Shadowrun 43 - Fallen Angels

by Stephen Kenson

  Apart from feeling like she should have asked for more money, Jackie wouldn't normally have cared one way or the other about Eve's plans, or about being outmaneuvered. If Akimura slipped up and Cross was going to come down on him like an orbital mass driver, well, that was life in the shadows. The problem was in the implications Jackie saw in the file, the timetable and the end point for what was clearly planned as a dramatic presentation to the company.

  Company assets already in place, said the concluding bullet point, to ensure immediate sanction and to sanitize the scene. Eve meant to hand her bosses a gun, pointed at Akimura's head, so that they could pull the trigger or authorize her to do it. Corporate assets set up to close in when the order came down, everything neatly in place. They would also make sure there were no witnesses or loose ends, which meant . . .

  "Anyone with Akimura will be taken out, too," Jackie muttered. "Damn." The Cross agents would try and minimize what they'd call "collateral damage," but they wouldn't discriminate, and any eyewitnesses to the operation would be killed as a matter of security.

  "Damn," Jackie repeated. Akimura was a walking target, and anyone with him was going to get caught in the cross fire. That included Lothan and G-Dogg and, if they found her, Kellan and anyone with her. Jackie couldn't get in touch to warn any of them. Any Matrix communication could be intercepted, especially if they were already under surveillance. If Cross decided she was a loose end instead of a valuable asset, Jackie could count herself right alongside any other "collateral damage" of the operation. For all she knew, things were already underway, just awaiting a final order from the home office to execute, literally, the final stages. There was nothing in Eve's notes on the actual timing or just how far she planned to reach out, but that didn't mean these other assets weren't part of the plan.

  "So," she wondered out loud, staring at the text on the virtual display, "the question is, what do I do about it?"

  It was getting dark as Kellan and Midnight got into the car and pulled out onto the street. She didn't ask Midnight where they were going; odds were she wouldn't say, and Kellan didn't really know Portland well enough for the answer to mean much, anyway. She just had to trust that Midnight knew where she was going and what she was doing, and that the run would soon be over.

  "When we get there—" Midnight began.

  "Yeah, I know, you'll do the talking," Kellan replied.

  "I was going to say, I'm counting on you to keep an eye out for any magical trouble," the elf said. "That's not one of my talents."

  "Sorry."

  Midnight shrugged. "Don't worry about it. This'll all be over soon."

  They turned smoothly and accelerated onto a main street. The traffic was heavier, but still light compared to Seattle at the same time of day. Probably more traffic and emissions restrictions here, Kellan thought idly.

  A faint pop from the tiny commlink in her ear caught Kellan's attention, and she sat up in her seat.

  "I think I might have some company here," Orion said, "and it doesn't sound like the usual dinnertime rush."

  "Get out of there," Midnight said, indicating she'd heard the broadcast, too. "Get out right now."

  "No drek," Orion replied, "I'm—" a dull whump interrupted the transmission, and then all they heard over the link was the sound of a hacking cough.

  "Orion? Orion!" Kellan said. There was no reply except for a loud thud, followed by silence.

  "Orion!" Kellan repeated.

  "Kellan, stop," Midnight said. "Turn off your link. We don't want anyone else to pick up on the signal."

  Kellan turned to look at the other woman in shock and horror. "What are you talking about?" she cried. "Orion is in trouble. We have to go back!"

  Midnight only raised an eyebrow and gave Kellan a look of pity. "We can't go back," she said like she was explaining to a child. "We couldn't possibly get back there in time to do any good."

  "I could astrally project—" Kellan began, but Midnight shook her head, changing lanes and heading for an upcoming exit.

  "And do what once you got there?" she asked.

  "You wouldn't be able to affect anyone. All you could do is watch, and there's a good chance they brought along magical backup."

  "They . . . Telestrian?"

  "Odds are. You'd just get fragged yourself."

  "But how did they find us so fast?"

  Midnight shrugged.

  "You said it was taken care of!"

  "It appears I was wrong," she said with an air of icy calm, turning off the main road.

  "Where are we going?" Kellan asked.

  "We need to get out of the city, then out of Tir Tairngire," Midnight answered. "This deal is blown. Our meeting could be compromised, too."

  "But we can't just leave! Orion—"

  "Orion is on his own!" Midnight snapped. "There's nothing you can do for him! Going back now would be suicide and you know it, Kellan! He knew the risks, and I don't think he'd want you throwing your life away to come after him."

  "But . . ." Kellan began, then the words died in her throat. Midnight was right. The one thing Orion wouldn't want was her doing something stupid to help him. She would never hear the end of it.

  "He's dead, Kellan, you can't help him." The image from her dream came rushing back: Orion's limp, bloody body, lying in her arms.

  "No!"

  "You can't help him, Kellan. Let go .. ." Her dream was true. It had come to pass.

  "I still have some contacts," Midnight was saying. "They should be able to supply us with a safe way out, though it can't be the way we came in." Kellan wasn't really listening. She looked at the buildings and

  streets of the city flashing past, painted purple and red by the last rays of the setting sun, and blurring as she blinked back the tears at the thought of all the things left unsaid and undone because of the reality of life in the shadows.

  15

  Orion wanted to put his fist through the wall in frustration, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He wished he'd had just a few more minutes to talk with Kellan, to tell her . . . Well, a lot of things, but he'd been about to tell her that he didn't think it was Tir Tairngire or the run that was giving her the creeps— it was Midnight. Orion wanted to put his fist through the wall in frustration, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He wished he'd had just a few more minutes to talk with Kellan, to tell her . . . Well, a lot of things, but he'd been about to tell her that he didn't think it was Tir Tairngire or the run that was giving her the creeps— it was Midnight.

  Orion didn't trust Midnight at all, and he didn't know why Kellan trusted her so much. Well, that wasn't quite true. It was obvious Kellan admired Midnight's experience and her style. She wanted Midnight's approval; she wanted someone who knew the shadows to tell her she was doing a good job. She certainly didn't get that approval from anyone else, especially not Lothan.

  Kellan told him once that she never really knew her mother. He figured that in some ways, Midnight must be like the mother she never had, and Kellan wanted to live up to her example.

  Orion blew out an exasperated breath. Some example, he thought. Though if he was honest with himself, he would admit that he'd felt the same way when he first joined the Ancients. He remembered how he had admired guys like Green Lucifer, omaes who seemed to own a room when they walked into it. He had wanted to be just like them, to have respect—their respect. Now, more than anything, he wanted Kellan's respect. He wanted . . .

  With an explosive sigh, Orion got up and started pacing the confines of the small room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair and pulling it out of the ponytail. He just wanted this run to be over! He wanted to get ten minutes alone with Kellan so they could talk—really talk—about what had happened between them. He wanted to get her away from Midnight's constant supervision, just for a little while.

  He picked up his commlink and fit it over his ear, thinking that he would call Kellan—to tell her what, though? To be careful? She already knew that. He turned and picked up hi
s sword from where he had laid it on the table. Maybe cleaning and checking his weapons would take his mind off of—

  A noise caught Orion's attention—more precisely, a lack of noise. The continuous hum of activity from downstairs had died away, and now the building was unusually quiet. Odd, since the restaurant was still open, and he should have been able to hear the murmur of customer conversations and the sounds of the employees working in the kitchen. Orion cocked his head and listened carefully.

  For a moment there was nothing. Then he caught the sound of shuffling, brief movement—difficult to place. He drew his sword from its sheath, reached for his pistol, and keyed his commlink.

  "I think I might have some company here," he said, "and it doesn't sound like the usual dinnertime rush." There was a crackle and a pause on the other end.

  "Get out of there," Midnight replied curtly. "Get out right now."

  "No drek," Orion said, "I'm—"

  He didn't get to finish the sentence. Something came crashing through the window to hit the floor of the room, trailing a cloud of white smoke. Gas! Orion turned his head, coughing as the acrid vapors stung his eyes and made his throat and lungs burn. The broken window was out as an escape route, so he headed for the door.

  A booted foot kicked in the door as thin red beams of laser light swept the gas-filled room. Dark figures, their faces obscured by the insectlike features of gas masks, leveled rifles high and low.

  "Drop your weapons!" an electronically muffled and modulated voice shouted from behind a mask. "Down on the floor! Now!"

  Coughing and choking on the gas, Orion hesitated for only a second before letting sword and gun slip from his fingers to clatter to the floor. He fell to his knees as the dark-clad figures approached, methodically sweeping around the room.

  "Orion? Orion!" came Kellan's voice over the commlink.

  He tried to say something, to warn her, to tell her what was happening—anything—but coughing was consuming all his oxygen. He looked up just in time to see the butt of a rifle as it connected with the side of his head, and everything went black.

  Rough hands slapped Orion awake, and he was aware of voices growling at him as his head swam.

  "Avano! Avano, versoniel!" someone said, and Orion opened his eyes. The hard-eyed elf looked at him with contempt, letting him slump back onto the hard cot once it was clear he was awake. It took a moment for Orion's vision to clear. His throat felt like someone had scrubbed it with steel wool.

  "Ni. . . ni hengar Sperethiel," he managed to croak. / do not speak Elvish.

  "Humph," the elf snorted derisively, as if to say, "Of course not."

  "Get up," he said.

  "Who are you—?" Orion began, but the elf lunged forward, grabbing his shirt in both hands and hauling Orion to his feet.

  "I said get up, makkanageel You will stand respectfully when you address your betters, gutter trash."

  "That's enough, Javin," said another voice, and Orion turned to see the only door in the room open to admit two others. They were both elves, but quite different in dress and manner from the elf called Javin. He wore military-style fatigues matching those of the men who broke into the safe house.

  The newcomers were a man and a woman. He wore a tailor-made suit with a silk tie and a forest green shirt. The tie's neo-Celtic pattern was popular in Tir Tairngire. Everything about him, from his clothes to his neatly trimmed and styled blond hair to his controlled smile said he was a man of power and influence.

  The woman wore a crisp, tailored skirt and blouse, but instead of a blazer she sported a deep blue robe, its edges and hem stitched with complex, intertwining elven script. A magician, Orion thought, a corporate wagemage.

  Orion felt a chill come over him. The run was compromised, and he was a prisoner. All shadowrunners knew they risked death, but that was the least of the things that could go wrong. The worst nightmare for a shadowrunner was capture, because shadowrunners were nonentities. Their employers wouldn't acknowledge their existence, and society didn't care what happened to them. A captured shadowrunner could be interrogated, killed or worse, and there would be no hope of respite or rescue, unless he had friends who were willing to put their own lives on the line, or who were in high enough places. Please, Orion thought, please don't let Kellan be foolish enough to come after me.

  "There's no need to make our guest uncomfortable," the other man said to Javin, "unless he proves uncooperative. Please"—he gestured to a table in the midst of the room, flanked by two chairs—"sit down."

  Javin practically tossed Orion into the chair, but he slumped there gratefully as he tried to get his bearings. The other man sat across the table from him, like they were meeting for an ordinary business discussion.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked, and Orion looked closer at him, thinking back on the briefing documents he'd gone over with Kellan and Midnight, the background data on the run.

  "Telestrian," he muttered. "James Telestrian."

  "Very good," the elf answered with a slight nod. "So if you know that, you also know why you are here. Who hired you?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Orion replied.

  When Javin jammed the stun baton into his ribs, he was caught completely by surprise. Orion involuntarily cried out and fell off the chair, doubling up on the floor as the electrical charge burned through his nerves, setting them on fire with pain. He gasped for air as the initial surge of pain passed, leaving a dull, burning ache in its place.

  Telestrian shook his head sadly. "I told you," he said, "there's no need for you to be uncomfortable, unless you choose to remain uncooperative." He nodded toward Javin, and the elf grabbed Orion and roughly hauled him up, dropping him back in the chair.

  Telestrian glanced at the bored-looking elf woman standing behind him, nearer to the door.

  "Well?" he asked, and she shrugged.

  "He's an adept," she pronounced, "but I don't see any etheric connections to anything apart from that sword, or any significant mystic defenses."

  Telestrian turned back to Orion. "Do you understand what that means?" he asked, and Orion mutely shook his head.

  "Ms. Othorien here is a mage of no small skill. If I ask her to, she can take what I want to know directly from your mind." Orion felt a cramp of fear that dampened the aftershock of the stun baton, but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.

  "Why don't you, then?" he asked.

  "Because the process is . .. not pleasant," Telestrian replied. "In fact, it's difficult, and can do some permanent damage. I also needed Ms. Othorien to evaluate you and make sure you didn't have any magical defenses that would complicate things. I'd prefer to handle this the easy way, but it's up to you."

  Orion's head slumped forward, his arms hugged across his chest. He bit his lower lip. He didn't know much about magic, but he figured Telestrian was telling the truth. Even he couldn't hold out against a mage forever; sooner or later, she would break down his defenses, and just take whatever she needed to know. There would be nothing Orion could do about it. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Telestrian's cool, even gaze.

  "Go to hell," he said.

  Javin stepped in with the stun baton again and Orion tensed, ready to move. If he put up a fight, maybe Telestrian's hired muscle would be forced to kill him, or would at least do enough damage that the wagemage wouldn't be able to get anything out of him.

  Before Javin could bring the stun baton into contact with Orion a second time, a trilling musical tone sounded from the inside of Telestrian's jacket, and he held up a hand to stall Javin's attack. Orion remained poised, watching for a better opening. Telestrian took a phone from his pocket and answered it, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

  "What is it? I said no interruptions." He listened for a moment. Orion couldn't make out what the other party was saying, but it seemed to catch the elf's interest.

  "Does he, indeed?" Telestrian replied, sounding bemused. "All right, arrange it. I'll be there in a moment." He put the phone away and
stood, straightening his jacket and glancing at Orion.

  "I'm afraid we'll need to postpone our chat for a little while," he said. "But it will give you time to consider your answers, and your attitude, for when we resume." He turned, closely followed by Ms. Otho-rien, then Javin. The elven bodyguard gave Orion a backward glance as he headed out the door, and his lips curled into a predatory smile. Orion had no doubt that Javin would kill him at the earliest opportunity, and enjoy it, which actually gave him a strange measure of hope. If he could provoke Javin, he had a chance to end his captivity. The door closed and locked behind them, and Orion was left alone.

  He returned to the cot and collapsed, his side still aching from the stun baton hit. He did his best to try to rest, since he would need his strength to deal with what came next.

  Please, he thought again, please just let Midnight get Kellan out of here and back to Seattle.

  "What if they don't come?" Kellan asked.

  "They will," Midnight replied calmly. "Don't worry."

  Kellan lapsed back into silence. The comment struck her as funny in a horrible way. Don't worry? Of course not, what was there to worry about? They were only stuck in a foreign country with one of the most powerful local corporations on their tails and no sure way of getting out of the city and back to Seattle, where they might still have to deal with an angry fixer, and Orion . . .

  Kellan took a deep, shuddery breath. Not now, she thought. No crying. She couldn't start thinking about Orion or she wasn't going to be of any use to anyone. But her mind and her heart refused to cooperate. Midnight had been right—they had to leave him behind. If Telestrian Industries had raided their safe house, there was nothing they could have done to help him by going back. Even though their decision made good, logical sense, she still felt like they'd abandoned him, left him to his fate so that they could get away. Now he was in the corp's hands, assuming they didn't just . . .