Choose your enemies carefully s-2

by Robert N. Charrette

His last several months among the shadowrunners had gone through more ups and downs than a Mitsubishi Flutterer skirting a storm front. Despite it all, he had found himself coming to like life in the shadows. It wasn't always pleasant and certainly lacked the everyday comforts of his former corporate life, but he felt he had been given a chance to make a difference. Here on the streets he wasn't just a faceless minion among other faceless minions, plodding to the company's tune. The street folk were individuals, some extravagantly so. Once they came to trust a person, which wasn't quickly or easily, they were true friends. He found such company exhilarating. He was pleased that, under Sally and Dodger's sponsorship, he had been accepted into their circle.

  One of the biggest downs was the estrangement of Ghost Who Walks Inside. The big Indian had seemed pleased to see Sam leave the corporate world. He had even been eager to help Sam redress the wrongs caused by Haesslich's plot. Sam felt good about that; he was impressed by the Indian's quiet strength and focus of purpose. But then something had happened to change Ghost's attitude toward Sam. Since the night they had settled with Haesslich, Ghost had refused to take part in any runs with Sam. Ghost still helped train Sam in the ways of the shadows, but he held aloof, appearing for the lessons and vanishing when the instruction was over. Sally shrugged and Dodger told him it would pass, but no one else would talk to him about it.

  Inu finished his business and they headed back to Sam's squat. Turning for home set him to thinking about Sally again. Their relationship seemed increasingly fragile. One might almost say it was deteriorating on every front, except perhaps in bed. There the passion seemed as strong as ever. From her first invitation, he had fallen quickly for her. But now, months later, he realized that he really didn't know her at all well.

  When she wasn't with him, he had no idea where she went. She admitted having her own place but had refused to take him there, saying that it wasn't his kind of place. He had never tried to follow her; that would have been a betrayal of trust. But he had wondered a lot about where she went.

  No one could spend as much time together as they had and not get to know something about the other person. Between the shadowruns, the training, and their time in the sack, he had come to know something about her personality. He wasn't very sure he liked what he had learned. As far as he could tell, money was her principal motivation. She was mercenary almost beyond ethics; her principles were for sale to the highest bidder. All she knew of honor was what affected her reputation. Loyalty she understood; at least, within the bounds of a run where reliance on the team was, by necessity, absolute. But she only gave that kind of loyalty when she was sure that it had already been given to her. If she had the slightest doubt, she would arrange failsafes, backups to ensure that no one betrayed her. At least she hadn't shown such suspicion toward him. She didn't seem to understand that a shadow team had to be a family. In fact, she didn't seem to understand family at all. Of all her sins, he couldn't forgive the way she always tried to talk him into forgetting about his sister. Even for her, he would not forget Janice.

  Inu won the race up the stairs as usual, but Sam was^ not winded as he would have been last summer. His

  She gave him a look that left no doubt that she didn't agree, but she didn't say anything. Her stony silence indicated that she had taken the subject as far as she thought necessary. Sam didn't want to take it any further, either. They would be snapping at each other again soon enough.

  "Are we going to do some exercises?" "What for? You wouldn't learn anything. You're too pig-headed." Sally gestured, casting an illusion spell, and Sam knew that to a viewer he would appear to be literally pig-headed. It was juvenile of her to resort to such a poor joke.

  "I haven't given up trying to learn," he said. "Have you given up teaching?"

  She snorted. "You don't pay me enough for this lost cause."

  Wondering how serious she was being, he said, "I didn't realize I was supposed to be paying you."

  Scowling, she breathed a long sigh. She shook out her hair and turned to stare through the grimy window. Her voice was distant. "Drekhead. You want to learn something tonight, you do it on your own."

  Conversation ended; sentence pronounced. There would be no point in Trying to change her mind. Sam found that he didn't mind. He almost felt relief. As much as he knew he needed to learn, their sessions had become increasingly difficult. Another teacher might be better. Professor Laverty had offered; so had the dragon Lofwyr. The dragon's offer had surely been false, since his agent had betrayed Sam and the runners instead of helping. And Laverty surely had his own reasons. Sam was sure he did not want to get involved with some as high up in the Tir Tairngire power structure as Laverty appeared to be. Sally had seemed the only mage he could trust, and now he was having his doubts about her. He would have to sort the mess out soon. He'd need whatever magical ability he could muster to go after Janice.

  He watched Sally pretend interest in the outside world. She was flighty in her anger sometimes. Maybe she would relent.

  "Just as well that we're not going to practice. I've got a meet with Mr. Johnson tonight. I'd like you to run backup."

  "Got better things to do than baby-sit," she said without looking around.

  Sighing, Sam let the insult slide. It was just her heat. He hoped that she would feel differently later. "All right. I'll catch you later."

  "Later," she replied almost inaudibly.

  He left her sitting in the apartment. As he walked down the stairs, Inu skipped at his side. Sam wondered if Sally would be there when he got back.

  As Sam approached the corner of South Main Street and Fourth Avenue South, the dark bulk of the Renraku arcology loomed ever larger before him. The megastructure towered above its neighboring buildings, blocking most of the sunset's red tones. Already lights were sparkling on the east face. Low down on the north face, the glare and blare of the club quarter was awakening. Less than a year ago, the arcology had been his homea151and his prison.

  He turned right on Fourth. He was less than two blocks from Club Penumbra, but the walk seemed lengthy. The first time Sally had taken him here, he had almost run away when he had realized how near to the arcology the club was. It had only been a month after the firefight on Pad 23, that regrettable battle which Renraku security forces believed that he started. He hadn't really been there, but a deception on the part of Lofwyr's agent had made it appear that he had led the attacking raiders. Sam had been afraid of 'Raku retaliation. The thought of walking exposed anywhere near the megastructure had frightened him. But he had learned that he was just a face in the crowd; no more remarkable than anyone else to the guards on the west face of the arcology.

  He still wasn't completely sure the corporation had decided that revenge was uneconomical. He had to force himself to keep pace with the pedestrian traffic around him. He didn't want to attract attention. As a member of the crowd, he could pass, but if he gave the guards cause to single him out, who knew what might result?

  He reached the alley that led to the club. He was surprised but pleased to see that one of the three bikes parked against the wall was Dodger's Rapier. Penumbra was no place for animals, so he looked around for Inu to tell him to wait. The dog was scampering across Yesler Way, off to find his own entertainment. He'd be back eventually, as always. Sam had met Inu on the streets and had no worries that the dog would be all right.

  Though twilight was still gathering among the rainladen clouds outside, night had already fallen in Club Penumbra. The gloom was deeper than usual, since the wall-sized tridscreen was dark. Sam picked his way through the entryway mostly by following the sound of Big Tom, the Club's resident sound engineer and backup musician, practicing his drumbeats. As Sam cleared the arch and entered the main floor, Big Tom deflated his throat pouch and hooted the dual tone he used for greetings. Sam did his best to return the sasquatch's sound. Big Tom grinned his lopsided grin which only showed the fangs on the left side of his face. Sam was never sure if the furry metahuman was smiling with plea
sure or amusement at Sam's attempts to greet him in kind.

  Big Tom took up his practice again as Sam crossed the floor. His was the only music in the place, but it was a weeknight and still early. The Penumbra wouldn't start rocking for another couple of hours. There were a few patrons scattered about at the freestanding tables and in the alcoves along the back wall. That was fine. There were enough people to keep things friendly but not enough to crowd sensitive discussions. The club's regulars minded their own biz.

  Jim at the bar inclined his head, and Sam altered his path in the direction indicated. The sole occupied booth in that corner had a black booted foot thrust from its recesses. The stud pattern on the footwear's straps and the faint gleam of a white shag of hair advertised Dodger's presence.

  Sam kicked the sole of the boot, saying, "Hoi,

  Dodger. You're early. Are you feeling all right?"

  "In truth I was. Until you wounded me with your remark, Sir Twist." Dodger cocked his head to look up at Sam, causing sparkles of light to flash from the three jacks on his depilated left temple. To anyone who didn't know the elf, the computer interface ports would seem incongruous next to his pointed ears, but Sam knew they were as integral to who Dodger was as his slim elven bones.

  "You'll heal. Get anything on Mr. Johnson? Like maybe why things got screwed up last night?"

  "Some data has fallen into my hands but, as to yesterday's difficulties, I can do no more than speculate."

  "Well if you've got any data, you're ahead of me."

  Sam slid onto the bench next to Dodger. The elf pushed a minicomp across, allowing Sam to scroll through while he gave a summation.

  "As you can see, Mr. Johnson is Andrew Glover of ATT. For someone with his background and standing in the corporation, this shadow work is a bit out of line. The bodyguard is Harry Burke, pro muscle from the European circuit. Very expensive."

  "Hmm. Think our Mr. Johnson is moonlighting?" "Possibly. He might have legitimate ATT business in Seattle, since he arrived direct from headquarters in London on his corporate passport. I'll need more time to check that out." "So he might be legit or he might not." "Time is data, and I had very little time." Sam spotted something and froze the scroll. "Saeder-Krupp," he said softly. He shuddered, remembering his dealings with the dragon who owned that megacorporation. "Interesting, is it not?"

  "I'd hate to think that this has some connection to

  Lofwyr. I've dealt with more than enough dragons." Dodger nodded agreement. Sam returned to scrolling through the data that the elf had collected, but his mind wasn't really focused. The reflections on the screen seemed to echo the glints of a dragon's eye, and he kept drifting back to thoughts of Lofwyr. Sally had robbed the dragon of his prize, and Sam had no idea how Lofwyr had taken that. When Sam had tried to use the telecom numbers he had been given to contact the dragon or his agents, he had found them all disconnected. He had assumed that meant that the dragon was calling it quits, finding revenge as expensive a luxury as Renraku appeared to believe it was. Now there was this connection, tenuous but real. Was he already enmeshed in the coils of another of the dragon's plots? Had Lofwyr only been biding his time? Waiting for the opportunity to strike?

  Sam felt an elbow in his ribs as Dodger said, " 'Twould seem that everyone is running ahead of schedule tonight."

  Following Dodger's eye line, Sam saw Andrew

  I Glover crossing the dance floor to the bar. The ATT an was of middling height, narrow-shouldered, and slim. His long, slightly horsey face was relaxed, suffused with the calm of a man assured of his proper place in the world. From his clothes, that place was a comfortable one. His shiny black shoes and grey gloves were spotless, showing no signs of wear. The rest was hidden under a long, caped coat of natural tweed. Despite its expensive material, it would be lined with ballistic cloth. The wealthy took as few chances as possible. Dark spots marred the perfect tones of the coat's shoulders. He slid a hand through his sandy hair, flicking away the water in a casual gesture. His walk was casual, too, as if he was striding through some ancestral manor.

  Surveying the club with what appeared to be simple curiosity, Burke followed Glover in. The bodyguard moved with a predator's gait, smooth and calm but ready to explode into instant action. Penumbra's protection would not allow Sam to make a successful astral check, but you didn't need to be a magician to know that Burke had some kind of edge over ordinary people. Dodger had said the man's services were expensive. Since there was no reason to expect Dodger to have gotten bad information, Burke was likely very good at his job. That meant cyberware or magic; simple skills and knowledge weren't enough anymore.

  The barkeep directed Glover to their booth. As soon as he saw that it was occupied, Glover put on his corporate smile. He removed his long coat and handed it to Burke who slung it over his arm. The guard seemed to find its weight far less than Glover had. Burke stayed back, letting his charge approach the booth alone.

  Glover seated himself on the empty bench, but before he could speak, he was jostled by a new arrival.

  Sam hadn't seen where Jason had been hiding. He hadn't even known Jason was in the club until he materialized at the edge of the booth. Maybe the kid had learned something from Ghost. In any case, there had been no time to warn Glover that he was about to have company.

  Jason pushed his shoulder against Glover. The roughness of Jason's dermal armor implant snagged the corporate's silk jacket, tugging strands free. Jason placed an Ares predator on the table, the gun's huge barrel pointing in Glover's direction. Jason removed his hand from the butt and rested his palm on the table.

  The ATT man reacted well. He expressed only surprise at the Indian's sudden appearance. A quirk at the corner of his mouth hinted at annoyance. Other than that, there was no sign that he was bothered by Jason's typically over-stated threat. Sam was impressed, and warned, by Glover's cool. Some corporates would have started yelling murder at such an unexpected appearance. Glover merely slid over to make room for the broad-shouldered Indian and brushed at the shoulder of his jacket. A negligent wiggling of his fingers sent silk fibers drifting to the table top.

  Sam would have expected Burke to intercept Jason. Curious, he looked over and saw the bodyguard standing side-by-side with Fishface. It was unlikely that the professional guard had been intimidated by Fishface's ragged presence. Burke's failure to interfere was more likely directly related to Glover's lack of alarm. Glover cleared his throat. "This is a bit irregular." "So was the run, chummer," Jason said. "You ain't got problems so long as you play clean, Johnson. We got your warm body for you and want our nuyen." Glover stared at Jason for a moment, then turned his head to look at Sam. "Am I dealing with a new principal?"

  "No, you're not," Sam replied firmly. "But he is right. The situation was not as you led us to believe. I would like an explanation."

  "I just want the creds," Jason said.

  The look Glover gave him spoke volumes about the trials of dealing with the lower classes. With slow deliberation to show that he was not reaching for a weapon, Glover slid his hand into his jacket and removed a credstick. It was unmarked by bank seals or the banding of a certified stick. "There is no intent to defraud you. I believe that this will cover the remainder of the agreed-upon sum."

  For all his obvious greed, Jason didn't snatch it up when Glover placed it in the center of the table. Instead, Jason poked it with his gun, rolling it toward Dodger. Peremptorily, he ordered, "Check it out, elf."

  Dodger plucked the stick from the table without a word. He recovered the minicomp and slotted the credstick. His fingers danced on the key membrane. After several flurries, he looked up at Glover. "Pray tell, Goodman Johnson. Why are the funds locked?"

  "What!" Jason's eyes narrowed.

  Sam tried to forestall any further reaction by asking, "Is there an explanation you'd care to offer, Mr. Johnson?"

  Glover ignored the agitated man at his side, focusing his attention only on Sam. "I believe that I have a question of my own which must be answ
ered before we proceed. Where is Mr. Sanchez?"

  The man was so damn sure of himself.

  "Being delivered as we agreed."

  Glover's face remained deadpan. "I am quite sure that you understand. I must have that confirmed before I authorize the transfer of funds.''

  Hoping that he had called it right, Sam tried to keep his own voice calm and assured. He hoped he hid his growing trepidation. Corporates away from their safe turf didn't stay so unruffled unless they had hidden assets.

  "Then we wait." Jason looked like he was ready to do something else, so Sam said, "Got that, Jason? We give the man a chance."

  Jason's sullen glower was his answer.

  They sat in stony silence for some minutes until Glover's wrist beeped. He slid back his pristine cuff to reveal a multi-function watch. Tapping in two code sequences, he waited for a response. He seemed satisfied when it came. He tapped in another longer sequence.

  "Right. That's it, then, gentlemen. You will find the complete fee available to you now, as well as a substantial bonus in recognition of the alacrity of your performance. I would like to say it has been a complete pleasure doing business with you.'' Glover started to rise. He made no gesture but it was clear that he expected Jason to get out of his way. "I am a very busy man and I must be getting along."

  "Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Johnson," Sam told him. He was pleased that his voice remained steady. There had been no sign from Jim at the bar that anything was out of place, but that was no guarantee that nothing was wrong. Especially if Glover was an agent of Lofwyr. "You're here until Otter calls in."

  Glover drew in a long breath and pursed his lips.

  He reseated himself stiffly. "I see."

  "No need to be put out, Goodman Johnson. 'Tis a simple bit of business assurance. I'm sure you understand."

  Glover returned Dodger's smile with a stiff mask, but his detachment was evaporating. The corporate's annoyance was starting to grow. In the middle of the room, Burke was tensed. Sam wanted to defuse the situation before someone did something that they'd all regret. But how?