“You got no worries, Sloan. The paladins won’t be able to find yours,” Black Dog cracked as he returned.
“Sloan’s got a point,” Sam insisted, forestalling the runner’s return slur. “The Tir Tairngire border patrol is famous for its efficiency. Just about every week, there’s a story about someone getting dumped on the highway after trying to get in.”
“That’s why we have to do it quietly, off the roads, and away from the regular patrols,” Roe said. “I’m going to send Tessien ahead to do recon. When it comes back with the all-clear, we’ll move out and the Dragon will fly air cover. There should be no problems.”
“I’m sure you will get us through, Katherine,” Hanae announced.
The runners did not seem so easily convinced. Sam didn’t think the plan any too practical, either, but further discussion was cut off by the arrival of the feathered serpent.
The rush of air from the dracoform’s wings kicked the dried leaves up into the air. Chin Lee cursed as the camp stove’s flame blew out. Once on the ground, the beast lowered itself onto its hind limbs and furled its wings before coiling tightly in on itself.
While Roe strolled over to the creature and began a quiet conversation, the other runners found a sudden interest in Chin Lee’s efforts. Sam noticed that the stove happened to be about as far away from the Dragon as one could get without leaving the clearing. He and Hanae quickly joined the latter group.
A few minutes later, the feathered serpent stretched out its body and with a leap and a beating of wings, it took to the air and sped out of sight over the treetops. Roe stopped at her Caravaner to check on the passenger before joining the others.
Meanwhile, Chin Lee’s stew was ready. The Ork had scrounged up some wild herbs that gave even the soyburger and reconstituted tubers some taste. After eating, they all settled down. Hanae nestled quietly within the span of Sam’s arm. Even Black Dog and Sloan were relaxed, talking about some old shadowrun rather than harassing one another. Chin Lee set a pot of water on the stove and started a card game with Kurt. In the saffron glow of the lanterns, all seemed peaceful.
Above them, the cloud cover grew steadily as the moon slipped lower. The surrounding forest hummed with the soft sounds of wildlife going on with its own business, barely disturbed by their presence. Once, Sam thought he heard a wolf howl. He couldn’t be sure, though, never having actually heard a wolf before.
Whatever it was, Hanae heard it too.
“I don’t like it out here,” she complained.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He knew how she felt. All the open space, the lack of walls, the rawness of the air. The forest just didn’t have the comforting, protective safety of the arcology.
“That’s a good idea,” Roe seconded. “It looks like Tessien won’t be back for a while yet. Once we get moving again, none of us will get any sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep out here,” Hanae said. “It’s too open. Too strange.”
“You can sack in the van,” Kurt said, indicating the Caravaner with his head. “There’re pads and blankets in the back.”
The peace of the forest was making them all solicitous.
Some time after he and Hanae had settled down in the van, Sam came awake. A check of his watch showed that a little over an hour had passed. Hanae slept peacefully. Careful not to disturb her, he eased his way out of the Caravaner. The night was quiet except for the sounds of the camp. In the stillness, he could hear the soft talk of the runners. Sloan and Black Dog were exchanging insults again.
Movement near the other vehicle caught his attention. The tall, feminine shape he saw could only have been Roe. She was slipping a rucksack onto her back, then pulled a shotgun out of a locker and slung it over her left shoulder. Without a word to the others, she walked around the Caravaner into the darkness.
Curious, Sam followed.
He spotted her again, crouched by the edge of the trees, and walked up to her side. She surprised him by grabbing his arm and pulling him down. Saying nothing, she held a finger to his lips.
Sam’s scalp prickled. He didn’t know much about the natural world, but earlier there had been so many sounds. The wind in the leaves. The buzzing and clicking that he was sure were insect noises. The soft scratchings in the undergrowth. That had all stopped now, yet he could see the leaves of the trees still moving against the clouds. They should be rustling and bringing the moist smell of the forest with them. But there was nothing.
Something was very wrong.
“Roe,” he whispered. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He scanned along the treeline. Dark boles shone slightly in the light of the lanterns and the camp stove’s flame. Leaves that he knew were green glittered with an evil blackness.
A glint of light caught his attention. He squinted in that direction. After a moment, he thought he made out a figure standing several meters into the trees. It was tall and thin...like an Elf.
He tapped Roe’s shoulder and pointed. She looked in the direction he indicated and cursed softly. She began to search through her pockets.
The breeze rose suddenly, kicking up dead leaves as the Dragon had done. The soft brown detritus rustled as it skittered away.
Then that small sound was swallowed by the heavy thwopping racket of rotor blades. Sam looked up as a dark shape swept over the trees. A second and third rushed in its wake. They were followed by still more.
“Yellowjackets,” Roe breathed as she rose.
Sam stood, too. He knew Yellowjackets from seeing them on tridcasts of corporate settlement wars. They were small, fast, one-man helicopters that carried more than enough armament to take on a light armored vehicle.
Sam discovered that the Yellowjackets also mounted searchlights when shafts of light began to stab down from the craft as they swept over the camp. Sam counted six bright beams cutting across the open ground.
He and Roe were outside the area illuminated by the lights, for the moment undiscovered. She held something out to him.
“Take it,” she said, stepping away.
He grabbed it reflexively with both hands. Looking down, he saw it was her shotgun. As though it were red hot, he opened his hands in horror and let it fall to the ground. No more guns, he had sworn. He expected Roe to say something, but she had already vanished into the darkness.
The weaving lights had spaced themselves into a circle that bathed most of the clearing in harsh glare.
“By the authority of the High Prince of Tir Tairngire, I order you to surrender without resistance. Do so immediately and you will not be harmed.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Sloan broke the tableau by sprinting for the Caravaners. As he ran, he screeched, “You ain’t taking my mind.”
“Remain where you are,” the disembodied voice boomed. “This is your last warning.”
Sloan ignored it. He pulled an automatic rifle from under the seat and spun on his heels. Locking the stock under his elbow, he triggered the weapon, ripping a burst at the chopper with the loudspeaker. Sloan’s rifle stuttered in a piping tone, piercing the steady thump that came from the whirling blades of the surrounding aircraft. Higher-pitched whines shrieked as the weapon’s slugs tore at the craft’s fuselage until, in a shattering of glass and a shower of sparks, the lead chopper’s searchlight winked out.
“Mother, he got me,” the mechanical voice said. Sam was sure the voice did not intend for those on the ground to hear. After a moment, it spoke again as though in reply to a question. “They’ve drawn blood, Bran. They can damn well drink it. All units, lights out. Fire at will.”
The clearing plunged into darkness as the hovering choppers extinguished their lights as one. Before the after-images had faded, red tongues of fire erupted in place of the lamps. Heavy slugs tore gouts of earth in lines across the camp. Kurt, racing for cover against the other van, was thrown to the ground when one copter’s fire caught him. A second craft’s machine guns sought his downed
form, slicing through him and leaving him dismembered on the bloody ground.
Sloan opened up again, firing wildly into the night. Tracer rounds from his gun flared orange in the darkness. He shouted incoherently as he fired. The Elves responded forcefully. Fire illumined one of the Yellowjackets briefly, turning it into an alien insect god of destruction as it launched an air-to-ground rocket.
Time seemed to freeze for Sam. He saw, or imagined he saw, the slim, deadly shape leave the launch tube. As the rocket cleared the tube’s mouth, its fins extended, snapping into place to control its flight. The missile roared toward the van beside which Sloan shouted and raved. Hanae had been sleeping inside that van.
At that instant, Sam saw her face appear at the door. She was bleary-eyed and her hair tousled, looking disoriented by the turmoil and destruction. Just as Sam started to shout a warning, the missile struck.
Thunder split the night.
The Caravaner bucked under the impact and roared into an instant inferno as the warhead detonated. Sloan was lifted into the air and flung away, arms flailing.
Sam ran forward, but then tripped and fell sprawling. He looked back to see what had made him fall. In the flickering light, he saw Sloan’s face, rigid with hate and fear. The runner’s hair was half-burned away on one side. His body was nowhere in sight.
Sam scrambled to his feet and staggered once more toward the burning van. Its roof began to sag from the heat, and noxious smoke poured from the pyre. The interior of the van was incandescent with the heat of the conflagration. A sudden spout of flames drove him back. A large hand closed powerfully on his arm. Sam tried once to tug free before turning to see Chin Lee’s tusked face.
“You can’t help her now,” the Ork yelled over the roar of the fire and the thunder of the circling helicopters. “Come on, head for the trees. The fragging Yellowjackets can’t follow us there.”
The Ork released him and sprinted for the shelter of the forest. Sam gave the van another look. Chin Lee was right. He could do nothing for Hanae now.
He was alive and she was not, but Sam would make someone pay for that. As they ran for the trees, the second van exploded in a ball of flame that climbed into the sky. Fleetingly, he saw the silhouette of Black Dog scrambling away in the other direction while the angry Yellowjackets buzzed over the clearing, filling it with fire and lead.
Chin Lee was well ahead, just passing the first tree when a slim shape rose up to meet him. The Ork started to swing his assault gun around, but the figure stepped close, brushing the muzzle up and away. A black-clad foot snaked out and the Ork crashed to the forest floor.
The fires revealed the attacker as an Elf. He stood over the stunned runner, panting slightly. Then he casually lifted one hand and sighted down his extended forefinger at the Ork. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertip.
Chin Lee screamed and clutched his arm. The Ork’s hand came away slimed with goo. He yowled louder as the goo spread across his chest and up his neck. The cries died in a bubbling wheeze as his face turned to mush and slumped away from his softening torso.
“A fitting end to such an abomination,” the Elf mage pronounced.
Sam had not stopped running, his legs pumping, though his eyes were locked on the horror before him. His mind was so numbed by the terrifying display of magic that he didn’t realize he was heading straight for the Elf until it was too late. He barreled into the mage and they both went sprawling.
He pushed himself away, kicking at the other to untangle their legs. This Elf had just turned a living person into a puddle of slime. Sam had no doubt that he would gladly hand him the same fate.
The Elf had gathered his wits and was trying to stand. Seeing a fallen branch, Sam grabbed for it. Swinging as he scrambled to his feet, he struck the Elf in the head, the rotten wood of the branch shattering on impact. Fragments and surprised insects exploded in a cloud, sending the Elf staggering back, more confused and surprised than hurt.
Sam turned and ran.
“Go ahead and rabbit, renegade. You’re meat for the hunter.” The mage began a spell chant. He spoke it loudly, obviously intending Sam to hear.
Sam risked a glance over his shoulder. The Elf had raised his hands above his head, a flickering nimbus of ruddy light forming into a sphere around them. The killer mage was readying a spell. Fear lent speed to Sam’s pistoning legs.
Then he felt a strange surge inside. Somehow he knew the spell had been completed. Heat scalded his back as the trees around him washed in flame. The hot air seared his lungs and he fell, burning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Mitsubishi Nightsky gleamed elegantly in the setting sun. The limousine’s sable bodywork drank the light to form deep, distant reflections in contrast to the immediate glitter and shine of the chromed highlights. The rear door gaped to offer access to the cool, dark interior, a counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the day.
A woman and a man walked down the steps of the Jarman Building. Their manner and total indifference to the pedestrians passing between their corporate sanctuary and the luxury vehicle at the curb marked them as the likely owners of the Nightsky.
She wore a conservative suit of the most exquisite tailoring and materials. From the sparkling silver heels that gave a fine shape to her bared legs to the platinum chain glittering within her dramatic coiffure, she moved and breathed corporate success.
He wore a dark three-piecer and moved so smoothly that the suit hardly seemed to crease as he walked. The dark hair that framed his long-boned face might have emphasized the grimness of his saturnine features, but his obvious pleasure in the woman’s company rendered him strikingly handsome. He was a dark counterpoint to her sparkle, but in every way a match to her corporate royalty.
Their expressions were relaxed as they laughed quietly at some private joke. Their eyes were only for one another and they seemed to be anticipating an evening of pleasure.
Hart slipped from the crowd to stand in front of the man. It was going to be her pleasure to ruin the start of that evening.
“Hello, Mr. Drake. Surprised to see me?” Drake pulled up. The woman shot him a glance that told Hart she had no idea what was going on. Not good, chica.You should know your bedmate better than that. “Well, Mr. Drake?”
“You are exceptionally resourceful, Ms. Hart. Why should I be surprised?”
Hart shrugged off his smooth reply. “I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied making Ms. Mirin nervous.”
The woman shifted her searching look to Hart, who carefully ignored the penetrating appraisal. Hart and the woman had never met, but the Elf knew Mirin would not care how Hart knew her name. She would rather be wondering what else Hart knew about her. Let her. As long as Mirin was confused, her uncertainty would restrain her.
“Young woman...”
“Arcstore it, Ms. Mirin,” Hart said, earning a sharp, angry look for her interruption. “I am not here for conversation with you. So keep out of it. I also suggest that you not initiate any suspicious gestures. It could cost you your life. I have friends in high places.” In reply to Mirin’s scornful smirk, Hart added, “One of those friends has a high-powered rifle trained on your head. That person is an excellent marksman. And well aware of your capabilities.”
“Is he fast enough?” Mirin said contemptuously.
Drake placed a hand on his companion’s arm. “Let’s humor Ms. Hart, Nadia. To the best of my knowledge, she is a woman of her word and scrupulous in reporting her arrangements. There is no need for violence at this time.
“Ms. Hart, perhaps you would care to step inside where there are fewer ears?”
Hart smiled, too, aware that fewer ears meant fewer eyes if he really did want to start trouble. “I think not.”
“On the stairs then. Away from the mob. Just you and I.”
Mirin seemed ready to object, but Drake forestalled her with a slight shake of the head. For Hart, he had nothing but smiles. “Would it be satisfactory for Nadia to wait in the car? I am hardly likely to
offer you violence on this public street, in plain sight of all these people.”
That was what she was counting on. “She can go. As long as she cooperates, she will be safe. My friend has explosive bullets and a convenient angle to place them into your limo.”
“I don’t like threats, Ms. Hart,” Mirin stated softly. There was clear menace in her tone.
“And I don’t like having to make them. You aren’t involved in this yet. We’ll all be happier if it stays that way.”
“It’s all right, Nadia. Ms. Hart and I have had a simple misunderstanding. There will be no trouble.”
Mirin’s expression made it clear that she already thought there was trouble.
“Go on. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Mirin acquiesced. Hart started up the steps without waiting for Drake. She stopped halfway up and turned. The sun had slipped out of sight, and the shadows had crept down to where she stood. She shivered, more from nervous anticipation than from the cool breeze that skirted the darkened face of the Jarman Building.
“Now, what is this really about?” Drake asked as he joined Hart. The light tone he had used in Mirin’s presence vanished, replaced by a businessman’s poker face.
“I think you were trying to avoid completing our contract.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t really care about your reasons, though I’ve got a pretty good idea what they were.” Drake said nothing; he merely favored her with an inquisitive look. He was cool. Too cool to be innocent, she decided. “I was still there when the Tir Tairngire border patrol hit. They used a mage to cover the sound of their Yellowjackets. There was a full squadron; more than enough for a few second-rate shadowrunners and a couple of runaway corporates. They were looking for trouble and expecting to find it. When Sloan panicked and opened fire on them, the patrol blasted us with everything they had. Pure devastation. I could have been killed with the rest.”
Never Deal with a Dragon Page 17