"The gingchat had already spotted the car and called it in. Neighborhood will be crawling soon."
Satisfied, Glover smiled at Twist.
"There, you see? There was no time for anything other than precipitous action. Standard procedure requires the EPA to inform sovereign corporate security if they are performing a search on adjacent property." Glover turned back to Burke. "Did they?"
"Don’t know," Burke answered.
"We shall find out soon," Dodger said, "for the lock is breached."
"No alarms?" Glover asked.
"Never a sound."
Dodger’s expression implied that he thought such a question insulting. Arrogant elf.
The elven decker opened the door, but Burke was the first in. Twist entered right behind him, gun drawn. Perhaps he thought if he was in the forefront, he might prevent Burke from more "unnecessary" killing. Twist would have to be very fast indeed if he expected to prevent Burke from doing anything the former SAS man set his hand to.
This was no immediate reaction, so Glover got Corbeau on his feet and guided him through the doorway. Dodger slung his deck and followed. As he walked, the elf finished assembling the compact sub-machine gun he had broken down for their walk from the abandoned car.
The inside of the warehouse was cavernous. Corbeau’s footsteps echoed softly in the darkness. He was the only one of the group not wearing soft-soled footgear. Pools of light fought back the dark at random intervals, revealing stacks of crates, pyramids of cylinders, and huge cargo containers. During the day the area would have been a hive of activity. Night made it a sepulcher. With the door to the alley closed, the street sounds had vanished, leaving only Corbeau’s soft footfalls and the lap of water against the concrete of the enclosed dock area to break the silence.
They were halfway across the floor, strung out in the dark, when Glover felt a clammy touch at the base of his skull. He shuddered. That was the warning signal he had been told he would receive when magical danger to his person was imminent. He stopped, readying his defenses. Extending his senses to locate his associates, Glover spread the protection to include them. He was barely quick enough. As he closed the shield over Burke, he felt a spell slam against his defensive perimeter, clawing to get in and ravage them.
The magician who cast it hadn’t been expecting a counter; he hadn’t used enough strength.
Lights flooded the area. Mihn-Pao security had been alerted and had lain in ambush on the possibility that the EPA officers had tumbled onto runners targeting the facility. Half a dozen uniformed guards were on the catwalks in the rafters, readying to fire on the intruders. Glover could hear more clattering to join their fellows. The hard slap of boots on concrete told him that additional forces were charging to intercept them on the warehouse floor.
Burke reacted with all of his chipped speed. His Steyr AUG coughed in rapid bursts as he spun. Three of the guards dropped in his initial attack, killed or incapacitated before they could fire. One of the bodies slipped from the catwalk to impact heavily on the concrete behind Glover.
As the Mihn-Pao squad returned fire, Glover dove forward to drag the cow-eyed Corbeau out of harm’s way. His back itched. There was a hostile magician out there. If Glover had to protect Corbeau, he would be unable to counter the enemy’s magic effectively.
Single sharp cracks marked Twist’s contribution. Each shot shattered one of the globes protecting the lights that robbed the runners of the concealment of the shadows. They no longer fought in a building filled with artificial day. The earlier gloom had not returned, but at least they had patches of dark to hide in.
The elf joined the fray, spraying a lethal welcome into the midst of the first reinforcing squad on the cat-walks. The survivors fell back. No doubt they were suddenly glad of Twist’s destructive efforts as they retreated into the cloaking shadows.
Darkness would do little to hide them from the enemy magician. Glover forced Corbeau to crawl faster. He needed to get the man to a safe place so he could concentrate on finding his counterpart. Finding a stack of crates that provided a nook out of the surviving guards’ line of fire, Glover directed Corbeau into the recess and told him to keep his head down. That done, he crawled back to the edge of the stack.
Using only his mundane senses, Glover started to search for the enemy magician. The hostile was already active and would likely spot him first if he tried active magic. His saw no sign of the enemy.
Twist was huddled in the shelter of a massive shipping crate. At first, Glover thought that the American runner had been wounded, but he realized that Twist was concentrating. His breathing was deep, almost trancelike. When he had first seen the odd knots in the fringes of Twist’s jacket, Glover had thought them merely superstitious claptrap, the sort of charms to ward off evil that so many mundanes thought were effective. Perhaps they signified something more. Twist’s shooting had been quite accurate. Was he some sort of warrior adept? Glover hadn’t thought that such adepts could focus their energies to improve their ability with projectile weapons, but he didn’t know everything about magic. Who could?
Twist released his concentration, spun to his left, and knelt. Cradling his gun in a two-handed grip, he eased forward until he had a line of fire around the crate that had shielded him. Head cocked upward, he seemed to be searching the darkness for a target. Glover followed Twist’s apparent eyeline.
There was nothing and no one on the catwalk—at least nothing mundane. Glover shifted his perception and saw the enemy mage. She had been standing there, invisible to the mundane eye, awaiting targets. Before Glover could ready a spell, Twist fired. The Mihn-Pao mage jerked and clutched at her shoulder. As she staggered against the railing, her astral aura flickered and Glover knew she had dropped her cloaking spell. Witchfire flickered around the mage’s hand as she tried to summon the energy for a spell. The light faded when she slumped to her knees. It vanished entirely when she toppled backward onto the walk’s flooring.
The loss of the mage took the heart out of the Mihn-Pao guards, and the firefight rapidly degenerated into a stalemate. The runners were pinned down, too far away from the boats at the docks to make a break. The security team didn’t advance; they were unwilling to face Burke’s deadly accurate fire. At least there were no alarms. Likely the Mihn-Pao team leader had no wish to lose face in the corporate community; to call for help against such a small invasion would not be good for Mihn-Pao’s public image. The corporation’s concern for its image was one of the reasons he had chosen to acquire his transportation from them; they were less likely to report the theft than any of the alternative sources. Mihn-Pao’s obsession with image was serving the runners now, but it was a fleeting advantage. Even without an alarm, there would be more troops. Time was on Mihn-Pao’s side.
A sudden burst of lambent energy cut the darkness, sizzling past the elf’s hiding place and boring a hole in one of the pillars. It was too focused and rigid for magical energy; a new, lethal technology had entered the fray. Glover drifted his astral form free to locate the danger. From the far end of the structure, another Mihn-Pao squad was advancing. They were led by a burly ork enwrapped in the bristly cocoon of heavy armor and a gyro-stabilized gun mount. His silhouette was misshapen beyond the offensive distortion normal for his kind, made hunchbacked by the massive backpack he wore. His burden was the power pack that fed his high-energy laser weapon. The laser, though heavy due to the coolant jacket sheathing its barrel, swiveled quickly under the ork’s direction. Glover returned to his body as another bolt tore through the boxes behind which the elf sheltered. Dodger scrambled backwards, seeking new cover. Glover smelled burned hair mixed with the scent of wood smoke and something even more acrid. Small flames played in the charcoaled edges of the hole the laser had drilled through the crates.
Mihn-Pao had played a trump that Glover and the runners could not easily counter. Armor would protect the ork from the runners’ guns, but Glover could take out the gunner with his magic if he had a clear line of sight. Unfortu
nately, that meant the gunner would have a line of fire as well. Glover was quite sure the ork would be faster.
Burke signalled for his attention. Glover softly spoke the words for the spell that would let him hear Burke’s words. He didn’t like what the former SAS man had to say, but he saw no reasonable alternative. He nodded, and Burke was on his way. Glover started to tug Corbeau out of his hiding place.
Seconds later, Burke opened fire from the flank of the advancing reinforcements. Glover gave the Mihn-Pao troops a second to engage, and shouted for the others to join him in running for the boats. Just as they reached the boats, the survivors of the first Mihn-Pao squad spotted them and opened fire. Corbeau was hit as he stepped into the boat. Blood splattered the coaming as he collapsed over it. Glover jumped in after him, terrified that the man had been killed. Twist and the elf returned fire as they converged on the boat. They must have gotten the shooters, since no more fire raked the boat.
Glover was relieved to find Corbeau only wounded. As he searched for the craft’s first aid kit, the laser crackled again. A scream of pain rose from somewhere near where he had last heard Burke’s Steyr. There was more gunfire, but only from one side. Burke’s weapon was silent.
The Mihn-Pao guards would be continuing their advance. They would be cautious; they couldn’t know where the runners waited. Several stacks of brilliant orange cylinders screened the two groups, but only for a minute at best. Not enough time to get the doors open and the boat clear. Even if Twist was a warrior adept, they would not get out alive without Burke. They were trapped.
New gunfire raked the dock and boat, forcing the runners to duck. The first of the reserve squad had arrived. The laser gunner, slowed by his heavy load, would soon be upon them. The elf returned fire while Twist struggled to unmoor the boat.
What a rotter! For a chance impatience, the run had soured. Corbeau would die here and it was Glover’s fault. He could not have harmed the cause more if he had tried. It was unbearable. There had to be something that could be done. He started to pant as his panic and anger fought for dominance within him. As his chest rose and fell within the confines of his armored jacket, he felt a hardness rubbing against his skin. Bright Lord! He was an idiot whose poor memory disgraced his calling.
Burke had bought them some time at the cost of his life. Such a sacrifice could not, would not, be wasted. Glover stripped open the velcro fastening of his jacket and reached under the neck of his shirt, groping for the cord. His frantic fingers found the talisman and pulled it free. His desperate animal self cried for him to unleash its power, but his rational mind knew that the object held no power of its own; the amulet was just a focus, a way for him to amplify his call and enhance his control. Hyde-White had been right—with a firelight raging, he needed the concrete object as a core for his concentration. He intoned the word of release over and over. He willed the guardian spirit to act, focusing on the Mihn-Pao team and naming them his enemies.
The laser gunner rounded the corner. He advanced boldly, confident in his firepower and the protective virtues of his armor. His support team fired past him from protected positions.
The shriek of tortured metal from the cylinders at his side brought the ork to a wary halt. One of the cannisters midway up the pile had bulged out as if hammered by some immense force. Metal squealed again as the cylinder distended anew. With an ear-splitting screech, the abused container split. A translucent green column of chemical gel arced from the fissure, curving unnaturally to reach for a Mihn-Pao guard who had used the end of the stack as cover. Tentacle-like, it wrapped around the man. He screamed at its touch. Cloth and flesh blackened, hissing and bubbling under the touch of the toxic slime.
The gunner reacted quickly. He swiveled his laser and triggered the weapon. The dazzling beam speared the chemical tentacle halfway along its length, piercing it and puncturing more cannisters. Chemicals sprayed from the newly ruptured tanks. As if with malign intent, the streams arched and flowed into the tentacle. As its volume increased, the malefic limb swelled and sagged towards the floor, the dark swirling stains from the laser’s strike dispersing throughout its bulk. It released the guard it had attacked. He dropped to the concrete and lay twisted, skin blistered and seared.
The gelid mass did not flow to spread out on the floor of the warehouse. It wobbled, an uncanny mound growing ever larger. Pseudopods extended from near the top of the column and stretched forward in parody of arms. Nearer the base, another tentacle grew and flowed out to touch the floor. The shape lurched, its mass shifting forward toward that new contact. It was no longer amorphous. A stretching, rounded mockery of a man, it stepped clear of the cylinders.
The gunner pumped two more shots into it, starting new swirls of discoloration. Chemicals boiled where the beams pierced the shape. All the terrible energy he unleashed seemed to have no other effect. Behind the thing, newly ruptured cylinders contributed more to its mass.
The ork scrambled out of its path, backing away until he was forced to stop by one of the roof’s supporting columns. Eyes darting between the advancing horror and his weapon, the gunner fumbled with the laser’s settings. A high-pitched capacitor whine overwhelmed the shrill beeping of the overload warning. The ork ignored the sounds, training the laser once again on the monstrous thing that stalked him. With a sizzling crack, the weapon discharged. No longer a brief pulse, the beam was an eye-searing line of energy. The gunner’s backpack smoked as the power cells emptied their energy into the shape. Acrid green smoke rose from the surface as the chemicals bubbled and blackened. The pale color darkened, going opaque, and the thing seemed to shrink back. The ork’s face contorted as his relief shifted to a savage glee. He took a step forward.
His elation vanished as the shape surged, elongating toward him like a cresting wave. His scream was cut off as he was engulfed. Like sand washing from a hand, his flesh flowed away from his bones. The shape flowed past him, curving and reforming in the center of the aisle. It lurched in the direction of the next nearest Mihn-Pao guard. Behind it a pitted, scorched skeleton tumbled into a heap with the corroded plastic and metal parts that had been the ork’s gear.
Glover grabbed Twist by the arm. The American was staring at the spectacle, a horrified expression on his face. The last mooring line hung forgotten in his hands. Twist didn’t react, and Glover cast free the last line by himself.
"Let’s go," he shouted to the elf.
The boat’s engine roared to life. Gathering speed, the boat headed for the opening door.
Once they were through, it would be a short run across the strait to the coast, where they would be harder to spot. Then, a quick run along the New Territories. Once they crossed the Enclave border into the maritime jurisdiction of Kungshu, they would be safe. At least from corporate pursuit. The warlords of the Chinese mainland were united on very little, but resisting further intrusions by the extranational corporations was one cause that bound them. Whatever their history and present ambitions, those warlords all remembered the glittering prize of Hong Kong that was supposed to belong to China and how their pride had been torn and shredded when the region had ripped free from China’s control during the troubled times of the early part of the century.
Glover could understand how they felt. Britain had been duped and taken advantage of in that disgraceful episode as well. Believing that the British government would have a guiding role in reestablishing the thriving community that had been the Crown Colony and desperately desiring the bounty such a restored enclave would bring, the government had ignored the warnings of the druidic community. But the corps’ encouragement of Britain’s participation had been a sham, a way to rally certain elements and pull them into the struggle and thus minimize corporate involvement. They so disliked expending assets when unnecessary.
Had the political leaders listened to those wiser and less avaricious heads, Britain’s honor would not have been sullied by participation in the multinational megacorporations’ schemes that ultimately resulted in their co
ntrol of Hong Kong. Britain had been used. The multinational corporations funding the rebellion had also funded dissident warlords, using the breakup of the repressive Shui regime to grab and hold Hong Kong and the New Territories for themselves. Those corporations renamed their corporate state the Hong Kong Free Enterprise Enclave. When Britain stepped forward to claim control, there had been laughter in the boardrooms. The corps had already obtained grants to the disputed territories from a dozen warlords in trade for arms and supplies. It wasn’t strictly legal, but they had possesion. The few British ambassadors to Chinese leaders who hadn’t had "accidents" were sent away in shame. Liaisons to the corporate consortium waited for appointments that never materialized.
The whole dishonorable episode was over and done before Glover had been born, but he felt the pain as if he had been one of those embarrassed ambassadors. Growing up, he had heard the stories from veterans of the expeditionary force, and had wondered why they didn’t match the official histories he was taught in school. It wasn't until he was at university and under the tutelege of druids that he learned the true story. The duplicity and betrayals were so much like what he himself saw in Britain today. He had become certain that the megacorporations would very much like to see Britain dead, and that certainty had crystallized his belief that Britain could only be restored to glory by a return to the old ways.
They crossed the strait without incident and turned northward along the coast. Within an hour they would reach the inlet where the aircraft was hidden. Then, he would be on his way home with the prize that would make possible the first steps in restoring the glory that was Britain.
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