan asked. Zoog refused to answer, but Keefer stammered a response. "J-Just two more downstairs!"

  Zoog glared at Keefer, but didn't contradict him—not with Kellan's gun still pressed against Keefer's ribs.

  "All right." she said, still looking at Zoog. "Here's how this is going to work. You're going to walk ahead of us, close enough that I can see you. We're going to go downstairs, and I'm going to leave. If you cause me grief, then Keefer here gets it"—she jammed the gun harder against his side—"and you're next."

  "C'mon," Keefer begged, "just let me go. It's frosty! I swear we won't do anything! We didn't see a thing!"

  Kellan shook her head. "Sorry, chummer. I can't afford to leave you two behind me, and I need to clear out of here." She gestured to Zoog with her Crusader. "Now move!"

  The whole trip down the stairs, Kellan wished she had some of G-Dogg's size and strength. The ork bouncer could have juggled both Keefer and Zoog and barely worked up a sweat. Keefer was small for his age, but that still made him nearly the same size as Kellan. Sure, she had the drop on him, and she had the gun, but she really didn't want to use it. Bad enough the Brain Eaters thought she'd offed Squeak. If she blew away one of them, things would only get worse.

  Fortunately, Keefer and Zoog didn't seem inclined to cause Kellan any grief. Zoog led the way down the stairs, with Kellan and Keefer following close behind. She kept an eye out for anyone else likely to cause trouble, but no one even bothered to poke their head out from behind the closed doors.

  Two more Brain Eaters were kicking around in the lobby, just like Keefer said. One was an ork, not as big as G-Dogg, but still a good half meter taller than Kellan. He wore a sleeveless shirt and vest, showing off arms rippling with muscle. The other ganger was older than the rest, maybe in his twenties. His hair was buzzed down to a fine dark stubble under his fez, and chrome rings pierced his eyebrow, lips and ears. Both gangers abruptly straightened away from the wall where they'd been leaning when they realized Kellan was holding Keefer at gunpoint.

  "Chill!" Zoog said, patting the air with his palms. "It's frosty." The other two managed to keep still.

  "What the frag is this?" the human asked, nodding toward Kellan and Keefer.

  "This," Kellan replied, before anyone else could, "is a simple deal. I walk out of here, and Keefer doesn't get a lead implant tonight."

  "She totally means it, Crash!" Keefer babbled. "She's fraggin' crazy!"

  "Shut up." the bald ganger barked. His eyes narrowed, and he stared at Kellan for a moment.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "What does it matter?"

  He shrugged. "It doesn't. You're dead either way."

  "Well, unless you're going to make good on that threat, I suggest you get the frag out of my way."

  "You really think you can take us all?" Crash growled.

  "I don't need to take all of you." Kellan said, doing her best to keep her voice stone cold. "You just need to decide which of you wants to be the first to get plugged after Keefer here buys it." She jammed the Crusader into the ganger's side again for emphasis, and Keefer winced in her grip.

  There was a long pause as Crash regarded Kellan across the narrow width of the lobby. Keefer made a faint whimpering sound. Kellan wondered if the ganger would be crazy enough to call her on her threat, or just sacrifice Keefer to get at her. That would be a first—and possibly a last—in her experience. She was counting on the fact that gangs took care of their own, no matter what.

  Crash waved off Zoog and the ork, and took a step back, clearing the way to the door.

  "This isn't over." he said.

  "It is for now." Kellan replied.

  "We'll find you." the ork growled. "You're dead."

  "Whatever."

  Kellan kept her hostage between her and the other Brain Eaters all the way to the door. She pushed the door open with her hip, stepping out onto the stairs. Then she simultaneously loosened h
er grip on Keefer's neck, planted her other hand in his back and shoved him into the lobby, stepping back to allow the door to swing shut.

  Crash and the other Brian Eaters grabbed for their weapons, but Keefer was still in the way and Kellan had the drop on them. She raised her Crusader, pointing the muzzle up toward the ceiling. In her left hand, she created a faintly glowing sphere of light.

  She hurled it at the gangers, barely whispering the word of power. The globe passed through the glass like sunlight and burst in a soundless flash. The Brain Eaters grabbed their heads, dropped their weapons and crumpled to the floor. The door clicked shut and locked.

  Kellan looked at the helpless gangers for a moment. She could easily finish them off. A couple bursts from her Crusader, or a lethal spell . . . then no one would know what happened. No witnesses would be left to place her at the scene. But for what it was worth at this moment, she wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Other shadowrunners might consider it efficient to eliminate all traces of their presence, but Kellan wasn't one of them.

  She left the Brain Eaters where they lay. Let them wonder why the person they thought killed Squeak bothered to leave them alive. Kellan holstered her pistol and mounted her motorcycle in the alley.

  A faint buzz made Kellan jump, turn back toward the door and reach for her gun. Then she realized the vibration was coming from her phone. She fished it out of her pocket and looked at the display. She was receiving an e-mail. The originating address was unfamiliar, but the content of the message immediately caught Kellan's attention.

  Kellan,

  If you’re reading this, then something happened to me. (Frag, I always wanted to say that!)

  Seriously, I’ve got a weird feeling about this deal. So I’ve set up a fail-safe to send you all my files in case something does happen. Once you read this message, the program frame will forward the files to your e-mail address. You’ll know what to do with them.