Shadowrun: Borrowed Time

by R. L. King

  Kivuli called up an AR window and checked. At least something had finally gone right: the cred was all there, including an additional ten percent.

  “That will be—” she began, but she didn’t get any more words out before the slight ffft of an air dart and a sting on the back of her neck scrambled her thoughts into incoherence.

  She watched her teammates fall as if through a haze of oily water. Around them, the Aborigines were all drawing weapons, but she no longer cared.

  CHAPTER 40

  ABORIGINE CAMP

  TUESDAY MORNING

  Ocelot, Dreja, and Scuzzy caught up with Winterhawk after only a few steps.

  “Sydney?” Dreja demanded. She grabbed his arm, pulling him up short. “What the hell? You can stop for five minutes and tell us what’s going on. You just mind-fragged that guy, didn’t you?”

  Winterhawk spun on her. “You might be glad I did when you find out what his little friends are up to. Where’s Thuma?” he asked Narrah, wrenching free of Dreja’s grip and continuing forward. “I only want to explain this once.”

  The apprentice took them to where Thuma had been helped into one of the other intact huts. He was lying back against a stack of folded blankets, his eyes agitated. “You have to go,” he pleaded as soon as he saw Winterhawk. “Find them. Stop them.”

  “Have you ever heard of ‘Nanga Mai’?” Winterhawk asked abruptly.

  Thuma went pale and swallowed hard. “Where did you hear that name?” He closed his eyes for a moment, muttering something Winterhawk couldn’t understand.

  “The man who was still alive. He was some sort of cultist. A fanatic,” Winterhawk said. “That’s what I got from his mind.”

  “I thought Nanga Mai was long gone,” Thuma said. “I haven’t heard anything about them in years. They’re a splinter group of the Children of the Rainbow Serpent.” When everyone but Winterhawk and Dreja looked at him questioningly, he continued, “The Children are—” he paused, obviously weighing his words with care. “They have their uses. Some consider them an extremist group, while others, including many of my friends, believe them to be exactly what Australia and the Aboriginal people need.”

  “They’re a militant group among the Aborigines,” Dreja said, nodding. “I’ve heard of them. They’re fighting for the rights of their people.”

  “And they can be terrorists,” Winterhawk added. “But that’s beside the point. How is this Nanga Mai different?”

  Thuma looked uncomfortable. “The Children can be an extremist group, yes, but they still mostly operate using conventional tactics: attacking strategic locations, assassinating enemies, that sort of thing. Nanga Mai are more spiritually focused. The name means “dream,” and they’re said to communicate with some of the angrier spirits of the land. They want nothing less than to scour Australia free of anyone who isn’t of Aboriginal blood. Violently.” He spread his hands. “Even most of the Children won’t have anything to do with them. Like I said, I haven’t heard of them doing anything in years. I thought they had died out.”

  “Apparently not,” Winterhawk said grimly. “From what I got from that man’s mind, they’ve already got the other piece of the artifact. They’ve been trying to get hold of this one ever since it surfaced, and now they’ve got it.”

  “So, they want to reunite them?” Dreja asked. “So they can—what? Summon this spirit?”

  “Exactly,” Winterhawk said. “From what I got—and believe me, at the level I went in there’s no way he could have been keeping anything from me—the plan is to summon Akurra’s spirit, and then he’ll call in a whole army of angry Australian spirits to kill anyone who isn’t on their side. He wasn’t clear on whether that meant only the Aborigines would survive, or whether it was only the people who supported them specifically. Either way, if they can manage it, I think things could get unpleasant for a lot of people in a hurry.”

  “This all sounds like some kind of old myth,” Ocelot said. “Are you sure it’s real?” He looked at Thuma. “I mean, I know the spirits are real, but can combining these artifacts really do that?”

  Thuma nodded, looking weary. “I won’t say that it will certainly happen. But I will say that it can. If Akurra’s spirit is anywhere near as powerful as the legends say, if they can summon him, he’s got more than enough power to call the kinds of spirits that most of us koradji spend a lot of our time keeping an eye on to make sure they don’t get loose.”

  “Come with us, then,” Dreja said. “You’re the powerful Aborigine shaman. This is your fight, isn’t it?” She looked at Winterhawk. “No offense, ’Hawk—I’m sure you’re a magical badass and all, but I’m guessing ancient Aboriginal vengeance spirits aren’t exactly your specialty, right?”

  “She’s right,” Winterhawk admitted to Thuma. “This isn’t my area. I’ll certainly do what I can to help, but—”

  Thuma shook his head. “I can’t go,” he said, looking as if the words pained him to say. “I’m too weak now to be of any help, and anyway, my place is here. Many of my people are dead or injured. I can’t leave them now. I’ll keep an eye on the astral, and try to deal with anything that might come up, but that’s about all I can do. I’m sorry.”

  “But how are we even gonna find this thing?” Scuzzy asked. “He says we gotta go to Sydney, but Sydney’s a big place.” To Winterhawk, he asked, “Can you track it with magic or something?”

  Winterhawk considered, then sighed. It was possible he might be able to track the serpent’s astral signature once they got closer to it, but it was by no means certain. He’d deliberately avoided removing it from its protective warding to prevent anyone from tracing it to them. He shook his head. “Doubtful.”

  “Then we’re screwed?” Ocelot said. “If Thuma can’t go, and you—”

  “No,” Thuma said. He was still looking agitated, as if he wanted nothing more than to shoo them all out and set them on their way. “No. Take Narrah with you. He examined it with me. He can track it when you get closer to it. He can help you find where they have taken it, if you can really narrow it down to a single city—even one as big as Sydney. He can help you deal with it if you find it. I wish I could send more, but—” He waved his hands around at the destroyed village.

  Winterhawk nodded, rising to his feet. “Right, then. It’s up to us.” He turned to face his teammates. “Or is it? Are you in? This is well beyond even the most farfetched of what I hired you to do. Your involvement is over—if you want to call it a day and head home, you’ve more than earned your pay.”

  Ocelot shook his head. “I’m here now. And who’s to say if those nutjobs manage to summon up those spirits, they won’t decide maybe they need to cleanse more than just Australia before they’re done? Besides, I owe Kivuli some payback for fraggin’ us over in the first place.”

  “Hey, if it’ll get me back to someplace with a decent Matrix connection, I’ll go anywhere at this point,” Scuzzy said.

  “Looks like it’s down to you again,” Winterhawk asked Dreja. “What do you say?”

  She shrugged. “Ocelot’s got a point, especially since those spirits will probably show up before we get the hell out if we don’t do something about them. And I want a shot at that slitch Kivuli, too.” She frowned. “Sydney’s a long way off, though. We gonna be able to get there in time?”

  “Let’s go talk to Bodge,” Winterhawk said. “Perhaps he’s got some ideas.”

  “What about Tiny?” Scuzzy asked when they got outside. “We just gonna leave him here?”

  “Why not?” Winterhawk’s voice was dead cold. “I’ve got no more use for him. He’s got some pricey cyberware—maybe Thuma’s people can barter it for some things they can use to rebuild.” He glanced at Dreja, expecting her to object; Tiny had been a fellow ork, after all.

  She just nodded, looking as cold as he did. “I hope they can,” was all she said.

  They found Bodge out in the camp, helping some of the injured. When they explained the situation to him, he gave them his ta
ke on it. “We’re still closest ta Perth,” he said. “But even if I drive like a bat outta hell, it’ll take us eight hours to get there, minimum. And that’s if nothin’ goes wrong. You can never assume nothin’ will go wrong in the Outback.”

  “What then?” Dreja asked.

  “Once we get Matrix connectivity back, I can call ahead and arrange a plane,” he said. “I can find somebody who can get you there, but you’ll have ta pay up front.”

  Winterhawk nodded. “How long?”

  He shrugged. “Few hours. Have to fly the long way ’round—can’t risk the manastorms. But you know that.”

  “They’ve got a couple hours head start on us,” Dreja said. “How long you think it’ll take to set up whatever ritual they’re gonna do?”

  “Who knows?” Winterhawk said. “If they’ve already been preparing for it, it might not be long at all. And as for how long it will take—there’s no way to tell without more information. It would be best if we can find it before they start.”

  “They’re gonna have to fly the same way we are, right?” Ocelot asked.

  “If they’re smart,” Bodge said. “Flyin’ through the middle of the Big Red is dangerous as hell.”

  “Maybe not,” Winterhawk said, as if talking to himself.

  Bodge stared at him. “What do ya mean?”

  He looked at Narrah. “Do you think that between the two of us, we could keep an eye out for manastorms, enough that we could give a pilot enough time to change course?”

  Narrah tilted his head, dubious. “It’d be tricky,” he said at last. “It’s not just the manastorms. It’s the spirits: for whatever reason, they don’t seem to like people flying through their space. They’ve been known to interfere with planes.”

  “But you’re in tune with the spirits around here. You could have a chat with them and ask them to play nicely with my spirits, and grant us safe passage, yes? That would give us a wider range.” When Narrah still appeared skeptical, he waved an impatient hand. “Dangerous. I get it. But more dangerous than what will happen if they summon up Akurra and his spirit friends before we can get there?”

  “Good point,” the apprentice said.

  “Wait,” Bodge said. “I might have an idea. I got a mate with a T-bird. If I can get someplace with a half-decent Matrix connection, I can contact her and have her fly out here and pick ya up. She could take ya back ta Perth and hook ya up with somebody who can fly ya t’Sydney. Not as fast as commercial, but a hell of a lot faster than me drivin’ ya back. If ya really can talk ta the spirits and protect yerselves from manastorms, ya should be able ta fly straight in.”

  “Would she do it?” Winterhawk asked. “I know how hard it is to get anyone to come out here. A T-bird was our first choice to get us here in the first place, but my associate who put me in touch with you couldn’t find anyone willing to go on our schedule.”

  “She owes me one,” Bodge said. “It’ll cost ya, though. Yer gonna have ta make it worth her while ta come out here and take her chances with the manastorms. It won’t be cheap.”

  “I’ll chip in,” Ocelot said. “If it’s either that or millions of people in Australia get eaten by spirits—including us—I say it’s worth it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Winterhawk told Bodge. “You find us someone, we’ll make sure they’re paid.”

  “Good deal,” he said. “Now the trick is ta find a connection that’ll hold up long enough for me ta make the call.”

  “Come with me,” Narrah said. “I can take you to a place a couple of klicks out where there’s some connectivity. It’s still spotty, but maybe your decker can do something to boost it.”

  “Show me,” Scuzzy said, his eagerness to get any sort of Matrix connection lighting up his thin face.

  CHAPTER 41

  EN ROUTE TO SYDNEY

  TUESDAY MIDDAY

  Winterhawk, accustomed as he was to the liberal application of Murphy’s Law to all but the most simple of shadowruns, was surprised when Scuzzy was able to establish a connection at the spot Narrah took them to, and Bodge was successful in raising his friend and convincing her (with many assurances that the pay would be worth her while) to come out and pick up the team.

  To save more time, they arranged to rendezvous at a location that would allow Bodge to continue driving them back toward Perth while the T-bird was en route. They met up at a spot a couple of kilometers off the road, at a derelict former oilfield that still sported a large patch of clear ground that hadn’t been reclaimed by the area’s scrubby plant life.

  They didn’t have time for long goodbyes, but Winterhawk paused a moment to pull Bodge aside while the others transferred their gear to the T-bird, assisted by the rigger’s scarred, serious-faced friend. “Thank you,” he said. “If you ever need anything I can provide—assuming we survive this mess, of course—please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  Bodge grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Quite the adventure, mate. Somethin’ ta tell the grandkids about. If I ever have any. That I know about, I mean.” He nodded toward the T-bird. “Better get goin’. Yer decker has the info about how ta contact the pilot. He’ll have the plane ready ta go when ya get ta Perth. Good luck!”

  The T-bird rigger, whose name was Risa, was able to fly faster on the way back, with Winterhawk, Narrah, and their summoned spirits keeping watch for manastorms and any other hostile magical threats. She landed at a small, private airfield outside Perth, where a small, private jet was waiting as promised. They thanked her, paid her, and once again transferred their gear. Shortly after that, they were in the air and on their way to Sydney.

  “Now, we wait,” Winterhawk said, settling back. Despite the urgency of the situation, it was the first time he’d been able to get an uninterrupted rest since this whole thing had started, and he planned to take advantage of it.

  “And we eat,” Dreja said, discovering the stash of food in the plane’s tiny galley. “I think I could eat one of you guys right now.”

  Winterhawk nodded, still working things through. “Kivuli’s group had about two hours’ head start on us—no way to know what kind of travel arrangements they had, though. If they had similar transportation out of the Outback and were able to fly commercial to Canberra, they might already be there.”

  “We’ll do what we can do,” Ocelot said. “We’re still alive, so whatever they’re doing hasn’t happened yet.” He paused to pop a packaged meal into the microwave and grab a beer from the tiny fridge. “’Hawk, if you can’t track the snake, can you maybe track Kivuli?”

  “Possible,” he said. “If we don’t have any better leads by the time we land, I’ll do that while Narrah is trying to track the serpent. But remember, Kivuli is probably just a hired operative. For all we know, she’s already handed off the serpent and gone on her way. I doubt she’ll know where they end up taking it. I’ll bet she probably doesn’t even know about the ritual.”

  “Hmm,” Ocelot said, nodding. “Yeah, probably right about that.”

  Scuzzy was in the back of the plane, knees pulled up, deck in his lap, tapping away with the fervor of a starving man who had just been presented with a five-course banquet. He’d been doing that at every opportunity since they’d gotten close enough to Perth to get a solid connection again. Now, he came up for air. “Hey, guys,” he called. “I might have something relevant here.”

  Winterhawk turned his seat around. “What is it?”

  “Take a look at these.”

  They all fiddled with their commlinks as windows popped up in the AR view. Winterhawk studied them. The one in front was a news story from an underground Sydney publication, describing the theft of an Aborigine artifact from a small private museum. He started to ask Scuzzy what this was about, but then another window popped up, showing a blurry security-cam image of the item. It was in a glass case and hard to make out, but it had the same general contours as their own carved serpent. His eyes widened. “It’s not just an artifact…” he said softly. “It’s another serpe
nt just like ours. A mate.” He shifted the windows again, looking for a date on the story.

  “This one was stolen only a few days ago,” Scuzzy said. “They think it’s an inside job. And the weird thing is that I looked up some other stuff about this museum—it’s a membership-only place, so it’s harder to find details—but I can’t find any mention anywhere of this thing being magical. Far as they’re concerned, it’s just an old example of Aboriginal art.”

  “How’s that work?” Dreja asked. “It can’t be the other half of this thing if it’s not magical.”

  But Winterhawk was already thinking. “No…” he said. “It makes sense.” He turned to the others, almost unconsciously slipping into the ‘lecture mode’ he used when addressing his classes. “If these things are connected, then it’s entirely possible that it wasn’t magical…until the other one was discovered. If the one Toby found was buried deeply enough in the earth, it wouldn’t be able to ‘broadcast’ until it was free.”

  “So, freeing that one sort of—what—activated the other one?” Ocelot asked.

  “Exactly. And if Nanga Mai knew what it was, they were probably keeping an eye on it. That’s how they knew the other one was discovered. They probably tracked it, but weren’t able to get hold of it before it disappeared again. Once they figured out that Toby had it, he’d already returned to Los Angeles.”

  “Which is why they hired Kivuli,” Dreja said.

  Winterhawk nodded. “Apparently. And the fact that the other item is in Sydney means they’ve almost certainly got both pieces. We suspected that, but I think we can safely confirm it now.”

  “Great,” Ocelot said. “And we still don’t know where it is.”

  CHAPTER 42

  SYDNEY

  TUESDAY EVENING

  It was hard to say whether the final approach into Sydney was more stressful for the rigger flying the plane, for Winterhawk and Narrah as they teamed up with Maya and two other spirits to navigate through the treacherous manastorms surrounding the city, or Ocelot, Dreja, and Scuzzy, who had to watch the whole process without having any input into it.