SHADOWRUN: Spells and Chrome (shadowrun)

by Anthology

  "Tell me about it." Harriman sounded both flustered and relieved.

  "No, why don't you tell us?"

  "Stop bullying him," Alana said.

  "You don't think this is a little fucked up?"

  "Of course, but before you go around slinging accusations, look at your dive computer."

  He did, asking for his HUD. He expected his air to be low; it felt like it should be. Maybe a half hour left, max (which, no, wasn't good). But his HUD said his fill was virtually unchanged from when they'd arrived at the seamount: a couple hours' worth.

  That wasn't right. How much time…? He scanned the readout, looked at the elapsed time… and then looked again. Told his computer to do a systems check and read the impossible.

  When he didn't say anything, Alana said, "See? Time's slowed down. For all intents and purposes, time has stopped."

  "That's crazy." He wasn't a physicist, but… "Even if we're trapped, time should be passing normally within the bubble."

  "Well, it's not." Lee Harriman wore a drysuit as well, and a full face mask. His cyber-eyes were silver-blue and very bright. "It's been, what, two weeks? My fill's only gone down an eighth."

  "Yeah, but what are you eating? What are you drinking? Why haven't you died of thirst, or hunger?"

  "Daniel," said Alana.

  "Alana, they found pieces of his suit. They said sharks." He thought of the sharks above the seamount. Christ, what if they had gone after Harriman to protect her?

  Alana was saying: "We don't know that it was Lee's suit they…"

  "Fuck this." Harriman broke in, his voice edgy. "Alana said you're a practitioner. So either I've got an aura, or not, right?" When Daniel didn't answer, Harriman said, "Right. So back the fuck off, okay? I don't know why I'm not dead, but I'm not real sorry to disappoint you."

  "Bullshit." Daniel couldn't read Harriman's eyes, but he hadn't spent time reading body language for nothing. "You do know, or you've got a pretty damn good idea."

  "Lee?" Alana was a small woman, and light-and for the first time, Daniel noticed that she was riding a little high and something dinged in the far reaches of his brain, but he couldn't chase the thought down. Alana reached a hand to her lover then seemed to think better of it. "Tell us."

  Harriman was staring at the virtually featureless curve of lava arcing over them, his weirdly blue eyes clicking right then left. Finally, they settled on Daniel's face.

  "I don't know for sure," he said. "But I think it's been waiting."

  "Waiting for what?" said Alana.

  Harriman stared at Daniel. "You." • • •

  Harriman led the way, following a guideline through a maze of narrow lava tubes that led into the guts of the dead volcano. Daniel had visions of the tubes crumpling under the pressure, the full force of the seamount crashing down. His breathing was shallow; he was hyperventilating but not getting much air. His headache was worse, and his chest was one continuous burn.

  Calm down. He tongued salt from his upper lip. You've been in way worse situations. The fact that he couldn't think of any off the top of his head wasn't reassuring. This was like something out of a childhood nightmare: visions of being trapped underground, in the dark, where going up wasn't an option.

  And something else: He'd never wished for the Rebbe to find them quite as much as he did now. Some kind of irony there.

  "How… how much… further?" Alana sounded as winded as he felt. He craned his neck but could only manage a few degrees: enough to see her laboring in the glow of his headlamp. Her tanks clanked rock.

  "Not much." There wasn't enough room for Harriman to turn around. "Just another dozen meters or so."

  It was less. Inching along, and then Daniel felt the roof of the lava tube soar away, had the sense of space opening before them. He switched to his astral sense; saw Alana's orange glow-washed out, weaker than before, like a sunset bled of color, on the cusp of night. Harriman was even dimmer, just a silvery wisp.

  But now above and beyond Harriman, an immense space in which something pulsed and glowed now white, now purple, now green…

  The tube spat them out and the sudden drop was like tumbling out of an airlock into outer space: nothing above, and a long way-forever-down. He was having trouble with his buoyancy, the added weight of the water dragging him down and he scuttled back, kicking until his tanks banged rock. Grappling for a handhold, he hung-and stared. He'd seen pictures of the Watergate's Great Rift and of course, he'd seen-and repaired-much smaller tears in the fabric between metaplanes. Still, he wasn't prepared.

  Ragged, gaping, the rift was easily ninety meters long, fifty meters wide. It undulated like something alive; gossamer-thin tendrils of mana coiled in its depths, glimpses of an adjoining metaplane. Bolts of light fitfully pulsed between its shredded, swollen lips, like blood spurting from a wound hacked into the skin of the earth. Something moved in the rip. Not mana. He squinted. The effect was like peering through a flawed pane of milky, runny glass. He could make out shadows, silhouettes and as he watched, one pulled together, solidified-

  Oh shit…

  A shedu.

  "What is this, Harriman? What…?" He swung his head toward the other man and his voice died in his throat because he saw two things: Harriman-and Alana, hovering at an angle, her feet higher than her head, working hard to keep from drifting.

  God, no…

  When a diver's tanks empty, the paradoxical happens. Compressed air, trimix, heliox are all heavy. As tanks are depleted, a diver usually dumps air from her buoyancy compensator, or expels air from her lungs in order to maintain her trim. Only when a diver's air is completely gone and the lungs filled with water will the body sink. The only reason a dead person floats is because of tissue bloat from gases released with decomposition.

  Alana, an experienced diver, was having trouble with her trim and the only reason for that was…

  "Alana." Each breath was harder and harder, but now he knew why. Cursed himself for not having thought of it before. Wondered if the same force that had fooled their senses also clouded his judgment. "Alana, honey, I need you to come over here."

  "What?" Her labored breathing rasped in his ears. She sounded dazed. Her face shone with sweat.

  "Alana, it's an illusion. This whole time… we've been… running out of air." Now that he knew for sure, he could sense the seconds ticking off his life. "Your buoyancy… " He gulped down another thin lungful. "Headache…"

  "Carbon dioxide." He heard the sudden fear in her voice. "But… but Lee…"

  "Alana, look at him." He swallowed, slicked his lips. "No bubbles. He's got no air… "

  "Oh my God." Her voice quaked with terror. "Lee? LEE?"

  "No." With a huge effort, he kicked, closed the distance between them and wrapped a hand around her bicep. "Stay away, just… Ah, God."

  He saw now that Harriman's suit was in tatters; half his chest was gone and a chunk of his left thigh; his facemask was shattered, open to the water. A yellow stalk of nerve wormed from one empty socket. Harriman's puffy face went slack all at once, like a marionette whose puppeteer has stepped out for a smoke. His color leeched away; his head lolled; and then his lower jaw sagged. A convulsive shudder wracked his frame; something bulged and heaved in his throat.

  Alana screamed.

  Harriman vomited something slick and mucinous and gray. It had the undulant consistency of a jellyfish, the same translucent milkiness and yet it was also muscular, like the rope of a serpent's body worming in a gurgling, unctuous coil. Emptied of its cargo, Harriman's savaged body drifted away, spinning in a slow, lazy spiral.

  Give me what I want. The shedu's voice was sibilant, gauzy, curiously tender. This one was weak; he let her get away and then he smashed his own facemask and he died, and for what?

  And yet, Daniel thought, the shedu-clearly a Master to have manufactured such an illusion and held open this gateway-had not used Harriman's body to escape. Why?

  The Master, seeping into his brain: I require a vessel able
to contain me.

  Something like him: a binder, who could hold all that monstrousness for all time, if need be. Someone whose shell would not decay. A kind of shedu-esque Dorian Gray. Well, that was his talent, wasn't it? Had the Rebbe known? He thought of the legend, that the shedim were locked away in mountains and in the depths…

  The Master: Who do you think imprisoned me here to begin with? You are a pawn, nothing more, but I offer you power. I offer you life.

  Something had gone wrong here, Daniel knew. He was surprised at how calm he felt, as if he'd always known that this was his destiny. All his sins, the stains of his past…

  So. This prison had weakened, or the Master found some way to break through and now there were others, waiting to come through…

  But why Alana?

  The Master, again: Without her, you would never have been drawn here. Submit freely, and I will let her go again.

  A lie. He knew that. But he would have to very careful now.

  "What," Daniel sucked in a mouthful of air but couldn't fill his lungs. "What… guarantee?"

  "Who…" Alana gulped. "Who… are you… talking to?"

  No guarantees, but I will not interfere. A pause. You do not have much time. Soon your air will be gone and you will die. Submit. Open yourself and live.

  "Go." Chest working, he ripped off his spare air and thrust it at her. He spoke in bursts, trying to get it all out while they still had time. "Get out. Guideline. Let you go once. If I stay…"

  "N-no." Her skin was a sick, dusky blue in his headlamp. "No… I'm nearly out." The whistle of her next breath. "I won't make it." Another gasp. "Not leaving… without you."

  "GO!" Pushing the canister into her arms, he shoved her, suddenly, very hard. The effort blacked his vision for a second, and the world tilted wildly. Then his vision cleared, and he saw that she was flailing, one hand still holding the canister, the other trying to right herself.

  She wouldn't go, she wouldn't go! But he couldn't spare a lot of energy; if he were too depleted, they were both dead; and he certainly didn't have much time. Still, he had to give her this chance because there were no more options. Gritting his teeth, he focused his will, marshaled his mind, harnessed the power of the mana radiating from the rift, conjured up the image of the crater's maw and thought: GO.

  For an instant, nothing. Then, he felt the energy cohering around her, the crackle sizzling through the water, and when he looked, a electric halo closed round her body the way arcs of electricity dance from an antique Van de Graaf. She stiffened, and he caught her look of first confusion and then comprehension; and she reached for him, had time for one last word: "DANIEL!"

  And then she was gone. • • •

  And he was dead. • • •

  Foolish. The Master draped over him, a softly deforming ooze. She has no chance, and you have wasted precious energy. You'll truly die if you don't take me into you. You'll suffocate, or drown…

  Daniel felt his consciousness slewing, bit down as hard as he could on the soft flesh of his cheek. The shock was like a slap in the face, but his head was roaring now, the pain battering his skull, pulping his brain.

  He couldn't wait. He wanted to give her more time. And he wanted to live so much now, more than he ever had since Rachel.

  "Go," he whispered, "go, Alana, go, go…"

  Stop wasting air. Submit.

  Now.

  "Shevi min hayom v'machar v'leyolam," he croaked: This is the bond from today and tomorrow and forever…

  YES. The Master closed, cocooning Daniel's body. Its tendrils wormed through the rip in the back of Daniel's suit, then slithered along his neck, streaming along his arms, twining over his chest in a kind of ecstasy. YES.

  "Mumah anah umishveh beshem SHEDU HA-GADOL," he chanted, the Hebrew flowing from his lips, riding the last dregs of his air. "I make an oath and bind in the name of the Master who sits in Tehom whence all evil comes…"

  He drew a breath to continue-and got nothing. Tried again, and failed.

  Out of air. But it didn't matter.

  Once invited, the Master would never leave, and it was in his mouth now, gargling off the last of his breath, flowing into his lungs, leaking into his blood, running in fingers over the crevices of his brain… Daniel felt his mind dimming, the final remnants of who he was slipping away. But he could still move-fitfully, in tiny starts, like a child's toy whose battery's run out-and his arm responded, his fingers crawling along his wrist. Now, it had to be now because if he waited any longer, the Master would have him for all time, and all this would be for nothing.

  Would Alana know? Feel it? No. They were too far underground. He had done what he could.

  Go, Alana. Go and live…

  With the last of his strength, Daniel punched at his wrist-

  As the Master suddenly sensed his intent: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE…

  And now Daniel was swooning into oblivion: Rachel, I'm com…

  The water flared into a bright burning rose as Daniel's vest blew.

  One second she was floating above the rift; the next she was staring up at an oculus of cobalt blue against black, clutching Daniel's spare canister to her chest. She was back at the seamount's maw.

  She allowed herself one instant of anger-Daniel had the power to get them out all along but hadn't used it, why? Then she inhaled, got nothing, tried again, got more nothing. Thought: Shit.

  Working fast, she stripped her full facemask, tried not to panic as the water slammed her face, located the mouthpiece of Daniel's spare canister, jammed the regulator into her mouth, hit the purge button, and inhaled. Cool air flooded into her burning lungs, and she had to fight to not suck the canister dry. The auxiliary canister was designed for depths above forty meters, and she was two hundred feet below that. The increased pressure would make her use up her air more quickly and besides, this wasn't trimix. She'd get narced pretty damn quick.

  She had to get out, fast. No telling when that thing would come after her. Yet she had this feeling Daniel had one more trick up his sleeve…

  Then she saw the sleds she and Lee had tethered to the crater's rim what seemed years ago.

  Please. Swimming to one sled, she punched the starter. Nothing. Not even a click. The battery was dead. Nonononono… Seconds ticking away… She was almost afraid to try the second sled. Jabbed the start button and listened to a whole bunch of nothing.

  No, no, damn you!

  Desperate, kicking at the sleds, she pivoted, pulled water. Saw the sharks whirling high above.

  Oh shit. She'd forgotten about them. She watched as they knotted, bunched and then, as one, headed straight for her. Well, hell, it didn't matter; she couldn't afford to pussyfoot around. If they came after her, they came. She probably wasn't going to make it anyway, no matter what.

  She swam, kicking hard, pulling as fast as she could. She shot out of the crater and now she was passing the sharks, swimming for all she was worth.

  The sharks changed course, and closed.

  Her heart crowded into her mouth, and she could only watch as the sharks swirled around, bottling her up, getting closer, so close she could see the jostling of spiky teeth. Close enough that she saw the roll of their dead eyes: doll's eyes, eyes that were black and flat with absolutely no whites. Close enough that, now, they bumped her, bottled her up, and when she kicked, she actually hit one with her fin. Recoiling, she almost screamed, remembered the regulator, pushed the scream back into her chest. Breathless with fear and exhaustion, she looked down-

  And saw the ocean move. Felt the rip of an explosion sear her mind, her heart-and she knew: Daniel was dead. Truly, completely, irrevocably.

  No. Blinking against the salt sting of the water, she tried to focus-and then a tidal wave of fresh terror roared over her.

  Because the ocean was still moving. Right. For. Her. • • •

  Something coming: huge, a dark benthic blue, as if the ocean floor were levitating…

  And that's when she felt something else: a sudd
en rush of heat at her throat. Her skin prickled and she thought: Necklace…the tooth…

  The massive shape cohered, pulling together like something woven from mist and nightmares-and became a megalodon.

  Oh my God. The beast was enormous, a good sixteen, seventeen meters, maybe twenty. It was headed straight for her, its huge dorsal fin scything the water. Its mouth unhinged and she saw the maw bristling with teeth, and something went a little loose in her mind.

  I'm not seeing this. She watched it come, helpless as a bug hanging in a spider's web. When the creature was twenty yards away, the school of sharks hemming her in place splintered, each animal veering off to make way. The megalodon slid beneath, actually bumped up against her. Its dorsal fin glided past, and-almost as if in a dream-she hooked her hand round the fin.

  And the beast climbed. Its tail swept the water in powerful, even strokes, and she let the animal pull her. The water rushed past; its color began to lighten, and she looked up, expecting to see the bail-out tank-and did: hanging exactly where she and Daniel had left it.

  But she also saw something else that made her blood chill.

  Hovering in the water was the glowing imago of a man: very old, almost wizened, with a flow of snowy-white beard and intense, completely black eyes rimmed with no white whatsoever. A shark's eyes.

  No. Her thoughts were panicky. No, I'm not seeing this; I'm a mundane…

  A small voice, one she recognized as her own, sounded in her mind: Yeah, right. Sweetheart, you got yourself a magic tooth with a heap of mojo and you've hitched a ride on a megalodon…

  The old man studied her carefully, closely, and she had the sense he was memorizing every detail. They stared at one another: she on the back of this great beast, and he nothing more substantial than a dream. Then he-his projection-pulled apart in a sudden ripple, and vanished.

  And she thought: Rebbe…

  Coming after her? She sensed that might be right. So she would have to find a way to disappear. Back into the valley for a while. Then…?

  That small voice again: Sure, you can hide. You can run. But remember: That old asshole sent Daniel on a suicide mission. Repair, my eye. Blow yourself into little teeny, tiny pieces just like Humpty Dumpty is more like it. But that rip is still there; those shedim are there and that old fart's got to be involved. Now, you gonna let that stand?