Poison Agendas

by Stephen Kenson

  "Yes, I have." Kellan said. "He wouldn't give me any details, but he doesn't think I should trust you."

  To Kellan's surprise, Midnight nodded. "Lothan's no fool, Kellan. There's no reason you should trust me, and every reason for you not to. Trusting people in this business is dangerous. You should know that."

  "So are you saying you can't be trusted?"

  Midnight smiled. "Of course not. I'm the very soul of honor and discretion. You should trust me implicitly in all things."

  Kellan laughed. "That's almost exactly what Lothan said when I asked him the same question." Her smiled faded. "I'm serious, Midnight, I need to know."

  The elf leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands loosely clasped.

  "All right." she said. "If it's that important. Honestly, I decided not to say anything before because you're Lothan's student, and your business with him is none of mine. What's between Lothan and me is just business, and I felt a professional obligation to be discreet."

  Kellan was taken aback. She felt as if Midnight was chastising her for asking a fellow professional to break confidence. But she really felt like she needed to know what was going on between her teacher and this woman who could be her friend. So she only nodded for Midnight to go on.

  "Lothan and I had ... an arrangement involving you."

  "Involving me?"

  "Indirectly." the elf continued. "Specifically, your amulet."

  "What about it?"

  "I knew that it was the most unique thing Mustang owned." Midnight said. "I figured even if she disappeared, it might turn up sooner or later. If she was in debt, she might sell it to raise some nuyen. If she was dead . . . well, someone else might do the same thing. Even though the chances were slim that I would ever find out what happened, I had to make the effort.

  "So I talked to a few people I knew, experts in rare trinkets. I provided a description, asked them to keep an eye out for the amulet, and told them I would pay a finder's fee for anyone with any information about it. One of those experts was Lothan."

  "So Lothan knew you were looking for this?" Kellan asked, touching the amulet.

  Midnight nodded. "Needless to say, I was rather surprised when I found out about you on my own and discovered you were Lothan's student. I wanted to know why he didn't tell me immediately when he saw you wearing that amulet."

  "What did he say?" Kellan asked.

  Midnight shrugged. "He said he didn't want you having anything to do with me, that I had nothing to offer, and that you were better off studying with him. Really though, I think once he saw the amulet, Lothan wanted to keep it where he could study it. Maybe he thought I intended to take it from you."

  "Or from him." Kellan supplied.

  "Maybe." Midnight said. "I don't really know. I know Lothan can be a little controlling when it comes to things that interest him."

  "A little?" Kellan asked with a snort of laughter. "Try a lot."

  "Maybe he just wanted more of a chance to study the amulet before he told me about it, or he thought he was protecting you because I wanted to steal the amulet from you. After all, he didn't know why I was really looking for it."

  "And that's it?"

  "That's it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Kellan, but I didn't want to cast any doubts on Lothan's motivations."

  "Lothan doesn't need any help in that department." Kellan sighed. "Thanks for telling me the truth."

  "No problem. I hope it helps."

  Kellan nodded.

  "Don't be too hard on Lothan." Midnight said. "He's right about one thing: it's difficult and dangerous to trust anyone in this business."

  "Yeah, I've noticed." Kellan replied.

  "Speaking of not trusting people . . ."

  "Yeah?"

  "I wanted to talk to you about Natokah." Midnight said. "I have some concerns."

  "What kind of concerns?"

  Midnight sat back and flapped her hand as she spoke. "About how much we should trust him to handle on this run. Last night, he seemed pretty interested in finding out the destination."

  "He backed down about that." Kellan pointed out.

  "Yes, and I think you handled him just fine." Midnight replied. "But I did a little checking into his background last night. Most of what I know about Natokah is by reputation—which is mostly good. If we're going to work together, however, I wanted to know a little more."

  "What did you find out?" Kellan asked, curious.

  "He's from the Sioux Nation, Laramie." Midnight explained. "He belongs to the Navajo tribe. The interesting thing is that there's a warrant out in Sioux territory for his arrest."

  "For what?"

  "Murder." Midnight said flatly.

  * * *

  Natokah examined the wards protecting his modest rooms in Columbia. Though he'd renewed them recently, it was wise to ensure they remained strong and stable before he engaged in astral travel. When he was satisfied with his inspection, Natokah prepared his working space. He set the telecom to divert any incoming calls to voice mail, dimmed the lights and spread out a brightly colored blanket on a clear space on the floor. He turned on his entertainment system and selected a drumming-music file. Live music would have been more authentic, but a modern shaman made do with what was at hand.

  He lit a bundle of sweet white sage, blowing gently on the end of it until it was smoldering. He ritually cleansed his space, signing seals of protection to the four directions and honoring those spirits. He set the sage wand to burn in a shell on the floor next to the blanket. Then he adjusted the volume of the music and lay down on the blanket. He stretched and relaxed, releasing the tension from his muscles, feeling the weight of his body pressing against the floor. The sweet smoke of the sage curled in white wisps overhead. The beat of the drum flowed over him, like the beating of his heart.

  Natokah took hold of the drumbeat; let it flow over and through him, leading him into a deep trance. With practiced ease, he closed his eyes, settled his body and relaxed. His awareness of the physical world fell away, and he was floating in a soft, warm and comfortable darkness. Then he opened his eyes.

  Natokah saw his body lying on the blanket beneath him. He hovered over it, like the sage smoke passing through and around him. The drumming music faded to a dull background noise. His spirit was outside his body, floating on the astral plane. From here Natokah could see the wards around his apartment as shimmering, ghostly echoes of the physical walls. They were no obstacles to him, as their creator, but to any other spirit intruder, they would be as solid and strong as stone walls. With no more thought than crossing a room, Natokah's spirit flew through the wall of his apartment and out into the air over Seattle.

  The shaman had spent time exploring the spirit world around the metroplex, but this time he had a specific destination. Natokah's spirit angled up, flying high over the city toward the east. Then, with the speed of thought, he flew off, leaving Seattle and his physical form far behind. The sky above and the land below became little more than a blur of light and color as Natokah traveled at a speed unequaled by any physical creature, faster than a hawk, eagle or even a dragon.

  It took him only moments to cover hundreds of kilometers, and Natokah slowed as he approached a familiar place some distance from the metroplex he currently called home. Outwardly, it was a humble-looking building, a long, low house built of wood. Though constructed using modern techniques, its design honored the style and appearance of native structures dating from before Europeans discovered the Americas. Carvings adorned the trim of the building near the roof and accented the support beams. Those carvings, Natokah knew, served more than a decorative function. Their design was integral to the spirit walls of the building, which he saw as clearly as the wards around his own home. He also saw the guardians of this place, ever watchful, and aware of his arrival.

  One spirit stood guard at each wall of the lodge, which were set to face the cardinal directions. They had the shape of people, but wore heavy clothing that showed no bar
e flesh. Heavy jackets and leggings of hide were trimmed with fringe and bead-work. Soft moccasins covered their feet, and mittens of the finest calfskin covered their hands. Over their faces they each wore an elaborately carved mask depicting a totem animal: bear, eagle, snake and raven. Their true appearances were hidden beneath the masks—assuming the masks were not their true appearances. Guardian spirits, summoned and honored to watch over this place.

  They knew Natokah, and the eagle guardian nodded acknowledgement to him as he arrived, standing aside so he could enter. The shaman's spirit passed through the wards and the walls of the lodge as though they were no more than smoke.

  The room Natokah entered was quite ordinary. A brightly colored blanket, similar to the one his physical body lay upon hundreds of kilometers away, hung on one wall. A desk occupied one corner of the room and held a keyboard and flatscreen monitor. On one wall hung shelves containing a few books and curios, while the opposite corner held a small couch and end table. An old man sat on the couch. He glanced up from the datapad he was reading as Natokah entered.

  His hair was long—well past his shoulders—and iron gray. It had been so for as long as Natokah could recall. Two braids framed a strong, lined and weathered face, a face that had seen many momentous events. His eyes were like dark stones and gleamed with insight; his mouth was a hard, strong line. There was no need for Natokah to manifest his presence in the room, since he knew the old man could see him perfectly well. His dark eyes missed very little.

  "Your report." he said, gesturing toward the space in front of him.

  Natokah folded his legs, sitting in the air just a couple of meters away from the other man.

  "Sir, I have made contact with a group of shadowrunners planning a mission into Salish-Shidhe territory. Their objective is somewhere near the Lewiston-Clarkston area."

  "Do you know what their objective is?" the old man asked. Natokah shook his head.

  "Not yet. The shadowrunner arranging things is keeping that information to herself for the time being. I don't think I will be able to find out the objective before the run begins."

  "How do the shadowrunners plan to reach their objective?"

  "One of the team is to make arrangements with a smuggler along the eastern routes to get us to the Lewiston area." Natokah replied. "I could arrange for the elimination of the shadowrunners after they have crossed the border."

  The old man thought for a moment. "Do you feel this mission is an immediate threat to us?"

  "No, sir." Natokah replied. "I don't think so, but it remains an unknown."

  "Hmmm." he mused. "Clearly, more information is needed. If the shadowrunners were eliminated, we might never know their true objective. Continue with this mission, Natokah. Observe and gather information. Use your own judgment. If there is a clear and immediate danger to our people, take whatever steps are necessary to neutralize it. Otherwise, simply continue to observe, particularly anything that may involve the Salish-Shidhe."

  "Yes, sir." the shaman replied, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

  "You have done well." the old man said to him. "Do not needlessly endanger the position you have developed in Seattle. You are far too valuable to us as an active observer in the metroplex."

  "I understand, sir." Natokah said.

  "We will make arrangements through the usual channels." the old man said. "Do you have anything further to report?"

  "No, sir, nothing further."

  "Then you are dismissed. Walk in beauty, Natokah." he said.

  "Walk in beauty." the shaman replied. He made a deep and respectful bow to his superior, then turned and passed through the walls of the lodge, back into the outside world. The land and sky whirled past as Natokah traveled back to his physical form, straight and true as an arrow. He passed through the walls and wards of his home and settled back into his own skin.

  There was a moment of disorientation, the feeling of sudden weight and a slight stiffness from lying on the floor. Natokah breathed deeply, smelling the sweet smoke of the sage, and listened to the beat of the drum. Then he opened his eyes and slowly sat up.

  He shut off the music and returned the lights to their normal level, squinting against the sudden brightness. As he put everything back in its proper place, his thoughts focused on the upcoming run. The sooner Draven secured passage across the border to Lewiston, the sooner Natokah could find out what it was in Native American territory that so interested these shadowrunners.

  * * *

  "Murder?"

  Midnight nodded. "The authorities in the Sioux Nation say Natokah murdered his brother before he fled the country and landed in Seattle—that was about a year ago. There's still an outstanding warrant for his arrest."

  "That's probably why he wanted to know where exactly we were going."

  Midnight nodded again. "Probably part of the reason. The Salish-Shidhe Council shares a border with the Sioux, and all the Native American Nations have extradition agreements and treaties. If Natokah is caught in NAN territory, odds are good he'll be shipped home to face charges."

  "Why did he kill his brother?"

  Midnight shrugged. "The report didn't say. You'd have to ask him—though I don't think I would."

  "You think he's a danger to the team?"

  "I don't really know." Midnight replied thoughtfully. "Natokah has a solid professional reputation in Seattle, even though he's only been working the shadows for about a year. Everything I've heard says he can be trusted to get the job done. But regardless of how trustworthy he appears, this seemed important enough to bring up.

  "Since you asked my opinion," Midnight continued, "I think Natokah is worth having on the team. He knows the NAN territory, and he's experienced in dealing with the Awakened wilderness. He's a capable shaman and he's a pro with a good rep. All that being said, I think we should keep a close eye on him. Just like every other shadowrunner, he's got his own interests, and once we're out of the metroplex, he may decide they're more important than his loyalty to the team. If there's an "accident" and he's the only one who makes it back to Seattle . . ."

  Kellan's head jerked up and she stared at Midnight. The elf just shrugged.

  "I'm not saying it'll happen," she said, "just that we should be careful. Keep an eye on Natokah, Kellan, and I'll watch your back."

  "Right." Kellan nodded. Great. Orion didn't trust Midnight. Midnight didn't trust Natokah. Natokah clearly didn't trust Kellan. And on the eve of leading her own run, Kellan wasn't sure she could trust anyone.

  Chapter 15

  The lava flats in Puyallup were known as Hell's Kitchen for good reason. During the Ghost Dance War, Native American shamans awakened dormant Mount Rainier. The volcano erupted, raining ash down over Seattle and covering parts of Puyallup in flows of molten lava. Streams and lakes that filled with ash and were buried under lava fifty years ago had turned into bubbling pools of mud, and geysers that erupted in boiling water from time to time. Everything else in the area was a barren wasteland of igneous rock.

  A few corporations began building geothermal energy plants on the lava plains, but the Crash of '29 scuttled those plans. Now Hell's Kitchen was filled with abandoned buildings, some half buried in solidified magma and ash. Only scavengers—human and otherwise—still lived there, picking clean the skeletons of the buildings and scuttling across the lava flats looking for other salvage, risking the unpredictable geysers of steam and treacherous boiling mud.

  The same qualities that made Hell's Kitchen a no-man's-land made it perfectly suited for some inhabitants of the metroplex. It was located close to the official borders of Seattle and was difficult to patrol. The Metroplex Guard—UCAS military protection for the city-state of Seattle—relied heavily on automated monitoring stations scattered along the border that served as listening posts for illegal border activity. Such monitors offered a limited level of efficiency, and smugglers quickly found ways to slip past them and move undetected into and out of the Seattle area.

  So, on the d
ay after Kellan's meeting with Midnight, she assembled her team of shadowrunners in Hell's Kitchen just past midnight. It was nearly pitch-dark on the lava fields, the only illumination the stars overhead and the lights of the metroplex glittering off to the north and west. This was where they would meet the driver who would take them out of Seattle and into the Native American Nations. Draven had gotten lucky with one of his contacts—the smuggler had a run scheduled in the direction they wanted to go, and the space to accommodate the team.

  They stashed their own transportation on the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen in a garage run by the Razor Heads, a local gang willing to keep your ride safe for a fee. They walked the remaining few kilometers out onto the lava flats, guided by Natokah and Orion.

  The shaman knew the hazards of the area and the pickup location, and Orion's elven vision allowed him to see his surroundings as easily as if it were daylight. Nobody said much as they walked, but Kellan had a knot of nervous excitement in her stomach. This was it. The run was a go. She tried to keep a careful eye on everyone in the team, alert for any signs of trouble from within or from without.

  After what seemed like hours, Natokah consulted his handheld global positioning system one final time, then called a halt. The team hunkered down in the darkness and waited. There was little conversation, though Draven muttered a quiet monologue as he checked over his pack and supplies. Orion stuck close by Kellan, apparently convinced that she needed protection. Midnight and Natokah were like silent shadows on the edges of the group, both watching and waiting as a distant roar grew closer.

  The smuggler drove a thunderbird, a low-altitude, vector-thrust vehicle perfectly suited for the rough terrain of the lava flats. It roared over the uneven ground, the sinkholes and the mud pools with aplomb. Its running lights stabbed the darkness, showing the profile of something that looked like a flying bus with stubby fins and huge jet engines at the back. Its dorsal surface bristled with sensors and gun turrets, like a tank—which, essentially, it was.

  The roar from the engines diminished only slightly as the vehicle slowed, then it came in for a landing on an open swath of the flats, the sound of the thrusters dropping off to a whine, but the engines still kicking up a thick cloud of dust and ash.