Yeah, sure.
Maybe he was just fooling himself, chasing after a pipe dream, and looking for a way to go out in glory and never have to worry about anything ever again. Fighting somebody with the resources of those elves was suicidal. Maybe he was running away. Again.
"Maybe I just gotta fight dis one, win or lose."
Harry looked into his cup and said, "It's your decision, but if you do decide to fight, you need to know who you're fighting."
Harry's words cut straight to Kham's fears.
"I don't think you ought to get involved in this," Harry said. "But if you're gonna, be smart about it. A shrewd general learns everything he can about his opponent. He discovers the enemy's weaknesses and takes advantage of them. He plans to take advantage of them."
Kham knew all that. "And if he ain't got any weaknesses? ''
"Then you've picked the wrong enemy. You can't win if you don't survive the battle."
A valid point. Some orks said the only way to die was fighting, but they were young and stupid. Weren't they?
"That depends on what you are fighting for," Neko said, breaking into the conversation.
Harry stared at the catboy in annoyance, then his expression relaxed and he rubbed absentmindedly at his tusk. "Doesn't seem like much of a win if you can't celebrate."
"Perhaps," Neko said. "It certainly isn't 'a win' if your body survives, but your spirit is lost in the battle."
"Your spirit? You mean like your soul?" Harry snorted. "You're worrying about something that doesn't have much value in this world, kid."
"Doesn't it?"
Souls. Kham thought about a submarine full of bugs, and a wendigo named Janice. The dogboy had talked a lot about souls before he'd sent them off to that sub. The whole thing was supposed to have been some kind of battle to save humanity against some magic monster, but there had been a hidden meaning to what the dogboy had said. Stuff about souls, specifically about Janice's soul; they were supposed to have been fighting for that, too. Had she won or lost her battle? She certainly hadn't been at the party after the run.
Verner had also been one to talk about doing things for other people. Kham hadn't thought much about the dogboy's words at the time, but now everything was different. For the first time, Kham saw that he could do something that might really make a difference. Maybe he really did want to get this immortality stuff for everybody. He felt scared. Not because he might not make a difference, but because he might. Kham wasn't used to thinking like this.
The conference with Harry went on for some time before it ended, drifting from philosophical discussion to practical approaches for working a run against powerful opponents. The question of whether the run would take place was still open when they left, but Neko knew that Kham had made up his mind even if the big ork still did not know it himself. During the walk back to their flop, Kham's monosyllabic answers to questions told Neko that further discussion would have to wait.
As Harry had said, however, the first order of business was knowing your enemy. Neko intensely disliked the idea that some unknown elf had tried to kill him. He intended to find out what was going on, and he wasn't going to wait while Kham tried to make up his mind whether or not to do something.
A direct reconnaissance against their recent employers was currently out of the question. It would expose Cog's deception and that could lead to further attacks against them. That left the indirect approach, which was more satisfying to Neko anyway. If he couldn't go after the opposition, he could go after someone who knew who the opposition was.
But the first order of business was determining what the matter was all about. Kham believed that he and his orks, and Neko as well, had become targets due to the elven desire to conceal the secret of their youth; but the evidence suggested that the elves had more than simple youth. Neko, too, had seen the raider named Zip identify Dodger as a childhood friend. It was entirely possible that in this magical Sixth World the elves had some kind of "immortality factor."
Clearly, all elves were not equal. Dodger's interaction with Zip suggested that the elf had the factor, or at least a part of it. And Dodger's solicitude toward the red-haired magician he had brought to Kham's hall suggested that the decker's companion was the older of the two. The mage's occult healing, a trait not shared with Dodger, might only be due to one being a mundane and the other a mage, or it might be a reflection of a superior immortality factor. Kham's thought that elves might need to acquire the immortality factor could explain the difference. Such a need would explain the avidity with which their recent employers sought the strange crystal. One-perhaps both, but certainly the younger-would, understandably, want to ensure his piece of immortality. Such motivation seemed plausible, but Neko couldn't be sure until he verified this immortality factor and knew the identity of their enemy.
Having determined to uncover the enemy through those who knew something of the enemy's doings, he considered the elves who had come to Kham's hall. Who was this Red Mage? For that matter, who was the Dodger, really? Answering those questions might confirm whether or not this immortality factor existed at all. Certainly the relationship between the two was interesting, suggestive, in fact. Dodger's deference toward the Red Mage seemed the attitude of a student to a sensei, the sort of respect reserved for one, older, wiser, and more skilled than oneself. A most curious arrangement, considering that a decker's concerns were totally removed from those of a mage. Father and son, perhaps? An intriguing thought. Neko promised himself that he would investigate the issue, once more pressing matters were taken care of. Identities first, relationships later.
The Red Mage had shown himself at least somewhat sympathetic to the plight of Neko^and the orks; he had come to warn them of their danger. Kham had suggested that the mage might be exercising a "wait and let them die off naturally" strategy, but Neko couldn't buy it-too many loose ends there, too many ways for it to go wrong. Besides, there had been no hint of danger prior to the Red Mage's warning. If the Red Mage was involved in their enemy's cover-up, his visit had undermined the strategy. Who would not be curious about why someone would want him dead?
No. The Red Mage may have been acting for unknown personal reasons, but Neko was sure he was not allied with their enemy. At least not in this matter. It was more likely the mage opposed something the enemy sought to do. But for all his potential good will, the Red Mage would hardly take direct questions ferreted out.
At least the mage's defenses would not be arrayed against them, not specifically, that is. The Red Mage had implied that he had other enemies and that he would be guarding against them. The other elves-or only one of them, if the Red Mage was to be believed-had already shown themselves paranoid. Had they not sent their raiders to eliminate anyone who knew they had merely acquired the crystal? Their defenses would be active and aggressive. Even if they had been taken in by Cog's deception, they would likely be mounting special guard on matters touching the likely source of their paranoia: the crystal and its capabilities. Who would surrender the secret of immortality easily?
Obviously, some research was in order. Unwilling to wait for Kham, Neko resolved to start his own investigation. The worldwide computer network known as the Matrix offered the best one-stop shopping. Information was the key, and once gained, who knew what doors might be opened? The Red Mage had some sort of connection to those other elves. Had he not known that one of them would strike? The link was hardly that of sworn allies, otherwise there would have been no warning, however belated, of the attack. So how were they connected? Determining the nature of that link might reveal a line of attack against the hidden master of the raiders.
Equally obviously, Neko did not have the proper resources. He was not a decker, nor did he have enough nuyen to hire the world-class decker it would take to penetrate the Matrix security he expected to encounter. Most of the fee from the last run had gone into Cog's coffers, paying for their "deaths," and there was not enough left to hire reputable talent.
So Neko talked to
Cog, cajoling and dickering until the fixer offered the services of a certain Matrix runner who operated under the name of Chromium. This person allegedly made runs for the thrill and a percentage of the take. Neko was not happy about relying on someone who would tackle dangerous work without a guarantee of recompense, but Cog vouched for both the skill and the reliability of Chromium.
With time and nuyen in short supply, Neko had agreed to set up a working arrangement. Still, wisdom precluded blind trust, and he decided to test the decker with a series of relatively simple data retrievals, standard dossiers on a variety of personages. Among the files requested were those on a shadowrunning decker named Dodger and one for an unnamed mage whose portrait Neko constructed with a bootleg police composite program. A day later the chips were delivered to the appointed drop-off. Neko hid the bulk of them away for safekeeping-one never knew when data would become important-and popped two of the chips into his telecomp, bringing up the two files he had actually wanted.
Since Dodger's was slim, only a few megabytes, Neko began with it. The first item was a note from Chromium claiming that this poor showing was better than Neko would get from anyone else. There was no hard data, just Chromium's speculations and conclusions. And it wasn't much that Neko didn't already know. Chromium identified Dodger as a wiz decker, mentioning his association with Sally Tsung. Chromium also connected him with a number of runs that had occurred last year. Some of those connections were correct, for Neko had been involved in one of those runs and knew that Dodger had too. Although Chromium didn't mention Neko's part in the matter, the hired decker speculated that the actions had been global in scope, and controlled by a single, unknown master. Observing the details of several incidents of which he had no knowledge, Neko could see how those
runs would have fit into the war against Spider. He found himself impressed at Chromium's powers of deduction. But on Dodger himself, there was nothing hard and factual.
As Neko sat pondering the lack of information on Dodger, the screen flickered. Data evaporated from his screen as he watched. He punched keys, trying to save it, but line after line winked out. He tried all the tricks he knew and failed to get it back. A system check showed the data had been erased from the chips. A few other files had been aifected as well, but the only one that disappeared completely was Dodger's. If this was some trick by Chromium to ensure payment… He tried the file for the Red Mage, half-expecting it to disappear before he could finish with it. He soon forgot his apprehensions when he saw the newsfile clippings that opened the dossier. One after another showed a handsome, red-haired elf identified as Sean Laverty. Neko studied the selection of datapics to satisfy himself that this Laverty and the red-haired elf who had visited Kham's hall were one and the same, finding little reason to doubt it. The visitor might have been a simulacrum or magically disguised, but Neko doubted that. Having seen their employers' disguises fail under stress, he was sure that any masking spell would have faltered when Laverty was injured. Now he understood why Kham had lost his surly manner when Dodger's friend had stepped through the door of the hall. Perhaps it also explained Dodger's deference. Sean Laverty was a member of the Tir Taimgire ruling council.
This was a man with clout. Laverty was not one of the more prominent members like Prince Aithne or Ehran the Scribe, but any Council of Princes member was a powerful political force in the Tir and, by extension, anywhere the Tir had influence. Seattle was only one of those anywheres. The metroplex served as
a principal port for products of the elven nation, and the trade meant a great deal of revenue for Seattle. If what Neko had heard on the streets was correct, the governor was still more than happy to do whatever the elves wanted in order to ensure that the recent trade deal remained viable. There were even whispers that elves from the Tir secretly ran Seattle.
As the shock of discovery wore off, Neko noted another face in the pictures. The person was not prominently featured, nor was he identified, but Neko recognized him. It was the fair-haired elf he had privately named the Light One.
Accessing the public database, Neko ran his own impromptu check. He reasoned that anyone close enough to the Tir Tairngire council to be pictured with its members must be a public figure. Unless, of course, he was only security or an aide. The Light One had been too well-dressed for either. On a whim, Neko also requested a correlation with a description and composite sketch of the Dark One. Signing off more of his dwindling credit, he put in a correlation request to match both faces with names and biographies, then went back to studying Laverty's dossier, letting the library system do its work.
A few hours later, he pulled up the results of his search. No correlation was available on the Dark One, confirming that the dark-skinned elf was not another member of the Tir council nor an officer of the Tir government. The Light One turned out to be Prince Glasgian Oakforest, the eldest son of Prince Aithne. Not a member of the council, but close enough to be trouble. Glasgian had been born in 2034, a mere eighteen years ago. He was young enough to fit Kham's description of an anxious, impatient youth. If Glasgian was the one about whom Laverty had warned them, they would not find it easy to thwart him. Of course, the still-unknown Dark One might be worse.
There was a lot more to leam, but without monetary resources, Neko would have to use ingenuity to do it.
***
The flop wasn't in the nicest part of town, but the neighborhood wasn't trashed. Some of the property owners still struggled to maintain nice lawns and gardens and to keep their houses well-painted. Neko saw only a few abandoned vehicles among the cars parked along the street. Unfamiliar with the area, he couldn't tell if the neighborhood was on its way up or down. He didn't really care; he was here to do some biz.
The power junction box near the corner suggested that his destination would be well-supplied with heavy-duty lines, which was standard for any house where a decker was operating. Did all the other buildings harbor deckers as well? Or did the inhabitants have other, different needs for extra facilities? Maybe this box was here only for Chromium's convenience? All questions, but minor ones and not really pertinent just now.
There were too many factors operating in this case, too many possible avenues for exploration, and not enough money left to keep sending a decker out again and again, following up each hint of something interesting. If he were a decker himself, he could track down those leads, cutting the time involved and saving money. But then, if he were a decker himself, he would be running the Matrix right now, not walking along this street. Unable to do the work himself and unable to afford the back-and-forth play usually involved in hiring out the work, he had arranged a compromise: today he would work directly with the decker Chromium. Being present while the decker worked would let him direct the decker's skills in the appropriate direction much more quickly.
Halfway down the block he found the sign that an-
nounced the Wayward Home Residential Apartments. He turned onto the walk and moved noiselessly up it and across the porch. The screen door was closed, but the inner door was open. He glanced through, satisfying himself that the hall was empty before entering. Upstairs, he found the door marked Number Seven and knocked twice, then three times, as arranged. He tried the knob and found the door unlocked, also as arranged. He entered and secured it behind him.
Number Seven was a suite comprising a main room, a kitchenette, and at least one more room beyond a closed door. The main room was sparsely furnished, holding only a couch, a rickety dining set of table and three chairs, a freestanding bookshelf, and a single upholstered lounge chair. On the floor by the lounge chair sat a personal computer, its monitor crowned with a cybernetic helmet sitting upon a coiled datacord. The cord connected the helmet to a box jury-rigged to the back of the computer, from which another cord ran to the back wall and through a tiny hole to some unknown connection. The cord went through the wall, of course, because it would have been easier to drill than the painted metal sheathing of the inner door. No hinges snowed on that door, but a trip
le set of locks did. The arrangement was secure enough to let the decker escape should anyone try to force his way through.
"Good afternoon, Neko," a pleasant but androgynous voice said from the monitor. "Your sidecar's ready.''
Neko turned and found the screen still dark, but he spoke to the device anyway. "Good afternoon, Chromium."
"Hey, if we're riding together, you may as well call me Jenny. That Chromium stuff is just for the shifty suits." "Very well then, Jenny." Chromium might be a name she used with the suits, but she still didn't trust him enough to meet him face to face. She was just being prudent. He didn't mind: most deckers weren't much to look at anyway. "Is everything ready?"
"Hot-wired and revved. Lay your bottom on the seat, pop on the top, and we'll fly." "A moment, please."
He prowled around the room, placing sensors in advantageous positions. The helmet would blind him to the room, and the sounds transmitted through it might overwhelm his natural hearing. Since he did not wish to be surprised, the sensors were necessary to warn him of any intrusion. Jenny would be watching his precautions through a concealed video pickup, but that didn't matter. She would have to understand that he also had to exercise prudence. Satisfied that he would have notice of anyone entering the room, he settled into the chair and lifted the helmet.
It was light for its size, all plastic and composite material. The smooth outer shell covered a tangle of tiny wires and circuitry chips. Before trying it on Neko adjusted the inner headband, but then he had to take it off again and adjust it once more before it sat properly on his head. He felt the pinpricks of the neuro-sensor rods and saw the green LED register proper contact. Light leaked up from beneath the eyeshield, causing the innards of the helmet to glimmer.
"Ready," he announced, then was swirled away into blackness, to be blown at hurricane speed through a ring of lights and blasted into a galaxy of stars. Below him, the Matrix unfolded in all its neon glory. His viewpoint hung suspended over a nighttime city, the like of which had never been seen on the earth. Giant icons in a bewildering variety of shapes and colors marked the cyberspace locations of the megacorps, and towered over the lesser images representing the computer systems of smaller companies. Flitting pulses of
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