Choose Your Enemies Carefully

by Robert N. Charrette

  Was Sanchez really on-board? The passenger manifest Dodger had boosted had said that he was. The man should have reacted to the code words, but he hadn’t. Maybe he was scared, getting cold feet now that his escort away from cozy corporate security had arrived. Sam was annoyed. What did Sanchez have to be afraid of? His corporate exile would only be temporary. Mr. Johnson had a comfy hideyhole all ready, and in a week or two Sanchez would be back at work, safe and sound in his new corporate home.

  Three rows from the forward bulkhead, Sam found Sanchez. He was staring fixedly ahead, sweating. The corporate’s hands were rigidly gripping the arms of his seat. Sam spoke the man’s name, but was ignored. Reaching out a hand to shake Sanchez, Sam was surprised when the man shrank away.

  "Come on, Sanchez. We don’t have time to fool around."

  Sanchez finally turned his head to look at Sam. The man’s dark eyes stared, wide and full of terror. He swallowed convulsively before saying, "Please. I have done nothing."

  Sam didn’t know what to say.

  "Frag it. Twist. If that’s the suit, get him moving." Jason moved up the aisle as he spoke. Reaching the perplexed Sam. he stretched an arm past and pulled Sanchez to his feet. "Last thing we need is getting hosed cause the suit’s gone limp."

  Jason shoved his gun muzzle under Sanchez’s chin, forcing his head up. "You don’t jerk us. Comprende, chummer?"

  "Please, señor. Do not shoot," Sanchez pleaded.

  "I do not know what you are talking about. I am only a technician. I am not a ahman. I have no access to secrets. I am nobody."

  "You’ll be nothing but a corpse if you don’t get your ass out of here."

  Sam reached out to touch Jason’s arm but the samurai shifted, placing Sanchez between them. "Jason, I think Señor Sanchez knows less about this run than we do."

  "I don’t care what he knows. We’re taking him out."

  Sam frowned. There was more going on here than they knew, and he didn’t like what he was thinking. "Otter, check outside. Dodger, anything moving on the air traffic grid?"

  "Negative, Sir Twist," the elf replied instantly. He must have been monitoring the conversation through Sam’s microphone. When she ducked back in, Otter gave the same report.

  So much for his first thought. "Well, whatever the screwup is, it doesn’t seem to be a trap. Still, we’d better buzz."

  Otter nodded and started to undog the cabin door. Fishface looked as blank as usual, but remained standing where he was, his eyes fixed on Jason. The Indian still gripped Sanchez.

  "It stinks. It’s got to be a trap and this pedro’s a part of it." Jason leaned into his gun, forcing Sanchez’s head even further back. "Ain’t that right, pedro? Sure it is. You’re too nervous. Don’t like being the bait when the fish have teeth, do you? I don’t like being fooled, pedro."

  "Chill it, Jason," Sam snapped. "You’ve got a gun in his throat. Of course he’s nervous. Let’s just get him out of here. The sooner we’re gone, the better." Jason slowly turned his mirror eyes on Sam. "I say we smoke him. It'll be a lesson."

  The Indian was pushing, testing Sam as he had ever since the split with Ghost. Jason liked to claim he was as good as Ghost, but Sam had never seen even a remote resemblance. Ghost Who Walks Inside was a real warrior, cast in the mold of his people’s ancient heroes. Ghost was worthy of being called a samurai, unlike this cybered punk. Ghost only killed when necessary, but that was just one of the differences between the two Indians. Jason had never really understood Ghost’s principles; he had only been blinded by the glittering street reputation of a man who stood up for his people. Sam couldn’t deny that Ghost had embraced violence, but only as a means, never as the end that Jason seemed to believe it was. it meant nothing to Jason that he was using a man’s life in his dominance games. But it did mean something to Sam. There was more at stake than Sanchez’s life. If Sam backed down now, he would have no more control over Jason. Too aware of the Indian’s enhanced reflexes and deadly aim, Sam straightened. Height was one advantage he had over Jason. He tried to put utter assurance into his voice.

  "I said no killing. We take him with us."

  Jason simply stared. Sam knew that the Indian relied on the unnerving effect of his chromed eyeshields. Determined to be unimpressed, Sam stared back, but a motion in the back of the craft caught his attention. Someone was rising from his seat. The passenger’s right hand was cocked back and a shiny barrel protruded from the base of his palm.

  Whether Jason used his own peripheral vision or saw the reflection in Sam’s eyes, he was moving before Sam could say anything. The man in the back was moving at chipped speed, but Jason was faster. The Indian shifted sideways, vacating the space in which he had stood. Sam felt the heat of the bullet’s passage and heard the slug bury itself in the cabin wall.

  The gunman started to drop lower, trying to use a seat and the passenger in it for cover. Jason swung Sanchez around with one arm and shoved his other arm in the direction of the gunman. His movement looked deceptively awkward, almost haphazard. Sam knew that it was anything but. The Sandler TMP had a smartgun adapter, feeding targeting information through the induction pad in Jason’s palm to establish a feedback circuit. When the crosshairs appeared on Jason’s cybereyes, he could be sure that his weapon was effectively aimed at his target.

  Jason fired as he dropped into the seat that had been Sanchez’s. The Indian’s Sandler shrilled as it spat slugs to rip into the gunman’s cover. Blood and polyfoam stuffing erupted into the air. Jason’s line of fire skipped up past the head rest and clipped the gunman in the shoulder as he ducked.

  Fishface’s gun chattered behind Sam. Women’s wails and screams of pain joined the noise of the guns. The sea of corporate faces that had been staring at the runners vanished beneath the waves of the head rests. The passengers were huddled, praying, hoping, and pleading that no fire be directed at them.

  Slow to react, Sam found himself the only one still standing. He reached for his holster. As his hand closed on the butt of his Narcoject Lethe, he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. The gunman was rising for another shot.

  Again, Jason proved faster. The Sandler screamed as it pounded slugs into the man. Sam watched as the slugs chewed away cloth and flesh to reveal the implanted armor that had saved the gunman from Jason’s first shot. The impact drove the man back, spinning him out into the aisle. More bullets gnawed at him, pounding their way through his protective plates. He started to collapse, his palm gun firing convulsively, the bullets spanging wildly around the cabin.

  The gunfire stopped as soon as the man hit the deck. With Fishface screaming orders that no one move, Jason rushed down the aisle to his victim. He ran a quick hand over the dead gunman. He found a wallet and, after only a brief glance, tossed it on the man’s chest. He spat on the corpse and stood. "Azzie corpcop." Sam relaxed a bit. The attack wasn’t the closing of a trap. The gunman might have been an air marshal, or he might have been an off-duty officer on his way somewhere. The man had just been trying to do his job and keep some shadowrunners from killing a corporate. Likely, he had seen the confrontation between Sam and Jason as his chance. He had bet on his own skills and lost.

  "Heat’s on now, Twist," Jason said. "Pedro’s dead weight we can’t afford."

  Before Sam could respond to the samurai’s latest challenge to his authority, he felt a hand grip the fringes of his jacket.

  "Señors, you cannot leave me now." Sanchez’s fear seemed to have redoubled.

  "The hell we can’t," Jason snarled as he shoved past.

  Sanchez winced. His glance darted nervously to the door Otter had opened, then flickered around the cabin. Finally, his panicked stare alighted on Sam. "You have condemned me."

  "They saw that you were not involved," Sam assured him. "Your corporate masters understand this sort of thing. They will know that it was all a mistake."

  Sanchez shook his head vehemently. "The ahman. They will not believe."

  "Everyone here saw that he started the fi
refight. They’ll tell your ahman what happened."

  "No, señor. The ahman will not believe."

  "Why not? You’ve got fifty witnesses."

  "No, señor. Look at them."

  Sam looked around the cabin at the faces that had reappeared. They were all strangers but he knew them. He knew the grim determination and fear that lived in every one of them. These people were already denying that Sanchez was one of them. Sam understood such draconian group dynamics from his years in Japan. There, an entire family or organization took the heat for the actions of a member. The only way to avoid destruction of the group was to deny the membership of the offender. Sanchez’s fear told him that the Azzies believed in group responsibility, too.

  The cabin stank of death now. The cowering salaryman was right—it wouldn’t stop here if he left Sanchez. An Aztechnology security man and at least two other corporates were dead. Several more were injured. This was no longer a minor matter, and Sanchez’s fellow corporate employees would not defend him. The ahman might decide that Sanchez was responsible despite the evidence. If the ahman condemned Sanchez, those who spoke in his defense would be under suspicion—if they didn’t share his fate. Aztechnology was not known for its understanding and forgiveness. These people would not take the chance.

  Sam looked down into Sanchez’s face. The man was full of fear. He was terrified of staying, terrified by the thought of leaving the corporation, terrified by the shadowrunners, and terrified of his own presumption and desperation. His fears fought their war openly on his face.

  Sam understood those fears. He reached down and took Sanchez by the shoulders, drawing him up.

  "All right," he said. "Let’s go."

  The gratitude in the man’s face almost masked the fear.

  3

  The room was quiet, but Dodger knew he wasn’t alone in the darkened library. His knowledge wasn’t anything mystic; spells, conjurings, and astral voyages were not his kind of magic. It wasn’t that he heard them, or smelled them, or, as yet, saw any evidence of them, either. His awareness might have been due to some combination of his physical senses, operating below his consciousness. He didn’t need to know how it worked; the fact that it had worked was enough. Still, there was no sense of danger. He had been on enough shadowruns to know that feeling. At least for the moment, whoever watched wasn’t planning to attack.

  "I told you he would be decking."

  The voice was deep and throbbed with vindication. Dodger knew that voice too well. Estios had never liked him and never would. The black-haired elf had squared off against Dodger from the first time they had met. Like their hair colors, their personalities were opposites. There was no attraction between them save a mutual call to hostility.

  With slow deliberation, Dodger prolonged his disconnection from the Matrix, tapping in a few more commands before logging off. He took the connector from the datajack on his left temple and held it with just enough pressure that the reel wound it smoothly and the plug nestled safely into its niche. Sliding the compartment cover closed, he turned his chair around.

  Estios was glowering at him, as he expected. Professor Sean Laverty stood by Estios’s side. That was also expected; the officious Estios’s words only made sense if he had the professor’s attention. Chatterjee stood on the other side of the professor. The Asian elf’s presence was not expected but not surprising either; he was a frequent resident of the mansion. Hanging back near the door was the real surprise, Teresa O’Connor. Dear, sweet Teresa. If he had known she was at the mansion, he would never have come.

  The professor waited until Dodger wrenched his eyes away from Teresa before speaking. "Dodger, you know the rules."

  Indeed he did, but when had that stopped him from doing what needed to be done? Sliding the corners and skipping over the bounds were what made life worth living. True as that was, there were some matters best dealt with carefully. "The cyberdeck’s running a sidecar copy now, Professor. I didn’t break any of your rules."

  "You ran the Matrix without authorization," Estios accused.

  "A decker always runs without authorization. ’Tis what decking is all about."

  Estios’s eyes narrowed. "Cut the snow. You’ve spent enough time here to know that no one connects to the Matrix from the mansion without clearing it first."

  "And if anyone, even you, Estios, can find anything compromising in the copy of the run, I shall submit to any discipline that the professor deems proper."

  "We don’t need to see your concocted evidence, alley runner. You're not welcome here any longer. Leave now."

  Estios stepped forward, apparently ready to enforce his demand, but Laverty restrained him with a touch on his arm. "Dodger may stay as long as he wishes." Estios turned his head sharply and looked down into Laverty’s eyes. "That’s unwise."

  "Technically, Dodger is abusing your hospitality, Professor," Chatterjee said. "It sets a terrible precedent."

  "He should be expelled and banned," Estios said. "Dodger is free to come and go as he pleases, Mr. Estios," Laverty said.

  Chatterjee inclined his head in acceptance of the professor’s decision, but Estios just scowled and stepped back to his place at Laverty’s side. Laverty gave the taller elf a rueful shake of his head.

  "Come, come, Mr. Estios. I feel confident that Dodger would never betray this house. He is difficult on occasion and less than mannerly at most times, but his heart is great. I am sure that there is a good and sufficient reason for his actions."

  "Verily," Dodger agreed. " ’Tis most assured that I meant no disrespect for you and your hospitality, Professor. Circumstances conspired to force me to this end."

  "Don’t they always?" Laverty said, then chuckled. "Circumstances seem to conspire against you regularly."

  Dodger shrugged. "Time is an unreal concept in the forest. I stayed too long and found myself in need of a safe place to conduct my business. Lacking access to any other place where my flesh would be safe while I roamed the Matrix, I came here."

  "You could have decked from your precious forest," Estios said. "You’ve done that often enough."

  "Alas, I had no transmitter. I had not expected to be gone so long, and so neglected to make such preparations. When I found that time had passed more swiftly than expected, I found myself in an awkward situation. Were it not for my obligations to my fellow runners, I would never have imposed so."

  "What do you know of obligations, alley runner?"

  "I know that a person is obligated to follow his conscience rather than the letter of orders imposed from above. Surely, even a grand soldier such as yourself can grasp such a basic concept?"

  "Enough. There have been enough disturbances of the peace in this house. I do not need you two tearing at each other," Laverty said. "Dodger, this run wouldn't be one of Samuel Verner’s, would it?" Seeing no harm in admitting it. Dodger said, "In truth, it is."

  Laverty was thoughtful for a moment. The other elves waited silently; they knew better than to interrupt the professor's thoughts. At last, he said, "You have shown a remarkable loyalty toward that man."

  "Any loyalty is remarkable for an alley runner."

  "I said enough, Mr. Estios." There was no harshness in Laverty’s voice, but Estios looked stung just the same. Laverty’s attention remained on Dodger. "Another data run? Verner is still searching for his sister?"

  "Always that," Dodger replied. The professor's renewed interest in Sam made Dodger a little uncomfortable. "This run was simply business. Even a knight errant needs operating capital."

  "Another theft," Estios scoffed.

  " 'Twas was no theft."

  "Call it what you want," Estios continued, ignoring Laverty's sharp look. "You can’t alter its nature." Dodger’s initial annoyance at Estios’s suggestion of larceny eased as he saw the professor’s reaction. Estios lost points by being the first to break the imposed truce. Unable to resist. Dodger said, "Some people never change."

  A slight motion near the door caught his attention an
d he immediately regretted his words. In the exchange with Estios, he had forgotten that Teresa was there. She had been so quiet. Thinking that he had no way to fool the professor, but that he might cover his chagrin from the others, he launched into an explanation of what had happened.

  "Our run was supposed to be a simple extraction. A friendly one, at that. The subject had supposedly concluded a contract with new employers, but had failed to secure release from his current corporation. Mr. Johnson assured us that the subject was not in a sensitive position, so it should have been a clean in-and-out. Someone hosed. The pickup apparently had no idea what was going on. He did not even seem aware that Sam and the others were there for him."

  "A deliberate ruse to trap Verner," Chatterjee suggested.

  Dodger wondered just how much Chatterjee knew. The dark-skinned elf had not been present when Sam had been at the mansion last summer, and normally, he would not have been briefed on old business. Perhaps he only drew the obvious conclusion. "If ’twere a trap, ’twere a poor one. There seemed no reasonable chance of closure."

  "A Renraku reprisal, then?"

  Chatterjee’s mention of the corporation from which Sam had fled banished any remaining thoughts of innocence. Chatterjee’s knowledge was a sign that the professor retained an interest in Sam. "An unlikely circumstance."

  Laverty nodded. "A conclusion based on your research into Mr. Johnson’s real identity."

  Dodger tried his best offended look. "A client expects to maintain his confidentiality. ’Tis most unhealthy to inquire into such matters."

  "Dodger?" Laverty smiled, and Dodger knew his ruse had never had a chance.

  "Andrew Glover of Amalgamated Technologies and Telecommunications. Mister Glover is a vice-president, on the fast track with a bullet. His firm has a pedigree that’s about as pure European as they come.

  " 'Tis not the slightest hint of Renraku influence. Of course," Dodger added with a sly grin, "there does seem to be a connection to Saeder-Krupp."