Born to Run
The year is 2053. The Earth has been reborn.
Long-dormant magical forces have returned to the world, and the creatures of mankind's legends and nightmares have come out of hiding....
Megacorporations are the new world superpowers, ruling from the safety of vast arcologies. But outside the corporate enclaves, the dregs of society are at war. Organized crime gangs and other, more nefarious organizations struggle to carve out their own small empires. Sliding through the cracks in between are shadowrunners—professionals of the underworld who will do anything for a profit, and anything it takes to get the job done.
Kellan Colt has come to Seattle to make a name for herself in the shadows. But her first run proves that in her line of work, there's no such thing as a sure thing, and that in her world, there is only one law—survival.
FIRST IN THE ALL-NEW SHADOWRUN® TRILOGY!
WHERE ARE YOU?
“Right here." the decker said with a laugh, and Kellan looked down to see one of her own hands waving. Then she realized it wasn't her hand. It was like Kellan and Jackie were inhabiting the same virtual body, except Jackie was in control.
"Okay, hang on." Jackie said. She turned and stepped onto one of the glowing lines stretching toward the neon horizon.
It was like being on a roller coaster. Kellan felt as if she'd left her stomach behind as she suddenly zoomed along a glowing, silvery tunnel. Hundreds of other packets and bits of data flew back and forth in either direction, like a kind of digital rush hour.
Before Kellan even had a chance to get her bearings, it was over. The world snapped back into still focus and she stood out in front of a towering building. The walls were of reddish stone, with inset windows of mirrored glass, tinted a coppery color.
"Welcome to the Ares Macrotechnology Seattle host system." Jackie said, imitating the stereotypical nasal monotone of a tour guide. "Ahead you'll see what passes for security at a secondary Ares site like this one."
Kellan could see the main doors of the building. Curled up on the wide stone landing in front of them was a massive black hound, as big as a troll. It had three heads, all lying on its folded paws, eyes closed. It was breathing slowly and deeply and appeared to be sleeping. Spiked iron collars around its necks were connected to a heavy chain bolted into the stone wall behind it
"Standard Ares Cerberus ice." Jackie said. "Not terribly imaginative, but then, what can you expect?"
About The Author
Steve Kenson stepped into the shadows in 1997 with the Awakenings sourcebook. Since then, he has written or contributed to more than two dozen Shadowrun™ RPG books. His first Shadowrun novel, Technobabel, was published in 1998. He has written three other Shadowrun novels (Crossroads, Ragnarock, and The Burning Time), in addition to MechWarrior™ and Crimson Skies™ novels. Steve lives in Merrimack, New Hampshire, with his partner, Christopher Penczak.
ROC
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, November 2005 10 987654321
Copyright © WizKids, Inc., 2005 All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK MARC A REC.ISTRADA
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SHADOWRUN : 42
BORN TO RUN
A Shadowrun™ Novel
STEPHEN KENSON
To my friends, family, and Christopher, most of all
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Jartna Silverstein for getting the ball rolling and to Sharon Turner Mulvihill for picking it up and running with it. You're two of the best editors I've had the pleasure to work with. Thanks to Mike Mulvihill for his invaluable advice on all things Shadowrun, and to everyone involved with the Shadowrun Duels game and the creation of Kellan and her associates.
Contents
Cover
About The Author
Copyright
Title
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Chapter 1
When Kellan Colt reached the Underworld, it started to rain. Not very much, just a drizzle from the leaden clouds, which were lit from beneath by the neon glow of the metroplex, spattering droplets of light across the grimy windows of the Grid-Cab.
“Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, Ms. Webley." the onboard computer chirped cheerfully as Kellan removed her credstick from the slot, her balance now a few nuyen lighter than she would have liked. The cab door hissed open automatically and Kellan climbed out. Someone else was waiting to climb in and the cab chirped, “Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, please slot your credstick and enter your desired destination. . .
Kellan looked up at the kromeglow marquees that climbed the walls to loom overhead, spelling out underworld 93. The building was a converted warehouse: huge, blocky and made of gray plasticrete, pocked with scars and chips and liberally
decorated with graffiti, which only added to its character as a fixture of the Seattle nightclub scene. The line to get in already extended down the block, made up mostly of eager young corp-babies dressed up in their latest street-wear for an exciting night of slumming oh-so-close to the Puyallup Barrens, their idea of life on the edge. Mixed in were the locals, their clothes not quite so perfectly coordinated, their "look" not so practiced. Kellan spotted a couple of dwarves, a few elves looking like they'd just stepped off the runway of a fashion show, even some orks and a troll dressed in leathers and torn synthdenim.
She ignored it all, jammed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and jandered right up past the head of the line like she belonged there, eyes straight ahead, chin up.
A massive hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"Hey, where do you think you're going, little girl?" The deep voice carried over the noise of the crowd and the pounding beat of the music pouring out from inside the club.
Kellan looked up into one of the ugliest faces she'd ever seen. He was an ork, which meant he stood head and shoulders above Kellan, above most humans, in fact. His face was straight out of a scary children's story: a broad nose and jaw, sloped brow and white tusks jutting up over his upper lip. His skin was dark and dotted with warts and his brown hair hung in heavy dreadlocks, decorated with shiny bits of metal. His outfit was sharp enough to shave with. He wore a white shirt that strained to contain the bulging muscles of his arms, shoulders and broad chest, and a close-fitting dark vest. His pants were tailored (they had to have been to fit him at all well) and his boots were worn but high quality. She could see that the outfit wasn't brand new, but it was put together in a way that showed the ork (or his employer) had taste, and some cred.
Kellan shook off the ork's hand and drew herself up to her full height, which still left her staring at the middle of his chest, and met his stare with one of her own.
"I'm going inside." she said, putting as much frost into her voice as she could manage.
"How old are you, kid?" the bouncer scoffed. Kellan heard a few jeers from the line, but ignored them, keeping her focus on the bouncer.
"Twenty-one." she replied without missing a beat.
"Let's see some ID."
Kellan produced her credstick and handed it to the bouncer, who slotted it into the portable reader clipped to his belt. Before she handed it over, Kellan keyed the stick to slip the ork some cred, if he wanted it.
"I'm here on business." she said, just loud enough for the ork to hear. His eyes flicked from the display on the screen of the reader to her face and back without any sign of emotion, then he tapped the screen a couple times.
"Oh yeah? What kind of business?" he asked casually, not looking up.
Her initial response was, "None of yours." but she bit that down. There was no point in hacking off the big ork. No real point in lying to him, either.
"I'm looking for someone." she said. "A chummer named G-Dogg." That got him to look up.
"Why?" the ork asked with a smile. "He owe you money or something?"
"Like I said, it's business. He around?"
The ork shrugged. "Haven't seen him, but G-Dogg hits a lot of clubs." He took the credstick out of the reader and handed it back to her. "If I see him I'll let him know that you're looking for him, Miz Webley. Have a good time.” He waved her on toward the door of the club.
"Thanks." Kellan said. The ork turned back toward the line, where the next pair of club-kids were loudly protesting his decision to let her cut the line.
"All right, next!" he said. "Let's see some ID."
Kellan walked through the front doors and entered the Underworld.
The first thing that struck her was the sound, a wall of noise coming from the towering amps flanking the broad stage. Flashing lasers pulsed in time to the beat, and a montage of video clips splashed across the floor-to-ceiling screens along the back wall.
Beyond the lobby, a broad staircase curved around the crowded dance floor off to the side of the stage. A band was wailing out tunes at a volume that seemed to make the rafters shake, and the crowd responded with enthusiastic moshing. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the elf fronting the band; his natural charisma made him a perfect lead singer. And she was not surprised to see a sasquatch backup vocalist, since their ability to imitate any sound practically guaranteed they'd end up in the entertainment industry. She'd never actually seen one live before.
Standing in the doorway, Kellan sighed as the light and the noise enveloped her. She'd made it. Of course, her attitude and a decent fake ID, along with some well-placed tips, had gotten her into more than a few clubs back home in Kansas City, but this was fragging Seattle. It was the big time. The Seattle Metroplex was a happening place, a little slice of the United Canadian American States out in the midst of the potentially hostile Native American Nations, right near the elven nation of Tir Tairngire and the California Free State. Gateway to the Pacific Rim, where the shadows were deep and dark, and there were chances at big scores, not the small-time biz of Kansas City.
"Seattle . ." Kellan breathed, looking around the club and just taking it all in. The place was jammed with people, most of them dressed in the latest club fashions, all of them gyrating to the music.
Kellan considered the contrast between her clothes and what everyone else was wearing. She wore a beat-up leather jacket over a white T-shirt that hadn't been washed in quite some time, tucked into some old jeans that were a little too big for her and cinched at the waist with a secondhand belt, and heavy work boots on her feet. Obviously, what she lacked in style, she made up in attitude. After all, she was in, and the fashionable were still waiting.
Unconsciously, one hand reached up to brush across the jade amulet she wore on a heavy gold chain around her neck. It was by far the most extravagant element of Kellan's outfit. She still wasn't quite used to its weight, but it felt so right around her neck. From the moment she'd seen it she'd known that it was meant for her. She just wished she knew more about it. Hopefully, that was one of the things she would find out in Seattle.
It had been in a package that had just shown up at her aunt's one day. It was a lucky thing Kellan had actually been home at the time, or she was sure that her aunt would have pawned the contents and she'd never even have known it existed. Her aunt would have used the money to buy some cheap liquor, to help her forget about all the money she'd shelled out for Kellan's care over the years. Which she never let Kellan forget: she was constantly harping on how Kellan was nothing but a burden to her ever since her mother had left her there.
There was no return address on the package, but the postmark showed that it was shipped from Seattle. Inside, Kellan found the amulet and a few other things: a stun baton, a tightly folded armored vest, some grenades, a survival kit, a certified credstick with a balance of a few thousand nuyen, and a computer-printed note. "This stuff belonged to your mother. Thought you might want it."
There was no signature, no indication of who might have sent it, but Kellan was smart enough to grab an opportunity when she saw it. She packed up her few possessions and got the hell out of her aunt's place within a week. She was finished with being told that she was nothing but a burden, when she was paying most of the bills. She was fed up with the service jobs where privileged corp-kids sneered at her or, worse yet, treated her like she didn't exist.
She swore to herself that she wasn't going to end up like her aunt, working in some dead-end job, struggling to make ends meet, and pouring what little nuyen she had left over into getting drunk so she didn't have to think about what a waste her life had become.
Kellan was going to make something of herself. That mean earning some cred, and for an undereducated kid with no legit prospects, there were only two ways to do that; selling herself on the streets, or working in the shadows. She had no intention of doing the former, and with the gear that came in the package, Kellan had enough of a stake to get a start as a shadowrunner.
She
proved herself on a couple of runs in Kansas City and earned enough to supplement the nuyen she had and make some connections to get to Seattle, where the package had come from, where the real action was. Now she was here.
Lost in her thoughts, Kellan nearly walked into a guy standing at the railing above the dance floor. She turned, prepared to apologize or defend herself, but it wasn't necessary. She saw the vacant stare and the narrow cable that snaked from the chrome jack behind the guy's ear down to the little box he wore at his belt. He was a chip-head, living in a virtual world of recorded simsense played directly into his brain. He swayed and shuffled in a slow sort of dance that had nothing to do with the music in the club, lost in his digital fantasy. Kellan jammed her hands back into her pockets and resolved to pay attention. Enough thinking about the past. Kansas City was behind her. She was in Seattle now, and it was time to see if she could get down to business.
Off to the side of the dance floor was a crowded cluster of tiny tables and chairs made by dwarves with a sense of humor. A crowd pressed in all around them, and Kellan wove her way through toward the bar that curved along the side wall. As she angled her body to slide between two scantily clad orks, a strange figure near one end of the bar captured her attention.
It was a ten-meter-tall statue finished in chromed metal that looked vaguely like a Buddha, with a bald, bullet-shaped head and a big belly swathed in a long, belted robe, with sandals on its bare feet. Loops of neolux tubing were wrapped around the statue's arms and legs and a speaker in its belly blasted out the sound from the stage. The look on the statue's face wasn't the serene expression Kellan associated with Buddha statues, though. It was simultaneously sly and stern, as if the fellow was in on some secret joke. As Kellan watched, puffs of smoke jetted from around the statue's feet, catching the laser light from the scaffolding above. Glowing words played across the chrome surface, appearing and disappearing so quickly that they were almost subliminal. They slid across the shining metal, proclaiming, question authority, 93, and love is the law.
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