Choose Your Enemies Carefully

by Robert N. Charrette

  He crawled shakily from the wreckage of his Fledermaus, eyes flying across the area in search of any opposition. Finding no immediate threats, he checked the status of the third craft. The other ’Maus had made a perfect landing and was discharging its cargo. A dozen rigger drones rolled down the extended ramp.

  Each drone ran on four fat, deeply treaded tires and looked remarkably like a child’s radio-controlled toy. But no child had ever had such a toy. The drones were armored with ceramic composite plates and armed with fully automatic pistols mounted in extendable turrets. Each was equipped with a dog-brain that allowed it limited tactical responses when the rigger wasn’t directly controlling it. The expert system wasn’t a great shot or a canny fighter, but the drones would make good pillboxes capable of suppressive fire. Their small size made them difficult targets.

  Once off the ramp, each drone turned in a different direction. Most were headed for the entrances to the residence level; their job was to limit reinforcements for Hyde-White. Some stolidly climbed up and across obstructions, proceeding in direct lines to their stations. Others whizzed around debris, taking corners as if they were driven by tiny, demented road rally drivers. Sam thought he knew which ones Willie was running. Within thirty seconds, only three remained in sight, and they had taken up station in a triangle with Sam at the center. Their turrets swiveled to allow gun and camera sight to cover a circular field of fire.

  Smoke from the missile explosions filled the air, cutting visibility. Sam crouched, trying to keep his head below the smoke. He had to move cautiously; there were plenty of places to hide in the warren of living spaces that made up the residence level and no guarantee that Hyde-White was still in the sanctum.

  Sam drew the Lethe. If by some chance Janice had been present in the sanctum and was now roaming the floor, he didn’t want to shoot and kill her. Once he had a better idea where the opposition was, there would be time to shift to the heavy Ares Predator filling the holster on his left hip.

  The stalk through the apartment was slow, lengthened by Sam’s caution. The metroplex’s night sounds were distant. They faded from Sam’s awareness. Only what was near at hand mattered. He stepped carefully, trying to move silently. He listened for the slightest sound. The drones escorting him hummed almost inaudibly.

  "Bogey. North Quarter," Willie announced suddenly in his ear reciever causing him to jump. "Tally ho!"

  A short burst of weapons fire ruptured the silence, followed almost immediately by a howl of pain. More gunfire followed, and the sound of a heavy body crashing into things, but there were no more vocalizations. There was a crack like thunder and a flare of light washed the ceiling in the north quadrant.

  "Drek. Oh drek!" Willie wailed in his ear.

  Sam’s escort drones swiveled their turrets and surged forward. As the last one careened out of sight around a corner, more gunfire erupted.

  Sam arrived at a waist-high partition and ducked behind it. Cautiously raising his head, he got a glimpse of the battle. The drones were racing about, dodging beneath and behind blood-spattered furniture while taking pot shots at Hyde-White, who was dodging with surprising agility. He too was using the residence’s furnishings as cover while he sought a clear shot at the whizzing drones. The fat druid looked uninjured, and his right hand glowed with some kind of spell held in readiness to cast.

  Before Sam could decide on a course of action, Hyde-White spun and faced a drone that had backed itself into a corner. Disdaining to use his prepared spell, the fat druid reached out with a stubby-fingered hand and grabbed. With a casual flip he smashed it into the opposite wall. The drone split open on impact, scattering innards like shrapnel. With a sizzling pop, it tumbled from the drone-shaped dent in the wall and landed sparking on a couch. The fabric began to smoulder.

  Sam was startled by the druid’s display of strength. Belying their toylike appearance, the drones weighed almost twenty kilograms apiece. They were not easy to toss around, and the druid had thrown one with sufficient strength to crack it open.

  Sam’s stomach flipflopped. The last time he had seen a man display such strength, the "man" had not been a man at all, but a dragon concealed within a shape-shifting spell. Allowing Willie's drones to carry the fight, he slipped into astral perception.

  In his altered perspective, the attacking drones begame blurs of murderous intent, their clean-lined mechanical appearance replaced by a fuzzy presence of intent and purpose. As machines the drones were not truly present on the astral planes. But Hyde-White, a living being, remained clear in Sam’s eyes. The fat druid glowed with raw power. It was a dazzling aura, but in its tone and strength unlike anything Sam had seen before in a human.

  One of the drones must have caught the druid cleanly with a burst for he suddenly staggered backwards. A smaller man might have been dropped by the impact of the bullets, but the massive Hyde-White only reeled. Sam expected to see the man’s torso splattered all over his fancy wall hangings, and the live glow of his astral spirit dimmed and dying.

  What he did see frightened him badly.

  Hyde-White’s astral glow remained steady and strong. The image Sam saw looked like a double exposure he had once seen in an old photograph collection. There were two Hyde-Whites occupying the same space, the sharply defined astral image and the increasingly tattered flesh form. Sam saw muscles tear, bones shatter, and blood burst forth from the flesh form to stain the room incarnadine. But the druid did not fall. Torn skin crawled and flayed muscles writhed as though imbued with lives of their own. Splintered bones swayed together to disappear under closing wounds. New flesh spread across gaps where chunks of muscle had been torn away. Once the process began. Hyde-White regenerated the wounds caused by the drone’s gunfire as soon as they were made.

  Despite the fat druid’s appearance, Sam could no longer believe the fat druid was human. Whatever Hyde-White was, he was invulnerable to physical damage. Sam's throat tightened with fear.

  41

  The explosion on the side of the tower was the cue for which Hart had waited. She settled the butt of the Conner firmly against her shoulder and sighted in. Fifteen pounds of pressure on the trigger ignited the propellant. The grapple gun kicked into her shoulder as it sent its alloy missile two hundred meters across the gap between the towers.

  The missile struck cleanly and buried its head in the concrete wall. Moving quickly, she attached the carry line to the tension wire and to the takeup reel. She hit the go button and rechecked her gear as the winch reeled in the thin line and dragged the heavier weight-carrying wire through the pulley on the attached grapnel and back to itself. When the load-bearing wire returned, she attached it to the anchored winch. She slipped the wheels of the pulley slide between the now-parallel strands of wire, snapped the cover down tight, and attached the safety wire. Reversing the winch, she tightened the line and tested the grapnel’s grip. It stayed firm at four times her weight, so she slacked the tension back.

  The gunfire from within the residential level, though nearer, was barely louder than the increasingly sporadic noise from the plaza. There was no time left to waste. She sat on the coping and got a good grip on the handle bar of the pulley slide. She pushed off with her feet and started herself on the slide down to the Hawthornwaite Tower.

  Glover felt the tremor in the building. He didn’t know what it meant, but he felt sure that it wasn’t a result of the ruckus at plaza level. The source of the vibration was somewhere above the level he was on.

  "What was that?" Neville asked fearfully.

  Glover didn’t bother to look at the old fool.

  "We must tell Hyde-White."

  He may be dead already, Glover thought. He found himself wondering if that would be a bad thing, and after a surprisingly short moment of indecision, decided that it would. The fat old man was still necessary if they were to achieve their goal of restoring the land.

  Barnett’s office did not offer the full range of surveillance monitors available to the security desk in the main ope
rations center, but the telecom controls allowed an operator to route input through the telecom itself or one of the two wall screens. Glover took advantage of the access afforded to Barnett’s station and demanded data on the status of the GWN floors. The computer showed no contact with the security systems on those floors. The condition was flagged with an immediate response request that had gone unanswered, since the building security forces were engaged in the battle on the lower levels.

  Clearly, the Circle was under attack. The apparently coincidental actions were obviously planned, designed to separate the members of the Circle. It had been cleverly staged. Glover suspected the enemy’s goal was to isolate the members of the Circle and eliminate them individually. It was a clever strategy, but one he would not allow to succeed.

  So far, the only direct thrust against a member of the Circle was the assault on Hyde-White’s residence. That would be the enemy’s major thrust, barring more attacks to come. Whatever the case, the Circle needed to combine their strength as much as possible.

  As he reached his decision, the office door slid open to admit a disheveled Gordon. His face was fixed in an angry frown as he swept the room with his gaze. The narrowed eyes lighted on Glover and he strutted up to the archdruid.

  "What the devil is going on, Glover? I was enjoying a nice quiet evening preparing myself for the next ritual and then all bloody hell starts breaking loose. First, Barnett stops by my flat and informs me that there is some kind of row going on downstairs. Then, there’s a bloody great explosion that shakes the whole building. Is it the shadowrunners again? You must have gotten some of them, since one of their bloody aircraft went tumbling past my window." Gordon stopped suddenly in the midst of his tirade. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

  Glover didn’t need to ask to know that Gordon wanted to know what, if anything, had happened to Hyde-White. Bel’s blistering face! Did no one accord Glover his pride of place as archdruid? Glover stifled the thought. The land came before any questions of dominance, and the needs of the land would not be met if the enemy succeeded. The foremost need was to end the threat to the Circle.

  "He is in his residence. Your Highness. Neville and I were just on our way there."

  Gordon didn’t see the surprised look on Neville’s face, and his own words drowned out those of the old druid.

  "Then I’m going with you. I must know if he has been hurt. Those shadowrunners almost killed him before. If he’s alone, he’ll need our help."

  Glover shook his head as he stepped past Gordon and grabbed Neville by the shoulder. He hustled the former archdruid toward the door, saying over his shoulder, "There’s no need for you to go. Your Highness. Sir Winston and I will deal with any problem that might have arisen."

  He might as well have saved his breath. Gordon fell in behind them, and his bodyguards behind him. The parade lasted all the way to the lobby, where Glover stopped in front of the GWN shaft. Gordon’s constant babbling about Hyde-White’s safety almost made Glover fumble the security code that called a car.

  Glover shoved Neville into the car as soon as the doors hissed open. He turned to insist that Gordon remain behind, but before he could speak the man brushed past him and entered the car. Realizing that argument was useless and time was passing, Glover entered the car himself. The two bodyguards crowded in behind him. Glover tapped in the code for Hyde-White 5 floor. The doors slid shut and the car began to rise.

  After only a few seconds, the car lurched to a stop. "Power’s still on," observed one of the guards. "Must be a security check."

  "Are you sure you entered the right code, archdruid?"

  Neville’s tone was unusually catty for the increasingly timid former archdruid.

  "It was correct," Glover replied. He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

  "Well, call security and get this elevator moving again," Gordon ordered. "Hurry! He needs us."

  Glover snapped open the panel covering the emergency comm unit with more than the necessary force. The cover rebounded from the wall to rap him sharply. He cursed as the edge jarred his hand with pain.

  " ’Tis evocative, but hardly likely," a voice commented from the speaker. The comm screen glowed to life with the image of a white-haired, male elf. "Good evening, archdruid, Your Corrupt Highness. Ah, Sir Winston, I’m very glad you’re here as well."

  "Who are you?" Gordon asked belligerently.

  Sudden suspicion bored in on Glover. "What do you want?"

  "Much cooler, archdruid. As to what I want, shall we just say that I hope you’re as cool in hell. Going down."

  The elevator began to plummet.

  The initial lurch of car threw its occupants off balance. As Glover recovered he could see fear etched in the faces of his companions. Even Gordon’s bodyguards were afraid—their reinforced bones would not save them from a forty-story plummet.

  "No need to bother with the emergency brake," the elf said jauntily. "It’s disconnected."

  One of the bodyguards slammed the button with his fist anyway. As predicted, there was no response. The guard slammed it again and again, denting the surrounding panel with the force of his blows.

  "Do something, Glover! Save us!"

  Gordon's voice was shrill with panic. Glover blocked it out and concentrated. Raising his personal protection spell only took the archdruid a moment—a moment in which the elevator car gathered speed in its downward rush. Glover knew that maintaining the protective spell would make other magic difficult, but he was sure he would need the safeguard.

  Glover raised his arms above his head and spread them. He focused his energy and blew the roof from the elevator car. Fluorescent panels, structural members, and supporting cable volatilized. The sound of the car’s downward passage no longer muffled, a rushing sound filled the car.

  Gordon grabbed Glover’s shoulder, dragging down one arm. "What in heaven’s name are you doing?"

  "I’m leaving. The land needs me."

  "What about me? The land needs me, too!"

  "There are others of royal blood."

  Glover struck the grasping hand away and pressed his palms together at chest level, fingers pointing out. He rotated his wrists until his fingers pointed up, and the elevator car dropped away. He remained floating in the shaft.

  The decker’s frustrated cursing joined the screams of Gordon, the howls of the bodyguards, and the desparing wail of Neville. The din grew fainter as, driven by his will, Glover shot up the now-vacant shaft.

  * * *

  Sam watched as an arcane bolt caught the last of the three drones that had escorted him. Its armor bubbled and darkened. With a burst that sent shards of the device in all directions, the drone exploded, its ammunition cooked off in the magical heat.

  A fragment whizzed past his head, scoring his cheek before its tumbling flight buried it several centimeters deep into the wall behind him. He cried out from the sudden pain.

  Hyde-White turned to face him. Red-rimmed eyes bored into his own.

  "So it is you. You should have heeded the warning, Samuel Verner. You’ve only brought death upon yourself by coming here."

  "Don’t be so sure, monster," Sam bluffed.

  The druid laughed, a deep booming sound. "Monster? Is that anyway to describe a person who only seeks the well-being of his fellows?"

  Hyde-White’s reaction puzzled Sam. The savagery of the druid’s fight with the drones had been unexpectedly replaced by a calm, and somehow sinister, playfulness. Sam didn’t know Hyde-White’s game, but every minute the druid talked gave Sam a chance to think of something to do. Unfortunately, every minute also increased the chances that the druid would get reinforcements.

  "Your deeds speak loudly enough of your nature. For all that you look like a man, you’re not human." Hyde-White sighed. He looked around for a moment, then sauntered to a chair that remained mostly intact and threw himself down.

  "You had me fooled for a moment. I suppose I should have known better. I have been an initiate of my magical tradition f
or more years than you have walked this wounded earth. It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought that you might have penetrated the mask. I expect I was misled by your potential." Sam was confused by Hyde-White’s ramblings. "You look so perplexed. It’s quite a wonder." The fat man chuckled. "Since your death is inevitable now, the mask doesn’t matter anymore. Shall I let you see the truth? You won’t like it, and I suppose you might even find it a little frightening, which is all to the good. Fear adds a wonderfully subtle flavor."

  Hyde-White stood up again and stretched languidly.

  The stretch seemed to go on beyond the bounds of his flesh. He grew taller and slimmer. His arms lengthened, as did his legs, and the clothes covering his body changed to become a white pelt. Wrinkled, liver-spotted hands widened and darkened as fingers elongated into taloned digits. His facial features melted and re-formed into a bestial visage.

  The thing that had hidden in the shape of Hyde-White looked down at Sam and smiled a carnivore’s smile. Like a stage magician signalling a completed trick, he gave a twisting flick of his hand and said, "You see, I haven’t been human for decades."

  Sam stumbled back from the divider behind which he had crouched, and bumped into a wall. He straightened up, letting the wall take some of his weight. Otherwise, he feared his knees would buckle.

  The stench of decay and corruption emanating from the furred apparition was almost overpowering. Sam had expected the smell after his invasion of the sanctum, but he hadn’t expected to see what he was seeing. Like the odor, the being’s silhouette was familiar from his troubled dreams and frustrated attempts to enhance his magical power. He had seen a similar creature when they had raided the Circle’s murder ritual. Both Willie and Dodger were right and wrong. Hyde-White was a wendigo, but he was very much alive.

  "You were the Man of Light."

  It was the wendigo’s turn to look confused. "The what?"