Never Deal with a Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  The lead cockatrice closed with the trailing runner. It leaped for its prey, going high to swing its long, scaled tail at the man. One touch would paralyze him, leaving him helpless as its claws ripped into him. The runner dodged left, away from the tail as it swung forward and missed him.

  Hart pegged the runner as a razorguy, one of those cybernetically enhanced punks who liked to call themselves street samurai and always seemed to be working as muscle for a shadowrunning team. It usually took a jacked-up nervous system to react so quickly and evade attacks so easily.

  Steel glinted in the moonlight as a blade extended from the man’s forearm, confirming Hart’s guess. The samurai twisted as he moved, slicing his weapon into the animal’s flesh. It squalled and crashed to the ground.

  The second beast engaged another runner, who desperately blocked its attacks with a boxy object that Hart recognized as a cyberdeck. Hell of a way to treat expensive technology.

  Before the cockatrice could pierce the desperate runner’s guard, the samurai cancelled its options. He ripped several bursts of full automatic fire into the creature before raking his aim back to his first opponent and gutting it as it started to rise.

  Hart noted that the samurai had not hit his partner as the muzzle of his weapon swung past. Smartgun link, she surmised.

  “That one’s fast, Tessien,” Hart observed as she pointed out the street samurai. “Take him first.

  “Too much metal. He won’t taste good.”

  “You won’t get the others if the razorguy slices you. I’ll cover the mage while you’re doing that. With the artillery and armor down, the infantry will be easy meat.”

  “True.” Anticipation. “You have a discerning eye for tactics, little one.”

  She slid a hand under the ruff of feathers and scratched at the joint of Tessien’s head and neck. “You really know how to flatter a girl, my friend. Now go get ‘em.”

  Tessien broadcast its eagerness as it rose into the air with a rustle, then a roar, to challenge the runners. They skidded to a stop, motionless for a second before recovering and launching their own attack as though having planned for such a contingency. They probably had, she realized. It was common knowledge that United Oil’s head of security in Seattle was the Western Dragon Haesslich.

  Hart felt the power gather around the mage. The runners were relying on his spells for their first strike against the dracoform. Just as she had expected.

  Lavender flames streamed from the mage’s outstretched hands, lighting the sky as they washed across the feathered serpent. Hart caught a glimpse of UniOil security diving for cover behind the runners.

  Tessien’s coils arched straight for a second and Hart saw the mage begin to smile. The grin faded as his spell fractured and his flames flickered and died, leaving the serpent unharmed. The Dragon soared higher. Emboldened by how little she had needed to bolster Tessien’s magic defense, Hart stepped out to confront the mage.

  “Having trouble?”

  His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though he understood what had happened. He reached toward one of his amulets.

  She pumped three slugs from her Atchison riot gun into his belly. He flew backward, spraying blood, entrails, and shreds of ineffective flak vest.

  The sour stench that filled the air was swirled away by super-heated air as Tessien unleashed its flaming breath on the street samurai. Flesh cooked as the water in the man’s tissue boiled. He collapsed to the concrete, a pile of charred bones, fused steel, and melted plastic.

  Tessien circled the suddenly timid survivors as Hart called for their surrender.

  “Drop your weapons and you won’t be hurt.”

  A metallic clatter was her answer.

  Tessien swooped behind her to settle. Its head arched up on a serpentine neck into a protective overwatch position as the United Oil security guards emerged from hiding and rushed to surround them. Nervous guards watched Tessien and Hart closer than the shadowrunners. All around the circle, fingers rested on triggers.

  “Who are you,” demanded their leader.

  Hart read his name tag. Major Fuhito. So ka, Haesslich’s second-in-command. “We’re your back-up, Major.”

  “I wasn’t informed of any special operatives on this case. I think you are opportunistic trespassers. I also think you’re in a lot of trouble.”

  Wings thundered in the night, Dragon wings. Hart glanced up to see a familiar shape. She relaxed. There would be no problems with over-eager trigger fingers now.

  “What is the problem?” the Western Dragon bellowed as he landed.

  Fuhito bowed to the Dragon. “Haesslich-sama, we caught these two shadowrunners in conflict with the team that invaded the facility. They claim to be some kind of support for my team, but there were no specifications for back-up in the orders you left. They ‘re probably just desperate runners who’ve turned on their own kind to save their own necks. The scum.”

  “Fuhito, you make me wonder why I keep you on the payroll. Send your men back and take the real trespassers with you.”

  “Then the serpent and the woman are working for you,” Fuhito said stiffly.

  “Of course. I knew about the runners who invaded us tonight. I also knew that they were quite accomplished for their breed, and that they might slip through your fingers. They had to be stopped, and I couldn’t be sure I’d be available to do the job myself.”

  “You could have told me.”

  Contempt emanated from the Dragon.

  “I obey your orders, Haesslich-sama.” Fuhito bowed, crisply and quickly. He then turned and stopped at the decker who was smirking at him. He slapped the woman, knocking her to the pavement. “You are a trespasser and a criminal. I think that you will find that you have little cause for amusement.”

  “Yours is just too big for me,” the woman mumbled through a bloody lip. “You’re gonna be in real drek with your corp bosses, Mr. Tin Plate. I’ll file a brutality suit.”

  “You forfeited your rights when you entered United Oil territory,” Fuhito sneered. He slammed his boot into her head, and she sagged unconscious. Her partner’s sudden lunge was arrested by a pair of bulky guards. “Take them both to the interrogation facilities.”

  As the guards left, Haesslich sniffed at the corpses. “Admirable efficiency, Hart.”

  “You’ll get the bill. This kind of stuff wasn’t in the contract.”

  “Add a surcharge,” Haesslich suggested, amusement tinging his words. “United Oil will pay.”

  “Done,” Hart agreed. She had intended to do that anyway; her contract was very specific about compensation for “additional services.”

  The Dragon settled onto his haunches. “Now, what about the operation you were hired for? Everything is arranged?””

  “Looks that way. The pigeon is still waffling, but I’m sure he’ll fall our way.”

  “He’d better. I do not want this schedule disrupted.” Determination barely masked the promise of violence in the beast’s statement.

  Tessien hissed, but Hart reached out swiftly to touch it. This was no time for a fight.

  “All of our work is satisfaction guaranteed,” she assured Haesslich.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sam fretted, toying with his food. The lunchtime crowd at Garrelsen’s Mall Cafe was its usual boisterous self. Even though his table was against the wall and away from the passersby outside the roping, their noise added to the clamor. Periodically, his waitress stopped by to ask after the quality of the meal, trying to hurry him along to clear the way for another paying customer. He paid no attention to all the bustle.

  Roe was late.

  Had she abandoned him? Been caught by Renraku security? Were the Red Samurai moving into position to arrest him for conspiracy to break his employment contract? Or was it all a test by Roe to see how nervous he was?

  It really didn’t matter. He was committed to this course now. If Roe didn’t show, he would have to figure his own way out of the arcology. That would be hard, but staying was
harder. It had become all too clear that he would never get his answers about Janice while he was under Renraku’s thumb, and he could no longer sit idle.

  If he was caught...Well, that would solve his problem as well.

  He had left few loose ends, putting in extra hours that almost cleared away his work load. No one would be able to accuse Samuel Verner of shirking his responsibilities, no matter how trivial. The dogs were a problem because they could hardly be part of the extraction. They wouldn’t survive in the arcology without an owner, but Ms. Haramoto in Corridor B seemed fond of them and had agreed readily to care for them if Sam had to take a business trip. Since this “business trip” would likely never end, he hoped she would come to love them as much as he had. He had never been much for possessions, so not much problem there.

  That left Hanae. Sweet, comfortable Hanae. Despite the lack he felt in their relationship, he couldn’t abandon her. She had helped set him on this course, and he had felt better these last few days than he had for a long time. He felt good to be doing something instead of waiting for someone else to do it for him. She was part of that change and he owed her for it. It might not be the best basis for a relationship, but better ones had started from worse reasons. He would take care of her.

  Sure he would. Here he was thinking about taking Hanae out of the corporate cocoon that had protected her all her life, and he wasn’t sure he could take care of himself. The events in which he’d gotten involved the day he arrived in Seattle showed him how different was the world away from the corporation. Life could get violent, even deadly. Hanae was probably less ready for that world than he was, but he was sure she would refuse to be parted from him.

  The waitress appeared again, but before she could begin her nudging, Roe appeared behind her and slid into the seat opposite Sam. Roe snapped a quick order for a house salad and carrot juice and shooed the flustered girl away.

  “Sorry I’m late. Had a little transportation problem. The Red Rovers and the Ancients were having a little get-together on Western Avenue. Typical gang nonsense. How have things been going with you? Made a decision?” The flush of her obvious hurry faded quickly and her normal pallor returned along with the usual smooth pace of her speech.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “Glad to hear it, Sam. More stuffy corporate types should do that.”

  Did she mean that he was a stuffy corporate type? He hoped not. He didn’t think of himself that way, and it disturbed him slightly that she might. He reminded himself that it was Roe’s skills and connections that he wanted, not her good opinion. Getting out of Renraku was the most important thing right now.

  “I would like to go ahead with the extraction.”

  “Shush on the E word,” Roe warned with a sly, conspiratorial smile. “Even a public place like this has long ears.”

  Her levity annoyed him, but Sam knew she was right. He should have used some roundabout phrasing that could mean something entirely innocent. The circumlocutions of her business were even more obtuse than corporate slang. But he wanted to stay straightforward and on-track until everything was settled. He was not yet done with business. “Hanae has to go, too.”

  Roe’s warm smile vanished instantly. “That makes it a little tougher.”

  He swallowed. This was it, time for his gamble. “She goes, or I don’t.”

  Roe’s eyes searched his. He felt the intensity of her bronze eyes and fought to keep his face immobile, hoping to mask his worry that she would call off the deal. She must have been satisfied by his resolution.

  “You’re lucky I’m a soft touch, chummer. Now listen up. Here’s the plan.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sam turned away from the wall screen and looked around the room again. This apartment had been his home for just over a year, but only a few knick-knacks, some bare spots on the carpeting from the dogs, and a handmade bowl from Hanae said anything about the man who had lived here. The rest was company issue, down to the pictures on the walls.

  He would leave behind his clothes, too, for a suitcase would be too suspicious. He would have to make do with what was on his back and whatever Roe promised to provide once they had escaped. His scrapbooks lay on the table by the sofa, their pages strewn over the surface. He had spent most of the night culling them, choosing the few photos most important to him. He had narrowed it down to a couple dozen choice items, a miniature history of his family. He and Janice in Kyoto, her graduation from Tokyo University and his from Columbia, several snapshots from the last family outing before he and Janice were orphaned, his father in his old U.S. Navy uniform, his mother hosting one of her regular card parties, scattered selections from his childhood, the wedding pictures of his parents and grandparents, and finally an old tintype of Thaddeus Samuel Helmut Verner, the first of the family to come to the Americas. They would be his lifeline to the past, memories too precious to give up.

  He looked at the bookshelf. There were few volumes among the objects and small electronics. He had never been a real book-lover like his sister or his father. The feel of a hard copy didn’t seem to be important. To him, it was always the content that mattered, not the form. The only book he wanted was his Bible, but like a suitcase, it would cause suspicion.

  He would not be without its comfort, though. A chip copy was safely snugged into the case in his pocket. Keeping the computerized Bible company were a few other reading chips. Most were references, but he had also taken a copy of his father’s diary and a record of his correspondence. On a whim, he had included the instruction manual for his unfinished flight simulation course. He also had the four gray chips.

  Those chips held the persona programs from his cyberterminal. To take them was, technically, a theft, but the programs had been tailored for him and they would be destroyed before someone else took over his terminal. It was actually cheaper to burn a new set for the new man or woman. The chips contained no data, and he was sure his new employer would supply fresh persona chips suited to their own systems. Taking these was symbolic. His Matrix presence would leave along with his physical body.

  Maybe that was why he had decided to take the flight manual. Perhaps it was a symbolic statement of his flight from psychological bondage. Or maybe it had to do with the flight he took with those shadowrunners a year ago. He was about to embark on another dangerous experience whose outcome he could not entirely predict.

  He checked his watch.

  “Almost time,” he called to Hanae, who was still puttering in the bathroom.

  “Just a minute.”

  He hoped it wasn’t one of her fifteen-minute “minutes.” He paced, unconsciously following the track Kiniru used when waiting for Sam to take her for a walk.

  Hanae emerged a few minutes later, dressed far more sensibly than Sam had feared. Though she wore a loose, flowing dress, the material was sturdy and the cut unrestrictive. She had a a bulging satchel slung over one shoulder.

  “Isn’t that bag a little large for a trip to a club?”

  “It is big,” she said hesitantly, “but it should be all right. It’s part of the latest look. Lots of leather, beads, and fringe.”

  “I hope it’s not too heavy. We’ll have to cross the club’s landing pad to the aircraft in a hurry.”

  “If they cancel out the signal on the screamer, we should be able to stroll out to the plane. After all, people leave that way all the time.”

  “Not in DocWagon aerial ambulances.”

  She shrugged. “If it’s too heavy, you’ll help me. We’ll be fine.”

  He prayed that they would. He didn’t want anything to slow them down now that the time had come.Despite Sam’s misgivings, they reached the Club Quarter on Level 6 without incident. No one seemed interested in a couple out for a night on the arcology. The halls of the Quarter were already crowded, though it was still early. Music of all kinds bled from the sound-insulated clubs to blend into a puddle of unintelligible sound. The revelers didn’t seem to care. Many danced in the halls,
moving to music in their heads. Some danced to their imaginations; others wore chipsticks in skull-mounted jacks or carried simsense players that fed the music to their brains.

  It wasn’t too difficult to find Rumplestiltskin’s. Roe wasn’t there yet, but hundreds of other hopefuls were already queued up in the vain hope of entry into the fashionable club.

  “I had no idea,” Hanae said when she saw the line.

  “I wonder if Roe did.”

  “If she did, it must be part of the plan.” The quaver in Hanae’s voice didn’t match confident words.

  “I guess we get in line.”

  Ten minutes later, Hanae took Sam’s arm and pulled herself close. “Maybe she’s already inside. Maybe she left without us.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sam assured her, hiding his own growing doubt. “She’ll keep her part of the deal.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were still in line. The club doorway had come into view and they caught their first sight of the doorman. Like many clubs, Rumplestiltskin’s employed a Troll to handle the lines of hopefuls. Too well-dressed to be called a bouncer, his size and demeanor left no doubt that he could fulfill that function. Almost three meters of muscle and thick hide was more than enough to intimidate all but the rowdiest partyboy. They were still ten meters from the front of the line when Roe suddenly appeared.

  “This will never do,” she said. Taking each one by the arm, she led them directly up to the doorman. She twirled a shiny credstick in her right hand. The four dark bands on the end of the cylinder marked it as certified for at least 100 nuyen. She tossed it to the man. “My friends here are late for their table.”

  She turned back to them. “Giacomo will take care of you, so there’s no worry. Everything’s wiz, but I’ve got to make a call to check up on the other member of our party. See you in about half an hour. Have fun.”

  Sam watched her walk back along the line to converse with a quartet of scruffy men and women. Even at this distance, he could tell that the biggest was an Ork. Her tusks were capped with silver and glinted coldly in the hallway lights. She carried a large case with a casual ease born of enormous strength.