Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock

by Jean Rabe, John Helfers (v1. 0) (epub)

  The elf applied a little more pressure, making Hood gasp as his arm was bent in a way it wasn’t supposed to go.

  “You’ve been holding out on us from the start, Hood, playing coy all through this run. Neither my sister nor I like being played for fools, yet we thought you would somehow manage to turn this drekpile around. Ain’t happened yet, chummer, and from the party down below, it ain’t gonna happen, either.”

  Keeping Hood’s arm up, he leaned down to whisper in the troll’s ear. “But here’s what you’re gonna do, Mr. Boeing.” The troll sucked in a noisy breath as Khase continued. “You’re going to spin whatever story necessary to make sure that Max, Sindje and I come out of this with no charges, and paid. Otherwise, I’ll just have to start talking to Lone Star about exactly who lured me into this run, and I’ll bet your family wouldn’t find that appealing at all.” “You’re blackmailing me?” The troll tried to rise off the roof, but another twist sent his cheek against the small rocks.

  “One more move like that, and I start breaking fingers.” Khase was calm and collected now, but he still kept a vice grip on Hood’s arm. “Let’s call it our own little business arrangement, just between you and I. Face it, Hood, you owe us—Max, Sindje, and me. What I know now will just insure that you’re going to pay us off, fair and square.” “And I’m supposed to trust your word on this?”

  “Of course you are, tad. You see, unlike you, I’ve never withheld information that jeopardized a mission. With your connections, you could have made this run smooth as glass, instead of getting your kicks slumming with us.”

  “That was never the point. I think this thing might be larger than we can imagine.” Hood looked at the spray of blood in front of him and winced. “I’ve been trying to work it through.”

  “We’re out of time. Lone Star’s gonna be pounding up here any second, so what’s it gonna be, tad?” In one fluid step Khase both released Hood’s arm and stepped away from the troll. Hood brought his aching arm around to his side and pushed himself back on his knees, pinning the elf with his glare. Khase wasn’t worried, however, because he knew the troll was going to give in. That’s right, omae, mull it over, and then your strange sense of honor will kick in right about—now.

  “Agreed.” The troll forced the one word out.

  Khase held out his hand, and Hood took it, holding the elf’s fingers in an undeniable grip that could pulp the adept’s limb before he could escape. “But if I ever find out l hat this has leaked out into the street, you know who I’m coming after first.”

  “Well then, we’d better make sure that never happens, shouldn’t we?” Khase pulled, and Hood pushed, and between the two of them, they managed to get the troll standing, just in time to see the first Lone Star officer surge out of the hatch and cover them with his HK.

  “Stay right where you are!”

  With twin weary sighs, Khase and Hood raised their arms, wincing with every inch.

  38

  9/18/2070, 11:45 a.m.

  Roland kept his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the plants being off-loaded from the back of the stock Ares Roadmaster. On the outside, he was the picture of tranquility, but his mind seethed with every pot that was brought in, checked against the missing manifest and rushed into the lab for evaluation.

  And I’m looking at a couple of the fraggin’ drekheads who stole them. Sure as the sun came up this morning, they're standing right in front of me.

  Two elves stood near the Ares, both dressed in casual clothing. The male was in a black, raw silk shirt and loose coffee-colored linen slacks, but his arm was in a sling, and he gripped a cane in his free hand. Next to him, the female looked pale, but composed, dressed in a beautiful flower-print silk dress with an Asian cut, slit up both sides. The pair watched the security men unloading the plants. On Khase’s other flank was Jhones, standing there much like Roland was, his hands clasped behind his back. Six other I’lantech security men along with K-Tog watched the two elves, both of whom pointedly ignored them.

  “Why all the fuss over these particular plants?” The troll gestured with a bandaged, hamlike fist toward the trays the guards were wheeling into the agricorp.

  The security chief cleared his throat. “K, remember me telling you about the Shiawase deal?” He stepped close to the troll. Both of them had synthskin covering injuries

  they’d received at the house in Ballard. “The Shiawase

  execs—”

  “Yeah . . . they bought plants, and they’re coming by in a few hours to pick them up.” The troll looked menacingly at Khase, clearly remembering him from yesterday’s break-in.”

  Roland shook his head. “Most of these plants that were appropriated yesterday—”

  “Stolen,” K-Tog corrected loudly. If the elves heard, they gave no sign.

  “Have valuable medicinal properties that Shiawase scientists will cultivate and turn into vaccines and pills and—

  “I remember from your talk before.” K-Tog’s fingers rested on the grip of an overlarge pistol at his hip, and one of his Roomsweepers was sheathed in a cross draw holster over his right shoulder. It was clear he was itching to draw either or both weapons, but a glance from Roland stayed him.

  “Stand down, K.” Much softer: “Our pensions, old friend.”

  K-Tog shifted his attention between Khase and Sindje, the tone in his voice making it evident that he didn’t care who heard him. “I remember her, too. That skinny, ugly elf. Her and maybe that other elf were the ones who stole these plants. They were in Ballard, too. I know it was them. I paid good nuyen for these eyes.”

  “Maybe.” Roland kept his voice low. “Maybe it was them.” Frag, I know it was them.

  “There was a third and a fourth one.”

  “K—”

  “A troll and a stinking ork.” K-Tog’s fingers tapped his pistol. “They should go to jail. All of them, and for a long time.”

  Roland shook his head. “Maybe they stole the plants, and maybe it was folks who looked like them.”

  K-Tog’s eyes narrowed and he softly growled.

  “The big boss doesn’t want any publicity. Bad for business. You know that.”

  K-Tog growled a little louder, but crossed his arms in front of his considerable chest. “So they get away with it.” “We got the plants back.”

  “That’s something.” K-Tog paused and gingerly rubbed his jaw. “But not much of something.”

  Considering no one on our side went to jail after that little Alki run, I’d say it was more than enough, Roland thought, but didn’t bring that up in front of the elves and Jhones. “We got the plants back. And so we keep our jobs.”

  “And our pensions, like you said.” Still, K-Tog continued to growl. “But giving the thieves a reward for returning the plants? Now that’s two truckloads of drek.”

  When all the returned plants were safe inside, getting prepped for Shiawase to retrieve, Roland walked toward the two elves, a credstick held in his fingers. Sindje reached for it, but at the last second, Roland pulled his hand back.

  “Is there a problem?” The male elf was all smooth manners and silky smiles.

  “I just wanted to hear your incredible story one more time.” The pause was slight, so slight that neither elf gave any visible sign of hearing it.

  The female shifted, just enough for Roland to catch it out of the corner of his eye. Uncomfortable, sweetheart? I'm just getting started,

  “Surely that’s unnecessary, I mean, we did give our report to the officer—” she began.

  “But to put yourselves in harm’s way, all for a bunch of plants—I mean, even for elves, that is amazing.” Roland’s tone had verged on condescending with his compliments, and now it turned cold as ice. “Call it my need to know.” The elves’ almond-shaped eyes flicked toward each other, then the male began. “Well, as I told the Lone Star officer, we were just watching the double feature at the Historic Everett Theatre, when these thugs burst in and started shooting up the place. Naturally, our
concern was for the rest of the patrons, so we tried to make sure they escaped. And when the men turned on us, we defended ourselves as best we could.”

  The female elf chimed in. “Yes, but when we saw those men go to the second floor, we followed them, to try and make sure they didn’t hurt anyone in the balcony.”

  The male took up the story again. “I’m not sure how it happened, but we found ourselves on the third floor, where one of the men was fleeing to the roof. I gave chase while my sister helped the poor Chinese family that had been taken hostage.”

  “And the guy who took a header off the roof into that Stallion’s helicopter blades?”

  The male’s eyes regarded Roland, unblinking. “He slipped. By then Lone Star was there, and the rest of those thugs had been rounded up.”

  Roland looked at the elves for a long moment. His gaze even went to Jhones, standing there like the good public servant that he was. “By the way, what movies did you see?” “What?” This from the female elf.

  “It’s a simple question. You claim you were watching a double feature. So, what were you watching?”

  The male elf sighed. “Unfortunately, several of my brethren debasing themselves in remakes of old movie musicals. The double bill was Grease 2040 and Stayin’ Alive: The Next Generation. If you’d like, I can certainly howl a few bars for you.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Their story checked out with other witness reports, including the family that ran the Everett. The movie question had been his last card, even if it was only for his own edification.

  The sec chief lowered his hand, holding out the credstick. “It’s not a large reward, though it’s probably more than you deserve.” Roland’s voice was calm and even. “But it’s by order of our company president, who is pleased that our deal can go through and that much-needed medicines will be manufactured.”

  The male elf looked at the amount and shrugged. “It will do, I suppose.” He showed the stick to the female, who let out her breath in what Roland could only call relief.

  “Thank you for your cooperation. You are both free to leave.” Roland gestured to the main lobby doors as he stepped close. K-Tog shuffled over, fingers toying with his holstered pistol again. “And just so we’re perfectly clear; I don’t want to see either of you, or your two friends, the ork and troll, around here ever again. In fact, if you set foot in Snohomish just once more, I’ll be on you like rain on Seattle.”

  He had to give them credit, their faces betrayed nothing. “Why, sir, I haven't the faintest clue what you are referring to. Come, my dear, let’s go.” The male elf put his cane down and, leaning on the female, the pair made their way to the door, the male elf still muttering something like, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  K-Tog lumbered after them, and for a moment Roland was afraid he’d have to dress the troll down, but all he did was open the door for them. “Never return,” the troll commanded. “Understand?”

  The elves, noses almost in the air, strolled out to the waiting Ares. Roland walked over to Jhones, who was still standing in the atrium, smelling the air.

  “Well, that ended about as well as could be expected.” The sec chief’s eyes never left the elves as they climbed into the Roadmaster. “I’m off duty after the delivery is made to Shiawase—want to head down to the Anything and grab a bite? I hear the special is liver and onions.” The dwarf didn’t crack wise, just looked up at Roland with sad eyes. “Maybe another time, my friend. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

  “Sure, I understand. That reminds me, I’d better check in.” Roland dialed the number for home, but a noise from outside distracted him.

  A honk from the Ares made all three of them look up. The boxy truck had stopped in the circular driveway, and (he male elf had rolled down his window, and was speaking to K-Tog.

  Whatever he said made K-Tog furious, and the troll stomped toward the doors, drawing his pistol and his Roomsweeper as he did so. The elf laughed as the Ares took off in a swirl of gravel.

  “K-Tog! Stand down right now!” Roland ordered.

  “It was them, I know it!” The troll slammed his fist into 1 he window of the main lobby, the impact making the entire wall shake.

  Roland ran up to him, watching the Ares disappear at I he end of the driveway. “Look, I told you that it might not have been them—”

  “No sir! I know it was them!” K-Tog looked out down l he driveway, panting as he tried to gain control of his anger. “It was what he said as they left.”

  “Which was?”

  The huge troll looked at his boss. “He asked, ‘How’s your jaw?’ ”

  39

  4:50:04 p.m.

  Hood took a deep breath, holding the mingled scents of the various plants surrounding him in his lungs. Should have done this a long time ago, he thought.

  He had decided with his second deep breath that he would hire some of Plantech’s people to build a similar greenhouse for him—perhaps on top of one of the buildings he owned on Mercer Island. He would make the entire floor dirt, though, no walkways designed to keep visitors’ shoes and feet clean. He ran through his mental list of which plants he’d like to include—definitely the small acacia with elephant ears, a miniature weeping cedar, perhaps a separate section for some orchids, which he’d always wanted to try growing, but never had the nerve. But after the last day or so, he figured it was now or never. Too bad he’d come home to find his cuttings gone. They would have made a nice addition to his collection. Oh, well, easy come . . .

  After the debacle at the Historic Everett Theatre, he had been DocWagoned to a hospital, where he had spent sixteen hours in the Intensive Care Unit, healing his shot-up self. He had made them release him early—they had wanted to keep him there for another day. But he had insisted, and gotten in a stretch limousine that had been waiting for him. Inside, he had made a few calls to hold up his end of the bargain that he had made with Khase.

  The troll sat in the high-backed massaging chair, feet up on his coffee table, fingers of his left hand wrapped around a large, nearly empty mug of chilled lemonade. The remnants of two packages of oatmeal cookies were in his lap. He was still hungry, but he was too comfortable and too tired to go to the kitchen to get more.

  His earplant beeped, and Hood picked it up, the distinctive chime indicating that he had a message. He inserted the device and played it, smiling in satisfaction. The plants have been delivered safely, and Khase and Sindje left hours ago. He took the phone out of his ear and tossed it on the table, then leaned his head back and turned it slightly, so he could see the tank with the large veiltails in it.

  This condo was one of his favorites in the building, all of which—along with the rest of the block—he owned. Many of the other condos were rented out, but several were always kept empty so he and his associates could use them from time to time. It was convenient to bring runners to the building, and more convenient to take each group to a different condo, and sometimes to a different building he owned close to the International District. Hood thought he could help keep his real self hidden that way.

  He dozed on and off, finding the fish more relaxing than a sleeping tablet. But after a few hours he roused himself and used his crutch to hobble into the kitchen for more cookies and lemonade. On the island was the collection of seed pods he’d culled from the bioware plants. Next to them was a prototype chip reader he had obtained from one of his family’s labs. He gathered up the chips and reader, stuffing them under his aching left arm and managing to hold on to the refilled mug of lemonade with the hand. Then he lumbered back into the living room and set everything on the table.

  This time he sat on the couch, not wanting the massage chair to lull him back to sleep. Hood drained half the lemonade in one swallow, then picked up the first chip and inserted it into the reader. There was a port and wire, so someone could jack into the affair and see and hear everything inside their head rather than just listening the old-fashioned way. Hood dug his fingernail into the port,
ruining it, tore loose the wire, gingerly touched the play button and turned up the volume.

  It wasn’t particularly interesting—a conversation between a Plantech minor executive and someone from a downtown corp. Hood didn’t bother sitting all the way through it. He slotted another, found nothing intriguing, and went on to a third and then a fourth. It wasn’t until the sixth chip that something caught his attention.

  It was a woman talking to a man. He recognized her voice: Belver Serra. And after listening for several minutes, he figured out her companion was the Plantech biologist who’d created the bioware plants.

  “The dead biologist,” Hood mused. “Plantech’s Dr. Nansct.”

  The chip continued to play the conversation between Nansct and Belver. He told her about the six special plants, how to use them, and suggested that if she paid him enough nuyen not only would he sell her the recordings she wanted, but he’d sell her the plants, too.

  “Greedy man. Greedy always gets you in trouble.”

  Another chip also had Belver’s voice. She was talking to two men who never gave their names, though Hood was certain they were Shiawase officials. She was offering them miniaturized computer interfaces and tech-blocking prototypes from the Keashee Corporation in exchange for some serious nuyen.

  “Greedy woman, too.”

  The deal was secured, and Hood guessed she handed over the prototypes. Then she made arrangements to sell them a variety of programs Keashee had in development.

  Hood growled. “So, Ms. Serra, I figure Dr. Nansct blackmailed you about these recordings, hence your offer to buy them and the plants. Couldn’t let your boss at Keashee discover you were a turncoat. Couldn’t risk a leak. So that’s why you hired runners.”

  Hood used the crutch to stand, pocketed the Belver chips, and lumbered to the entry closet. He selected a butter-soft, black Europa leather duster, and got into it with a little effort. “You know . . .” Hood continued to talk to himself, “I took the contract from your Johnson, Ms. Serra, ’cause I just couldn’t figure out through the Keashee grapevine just what you were up to. Was curious why you wanted runners, and so I took the bait myself. Then I was curious why you wanted the plants. A lot of work and pain, it was, settling my curiosity. Almost got some associates of mine killed. You covered your tracks pretty well, Ms. Serra. A shrewd businesswoman. But not shrewd enough.”