* * *
Major Fuhito was in a frenzy. His troops had run into a carefully prepared ambush and were currently pinned down. The hunters had, temporarily at least, become the prey. The idiocy of the late Captain Murrough had cost them the element of surprise, as well as the armament in the helicopter and one of the armored personnel carriers. The mercenaries were armed much more heavily than his agents had reported and were putting up a defense out of all proportion to their numbers. His requests for more air and ground reinforcements had been delayed by the inability of anyone to locate security manager Haesslich. The overpaid monster is probably out devouring someone, the Major fumed silently. What should have been a short, surgical operation had turned into a bloody brawl, and even in the Barrens, the Seattle government frowned on overt military action by the corporations. The only positive was that Murrough’s death provided a convenient scapegoat on which to blame this debacie.
His desk comm buzzed, exacerbating the Major’s already savage mood. "What is it?" he barked at the screen. "I gave express orders not to be disturbed!"
His orderly’s face was carefully wooden. "Dr. Heminings wishes to see you at once, sir."
The Major snorted angrily. "He can request an appointment, like anyone else. I have no time for magicians when I am in the middle of coordinating a major action." Just then, the office door flew open and his burly staff mage stalked in.
"Doctor Hemmings!" erupted the Major, "I am aware that members of your profession are granted extraordinary latitude, but such an outrageous ..."
"Save it, Fuhito! I don't have time to stand around waiting for you to finish abusing your flunkies. If you don’t care to know that your precious facility has been invaded, that’s fine with me! I just work here."
"Please, Doctor, let me finish. . . . Did you say invaded?"
"Thought that would get your attention," grunted Hemmings. "A few minutes ago, I detected a faint magical emanation coming from the main building, on or near the top floor. It was quite brief and of very low power, easily caused by any number of phenomena. However, there are no magical operatons scheduled for tonight, so I thought you’d want to know about it."
"Do you call that a report. Doctor? I thought magicians were able to examine such things through clairvoyance or astral projection or some such thing?"
"Why Major, surely you are familiar with corporate policy number 49, section c, paragraph 5, which says, quote, No thaurnaturgical services specialist shall engage in astral research without first notifying his security coordinator of his whereabouts and potential risks to his person or the site where he is stationed, unquote. In the event that we have been invaded by someone capable of magic, then apart from my own risks in confronting the intruder astrally, he could channel a destructive spell through my body, to affect the environment surrounding it. Or don’t you mind the idea of a fireball going off in your precious headquarters?"
"Spare me your sarcasm, Doctor Hemmings." The Major touched a key on his console and snapped out an order, then turned back to the mage. "We shall know soon enough. I have dispatched a squad to the roof to examine your find. In the event that your overdramatic statement about intruders is correct, please prepare to join the special tactics unit. They will be able to protect you from any real dangers, I am sure."
Hemmings snorted and stomped out of the office. Pleased at having gotten the last word with the man, Fuhito punched up the status of the action against the mercenaries. He was glad to see that reinforcements had arrived and were beginning to push the scum back from their defensive perimeter. He sighed. Out there was where a warrior belonged, not chained to an office, baited by insolent wizards.
* * *
Thorn tapped out a final sequence on the keypad he had spliced into the junction box. The device he’d set up in the stairwell where they were hunkered down began to disgorge thin plastic strips. "That’s it, guys. This circuit routes directly into the security scanners. I’ve dumped the recognition codes into memory and burned a set of transponders for us. Put these on, and as far as the building systems can tell, we’re top-level security suits, with access to all locations."
The rest of the team had been quietly chewing their nails while the elf worked his own brand of magic. Compared to the lightning-fast results a decker would have gotten by plugging his own nervous system into the computer interface. Thorn’s manual operations had seemed agonizingly slow. Still, as he had pointed out, with the opposition watching out for a bear at the front door, a mouse could skitter around inside the system with relative ease.
"Don’t let these things soften your edge," the thief warned in a low voice. "They may impress the drek outta the scanners, but they won’t do a thing for a living guard. This is where the rough part really starts."
The team moved down the stairs.
* * *
The harsh blast of a missile shook the old apartment block, and several of the mercs cursed as the cracked ceiling disgorged chunks of plastic onto them. The upper floors of the tenement were in flames, and the faint rumble of diesels announced the arrival of more UniOil APCs. While surprise and heavy firepower had stalled the corporate forces, reinforcements had been thrown into the battle, and the butcher’s bill was climbing.
Hampton himself was covering the lobby door leading into the street with a medium MG mounted on a motor-assisted body harness. Johnny Roman Nose was busily wiring an assortment of dun-colored packets, striped with bright colors, to the cracked walls. Mercenaries were moving quickly through the area, heading for an open elevator shaft that would lead them into the extensive storm drains that lay under the building.
"Y'all keep it moving, heah!" yelled the ork. "The haul-ass express is leaving’ directly on track nine." He kept count of the troops moving past him. Finally, only he and his top-kick were left. The number of survivors left Hampton feeling sick. "Jesus, Johnny! So many of my kids ain’t ever leavin' this fraggin’ deathtrap!"
"Colonel, they knew the odds ..."
"Don’t talk to me about odds, Sergeant! I swapped their lives for a heap of fraggin’ scrap metal, so some slick sumbitch could waltz around in an office stealin’ some goddam—"
"Sam! We gotta get out of here now. I’ve got this Christmas tree wired up and ready to blow. Those corp bastards outside won’t wait for long now that ..."
" ‘Kay, Johnny, I hear ya. Let’s git . . ."
A missile blast shattered the lobby doors and shrapnel burst throughout the room. His ears ringing, half-blinded by the dust, the Colonel hosed a burst from the MG out the gaping hole in the wall. The explosive rounds thundered in the street outside, and he grinned savagely as a scream echoed over the noise. "One more for the ferryman's fee. Johnny." There was no answer. Hampton whirled, wrestling the heavy weapon around by brute strength. "Johnny!"
A shattered piece of meat lay where the Sergeant had been. Hampton’s vision went red. Part of him wanted to charge out into the street, blasting away with the MG until he went down. Part wanted to hold Roman Nose’s body and howl. The part that was the Colonel did the only thing an officer could do: he left the body of his closest friend lying where it had fallen and rejoined his men.
In the tunnels, surrounded by the ones who had survived, Hampton pulled a small transmitter out of its protective sheath, and thumbed it on. "Ork gonna miss injun," he whispered. "Ook, ook." He pressed a button. Twenty kilos of high explosive turned the flaming tenement into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Rather to his own amazement. Thorn was seated at the console of a Mitsuhama 9505 mainframe computer. Outside, three UniOil guards slept the sleep of the just, courtesy of Neddy. Five very frightened and extremely cooperative computer operators sat cuffed and gagged in a corner of the room, staring at the muzzle of Smedley’s enormous shotgun. Neddy and Nameless were covering the antechamber outside, and Iris hovered behind him, ready to assist with her own skills if he ran into problems. "This is just too damn smooth," he muttered.
He ran his fingers over the master terminal’
s keys. Well, what the hell. Let’s see what we get for free. The system was running standard MCT-OSZOOO as far as he could tell. Cripes, I wish we had a decker. Jacked into the system console, he could gut the damned system before anyone could blink.
He tapped in a standard file structure inquiry. It prompted for search criteria. O.K., baby, give me "Bob’s Cartage" or "Natural Vat. " He expected a passcode prompt, or an access lock, or even a howl of alarms. The one thing he didn't expect appeared on the terminal screen: File Open. D)ownload, R)ead, E)dit, P)urge, (cr to close):
"Holy drek! There the sucker is! I do not believe this! It’s just too—"
Nameless popped his head into the machine room. "Thorn! Somethin’s up. Guard station terminal just flashed orders to check for intruders. Slot and run, man, I think we’re runnin’ outta time."
Thorn yanked a datachip out of his pocket, snapped it into an Input/Output slot on the console, and tapped in a "D." The terminal screen displayed a blinking cursor for a moment. then flashed "Download complete."
Thorn almost let out a whoop, strangled the impulse, and slapped the carriage return. He blanked the screen, grabbed the chip, and bounced out of the chair. "Either we’ve got the goods or we’ve been suckered, and I don’t propose to hang around finding out which. Let’s buzz while we can. We still gotta get outta here in one piece and that’s where the rough part really starts!"
* * *
"You found what?" moaned Fuhito.
"Three collapsible, ultralight aircraft sir."
"On the roof of my building? Dammit, man, don't just stand there! Initiate a full search at once."
"Sir, we’ll need additional units. Six of us can’t . . ."
"Don’t waste my time with your pitiful excuses!" screamed the Major. "Begin a downward search pattern at once." Fuhito blanked the screen. He stared for a moment at the last situation report from the strike force in the Redmond Barrens: twenty-eight dead, twice that many wounded, two more copters and three APCs destroyed when those madmen destroyed the building. No one. not even madmen, would have put up that kind of fight as a decoy!
But he was still left with barely two dozen guards to cover a facility that stretched over several city blocks.
Fuhito slapped at his console. "All stations! This is code red alert! Intruders have entered the facility. Begin search immediately and report any results at once. At once! Access stations, seal the facility!"
* * *
Thorn had just wired the electrodes of a sleek, black plastic box to the door when alarms started going off. His head jerked up. "Aaaw, hell. I knew it was too smooth!" Nameless and Smedley, at opposite ends of the narrow corridor that led to the service entrance, dropped into firing positions. Neddy glanced at Thorn. "It would seem that the need for secrecy is past. Thorn, lad. Do we need to persuade the door to open, or are more forceful measures appropriate?"
"Drek. Neddy, knock yourself out."
"I wish you mundanes wouldn’t use that expression. You might want to stand back, by the by." The mage took a deep breath, pointed a stiff finger at the door, and barked a single, sharp syllable. The door blew off its hinges with a shriek of tearing metal and then sailed out into the night, landing with a clang on the plasticrete several meters away. "My, that was interesting," the wizard beamed.
The team pounded out onto the pavement. The compound fence loomed in the shadows twenty meters away. Shouts from inside the building echoed through the ravaged doorway. "Iris, do it!" yelled Thorn.
Iris jammed a cable from one of her belt pouches into her wrist jack. Her pace faltered, but Smedley swept her up, cradling the slim form in his huge arms, as they raced across the open space toward the fence. A pair of headlights appeared on the other side of the barrier as a battered van pulled into view, rushing toward them. The van squealed to a halt facing the fence and two metal arms extruded themselves from its front. When they touched the fence.-their ends exploded into blinding whiteness. Twin thermite lances cut through the links as if they were butter, slicing a square opening in the tough metal fabric. Thorn hit the fence at top speed, and the cut-out section ripped loose. He slammed into the front of the van, stunned by the impact, and would have fallen if Nameless hadn’t grabbed him by the collar. "You still havin’ trouble wit' fences?" he growled.
They piled into the van as a few figures raced out of the building behind them. Iris revved the engine and burned rubber into the darkness as a few, forlorn bullets whizzed wide of the mark.
It was five minutes and several kilometers away when Smedley turned to Thorn and said, "So, when does the rough part start?"
They laughed so hard they almost piled the van into a street lamp.
* * *
A very run-of-the-mill Honda, Allegra pulled to a stop in front of the garishly lit entrance of the shopping mall. Even in the small hours of the morning, multicolored neolux painted the rain-wet streets with glittering promises of "Bargains Bargains Bargains." Thorn and Smedley moved to covering positions as two corp muscleboys got out. Everybody played it macrocool as Neddy emerged from the mall at the same time that the woman in the suit descended from the back of the Honda. No one was impolite enough to point out that the ordinary-looking family car deployed a machine gun, nor did anyone object when Nameless appeared at the back door of the van down the street, ostentatiously not pointing a missile launcher at anything in particular. This was a business meeting: professional, polite.
"Ms. Johnson, what a pleasure to see you." murmured the magician, with a tip of his symbol-sewn fedora.
"Dr. Fortescue," she replied.
"I believe this is what you requested, dear lady."
With a theatrical flourish, he produced the datachip, like an old-time stage conjuror pulling a rabbit out of a hat. The woman took it, and fitted it into a data reader. She jacked the device into her temple and her expression became distant as she filtered the information through her senses. She stiffened. As if in a dream, she began to mutter a stream of invective in a steady monotone. Then she jacked out.
Her expression surprised Thorn. You rarely see Ms. Johnson look embarrassed. The job involves doing drek to people too often to let something trivial upset you. So, it isn't trivial, he thought. Thorn eased the studied languor of his stance enough to improve his drawing time by a tenth of a second, just in case.
"I regret. Doctor, that there seems to be a complication." The mage’s eyes narrowed, though his smile didn’t slip a millimeter. "Oh dear. I do dislike complications. They often prove expensive."
"This one certainly will be," she said savagely. Everybody tensed, until she added. "Oh. not to you, Dr. Fortescue. Our original agreement remains in force. I’m not going to let company politics louse up my connection to a team like yours." Her ferocious glare softened into a more mischievous expression. "Besides, the accounting for this operation is small stuff compared to the drek that’s going to fly in the next few days."
She handed over a bundle of credstiks. And the datachip. "I feel I have to tell you. Doctor, that while I appreciate your efforts, they seem to have been wasted. That data is useless to my employers, to you, to anyone. This whole operation was an ourobouros."
Thorn distinctly heard Smedley’s curse echo his own. Ourobouros: the serpent that eats its own tail. In the jargon of the shadows, it meant a scam where someone planted false information secretly, then went to great expense and difficulty to retrieve it through more visible channels, thus "proving" the information was valid. Thorn had always hated the idea. Making a run as part of some convoluted, political daisy chain made him understandably testy.
Judging from the chill in Neddy’s voice, he felt the same. "You seem quite certain."
"I wish I were mistaken, but the signs of tampering are quite obvious. This was planted by someone and the contents are so transparently . . . well, it can only have been done by the person who gave me my instructions."
Fortescue drew himself up. "I see. I would like you to give your principal a message from me."
<
br /> "Save your breath, Doctor. That smooth-talking fragger is in over his head and I am not letting him make me his scapegoat. This piece of stupidity is going to be very interesting to his superiors. I’ve copied the data but, well, I have no use for that chip. Perhaps you do."
The suit-lady and her muscle climbed back into the Honda and betook themselves elsewhere.
"Well, drek," muttered Thorn. "That was a nice exercise in futility."
"C’mon, Thorn," chided Smedley. "We got da cred even if da run was a tailchaser."
"And this, I believe, settles that issue, Mr. Thorn," added Fortescue. handing over one of the certified credstiks from his collection. Nameless ambled over to the group as Iris materialized out of the shadows beside the mall. The magician handed out the remaining stiks, tucking his own into the capacious innards of his duster.
He glanced at the datachip in his hand. "I am tempted to keep this as a reminder of the sometime duplicity of our employers. But fate will most likely deliver additional souvenirs of the kind as time goes by." He glanced down the street, noted the approaching lights of a street cleaner rounding the corner. "Well-timed," he said, and tossed the chip into the gutter.
"A minor celebration seems in order," the mage continued, "and I believe the Eye of the Needle has Lobster Thermidor on the menu tonight. We’re still breathing and tonight we’re rich. That ought to count for something in the cosmic balance."
Thorn was still staring at the discarded chip, black fury on his face. Iris slipped an arm around his shoulder. "So, Thorn," she mugged, "has the rough part started yet?"
"Y’all missed the rough part." came a voice from the shadows across the street. The runners jerked to face the source of the words. Sam Hampton, still in the battered armor and torn fatigues he'd fought in. moved into the light. "I gather things went pretty smooth on your little run. Nobody's missing any pieces. Is everyone you started out with still around?"
Thorn shrank from the cold fury in the man’s voice. "God, Colonel, how rough was the . . ."
"Rough enough. Thorn. Yes, I’d say quite rough enough. Y'all got your money’s worth tonight. I just wanted to trace you down to add a little extra to the bill."
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