Who Hunts the Hunter

by Nyx Smith

  Vorteria must rescue his wife. He himself must remain here in his office because the shaman must be defeated or everything will be lost. He must concentrate intensely, focus all his power and skills. The intricate construct of his spell is rapidly devolving, nearing the brink of collapse. He must not permit that to happen.

  79

  Phalen’s spell weakens. His familiar streaks out of sight. Bandit isn’t really sure why and he doesn’t have time to worry about it. His hearth spirit vanishes, its service complete, which leaves him facing Phalen by himself.

  “Deezle,” he blurts.

  A watcher in raccoon-like form appears directly beside Phalen’s head and begins screaming, screaming, SCREAMING! as loud as fire alarms and air horns and warning klaxons. Phalen twitches visibly. The force of Phalen’s spell shifts further off-center and Bandit rises from a crouch with one hand extended, exerting his will, deflecting the blazing energies of Phalen’s magic.

  Now, he must concentrate. He must become as completely Raccoon as he has ever been. The spell he must use comes to mind. He takes a step toward the rear of the room, toward Phalen. He must get very near Phalen to do what must be done and bring Phalen’s evil to an end.

  80

  Amy lifts her head from the cradle of her crossed arms to find herself sitting at a small rectangular table in a room cluttered with filing cabinets, bookshelves, and what she takes to be castoff computer equipment. She sits back, pushes her hair out of her eyes, and wonders what’s happened. She feels ... Peculiar. Weak, a little shaky, like she fainted or something. Her stomach feels strangely empty, like she’s just finished being sick, coughing up her lunch. Only she doesn’t remember having lunch or being sick.

  What day is it? Where is she and what is she doing here? Her watch shows the hour’s approaching noon. Why isn’t she in her office?

  She feels wrung out.

  The room has two doors. She gets to her feet and steps toward the nearest one. It slips aside. She gets as far as the doorway before realizing where she is and seeing what’s going on.

  The room before her is Dr. Phalen’s office. Phalen is standing behind his desk and making arcane gestures in the air. The desk and the floor around him are littered with window fragments and books. At the other end of the room, now looking at her, is someone resembling Scottie, wearing Scottie’s long dark coat, carrying his flute, only his face and head look less like the face and head of a human being than that of an animal, like a raccoon.

  Amy gapes."Scottie?”

  Patches of air shimmer and fade. Both men gesture arcanely. Dr. Phalen seems to straighten up, grow fuller, stronger. The other man seems diminished somehow, smaller, weaker. As if being forced back into a corner. For an instant, the resemblance to a raccoon diminishes and she sees that it really is Scottie facing off with Phalen, and she gasps.

  What are they doing? What’s happening?

  “Go away, my dear,” Dr. Phalen says."You’re in danger.”

  A voice whispers into her ear. It’s Scottie’s voice."Do something,” he says."He’s killing my will.”

  Amy exclaims, “What? Do what?!”

  “Phalen’s evil must be stopped.”

  The room wavers and blurs, her head pounds, and suddenly all Amy can see is Dr. Phalen, but he is not Dr. Phalen. He is a horror, a grotesque skeletal creature with a skull for a face and claws for fingers. Amy’s first response is shock. She cries out, but even as the shock resounds, vibrating through her body, she remembers—the cup of tea, the crashing weight of Phalen’s will. He tried to use her in some way, used his powers on her. Forced her to speak. To lure Kurushima here. She realizes that she must have been wrong about Scottie’s warning, and wrong about Phalen right from the start.

  The air shimmers around Scottie’s head. The likeness of the raccoon diminishes."Oh, god!” Amy exclaims."What should I do?”

  Scottie whispers, “Distract him.”

  How? Amy looks around frantically.

  How does she do that?

  81

  Amy’s sudden appearance comes as a shock.

  “Distract him,” Bandit whispers, and by the time he says that the balance of power has shifted once again. Phalen’s spell has gathered weight and power, now pressing him back like a tide of air too thick and heavy to stand against. The assault on his will becomes almost invincible. His hand and arm begin quaking with the effort of maintaining his shield. He strains to move another step forward, but finds his feet will not cooperate.

  Phalen chuckles. His voice comes soft and complacent to Bandit’s ears."You are strong, my dear shaman, a worthy adversary, but I have gained too much through my fraternity with the transcendental.”

  Then, suddenly, Amy is beside Phalen, shouting, and swinging a large tome like a club, striking Phalen across the head.

  Phalen sways and grunts. The cosmetic mask covering his face shifts and falls away, baring the horrific features below. Phalen shouts in outrage and the weight of his magic slackens. Bandit thrusts his flute up over his head and forces his foot ahead a whole step and the final contest begins. His special spell begins unfolding, gathering power, assuming the astral form of an enormous furry Raccoon, rising like a shadow to stand erect on two legs behind Phalen’s back.

  Phalen seems to assense the power gathering behind him and begins to turn around, but then the spell strikes.

  The giant Raccoon claps its paws over Phalen’s face, and tugs, and disappears. Phalen’s shrill scream of agony rises high and loud. He lifts his hands to the bloody gashes of his eyes and staggers.

  Bandit lunges forward, flicking a thumb. The antique desk tumbles out of the way, banging onto its side and slamming into the wall. Phalen screams, “NOOOOOO!" but by then Bandit is chanting the last words of power and driving the shaft of his flute into Phalen’s body like a spear.

  Phalen’s scream rises into a thunderous roaring of agony. The astral turns white—pure, brilliant dazzling white—with the life energy escaping Phalen’s body. A seething flood of orange-hued globes surges forth, once-doomed souls now free to seek their destiny, each according to its own nature.

  Phalen drops to the floor, his body melting, caving in on itself, seared and congealed by the power of life.

  Then comes the Roggoth’shoth, the heart of darkness, the evil. It is a black, malignant thing. Its astral form bears a vague resemblance to a twisted sort of bat-monkey with fangs and horns. It comes forth screaming, destined for the hellish metaplanes from which it once emerged, but then something goes wrong.

  Something Bandit had not expected.

  The entity manifests, assuming corporeal form. It flashes past Bandit’s nose, blurring with speed. He hears Amy shriek. He turns to see her staggering backwards, collapsing, the entity clinging to her face. As Bandit bends to tear the creature free, Amy’s eyes pop open, bulging, burning a fiery red.

  The evil has infected her aura.

  “Drek.” Bandit whispers.

  82

  The shaft is smooth and cool, lined in concrete. Metal rungs serve like a ladder. Monk reaches up to catch hold of Minx’s ankle, holds on till she shakes it loose, then does it again, then again, then ...

  “Stop it, you booty!” Minx giggles. Then she stops climbing. Monk peers up past the delicious swells of her trim behind to see her shaking out her lavish curling hair, changing in color from red to reddish orange to reddish gold and back again. Maybe a hundred meters above the top of her gorgeous head is a faint glimmer of sunlight and the top of the shaft. Monk remembers this shaft. It’s on the Newark side of the Hudson. Another hour or so and they’ll be home.

  Minx whispers, “Hoi ... did you just hear something?"

  "What kind of something?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah?” Monk says, gazing upward.

  “You know what?” Minx says softly."I’m getting this weird feeling. Like something’s happened to the Master. Like maybe he’s dead.”

  Monk puzzles."I thought you said that if t
he Master died, we’d die, too.”

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

  “Well?”

  “I could’ve sworn, I mean ... I thought ...” Minx hesitates, then turns enough to look down at him, past the pert, round, luscious swellings of her breasts; then, she giggles."You booty, maybe it was just something I ate.”

  Something she ate. Hah-hah-hah!

  Monk grins."Wiz.”

  83

  As he lifts his head, wiping drool from his lips, Ben Hill sees that, once again, he’s missed the small miracle of transformation.

  Striper lies sprawled on her side. She has returned to her natural form, the massive body so suggestive of the Siberian tiger. The gore spilled from the savage wound in her head stains red and black-striped fur. Her wound appears too terrible for even her remarkable Werebiology to heal.

  Her child has already taken its cue. It stands on four legs beside the unmoving body of its mother, looking back and forth, growling mournfully, pitifully, now sniffing at the savage wound, licking at it. Ben can’t stand to watch. He turns his head, only to see Germaine, sprawled on her back hardly an arm’s length away. Her chest is drenched in blood and gore, concentrated in dark patches around the half-dozen or so bullet holes punctuating her blouse.

  It’s beyond comprehension, beyond belief, that things could have taken such a terrible turn, that the search for a metabiological serum could end in death, a double homicide.

  Two lives irretrievably lost, wasted ...

  Liron Phalen was the motivating force, and Germaine played her role, but Ben knows too well where the responsibility truly lies, where it always lies. He’s reminded of the words of Sir Thomas More. When asked for the sake of fellowship to join the nobles supporting an ancient king, More replied, “And when we die, and you are sent to heaven for heeding your conscience, and I to hell for disregarding mine, will you come with me for the sake of fellowship?”

  It puts everything in perspective.

  He allowed himself to be unduly influenced by Liron Phalen. He did not have the strength of will to insist, to demand, that the course of their research observe the moral and ethical principles he’s tried to honor throughout his whole adult life. When it mattered, when it might even have saved a pair of lives, he failed. He failed himself by disregarding his own principles. He failed himself, science, all metahumanity. And this is just one more failing on top of a career plagued by shortcomings and outright failures.

  He’s never had a very strong sense of imagination. Maybe that’s the greatest failing of all. Maybe that’s what always limited him to positions assisting the person put in charge.

  It’s irrelevant now. Just one more task to perform. He must accept responsibility for what he’s done. The slate must be cleaned. The final responsibility accepted.

  Slowly, he reaches out for the gun lying beside him and lifts it to his mouth. The gleaming metal barrel feels hard and unforgiving against his teeth, and tastes of harsh chemicals. So, too, life.

  It takes only a gentle squeeze of the trigger.

  84

  The end of the tunnel blazes with light. She feels it drawing her forward. In a way she doesn’t really understand, she senses that somewhere beyond the blazing light lies a golden land of bounty and promise.

  Abruptly, a figure rises before her, a dark four-legged shape, indisputably male, and massive enough to all but block out the light. The male’s roar is like the thunder heralding the end of the world. His smell speaks clearly of possession and the violence he’ll do to defend what he considers his own.

  Go back! he tells her.

  No .. . She wants to go ahead.

  You have no choice ...

  A wave of dismay rises suddenly, cresting, overwhelming. She is to be denied the bounty and promise of the land beyond. The land belongs to the male. It is his territory. Fighting him for the right to enter would inevitably end in the complete eradication of her existence.

  She must go back.

  The blazing light fades into blackness, and suddenly Tikki hears a gunshot roaring. Involuntarily, she jerks, lifting her head. The lights of the laboratory glare, bringing water into her eyes. She wipes a paw at the itching afflicting the side of her head, then notices the cub, nosing into her neck, whining, growling with fear.

  She surges up onto her feet, ears flicking, eyes darting all around. The floor is smeared with blood and gore. A pair of two-legs lie sprawled: a female ork in street clothes and a male human in a white coat. The ork is the one who tried to kill her and the male is the one who tried to stop her from leaving. Both look dead. They smell dead. They don’t move. Tikki shakes her head, trying to understand how this could be, but thrusts the thoughts from mind. Dead is dead. She shot the ork to protect herself and to protect her cub. What happened to the human male isn’t important now.

  She wills the change: bones and muscles contract, fur fades into skin, paws form into hands and feet. The cub follows her lead and loops both arms around her right knee."Tik –ki!"

  “Quiet,” she snaps.

  Tikki grabs the guns lying on the floor and leads the cub to the hallway door. They need clothes and money and soon they’ll need food, but first they need to get out of this place. If any two-legs get in her way, she’ll do what she has to do, and she’ll do it for the only reason that seems beyond questioning.

  The cub is what matters now.

  85

  Enoshi Ken watches the droplets of rain slipping down the outsides of the windows overlooking Central Park. They are all just currents in a stream, wavelets on the surface of a vast, incomprehensible ocean. He takes a drag of his cigarette and a sip of his coffee and wonders what his wife is doing. He feels very far away from their home in Philadelphia. With each new development, he feels more distant.

  Earlier this afternoon, he received a call from his chief auditor, Kurushima Jussai, reporting that evidence amassed from Hurley-Cooper records now strongly indicates that several persons, including the firm’s CEO, Vernon Janasova, have appropriated corporate funds to enrich their personal accounts. Kurushima also mentioned that certain matters involving Amy Berman’s departments had been satisfactorily resolved, with the aid of the Metascience Group director, Dr. Liron Phalen.

  Enoshi wonders how it is that his own auditor should give such a report. It is particularly remarkable in that it came barely an hour before the Hurley-Cooper Executive VP, Mercedes Feliz, personally delivered datachip evidence indicating that the heads of the Metascience Group have been conspiring to embezzle about thirteen million nuyen. One individual in particular, a Dr. Hill, has no less than three million nuyen in a hidden account at the UCAS Bank. The evidence suggests that this account was used to funnel embezzled funds into questionable channels that may actually lead to shadowrunners and other criminals.

  “Amy Berman collected most of this data,” Mercedes Feliz reported, “acting under my direction.”

  Enoshi rubs at his brow, anticipating the rise of a headache.

  His aide comes to announce the arrival of Usami Gek, his senior security operative, and the mage recently dispatched by KFK North America to aid in the investigation: Kajitori Sara. The mage was in New York barely a day when all hell broke loose.

  Usami reports, “It appears that the disturbance at the Metascience facility began with an explosion of undetermined origin. Group personnel report that a paranormal creature being used as a test subject has escaped. Numerous persons were injured. Three are dead: Dr. Liron Phalen, Dr. Benjamin Hill, and an aide. Dr. Phalen appears to have succumbed to violence of an arcane nature. Preliminary evidence suggests that Dr. Ben Hill may have killed the aide before taking his own life. The exact sequence of events is still being evaluated by my personnel.”

  Enoshi struggles to maintain his composure. The loss of Phalen and Hill will no doubt have a detrimental effect on Hurley-Cooper research. The effect of such violent deaths on the firm’s reputation, and that of Kono-Furata-Ko International, could be incalculable. He is perhaps fa
cing a crisis of nightmare proportions. He must soon make a report via telecom to the Vice-Chairman of KFK, Torakido Buntaro.

  Usami adds, “We have ascertained through surveillance records that Mr. Scott Berman was present at the facility when the explosion occurred.”

  “Was Amy Berman present?”

  Usami nods."Yes, Enoshi-sama. She was present prior to the outbreak of violence, in conference with Dr. Liron Phalen. Surveillance records show that Kurushima Jussai joined this conference, as did Mr. Scott Berman. Neither Ms. Amy Berman nor Mr. Scott Berman remained on site after the explosion. It is not yet known how they left the facility nor where they have gone.”

  It is mind-boggling. Enoshi struggles to sort it all out. One might suppose that Amy Berman has participated in a deliberate effort to destroy critical Hurley-Cooper assets, such as Doctors Phalen and Hill, and has somehow drawn KFK’s own auditor, Kurushima Jussai, into the conspiracy. However, Enoshi is wary of such obvious suppositions."How did Scott Berman gain access to the Metascience facility?”

  “Through arcane means still to be determined,” Usami replies."It is unclear what role Ms. Amy Berman or Mr. Scott Berman may have played in Dr. Liron Phalen’s death.” Here, the mage, Kajitori Sara, coughs.

  “Have you something to add?” Enoshi asks.

  Kajitori says, “Yes.”

  “Please continue.”

  “It is my belief that Scott Berman and Liron Phalen engaged in magical conflict. The signs are clear, Enoshi-sama. It is also my belief that some third party or entity, perhaps of metaplanar origin, was involved in the conflict.”

  Enoshi considers that, and says, “Are you suggesting that Scott Berman called on some metaphysical entity with the intention of assassinating Dr. Phalen?”

  “I believe that the entity entered the conflict on Phalen’s side. I also believe that it was of a malignant nature."

  "Malignant?”

  “Malevolent.”