by Mel Odom
“Bad blood between ’em?” Hawke sipped his beer and watched the action. His eye roved over the crowd, looking for anyone taking undue interest in the race. Gunther’s supporters probably didn’t end with his pit team.
“Couple years’ worth.” Doggle spat on the sawdust-covered floor. “Gunther got one of Flicker’s friends killed down Baja way.”
“She doesn’t have many friends.”
“Could have more. She just chooses not to.”
“Friends end up costing too much.”
Doggle snorted. “She get that drek from you?”
“Nope. We’re simpatico when it comes to that.”
Doggle turned his dark eyes on Hawke. “Yet when you need a driver, here you are.”
“Sometimes.” Hawke returned the ork’s stare full measure. “Sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m not.”
“She ever turn you down?”
Hawke pondered that for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
On the screen, Flicker’s Thundercloud pulled to the left and barreled up an incline that looked too steep for the vehicle. Just as gravity and the loose soil started to play out under the ATV’s churning tires and pull it back down, a pressurized blast kicked out the back of the Thundercloud. The additional boost propelled it up and over the grade.
A ragged cheer tore through the throats of the onlookers as Flicker’s Thundercloud landed on top of the plateau on all four wheels. The tires chewed through the soft sand and found traction again, hurling the vehicle north toward Texas.
A helo opened up with miniguns and strafed the red dirt landscape. The wind carried whirling red dust clouds through the air and momentarily blurred the image transmitted from Low Earth Orbit satellites.
A nanosecond later, something wickedly fast jetted from Flicker’s vehicle and vectored in on the helo. When the missile struck the aircraft, yellow-green foam covered the Plexiglas nose and slithered over the rest of the aircraft. Its engine failed, and it started down in an almost gentle decline.
“She coulda killed them.” Doggle shook his shaggy head. “Chose not to, so Aztlan wouldn’t take it personal.”
Gunther fired a trio of missiles at another pursuit helo.
A chorus of curses raged from the crowd as they watched the missiles streak toward the helo. “Gunther’s going for a kill! Aztlan’s gonna be all over us!”
“I take it Gunther doesn’t play by the same rules.” Impassive, Hawke watched the doomed aircraft.
“No.” Doggle hunched forward.
An instant before the missiles made contact with the helo, they blew up. The concussion fractured the aircraft’s Plexiglas nose and caused the pilot to draw back as thunder and flames filled the night sky, but the helo remained whole.
A cheer rose from the throats of the cantina crowd.
“Flicker’s got wiz jamming gear aboard that Thundercloud.” Doggle grinned. “I helped her install it. These runs, they’re just a game to her. Nobody’s supposed to get hurt.”
“Unless she gets caught.”
“They haven’t caught her yet.” Doggle emptied his glass and signaled for another.
Hawke pushed the plate of tortillas over to the ork. Doggle hesitated, then helped himself to the food. His black eyes bored into Hawke’s. “The most danger she’s ever in is when she’s with you.”
Hawke thought that was an unfair assessment, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t the only shadowrunner that hired Flicker.
“When you get her into this, whatever it is, just make sure you can get her back out.”
Hawke nodded. “Always the plan.”
Chapter SEVEN
Flicker strode into the cantina and drew instant acclamation from the crowd. She was dressed in black road leathers that fit her slender curves like a second skin. Her crash helmet dangled by its strap from her fingers. Lights pulsed inside it, keeping her in constant contact with her vehicle.
Her skin was almost as black as her leathers. Short-cropped black hair hung to the nape of her slender neck, parted a little by her elven ears. Her aquamarine eyes caught Hawke’s gaze for a moment, then roved on. Her smile was bright and genuine, filled with adrenaline still buzzing through her. He remained in his chair, letting her choose the time and place.
Amid the crowd’s adulation, Flicker strode to the bar and accepted a celebratory glass of foaming champagne. The trideo viewer repeated the race from start to finish on a loop.
Hawke waited and watched. Doggle sat beside him like a proud father.
A few minutes later, a big man with a sullen expression shoved the door open and entered. Cyberware gleamed along the left side of his face, covering the eye and the chin. His entire left arm was a cyberlimb he hadn’t bothered to hide with cosmetic work.
He looked around for just a moment, then focused on Flicker. As he strode toward her, his big boots thumping against the wooden floor, Flicker’s fan club reluctantly parted.
Hawke glanced at Doggle. “Gunther?”
The ork nodded.
Hawke started to get up, but Doggle laid a hand on his arm.
“Wait. This’s been building for a while. Let her handle it.”
Irritably, Hawke sat back down. Then he pushed his feelings aside and went neutral, digging into that pile of non-feeling he’d developed since taking up a life in the shadows. Feelings got chummers dead quick.
Flicker stood at the bar and sipped her champagne as she watched Gunther advance on her.
“Slitch! You slotted me up!” Gunther’s voice rolled over the crowd.
“No, I didn’t.” Flicker’s aquamarine eyes remained cool and distant. “I saved us from all the trouble you almost rained down. Killing Aztlan sec on these runs isn’t allowed. You do that, you’ll bring the wrath of the corps. They’ll turn these fun runs into something lethal. Then there won’t be any profit for anyone.”
“I tried to save you from that helo. He had you in his sights.”
“Not me. You were afraid he was locking on you.” Flicker sipped her drink again, her eyes never leaving Gunther’s face.
“Call me a coward again and I’ll kill you.” Gunther leaned in, emphasizing the fact that he was a head taller than her. His right hand slid along the bar toward her.
Hawke slid his hand to the butt of the Ares Predator IV at his back. Doggle touched his elbow and kept him from drawing. Glancing at the ork, Hawke spotted the Colt Manhunter already in Doggle’s hand.
In a move so fast that Hawke almost couldn’t track it, Flicker produced a thin stiletto and pinned Gunther’s hand to the bar. The big man howled in pain and tried to yank his hand back, but that only made the agony worse. Blood spurted and covered him from wrist to fingertips.
Another blade gleamed in Flicker’s hand as if it had suddenly materialized there. She laid the point against Gunther’s left nostril hard enough to slice flesh.
“I move even a few centimeters and you’re dead.” Flicker’s voice was cold, controlled.
Gunther froze.
Flicker leaned in, showing she wasn’t afraid, and trusting her skills to pull her back if he did move. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” Her voice was just above a whisper. “If I do, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Obstinately, Gunter didn’t reply. Flicker pressed the blade a little harder, and blood ran down his upper lip to trickle over his mouth.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
Flicker stepped back, then took the knife away from his face and pulled the other out of the bar and his hand. She stood there, petite and unafraid, watching him.
Gunther walked to the tavern door, but he couldn’t leave without comment. “Your time’s comin’, slitch. One a these days, you’re gonna get what’s comin’ to you.”
Four of the bar’s regulars got up and escorted the big man through the door. Gunther pushed and shoved through them, but didn’t try to resist.
After finishing her drink and accepting a lot of congratulations, Flicker came over to Hawke’s
table and sat down. She filled a tortilla with beans and salsa and ate.
“Work?” Her left eyebrow arched.
“Yeah. The pay’s good.”
Flicker smiled sourly. “Means the danger is lousy.”
Hawke grinned. “Yeah. But it’s a one-shot deal. In and out of Aztlan.”
“What’s the run?”
“Recruitment.”
“Who’s the recruit?”
“Archeology student.”
Flicker chewed and thought for a moment. “What’s so wiz about this archeology student?”
“I wasn’t told.”
“Does she want out?”
Hawke shrugged.
Flicker’s face hardened. “I don’t work kidnappings.”
“I haven’t started.”
“Good to know. Then why are we going down there?”
Hawke took in a breath and let it out. “Curious, I guess. And if Mr. Johnson’s willing to pay for the recruit, I thought maybe there’d be some biz there we could do on the side.”
“The recruit’s a girl, I take it.”
Concealing a grimace, Hawke nodded.
“For a tough guy, you got a big soft spot. You want to know how much trouble this archeology student is in, and you’ve got enough cred to go take a look.”
“I’m betting we can find a way to make it pay.”
Flicker wiped her hands. “Anyone going to try to hang onto her?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe the other university people at the dig.”
Blowing out a disgusted breath, Flicker leaned back in her chair and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sounds like a milk run. I hate when it sounds this easy.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“Want to place a small wager?”
Hawke grinned. “No.”
“Coward.” Flicker leaned forward again. “Tell me about your archeology student.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Perspiration poured from Rachel Gordon, even while standing in the shadows of the tall trees surrounding the dig site.
The team had set up deep in the jungle, well away from any regular routes. A monitor lizard sat on a bare expanse atop a nearby hill, so still it looked like a yard ornament. Every now and again it would flick its tongue out or turn its head slightly. A floral scent rode the slight breeze, but it barely cut through the fecund smell of rotting vegetation.
The three other archeology students chosen for the fieldwork sat on small boulders lining an old erosion scar leading down from the hilltop. The shade was deeper there and there was more of a breeze. Clad in khakis, they talked among themselves, mostly complaining about the heat and the insects. They didn’t socialize with Rachel, but she was fine with that. She’d always been a private person.
Despite the lack of amenities and the primitive campsite farther down the hill, Rachel loved being in the jungle much more than being in a lab or a classroom. Searching for artifacts was much better than looking at exhibits of them.
Finding an artifact would be best of all.
She lifted her canteen and drank the sterilized water, grimacing at the chemical taste that made it almost unpalatable. But she forced herself to drink to remain hydrated against the constant heat and humidity of the jungle.
She wore lightweight khaki shorts, shirt, and a vest that were durable against the brush and harsh terrain while remaining cool in the heat. She took down her strawberry blond hair, then tied it back into a bun that she crammed under her NeoNET ball cap.
She walked back to the dig site and peered over the edge of the large hole that had been excavated over the last eight days. Below, native Guatemalan laborers excavated the site using shovels and buckets, working slowly and steadily. Dressed in bandannas and trousers they’d hacked off at the knees, some were bare-chested, while others wore shirts with the sleeves ripped off, they looked, well, strange to Rachel. They were all human; not an elf, ork, dwarf, or troll among them.And none were cybered, not even a little.
“Doesn’t feel much like Boston, does it, Miss Gordon?” Professor Madison Fredericks joined her at the lip of the dig. He was a lean, nut-brown stick of a man in his late fifties. Dressed in stained khakis, a fedora, and sporting a white beard, he looked every centimeter the adventuring professor.
“No. It doesn’t.”
“You’ll get used to this in time.”
Rachel didn’t want to think that would ever happen. Everything was so new and so exciting, much more than the tri-deos she’d learned from. Or even from the intoxicating lectures Fredericks had delivered in class. Those had made him her favorite professor.
Fredericks knelt down and his knees cracked under the strain. “How are you feeling?”
Rachel smiled at the older man. She was slender and tall for a woman. Workers here had mistaken her for the professor’s daughter. She was twenty-three, and this dig counted toward her master’s degree.
“If that’s your stealthy way of asking if I’ve had any more episodes . . .” She didn’t know what else to call the fragmentary glimpses of the strange world that had haunted her dreams lately.
Fredericks rubbed his jaw ruefully and grinned. “It is.”
“No. I haven’t, but I have been feeling somewhat queasy.” The feeling had started this morning. She’d thought it was the heat at first, but it hadn’t passed, just remained a steady pulse at the edge of her awareness.
Anxious, he looked at her. “You’re not getting sick, are you? This heat, or perhaps something you ate?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve been careful about water and the sun. I’ve only eaten what I’ve prepared myself.”
“Good girl.”
Sometimes it bothered her when he treated her like a child rather than a university student. However, she wouldn’t say anything about it. That wasn’t her way. As an orphan and foster child, she’d learned to accept what she was given.
“Maybe . . . we should try the hypnosis again?” Fredericks didn’t sound entirely convinced, but he was getting antsy for the dig to prove itself.
Rachel folded her arms across her chest. “Not right now. This isn’t . . . it isn’t anything strong. Not like those other instances.”
“All right.” Fredericks managed to hide some of his impatience. “We’ve only got nine more days on this permit. I don’t know if I can negotiate an extension.”
“I know.” Rachel let out a deep breath. That so wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t asked Professor Fredericks to take an interest in her episodes, or to try to find out the truth of them. He’d gotten sucked into them all on his own.
“Maybe we should branch out over the next couple of days.” He straightened up and peered around at the jungle. “Spread our luck.”
“No. What we’re looking for, whatever it is that I’ve . . . seen, it’s here.” Rachel nodded at the hole.
“You’re that certain?”
“Yes.” That was the one thing she knew about whatever it was she was experiencing. They were on top of it. And they were getting closer.
Fredericks sighed and rubbed his beard. She knew he wasn’t as confident, and might even be a little scared that she was wrong. “I hope you’re right, Rachel. I can’t begin to express to you the amount of favors I had to pull in to make this excavation happen.”
A fact he’d reminded her of every single day of the dig, from the time they’d first arrived in the jungle to when they’d started digging to . . . now. “Still, there might be a few more favors I could call in, if necessary.” Fredericks drank from his own canteen, a trickle of water dribbling through his beard. He capped the canteen and wiped the spill away. “I see you’re properly supportive of our gracious benefactors.”
Rachel knew he referred to her hat. She’d felt foolish in the fedora he’d brought for her. The baseball cap suited her better.
“Gracious benefactors?” She shook her head and tried not to scowl with displeasure.
“Certainly.” Fredericks put his canteen away. “Possibly not as graci
ous as they could be.”
“Condescending would be a better description.”
Fredericks smiled mirthlessly. “You’re so young. So naïve. Most people don’t care about the past, Miss Gordon. I know you’ve been told this. I mention it several times in my classes.”
At that moment, a sharp pain lanced through Rachel’s midsection. Nausea swam through her brain, and she staggered away from the edge of the hole to avoid falling in.
“Are you all right?” Fredericks was instantly by her side, holding her arm.
“I . . . will . . . be.” Rachel barely squeezed the words out. Already, the sensation lessened.
One of the laborers’ shovels clanked against stone, but the impact echoed in an empty space underground.
“Señor.” An older man, one of the leaders, waved excitedly at Fredericks. “Señor Professor. We have found something.”
Fredericks released her and went immediately to peer into the hole, joined by the three other students. He swore in wonderment as Rachel staggered back over to join them.
A stone trapezoid lay partially exposed at the bottom of the hole. Strange writing scrolled across it. Guessing the size of the thing was impossible, as the shadows within the cave made depth perception difficult. The stone might be three meters or a dozen across.
“What is that?” one of the other students asked.
“That looks like the same language you’ve seen in your episodes.” Fredericks waved the laborers back from the stone.
“It is.” Rachel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d never seen the language before the professor had shown her the mystery artifacts in the university’s collection. But somehow she’d recognized it. She still didn’t have an explanation for that.
“Can you read it?”
“Some of it. It says: ‘Beware the . . . shadow . . . being? No, not exactly . . . beware the Shadow . . . man?’” Even though she wasn’t certain of the upper and lowercase inflections of the symbols, she knew instinctively that the last word was capitalized.
Fear vibrated through her. If this was true, if this really was an unknown crypt, did it mean the rest of her dreams—no, nightmares—were true as well?
