“What?”
“She heals fast; you can see that. It’s one of the advantages of being an adept. And if she were conscious, I think she’d choose to stay, and I think it’s what Boanerges was willing to die for. I don’t know whether that was him thinking, or Snake, but either way . . .”
Czarnecki stared at him incredulously.
“If you want to overrule me on medical grounds, go ahead. You can explain it to her when this mess is over.” The medic hesitated. “How fast can she heal?”
“I don’t know. Ask Ratatosk or Lankin. But with our help. I’m hoping we can get her back on her feet before we have to leave. How bad are the others?”
“Both sentries are in bad shape,” said Czarnecki sourly. “Does anyone know their names?”
“Akira and Rove,” said Jinx. There was something about the way her voice softened when she said Akira that made Magnusson feel twenty years younger for a fraction of a second. The street doc gave no sign of noticing it.
“One of them—Akira, right?—is badly burned,” Czarnecki said, “but there’s no sign of internal injuries; I think he’ll pull through. The other’s much worse off—third degree chemical burns to more than half his body. Ms. Hotop had gone into tachycardia, but her heart’s beating normally now. Most of her burns are to her face, neck and hands, but she’s seventy-something years old and badly in shock; she’ll heal slowly, if at all. I’m not sure I can save her eyes, either. And I couldn’t do anything for the troll even if I wanted to.”
“Okay,” said Magnusson “I’ll take care of Yoko. Jinx, Akira’s yours. Mish, do what you can for Ms. Hotop and Rove. Both of you, pace yourselves—make sure the drain doesn’t knock you out, too, or you won’t be any good to anyone. Doc, watch these two and make sure they don’t keel over, do what you can do about the burns, and keep the painkillers ready for when our patients wake up.”
Crane came running back with Pierce, 8-ball, Leila and Sumatra. “Do you know any healing spells?” Magnusson asked the rat shaman, without much hope.
“Nope. Sorry.”
“Frag. Okay, put up a couple of watchers and a fresh hearth spirit on the ramp in case they hit us with any more of those toxics. Pierce, Leila, get something we can use to carry these five back to the clinic. We’re also going to need a couple more mattresses in there. Crane, grab one of those guns; you’re on guard until someone else volunteers. 8-ball, you’re in charge of choosing volunteers, but first, can you try to call the meres and ask if we can get clearance for DocWagon to send an ambulance to pick someone up?”
It was a solemn group that gathered in Boanerges’ medicine lodge ten minutes later. Magnusson looked unutterably weary from the drain of spellcasting, and Ratatosk was bleary-eyed from multiple dump shocks. Lankin, Crane, Zurich and Sumatra leaned up against the walls and listened uneasily as 8-ball reported on his communications with Wallace. “Wait a second,” said Lankin, interrupting. “You called a DocWagon for Boanerges and Patty and left Yoko here!”
“Yes,” said Magnusson. “She was stable—thanks to Boanerges—and already beginning to heal.”
“What makes it your decision? You’re not her next of kin, either of you, and who put you in charge anyway?”
“It was a medical decision,” the mage replied. “And the coven of the Crypt has a hierarchy—a chain of command, if you prefer. Of the members who are here and conscious, I was next in line. I don’t want the job, and I’ve put 8-ball in charge of all nonmagical and nonmedical matters. And I don’t think Yoko has any next of kin.”
“Only Boanerges,” said Ratatosk. “At least, that’s what she told me last time we went on a run together.”
“No family?”
“None that she’d talk to. Her family sold her. I don’t know whether any of them are still alive—I’m not sure she knew—but it seems unlikely. The yaks don’t usually forgive people who they see as reneging on a deal.”
Lankin’s mouth hung open for a moment before he recovered his composure. He looked at 8-ball, who nodded. “Wallace said he’d let the DocWagon make the pickup as long as there was no media coverage, so we passed that along to DocWagon. The cease-fire’s on again, and the sidewalk is neutral ground. We managed to get Boanerges into the ambulance without stepping onto the street; Wallace said if he catches us doing that, we’re not to return. They’re entitled to shoot us if we try, and call it self-defense. He’s promised to use stun guns and gel rounds as much as possible,” he finished dryly.
“Wallace has caught two of the kids and is holding them in one of the vans, but we can pick up the people who’re lying upstairs inside the perimeter—which includes Mute. He says their mage has assensed that they’re still okay, just stunned.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve sent Pierce outside to pick them up, and asked Wallace what they wanted us to do with the troll. He said he wasn’t part of his team and we could stick a pole up his butt and use him as a scarecrow on the farm for all he cared.”
“Do you believe him?” asked Zurich.
“I think so. If the troll was one of the squad, Wallace wouldn’t have let him come in alone like that. And if he’d known what the troll was doing, he would’ve taken advantage of the chaos immediately, not given us time to recover and regroup like this.”
“And poisoner shamans aren’t team players,” Magnusson agreed. “I’m surprised anyone managed to recruit one—or even that they tried. Giving one free rein would pretty much preclude anyone using this land for anything cleaner than a waste dump.” He turned to Ratatosk. “Any data on what they do want the land for?”
“Nothing useful yet,” replied the decker in an apologetic tone. “I’ve been doing my best to run a search, but your Matrix access here isn’t exactly reliable; I’m lucky to go more than half an hour without getting dumped.” He didn’t think it was necessary to mention that it had also taken him three attempts to send the file of Lone Star passwords and logon IDs to his fixer. “All I’ve found is that it used to be a warehouse for hospital, lab and medical supplies, with equipment for sterilizing and recycling some of the gear, and included a small biohazard-containment facility. It belonged to Monolith, who were bought by Shiawase after this place was abandoned as economically unfeasible. No connection to Aztechnology that I can find. I’m waiting to see if the searches dig up anything on the former staff; some of them might have gone over to Aztec—” He broke off as Pinhead Pierce shuffled into the medicine lodge, with Mute holding on to his arm for support.
“Sorry for interruptin’,” the ork said. “I tried to take her to the clinic, but she said she’d cut my balls off if 1 didn’t bring her here first.”
“Are you okay?” asked 8-ball, looking her up and down. “You—”
“I feel better than I probably look,” said Mute, letting go of Pierce and standing unsupported for a moment before sitting down. “Lucky they’re using gel rounds, so no bones broken. I was lying in the mud, playing dead, waiting for someone to get close enough for me to get a clear shot. None of them did.”
Magnusson nodded. “Are the kids okay?” he asked Pierce.
“Out cold, but no holes in ’em,” the ork replied. “Like she says, gel rounds. Cutter’s looking them over now.” Uninvited, he sat down.
8-ball quickly brought them up to date. “Is Boanerges going to make it?” asked Mute.
“I don’t know,” said Magnusson. “They tried to resuscitate him in the DocWagon. His heart is beating, but it’s irregular; he’s in a coma, and they’ve had to put him in a stabilization unit and take him to a hospital to see if they can detect any brain activity. Patty seems to be stable, though her lungs are badly damaged and may need replacing, and she won’t be talking for a while.”
Lankin shook his head. “Replacing? Who’s going to pay for that? Do you think I can persuade the meres to cover our medical bills on top of everything else?”
“I’ve paid for the DocWagon,” said Magnusson. “And I’ll pay for any treatment Boanerges needs. We can sell the library and the ma
gical gear for a few thousand. If Boanerges recovers, we’ll start the coven again somewhere else, from scratch. If not . . He shrugged.
Lankin rolled his eyes. “It’s a pity you didn’t think of this a few hours ago. You could’ve bought or rented some other dump like this and moved, and nobody would have died!”
“Where would you find a squat this large, this lightproof, that wasn’t already occupied?” asked Mute softly. “And if we evicted the squatters who were there before us, how would that make us any better than Aztechnology?”
“I’m not talking about morality! I’m talking fragging survival'.! Two kids are dead, Boanerges is probably dead, Patty and Yoko might not make it, and for what? I say the sooner we get everybody out of here, the better!”
“Snake told Boanerges to stay,” said Magnusson. “He couldn’t ignore that.”
“So people have died just because he had a dream? About a snake?”
“The Snake,” said Sumatra suddenly. “Not a snake. And Boanerges’ dreams weren’t just ordinary dreams.”
“All sorts of people dream about snakes,” said Lankin heavily. “And they can mean all sorts of things. There was some chemist, once upon a time, who dreamed about snakes and decided they were trying to tell him how some molecule was formed. Freud had an even simpler explanation for what snake dreams meant. And 1 can think of three religions who say we were kicked out of paradise because someone listened to advice from a snake. I—”
“Snake didn’t ask us to stay,” interrupted Sumatra. “Just Boanerges. And she didn’t say for how long. Maybe she just wanted him to stop the poisoner.”
Everyone fell silent as they tried to think of an answer to this. “I can’t believe Snake would sell Boanerges’ life so cheaply,” said Magnusson uncomfortably, nearly a minute later. “And it wasn’t defeating the toxic that killed Boanerges. It was saving Yoko.”
“And I’m grateful for that,” Lankin replied, “even though he was the one who put her in danger to begin with. But the toxics have been defeated, now, and Boanerges has left the building, possibly permanently, and even if you choose to believe that he was getting his orders from Snake, you heard what Sumatra said. That doesn’t apply to us. 8-ball and I’ve gotten the best compensation deal possible out of the new landlords, so I say we start packing up and leaving now.”
Magnusson nodded. “You’re free to go, of course.”
“I will—but I’m not leaving Yoko here.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until the deadline,” said 8-ball firmly. “Or until she wakes up and decides for herself whether she goes or stays.”
“That’s—” Lankin looked around, hoping for support. Sumatra scratched his ear. “Yoko made an oath to the coven,” he said uncertainly. “So did I. That doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re right about going . . . but for me, it’s not that simple. Besides, how much do you think Aztech-nology, or whoever it is, has already spent on getting this place?”
“Buying the land, hiring the mercenaries, transporting them, equipping them ... at least thirty thousand so far,” Ratatosk replied.
“Which means there has to be something here that’s worth more than that,” said the shaman. “And I don’t think it’s the land, and if it’s not one of us ... if it’s something we can find and take it with us, find a buyer . . . we can pay the medical bills and have a bit left over to divide between everybody here.”
“A few hundred each,” Lankin scoffed. “How long will that last?”
Pierce laughed. “We don’t all eat at the Edge, chummer. Most of us could get by on a hundred a month, even without this place.”
“And if everyone clubbed together, we could probably rent a warehouse or something like that, somewhere,” 8-ball suggested. “Drek, I know I’ve risked my life on runs that scored less, sometimes a lot less. Any idea what it could be?”
“This place has been a squat for nearly thirty years,” said Lankin. “It must have been picked clean by now.” “Unless there’s something buried under the floor, or in one of the pillars,” said Zurich.
“What sort of thing?” asked Lankin.
“I don’t know. A mass grave? An insect spirit hive? Dun-kelzahn’s body?”
“Maybe it’s a material link that’s just become valuable,” Magnusson mused. “Or something else that has magical uses that weren’t known about thirty years ago. Something a forensic mage can use as evidence.” He closed his eyes.
“Or a backup copy of data lost in the Crash,” Ratatosk offered. “The facility’s the right age. Maybe there’s not a link to Aztechnology at all. Maybe it’s embarrassing to Shi-awase or some other corp, and Aztechnology wants to use it for blackmail. You know how much money there is in blackmail, Lank.”
Lankin managed not to snarl. “That sounds a lot like wishful thinking, Rat, and it smells like something even worse.”
“We have, what, just over six hours left before we have to decide whether to try to withstand a siege, or cut our losses and run?” said the decker. “And it’s thanks to you and 8-ball that we have that much time. We might as well use it.”
Magnusson opened his eyes again and looked at Lankin with a faint smile. “You’re free to leave, if you choose . . . but if you’re thinking of trying to take Yoko out of here before she regains consciousness, I’d advise against it. I’ve just sent watcher spirits to the healers and the sentries, telling them that she’s not to be moved without direct orders from 8-ball or myself. And as a mark of respect for your obvious power of persuasion, the watcher is now standing guard over her, and it will tell me if any attempt is made to take her.”
Before Lankin could react, Mute drew her smartgun and pointed it at the ceiling. “I’m heading that way myself,” she said blandly.
Lankin looked around the group, then stormed out of the medicine lodge. Mute ran after him, and a moment later, Ratatosk stood and followed them. “I’d better get back to work,” he said. “See if my search programs have turned up anything new. If they haven’t, there must be something in Aztechnology’s databanks. Sayonara.”
* * *
When the decker returned to the jackpoint in the library, he was not at all surprised to see Lankin waiting for him. “Why didn’t you back me up in there?” Lankin fumed. “You know Yoko’s going to be safer outside.”
“Maybe,” said Ratatosk, sitting in a lotus position and removing his cyberdeck from its cushioned bag. “But I also know Yoko well enough to be sure that she’d have chosen to stay. She’s loyal to the—”
“Oh frag, not you too!” Lankin groaned. “You’re a decker! You don’t believe in all this mystical drek about oaths and visions!”
“I don’t know enough about it to say,” Ratatosk replied, his tone mild. “And you ought to know better. The shamans can’t make me experience it, any more than I can see in astral, and so I don’t really understand it—but they can’t see and understand what I see in the Matrix, either. Unlike you, chummer, I respect Yoko’s opinion and her right to believe what seems right to her, whether I understand it or not.”
“Don’t call me chummer, you piece of drek! You don’t even fragging care if she lives or dies, do you?”
“Of course I do. But she’ll live or die by her rules, not mine. I’ll come running anytime she asks for my help, though it’s not often she needs it.”
“And that’s fine by you, isn’t it?”
“ ‘From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.’ ” Ratatosk quoted. “Mute and Cutter and the magicians in there with her can do a better job of looking after her than I can—or than you can, for that matter. Even if you care more, which I doubt, they know what they’re doing. I’ll take competence over obsession anytime—and so would Yoko. Do you think we’re the only lovers she’s ever had who would’ve come on a run like this when she asked? There’s probably more than I could count, and I’m pretty good at large-number theory. I think she picked us because we’re the best at what we do. If that’s not enough for you, I’m s
orry, but your ego isn’t my problem.”
“You’re a great one to talk about ego! Do you care about anybody else apart from yourself, Rat?”
Ratatosk looked around the improvised library alcove— the jury-rigged jackpoint, the floor of pressed cartons, the sagging shelves and assorted lighting fixtures and other shabby furnishings put together from other people’s discards, the enchanting materials scrounged from the wasteland, the texts salvaged or stolen or copied. “You think I’m here for the money or something?”
“Something, yes. I’m not sure what it is, but I can make a few guesses.”
“Guess away.” The decker looked past him as he heard footsteps. A moment later, Didge pushed the curtain aside and poked her head into the alcove.
“Ratatosk? Do you mind if I watch?” She did her best to sound as though she wasn’t begging. Unlike most street kids, the dwarf knew exactly what she wanted: to become the hottest decker around. In the Matrix, it wouldn’t matter what height she was.
“No. I was just about to log on. and Lankin was just leaving.” He smiled as Lankin stalked out, and plugged a cable from his modified Slimcase into one of his datajacks. “There’s no hitcher jack, but you can watch the vidscreen.” “Thanks.”
12
Sumatra lay down on his mattress and closed his eyes. 8-ball, Crane and Zurich stood around his meatbod while the rat shaman’s astral form burrowed its way through the floor. “Do you really think there’s anything down there?” the rigger asked.
Zurich shrugged. “The only other reason I can think of for someone wanting this land badly enough to spend that much money on it, is that something’s about to crash on it. A satellite, a plane, an iridium asteroid, something—and no one can predict where something’s going to impact with that kind of accuracy, even if they’ve planned it. Unless they’re using magic.”
Shadowrun 46 - A Fistful of Data Page 15
