Shadowrun 46 - A Fistful of Data

by Stephen Dedman (v1. 0) (epub)

  The Hatter glanced at him, then at Vargas, but his gun didn’t waver. “So you do have it? What about the virus itself?”

  “I destroyed the virus. Sterilized it magically,” said Magnusson. Vargas cast an analyze truth spell, being careful to minimize the drain, and nodded. “Ratatosk had a copy of the data, but I don’t know where it’s stored. If you kill him, you may never find it.”

  “Besides,” said Yoko, “we have your decker.”

  Vargas nodded again. “Hare was useful, but I can live without him,” the Hatter snarled. “Your teammate there isn’t going to live without some sort of medical or magical help, and none of you are getting out of here until I have that data.”

  “What will you do with it when you have it?” asked Yoko.

  “Sell it.”

  “It’s not worth much,” said Magnusson. “It killed nearly all of the subjects; the survivors came down with vampire virus. Who’s going to buy a goblinization reversal that kills all the patients?”

  “If it only kills orks and trolls, the bioweapons department can find a use for it. If not . . .” He shrugged. “You’re going to test it on a wider range of subjects?” “It’s not up to me. Management can decide. But I spent a lot of money on finding GNX-IV, and I want that data.” Yoko looked at Ratatosk, seeing his eyes refocus as he recovered from the dump shock. “No,” she said. “You’re not getting it. Even if you have to kill every one of us.” The Hatter smiled and aimed his smartgun at her head. “If you insist,” he purred, and fired. Yoko instantly leaped toward him, and the bullets were diverted by the deflection spell tattooed on her body. One ricocheted from the coffee table and smashed the pendant light, plunging the room into near darkness. Yoko, Ratatosk, Mute and the Hatter recovered almost instantly as their eyes—elven or cybered—adjusted to the low light, but Magnusson and Vargas were briefly blinded. Ratatosk ducked, extended his cyberspurs, and stabbed the Hatter in the side. The Hatter squawked with the pain, but didn’t release his grip on the elf’s collar. Vargas stared into the astral and cast a pow-erbolt spell at Yoko, then immediately passed out from the drain and collapsed on top of Mute.

  Magnusson saw the astral form of the spell and quickly blocked it, protecting Yoko from its effects. The Hatter fired another ineffective burst at Yoko, then turned the gun on Ratatosk again and squeezed the trigger—but Magnusson cast a magic fingers spell, pushing the select switch back to safety, then popped the clip from the magazine holder. The Hatter threw the gun away with a curse, pushed Ratatosk away from him toward Yoko and snapped the fingers of his left hand. The hidden compartment in his left index finger popped open, releasing a monofilament whip.

  The Hatter slashed with the wire, slicing through the back of Ratatosk’s lined coat and armor clothing, leaving a long shallow cut below his bottom rib and narrowly missing his spine. The decker hit the floor face first, and Yoko jumped back outside the weapon’s reach, waiting for an opening. The Hatter stared at her for a moment, realizing that her reflexes were as good as his own wired ones and possibly better, then swiped at Magnusson, who ducked just in time to save his head, though not his top hat.

  “Well, this is interesting,” said the Hatter, still grinning. “A Mexican standoff in the Aztechnology pyramid. How apt.”

  “Standoff?” queried Yoko, as Ratatosk rolled out of range and drew his smartlinked slivergun. “You’re outnumbered, outgunned, outclassed—”

  “But not out of my element,” the Hatter replied. “And 1 have something better than a gun. 1 have a headware phone with a direct line to security. I can seal this entire floor, seal every exit of the building, call for a whole squad of Leopard Guards . . . and my biomonitor is linked to the system here. Kill me, and you’ll be lucky to outlive me by as much as a minute.

  “Of course, if it comes to that, we all lose. Even if 1 survive, I’ll be down some sixty thousand nuyen with nothing to show for it. So I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy the GNX-IV data from you. I can’t offer much up front, unfortunately, but once I’ve recouped my expenses, we can split the proceeds fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

  “We don’t have the data on us,” said Ratatosk quickly. “That does complicate matters,” the Hatter admitted, “but it needn’t be a deal breaker. I could let one of you go and keep the rest of you here until I have the data. I could even get medical help for your friend on the floor.” He glanced at Mute and saw that she was looking back at him, Vargas’ Beretta pointed at his head. He slashed at the gun with his monofilament whip, foolishly taking his eye off Yoko for a fraction of a second. The adept leaped toward him, and before he could turn to face her, she had hit him in the temple, throat and the top of the spine.

  Yoko looked down as the Hatter collapsed at her feet and stomped on his left hand. He didn’t flinch or utter a sound.

  “Is he dead?” asked Ratatosk.

  “No,” said the adept. “He might have been bluffing about the biomonitor, but I couldn’t take the chance. Mag-' nusson, can you—” She looked at the mage and saw that he was already kneeling over Mute. He began chanting in Aramaic as he cast a healing spell.

  “I’m sorry,” Yoko murmured. “I should’ve been the one watching the door.”

  “Could you see through it?” asked Ratatosk as he removed his slashed coat, then opened Hare’s deck bag. “And what if there’d been something nasty in the next room instead? Something magical that she couldn’t have seen?”

  Yoko shrugged. “What are you doing?” she asked as he plugged himself into the deck and walked toward the telecom. “You’re bleeding all over the place, and we have to get out of here!”

  “This should only take a minute,” said Ratatosk, jacking in. “And even if that drekhead managed to alert security, and I hope he has, we’ve got at least three minutes before they get here. Probably five. Maybe more.”

  “What?”

  “Their express elevators won’t stop until they get to the lowest sublevel, and then they’ll go straight back up to the Temple. They’ll keep doing that until one of their deckers finds the little bug in the software that’s causing the problem. I told you I’d take care of the elevators. Don’t worry, we’ll still be able to get out.”

  “And what are you doing now?”

  “Transferring a million nuyen from one of their slush funds into the Hatter’s account.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll transfer it out again. My fixer has some numbered accounts in Konigsberg for this sort of thing.” Mute started laughing, though the bubbling from her bullet-riddled lungs sounded disturbingly like a death rattle. “He’ll take his cut, of course,” Ratatosk continued, “but we should be able to set up a pretty decent hospital and school somewhere in the Barrens with half a mil. Can you put some tranq patches or something on the Hatter? I’d hate him to escape.”

  21

  8-ball sighed with relief as his phone rang. “We’re on our way down,” said Yoko. “Mute’s badly hurt, so wee’ll need you to pick us up by the elevator. Otherwise, proceed as arranged.”

  Diaz yawned again, reached for his coffee cup and found it empty. He was about to get up and get a refill, because he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open, when the wagemage reclining on the couch behind him sat up and said, “Can you check the elevators? There’s a woman in one of them who looks like she's sick or injured.”

  Diaz stared at the monitors. “Can’t see anything. Which one?”

  “B-nine, I think. Heading down, probably somewhere in the thirties.” Despite the magical R & D division’s best efforts, navigating in astral space was still more of an art than a science.

  “B-nine’s heading for the basement, all right,” Diaz confirmed, “but it’s empty. Exactly what did you see?”

  “Two mages, two mundanes. Two elves, two humans; two male, two female. Human female mundane lying on the floor; male human mage was casting a healing spell on the male elf.”

  “No group like that in any of the elevators,” said Diaz, glancing at
the clock. He thought for a moment, then called up a readout. “Okay, this says B-nine is carrying close to three hundred kilos. Something’s wrong somewhere. Do ghosts weigh anything?”

  “Could there be a problem with the cameras? A crossed wire, or something?”

  “They’ve been working all right until now.” He thumbed the switch for the microphone and said, “This is Security. Do you require medical assistance?”

  There was no answer. “Did you try talking to them?” Diaz asked.

  “Yes. I manifested, asked if there was a problem. They said no—”

  “Did you recognize them?”

  “No, but I’d know them if I saw them again—the mages, anyway.”

  “All right. Better to be safe than sorry. See if you can find them again, find out who they are. I’ll make sure there’s somebody to meet them when they get to where they’re going.”

  “This is Security,” said the voice over the speaker. “Do you require medical assistance?”

  Ratatosk looked up at the indicator above the elevator doors. Twenty-third floor; twenty-five to go. Magnusson was nearly exhausted from the three healing spells he’d cast and didn’t have the energy to maintain any physical masks, and they hadn’t taken any countermeasures against magical security . . . and now, thanks to a random astral patrol, Aztechnology knew where they were.

  Yoko leaned close to the decker’s pointy ear. “Any ideas?”

  “Tell the others to slot and run, not to wait for us?” “Do you think they will?”

  Mute turned her head to stare at them. “Didn't you say you’d trapped the security teams in their elevators?” “Only the Leopard Guards. Not all of them.” Ratatosk stared at the indicator. “We’d better hope they don’t do the same to us.”

  8-ball looked around as he heard the elevator doors open, and swore as six men hurried out. All six—three humans, an ork, a troll and an elf—wore Aztechnology security uniforms, complete with helmets and sidearms: two were pushing a long cart that reminded him weirdly of Snow White’s glass coffin. “What is that?” asked Jinx.

  “It can’t possibly be what I think it is,” replied 8-ball, as four of the guards positioned themselves in front of the door of the next elevator and drew their pistols. He flipped up the vidscreen on his wristphone, angled the camera so that it showed the group and their equipment and called Ratatosk. “You’ve been spotted,” he said. “There’s a team down here, and you’re not going to believe what they’ve got waiting for you.”

  “You’re kidding,” replied the decker, grinning as he recognized the box on the cart as a deluxe stabilization unit. “That’s . . . looks like two medics and only four guards. Can you take care of them?”

  “Sure. How long before you get here?”

  “About twenty seconds.”

  “Okay.” He turned to Jinx. “What spells do you know?” “Treat wounds, analyze truth, and glue strip. No combat spells.”

  “Glue strip . . . that sticks people to the ground, right?” “Yes. Why?”

  “Fine. Get ready to cast it . . .” He reached for the grenade launcher and lowered the window of the Nomad just far enough to create a gun port. “Now!”

  The grenade landed under the cart, and released a cloud of gas. Jinx cast her spell just as the security men hurriedly began backing away; the elf and one of the humans fell over almost instantly, and the ork stumbled while turning around to see where the attack was coming from. 8-bali closed the window. “Good thing those are dart guns,” he said. “Or we’d be—drekl” He ducked as the troll dropped his narcoject pistol and drew an Ares Predator from his belt. A bullet smacked into the windshield, crazing the shatterproof glass as 8-ball started the engine and reversed out of the parking bay and away from the elevator doors. “What are you—”

  “Getting out of range! That’s neurostun! Just try to keep those fraggers inside the cloud! Maggie, can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get ready to cast that clean air spell as soon as the doors open. And have your guns ready just in case—two of these guys haven’t fallen . . . okay, make that one of these guys he said as the ork hit the ground. The troll continued to run toward them, apparently unhindered by Jinx’s spell.

  The elevator doors opened, and the gas dissipated. The troll turned around, and 8-ball slammed the Nomad into forward gear and drove at him. The guard stumbled aside, and the car hurtled past him. The troll fired at the Nomad’s back window, then fell over as Magnusson hit him with a stunbolt. Ratatosk scrambled out of the elevator and opened the lid of the stabilization unit.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” he breathed, as Yoko placed Mute into the unit. “Nice of them to send paramedics as well as guards.”

  8-ball drove the Nomad up and opened the back door. “The Hatter?”

  “Still alive,” said Magnusson.

  The dwarf looked at their faces, then shrugged. “Boanerges would be proud of you. Okay, chummers, let’s go go go'.”

  The guard at the gate looked up as he heard the unmistakable roar of a Westwind approaching along the narrow ramp, then stared as it was followed by a black Toyota Elite, a white Rolls-Royce Phaeton, a silver Jackrabbit, and a dark gray Nomad. The Westwind accelerated and smashed through the boom gate, and continued toward the street entrance. The guard hit the button to sound the alarm, and continued to pound at it when the klaxons failed to sound. Ratatosk, who had rewritten the software so that hitting the alarm button would open the main gates, nonetheless heaved a sigh of relief as all the cars made it out onto the street and split up. He just hoped Zurich had been as successful in removing the tracking devices from the cars.

  A few minutes later, the Rolls and the Westwind pulled up in the parking lot of the YMCA. Leila stepped out of the sports car, looking at it wistfully. “Are you sure I can’t keep it?” she said as she climbed into the Hatter’s Elite.

  Zurich shook his head. “It’ll give the Azzies something to chase,” he said as the Westwind, on autopilot, headed out of the parking lot bound for Seattle Center.

  Mish waved good-bye to the Rolls as it drove off toward Council Island, then slid in next to Leila. “Home,” she said, and giggled.

  The Hatter did his best to keep his face impassive as he walked into his section head’s office. “Tom,” said Martinez warmly as he stared out of the window at the ocean. “That was good shooting in the tournament this morning. Well done.”

  The Hatter did his best not to blink. “Thank you, sir.” “May I see your gun?”

  “Certainly.” He drew the Fichetti out of its shoulder holster and handed it to his boss. Martinez looked at it with mild interest, then placed it on his desk.

  “Now,” he said, “about your application for a transfer . . . I’m afraid it's been declined. What with the Morales incident and now your friend Herrera disappearing ...”

  “He wasn’t a particularly close friend,” said the Hatter quickly. “We just played chess together. And bridge.”

  “Of course. I understand. Still, with him using your account to launder that money he stole from the pension fund . . . you have to understand that it doesn’t look good.” The Hatter nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “However, the board has decided that it probably would be for the best if you were relocated,” Martinez continued. “Somewhere closer to head office. A job where you have a better chance of being . . . noticed by the people at the top. A vacancy has opened up for an intelligence officer in our office in Campeche.”

  The Hatter turned pale. “Sir, I . . .”

  “A job I’m sure is well suited to a man of your abilities and . . . interests, shall we say? You’ll be starting immediately. There’s a helicopter waiting on the roof.”

  “Immediately? But . .

  Martinez picked up the Fichetti and aimed it between the Hatter’s expensive eyes. The office doors opened, and two Leopard Guards walked in, both in full armor with rifles at the ready. “No,” said Martinez softly. “You won’t need to pack. The suit y
ou’re wearing should be fine.”

  Beef Patty walked out of the hospital, moving under her own power for the first time in weeks, and inhaled cold December air into her new lungs. Pinhead Pierce led the way to an old red Eurovan and threw her bag into the back. “So,” said the troll as she fastened her seatbelt gingerly, “what’s the new place like?”

  “Quiet,” said Pierce as they headed east. “Used to be a motel and a restaurant until the Universal Brotherhood took it over. When they cleared out, some ghouls moved in. Maggie’s been cleansing its aura, or whatever it’s called, but it still has a bad rep, and a lot of people from the Crypt haven’t come back. Or maybe that’s ’cause the Gravedigger’s turning the parking lot into a fraggin’ garden and started her classes again.

  “But Akira’s back, and so’s Joji, and Hook and Ulla and a lot of the others. But Leila moved out, stayed with Ratatosk for a while, then started studying with Mute. Didge and Jinx have started taking some classes at the university. The Crypt is still close enough to Hell’s Kitchen that Doc Czarnecki and Mish are usually busy, and Maggie’s students still find their stuff for the talismongers, and Zurich tapped us into the Matrix before he left, so we’ve got a jackpoint again. And the coven owns the building, all legal, so no one’s likely to try to throw ’em out this time. But the place just isn’t the same without Boanerges.”

  Patty took another deep breath and realized that the smell emanated from the ancient van, not from Pierce or his clothes. “It has hot showers, too? And a laundry?” “Yeah,” said the ork. “Why?”

  “I just wondered. I’m not expecting to stay long.” “Don’t blame you,” said Pierce. “I moved out a few weeks ago, myself.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to miss some of the people, but it was too far to go to work.”

  “You have a job!'

  “Inna band. I even had to say no when 8-ball and Mute asked me to go on a shadowrun last week because I couldn’t let down the band.”