by Mel Odom
“Duran!” Skater yelled.
“Move!” the ork responded, dropping an empty clip from the Scorpion and feeding in another.
Angry voices were lost over the rush of the invading water, but Skater could hear McKenzie yelling orders to kill Duran and him. He tapped the subdermal radio, hoping Trey would still be able to hear him. “Trey.”
“I’m still here, chummer.”
Skater fought his way through the water as it flooded up to his waist. It would be only seconds before he could no longer challenge the incoming tide, and the strength of the water didn’t appear to be flagging. He spared a glance toward the entrance and spotted Trey at the side of the open double doors, where he’d been waiting in reserve. Skater was relieved to see that the restaurant’s patrons were beating a hasty retreat from the dining room through the double doors, guided by the Gray Line wait staff.
Trey gestured and a shimmering wave descended on the water around Skater. A small typhoon took shape in front of him, then whirled up to four meters over Skater’s head. Bits and pieces of silverware, cocktail napkins, glasses, bottles, and furniture swirled within it.
Fully formed, the murky giant stood in the midst of the rushing water on legs as thick as telephone poles. Tracer rounds burned hot and bright as they ripped through its liquid flesh without doing any damage. The water elemental’s features were barely formed, but conveyed intense anger. Trey had summoned it hours before, then held it ready to perform whatever service he required. Waves rolled in obedience to its outstretched hands, engulfing yakuza and Mafia gunners who dared stand before it.
“Go, Jack.” Trey said. “I’ll meet you topside.” Without another word, the mage left his position and sprinted across the room, diving headfirst into the surging water.
“I’ve got your back,” Duran said, “then I’ll be along.”
Skater dived into the water too, striking out for the collapsed wall. Instead of having to fight the in-rush of the Sound, the current carried him along, flowing in the opposite direction of the liters of water pouring in. He knew it was Trey’s doing, bending the water elemental’s powers to his will.
He twisted and shot through the jagged fangs of the glass shards still hanging in the slots of the wall. The fish were swept away from him as well. Then the force moving him disappeared, leaving him weightless in the dark. A sense of buoyancy returned and he followed it up, the wet clothes slowing his ascent.
The water thinned above him. Moonlight pushed its way into the depths, except for a rough triangular shape to his left. He broke the surface and glanced back at the shadow, his breath burning in his lungs.
Wheeler Iron-Nerve, still clad in the scuba gear he’d used to plant the charges around the restaurant’s glass wall, impatiently paced the deck of the Aztech Nightrunner he’d borrowed—for a price—from another rigger. Spotting Skater, the dwarf hurried over and offered a hand. “Get a fragging move on. We hang around here much longer, we’re going to get our tickets punched.”
Skater took the hand and fought down the nausea spinning from his wound. The dwarf was strong enough to lift him almost bodily from the water.
“Catch one?” Wheeler asked, running a rough hand across Skater’s head. He peered closely.
“Almost.” Skater brushed the hand away irritably. He turned and glanced back into the black depths. He accessed the subdermal. “Duran.”
“On our way, kid.” Duran answered. An instant later he broke the surface, shaking the water from his eyes, then getting his bearings. Trey came up less than a meter away. They swam for the boat.
Skater looked back toward the dock area, listening to the swelling voices drifting in from the Gray Line. The Nightrunner’s low-slung design kept it lower than the docks jutting up as a bulwark against the storm season and blocking the restaurant itself from his view.
“They’re coming.” Wheeler said as he bolted for the enclosed cockpit.
Skater knew the rigger wasn’t referring to Duran and Trey, who were scrambling over the side of the boat onto the deck. Even with the nausea swirling inside his brain, he could tell that some of the voices beyond the docks were getting closer. He lifted the Predator and readied himself.
The Nightrunner’s cockpit only held two seats. Wheeler took one and jacked himself into the vehicle’s control panel. The engine rumbled to life, quiet, even though the quiver that ran through the boat like the anticipatory wiggles of a BTL chiphead was something short of a low-Richter earthquake.
Trey stumbled as he tried to get to his feet on the Nightrunner’s soaked deck. Even with the anti-skid matting overlaying the nonmetallic composites making up the hull, walking across the craft wasn’t easy.
Skater reached out to help, but the mage drew his arm away.
“Easy, chummer.” Trey cautioned in a drained tone. “I zigged when I should have zagged back there.” He held up his arm. A gash ran the length of his forearm from wrist to elbow. Ivory bone gleamed through the blood that dripped onto the hull and stained his clothing. His face was blanched white. “Kevlar wasn’t exactly designed to handled glass. I can fix this, though.”
The mage’s voice dropped off to a whisper, and Skater wasn’t sure if the last comment was made to him or was intended as self-reassurance.
Skater pushed Trey toward the cockpit. “Get in and keep your head down.”
Almost listlessly, the mage dropped into the other seat, cradling his wounded arm. His head lolled backward suddenly, and the sight drained out of his open eyes.
“Take care of him.” Skater told Wheeler.
The dwarf nodded. “I’ve got him. You two hold on back there, because we’re going to be fragging hell for leather.”
Duran was already crouched down at the back of the cockpit with one hand on a grip, and the barrel of his gun propped on the edge of the boat. He ripped loose a sustained burst from the Scorpion across the front of the docks, driving back the shadows that had suddenly clustered there. Muzzle flashes streaked the night and highlighted the ancient wooden ramparts mixed in with the plascrete replacements.
Skater grabbed the other grip at the back of the cockpit. “Go!” he yelled to Wheeler.
Bullets pounded against the Nightrunner’s hull and bounced off the reinforced cockpit with a flurry of sparks. Chunks of the anti-skid matting ripped loose and went spinning away.
The inboard Marine turbine kicked in with a vengeance. The boat sank a few centimeters at first as the power shoved it forward, then gradually rose out of the water as speed and the curved prow lifted it clear.
Skater hung on, closing his fist and willing the flesh to meld into a single unit around the grip. The flickering muzzle flashes grew rapidly smaller along the dock and the sparks of bullets striking the Nightrunner ended.
“No pursuit.” Duran yelled over the roar of the engine and the slap of the waves out on the flat surface of the Sound. “We’ll make it.”
Skater nodded. The only thing that could shut them down at this point was a quick-response helo team from Lone Star. He gazed at the cloud-filled sky. That, however, didn’t appear in the offing.
Trey had slumped over even farther, but the blood coming from the wound seemed to be slowing down.
“How is he?” Skater asked Wheeler.
The dwarf remained concentrated on the controls. “He’s hanging in there. Still breathing. That’s always a good sign.” Skater nodded and hunkered down beside the cockpit.
“I guess we don’t have to wonder about McKenzie anymore.” Duran said. The ork’s face was tight against the chili wind, but his eyes burned. “Son of a slitch had no problem turning on us back there. Probably would have given Dragonfletcher our heads on a pike if the price was right.” Skater nodded.
“He figured you were lying about dumping the files into the Matrix.” the ork said.
“Maybe.” Skater agreed. “And maybe he knew that the files were corrupt.”
“You know that?” Duran asked. “Or you think that?”
“At
the moment, I’m wondering.” Skater answered honestly. “A lot.” He cursed quietly, worrying about Trey, about the baby, and feeling the loss of Larisa even more as he realized he was running from the gunfight and didn’t really have anything to run to. Somewhere in the mix of violent events of the last thirty hours, the pieces to the puzzle were there. He just couldn’t find them.
22
“That’s the second Lone Star heavy cruiser I’ve seen in the last five minutes.” Wheeler said from the driver’s seat of the Leyland-Rover as they cut through the streets of downtown Seattle.
Seated in the back so he could watch over the sleeping form of Cullen Trey, Skater stared through the bug-crusted windshield as the van rolled toward Archibald’s apartment. He watched the ruby taillights of the Lone Star cruiser glide through the narrow streets away from them.
“They’re running sections.” Duran commented. He sat forward in the shotgun seat, the Scorpion still clutched in one hand. “Got foot patrols equipped with crawlers out, too.” He pointed.
Skater followed the line of sight as the van passed through an intersection. Two blocks down, a trio of Lone Star uniforms in their distinctive colors were kicking open a door. An Aztechnology GCR-23C Crawler painted Lone Star blue and yellow waited in automated bliss at their feet, no larger than a bread box. It was a snooper drone, designed to penetrate buildings with vidscanners, keeping risk to flesh and blood at a minimum.
“I doubt they’re out canvassing the neighborhood for opinions on how to improve their service.” Skater said. He used the commlink to try the number they’d set up at the apartment.
A tinny female voice informed him that he’d reached a number that was no longer in service. He broke the connection, then tried Archibald’s original number. It rang five times but went unanswered. Trey was still unconscious, but the ripped flesh along his arm was showing signs of reknitting.
“Pull over and stop.” Skater told Wheeler three blocks from the apartment. “Give Duran and me five minutes to hit the apartment and scan the scene. If you get a call from me, at that time or before, come ahead. Anything after that, take off and save your own hoops.”
Wheeler nodded and began pulling over, killing the van’s lights as he glided in next to the curb.
Skater ditched his tie as the Leyland-Rover came to a stop. In suits, they were definitely overdressed for the neighborhood. Even if they didn’t attract Lone Star attention, the night would already have unleashed plenty of street predators. He left the jacket unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves. Flashing a grin at Duran, he said, “We dress down enough, maybe the local sleazers will think we’ve already been rolled tonight.”
Duran tucked the Scorpion up into the shoulder sling under his jacket. “They don’t want to make the mistake of jumping us. I ain’t in the mood anymore.”
Skater unlocked the back door and stepped out. After being out on Puget Sound, he found the city air muggy and doughy, making him sweat under the wet clothes even before they'd covered the first block. Duran was to his right and a half-step back. Glancing in the shop windows as he went, Skater used the ones not covered over by gray duct tape and plastiboard to scan for anyone who might be showing unwanted interest in their passage. The reflected images were dark and ghostly as they drifted along the street.
He thought about the times Larisa had argued with him, trying to persuade him to leave the biz, get out of shadowrunning. He remembered only too vividly how abandoned he'd felt when she’d left him, and how that had evoked all the baggage he’d carried with him from the Council lands into his mother’s home and beyond. Thinking about all that had happened tonight while dodging and fleeing and fighting for his fife, he realized how closed-in he’d kept his world. The people he was now depending on were ones he’d deliberately kept at arm’s length. He suddenly realized how little he knew about them, how little he knew about anyone in his life. The insight trickled through his mind like cold mercury.
He glanced at Archibald’s door a short way ahead. The security light over the door was still dark from when Elvis had removed the bulb. Three minutes and eleven seconds had passed.
“Duran.” Skater said.
“Yeah, kid.”
“You got a hobby?”
Three steps passed in silence. “A hobby?”
“Yeah.” Skater stepped off the curb, looked up and down the street, then started across. A breeze kicked up and blew papers, wrappers, and plastifoam cups bouncing along ahead of them. “Something you do in between jobs. You know.”
“You sure you didn’t get your wetware scrambled back there?” Duran asked in a casual tone.
“I’m sure.” Less than a hundred paces separated them from the darkened door. Skater slid the Predator free and kept it hidden beside his leg.
“You want to tell me why you’re interested in this now?”
“Because there might not be a later.” Skater didn’t want to try to put all the tangled emotions he was feeling into words. There was so much going on, so much to sort out, and his time might already be nearly up.
“Horses.” Duran said. “I like to go to the races. Straight ones, though, where it’s only heart and muscle that makes the difference. Not tech.”
“Win much?” Skater looked at the big ork beside him, surprised at his own interest now that he’d breached forbidden ground.
Duran shook his head. “I never bet.”
“Then why go?”
“To see ’em run.” Duran said. “I just like to see ’em run.”
Skater considered it, then decided that was probably as good a reason as any.
“And I like the Sloppies, too.” Duran went on as they gained the other side of the street. “And watching the women. Females get crazy when money’s changing hands and they never know if they’ve won until the horses hit the wire. And they dress nice. Synthleather pants that fit like a monofilament edge.”
“Have you got somebody ...” Skater hesitated over the word choice as they walked under a tattered steel-framed awning. “... somebody special?”
“A woman, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes. Me and women, it’s a nice thought, but kind of like mixing oil and vinegar. Got to keep it really shook up to make it run smooth. I don’t have that kind of time to invest, and I’ve never found one who could keep my interest for that long. I’ve been told I’m hard to get to know.”
Skater nodded, remembering conversations with Larisa. “And you’re too controlling, too guarded, too paranoid.”
“Bingo.”
“But you try.”
“Not as often as I used to.”
Skater felt perspiration run down the side of his face. A crimson-tinted bead paused at the corner of his eye till he blinked it away. He took a fresh grip on the pistol as he walked to within knocking range of the apartment door. Four minutes thirty-seven seconds had elapsed. “I hope you get to see the horses run again once this is over.”
“Me too, kid.”
Before Skater could touch his knuckles to the door’s surface, it opened. He hadn’t walked right in just in case the apartment had already been invaded by Lone Star and no one was watching the door. Surprising a lax sentry could have led to a gun battle that he definitely didn’t want.
At the side of the door, Duran was already in position with the Scorpion out in the open.
“We’re leaving.” Archangel said as she came to the door. “The lease is up on this place.” She had her deck in its case and was dressed to go. “Anything we couldn’t carry has been destroyed. Where’s the car?”
Elvis stood behind her, a large suitcase in each hand. He eyed the street warily.
Skater called Wheeler over the link. “Let’s go.”
“On my way.” the dwarf replied. Three blocks down, the van’s headlights came on and carved tunnels in the shadows. The vehicle pulled smoothly out into the street.
Archangel obviously didn’t feel comfortable standing in the doorway. She started toward th
e van at a sedate pace.
Skater fell into step beside her, feeling her tension and seeing it in the rigidity of her movements. “Problem?”
“You and Duran were made to this area by some street snitch.” Archangel said. “They broke it on the trid not long ago. You're still wanted in connection with Larisa’s murder. Lone Star only started the house-to-house searches about forty-five minutes ago. Some of the crews got pulled once the action began at the restaurant.” The van pulled up alongside them, and she took a seat beside Trey, who was conscious once again.
The seam on the mage’s arm looked shiny and pink and new, like a sunburned strip. Skater didn’t think it would scar at all.
“I take it the meeting didn’t go well.” Archangel said.
“No.” Skater told her as he took a seat further back.
“McKenzie’s not exactly thrilled with us at the moment.” He explained about the switched credsticks. “I was figuring on cutting him out of the loop so we’d have only the elves to deal with. I’m sure they don’t have their own base of operations here in Seattle yet. I thought maybe it would give us some breathing room with McKenzie out of the way. But it seems like McKenzie fed the elves some lies.”
Duran took the passenger seat up front again while Elvis dumped the baggage into the back and shut the door. He had a hard time getting his bulk comfortable as he took a seat beside Skater.
“The yakuza showed up too.” Trey said. “Unannounced. Which means someone tipped them off. Again. All in all, the whole little party was absolutely fascinating. It’s hard to keep up with who might be double-crossing who at any given moment.”
“Doyukai’s people?” Elvis asked.
“Probably.” Duran answered. “What with all the hell breaking loose, we didn’t have time to check their bonafides.”
“So you’re thinking someone in Dragonfletcher’s group sold him out to the yaks?” Elvis asked.
Wheeler had the van rolling steadily now, headed out of downtown. “Where to?” he asked.
“It could have been somebody from NuGene.” Skater said to Elvis, then turned to Wheeler. “I’m open to suggestions.”
