Shadowrun: Crimson

by Kevin R. Czarnecki

  Needled grinned. “Absolutely. Nobody minds some missing bugs, and we manage to pull in enough meat to live very healthily.”

  “It can’t be very appetizing, though.”

  Needles blinked. “What does that matter?”

  “I mean that satisfying hunger is good for basic health, but satisfying taste is good for the mind.” Greene chuckled. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that ghoul problems in the city rarely trace their origin to here?”

  “We assumed that was excellent PR,” Pretty said.

  “No, not at all, though many are willing to give us the benefit of the doubt, considering the products we offer. No, we have found that supplying our population with the meat they crave is often enough to curb their hostility toward other metahumans. After all, a full belly doesn’t urge hunting instincts, and feral ghouls are nothing if not instinctual. This way they are much more docile, much more agreeable to mundane tasks.”

  “You still treat them well?”

  “Of course! Everyone has to pull their weight, but their needs are simple, and we provide those simple needs. You really should try our pork. I’ll have some brought in.” He gestured to someone through the windows flanking the door behind us. “It’s quite different from any other you’ve tasted, I promise,” he continued, obviously proud. “We keep them in different groups. One large population is sold to metahumans for profit. Ames of Chicago’s Own Pizzeria makes all her sausage from our produce. And the other half is a specially-engineered breed we acquired which, we hope, may prove to be nutritionally viable as a replacement for metahuman flesh within the next ten years.”

  Our eyes went wide. This wasn’t just good for ghouls, but there was a considerable monetary prize from the Draco Foundation for whoever managed to create a viable flesh substitute for ghouls. If they had cracked the mystery, they would be flush with cash and rather famous. From Greene’s expression, he obviously knew this.

  Needles leaned forward in his chair. “There is nothing I would like more for our people. Being free of human flesh has been one of my main goals with this pack. If you’ve got a line on a way to make that happen without having to hunt bugs, you’ve got my support.”

  “Naturally. But I wonder, isn’t it possible that your diet has had some adverse effects on you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your coloration is a bit grayer than even the rest of us. You’re terribly pale. And bug spirits aren’t just human, are they? Perhaps whatever changes metahumans into bugs—”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Ghouls have been eating bugs for a long time. I can guarantee you if there were effects, we’d have seen them by now.”

  “Guarantee? Are you an expert on bugs?”

  “I’ve been hunting them since the ’50s, so, yes, actually.”

  He considered this as Needles continued. “We all have. And we’ve got the experience and gear to offer this place a much better sense of security.”

  “What kind of personnel?”

  “Around thirty, several combat-trained, with one technical expert. Very well-equipped, now, which we would bring with us. About half have retained full mental faculties, and all are trained in basic hazmat procedure.”

  “They’ve have to be, considering where you were. How did you survive all that time?”

  Needles grinned. “We got smart. We got strong. And we stayed together.”

  Greene pointed his interlaced fingers at him. “Loyalty is important to you?” Needles nodded.

  Greene thought for a moment as the door opened and servings of pork were brought in, raw on chipped plastic plates, dented metal silverware. Each was set on the desk for us, the ghouls who served them leaving with smiles. Though the smell wasn’t palatable to me, I could detect the odd similarity to human flesh, beyond what one normally associates with pig meat. I could tell Needles and Pretty were tantalized by the scent.

  Greene took up his silverware and indicated they should do likewise. When he looked at me, he frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m afraid we don’t have anything to fit your diet.” I smiled and pushed my plate away politely.

  After Greene tucked in, Needles and Pretty took their first cautious bites. Their self-control was admirable, but I could tell they were engrossed in the flavor.

  “Are these the transgenic pigs?” Pretty asked, temporarily too preoccupied with her meal to maintain her usual cool façade.

  “Indeed. They don’t quite satisfy all our needs yet, but we have a few ways we’ve managed to enhance the flavor that no one else seems to have figured out.”

  Needles stopped chewing. “How?”

  “Are you familiar with ghoul caps?”

  We nodded.

  “We are occasionally able to secure small supplies to keep a small cultivation of them for a group of our transgenic pigs. We’ve found this group is especially appetizing when their diet is supplemented with them. Unfortunately, we’ve had little luck in maintaining an adequate supply to expand our experiments.”

  Needles smiled. “Then we do have something more to offer.”

  “Oh?”

  He set down his half-finished plate. “We maintain some small clusters of them in our warren. We can keep them growing, but we never had a need other than to mask the flavor of bug or rat meat, usually just sniffing them. We’d be happy to share our techniques.”

  Pretty swallowed her last bite, looking up. ”And we have a lot of experience behind the wall. It wouldn’t be difficult to bring more of them here, and meat to keep them growing in.”

  “I’m curious,” I said, “why the megacorporations aren’t more interested in this link. You’d think they would have come to the same conclusions you have.”

  Greene nodded. “I doubt they have as much perspective on the matter as we do, or as much interest. But every now and again we have curious parties show up to offer payment for medical data on how we are getting along. I suspect the corporation we acquired the pigs from is using us as a testing ground. Which is fine by me, as long as they don’t try to take my people. They don’t know about the caps, and if they want to offer us a partnership in developing the swine alternative, we’ll make quite a bit of money. Maybe enough to become a subsidiary in our own right.”

  “Which corporation did you get the pigs from?”

  Greene smiled. “No offense, but I don’t know you quite well enough to go sharing that detail, yet.” That was fair. It was worth some nuyen to the right buyer.

  “One more reason for us to join forces,” Needles said.

  Greene nodded. “All right. I admit, we could use the extra security. And getting more ghoul caps is a nice incentive...”

  Needles gave him a moment before pushing. “How about this? Come to our warren. Get a look at how we get along. You’ll see we’re not feral, that we know how to take care of ourselves and work together.”

  Our host considered it a moment, then smiled. “That’s an excellent idea. But first, let me show you around the farm. Make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

  The tour was everything Needles could have hoped for. Long Pig Farm was massive, with grain fields and thousands of swine tended under starlight by ghouls working together in peace. Several times, he observed to Greene where he thought security could be improved, pointing out blind spots and breach points, and indicated that Slim could easily transfer the surveillance equipment for integration.

  Greene also gave a tour of the housing facilities, converted tennis courts and bunkhouses made into dormitories. He paid special attention to the care of brain-damaged ghouls, where they slept and played and how they worked under the caring supervision of those still in full possession of their faculties. They were deemed more docile, their feral instincts curbed by honest work and full bellies, and treated as valued if simple members of the community.

  Needles was in awe, seeing a glimpse of the world he had always dreamed of building for Sara. He wasn’t as happy when a corpse cart came calling, offering the day’s scaven
ging for a supply of fresh pork, but he understood the necessity, and given the promise of the transgenic livestock making such purchases unnecessary in the future, and the logical fact that it would take this much metahuman flesh to keep the farm going until then, he accepted it. It didn’t hurt that the ghouls of the farm didn’t hunt for live victims, either.

  Greene and three armed ghouls returned with us to the warren, making the trip through the sewers without complaint. Needles showed them the housing and Slim’s tech lab, explaining that Slim was currently undergoing biosculpting to look more human. Greene hoped more of them might be able to do that in the future, or better, that it would become unnecessary.

  Experience had made decontamination look simple for Needles’ pack, and Greene watched as a scavenger team returned and was scrubbed inside of ten minutes. Later, he partook of a plate of elfwasp, grimacing at the flavor, but admitting the satisfaction of his appetite. A small pot of ghoul caps on the table turned out to help, after all.

  All the while, Needles explained their procedures, told stories of their successes against raiders, bugs, Knight Errant, and Lone Star. Pretty and I smiled to each other. He was a natural leader. In his element, he didn’t need our assistance at all.

  Finally, Greene looked up from the remains of his meal at Needles. “Be honest, Needles. You need this more than we do?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know very well that Zone lands are being sized up for reclamation by the corps as well as anyone. When they come through here, they’ll kick you out. That’s why you’re looking to join us, isn’t it?”

  Needles sighed. “Yes. But more than that, even. We are stuck here. We survive and we learn, but this isn’t a society. This isn’t growing. We’ve done so much, and we have no way of making it matter, making it change things. It took a long time to realize that. When you spend every day focused on surviving, you forget that there’s more to life. If we stay isolated down here, or if we die, we might as well have never been here. And that’s not what I want.”

  “So you want to matter?”

  “I want to make a difference, for my pack and for all ghouls. And there are other ghoul communities to join, others that have their acts together, but for the most part they are predators, or they hide like we do. The difference is learning to live in the open. To stop fear from spreading, and remind people that we are part of metahumanity. And as far as Chicago goes, you’re the closest I’ve seen to it.”

  He smiled before continuing. “And that was before I saw the pigs.”

  “You’re not at all interested in the money if we crack the alternative food source?”

  Needles sniffed. “I know very well how to live without money, as you can see. The real payoff is how it will advance Infected interests. It makes us human. Takes away one more thing that makes people fear us. You take cannibalism off the table, and we’re just sick. I’m not crazy about pity, but I’ll take it over fear.”

  Greene nodded. “I know what you mean.” He sighed. “Well... I have to talk to my people, but as far as I’m concerned, you should join us. Maybe you do need us more than we need you, but it’s good for both parties.”

  He extended his hand, and Needles shook it.

  It only took two days of Needles and Greene speaking with the other leaders of Long Pig Farm to ensure a place among them for the pack. Two more weeks went by, with the entire warren in a flurry of activity. Parties had gathered large supplies of the ghoul caps, and electronics and gear were packed up and prepped for transport.

  Slim returned, wrapped in sterile bandages and careful to avoid infection as he oversaw the breakdown of equipment through a drone, occasionally complaining that he had just set up a beautiful system only to see it taken down before it could prove its worth. Needles comforted him by telling him there was a much bigger system to be built, which mollified him somewhat.

  Even more than that, Slim was eagerly awaiting the removal of his bandages. Pretty would sit by his bed when she was in the warren, listening to him chatter about his hopes and all the things he would do once he could go out among metahumans. She smiled patiently, reminding him not to smile with the bandages, and giving him pointers on what he would have to know and do once he was among the norms. A regular metahuman might have healed by now, but those Infected who could have surgery at all often took longer to heal from it. It would be at least one more week until he was ready to get up. Until then, he maintained only the bare essentials for security and communication with the outside world. Everything else would go.

  Pretty spent the rest of her time arranging for transportation of the ghouls. The old panel truck would bring crates and groups over slowly, careful not to attract attention, and taking alternate routes all the time. Moving the gear was the hardest part, but the warren wasted nothing, and the plastic crates from the heist still had their packing foam and fasteners. I drove occasionally to give her a rest, the hours of navigating Chicago’s broken roads against a sky heavy with coming snowfall strangely silent, the back of the van with two or three ghouls squeezed between the boxes, nervous and uncertain and hopeful. Often I would look in the mirror and see them watching me.

  The rest of the time I remained in the warren, devoting my attention to security. We were all hoping that this sudden increase of activity wouldn’t attract attention. LS sweeps had doubled since the hive incident, and that drove bugs, raiders, and gangs to look for new hiding spots. Mene would conceal the van as I led small patrols that dwindled with every night’s transportation of ghouls. Before long it was down to just a few of us to move Slim while I stayed behind the sterilize the area and catch up.

  The tunnels were clear of the detritus you would find elsewhere in the city’s ruins, but that would change with the doors open and a few days’ wind to blow trash in. I hoisted an old fire axe and and swung the pick end into patched pipes and old furniture. Everywhere I saw signs of habitation I cracked it apart. The decon stations were already stripped of all useful materiel, the kitchens empty, the tech room nothing but a pair of dead, dangling cables and a clean spot where the Maria Mercurial poster had hung for so long.

  My eyes drifted into the astral, and I could see echoes of this place. So many ghouls spending so much time here, the whispers of laughter and tears, fear and perseverance. In the midst of this medley of memory, footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see the far clearer form of Needles standing in the doorway.

  “Red.”

  “Hey.”

  He walked through the door, looking around with vision much like mine.

  “It’s funny...you stay here so long, you see these residual images and they blend right in with life every day. You forget they’re there. And it’s only when everyone is gone, and the place is empty, and all you see are the ghosts...”

  He hung his head. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “I think you’re doing the only thing you can. Which is what you’ve always done for your people. You can’t help being a good man.”

  He sniffed. “Yeah...well...” He glanced around again. “Think you could wipe all this away?”

  I looked around. My skills weren’t what they used to be, spells I could only half-remember that might have wiped the astral clean. “Even if I could, would you want me to?”

  We walked to the great drain chamber where we had judged the Stars and debated Barnes. Vague visions of the many gathered here, emotional impressions of inspiration and family overcoming those few stains of rebellion and fury. More than anything, this place spoke of what Needles had built, and what it had meant to the lives spent here.

  We looked at each other. It was clear. Maybe, even there were a way to wipe it all away, we didn’t need to. Maybe the memories of a place deserved to remain, even when everything else was gone. Needles smiled.

  We returned to the generator room, cans of kerosene and ammonia from the sterilization chambers the only resources remaining. We spread the chemicals all over the warren, every chamber and every passagewa
y, until the fumes were thick enough to see. I’d be all right, but Needles strapped on a gas mask.

  We left by the main door into the Zone, the night still young and the sky clear and cold, not a sign of FAB in the air. Needles pulled off his mask and reached into a pocket to pull out a red-banded incendiary grenade. He turned the timer to four minutes and, after a moment’s hesitation, tossed it in. With a final look, we walked in opposite directions. We both needed time alone.

  The grenade went off, and the vaporized fuel in the contained space detonated, shaking the ground and echoing across the entirety of the Zone. But the memories remained.

  I sat for long hours listening to my music, some new band called Grim Aurora, staring at the Bhianchi Orb. I would hold it in my hands, set it on my lap, assense it, even talk to it. Like most strange puzzles of the mystical world, there were no unreasonable methods in trying to understand it.

  Dusk found me in the shadow of a building near Cermak, abandoned by Ares, Lone Star, and bugs alike for now. Assensing from a distance showed the warp was back, practically vibrating through the tunnels leading down to the blast zone. The radiation had tapered off somewhat. I suspected that had to do with the death of the toxic shaman. Without his poisoning influence, the radiation would probably relax back to its usual, regular glow.

  I wished I could ask Mene what she had seen when she looked at it, but I had needed to take care of the warren on my own, and had sent her on to help the ghouls settle in. It would be safer for her, away from an unknown artifact and the potential dangers of the Zone. Besides, I needed the time alone with my own thoughts.

  I looked at the Orb, tucked under my arm, and took a few experimental steps toward the nearest sign of the warp. Assensing, I saw the warp vanish as I approached. I backed away, and the warp returned.

  Interesting.

  On a hunch, I set the orb down on the dust and gravel and moved toward the warp. Stepping right where the warp abruptly began, I assensed—