by Unknown
Runners mainly know the caves crannies tunnels slum quarters, thought Pandur. You forget sometimes the glittering world existing alongside it and that many high-ranking sararimen, and the well-heeled not least get to know nothing more than this glitter. Only their bodyguards sometimes remind the well-to-do that on the periphery of their world someplace there is a second world the realm of the shadows which they refuse to have anything to do with.
The runners climbed the stairs. Each footstep reverberated and clanged as if they were moving inside a great bell. Other nighthawks were walking between the six levels although no one could be seen. Their steps resounded like a distant echo. When the runners reached the fifth level, Pandur had the fleeting impression that the footsteps two levels down were too similar to their own. The same speed. Hasty. The same rhythm. Impatient. The same number of pairs of feet. Three. For a moment he felt someone was following them, copying their gait to attract less notice. Hoping the sounds would come across as echos. But then he dismissed this thought as the product of an over-excited runner imagination. It was certain that nobody had followed them through the labyrinth. No one could have known they had escaped to the Island.
The runners reached the roof platform and looked around. Four floodlights mounted on pylons at the corners bathed the area in white light. Six helicopters were parked, mainly Messerschmidt Grashupfer and Dornier Intercity. Three of them bore megacon markings. Pandur registered to his satisfaction that the AG Chemie lettering was absent. In each of the helicopters, including the private ones, sat two or three security men who looked up from their chattering and blaring TV screens when the runners appeared at the head of the stairs. They had obviously been instructed to wait till their paymasters returned from their pleasure trip. Some reached for their weapons when they caught sight of the rigger and his Combat Gun. As Festus made no move to subject his weapon to a working trial, the guards slowly relaxed.
The chummers stopped and surveyed the scene. The security men returned to their TV programs, while keeping an eye on the newcomers. Over the downtown area the position lights of several helicopters turned, the hushed chopping of their rotor-blades drifting across on the wind, but none of the aircraft made any move to turn in their direction. Over the Inner Alster, lights were moving and seemed to be drawing nearer. The airborne lights broke away from other sources of light to form a light spider. It seemed to be watching out for prey but it was impossible to make out if it recognized Music Island as part of its hunting grounds.
"Our copter?" asked Pandur, pointing to the light spider. " Possibly," Jessi gave back. "I don't know which direction the helicopter's coming from."
"Could just as easily be a death squad of the drekheads, " was Festus's contribution.
"Thanks for your cheering words," said Pandur.
They had moved a few paces away from the stairs. Pandur's ears still hung back. At the edge of conscious perception he registered that the other footsteps had fallen silent. They seemed to have been an echo after all. Or their authors had also reached their destination two floors below.
Pandur watched the light spider. It came nearer, heading for Music Island. Faint rotor sounds joined the lights.
Suddenly the footfalls were back on the stairs. At first secretive and furtive. The people were trying to be quiet. The steel staircase put paid to any such attempts at the outset. It vibrated, clanked and boomed. Now the people didn't care. They were putting themselves to no more trouble. The frequency of the steps increased, the soles of the boots were put down with more force. The stairs answered. They clacked and hummed.
Pandur had swung round in alarm. There could be no doubt that the footsteps were approaching. And he was convinced they were meant for the chummers.
"Danger!" he shouted, drawing his Walther Secura.
Jessi and Festus had had eyes and ears trained on the approaching helicopter. Now they whirled round as well and looked towards the staircase. The girl grabbed her gun and slammed home an ammo clip. It was her last. Pandur was faring no better. He had five more shots.
The Combat Gun appeared in the rigger's arms from one second to the next. Smartgun adapters. Reflex boosters. Synthmuscles. Fit for action. Ready for action. Festus still had plenty of ammunition.
They knew how to fight. They had weapons. They were warned. But at the same time they knew they had poor cards. They were sitting ducks. No cover. Too much light.
Pandur saw a head pop up at the top of the stairs. He could pick this head out from among thousands. It even pursued him in his dreams. Ash-blond, dishevelled hair, pointed ears, glinting eyes radiating images of Hell, whose Master had emerged and to which he would return after his earthly guest performance.
An arm, part of a bow. Pandur could only divine the arrow.
The rigger loosed a rattling burst of fire. Half the ammo ripped and tore into the concrete of the platform, the rest set the steel of the staircase to screaming and singing.
The elf was incredibly fast. He loosed his arrow and in the next instant bobbed back down. The ammo whizzed over his head. The arrow whirred past so close to Pandur's ear that the point knicked his earlobe. If it hadn't been for the rigger's artificial reflexes or his salvo, Pandur would definitely have picked up his ID chip for the graveyard this time. The splintering and scraping of the rounds in the concrete had made the hand of the elven hitman flinch that crucial tenth of a millimeter, which, taken together, caused the target to slip a whisker off center.
Pandur didn't stop to think whether the arrow would have hit him plumb between the eyes or split his skull cleanly in half. That depended on the pressure of the bow and the material of the arrow. But he was shocked. He had heard the enemy in time. He had seen the enemy in time. And yet the enemy would have killed him if a chipped-up shotgun hadn't spat out a tiny diversion in time.
He ducked his head belatedly, as if that could still have some effect. He squeezed the Secura's trigger, sending a bullet to where the head had long since disappeared from.
Festus fired a second salvo at the stairs, sacrificing more ammo than the first time. He moved the barrel of the Combat Gun like a broom, sweeping the landing clean, forcing the elf and his companions to keep their noses and weapons below the bullets' angle of spread.
The security men in the helicopters had leapt up or thrown themselves to the side. They had placed their weapons in firing position or were in the process of doing so. But they didn't interfere. Gun battles between various parties happened. Frequently even. None of their business. Their job was the protection of property, the protection of certain bodies. That's what they were paid for. They could care less about anything else.
The runners hadn't expected any assistance from the security men. These people were usually on the other side of the barricades. It was already a great relief to witness them as just a neutral audience for once.
The rigger moved towards the stairs at a crouch, holding his gun half cradled and firing occasionally, keeping the enemy pinned down. He covered the distance of ten meters in a matter of seconds, threw himself down, crawled to the edge of the landing and poured ammo downward. There were answering shots. Isolated ones from two guns. Festus acknowledged the gifts with lavish presents in his turn.
The chop-chopping of rotor blades began to drown out the rattle of guns and the metallic zing of ricochets. The helicopter, a grey Dornier Intercity with no markings, came in to land near the stairs. Next to the pilot, whose face couldn't be distinguished beneath the cyberhelmet, Pandur spotted an elderly elf with a furrowed, riven face, and snow-white hair tamed by a glittering headband. He gestured to them.
In the first moment Pandur froze. The pointed ears and the white hair reminded him too much of his enemy. But then he collected himself. The man's gaze was open and sincere. Not Hell spoke from his eyes, but helpfulness.
The cockpit door opened.
"Hurry!" the man called above the noise. Then he said something to the pilot and she moved the helmet in a nod. Apparently he had instruc
ted her not to switch off the rotor.
Pandur and Jessi braced themselves against the downblast from the blades and staggered forward.
Pandur looked round for Festus, intending to wait for him, but Jessi dragged him along with her. The girl went first and climbed to the back of the cockpit. As Pandur grasped the sides of the door and pulled himself in, the rigger fired down the stairs one last time and made a run for the helicopter.
The elf bent forward, drew back his left arm to its full extent and threw something that flew over Festus's head. It impacted near the stairs and exploded. At once dense smoke formed and enveloped the entire head of the stairs.
While Festus was climbing aboard, the elf flung a second smoke grenade, this time shorter, to swathe the space between staircase and helicopter in mist. Before the rigger had his second leg in the cockpit, the pilot was already taking the aircraft back up. She angled it steeply forward through the smoke and climbed at the greatest possible speed. Shots sounded but the bullets were way off target.
Pandur could make out three shadowy figures below trying to get out of the smoke zone and aim their weapons upward. But then the pilot sent the helicopter in a sideways dive. The whole of Music Island's roof platform, and everything moving on it, disappeared from his view.
"Last-minute rescue," Jessi stated. "You turned up at the just right time."
The elf smiled. "That was our intention."
He wore a blue cape worked with strips of glittering metal, beneath it plain, grey linen pants and a T-shirt in the same color. At first Pandur had taken him for a mage, but magical insignia were absent. A mage, too, was hardly likely to have stooped so low as to do anything as profane as throw smoke grenades. When the man had pushed the cape aside to hold onto the cockpit door and throw the grenades, Pandur saw his bare arms.
Both, from the palms of the hands to the shoulders, were covered completely with small and not-so-small scars. He looked at the man's face more closely. He discovered that the furrows and wrinkles were only partly caused by age. Most of them were made up of chains of scars that extended across the neck. Pandur didn't doubt the pattern continued on the rest of his torso, which was covered by the T-shirt. He had never before seen a person with so many scars.
Perhaps the elf had noticed his gaze. Or he thought it appropriate to anticipate inquisitive questions when making new acquaintances. "I'm Jostin," he said. "My collection of scars is a reminder of a peaceful demonstration for the environment that was ended by Ruhrmetall's guardsmen with fragmentation bombs. I was the only one to survive. But that's just by the way." He nodded towards the pilot. "Wadid's taking us out of the megaplex. We've got a safe-house where you can start by catching up on your sleep."
"Will we be meeting up with Irdina there?" asked Jessi.
Jostin shook his head. "You set a whole lot of stuff rolling. AG Chemie's in such an uproar that GreenWar is denying any involvement in the attack. They probably fear reprisals. Irdina's concern that the Klabauterbund could be drawn into the affair is all the greater. We can be hit more tellingly than GreenWar. Irdina can't allow herself to be associated with you."
"What's the media saying about us?" Jessi asked. "Are they mentioning names?"
"Terrorists who attacked Chilehaus are being sought," Jostin replied. "Not only three, but dozens. If more is known about you three, then this information's not being passed on. But why report second-hand... "
He switched on the boardscreen and then zapped through the channels.
A chat show with a young, dynamic exec: "...the considerable social commitment present in the upper echelons of the large conglomerates is too little appreciated... "
Advertising: "...where upstanding Germans are not harassed by foreign scum, cripples, fairies and freaks. Spend a clean and safe night at the Adolf Hitler Fortified Hotel. Reservations on... "
A naked, large-bosomed presenter: "...PANTS DOWN brings you live from the Porn Dream Ship the Top People's Request Fuck of the Week with... "
Advertising: "...Wiremasters now with replacement blades in compressed calcium carbide. From your street doc, or direct from the Altona Anarchist Hospital... "
Advertising: "...safety and a sense of belonging for you, too, in the Brotherhood of Free Servants. Always remember, chummers: freedom is the informed acceptance of necessity. You're only free if you're in bondage. Only..."
Pictures of combat biking: "...has lifted the tub of lard out of his saddle, and now he's extending those combat spurs. In line abreast, the Fortunes are bearing down on the poor sucker on the ground... "
Jostin had finally found the news channel.
Images of decapitated corpses among the gravestones in a cemetery: "...in the ritual sacrifice, 14 adherents of the Black Rose cult died before police could step in and disarm the priest. The perpetrators were taken to the Wilhelmsburg prison island. Of the murder weapons, only two axes could be seized. The other axes were stolen by fugitive sect members. It is feared that these axes, consecrated artefacts of the Black Rose, could be used in further ceremonies to murder sacrificial victims."
Advertising: "Be rich, be beautiful, be young - and show it. Potelli's cyberjewelry in the most precious materials, artistically designed to the height of perfection."
The newsreader in the studio, pictures of rumblekids. " Rumblekids attacked a retirement center in Rahlstedt and stabbed two residents when they refused to hand over their jewelry. Dr Elmar Renslin, psychologist and Senior Child Protection Officer of the Hamburg Senate, criticized inadequate security at the center but put the blame for the escalation of violence partly on the aggressive behavior of the victims. According to him, the two women had attracted notice on several previous occasions by their obstinate and recalcitrant behavior.
Advertising: "And Wedel Pils will once again be putting 500 real hot tickets in the draw for the Hover League game between the Hamburg SV Silent Sharks and the Bremen Mangy Blackcats on Sunday. Klickshot Hotline 37 68 4 9 90."
Film of combat helicopters circling over Chilehaus: "Late yesterday terrorists carried out an attack on AG Chemie's Hamburg administration building, killing three of the company's security operatives. The perpetrators are on the run. The attack, involving combat helicopters and terror squads infiltrated into the building, caused damage running into the millions. A company spokesman accused GreenWar of responsibility for the attack. GreenWar has denied this and distanced itself from the act."
Advertising: "Sotur, the combat sport insurance company for the active now also pays for attempted murder and... "
The elf switched off the screen. "That's how it looks," he said.
"Not a word about the actual aim of the mission," Festus commented. "Are the assholes really so dumb or just pretending to be?"
"All tactics," put in Pandur. "Why wake sleeping dogs? If nothing was stolen, they have an easier time later denying that the data is genuine."
The rigger was about to make some reply, but suddenly he rolled his eyes and began to twitch. In the next moment he was hitting out wildly. Pandur received a synthmuscle-enhanced fist in his stomach. The blow knocked all the wind out of him and he folded like a pocket knife. With an effort he picked himself up and then ducked the rigger's flailing arms. Festus seemed to be doing battle with all the world's ghosts at one and the same time. Jessi, Jostin and Wadid were all shouting wildly but the rigger's voice was louder than all of them together. With a bestial scream that contained within it the full misery of his being, he made the cockpit shudder. Pandur wouldn't have been surprised if his roaring had been heard back at now distant Music Island and had turned the killer elves and Ricul into pillars of salt.
Festus dug his claws into the seat padding. Then he suddenly jerked his arms upward, slamming his fists into the plexglass so that they bled and hitting it so violently that it was lifted out of its anchoring. Then he toppled off the seat unconscious.
"What sort of performance was that?" asked the pilot, who, after the rigger's first convulsion, had had the presence of
mind to switch to autopilot. She had taken several blows in the small of the back and could easily have lost control of the Dornier.
"D'you think we'd better tie him up before he comes round?" the elf asked worriedly. He and Jessi were sitting furthest away from Festus and had suffered little more than fright.
Jessi explained to Wadid and Jostin what was wrong with the rigger and that, going on previous experience, it wasn't necessary to restrain him after an attack. "Although the attacks are getting more frequent," she said. "I don't know whether he won't go right over the top sometime and stay in this condition."
The elf leant back and looked down at the rigger. "Every one of us has his scars," he said. "Some you see more, some less and some not at all."
After a while, Festus came round, straightened up and wiped the blood from his knuckles. He showed a pale, stony face and spoke not a word. No one expected him to speak. There was nothing to say. Nor did he have to apologize. There was nothing to apologize for.
At some point the helicopter had left the lights of the megaplex behind. The day was dawning and swathing the horizon in a pallid, sickly light. They were south of the megaplex, dropping down into sparse heathland far away from the ribbons of light of the freeways and railroad lines. It was light enough to make out details of the countryside below. A silent village appeared and then fell behind. All about them wasteland, interspersed with meager woods and lone birch trees. A secluded farm came into sight.
Wadid had resumed control of the aircraft and brought the Dornier Intercity down gently into a field in front of the farm.
Before them lay an old, thatched farmhouse and three modern farm buildings. There was light burning in the farmhouse. The occupants seemed to have been waiting for the helicopter. The door of the house opened. Two female elves stepped out and hurried over to the landing place. They wore dark, tightly fitting, leather-like suits and had rifles over their shoulders.
