[Shadowrun 05] - Changeling

by Chris Kubasic - (ebook by Undead)

  “Me, too.”

  “Really?”

  Her surprise flattered him, in an obviously male kind of way. He crawled over to the couch and sat beside it. She smelled of roses and other exotic scents. “Well, there were all these people shooting at me. Shooting at me and hitting me. Yeah. I was scared. But it’s different. This was probably your first time in something like this…”

  “Yes,” she said and laughed.

  “I got beat up my first month out on the streets. I’m a bit more used it.”

  “You lived on streets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d die. I’d die.”

  “No you wouldn’t. You’d figure out what you had to do to survive, and you’d do it.”

  “No, Peter. No. You and Breena and Liaison. You know how to survive. Me? I was raised in a corporation. The key was stability. Long-term profits carefully measured against the short term. Spontaneity was all right, as long as it was planned and kept under control.” She laughed and Peter joined in. “So, what happens now?”

  “Well, Liaison got an address of an ABT. She’ll check it out in the Matrix tomorrow. I should go stake it out. Breena will probably rest, and you’ll probably stay here, too. You’re pregnant, and the last thing you need is to make a habit of getting involved in gun battles.”

  “True.” They sat silently for a moment. “So what was your favorite story?” she asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “The Wizard of Oz? The Odyssey? All the stories I loved as a kid were about people in strange places, taking risks. Now I’m finally living it, and I don’t know how all those people could stand it.”

  “I was partial to Alice in Wonderland.”

  “I never read that one.” She leaned in closer. “I did see the simsense, though.”

  “They made a simsense of Alice in Wonderland?”

  “Sure. They make simsenses of anything.”

  “I never tried them.”

  “Really?”

  “I… I’ve spent my whole life trying to get my body back. The idea of living out an experience through a recording of someone else’s nervous system… It’s too much to bear.”

  “Well, the Alice simsense had this great part where you fall down the White Rabbit’s hole. It was so frightening. You just rushed toward the ground. All you could see was the ground getting closer and closer…. And the fear… Whoever they got to feel that fall… She was terrified and I was terrified.”

  Something about the description struck Peter as wrong, but he couldn’t remember the original text, so he dropped it.

  “Kathryn,” he began hesitantly, then curiosity drove him on, “if Cell Works was your family…” He paused, hoping she would pick up the thread of the conversation. She didn’t. “Leaving just seems…”

  “I need this for my baby, Peter. I need to know he’ll be all right. Cell Works wouldn’t sponsor the research. I needed to know what was going on, and I needed to know it now. The more my child grows, the more cells to be transformed. If someone was doing the work, I wanted to know about it. Your father was going to be my tie to the cure.”

  “But all this for an unborn child…”

  “He’s not just an unborn child, Peter. He’s the son of the man I wanted to marry.”

  “Yes. I heard he died. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes,” she laughed harshly. “A car accident. A stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid car accident. We can do so much, but we can’t always prevent cars from spinning out of control. We can’t save a man every time. We can’t always save the person we love the most.” He reached his clumsy hand out in the darkness and touched the warmth of her arm. She pulled back at first, but settled down and let him slide his fingers up to her shoulder.

  When she spoke again, her voice had become quiet. “You see, I want my son to be born, this son, this child, this part of John. I want him to live, and I want him to live a good life. I need to know that he’s going to be all right. I want to protect him. And I know Breena thinks that makes me terrible, but I…” She sighed. “I just don’t want to lose him, too. I need something to be set.” She laughed slightly. “Actually, I want everything to be set. But now I don’t know. I’ve given up everything I had. Everything I had to offer my son, I gave it all up to keep him safe in another way.”

  “You’ll manage. You’re tough.”

  “No. I’m only tough where I know the rules. Like in the corp world.” She pulled away and he thought she must have buried her face in her hands. “What have I done to my life? To my son?” She began to cry. Peter sat quietly. After a while, she sniffed, her tears ended for now. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Shhh. No. Shhh. You have nothing to apologize for. I think we both need some sleep, though.”

  She sniffled again. “Yes.”

  “You going to be all right?”

  “Yes.” She stretched out on the couch. “Yes, I just need some sleep.”

  He waited for a moment, and when she seemed settled, he said, “Good night.”

  “Good night, Peter. You don’t seem like a killer, you know.” He remained quiet, uncertain how to respond. “I mean, I thought you were one way—you had that gun pointed at me, after all—but there’s something else to you.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You were doing your job, right?”

  A shame filled him. He’d become so used to his job that only now did it strike him as odd that he had held a stranger hostage at gunpoint. “Yeah. Time for a new job.”

  “Good.”

  He watched her roll over on the couch, then made his way back to his blankets and closed his eyes.

  He dreamed of Alice, and of her fall, but when he awoke, he could not remember the details.

  26

  In the morning, Peter and Kathryn said very little to one another, but a gentleness arced in the air between them. Liaison, who was preparing a breakfast of soycakes and baco, hummed odd songs that Peter could not place. Eventually he decided she was just making them up as she went along. Breena remained quiet and aloof.

  * * *

  The ABTech building, which Peter located on the city’s Westside, resembled a large warehouse more than a research facility. When no one entered or left the building during the first few hours of his morning surveillance, Peter wondered if ABTech had given Crusader a false billing address.

  It was not until just after noon that he finally saw someone, a woman, leaving through a small gateway at the south side of the building. She was an ork. Dressed in a once-attractive winter coat now outdated, she had obviously made a poor woman’s attempt to dress up.

  Because nothing else had caught his eye all day, Peter decided to follow her to see if it just might lead him to something interesting. He didn’t expect much, though; he assumed she was a low-paid gofer sent out for lunch.

  Like most orks, she was stocky, the reason Peter was so rarely attracted to ork women. They had neither the delightful height and muscle of troll women nor the delicate fragility of pure humans. To him, ork females always floated between the extremes of his desires .

  He found this particular ork endearing, however. Though he saw most of the pure human shoppers along the walks of the posh merchant area pull away at the sight of her, she did her best to maintain an air of pride. She clutched her old coat about her and held her chin high.

  As the ork passed, one woman pulled her daughter off the sidewalk. Then she stood there staring indignantly after her, as if the ork woman had come to this neighborhood solely for the purpose of frightening her daughter.

  The little girl also stared after the ork with intense curiosity. The woman drew the child close and comforted her, though she showed not the slightest need for comforting.

  Peter opted for social invisibility.

  The ork woman turned north and walked toward the Congress line Rail station.

  “Well, so much for the lunch theory,” thought Peter. He crossed the street quickly to make sure he didn’t miss the trai
n the woman would take. Following her up the stairs to the platform, he noticed that she clutched the handrail with a firm grip, as if she had trouble walking. Then he saw her step had a bit of a wobble.

  When they reached the platform and were waiting for the train to arrive, Peter also noticed that the woman’s belly bulged a bit. The winter coat had hidden the fact from across the street, but now her pregnancy was obvious.

  Looking up at her face again, he found that she was looking back at him. He gave her an embarrassed smile, which she returned. Then both looked away.

  That would make sense, he thought. Maybe she didn’t work for ABTech. Maybe she was a volunteer in some program of theirs.

  “Stop it,” he told himself. “You’re just guessing now. Stop guessing.”

  The train rolled into the Rail stop. Peter entered a car behind the one into which the ork had stepped. He then worked his way up to the front of the car and watched the ork woman through the windowed door between the cars. Though her car was crowded, he saw the pure humans trying to step away or hold themselves apart from the woman.

  The train rode east for some twenty minutes. At the Logan Square stop, she got off. Peter gave her plenty of lead to keep from arousing her suspicions.

  They left the station. As she headed north and continued walking for another ten blocks, Peter remembered that an ork ghetto lay in that direction.

  It was immediately obvious the moment he entered the ghetto. On one side of the street the orks on the street paid him little heed. The instant Peter crossed the street, suddenly every ork down the length of the block checked him for a piece. He hadn’t done anything yet, so they didn’t bother him. But two mothers sent their children to follow him, probably to make sure he didn’t cause any trouble.

  Peter acted as if he didn’t notice them, and continued following the woman until they reached a rundown high-rise. The ork passed through a massive set of glass double doors, then checked her mailbox. After pulling out her mail, she unlocked the inner door, men disappeared into the shadows.

  Peter followed her into the building. Checking the mailboxes, he saw that she’d opened Wilson 5-G.

  Glancing around, he saw no one. Even his tails were gone.

  He stepped up to the lobby door and pulled out a thin strip of metal. Sliding it between the lock and the frame, he worked it for a few moments. The lock clicked and Peter pulled the door open and was about to step through when he heard the building’s outer door open behind him. He’d been wrong about the kids who’d been tailing him. They hadn’t lost interest—they’d called for help.

  27

  Facing off with him at this moment were five members of an ork street gang. They were checking him out the look in their eyes pretty serious. All wore black leather jackets that showed a variety of red patches. He guessed their average age to be about sixteen.

  “What you doing, chummer?” one of the boys asked.

  “Visiting a friend.” Peter forced a smile.

  “I don’t think you got no friends around here.”

  “Mr. Donner.” Peter had seen the name on a box. “He just buzzed me up.”

  The boy glanced at the mailbox. “Anybody can read, chummer. How ’bout you move your trog ass back out into me street and drag it back to whatever subway tunnel you crawled out of?”

  “Sorry. I have work to do.”

  Peter stepped through the door, but before he could close it, the kids were on the door.

  They grabbed hold of the metal frame and pulled it open even as Peter tried to pull it shut. As the metal began to buckle and the glass cracked at the edges, Peter let go. The gangers sprawled backward, falling on top of one another in the vestibule.

  Peter made a dash for the stairs.

  And then stopped.

  He hadn’t come here to have ork gangers chase him through the building. He needed to find out why the Wilson woman was at ABTech, not bring a brawl to her door. Besides, he was growing weary of fighting.

  He turned toward the youths, who rushed up to him, then came to a sliding stop on the smooth stone floor. Uncertain of whether to claim victory or pummel him, they took the middle road of gaping at him in curiosity.

  The lead ganger’s face was broad, with two thick fangs growing from his lower gums. His eyes were a bright blue. Breathing rapidly, he seemed to have no intention of giving up his adrenaline rush just because Peter had stopped.

  Peter raised his hands in a palms-out gesture of peace. “Listen. I’m here on a job. I’ve got to talk to someone.”

  “Buzz off. I told you before and I’ll tell you again—Slot it out of here.”

  “I’m not going to hurt anybody,” Peter began, but then the ork slammed his fist into Peter’s gut, making him double over.

  In his dazed state Peter heard the sound of half a dozen switchblades flicking open.

  Still doubled over, he raised his face. “Listen. I’ve had a rough week….”

  “I don’t give a frag what you had, trog. We asked you to leave nice, now we’ll toss you.”

  “…and I’m not as patient as I was five days ago. Listen. I’m going up whether you like it or not…”

  The ganger kicked him in the face. Peter fell over backward onto the second step. The other orks did not laugh. They simply stood ready to back their friend.

  Peter should have been able to dodge both blows, yet the kid had nailed him twice. He knew the damage was more to his pride than his body.

  “I’m a shadowrunner and I will slice you children up into ork treats if you don’t back off.”

  This got a response. The punks moved back, though the leader not as far as the others. “Stuff it, chummer. All the more reason to make sure you leave.”

  Peter jumped to his feet. The kids jumped back.

  “Don’t you scan it, chummer? I use an HK to take down anyone who gets in my way. This is my fragging job!” He stepped forward, hoping to drive them out of the lobby with pure bravado. The kids moved backward again, matching him step for step. “Getting through people is what I DO! Now back off, or I’ll just take you out.”

  “Chill,” the leader said, and rallied his gang. The other orks stopped moving back, and the leader addressed Peter. “Think about this, green mountain. You’re on my home ground. Possibly threatening my people. You just showed up in a place you don’t belong. No one asked you to come. I’m asking you to leave, and all you can think of is to threaten me? Don’t you scan it? You threatened us the minute you showed your trog face around here. I don’t care if you carve me, ’cause I got no choice.”

  Peter was ready this time. He saw the young ork’s neck muscles twitch ever so slightly. As the kid was bringing his knife up, Peter slapped the punk’s wrist, lightly, then swung his own fist up into the kid’s chest.

  The ork slammed into one of the gang members behind him, and the two of them went down to the floor. The remaining three orks spread out around Peter, everyone waiting for someone else to make the first move.

  Then Peter whirled, punched, and kicked. He took the gangers down one after another. He treated them as gently as he could, but he was a troll and they were orks. The things he did would have snapped the bones of any pure human.

  By the time the three orks were down, the leader and the other kid he’d first brought down were back on their feet. The leader rushed Peter, attempting to knock him over. Peter caught the boy in his arms as the two of them slammed into the wall. He jabbed his fist into the ork’s stomach twice, then let him go. The kid fell to floor and wheezed for breath. Though his companion almost retreated in fear, he rallied enough to thrust his knife toward Peter.

  Peter grabbed the ganger’s arm and flipped him to the ground. He then walked through the group and gave a final kick to each gang member’s abdomen.

  While they were busy groaning, Peter had calmed down. It sobered him to suddenly realize that he had triumphantly trashed a bunch of teenagers who were doing nothing more than protecting a woman who would undoubtedly not want to tal
k to him.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said out loud.

  One of the kids groaned again, but none got up. Peter took the stairs to the fifth floor two at a time to get the biz over with as quickly as possible.

  He knocked on the door of apartment 5G.

  “Just a moment,” called out a woman’s voice. Then he heard a bolt turn and the door opened. The ork woman looked at him for a moment, then her eyes widened as she recognized him from the Rail platform. She shook her head, as if to deny the whole situation, and tried to shut the door.

  Peter put his hand on the door and pushed it open. “Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson. Please. I need to talk to you for a moment.”

  She started to scream.

  Peter gave a hard shove to the door and knocked it off its hinges. The woman tried to run, but Peter reached out with one long arm to grab her and clamp a hand over her mouth.

  He glanced around the room. Cracks ran though the fake dark wood of the tables and chairs, but an effort had been made to keep the style consistent. The wallpaper was brown and white. The shades drawn. The whole place was somber and dark.

  Two little ork children stepped into the room from the kitchen—two girls. One held a doll shaped like a pink pure-human baby in her hands. She had pink bows in her coarse, stiff hair. For a moment they stared with incomprehension at their mother and the troll who held her, then fear formed in their eyes. The girl with the doll, the younger of the two, began to cry.

  “Shhh,” said Peter. Now he was upset and panicked. He felt the situation rushing out of control, and it dawned on him that he’d never done anything like this before. He’d just beat up a bunch of teenagers, now he was roughing up mothers.