by Nyx Smith
Maurice felt a swift pang of grief, then soft despair. As he returned to his mundane perceptions, he heard a crash like that of a trash can being knocked over, resounding outside in the alley, then the sudden savage snarl of a cat.
Jaeger turned and darted toward the alleyway.
The moment struck Maurice. The snarl of the cat stirred his memory. He tilted his head back, nodding, closing his eyes, and softly laughed. It had become a night for tricks, new and old. The snarling cat in the alley. What manner of shaman could use such a juvenile trick and yet could manipulate magic of a complexity as to conjure illusory auras?
"Husband," Daniella said. "Scan this."
Maurice opened his eyes, then followed his first wife into what appeared to be a bedroom. Lying on a bureau was an item that at first glance resembled a common monofilament sword, an artifact manufactured and distributed throughout the plex in the thousands by Ares Macrotechnology and other corps. On the astral plane, however, the sword's significance was obvious. It's aura had the character of a living thing that lived no more. The sword had once been imbued with power, as a focus for spells. The memory of those spells lingered still. Maurice doubted he would be able to determine much about the spells, but that was a secondary consideration.
The vibrations of the person who had carried the sword also lingered. That was what made the sword significant.
Plainly, it had been left behind by the runners' shaman, perhaps in exchange for something he had taken. That was the shaman's way, the most persistent of the rumors Maurice had heard. When Bandit took a thing, he left another in exchange. Maurice could hardly believe his luck, or the shaman's stupidity.
The sword would serve as a material link, and thus, through ritual magic, would lead Maurice directly to the shaman, thence the runners, regardless of where they had gone.
And this time Maurice would bow to no clever illusions.
32
The Chapel of the Eternal Light was just over the border from Little Asia in Sector 7. For five hundred nuyen, they laid out Filly's body in a room with perfumed air, quiet music, and molded plastic flowers, no questions asked. That included a five-minute trideo funeral service, cremation, and an urn for the ashes.
Rico paid the tab, despite Dok's protests. It was his responsibility. He was the leader. It was his failure to properly prepare for the meet with Prometheus that had cost Filly her life. Compared to the moral weight of that fact, five hundred nuyen was nothing.
They all knew the risks. Death was part of the game. For the sake of the survivors, Rico was trying hard not to think about the price of his failures or the chance that he might slot up again. If you wanted any chance at surviving, you did what you had to do and saved all the grief, self-doubts, and questions till the run was over and people were safe in bed.
When the pre-recorded serviced ended, Piper said, "I want people to remember, when gray death sets me free, I was a person who had many friends, and many friends had me." She paused a moment, then added, "Filly had many friends. And we her friends have her still. In our hearts. We will always have her there."
Another surprise. Rico puzzled. The words seemed somehow too openly compassionate for a reticent Japanese, and too Christian for a fanatical Buddhist-Ecologist. Maybe it was gender. Maybe it took a woman to speak with that much compassion, to get past her own habits and beliefs long enough to say what ought to be said. Rico wondered where the first few rhyming lines had come from. They sounded like something from a poem, but Piper had never shown any interest in poetry.
Wasn't anything what it seemed anymore?
Dok cursed and cried, then clenched his teeth and turned and walked away. Rico didn't think any less of Dok for any of that. He was only showing his strength.
An hour later, they met Mr. Victor's contact amid the stacks and factories of Sector 10. The slag pointed them to an unoccupied warehouse not far from Port Sector.
The place was five stories tall, about as wide as a tractor-trailer, jammed between a truck terminal and some kind of foundry. The air smelled like burnt metal.
Beyond the big bay door was a loading bay, an open area, narrow but long, with a loading platform at the rear. Beyond the platform was a short hall sided by several small rooms: an office, a bathroom,-and what looked like a lounge. Plastic-molded furniture and cushioned benches. Semi-nude holopics of celebs like Maria Mercurial and Taffy Lee and the Sayonara Baby joygirls decorated the walls. A scattering of trash, narc caps, BTL carriers, and rat shit littered the floor.
"Now I know we're in deep," Shank grumbled.
A curt reply leapt to Rico's lips, but he held it back. Shank was right. Maybe they'd never enjoyed luxury accommodations while on a run, but they'd usually managed to find something you could call decent.
Places where you had no second thoughts about using the furniture or maybe taking off your clothes for a shower. Taking refuge in a rat-infested squat in one of the filthiest parts of the plex didn't say much for how things were going. A glance at the bathroom confirmed it.
They supped on Nathan's Finest with rice and noodles. Rico watch Marena Farris dab at her mouth with a paper napkin. He'd have to make a decision about the woman: use her or lose her. Accept her proposal or let her go.
"Let's hear your proposition again," he said.
Farris hesitated, looking at Rico as if uncertain. Piper threw him a sharp glance.
Dok scowled. "What proposal?"
"Huh?" Shank added.
Farris told her story. The slag they'd busted out of Maas Intertech hadn't been Surikov, just a double named Michael Travis. The real Surikov was still with Fuchi Multitronics and not particularly happy about it.
Farris had begun negotiating a transfer to another corp on the real Surikov's behalf just prior to being lifted.
If Rico and the team would help her complete the transfer, she'd see to it that they were taken care of, paid cash nuyen, and forgotten by Daisaka Security.
"I wouldn't trust the fragging slitch."
The words could've been Piper's, but they came from Dok, hard and raw. Rico sat back and lit a cheroot. Shank said, "Nobody's asking you to trust her."
"No, of course not." Dok grinned acidly. "Just risk our lives!"
"We could use the money."
"Even if she's telling the truth, she can't guarantee Daisaka stays off our butts."
"There ain't no guarantees about nothing, chummer."
"And," Thorvin said, "we could still use the money."
"Money won't buy back your life, friend."
"Can't see living long without it, either."
Dok looked at Rico, and said, "You can't be thinking of going ahead with this?"
"No?" Rico said.
"It's insane!"
"No more than any other run."
In a way, Rico supposed, maybe they owed it to the slag who'd died in the parking field of the Willow Brook Mall, and to Filly. Both those people had lost their lives because of corporate treachery. Doing right by Farris and the real Surikov-assuming he was the real Surikov-would be a form of vengeance. Maybe the only kind of vengeance they could hope to exact. Somewhere down the road they might be able to cost Fuchi and the other corps a few percentage points on the exchange and lose them some money, crash their computers or spread nasty rumors about their financial health. For the moment, though, scoping out Farris' offer was the only chance for vengeance they had. A forced transfer of corporate assets. It wouldn't hurt a corp the size of Fuchi much, but it would still hurt.
"You in or out?" Rico said.
Dok stared, briefly. "You're saying the decision's already made?"
"The decision is we scan the scene, check what we can, make plans, do it right If everything's chill, then we go."
"We could be walking into a trap!"
Rico took a long drag on his cheroot before speaking "Look around you," he said. "The trap's already set."
"Yeah," Shank said. "An' it's closing fast."
The grime-smeared window bes
ide the loading bay door gave a fair view of the street out front. Rico stood watch, if for no other reason than he couldn't sleep. Too much on his mind. He wasn't there in the gloom of the loading bay more than half an hour before Piper appeared on the platform at the rear of the bay.
"Jefe...?"
"Here, chica."
For someone with ordinary eyes, the bay was nearly black. Piper groped her way down off the loading dock and across the bay. Rico caught her searching hand and drew her over to the side of the window. She hugged herself to his flank.
"We should just walk away, jefe," she said softly.
Rico murmured, "You know I can't do that."
"Why?"
He recounted the reasons for her, but the truth of it went beyond questions of money and survival. It went beyond any debts real or imagined to those who had died, It came down to something very simple: Marena Farris. Maybe the woman had plans to get away from Fuchi, but the fact was that she hadn't been ready to leave when they lifted her, so, in effect, she'd been snatched. Kidnapped. And now they'd had her too long to just send her back. Fuchi security would likely assume that she'd been tampered with, that they were getting some kind of trojan horse-maybe a spy or saboteur-in place of a loyal employee. She'd be questioned, analyzed, watched every minute of the day and night. She might never be trusted again. Piper would probably say it didn't matter, the woman was a fragging corporate, an enemy. Rico didn't see it that way. Farris might be a corporate and maybe she had secret agendas, but she was still a woman, and still a human being. That warranted some consideration. To Rico, it meant she had the right to walk her own path, and to get set back on that path if somebody tugged her in a direction she didn't choose herself.
Making that happen would take some doing, and Rico wished he could really trust what Farris told him. He hoped she was playing straight, or straight enough that any discrepancies didn't matter.
"Maybe we should go away somewhere after we finish with this," he said.
Piper clenched him tightly around the waist, moaning, "I don't care what we do as long as we get out of this alive."
"We'll make it."
For all their sakes, Rico hoped he was right.
33
At just after three a.m., Marena Farris' aura changed subtly, indicating she had finally fallen asleep, curled up on one of the cushioned benches in the lounge.
By four a.m., she seemed to be sleeping deeply. Everyone else in the lounge was sleeping, too.
Bandit waited a bit longer, then began.
His fingers found the medallion under his shirt. He used this because the medallion held power. The spell he began gathering, for all its subtlety, demanded great power.
He lifted his free hand slightly, just slightly, just enough to point his fingertips toward Marena Farris, then, he began mouthing the words, powerful words, never to be spoken aloud. This was one of his most intricate spells, designed and developed over the course of years. Each word must be spoken in a very specific manner, and must be spoken silently so that their secrets should remain forever secret.
Slowly, the mana gathered, first around his slightly uplifted hand, then flowing together into a narrow stream that flowed slowly, slowly, slowly across the etheric plane. Slowly arcing over Marena Farris' slumbering aura. Slowly surrounding her aura. Interpenetrating. Then curling, turning, joining. Gradually weaving a web. Gradually forming a connection.
Sleep, the magic softly directed. Sleep till you are told to awaken ...
From out of the depths of mind came a sound, a soft gentle sound, a sound of concord and harmony and willing acquiescence. Slowly it arose and slowly it coalesced, assuming form and substance, evolving into a word, a word like, Yessssss ...
At the proper moment, with his free hand, Bandit lifted the Mask of Sassacus. We are one ... one mind, one spirit...
Yessss . . .
Your trust in me is complete ...
Yessss . . .
You have confided everything to me ... you have entrusted me with all your secrets great and small... sharing your secrets with me brings you great pleasure, great warmth ... you desire to tell me everything ... you wish to share everything with me ...
Yesss ... it is so ...
There is something you wish to tell me now ...
Yesss ...
Who is the man you call Ansell Surikov?
He is Ansell... my husband ...
There is something you wish him to do ...
Yesss ... it is true ...
Tell me ...
I... wish him to go to a new place ... a new ... organization ...
Tell me why ...
It will profit us both ...
Are you keeping secrets from the runners?
Yes ... they do not know my name -
What is your name?
Fa ... Farrah Moffit ...
Why is this name important?
If they knew it, they would not trust me ...
Hours later, when the woman Marena Farris, Farrah Moffit, awoke, she slowly sat up, pressed back her hair, then turned her head and looked right at him, looked at him and stared.
She knew.
Bandit pondered how that could be.
"Would you trust a traitor?"
In the subdued light of the dilapidated warehouse office, Rico turned in the swivel chair to face the door. To his left, Piper sat in an armchair with her axe across her lap and a datacable jacked into her head.
In the shadows of the doorway before him stood Bandit, fingering his new flute...
Rico pointed with his chin. "Say again?"
"Would you trust a traitor?"
"Close the door."
Bandit stepped forward, swung the door shut.
"Who we talking about?" Rico asked.
"The woman. Marena Farris."
"She's a traitor?"
That's what she thinks."
"A traitor to who?"
"Perhaps Fuchi Multitronics."
"She told you that?"
A few moments passed. Bandit looked down at the flute in his hands. His expression, as usual, was unreadable. What he was thinking was anybody's guess. "I ascertained certain things. She is afraid for her life. She wishes Ansell Surikov to join a new organization. She fears you will not trust her. She views herself as a traitor. Some of what you know of her is false. She has not always worked for Fuchi Multitronics. Her name is not Marena Farris."
What the frag? Rico forced himself to keep cool, lean back in his chair. "What's her real name?"
"Pariah Moffit."
Rico searched his memory. The name meant nothing to him. "Who is she?"
"A former employee of Prometheus Engineering. Sent to Fuchi as a mole. Ten years ago a Fuchi joygirl named Marena Farris was quietly killed. Farrah Moffit took her place. She insinuated herself into the Special Administration and used this position to learn Fuchi secrets and transmit them to Prometheus. She believes she is now under suspicion. She did not willingly go on leave. She is afraid to return to Prometheus because she has transmitted no data since put on leave. She fears they may kill her. She believes that moving to Maas Intertech is her only way out."
Rico rubbed at his brow. Maybe a hundred or so questions should have come to mind by now. Maybe he was too tired to think that hard. Maybe the run was wearing him down. Only one thought came to mind.
"Why Intertech? Why would they trust her any more than anybody else?"
"Her contact is in a position of power. They met some years ago. If she could bring him someone of value, someone like Surikov, to Intertech, her contact will see she gets what she wants."
"What does she want?"
"She wants to counsel children."
"What?"
"She is a psychologist. She is disaffected with corporate intrigues. She wants to counsel children, perhaps have a child of her own. She wants out of the game."
"You believe that? All of it?"
"I believe she believes it."
Nothing was ever
certain. "Who's her contact at Maas Intertech?"
Bandit gazed steadily at Rico a few moments, then said, "I didn't ask."
Rico clenched his teeth, drew a deep breath, then let it go.
What mattered most? That was the question that kept coming back to Rico's mind.
The problem with this run was that too many factors kept getting involved. You could get frizzed just thinking about it, just trying to keep all the details straight in your mind, just trying to work out everyone's angles.
All the scag about who Farrah Moffit really was and where she came from probably made no difference. Maybe she was just caught in the middle, stuck somewhere she didn't want to be, the victim of megacorps, no less than Rico and his team. Maybe she just wanted a way out. Rico realized at length that there was no way he could know for sure and that thinking about it so much was a waste of precious time.
You had to focus on the key points. What really mattered. What seemed to matter most Was the Ansell Surikov who Farrah Moffit kept talking about really the real Ansell Surikov? Rico tried to figure a way to answer that question for sure, then stopped himself. What was the point? His objective now was to get Farrah Moffit back on track. What difference did it make what she called this slag she wanted to get away from Fuchi, as long as the slag wanted to go.
Only three questions really seemed crucial: was Farrah Moffit's contact at Maas Intertech for real? could she cut the deal she promised? and did Ansell Surikov, or whoever, really want to leave Fuchi?
First...
* * *
Piper opened her eyes. The display screen of the telecom on the wall beside her flickered and came to life. "Security at the Crystal Blossom Condominiums has been tightened, jefe, but the telecom lines are unaffected. I have a clean line direct to the apartment where we lifted Marena Farris."
"You mean Moffit."
"Yes, excuse me." Piper rolled her eyes, looking a little exasperated. "Where we lifted Farrah Moffit."
Rico stepped down the hall to the lounge. Dok sat there-cleaning his Ingram SMG-opposite Farrah Moffit Both he and Moffit looked up as Rico entered. Moffit looked about as anxious and forlorn as anyone Rico had ever seen. He guessed that was only natural. "Who's your contact at Maas Intertech?" said Rico, without preamble.