What was he mad about again?
Typecasting was only bad when you’re sick of playing that type. Rude just realized he was still very much into this sort of work, so they could typecast away.
Still, this would go better if he was angry at someone.
Oh, yeah. Mr. Johnson. Who was probably preparing to kill them.
The guns weren’t out yet, but Rude jogged on, now ready to fully perform his part.
Yu
Yu walked along Squibbs Creek, worrying that he wouldn’t be shot at.
The whole plan was based on the assumption that Mr. Johnson wanted them dead, and that he had people who would take them out as soon as they appeared. If that happened, his team had a plan. If it didn’t?
He wasn’t sure what they’d do. So it would be nice to be shot at.
Not that he’d be the first one targeted. That was the job of the people with magic auras. His job was to see who did the firing.
The trees and bushes lining the lazy creek provided lots of cover—regular eyes would have trouble seeing him, thermographic eyes might have trouble picking him out if they didn’t concentrate, and assensing mages might lose him in the middle of the auras of all the living things around him. That allowed him to draw close to the park—and his eyes had an advantage in the dark.
He didn’t have weapons out yet. He was about to cross a road, and there was no point in alarming any locals who might be nearby. People in Bellevue could be sensitive about such things.
He’d checked the location of lot 12. It was near the water, which was good for Emu, bad for him. He wouldn’t be able to rely on cover from the creek bed all the way. He’d need to improvise.
It was 11:55. He had two minutes to get in position.
Zipfile
“They’ll see two magic auras,” Frostburn had said. “If they’re any good, they’ll see that one is a spellcaster, one is not. So, who does street wisdom tell us they’ll go for first?” She pointed to herself. “That’s right. The first shot’s coming to me.”
Zipfile wasn’t so sure. Maybe they’d take her out instead, figuring that she was relying too much on invisibility to get her where she needed to go, and she was overconfident and not well defended. In any encounter, going one shot, one kill to start things off was the exact right way to do things. Yes, Frostburn was a larger target, but would they notice that if they were looking at auras? She was worried they wouldn’t care.
The bullet that hit her shoulder at 11:57 told her she had been right to worry.
She felt it before she heard it. It spun her, and she let it take her down. She’d been bracing for it the whole walk, but it still surprised the air right out of her lungs. And hurt.
Anyone who had seen her aura in the first place would know at a glance that she wasn’t dead. They might even know that she wasn’t that hurt. But she hoped they wouldn’t be able to focus on her for long.
Yu
There it was. First shot. With a quick message from Zipfile.
He was in Vasa Park now. It was small, only a handful of acres and a dozen or so places to put an RV. About half of those spaces were right on the lake. Lot 12 was one of them, near the beach. There was a playground, a basketball court, a bathroom building—that sort of thing.
He’d come in from the north, while Zipfile had been just northwest of the site, walking along the nearest road. He had climbed a hedge row separating the park from residences and wound his way through a parking lot. There were two people perched on top of a bathroom building just south of him. One of them had just shot Zipfile.
He heard two beeps. That was a message from Frostburn.
It meant the one on his right was the mage. And should be his target.
His gun was out now. Just a pistol, but he’d gotten close enough.
He squeezed off three shots. The silencer turned them into a barking wind—the other guy on the roof would have trouble locating the shots.
The first guy would have more trouble, because he had just been shot in the head.
Yu moved, back and away from the deceased mage and his friend. He looked for movement. He knew those two wouldn’t be everyone. He just didn’t know how big of a force he’d have to deal with.
The shooter was looking in his direction, but not firing. Then he moved his arm toward Yu.
Directing people.
Yu moved backward, faster.
Then the bathroom building erupted into fire.
Frostburn
You don’t always have to hit people. The flammable thing they’re standing on will do just fine, especially if it’s bigger than they are.
They had seen her. She knew they had. They would have been going for her next, except Yu had geeked the mage. It was good shooting. So she did her part. She was just south of the main entrance to the park, and now she was watching. Seeing what the fire attracted.
They had numbers. More than she thought. Four near the RVs by the lake. Two on the beach. Two about fifty meters to her right, close to the beach. Two pairs of two north of her. And who knows how many in the RV with Mr. Johnson.
It was a gauntlet.
She waved an arm toward the closer of the pair north of her, sending darts of ice flying at the through the woods. She doubted they would do much damage. But they’d get attention.
She ran southeast, along the edge of the park. Action would be moving to the lake soon enough.
Emu
The sound of gunfire was like music to Emu. The building that erupted into fire was a symphony.
No more damned paddling. She pulled herself onto the jet ski, started the engine, and shot forward.
She hadn’t been able to bring her assault rifle. It just wasn’t concealable enough, so she had to settle for pulling out a Colt America. But it wasn’t time to fire it yet.
No, the cavalry would provide the bullets.
The three Roto-Drones drifting over the lake didn’t actually play “Ride of the Valkyries” as they approached, but she still heard the music in her soul. They were high up, hard to see against the dark of the night sky. They weren’t loud yet, but they were getting louder.
If Mr. Johnson’s people were on their game, they’d have noticed them.
She had them heading toward the beach. Frostburn told her two people were on the beach, two more close by. She’d see how they reacted.
When the drones were within a quarter-kilometer of the beach, she opened fire. The mounted Ingram Smartguns weren’t terribly accurate at that range. But bullets in the air still had an effect.
The guns clattered, the bullets thumped the sand. She saw silhouettes on the beach turn, look up, take a shot.
She revved. They reacted. One of them was smart, moving toward a small beach house for cover. The other experienced decision paralysis.
She squeezed off shots to make sure he never got the chance to decide. He fell.
She wheeled the jet ski around. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of her Roto-Drones falling. It hit the lake with a splash.
It was going on Mr. Johnson’s tab.
Zipfile
She was still lying on the ground when Emu’s message came. Break was over.
A good hacker can find any icon and charge into it, sometimes punching through it, other times at least occupying its attention so it can’t do anything but play defense. You go with a flurry of blows so strong, so fast that anyone, no matter who they are, has to struggle to keep up.
A great hacker doesn’t have to do that.
She’d met Mr. Johnson already. Been in the presence of his gear. So she had done what any quality hacker would do—she broke into it. Quietly, smoothly. And left herself a backdoor.
Which she walked through now.
First vital piece of information: Mr. Johnson was not in the RV in lot 12. He was two away, in lot 10. Not surprising, but good to confirm. The decker was
in there with him, and Mr. Johnson’s commlink was slaved to the decker’s cyberdeck.
So her backdoor let her right in to the cyberdeck. When she had a moment to reflect, she might laugh herself into hysterics about this, but she had too much to do now. She sent a data spike to the heart of the cyberdeck, amped up by her Overclock program. Then she sent another for good measure.
She’d love to be in VR to see what was happening to the deck’s icon. She imagined smoke, flames, and general disintegration. It would have been really satisfying.
That wasn’t the only hack she needed. The next one wouldn’t be as easy, because it wasn’t part of the decker’s network. But it was vital. So she set to it.
Yu
The gunfire from the beach pushed people inland, but the chaos near the bathroom made them pull back toward the RVs. Job one was protect Mr. Johnson. Killing Yu and the rest of the team was at best job two.
Yu encouraged them with his gunfire from the parked cars. He alternated between shots aimed directly at them and shots a little to the west. Any little influence pushing them east was good.
Behind him, lights suddenly went on. He turned.
The neighbors were awake.
Mr. Johnson definitely hadn’t called the cops, but the neighbors surely would. Time was now very short.
There was another small shed not far from the burning bathroom. Yu fired a few shots toward the backing-up forces, then ran to it and climbed on the roof.
Emu
It was a great few minutes sweeping up and down the shore, firing at anything that moved, but then the messages came that told her it was time to get serious. Regretfully, she steered the jet ski south and let the Roto-Drones go on autopilot. Right now, all they needed to be was a perimeter guard.
Just south of the park, the road curved to a few meters away from the lake. A driveway was even closer. She moved toward it.
Rude
It was time. Finally.
He had been on the outskirts, taking potshots, but as Mr. Johnson’s people regrouped, he charged. He was going in with twin Predators. And grenades on the belt and a sword on his back.
He led with a flash-bang to put them on their heels, then a scream to unnerve them. Then bullets to put them in the ground.
There was smoke and dust, and blood was spattering. He was pretty sure only a little of it was his, but he could worry about later. His arm hurt. It was okay. It should
As he approached the RVs, he holstered a Predator and got out his sword. It wouldn’t get into the guts of the RVs like bullets might, but it would scratch them up real nice.
Each swing brought sparks and deep gouges. He fired the gun occasionally, but the sword was way more satisfying, a test to see if he could bury it so deep in the vehicles that even he couldn’t pull it out.
He didn’t succeed, but it was fun trying.
The opposition was using the RVs as cover. After the initial shock, they might have been rallying. He looked for a big group to charge.
Then one of the RVs came to life. The electrical motor hummed rather than revved, and the tires spit gravel forward. Then it moved.
Mr. Johnson’s people went after it as soon as it started rolling. Rude occupied himself cutting them down from behind.
Frostburn
Frostburn sprinted. She was not where she was supposed to be.
The people near the beach had been a problem. They must have had fire-retardant clothing—she thought she had smoked them a few times, but they didn’t go down, and they kept firing back. They finally retreated toward lot 12, and she realized she was behind schedule.
She was running past a playground when she heard tires throwing gravel. It was happening. She was supposed to be on the other side of the road.
There was the RV, moving down the road. Zipfile had control. Some lackey was leaning out the front window, firing a pistol while fruitlessly working the steering wheel.
She went with an ice spear on him. It hit his head, and he sagged.
She was too slow. And on the wrong side. It was passing her.
She put on a burst as the RV passed and lunged for the ladder on the back. The vehicle wasn’t moving too fast, but grabbing the ladder still nearly ripped her arm off. Her feet dragged on the ground, rocks cutting her shins. She pulled, hard, and got her other arm on the ladder, then raised herself on to the ladder entirely.
There was a thud on the roof. She stepped up a rung and looked. Yu had just jumped aboard.
There was a window next to the ladder. An ice spear shattered it, and a nice light fireball chaser let everyone inside the RV know that she meant business. She swung her legs up and over the edge of the window and climbed in.
Mr. Johnson was there, pistol out. He fired, one into the wall, one into her neck. She grasped her neck with one hand, and threw an ice chunk at him with the other. It hit his shoulder and sent him spinning.
She ran forward. She was not a street fighter, but she was still a damned ork. She lowered her shoulder into Mr. Johnson and sent him flying. She stepped over him, ran to the front door, and opened it while her hand on her neck channeled healing mana.
Yu swung down into the vehicle. He dashed right to Mr. Johnson and slapped restraints on his wrists.
“Cast it,” he said.
A mana barrier went up that covered the whole interior of the RV. It wouldn’t keep out bullets, but there were fewer and fewer of those as they pulled away from Mr. Johnson’s people. She took a breath.
Yu helped pull Mr. Johnson into a seat at the RV’s table, then sat across from him.
“Let’s talk.”
Yu
They swung by the point where Emu was waiting, and Frostburn let her pass through the barrier. Emu took control, and the RV puttered along like a normal vehicle. A normal vehicle with bullet holes and large sword gouges on it.
“You don’t even have to talk,” Yu said. “Just listen. Look, we understand. Tying up loose ends. This was a mess to begin with, and messes need to be cleaned up. I get it. I just want you to understand who we are.” He shared an ARO with Mr. Johnson that had a snippet of a newscast about the AVR explosion.
“Our sources inside Knight Errant indicate that the explosion, while itself not magical in nature, was triggered magically,” the reporter said. “A tip led them to investigate the signature of the spell used, and an off-the-record source told me it had ‘known connections to Maersk operations.’”
Mr. Johnson looked at the area where the image had been for a few moments after it closed. Then he looked at Yu. It was difficult to read anything in his expression other than weariness and pain.
“Look, you know and I know Maersk won’t suffer anything from this. They’ll have to occupy themselves cleaning this up, making themselves look nice and innocent, paying some bribes, all the usual. In the end, they’ll be fine. But will this occupy them for a little? Distract them?”
Mr. Johnson sat still. Then he nodded.
“You have three of us here. But Rude and Zipfile, they’re out there. No matter what you do to us, they’re out there. So here’s the real question—how are you going to put them, and us, to use?”
Finally—finally—Mr. Johnson cracked a hint of a smile.
Frostburn
It was three a.m. She was home.
The lights responded to her pre-set gestures. The speakers played Maria Mercurial for her. The kitchen was already making tea. And no one else was making noise, or worse, trying to talk to her.
Her neck was a little sore, but it could have been much worse. She was healthy and alive. Was she safe? Who knew? What were the promises of a Mr. Johnson worth? But he’d let them go. He’d even paid them. For now, that was enough.
They’d shown they could play the game. They never directly revealed all the information Yu had uncovered in his night of legwork, but they made it clear that they understood Mr. Johnson was connected to Wuxing. And rather than threatening exposure, they showed that they understood. They got a runner who could f
ake a Maersk signature to light up the commlink that blew the building up, and they pointed the police investigation at one of Wuxing’s biggest rivals.
It was a simple message: We know how to play the game. We can do more than you think. What do you want to do with us?
Throughout this whole mess, they had been a team no one wanted. A team set up to fail. A team that not even all of the members were sure they wanted to be on sometimes. But they’d gone up against both Renraku and Wuxing, and they were still alive, paid, and about to sleep in their own beds.
Tomorrow, they might be the target of either or both corps. They might be hunted. But tonight was peace. Tonight, they were unwanted, and that was the right thing to be.
SHADOW DANCE
A SHADOWRUN NOVEL BY AARON ROSENBERG
COMING SOON
THE SHADOWS OF A MAN’S PAST ARE LONG…
Cole Danvers is a small-time shadowrunner scratching out a living in the dangerous, divided sprawl of Denver, Colorado. But when a lucrative heist to steal an AmerIndian amulet goes terribly wrong, costing him both his teammates and nearly his life, Cole hits the streets intent on only one thing—vengeance.
But as he tracks down the Johnson that sent him on this deadly mission, Cole quickly realizes he’s stumbled onto a plot much bigger than stealing a piece of jewelry—and that it’s somehow connected to his own shadowed past. Soon, he’s sucked into machinations that involves Native Americans, wily shamans, and impossibly, himself. And even sooner, Cole realizes he needs help to take down his enemies—before he gets killed for real this time.
Assembling a motley crew of shadowrunners using every bit of guile and charisma he possesses, Cole sets out to solve the mystery of who tried to double-cross him and why…and what, if anything it has to do with his own murky background. But the answers may do more than just shock him…before it’s all over, they may just be the death of him…
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