Dan didn’t plan to wait around to find out which. He jumped up and headed for the stairs on the other side of the tier, weaving around the people who blocked his path.
He bumped into a dark-haired woman in a synthleather jumpsuit that clung to her curves like Vita Revak’s in the classic Rambo XX sim. The open neck showed off an expanse of creamy flesh and a sprinkling of freckles. She had long dark hair, a lovely face, and a dazzling smile.
"Hey, honey, what’s your hurry?" she asked. Dan looked over his shoulder and saw the ork coming closer as he pushed through the crowd.
"Can I get you a drink or something?" she asked.
Any other night, that would have been a fantasy come true, but tonight Dan’s only thought was getting away. He stammered an apology and bolted past her down the stairs. When he reached the floor, he began to shoulder his way through the crowd, ignoring the angry protests and shoves. The only thing that mattered was getting out the front door.
Hammer stood at the top of the stairs and watched Dan Otabi get away.
"Frag," he said under his breath as Trouble came up to him. She was upset that their mark had gotten away.
"What the hell happened?" Trouble asked.
"I dunno," Boom said. "Talon saw something."
She scanned the dance floor, looking for Talon, then spotted him on the other side of the room. "Over there," she said, already starting down the stairs to find out what was going on.
The man who’d been talking to Dan Otabi had vanished. In his place was someone who was younger, cleaner, and better-looking. He was standing on the edge of the dance floor, staring out into the mass of people, his eyes slightly unfocused. Most of the club-goers probably thought he was drunk or stoned out, neither of which was a rarity in the Avalon. His chummers knew better, of course. Talon was a mage, with perceptions beyond those of mundanes.
When they reached his side, Trouble saw that he was crying, the tears running unheeded down his cheeks as his eyes searched the room.
She had worked the shadows long enough to know you didn’t interfere with a mage doing his thing, but the look on his face had her worried. She grabbed Talon’s shoulder and shook him.
"Talon! What is it? Did you see something?"
He turned his tear-streaked face toward her. "It was Jase," he said over the din. "I saw him. Out there on the dance floor."
His words sent a shiver through her body, but Trouble shook it off. "Jase is dead," she said, as gently as possible amid the uproar. "He’s been dead for fifteen years."
Talon nodded. "I know, but I saw him, Trouble. He was here. I’m sure of it."
CHAPTER THREE
"Let me get this straight," Boom said. "Are you telling me we fragged up a meet that took weeks to set up and maybe lost our only real window on the target site because you thought you saw somebody who looked like Jason Vale in the club tonight?"
"I don’t think I saw him, Boom," Talon said. "I did see him. He was right there, across the dance floor, as plain to me as you are right now."
Trouble smiled to herself. Boom was a troll, a mass of muscle nearly three meters tall. With his lumpy, greenish skin, ram-like horns, protruding tusks, and the garish Hawai’ian shirts he favored, he stood out in a crowd a lot more than any human ever could.
Despite appearances, he was actually a big part of the "brains" behind their outfit. Everyone acknowledged Talon’s natural leadership abilities, but Boom was the best when it came to planning. He also had the connections and knew all the right people for getting them work in the shadows. Anything that threatened the team’s reputation, or his, was a concern.
"I told Otabi to stay where he was," Talon said, somewhat lamely. "I didn’t think he would bolt like a jack rabbit."
"You didn’t think, period," Boom said. "Taking off in the middle of a meet like that—what did you expect him to do?"
"It doesn’t really matter," Trouble said, giving Boom’s massive arm a reassuring pat. "What’s done is done. What matters is what are we going to do about it?"
Boom glanced down at Trouble, and his anger seemed to deflate. He gave a heavy sigh and scratched behind one horn with a blunt finger. He turned back to Talon. "Sorry I blew up at you, chummer. I guess the stress of this run is getting to me."
"To all of us," Talon said, smiling wanly. His eyes held the same haunted look Trouble had noticed earlier, but he got down to business in spite of it. "I think we can still salvage something from this mess. It’s just going to take a little more work."
"Well, the cred’s good," Hammer said from his seat near the door of Boom’s office. The big ork casually cradled a submachine gun across his lap, ready for anything.
A knock at the door froze the conversation in its tracks. Boom glanced at the monitors built into the surface of his broad desk. He looked up and nodded slightly at Hammer, who went to open the door to Valkyrie, the team’s remaining member.
She was dressed as usual: a T-shirt, worn jeans tucked into a pair of heavy leather boots, and a battered leather jacket layered with ballistic armor. Her dark hair was clipped "short and simple," as she put it, revealing the chrome of the datajack behind her left ear. She carried a slim, flat control deck under one arm and a flat-profile pistol in a holster at her waist. Val sauntered in and flopped down on the couch against one wall.
"What’s the word?" Boom asked.
"I tracked our boy by remote," she said. "He took the T, so I lost him when he went underground, but I staked out his apartment. He showed up there a few minutes ago. He couldn’t have gotten home that fast if he’d made any stops along the way.
"So he didn’t talk to anyone else or try to make another score," Talon said.
Val shook her head. "Not unless he met somebody on the train. ‘Sides, we’ve checked this guy out. He doesn’t have any street connections. He’s a lily- white, sheltered corp-baby. We’re the only connections he’s got."
"Which is something we can turn to our advantage," Boom rumbled. "We just need to turn up the heat a little, so he’ll have to come back for the bait. And I think I know how we can do that."
Boom looked at Talon, who seemed lost in thought. "Tal, what’s this about Jase? What did you see?"
"I don’t know." Talon gave a baffled shake of his head. "I’m not sure any more. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or the smoke or something. But I could have sworn . . . " He trailed off and threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. It hurt Trouble to see Talon, always so sure of himself, look so lost and confused.
"Are you sure you’re up to handling this?" Boom said. "’Cause if not. . ."
"No, no, I’m fine," Talon said. "I’ll deal. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do and get down to it, okay?"
Boom nodded curtly. "Okay, here’s what I’m thinking." He laid out the plan, and they discussed it, working through potential problems. When everyone had their assignments, the team broke up to get some rest. It was already quite late.
The club was closing for the night as they emerged from Boom’s office. The Avalon belonged to Boom, and it was a good front for his shadow business. The last of the club-goers were trickling out the door onto the streets of Boston, and the clean-up crews had already begun repairing the mess their festivities had left behind.
Talon was down the stairs and almost out the door as Trouble hurried to catch up. He had that lost look again, walking with his head down and one hand jammed into the pocket of his jacket. His motorcycle helmet dangled by its chin-strap from his other hand.
"Hey," she said, "Want to grab a cup of soykaf before calling it a night? I mean, if you want to talk. . ."
Talon gave her a sorrowful smile that made Trouble’s heart ache. He shook his head. "No, thanks. I think I need to be alone for awhile."
"Okay, chummer," she said gently. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, but thanks anyway," Talon said. "Talk to you tomorrow." He tucked his helmet into the crook of his arm and walked off toward the alley.
Trouble watched him
go, wanting to run after him but knowing she had to respect Talon’s wishes. If only you would let somebody inside, Talon, she thought. If only you’d let me in.
The alley was filled with overflowing dumpsters and garbage cans, the shapes ominous in the barely lit darkness. Talon had barely entered when he heard the sound of muffled laughter coming from the darkness ahead. He paused, suddenly alert, one hand hovering over the pistol holstered under his jacket.
A trio of figures, two humans and an ork, stepped out from behind a dumpster. All wore beat-up leathers covered with chrome studs and chains, and their hair was shaved into patterns, gelled into spikes, and colored a bizarre rainbow. They looked like teenagers. The ork stood head and shoulders above his friends, but one of the humans was the obvious leader. He had pale green eyes—implants of some kind—that glowed faintly, with no iris or pupil visible. The three of them were giggling, probably high on something.
"Hey, man," the lead human said, snickering like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, "where do you think you’re going?" The three instantly broke up into raucous laughter. Talon noticed that the two humans had closed switchblades in their hands, while the ork held a heavy length of steel chain in his enormous paws.
He sighed deeply. "Kid, I’m in no mood for this. You have exactly five seconds to get out of my way before I accept this as a gift from the gods and take out my frustration by kicking all of your sorry, fragged-up asses."
"Just you, old man?" the lead ganger said with a guffaw.
Talon smiled wickedly. "Naw, wouldn’t want to take on all you wired tough guys myself. I’ll probably get a little help from him," he said, nodding toward the space behind the gangers.
"What are you. . ." the leader began, then trailed off as a deep, growl came from behind him. The giggling stopped as the gangers turned as one to see a large, silver-furred wolf with glowing green eyes emerge from the shadows. A faint, silvery halo surrounded its body, eerie in the darkness. The leader turned back toward Talon, who was surrounded in a similar aura of violet light.
"Holy drek!" the kid said. "He’s a mage! Slot and run!" The turned almost as one and tore down the alley past the wolf, knocking over garbage cans and tripping over themselves in their frantic flight. The wolf started to go after them, but Talon stopped him with a word.
"Let ‘em go, Aracos. They’re not worth the bother."
The wolf stopped and looked back at him. "Humph," he said, speaking directly into Talon’s mind. "I could take a bite or two out of them to teach them a lesson, but they probably wouldn’t taste very good."
The wolf loped over to Talon, his astral aura fading back to invisibility. He looked up at Talon with a lupine expression of concern.
"Are you all right, boss?" Aracos thought to him.
Talon knew he could never hide his inner turmoil from his ally spirit. Aracos could read Talon’s emotions with its astral senses as well as through the psychic connection the two shared. Besides, Talon hadn’t really bothered to mask his feelings.
"Well, I’ve been better," Talon thought to Aracos, "but I don’t want to talk about it now. Let’s just get out of here, okay?"
For a moment, he thought Aracos might say something more, but the spirit gave a distinctively unwolflike shrug and began to shimmer.
"You’re the boss," he thought to Talon. The silvery wolf form melted first into an opalescent mist swirling in the air, then solidified again as a slick red, black, and chrome motorcycle of Japanese make. Chrome traceries in the form of a Celtic knot were painted on one side of the chassis, with the name "Aracos" tricked out in graceful chrome letters beside it.
The bike’s motor was already humming as Talon swung one leg over and mounted up. He pulled on his helmet, and the electronics in its visor lit up the alleyway as bright as day. He revved the bike’s engine and headed into Landsdown Street. Within minutes, he was speeding toward South Boston, as if he could go fast enough to leave behind his troubling visions.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alone in his bed later that night, Talon dreamed.
He was sixteen again, having run away from the Catholic mission in Southie where he grew up. He’d run because of the things he was seeing and feeling, things that weren’t compatible with what the nuns and brothers of the mission taught him. He couldn’t block out the strange haloes of light he saw around people or prevent the bombardment by impressions of the emotions of everyone on the street. It was as if the pain, misery, and unhappiness of twenty generations of people had seeped into the concrete and brick of South Boston, permanently staining it and wrapping everything in a dark pall.
He’d ended up in the Rox, which was even worse. The emotional fog there was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He was too poor to get a datajack even at one of the sleazy chop-shops operating in the back alleys, but he somehow managed to scrape together enough money to buy relief from his misery in the form of little blue tablets called bliss. Nothing else mattered when he was on bliss, but when he stopped, the sensations and the visions got harder and harder to block out.
One day he was huddled in an abandoned building somewhere in the Rox, coming down off his last bliss high and with no money to buy more. It was only a matter of time before he’d be forced to sell his body on the street to get more. It was the only thing of any value he had left. The colors and feelings were already starting to come back, and he could feel his sanity starting to slip away. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it.
That was when he heard the faint scratching and shuffling sounds of something moving downstairs. He froze at the sound, holding his breath and straining to hear as his sweat turned ice cold. Everyone knew the stories about the ghouls that haunted the abandoned sections of the Rox looking for food. They were said to feed on human corpses, sometimes coming out of the shadows to hunt for fresh meat.
He tried to reach for the switchblade in the pocket of his ragged jeans, but his fingers wouldn’t obey him properly. He couldn’t even get himself to crawl away and hide somewhere. All he could do was lie there, waiting for the inevitable, a small part of him thinking that maybe it would be best if the ghouls found him and put an end to it all. The shuffling drew closer and closer, with the creak of the old stairs heralding their approach.
There were two of them, their gray and hairless flesh stretched tight over their bones. They wore the ragged remains of clothing, probably taken from the bodies of their victims. Their long, bony fingers were tipped with nails like sharp claws. Their faces were also long and gaunt, their thin-lipped mouths filled with sharp, tearing teeth. Their white, blind eyes looked out into nothing. They sniffed the air like animals, smelling Talon’s fear, the scent of prey. As they came closer, stalking him, Talon felt a whimper rise in his throat. One of the ghouls licked his lips with a grayish tongue.
Then light spilled into the room, light even the blind ghouls could see somehow. They recoiled from it as a shining figure appeared, stepping straight through the wall as if it wasn’t there. The figure was tall and handsome, clad in robes of light and holding a long wooden staff in one hand. He raised the other in a gesture of warding and spoke in a voice like thunder.
"STOP!" he commanded. "Leave him alone! He is under my protection."
Talon looked up at the glowing figure and thought of the angels the nuns at the orphanage were always talking about. This being was so beautiful, the light he gave off so protective and kind, although the ghouls didn’t seem to think so.
Recovering from their initial shock, they charged forward, hissing at the light that threatened them. The being was unmoved by their attack. He swung his staff in an arc and struck one of the ghouls a solid blow, sending the thing stumbling back, squealing in pain. The staff flashed again and again, tracing glowing arcs around the man of light, driving the ghouls back until they finally fled from the room. Talon could hear them retreating quickly down the stairs. The figure of light moved closer, bending down to touch him gently on the shoulder. Talon’s vision began
to swim and his head to pound like something was threatening to burst out of it.
"Don’t worry," the man of light said. "It’s all right. You’re safe now." Then he began to sing a strange, soothing song, and Talon found himself drifting off to sleep. . .
Then he was in a Stuffer Shack, looking through the racks for some munchies. The magical practice Jase was teaching him always made him hungry. Jase just laughed and said that everything made Talon hungry, but that it was only natural for a young man his age. Still, Talon was coming along well, according to his teacher. In something like a year, he had learned so much from the man who’d rescued him from the ghouls, who’d taught him that the strange sights and feelings weren’t madness but the awakening of Talon’s magical gifts. Jase taught him to control and use those gifts, and so much more. Their relationship deepened, and Talon realized that what he felt for Jase was more than a student’s affection for his teacher or gratitude for Jase saving his life. He loved Jase, and Jase loved him. They lived together on the edge of the Rox in a cramped little apartment, but Talon couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt happier or more hopeful. For him, it was like a dream come true.
Now, engrossed in choosing a snack, Talon merely grunted when Jase said he was going outside to use the public telecom. A few minutes later, Talon heard the roar of motorcycle engines, followed by the chatter of bullets. He instinctively ducked down as gunfire splintered the Stuffer Shack’s front windows, and the cashier and the few other customers also dropped to the floor. When he heard the bikes roaring off, he rushed outside. The ground was covered with broken plastiglass and smashed food containers.
What he saw made him cry out in pain. Jase was lying on the asphalt in a pool of blood. Talon rushed over and lifted Jase’s head off the ground, cradling his blood-spattered body and calling his name again and again, but Jase didn’t answer. Talon looked up as the gangers zoomed away on their motorcycles, laughing. He cried for help, then collapsed, sobbing over the body of the man he loved more than life itself. . .
shadowrun 40 The Burning Time Page 2
