Shadowrun: Burning Bright

by Tom Dowd

  Kyle himself wasn't that comfortable, his musical tastes tending toward subtler techno-phasic harmonies. Jet core was too loud, too dissonant, and, combined with the billions of swirling and spraying multi-colored lights in the club, too fragging frantic.

  The crowd was young—older than either Melissa or Mitchell Truman, of course, but by only a few years. There was a younger element, but they tended to orbit each other in small cliques near the edge of the main floor. Kyle wasn't sure if he should simply observe first or start working the crowd for clues to either Linda Hayward or Mitchell Truman.

  Below him, the thrashing mass changed its pattern of mo­tion as the music changed beat and pace. He thought he rec­ognized the piece as a version of a more lyrical song from maybe a decade before, but the music wouldn't hold still long enough for him to place it. He moved forward, against the flow of the crowd, toward the bar.

  The Kaleidoscope attracted a clientele that apparently considered the "magical" look to be in. He passed a pair of female elves guarded by a troll, but of the three, only the troll seemed real. In their finery, twist-dyed hair, and metallic-flake makeup, the two elves seemed artificial and posed. They ignored him, as bade their pose, while the troll gave him a polite nod. Kyle wondered for a brief moment what the truth behind the three really was.

  An ork, garbed as one of the sorcerers from a recent simsense version of the Arabian Knights, threw what seemed a rainbow of color into the air. Kyle didn't need his astral senses to know it was a trick, light refracted through a handful of microcrystals. Fakery, apparently, was all the rage in the Kaleidoscope Cl—

  “It would seem I am not alone," said Seeks-the-Moon in Kyle's mind. Turning quickly, Kyle surveyed the club, trying to pick the spirit out from among the throng. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, if I'm not mistaken, the young woman near the red neon tube, across from you, is a spirit as well."

  Kyle leaned against the rail and strained to see that far across the club. He could make out a cluster of figures near a red neon pillar, but not much else about them. He braced himself against the rail and shifted into astral perception. The room snapped into vivid, energetic focus, a blare of liv­ing color and energy. Despite the brilliance, the accumulated energy of the packed dancers and their emotions, there were very few mystical auras to be seen, except by the pillar.

  There, Kyle picked out two powerful auras, neither masked. Both were females and they strobed with real, pri­mal power. Spirits manifest in human form.

  "Can you get a good look at them." Kyle asked through the mental link.

  "No, and I don't think I should get any closer. They, like me, will have dual sight. I don't think you wish me to alert them to our presence."

  "You're right. Let me try and get closer." Kyle let his physical senses return and moved quickly around the outer rim of the dance floor, keeping his eye on the red pillar. He was nearly there when Seeks-the-Moon spoke again.

  "One of the two has moved away," the spirit said. "She is heading toward the rear of the club."

  "Can you follow her?" asked Kyle, trying to push his way, through the crowd without causing an incident.

  "I believe so, but how daring do you wish me to be?"

  "Could she be Linda Hayward?"

  "Not unless she's disguised. This one is black."

  "Follow her if you can."

  "I will."

  The red-tinted faces of the revelers signaled Kyle's proximity to the tube. He paused a moment and centered himself, boosting his own shielding, and perhaps most important, the masking that dampened his mystical aura. But if this woman, whoever she was, was as powerful as her own masked aura implied, he doubted his attempts to suppress his own would be very successful. He circled left, to come up behind her.

  Her hair was the same color as the unnatural light, her flesh pale and waxen. The clothing she wore seemed to be real leather, dark and glossy, tight up along her long legs and then loose in the form of a vest across her back and shoul­ders. Her arms were bare, except for coppery bracelets on each wrist.

  What slowed him, just for a moment, was the image on the back of her vest. It was the figure of an angel, definitely feminine and vengeful. One of the arms was extended up­ward, toward the sky, and wielded a bright sword. The other gestured downward across one hip, modestly hiding what the tattered rags of her clothing did not. The angel's face, rimmed by a halo of shining hair, was downturned, but her gaze looked outward—direct, provocative, and challenging.' The words "Desolation Angels" arched over the angel and across the woman's shoulder blades.

  "Desolation Angels," Kyle told Seeks-the-Moon. "Embla­zoned across her back."

  "This one has the same thing," the spirit replied, "though I haven't been able to see her—slot!"

  Now Kyle paused. "What?"

  "She just went into the rest room," came Seeks-the-Moon's voice. "I don't dare follow her in. That would get me too close."

  “Then wait her out," Kyle had already started walking toward the 0ther woman again. "Let's see what I can do with one."

  "Is it Linda Hayward?"

  "No." Kyle stepped up alongside her, suddenly wishing he had a drink in his hand. He looked out over the dance floor for a moment and then casually to his left.

  The woman's hair hung loosely down and across one shoulder and this close he could see that it was actually red, but very light, almost blond. Her eyes were large and round, the color of emeralds, her mouth was small but expressive, the lips a color like blood. Her gaze shifted and she eyed him with amused disinterest He noticed a black choker around her neck. Set against it in gold was a single pale gem.

  He smiled, let his gaze wander away and then back again to her. Her smile widened ever so slightly and her lips parted the barest distance. Then she closed her eyes and slowly leaned back against the red neon pillar.

  Kyle tensed. Had he been looking at another magician, he'd have taken her actions as a sure sign she was astrally projecting, releasing her spirit to roam on the astral plane. But Seeks-the-Moon had said she was a "spirit like him. Not only could she not astrally project, having no true body from which to separate her spirit, but neither did she need any be­cause she could see into both congruent realms without ef­fort.

  "Moon," he said quietly in his mind.

  "Yes?"

  "Can you see me from where you are?"

  "Yes, I can."

  "What's she doing?" Kyle asked, hazarding a glance at her. She hadn't moved.

  "Nothing," said the spirit. "At least as far as I can tell."

  "Ah," said Kyle.

  "Worried?"

  "Yes."

  "You're closer," Seeks-the-Moon said. "You can tell more than I."

  "I can't risk revealing myself."

  Kyle looked at her again, but for all he could see, she was frozen there. A waitress moved nearer to him through the crowd. Deciding, he stepped in closer to her and carefully placed his hand on her bare upper arm. Her flesh, in stark contrast to the room, was cool.

  Her eyes opened and she regarded him without expres­sion.

  Kyle managed a smile, pushing back an unfocused, grow­ing unease. "Can I buy you a drink?" he said as smoothly as was possible while half-shouting over the din.

  Her expression did not change. "Why?" She did not raise her voice, forcing him to partially read her lips.

  "It's so warm in here. I thought maybe you were thirsty."

  "I am," she said, and he was about to gesture for the wait­ress when her words and her strong hand on his wrist stopped him. "But I don't want a drink."

  He paused, his body temperature dropping suddenly at her touch, then rising again. "What can I get you?"

  She smiled. "Nothing tonight."

  "Then can I—"

  She let go of his wrist and began moving away. "Good night." She was walking toward the rear of the club.

  "Moon!" Kyle said mentally, moving quickly to keep up with her, yet staying far enough back to duck for cover into the crowd if she tur
ned suddenly.

  "Yes?”

  "She's; coming your way along the rail."

  Ahead of him, Kyle could just make out the figure of the woman as she approached the ladies room and then went in.

  "She went in," Kyle told Moon.

  "Come and guard me. I'm going to try and get a look in there."

  A moment later Seeks-the-Moon appeared alongside his master. "Just like the old days, yes?"

  "Quiet" Kyle snapped. "I'm going to use a far-sight spell to have a look-see. They shouldn't be able to notice, regard­less of how powerful they are."

  "Presumably."

  Kyle looked at him. "What do you mean, presumably?"

  The spirit shrugged. "We don't know exactly what we're dealing with."

  Kyle nodded. "Guard me." He stepped back against a support column. The casting wouldn't require the special con­centration of using his astral senses, but he wanted to be careful.

  The forces of magic swirled around him. He reached out with his mind and began shaping them, connecting them to his own aura, to those elements of himself that dealt with sight. He created a node of mystical energy, the new center-point for his vision, and projected it forward, past the crowd, past the closed door, and into the room.

  It was large and bright. Mirrored counters lined half of each wall, strip-lights tacked to the wall above them casting a hard, sharp light over the women lined up there. All the spaces were taken, and even more women waited their turn near the overflowing trash bins. An attendant was standing by, but apparently chose to ignore the obvious illegal deal­ings going on in the first toilet stall. There were about two dozen stalls, all at the rear of the room. All were in use, with at least one woman awaiting entrance. There was no sign of either of the female spirits.

  Cursing to himself, Kyle willed his sight forward as one of the stall doors opened and women changed places. He paused a moment, uncertain, and then lifted his point of view to quickly scan the interior of the stalls on the left side.

  Neither of the two women were in any of the stalls. He shifted over to the side and did the same.

  Not there, either.

  Cursing again, Kyle cast modesty aside and carefully checked each stall's occupant at eye level before searching through the rest of the room again.

  The two spirits simply were not there.

  He dropped the spell.

  "Gone?” asked Seeks-the-Moon.

  "Yes."

  "I feared as much. I was watching, but no spirits came out."

  They must have ducked out through the rear wall. I think there's an alley back there. They wouldn't risk being seen moving through the crowd."

  "So what do we do now?"

  "Now," said Kyle, "we tell the Trumans that I'm getting worried."

  8

  As Kyle's car slowed and pulled into the pool of light at the curb of the Truman Tower, Hanna Uljaken suddenly appeared from the deep shadows near the entrance and rushed out to meet him. He was pleased to note the increased presence of Knight Errant checking his ID on the brightly lit ramp leading from street level, and equally glad to see the two troopers near the doors shift to better protect Hanna as she came toward him. The Ford's gull-wing door popped open and he stepped out quickly, moving around the front of the car to meet her.

  "I contacted Mr. Truman as soon as Seeks-the-Moon showed up," she told him as they walked toward the build­ing entrance. "He and Mrs. Truman were entertaining on their yacht but they're en route by helicopter. They should be here any minute."

  "And Melissa?" Kyle asked as they passed through lobby doors flanked inside by three more guards.

  She grimaced. "That's a problem."

  Kyle stopped walking. "Why?"

  “She ducked her guards a few hours ago."

  "Son of a bitch!" he said, shaking his head in anger. "Is Facile upstairs?"

  "He wasn't but I've notified him."

  Kyle turned toward the nearest Knight Errant guard in his finely tailored high-impact body armor, full tactical communications headset, and not-so-casually slung combat rifle.

  Kyle pointed at him. "Let Facile know we need him upstairs." The guard seemed startled by the order, but he reached for his commlink, surprising Kyle with his quick compliance.

  Kyle and Hanna continued on toward the elevator banks. "You said earlier that Melissa had provided a ritual link?"

  She nodded. "Yes, it's in cold storage."

  "Under the family's control?"

  She nodded. "Locked in security in the basement."

  "We'll need it." As they reached the elevator, the guard stepped aside smartly. Kyle noted that it was the same woman he'd seen posted here earlier, but now she was garbed for war.

  "Command," Hanna said as the doors closed behind them. "Penthouse. Express." The elevator quickly accelerated to what Kyle guessed was probably its maximum speed. "Com­mand," she said again. "Communication line to security."

  A moment later, a clear male voice spoke through the el­evator's speakers. "Security Control here, Ms. Uljaken."

  She looked up to where Kyle guessed the hidden microsurveillance camera was. "On my authority, I need Melissa Truman's ritual biosample material brought up from cold storage immediately."

  "All of it?" the voice asked as the elevator slowed.

  Hanna glanced at Kyle, who shook his head. "No," she said, "only one sample."

  "It's on the way. Security out."

  The elevator doors opened, and the two stepped into the long corridor that led to the Truman apartment. No guards were present, but Kyle wished there were.

  "Is it that serious?" Hanna asked as they approached me mahogany doors.

  "Let's put it this way," Kyle said, "if I'm right, this Linda Hayward isn't from anywhere on this earth."

  * * * *

  "Excuse me?" Daniel Truman's face had gone white. Next to him, still in her evening clothes, his wife grabbed his arm and gasped.

  "I'm sorry, but it's a definite possibility," Kyle told them. "I saw two women wearing vests showing the words 'Des­olation Angels', and both were spirits of some kind."

  "You're sure they weren't just powerful mages?" asked Facile, who was also wearing slightly bulky evening wear. Kyle had been pleased to see him exit the helicopter with the Trumans, though he suspected the senior Truman was beginning to chafe under the increased security presence. "You could have misread their aura—"

  "Lieutenant," said Seeks-the-Moon from where he was studying the tiny points of color on the huge wall painting. "Trust" me when I say that I know the difference between a powerful spirit birthed in the blazing chaos of the metaplanes and the aura of Awakened meat." He turned slightly toward Kyle. "No offense, of course."

  Kyle ignored him. "No, we're sure," he told Facile. "An unmasked spirit's aura is distinct. And there's also the fact that both vanished through a back wall in the ladies room."

  "Could they have slipped out invisibly somewhere else?" asked Facile.

  "Not likely."

  "But it's possible?"

  Kyle turned toward Truman. He was angry. "Mr. Truman, these are the facts as I understand them. Your son is missing. We've proven that he's either protected or blocked by a power­ful ward. We have a connection between him and a woman named Linda Hayward, who appears to be part of a gang, pos­sibly all-female, called the Desolation Angels. We have seen that at least two members of the Desolation Angels are spirits of some kind. That's enough to have me worried."

  Truman nodded slowly, his mind carefully analyzing ev­erything Kyle was telling him. "If they're spirits of some land—and forgive me, but I'm no expert—doesn't someone have to be commanding them?"

  Kyle shook his head. "There are many different kinds of spirits. Some are like Seeks-the-Moon, Charlotte, and Delta, who are conjured, shaped, and given form by magicians. These and other similar types are all commanded and can only operate within certain restraints."

  Still standing by the painting, Seeks-the-Moon cleared his throat.

  Kyle
glanced over at him. "Some are given a great deal of flexibility, even autonomy, because of their nature and the fact that they've proven trustworthy. All, however, have dis­tinct personalities, sometimes with unwanted idiosyncrasies. Depending on how they're treated, some spirits may even be angry, insolent, or vengeful toward their masters. They are all, once conjured, living creatures.

  There are other spirits, generally classified as 'free spir­its,' whose wills are their own. A conjured spirit can become free if its master dies or if the spirit becomes powerful enough to turn on its master and defeat him. There are also spirits in the world who are free simply by their own nature. They have their own goals, own desires, and some are quite difficult to understand.

  There are a number of different categories of free spirits, as we understand them. We could be dealing with tricksters, shadows, anima, or players."

  "Christ," said Facile. His face bad gone white.

  "I'm afraid you've all but lost me," said Truman.

  "Well, to make a long story short, I'm certain we're deal­ing with spirits, but I can't be certain what kind."

  Facile looked at Truman, then asked to be excused for a moment. As he was going out, one of Truman's own security personnel entered, escorted by a Knight Errant trooper. The building guard was carrying a cold-storage container. Hanna Uljaken gestured toward Kyle. "Please give that to Mr. Teller."

  The guard nodded, walked over, and handed Kyle the case. It was heavy and only slightly larger than a tool box, but Kyle knew it held enough coolant and battery power to keep the enclosed sample frozen for weeks. "Thank you," he said.

  "What's that?" asked Truman.

  "Your daughter Melissa's ritual sample. I think we should locate her as soon as possible. Were Lieutenant Facile here, I'm sure he'd agree."

  The hell with Facile," said Truman. "I agree."

  "Good," Kyle said, hefting the container. "I'd prefer if Knight—"

  The telecom against the far wall beeped, and Hanna Uljaken hurried to answer it

  "As I was saying, I'd prefer that Knight Errant handle it," Kyle went on. There are a couple of other avenues I'd like to pursue, and since the ritual will take several hours, it would be better if someone else performed it."