Shadowrun 46 - A Fistful of Data

by Stephen Dedman (v1. 0) (epub)

  “Medical equipment?”

  “Laboratory equipment. Medical research.” He watched Chen’s face closely. “Biological. Biohazard containment. Anything of that nature. We’d pay for its return, of course—and the sooner it’s returned, the less the risk of, ah, contamination.”

  A hint of alarm cracked Chen’s masklike composure for an instant. “I don’t remember anything like that coming in recently,” he said after a brief pause. “Can you be more precise?”

  “Not exhaustively. I can’t give you all the details, but Az . . . ah, my associates, sent a mobile research facility to the Puyallup area, near Hell’s Kitchen, after hearing some rather alarming stories. It was set up rather hastily, and the only complete inventory of the equipment was in a computer that the thieves also took—along with its backup disks. We’re trying to compile a new list, but it could take a while, and we really can’t afford to wait.”

  “What sort of stories?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a relief: the fewer people know, the less the chance of panic. And that also suggests that it hasn’t spread . . . though the incubation period is . . . anyway, we need to find the equipment. Urgently.”

  “When did this robbery take place?”

  Lankin wasn’t sure whether Chen was calling his bluff or was genuinely worried. “Three days ago, though they may have managed to pilfer some of the stuff from the stores before then without it being noticed.”

  Chen shook his head. “I’ve not seen anybody from the Crypt in more than a week,” he said. “And no scientific or medical equipment in months. The stuff you’re after hasn’t come here.”

  Lankin paused, trying to think of a sufficiently subtle way of asking whether the Hatter or any of his associates had come around trying to buy scientific or medical equipment that might have come from the Crypt. “Can you ask around and see if anybody else has seen it?”

  “Not without more details,” said Chen, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “If you’re looking for a specific item, and you’re able to pay more than . . . any other bidder . . .”

  Bingo! “That shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Lankin, smiling slightly. “Though I’d want to be sure I wasn’t bidding against myself. The other bidder ... did he say who he was working for?”

  “I can’t reveal that sort of detail about my client . .

  “Corp?”

  “He might have been. He didn’t say.”

  “Well dressed?”

  “Very. Why?”

  “Damn. We may have had a communications failure; I told him I was going to call you, because we’d had dealings before. He must have forgotten, or misunderstood. Can you excuse me for a second? I have another call, and it’s flagged urgent.” He put the fence on hold, and looked out into the corridor. Spotting a child, he yelled, “Get Zurich! Now”

  14

  Ratatosk coughed hard enough to wake himself up, and sat up suddenly and sniffed cautiously. Smoke? No, not smoke. Dust of some sort . . .

  “Are you okay?” came a female voice from outside.

  He coughed again experimentally. “Just a bad dream, I think. What’s happening? Are we being bombed?”

  “They’re tearing up the floor. Most of us are wearing our filter masks. I came by earlier to tell you. I looked in, but you were asleep.”

  “That must have been the good part of the dream,” said Ratatosk automatically, as he recognized the voice.

  Leila pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room. She was dressed in black jeans, T-shirt and boots, and there was so little light in the room that even Ratatosk’s dark-adapted metahuman eyes could see little more than her eyes and the filter mask covering her nose and mouth. “Are you sure you’re okay? Mish said you’d just had your brains burned.”

  “I’ve felt better,” he admitted. “They told me I should stay in bed, so that’s what I’m doing. But I wouldn’t mind some company.”

  She sat on the foot of the bed. “Yoko’s my sensei,” she said, looking around the tiny room. “She’s told me a lot about you.” Her tone suggested that most of what she’d heard was good, but Ratatosk decided it was safer not to reply. “She’s why you’re here, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “She means that much to you?” •

  “Yes.”

  “Me, too. I wish I could be more like her, but I don’t have the knack. No magic at all. I can't even pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

  Ratatosk blinked. He had the strange feeling that she’d just said something incredibly important, but why should the mention of rabbits and hats start sounding alarm bells somewhere in the back of his brain? “We all have different knacks,” he reassured her. “The best way to be like Yoko is to find out what you do best, and keep doing it. And find a good teacher—but you’ve already done that.”

  “Is that what you’ve done?”

  “Yes. I can’t punch through a wall or dodge bullets the way she does, but she can’t sleaze her way through ice, either. From each according to his or her abilities.”

  Leila’s mouth was hidden by her filter mask, but Ratatosk could see the smile in her eyes. “Yoko’s told me about some of the other things you’re good at; too.”

  “I’ve had good teachers.”

  “And lots of practice?” she murmured, leaning over and touching his thigh.

  Ratatosk’s smile widened until it matched hers, and he sat up and reached toward her to stroke her blue-black hair, then the delicate fur on her long, lovely neck. She removed her filter mask and slid closer to him. They kissed, and her hand moved up the inside of his thigh. She broke off the kiss to murmur, “I hope your mouth isn’t making promises that your body’s not healthy enough to keep.” “My mouth doesn’t make any promises that it can’t keep,” Ratatosk assured her.

  She laughed, and pulled her T-shirt up over her head and threw it onto the floor, then did the same with her neck knife. Another two knives clattered onto the floor as she pulled off her boots. She unbuckled her belt and slithered out of her jeans as Ratatosk stood up to remove his lined coat and his smartgun. She turned her back on him as she admired the gun, and he stroked her back, noticing that the fur didn’t actually cover her entire body. She turned to face him and reached for his belt buckle.

  “How long before they throw' us out of here?” he murmured in her ear.

  “About three hours,” she replied, smiling. “That’s why I decided not to waste too much time on small talk.”

  Zurich came running into the medicine lodge, and Lankin apologized to Chen and put him on hold again. “What gives?” the dwarf asked, panting slightly.

  “Can you tap a tridphone call from here?”

  Zurich snorted. “With the equipment I have on me? No way. If the other end hasn’t answered—if he’s had to send voice mail or text—Ratatosk might be able to deck into his service, but if it’s live, it’s lost. Sorry.” He looked at Lankin’s sour expression and grimaced in sympathy. “We might be able to trace a comcall, but not a tap, not from here.” “A trace would help,” said Lankin. “Somebody’s offering to buy medical or scientific gear that comes from the Crypt. If I know Chen, he’ll call that buyer as soon as I’m off the line.”

  “What’s his number?”

  “It’s 4206 31-6748. And he’ll be using the cheapest service-provider available.”

  “Good; that’ll make it easier. I’ll get Ratatosk, just in case . . . Do you know where he is?”

  “Someone at the clinic should know,” said Pierce, when Lankin didn’t answer.

  “Can you get him? I’ll be at the jackpoint.” They both retreated from the lodge, while Lankin took Chen off hold.

  “Sorry about that,” Lankin said, smiling. “Another deal going down. You wouldn’t be in the market for some drones and a case of slightly used assault rifles, would you?”

  Ratatosk, barefoot and shirtless, was still fumbling with his belt buckle as he ran into the
library. “What’s so frag-gin’ urgent that you had to get me out of bed?” he demanded.

  Zurich, jacked in to his Novatech Hyperdeck, didn’t look up. “Trying to trace a call,” he said.

  “Do you want me to try?”

  “You’re still injured from last time,” said Mish, who’d been sent to wake him and was still blushing.

  “Not badly.”

  The shaman muttered something uncomplimentary in Russian, and her elfin features became strangely mouselike as she cast a healing spell on him. Ratatosk took out his own deck, and waited for the dwarf to log off.

  “I’ve found it,” said Zurich. “It’s a cell phone downtown.” Reluctantly, he unplugged his deck from the jack-point. “You want to take it from here?”

  Ratatosk nodded, sat down on the floor and logged on, while Mish hovered over him anxiously. “Got it,” he said a moment later. “Corner of John and Fifteenth. Triangulating . . .”

  “The hospital?” asked Mish.

  “Aztechnology Pyramid,” said Ratatosk. “He’s—drek. I le’s hung up.” He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, trying to trace lhe number. It may be listed.”

  He was silent for more than a minute; then he swore again. “Pocket secretary with a silent number, from a batch of numbers issued to—guess where?”

  “One of the shops in the Aztechnology Pyramid?” replied Zurich.

  “Right. It might have been bought by an outsider, it might have been stolen . . . but the odds are against it. And—hold on a second. Frag, 1 thought it seemed familiar.”

  “What?”

  "I downloaded a booking sheet for the vehicles in the Pyramid’s garage. This same number is listed as the cell number for the guy who checked out the Nomad outside ;md a Step-Van. Thomas Mather. Name ring any bells with you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t help thinking I’ve heard it before, or read it . . . it’ll come to me.”

  “Is he the decker you ran into there? The rabbit?” Ratatosk blinked. “I don’t ... I don’t think so.” He gritted his teeth as he stood. Part of him wanted to go back to bed to resume his interrupted encounter with Leila. Much less of him wanted to call a meeting, especially as that would require him to talk to Lankin, but he knew that was the rational part of his being. Or maybe his instinct for self-preservation—the part of his brain that was also telling him that sleazing his way back into the Pyramid’s system and trying to download staff files was a very bad idea. Either way, it probably shouldn’t be ignored. “Where is everybody?”

  “Still here.”

  “Oh, good. Is Yoko . .

  “She’s still unconscious,” said Mish, “but she’s out of danger. At least—”

  “At least until there’s another attack,” said Ratatosk. “Got it. I think we need another war council.”

  Wallace had changed the guard after relieving Lewis, even though it meant reducing the number of watchers from five to four. Kat and Dutch were still recovering from the sleep spells that had been cast on them, Lori was resting, and Griffin was watching over all of them through the rotodrone’s cameras. Wallace was concentrating on watching King, hoping that he wasn't about to go on a rampage to avenge his brother, who was still in surgery. Wallace’s own wound had been healed, but it still itched, and now that it had begun raining in earnest, he found himself regretting that last cup of coffee. Lewis’ idea of quitting to become a security guard was sounding better every time he thought about it.

  His phone demanded his attention, and he managed not to snarl; he knew it had to be the Hatter. “Yes?”

  “We’ve just had a decker try to download the vehicle roster, and now somebody’s asking the local fences about squatters bringing in ..Despite his obvious irritation, he paused. “Loot from Hell’s Kitchen. What’s happening there?”

  “Well, it’s raining,” said Wallace with mock levity. “No one’s moving—not above ground, anyway, unless they’re invisible. All quiet on the western front.”

  “Do you know who’s down there? Or how many of them there are?”

  “Not without going in. We tried sending the mage in astrally, but she couldn’t get past their defenses. Neither did that troll who brought that drekheap of a van down here. They’ve dumped his body above ground, but I’m not going to pick it up without a good reason. There’s only a couple of hours to go before sunset. Do you need to know before then?”

  “Have you questioned your prisoners?”

  “They’re only kids!”

  “They may still know who’s down there. Have you ever heard of a decker named Ratatosk? Or an elf named Lankin?”

  “No.”

  The Hatter was silent for a moment. “The negotiated position was that they didn’t have to evacuate until an hour after sunset, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you say that you wouldn’t be going in before then?” “Not when I first made the deal, no, but after the drek hit the fan, we had to change the terms. The sun’ll be setting in a couple of hours; they should all be out in three—” “You’ll have to send men in anyway after that, won’t you, to make sure the place is empty and secured? Or were you planning on taking their word for it?”

  “I’ll send my men in when I think there’s a decent chance of them coming out alive again,” said Wallace coldly. “The fewer of them there are down there, the better the odds are. And I’m going to send some drones in first, if that’s okay with you?” He didn’t sound as though he were asking permission.

  “Of course,” said the Hatter blandly. “So why not do it now? You’ll get a better idea of what they might be plotting down there—and some sort of warning of how well they’re armed if they’re not intending to evacuate as arranged. Wouldn’t that be a sensible precaution?”

  Wallace clicked his teeth while he examined the idea for traps. “They’re your drones,” he said a few seconds later.

  “True,” said the Hatter. “Let me know what you find.”

  “Anything in particular you think I should look for?”

  “No . . . just send me a full status report, and a copy of the video. 1 probably won’t have time to look at it today, but it may be useful later.”

  “Will do,” he said, and signed off, his suspicions largely confirmed. There’s something valuable down there, he thought, and the bastard doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what it is.

  The Hatter stared at his pocket secretary until the screensaver—a stock ticker—kicked in. He idly wished he’d thought to put bombs in the Step-Van and the Nomad as well as that rusting heap of drek he’d given the squatters as transport. Better by far if everybody else who knew about this died. Except for Hare, of course, and sometimes the Hatter even wondered if he could trust him.

  Maybe trust was the wrong word, he decided. He could rely on Hare to act in his own best interests. And he was useful. No, Hare should live. At least until he found a replacement.

  Ratatosk looked around the lodge at the tired and dusty team gathered there—Leila, 8-ball, Zurich, Crane, Sumatra, Mute, Pierce and Lankin—and cleared his throat. “We’ve confirmed that the man behind this is working for Aztechnology,” he said, with a slight nod at Zurich. “His name is Thomas Mather, and he’s in their security section, probably fairly high up. Has anyone had any contact with him before?”

  “This is the fragger who Chen phoned?” Pierce asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Uh-huh. Sounds like the same guy who sent that snooper here to tell us to leave. Least, they both wear a top hat.”

  Crane blinked. “Human?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I was hired by a Johnson a couple of years ago who wore a top hat. Maybe it was part of his camouflage, because I don’t remember much about his face. I don’t know who he was working for, but he wanted me to extract a scientist from Renraku. About the only other thing I remember is that he said that if we couldn’t extract the target, we’d get half the payment for killing him. Real cold.” Pierce turned to
Sumatra. “You were there when Boanerges talked to the snoop. Do you remember anything else he said about ’im?”

  The rat shaman hesitated, then shook his head. “Just that he was well dressed for a Johnson. It might not be the same guy.”

  “Whether it is or not,” said Lankin, “he’s been dealing with Chopsticks Chen and asking what he’s bought that might have come from the Crypt, so there’s definitely something here that he wants. Unfortunately, Chen wouldn’t give me any details, or tell me what this Mather had offered to pay for it. Does anyone have any contacts in the Pyramid?”

  Lankin hesitated, then nodded stiffly. “I know someone. This isn’t his department, but he has a good security rating; he may be able to dig something up. And speaking of digging up, how is the excavation going?”

  “Slowly,” muttered 8-ball. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to open the whatever-it-is before the deadline. Of course, it’d help if we knew what we were looking for.” Sumatra nodded. “Just because it seems to be a hazmat container doesn’t mean there’s anything of value inside. It could just be computer parts that weren’t worth recycling.” “An old hard drive might contain useful information,” said Ratatosk.

  “Maybe, if you had time to search through the files,” the shaman replied. “I’m not saying we should stop digging— but I don’t think we should get our hopes up too high, either.”

  “What if you had an earth elemental?” asked Leila.

  The dwarf blinked. “I don’t know. Can we get one?” “Magnusson could summon one, if we had the materials,” she replied. “And we probably do. There’s a lot of stuff in the workshop we sell to talismongers, or use to train students. It probably won’t be very powerful, but it might help.”

  8-ball nodded. “Any help would be appreciated. Is that all?” He looked around the room, but no one seemed to have any more to say, so he stood. “Okay. Leila, can you go talk to Mag—excuse me.” He looked at his wristphone, which was vibrating, and flipped the screen up. The readout told him that he had an incoming call from Griffin. “8-ball.” “Hoi,” came the reply. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”