Choose Your Enemies Carefully

by Robert N. Charrette

  She got one.

  The flat was astrally warded! Unable to penetrate the protection to view the interior, she returned to her body. She would have to go in blind, relying on the mundane reconnaissance she had already performed.

  There was no reason to delay. She shed her long coat and clipped the drop line to her harness. Satisfied that it was secure, she went over the side, walking the wall past darkened windows.

  The winter air was chill, but she barely felt it. Her doubts kept her warm. Was she doing the right thing?

  With a swiftness born of familiarity, she squirted lubricant into each side of the window frame. She let it penetrate for two minutes, then tried to lift the sash. It moved smoothly and silently; as she had remembered, there was no lock.

  With the kitchen window open, the blackout curtain was the only impediment to entrance. She folded her legs, then straightened them, pushing off from the wall. The extra force from her right leg angled her return so that she would pass through the aperture. Her feet brushed aside the curtains and as her hips went through the frame, she hit the friction clamp and released its tension. She hit the floor and tucked herself into a forward roll. The soft clack of harness buckles against the floorboards was the only sound she made. She came up into a crouch and froze, listening.

  The apartment was silent save for the soft background hum of an active computer system. The soft glow from a terminal screen was the main room’s only illumination. No one moved in what she could see of the room.

  Hart remained in place for five minutes or more, and heard nothing else. Satisfied that she had alerted no one, she stood up and stepped forward. Her curse broke the peacefulness.

  There was no one there. The computer hummed only to itself, but there was a message on the screen:

  It read:

  "Not what you expected, is it?

  "Too bad.

  "There’s a new twist in the game.

  "Press ENTER for more."

  She knew better than that. She left the way she had come in.

  * * *

  "A return to old haunts when the other side is on to you can be fraught with danger," Glover said pedantically. "But then, I suppose you have already learned that. The restraints are not too uncomfortable, I hope?"

  The captive had only one eye, since the other had been closed by the purplish black bruise covering most of one side of his face. Still, he glared. Glover found it amusing.

  "It would have been better for you had you simply kept running. You could hardly expect to succeed where your associates had failed. You are only one person and nowhere near as skilled as they were. But don’t feel too impotent. Your friends did some damage, and they might have done more against us had we not already been alert for those who would sabotage our great work."

  "God will see you punished," said the prisoner. "God? Whose god. my pathetic friend? Yours? In the olden days, they believed that the stronger god would overcome the weaker and set his people above all others. You can see the motif in so many stories that one must think in the days when myths were made, before the old magic lessened, that there was a factual basis for such replacement. Today, you sit defeated, and I stand victorious. Your god has forsaken you, but the Sun shines on me."

  "Your pride will be your fall."

  "Stubborn." Glover chuckled. "One might almost think you still held hope for a rescue. Do not. The rest of your little band have gone the way of all flesh and, in doing so, have strengthened our cause. You shall join them when the appointed hour comes. Perhaps I myself shall wield the sacrificial knife that drinks your blood."

  "You are deluded. Your murders bring you no power. Your path is corrupted."

  "How could you know? Our rituals are steeped in a tradition that antedates your pitiful church. We have reached back to touch the old ways, the true ways of power. I have felt it."

  "You have felt lies, murderer."

  Glover backhanded the prisoner, rocking him back and almost toppling the chair to which he was bound. Blood spurted from the prisoner’s nose to spatter the white cuff of Glover’s shirt with incarnadine stars.

  "I had thought you an educated and intelligent man, Father Rinaldi. Your fellow Sylvestrines spoke so highly of you in interrogation that I thought you might be able to see beyond your prejudices, once confronted with the truth. I see I was mistaken. Still, your soul will fuel our paean to the Sun."

  "Your blasphemy will be stopped."

  "Your faith is touching, father. Would it be shaken if you knew one of your fellow priests told us everything we needed to know about your communications with Rome? As far as your superiors know, your team has found nothing as yet. You are, however, pursuing a most diligent investigation. By the time any of the fossils in Rome suspect that they are being fed false information, the cycle of rituals will be complete and our Circle shall no longer need to be Hidden. We shall set the king on his throne, and the restored land shall be as it was."

  "You’re mad. Corrupted by evil."

  "And you’re powerless. Consumed with envy." Glover laughed loud and long. "The weak will never understand the strong. Never having tasted power, they are incapable of it. You and your weakling breathren will never know the true power the Circle has touched. Even when we reveal it, you will see only a shadow of the truth. Well, your fellows will see. You, my dear father, will be long gone."

  "It shall not be. Even on earth, you are opposed."

  "Perhaps you refer to the meddling of shadowrunners. They had been causing us some difficulty, but their masters are too ill-organized to control their minions and insufficiently committed to maintain bothersome pressure. Their bumbling runners ran afoul of their own internal factions, and the team crumbled away, leaving only a handful of pox-ridden elves to annoy us. Stings only. Why, just last night we swatted one of the annoying insects. Their importance diminishes to insignificance as we grow in strength. When we have established the new knigdom, we will deal with the shadowmasters and they will regret opposing us."

  The buzz of the telecom cut off Rinaldi's response. Glover was annoyed; he had ordered that he was not to be disturbed. He returned to his desk, intent on giving his secretary a piece of his mind, but he changed his mind when he saw which line was lit. Tapping the command to transfer the call to headset, he settled the earpiece and opened the line. The call was swift and to the point. Cutting the connection, he faced the priest.

  "Someone else has taken an interest in you. Father Rinaldi. You should feel honored."

  37

  The garden mezzanine of the Hawthorn-waite Residential Tower was deserted save for three animated shadows near the banks of private elevators. Faint music from the bar in the lobby three levels below masked what few sounds the shadows made as they huddled near the control panel One detached itself from the group and moved to stand by the brazen doors bearing the GWN graphic on the left panel.

  Listening at the door, Sam could hear the elevator car approaching. If the car didn’t stop, they might as well go home. If they could.

  As the car sighed to a stop, Sam cocked the bolt on his Narcoject Hypnos. The rifle version of the tranquilizer gun felt bulky and obvious. But this was a raid and inconspicuousness wasn’t a high priority. If the elevator disgorged security troopers, he’d probably need the extra capacity the rifle’s magazine afforded. Briefly, he wondered if he might be better off using the captured LD-120 pistol that rode in the holster at his hip. No, the building’s guards would just be doing their jobs. Did that deserve death? The druids and their acolytes deserved no mercy, but what of their unsuspecting minions?

  Dodger, seated on the floor next to the doors, concentrated on his cyberdeck. Willie readied the elf’s Sandler submachine gun and laid it near his right hand before cocking her own.

  "Give me first shot," Sam said.

  "You sure?"

  Sam nodded.

  "Wilco," Willie confirmed as she backed along the wall to give her a line at the part of the car Sam wouldn’t be able to cover in th
e first sweep.

  With a pneumatic hiss, the doors slid open to reveal an empty car.

  Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. With its release, tension drained from his muscles. They’d made it past the first hurdle.

  He held the door while Willie trundled inside to catch the door button. Dodger jacked out and began reeling in the datacord he had patched into the elevator controls.

  "Hurry up, Dodger," Willie urged.

  "Patience, Mistress Machinerider. If aught appears amiss after we depart this floor, the alarums will ring. ’Twould be most unfortunate if haste undid our plans at this stage."

  "Just do a good job, Dodger," Sam said.

  "Assuredly, Sir Twist."

  Dodger finished his fussing and gave the panel a quick polish with a rag before joining the others in the car. Willie released her button and the panels hissed closed. Sam reached across to tap the bronze strip labeled GWN and start them on their journey to the ninetieth floor.

  "Pray tell. Sir Twist. Where is the priest? I thought he had joined our team."

  "He had other business."

  Willie snickered. "You bust him out, and the first time you need help, he's off doing errands? Some gratitude."

  "His other obligations had first claim on his loyalties. If all goes well, he’ll be joining us later. With help."

  "But not tonight?"

  "No, not tonight."

  "And why should we need help tonight?" Dodger asked sarcastically. "We are but three intrepid souls invading the residence of a multinational corporation’s highest officers. Since we hope to beard their local executive officer in his home, why should we be concerned with numbers? He is only a dreadfully powerful shaman and will, no doubt, have only a battalion or two of mundane guards. What have we to fear from them?"

  "Dump it, Dodger." Sam didn't need the elf’s sarcasm. They might not know exactly what they were getting into, but they had all studied what information they had. They all knew who the target was. The time for cold feet had been two hours ago. Dodger may not have had anything to do with Herzog’s death, but he was not yet back in Sam’s good graces. "You know why we’re here."

  " ’Twas your choice."

  "You didn’t have to come."

  "Pray, tell. What would you have done without me? Scaled the building?"

  "We’d have managed," Sam replied. Dodger’s whining was beginning to get to him. "Willie’s good with electronics."

  "Take it easy, Twist. Dodger’s just nervous like the rest of us. I gotta admit, I don’t like moving on this guy when we don’t know if he’s dead or alive."

  "Alive. Dead," Dodger scoffed. " ’Tis a difference that makes no difference to this run."

  "It’ll make a difference if the fat man’s waiting for us," Willie observed, gripping her weapon tighter.

  "The villain is dead. Did not Sir Twist see Hyde-White go down during the raid on the ritual?"

  "But there was no body," Sam said.

  " ’Twas present if you accept the wendigo corpse as his. Such a hypothesis explains the more grisly aspects of the Circle’s operations. ’Twould account for the sluggishness of GWN’s business reactions as well."

  "Jeez, Dodger. You can’t still believe that," Willie said. "The druids are still doing their Bone Boy stuff. That dead wendigo ain’t the answer. I think Hyde-White is still alive, but wounded. That would fit with the business problems."

  "A clattering fit to the facts, Mistress. The wendigo is dead. Hyde-White is missing. Therefore, Hyde-White is dead."

  "That’s pretty shaky, Dodger."

  Sam interrupted Willie before she could get rolling. "Whether Hyde-White is alive or dead, GWN is still functioning and serving the Circle. That’s more than enough reason to hit it, Since the company’s a potential target for more than the opponents of the Circle, we’ll be able, with a little luck, to hide our incursion under the guise of an ordinary shadowrun against the corporation, Besides any damage we do to GWN, we should be able to find out the truth about Hyde-White."

  "And if he's alive. Twist?" Willie asked.

  "We cut him out of the Circle."

  Dodger waited a moment before asking, "Sir Twist, are you saying we shall kill him?"

  Sam kept his gaze riveted to the doors, but he could feel Dodger’s eyes on him. "There are still too many druids to take them on all together. We need to chip away at them."

  "You have not answered my question."

  The slowing of the elevator was an answer of its own.

  "Get ready." Sam ordered.

  As they had hoped, the guard at the station was sluggish. He had no time to do more than catch a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye before Sam cast his spell. Sam knew it was a success as a puzzled look crept over the security man’s face. He had succumbed to the illusion and was seeing an empty elevator car.

  The guard stood up and started around from behind his desk, muttering about technical malfunctions. Sam shot him with the Hypnos as soon as he was out from behind the desk. The guard’s puzzlement slipped into bafflement as he sank to the plushly carpeted floor. He was snoring when the runners stepped over him to get to the desk controls.

  Willie ran her hands along the controls. Her stubby fingers touched each lightly as if she could divine their function by mere contact. She nodded to herself, tongue sticking out to touch her upper lip, as her roaming hands came to rest on a row of buttons beneath a flat metallic panel. She tapped the first, and the panel clicked, its left side separating from the desk’s surface. Willie flipped the panel open, revealing a hidden set of switches and a datacord receptacle.

  "Rig option," she announced. "Ain’t it nice when the info ya buy is right?"

  Her partners didn’t bother to answer her question. but she didn’t seem to mind as she settled into the still-warm chair. In thirty seconds she had jacked in and switched the security system management over to rigger control.

  Sam had never understood how a rigger made the translation between body sense and the diverse components of a building’s systems. Rigger security control was even more alien than the way they piloted vehicles. "Nothing to it," she had said when he proposed the raid. "It’s just like a big body; ya get itches where something’s happening." The concept was creepy to Sam. It lacked the purity of the Matrix or even the more understandable body-control concept of vehicle rigging. But Sam didn’t have to understand or like it. It was Willie’s job—all Sam had to do was count on her to do it right.

  "What’s going on in the residence?" he asked. "Quiet," she replied. "I don’t think anybody’s home."

  "And no signs of recent occupation," Dodger added confidently.

  "Wrongo, elf. Plenty of signs: dirty dishes, rumpled bed, private line call logged out less than two hours ago But nobody’s there . . . wait a min. There’s something funny about that level."

  "Looped broadcast?" Sam suggested.

  "Neg. All eyes are live. But they’re not seeing everything."

  "Alternate sensors tracking something?"

  "Neg on that. There aren’t alternate systems anywhere but on this level. I think . . . yeah, it’s got to be. There’s part of this level that isn’t covered by the security system."

  "A black room?" Sam speculated.

  "Could be." Willie agreed. "Looks like you two will be doing an in-person visit after all."

  "Thrilling," Dodger said.

  "You can handle the locks, Willie?"

  "Null perspiration. You want to go up by lift or stairs?"

  "Stairs. More options for retreat."

  "Allow me," she said. Across the lobby a doorway opened. Through the arch, Sam could see stairs.

  He tapped Dodger on the shoulder and started for the stairs. Sam could hear the elf grumbling under his breath as he followed. The unprofessional bitching stopped as they reached the landing below Hyde-White’s residence. Guns ready, they advanced up the last flight. When Sam signaled their readiness to the stairway camera, Willie opened the door. Dodge
r went through low while Sam covered him.

  They got the drop on an empty room.

  When nothing reacted to their presence, Sam said softly, "You there, Willie?"

  "Affirm." Her voice came from the building intercom speaker. "I see you but they won’t. I dumped a copy of an all-camera scan, just in case we need to know the layout of the place for some future op, and I’m using it to run refeed on the room cameras from the five minutes before you got there. If anybody notices, it’ll look like a digital overprint. Just let me know if you need more time. But try to be quick, a second blip’ll start looking suspicious."

  "We’ll do that. Now where’s this blind spot?" Hyde-White’s residential level was made up of a bewildering arrangement of spaces demarcated by freestanding walls and half-walls and room dividers. There were also several spaces which were completely enclosed. Willie directed them as well as she could, but it still took them five minutes to isolate the area that was in the rigger’s blind spot. Dodger found the door hidden behind a tapestry.

  "Sir Twist," his muffled voice called. "You must needs see what I have found."

  Sam pulled aside the tapestry preparatory to entering the hidden chamber and immediately felt the tingle of magic. Warily, he leaned against the outer wall and probed with his astral senses. The room was surrounded by the rosy glow of an astral barrier. Something coiled about the top of the domed-shaped protection, but it seemed inactive. Sam sensed no threat from it. Concluding that the ward was only a protection from astral intrusion, Sam returned to his mundane senses and probed the open doorway with a tentative hand. Nothing happened, so he followed Dodger into the chamber.

  The stench was the first thing he noticed. The place smelled as though something had died there. Rotting meat was Sam’s first thought, but the temperature was so low that meat would have been unlikely to spoil. Sam was already chilled despite his winter clothes.

  The room was only a few meters across, but it was jammed with an eclectic collection of furniture and artifacts. Dodger was poking about among the jackdaw’s nest of furnishings and decorations, but Sam paid him no heed. His eyes were locked on a large oil portrait of a woman that dominated the wall opposite the doorway.