But Hawk reacted an instant faster. First he ducked low, under its sweeping claws. Then he came up, holding his broad-bladed knife in both hands. With a grunt of effort, he drove the knife with all his strength into the belly of the monster, wrenching the hilt upward to tear through its exoskeleton. The thing squealed deafeningly and flailed with its arms, its claws leaving score-marks in Hawk's back armor, but not penetrating. The big man thrust upward again, and the monster fell backward, bubbling and gouting black ichor. The instant the sight-lines were clear, Toshi sprayed a long burst into the dying thing, shredding its head and torso.
Hawk staggered back. He was covered in blood and ichor, the pain and exhaustion graven deep into the lines of his face. Jocasta rushed to him, tore away his chest armor, and pressed a field dressing against his ripped shoulder. His face tightened with agony even as he nodded his thanks. Again he was singing faintly. Perhaps his magic could help him more than Jocasta's medkit.
I turned to Rodney, pointed at the dead creature. "Could it have come through the door?" I asked.
The elf mage closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "Impossible. The astral barrier's still in place," he said. The look on his face told me we'd reached the same conclusion: the thing had already been on our side of the door when we came through it and the creature had probably not been alone.
Jocasta was still busy tending to Hawk, but everyone else seemed to be waiting for me. Maybe the disgusting appearance of the tunnel had put off the two samurai. Or maybe they were waiting for the "Mr. Johnson" who'd gotten them into this to take point for once. Much as the thought terrified me, I couldn't blame them.
I strode forward, past Scott Keith, who was looking around like a trapped rat. I slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Glad you came along, huh?" His answer was both irrelevant and unprintable. I tightened my grip on the Roomsweeper's stock, and took the lead down the tunnel.
The floor grew even softer underfoot as I approached the turn. No more of the red light-globes. The tunnel walls themselves seemed to glow with a putrid yellow light. Phosphorescence of some kind, I wondered, or something even more unpleasant? The air was warm and damp-I could feel my sodden clothes sticking to my skin-and the yeast-like smell was strong, almost choking. I glanced over my shoulder.
Yes, the others were following me, but cautiously and a couple of meters back. Just as cautiously I followed the turn in the tunnel, scanning the way ahead with my shotgun barrel. Nothing there. The others were hanging back, waiting for me to reconnoiter. I beckoned them up, and moved forward slowly.
Another turn ahead, this one sharper. I peered around it, carefully.
Ahead of me the tunnel opened up into another chamber, a smaller version of the one where we'd found Theresa, illuminated by the now-familiar red globes. It looked empty. I signaled "all clear" and edged forward. The floor was firmer here, with more the resilience of turf than of flesh. The chamber was, I guessed, about ten meters on a side. I scanned it, the Roomsweeper barrel tracking with my gaze. I'd been right that it was empty. I turned back to wave the others on.
"Derek Montgomery." The voice was familiar and came from within the chamber. I spun back.
I knew that barrel-chested figure, the close-cropped sandy hair and beard. A moment before no one had been there-I swear to it-but now Adrian Skyhill was standing in front of me, hands on his hips and a big drek-eating grin on his face.
Instinctively I ducked aside, brought the Roomsweeper to bear- anything down here was an enemy-and squeezed the trigger. The shotgun roared, kicking brutally in my hand.
The shot was accurate, but the pellets never reached Skyhill. Instead they sparked off some kind of curved, invisible barrier in front of him, spraying off wildly in all directions. I pumped another round into the chamber, but didn't pull the trigger.
The shadowrunners were beside me in an instant. Rodney's and Jocasta's lasers showed up clearly on his dark business suit, now studded with evil-looking fetishes, but they didn't fire.
Skyhill's smile broadened, but his face had something terribly strange about it. At first I thought it was because of the shadows cast by the weird lighting, but then I realized it was more than that. When I looked directly at Skyhill, his face looked normal. When I moved my eyes slightly, so that I was viewing him out of my peripheral vision, his face was alien, hideous. His eyes were enlarged and looked multifaceted, and where his mouth should have been was an array of serrated mandibles, knife-edged slicers, and other mouth parts. Look back at him directly, and all was as normal. I remembered the way Hawk's face had changed when he was magically sealing the doors. Was I seeing the face of Skyhill's totem? Hawk had mentioned the Wasp totem. Didn't that imply there were Wasp shamans?
Skyhill looked to my left, at Argent, who was still carrying Theresa over one shoulder. The insect shaman's smile faded a little. "I see you found your sister," he said. "Oh well, we'll soon return her to where she was. It seems a shame to deny her after she's made it this far."
My forearm ached from my death-grip on the Room-sweeper. Suddenly, sickening, I thought I knew what he was implying. "You infected her," I screamed. "You infected my sister with astral parasites."
Skyhill looked puzzled. "Oh, I understand what you mean," he said after a moment. "Those aren't 'astral parasites.' They're immature Ichneuman Wasp spirits."
"I don't care what the frag they are!" I bellowed at him. "Get them out of her!"
The big man looked honestly surprised. "Why would I wish to do that?" he said. "They'll be mature soon, Then one of them will possess your sister, and she'll belong. Forever."
"Like you belong?" I demanded sarcastically. He shook his head sadly, sarcasm was lost on him.
"Belonging will not be mine for some time," he said morosely. "There's so much more for me to do before I can accept that gift."
"I'll kill you!"
"You'll try," Skyhill said calmly, "and you'll fail." I pumped another shot at him. Again, the double-ought pellets spattered away harmlessly. Why hadn't the shadowrunners fired? Were they under some kind of magical control? Or did they merely understand the futility of it better than I did?
"I can offer you the same belonging," the insect shaman said, totally unconcerned that I'd just tried again to blow him in two. "You're strong-willed enough. The merge might be good."
I lowered the Roomsweeper's barrel, shook my head as dull amazement grew within me. "This is what you were hiding all along," I said quietly. "You've got nothing to do with 2XS at all."
"Of course we do," Skyhill said, with what might almost have been offended pride. "It's our technology. We developed it specifically."
"Why?" I was way out of my depth, again. Skyhill shrugged.
"Money, influence. But those are secondary. You know how destructive long-term 2XS use is?"
I nodded.
"If someone has the strength to survive it-like your sister-they are perfect candidates for belonging. They'll be strong enough to act as hosts for the immature spirits, and when it comes time for their own possession, the chances are excellent that the merge will be good. They'll retain their own physical form, but gain the powers of the Ichneuman Wasp spirit-the truest form of belonging. Don't you understand?" he went on earnestly. "We can't offer belonging to just anyone, we have to seek out the best candidates. I found the perfect way in 2XS."
I stared at him. "You destroy people with 2XS," I said, "and the ones you don't destroy, you bring here and destroy this way." I hooked a thumb back at Theresa. "You motherfragger!"
Skyhill looked hurt. "Unfortunately you don't understand," he muttered, more to himself than to us.
"Unfortunate."
And then he began to sing, a high-pitched keening song, with buzzing overtones. It pierced my mind, infiltrated my thought processes. I was confused. Why was I pointing my weapon at Skyhill? I wondered. It was the big fragger to my left who was trying to kidnap my sister. Wasn't it he who caused all this trouble in the first place? I snarled in anger as I started
to turn toward Argent.
But then, suddenly and shockingly, I felt Rodney Grey-briar's eyes on me, steady and concerned. I felt the presence and the strength of his personality pass through my mind like a brisk wind, blowing away all traces of the abnormal thoughts I'd been thinking a moment ago as if they were so much dust. My snarl became a scream of rage, of horror at what Skyhill had almost done to my mind. The Roomsweeper came up, and roared. I jacked another round into place, pulled the trigger again.
This time the two samurai joined their fire with mine, but with no better success. Spent bullets whined about the chamber as they ricocheted off Skyhill's arcane shield. The insect shaman was singing again.
"Tactical cover," Hawk snapped. And then the big Amerindian collapsed bonelessly to the ground.
Skyhill stopped his whirring song. With a frown, he sank down into lotus position, and closed his eyes.
The shadowrunners checked their fire.
I rounded on Argent. "What the frag's going on?"
The samurai bounced a single shot off Skyhill's magical shield before answering. "Hawk's going for him on the astral," he answered calmly. "When the enemy's barriers go down-which they will-we gut him."
I saw Rodney's face light up in a smile. "More hands make light work," he remarked casually. Then he, too, crumpled to the ground.
Toshi scanned the chamber all around us for unwelcome guests, while every second or so Argent capped off a round at the unconscious Skyhill.
It was over quickly, and I wished I'd been able to see it and understand it. Skyhill suddenly screamed, and one of the fetishes he wore on his clothes burst into flame, blossomed into a fireball like the one that had almost toasted me in Purity. I turned aside, shielding my face with my arm.
But it wasn't necessary. The flame expanded, but only so far, as if constrained by an invisible hemisphere, some invisible bell jar, surrounding Skyhill. The same arcane shield that had kept our bullets out now served to keep the fireball in.
In an instant the fireball was gone. Argent triggered a burst into the slumped figure of Skyhill, but it wasn't necessary. The insect shaman was scorched meat, sullen flames still licking here and there over his body. Greasy smoke and the reek of burned flesh filled the air.
Hawk and Rodney stirred, climbed slowly to their feet. They looked tired, and both were bleeding from nicks and cuts that hadn't been present before. If someone's wounded in a fight on the astral plane, I wondered, do those wounds transfer themselves to his physical body? It seemed that they must.
"Are you all right?" I asked. Both nodded their heads, but didn't say a word. Their satisfied smiles said all that was needed.
"Where now, Mr. Johnson?" Argent asked softly. "Back the way we came?"
Fragging good question. Skyhill or no Skyhill, we still had the four-or more-insect warriors left behind us, and the chamber we were in had only one exit: the tunnel through which we'd entered. Dead end.
Rodney saved me from answering. "Why don't we go through there?" he suggested lightly.
I looked to where he was pointing-at the featureless wall opposite the tunnel entrance. For an instant I wondered if he was joking, but then he closed his eyes and murmured some Latin words under his breath.
My image of the wall began to shimmer, as if I were looking through flame or heat haze. When it steadied again, I saw an opening, another tunnel identical to the first. I kept my voice and expression casual as I responded, "Why don't we?"
I resumed my position of point. Not that I really wanted to, but I figured it was still my duty ... if that word meant anything. My thoughts and emotions rumbled chaotically. I felt split. Part of me wanted to sit down and think, deal with the consequences of what Skyhill had said. Another part wanted to bury the whole crock of drek so deep in my subconscious that it would never again see the light of day. At the moment, of course, the latter was the most logical course of action. Survive now, think later sounded the best deal to me. I advanced slowly down the tunnel.
One turning, two. Then Argent's metal touch on my shoulder stopped me. "Don't rush it," he whispered. "Something I need to know first." He raised his wrist phone to his mouth and murmured, "Peg, track in on my signal. Got it? Okay, where the frag are we?" I couldn't hear the decker's answer, of course, but I did see the samurai's brief smile.
He closed the phone and said, "Want to guess?" I shook my head. "We're about fifteen meters below ground level, about a hundred meters southwest of the first ramp. That means we're almost directly below the admin building."
That was good news. I figured our chances of getting out of here in one piece had just gone up a couple of notches. Why excavate directly under another building if you're not going to install some connection to the surface?
I pressed on, shotgun at the ready. Another turn. I was mentally exhausted, and physically drek-kicked. What the frag was it with all these tunnels anyway? I wondered. Nobody in their right mind would design this way. But then I remembered who/what we were dealing with. Insect spirits or insect totems or whatever they were, would have-by definition, I suppose-thought processes that only vaguely resembled those of humans or metahumans. And if Skyhill was any example of how proximity to those creatures could totally slot up your thinking, I figured I'd best discard all ideas about the way things should or should not be laid out. If I wanted to live to tell about it, that is.
Another fragging turn, but this time with darkness all around it. I ducked back, taking a moment to slip on the night goggles and snug them into place. Then I sneaked a peek around the turn again.
Still darkness. There was nothing there. I stepped cautiously out from the wall, advanced one step, then another.
A faint flash of light ahead of me. Without thinking, I threw myself to the side, fast but not quite fast enough. The bolt of mystical energy crackled and roared out of the darkness, a stream of blue-white fire. If I hadn't moved, the raging core of that bolt would have torn through my chest. As it was, the fainter, less-energetic margin of the beam washed over my left arm.
That was enough. I screamed as a white-hot blowtorch of pain blossomed through my body. My arm was on fire, in flames, but I wasn't sure whether it was the flesh itself or just my clothing. I fell to the ground, smothering the flames with my body. Darkness washed over me, tried to engulf me, but I forced it back with an Olympian effort of will. My vision swam and blurred, my thoughts flowed sluggishly like synth-vodka fresh from an extra-cold freezer. The agony in my left arm was still excruciating, but it was as though I were experiencing it from a distance. As if I was both hurting and watching somebody else hurt.
Wound shock, I knew, potentially fatal if not treated.
But none of my companions had any time to tend to me. They were too busy fighting for their lives. In the position where I lay, the floor seemed to be at an angle of about thirty degrees, making the whole scene look even more confusing than it already was. But I simply couldn't find the energy to roll over and bring the world upright.
The chamber ahead was lit now with the standard blood-red light, punctuated by muzzle flashes, grenade bursts, and arcs of magical energy. It was more than bright enough for me to see what a part of my mind had been anticipating all along.
The Queen.
About five meters long, she was a distorted shape the unclean white of a maggot. Huge, segmented lower body, again like a maggot or a grub. Seeming to sprout from the fore end of the pustulant mass was something that looked like the torso of a woman, and two small, possibly vestigial, limbs angled out and back where the two parts joined.
But no, I realized, with a jolt of horror that penetrated the mental fuzziness of wound shock, that wasn't the right way round at all. The white lower body sprouted from the woman's form-not the other way round-from her abdomen. Those two jutting limbs were actually the woman's legs, spread wide-probably dislocated from their sockets-by the mass of the bloated abdomen.
She was lying prone, arching her upper body back, holding herself up with one arm. Her lips
were drawn back from her teeth in what could have been either a smile or a snarl. She'd once been beautiful, I saw. But now her long blonde hair was missing hi patches, and seemed to have the texture of straw. Her honey-colored skin was discolored here and there to pus-beige, and looked bloated and blistered. Her eyes were larger than normal, and their dozens of facets reflected spears of lights.
The shadowrunners were in the mouth of the tunnel around me, spraying automatic fire into the monstrosity. The bullets glanced from her body in whining ricochets. The rounds seemed to actually bounce off the Queen's body, rather than reflecting off an invisible shield as they did with Skyhill. Jocasta and Rodney were there, triggering short, ripping bursts from their Uzis. Even Scott Keith was there, emptying his MP-5 into the distorted form.
With her free arm, the Queen reached out toward us. Another coruscating bolt of blue lashed out. It took Keith full in the chest, turned the DED officer into a human torch. Even for someone I hated, it was a frag of a way to go.
Hawk dropped his assault rifle, tore another fetish from his belt, and began his song of the clean, open sky. A shimmering aura of power built around him, then burst outward toward the bloated Queen. It struck, and for a moment I saw the shaman's power and hers strive against each other in a sparking, crackling curtain of sheer energy. From another angle, a force of another kind slammed into the Queen, and I knew Rodney was also doing what he could.
But then the Queen's blue lightning cracked forth again. Even with his chipped reflexes, Toshi couldn't evade it. The blue arc smashed into his chest, burst out through his back. For an instant he stood transfixed by it, screaming, then his body burst into flame and crumpled to the ground.
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