Ragnarock

by Stephen Kenson

  Talon glanced around the darkened street for about the hundredth time and wished Brackhaus had chosen someplace less public for the meet. There wasn't much traffic, but such a public place offered too many unknowns.

  Part of his unease came from the open design of the plaza in front of the Institute's main building. Brick-lined walkways cut through the grounds, which were arranged in contemporary elven style, with perfectly trimmed bushes and flower-beds, most of them dead or dormant in the depths of Boston's winter. The paths were brushed clear of snow, and snow banks lined the sides of the road, with much taller mounds forming a high wall around the parking area. It didn't take long for the metroplex to run out of places to heap the plowed snow.

  The Institute building was a simple two-story affair, its red brick façade blanketed with deep green ivy. The building itself was only a few years old, and Talon was sure all that ivy was the result of a major dose of magic. He also knew that the interior was as modern as anything in the Boston area, since the Dunkelzahn Institute for Magical Research engaged in some of the most cutting-edge experiments in theoretical and applied magic. He could think of plenty of people involved with the DIMR who would love to get their hands on the wooden box hidden in the backpack he wore, and what it contained. In fact, from what Trouble had dug up on the key, Grace had arranged to have it "liberated" from somewhere in Tir Tairngire a few years previously, and Ehran, one of the Tir's Council of Princes, sat on the board of the DIMR. A little too close for Talon's comfort.

  Another part of his discomfort stemmed from what the Institute itself represented. The DIMR was a memorial to the great dragon Dunkelzahn, founded with money from his estate. Dunkelzahn had been a champion of the rights of the Awakened and metahumanity in the Sixth World, a new age of magic, where myths and legends came to life. Unlike other dragons, who tended to shun "lesser" beings like humans, Dunkelzahn seemed a true friend of humans and metahumans alike. He had appeared on the trideo in the early years of the Sixth World, helping to calm hysteria and providing information about the nature of magic and magical beings during those first interviews with a stunned new media. The ratings were so good the dragon eventually got his own talk show. To people of the twentieth century the idea of a dragon hosting a talk show would have seemed preposterous. Even Talon, a child of the twenty-first century, found it amazing sometimes.

  Dunkelzahn's popularity was so great he eventually took the unthinkable a step further. He decided to run for president of the United Canadian-American States in 2057. The presidential race that year was a whirlwind of political maneuvering and public relations, but the dragon managed to win in the end, becoming the first non-human president ever.

  Unfortunately, Dunkelzahn's term of office was cut tragically short. After leaving a victory party at the Watergate Hotel on Inauguration Night, Dunkelzahn climbed into the presidential limousine—in human form, thanks to dragon magic. A short distance from the hotel, a massive explosion destroyed the limo and everyone in it. They never found a body, but it was clear that nothing could have survived the blast.

  The assassination of President Dunkelzahn sent shock waves through the nation, but it was nothing compared to the aftermath of his death. Dunkelzahn left an extensive will detailing the disposition of his estate and his last wishes. The dragon's resources turned out to be more vast than anyone ever dreamed, and the money and other bequests from Dunkelzahn's estate reshaped the political and economic landscape, both in the UCAS and abroad. One of the many institutions originally funded by Dunkelzahn's will was the DIMR, a foundation for pure research into the mysteries of magic, to allow humanity to better understand the nature of the world in which they now lived. Another was the Draco Foundation, also part of the dragon's legacy.

  The Draco Foundation administered Dunkelzahn's remaining estate and saw that the dragon's final wishes were carried out. Some of the instructions Dunkelzahn left behind required less than logical— and often less than legal—action, which in the twenty-first century meant shadowrunners. The Draco Foundation had enough money to hire the very best, and one of the people they had hired was Talon. He'd worked with Assets, Inc., the DF's own shadow team, for a few years following Dunkelzahn's death. In that time, he traveled all over the world and saw some amazing things.

  Eventually, he decided he couldn't go any further within Assets. Until then, Talon had always been a runner in a team, had never really operated one on his own. When circumstances drew him back to Boston last year, he decided to form his own crew with the runners he met on that caper, with the help of his old friend, Boom. His little band of shadowrunners were really starting to make a name for themselves in the Boston sprawl, but Talon still couldn't quite shake the feeling that his departure from Assets, Inc., although amicable enough, constituted some sort of betrayal on his part, a desertion of the dragon's legacy. He felt Dunkelzahn's presence strongly here on the Institute grounds, even though he hadn't known the great dragon in life.

  Talon was just grateful that the Institute's board of directors had rejected the proposal to erect a statue of Dunkelzahn in the center of the plaza. He wasn't sure he could handle having the dragon staring down at him right then. The abstract bronze sculpture, shaped like an ancient astrolabe, was considerably more friendly.

  "Heads up, boss." came a voice in his head. He had Aracos keeping watch.

  Talon yanked his thoughts back to the present as a dark four-door Eurocar came prowling down the street. It pulled up to the snow-covered curb and the rear door opened. Talon walked calmly toward the car, all his senses alert for any signs of trouble. He didn't think it was likely that Nicholas Grace or any of his cronies from the Illuminates of the New Dawn could have found him or the key in only a few short hours, but it paid to be at least a little paranoid in the shadow business. It had saved Talon's life more than once. He'd already arranged to have one of Val's drones nearby to keep an electronic eye on the meeting, and he could feel Aracos hovering close by in astral space, invisible, silent, and intangible to the physical world, but able to materialize in an instant, if needed.

  "Ready?" he thought to his spirit ally.

  "I'll keep watch." Aracos said. "Don't worry." With that Talon climbed into the back of the car and closed the door behind him.

  The Eurocar slid away from the curb smoothly. There was still very little traffic, and the driver took his time. The car's windows were tinted, so it was almost impossible to see in from the outside. The driver kept his eyes on the road and pretended not to notice anything going on behind him. It was like nobody else was in the car with him. Perhaps he really didn't notice anything. Talon thought he might be fitted with data filters to keep him from consciously remembering anything potentially sensitive while on "duty" like this.

  Next to Talon in the back seat was his employer for this run, his "Mr. Johnson." Hans Brackhaus— Talon was fairly sure that wasn't his real name—was an unimposing man. He was of average height and build and indeterminate age, somewhere in that vague range between late thirties and early fifties that corporate execs maintained through the use of modern medicine and cosmetic work. His hair was dark with just a touch of gray to give him a distinguished, reliable look. His eyes were light blue. He wore a dark, finely tailored suit, pale blue shirt, and a jewel-toned tie. If Talon had to create the image of the perfect, archetypal corporate suit, it would look a lot like Hans Brackhaus, which, he suspected, was the idea. The only unusual element of Brackhaus' appearance was the ornate walking stick resting against the seat near the door on his side. It was black lacquered wood with a golden handle in the shape of a dragon's head.

  "Talon." the older man said by way of a greeting.

  "Mr. Brackhaus."

  "You have the item then?" Brackhaus had a slight German accent, noticeable only in certain elements of his grammar and the pronunciation of certain words. Otherwise, his English was flawless.

  Talon had slipped off the backpack when he got into the car. He unzipped it and removed the wooden box, which h
e placed in Brackhaus' hands. Brackhaus opened the box and looked inside, a tight smile crossing his otherwise stony expression.

  "Ser gut." he said quietly. "Very good. I assume there were no . . . complications?"

  "None other than the ones you requested." Talon replied. "I still would have preferred to lift the key before Grace left town and leave him with a substitute, so the Illuminates wouldn't be sure when and where the real key went missing. Taking it from him en route to the airport and giving him a chance to see us was something of a risk."

  "Yes," Brackhaus said, closing the wooden box and resting it on one knee, "but that is what I am paying you for, Herr Talon. My employer wanted to send a certain message to the Illuminates, among others, and this"—he tapped the box with one finger— "is merely a means to an end. The risk you took was not unnecessary, believe me."

  Brackhaus' employer was none other than Saeder-Krupp, the world's largest megacorporation, with interests in industries worldwide. Saeder-Krupp was owned by another dragon, the great dragon Lofwyr, as different in many ways from the nearly sainted Dunkelzahn as night from day. Talon had no idea if Brackhaus was high up enough to deal personally with the dragon, but Lofwyr was known for his complex schemes, so it came as no surprise that the run had unusual risks for no apparent reason.

  Talon shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me either way. You get what you pay for. Speaking of which . . . ?"

  "Ah, yes. Of course." Brackhaus reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a slim, plastic wand, about ten centimeters in length, and handed it over to Talon. "This contains the remainder of the fee we agreed upon, in certified credit kept in a numbered offshore account. Is that acceptable?"

  "Very." Talon replied, turning the credstick over in his fingers once before making it disappear into one of the many pockets in his jacket. "I believe that concludes our business."

  "Not quite." Brackhaus said, and Talon tensed for a moment. Did the Johnson have some kind of double-cross in mind? It was not unknown for employers to dispose of shadowrunners to eliminate loose ends that could be traced back to them. Normally, runners were too valuable an asset to waste in that manner, but shadowrunning was a dangerous business, and the megacorporations weighed their decisions based on how things affected their bottom line. Sometimes a shadowrunner was more of a liability than an asset.

  "There's no need for concern." Brackhaus said, as if he could read Talon's mind. "Quite the opposite. You and your associates did quite well on this job and I have another that might be of interest to you."

  Talon settled back into the cushions of the Eurocar. More work was always a good thing, even with the big nuyen they'd just made.

  "I'm listening." he said. "Aracos?"

  "Dunno, boss." the spirit replied in his mind. "His aura doesn't show anything except calm and confidence. He's like a stone, totally unreadable." Talon couldn't say that surprised him.

  "Just say the word and I'll frag him."

  "Hang on." Talon thought. "Let's see what he's got. Just keep an eye out for trouble."

  Brackhaus reached into his jacket once again and withdrew a flat plastic case. He flipped open the screen of the pocket secretary and touched the control pad. The screen lit up with a digital picture of an older man, human, with gray hair and a somewhat bushy beard and mustache.

  "This is Dr. Alexi Goronay, of the University of Kiev, where he is a professor of archeology. Two weeks ago, Dr. Goronay and a team of students from the University were excavating an archeological site in the mountains of the Ukraine. They discovered an unusual artifact during the dig, a clay tablet carved with symbols, which Goronay brought to his trailer on the site. Less than an hour later, Goronay disappeared and one of his students was found murdered in the trailer, beaten to death with a hammer. The tablet was smashed into fragments."

  Talon looked up from the display and met Brackhaus' eyes. Aracos was right; there was no emotion displayed there, only a calm, businesslike demeanor, as if they were discussing the weather rather than a brutal murder.

  "What's your employer's interest in this?" Talon asked.

  "Dr. Goronay's research was funded by grants from my corporation."

  "Hmmm, I didn't know Saeder-Krupp sponsored so many educational programs." Talon said dryly. The sarcasm seemed lost on Brackhaus, or he chose to ignore it. "So what do you want us to do?"

  "The fragments of the tablet left behind in the trailer indicate that it was hollow, as was suspected by one of Goronay's students, who helped unearth it. Whatever was inside disappeared along with the doctor." Brackhaus reached down and touched the control pad of the pocket secretary again. "This was taken yesterday in Essen, in the Rhine-Ruhr megaplex." The screen showed a grainy, digitally-enhanced holopic of a street, with people moving along the sidewalks. One figure was circled in red. Talon looked closely at it.

  "Dr. Goronay." he said.

  "Yes."

  "Who's the guy he's talking to?"

  "We don't know as yet. We've tentatively identified him as a member of a policlub called Alt Welt."

  "I'd heard they were out of business." Talon mused aloud. "What would a professor of archeology want with a member of a radical policlub?"

  "We believe Goronay stole whatever was hidden inside the artifact unearthed in the Ukraine and now plans to sell it."

  "Why would he do something like that?" Talon asked. "And why would a lame-duck policlub like Alt Welt be interested in buying an archeological artifact? What good is it to them?"

  "We don't know." Brackhaus said. Talon seriously doubted that, but did not say it.

  "That's why my employer wishes to engage your services." Brackhaus went on. "We want your team to locate Dr. Goronay and recover both him and the stolen artifact. We're prepared to pay you one hundred thousand nuyen in certified credit and we will handle any other expenses involved in the recovery."

  Talon had a number of questions clamoring for attention in the back of his mind as he studied the blurred image of Dr. Goronay on the tiny video screen. He ignored them for the time being. Brackhaus wouldn't answer them anyway, and there was no need to give the Johnson any further reason to lie to him. There was clearly a lot about this job that Brackhaus wasn't telling. Still, a hundred thousand nuyen was a lot of money, enough to keep him and his team set for a good while.

  "I'll have to speak to the rest of my team." Talon said.

  "Of course." Brackhaus flipped the pocket secretary shut and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. "You can reach me at the same number you used for the last job if you decide to take this one. However, I'll need a decision in the next twenty-four hours or I will be forced to inquire elsewhere. After that time, the number will become inactive. Notify me as soon as possible. Time is of the essence."

  Talon nodded. "I'll call you as soon as I have an answer, one way or another."

  "Excellent." Brackhaus gave him a slight smile. The Eurocar slowed and pulled to the side of the road and Brackhaus extended a hand to Talon. Talon shook it firmly as he reached for the door.

  "A pleasure doing business with you." Brackhaus said. "I hope we can continue to work together in the future."

  "Thank you, Mr. Brackhaus." Talon climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him. They had brought him back to the Dunkelzahn Institute, to the same spot where they'd picked him up. The dark Eurocar pulled quietly away from the curb, its tires crunching over the snow. It soon turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Talon stood and watched it go, thinking about the job and the money Brackhaus offered. But there were an awful lot of unanswered questions . . .

  "Too many, if you ask me." Aracos said in Talon's head.

  "Actually, I didn't." Talon thought. "Haven't I told you not to eavesdrop?"

  "Hey, it's not my fault. You were thinking too loud." the spirit said in a mock hurt tone. Although Aracos was as good a familiar and ally as Talon could ask for, sometimes he found their mental connection to each other a little too effective. He lapsed into silence aga
in for a few moments.

  "So," the spirit asked, "are you going to take it?"

  Talon shrugged. "I don't know yet. I still have to talk to the others . . ."

  "Yeah," Aracos said, almost to himself, "you're gonna take it. We going back to the club?"

  Talon raised an eyebrow. There were definitely times when his ally was a little too insightful.

  "Yeah." he said. "Let's go."

  The air near the curb shimmered as the spirit's sleek motorcycle form appeared, engine already humming. Talon was particularly proud of that element of Aracos' design. It had taken some doing, figuring out how a spirit could manifest in the form of something as complex as a motorcycle, but familiar spirits already assumed shapes as complex as animals and peoples, why not machines? It guaranteed that Talon was never without transportation and never had to find a parking space. Aracos didn't need gas or tune-ups either.

  "Well," the spirit said, "hurry up. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get a drink. And no more revving the engine, okay?"

  Of course, regular motorcycles didn't complain, or require Long Island Iced Teas to keep them happy, so maybe it evened out. Talon sighed and hopped on, and the two of them roared off into the night.

  3

  Speren Silverblade enjoyed watching sunsets, so he didn't mind waiting. Especially since the balcony of the palace on Royal Hill, facing away from the city of Portland and the Sunset Gate, afforded a spectacular view. Below the hill stretched kilometers of virgin forest and rolling hillsides cut by the meandering blue waters of the river. Only the evergreens retained their leaves at this late season, the rest of the trees having shed theirs in a riot of autumn colors. Now the forest giants waited, silent and sleeping, for the coming of spring.

  Speren also looked forward to spring, with all the festivals and celebrations that occupied his homeland of Tir Tairngire during the re-awakening of the Earth. The elves were in tune with the cycle of nature, unlike the humans and others who still raped and polluted her on a regular basis. It did Speren good to know that places like Royal Hill still existed, where the beauty of nature could be appreciated and protected.