Shadowrun: Burning Bright

by Tom Dowd

  "Maybe you should tell me what those weird things are," said Strevich.

  "Only if you'll answer my questions."

  "I'll answer what I can," his friend said, "and anything I can't answer I'll see if I can get you cleared for. Don't ex­pect much, though. Senator Birch is on the Oversight Com­mittee these days. I'm sure he still remembers you fondly. I know his wife does."

  "Thanks," said Kyle. "You always did know exactly the right thing to say."

  "Your frag-up, chummer, not mine."

  "Look," Kyle said, "let me fill you in on what's going on here and then maybe we can figure it all out.”

  "Deal," said Strevich.

  "Deal," said Kyle, and then he began to give Dave Strevich me whole scan.

  * * * *

  Strevich was quiet for most of Kyle's briefing, but it was obvious that the FBI man didn't want to be hearing any of this. The farther along Kyle got with the story, the more agitated Strevich seemed to become, though he fought unsuccessfully to hide it

  “The nature of this spirit remains unclear. I don't recognize it offhand, but I also haven't had time to do any research," Kyle said in conclusion.

  Strevich was silent, leaning back in his chair, staring away at something. "Kyle," he said, after a long pause, "we've been friends for a long time."

  Kyle felt himself grow cold. He didn't like either the pre­amble or Strevich's quiet tone.

  "Listen to me when I tell you—get away from the Truman boy."

  "Why?” asked Kyle.

  "I can't say."

  Kyle slammed his fist on the desk, and the trideo image of Strevich jittered. "God damn it! You've got to tell me something!"

  Strevich shook his head. "I can't. I swear to God I wish I could, but this is wrapped up so tight it scares me."

  "You've got to tell me something."

  "I am, Kyle—stay away from the Truman boy. What's going on there is bad, maybe as bad as it gets. You've walked straight into the middle of it. Disassociate yourself from the Trumans and disassociate yourself from your sister-in-law."

  "My sister-in-law?" Kyle said. "What the frag does she have to do with—"

  "I can't tell you any more," Strevich said. "If you've ever trusted my word, listen to me now. Get clear."

  "I can't. Not without knowing more."

  "I can't tell you more. You've got to understand."

  Kyle nodded. "Yeah, I do," he said. "Goodbye, Dave." He reached out to hit the Disconnect, then sat there for sometime staring at the blank screen. Finally he picked up his portable phone and connected it to the datajack behind his left ear. A fraction of a second later he'd called up the number he needed and entered it. It rang twice, but there was no image. Like his own, Hanna Uljaken's cellular phone had no trideo pick-up.

  This is Hanna Uljaken," she said.

  "Hanna, Kyle Teller."

  "Hello!" Her voice was bright and cheerful, and it sounded like she'd gotten even more sleep than he had.

  “There's been no word of any change at the hospital."

  “That's good, I suppose. But that's not why I'm calling. I need your help with some research. How quickly can you get over to my hotel room?"

  She paused to think. “'Twenty minutes?"

  "Good. I'll see you then."

  He disconnected and then eyed the mess the room had de­volved into. He'd have to get it cleaned up before she ar­rived. That and he'd need a shower.

  Invoking the Truman named had Housekeeping in his room and working feverishly within five minutes of his call down to the front desk. The outer sitting room was fairly clean, just strewn with datapads and other such tech, but he wanted them to do a good job on the bedroom. He really didn't think about why.

  Hanna arrived dressed in a smart blue and black Raphael business suit. Probably cost her ten times what Bern had paid for hers, he thought.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  "Something big, but I don't know what it is," he said. "My sources aren't telling me much. But they know some­thing. And if they do, someone else does too. I want to see what we can find."

  "Of course."

  "You use the terminal"—he motioned toward the desk— "and I'll set up my datapad on the other table and use its cellular link."

  Hanna set her briefcase on the couch and removed her suit jacket, dropping it down there as well. She sat down at the telecom terminal and immediately began setting it up to search the various online and national databases.

  Kyle picked up a pad off the desk and wrote some telecom numbers and passcodes on it. "Here are some that I've still got access to. Federal Data Repository, Smithsonian-Rand WorldFacts. Try these first."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "Do a multi-criteria search. We're looking for key words like 'spirit', 'free spirit', 'anima', and related terms. Also 'essence draining', 'neuropsychological damage', and the like. Anything similar to Mitch Truman's case."

  She nodded. "That shouldn't be too hard."

  "And once you get that up and running, I want to see if you can find Shadowland."

  "You're joking."

  "No, I'm not. I'm afraid the only way we'll get anything of real value is from the illegal databases, not the govern­ment and corp-supported boards."

  "I haven't a clue how to get into it."

  He smiled. "I know what's-his-name Devress does most of the 'independent personnel" hiring for the Truman family, but I'll bet you've got some connections of your own."

  She smiled. "Maybe I do."

  "Use them to find the local Shadowland node."

  "And then?"

  "Same multi-criteria search, but this time add in a few more. Add in 'Universal Brotherhood', 'Knight Errant', and anything else you can think of."

  "Why the Brotherhood?"

  He shrugged. “There might be a connection between what's going on here and them, but I don't know."

  "All right. I can at least try," she said. "Where will you be searching?"

  "Magicknet," he said.

  "Never heard of it"

  "No reason you should have. It's like Shadowland for ma­gicians. I think I know where to access it, but it might take a little work."

  She nodded, then began tapping in commands at the ter­minal.

  A moment later Kyle was busy doing the same.

  * * * *

  It took him just over an hour to track down the access number for Magicknet's Chicago node. It wasn't a public board, but one used by those interested in pirated spell infor­mation, formulae, and other non-public information on the subject of magic. He knew there were several continuously updated databases there on the subject of spirits, their abil­ities, and origins. If anyone who'd ever accessed the board had encountered anything even remotely similar, it would be noted in the archives. Unless he was dealing with a unique, or possibly small group of virtually unique spirits, Kyle figured his chances would be pretty good. But considering that the total database of Magicknet was measured in terabytes, trillions of bytes of data, that search could take hours ... But that's what computers were for.

  Across the room, Hanna was working her way diligently toward finding the more mundane Shadowland system. She was in mid-call, trying to cajole a news-snoop acquaintance of hers into giving her the telecom number of a data fiend who might know Shadowland's current access number. Not wanting to interrupt her, he simply waved, pointed to the door, and quietly left. Intent on her efforts, she barely no­ticed.

  * * * *

  Ellen Shaw's apartment was on Chicago's west side, in the neighborhood known as Cicero. Kyle was surprised to find a parking spot so easily; he'd planned to double-park and let Truman worry about the five-hundred nuyen fine. In­stead, he switched to manual control and guided the car into an ample spot one door down from where Ellen Shaw lived.

  It was late afternoon, but the block was quiet Further up the street, a group of kids were playing with some kind of remote-control aircraft that buzzed in and out of a courtyard apartment. Two nearly white
squirrels eyed him expectantly, waiting for some offering of food. He waved at them and kept walking.

  His sister-in-law's apartment house was a deep U-shape, with four entrances and about six times that number of units. It was run-down, the courtyard choked with weeds and rov­ing bits of trash caught in the breeze. He pressed the apart­ment buzzer, but couldn't tell if it worked since there was no answer and he heard no sound of it from the window two stories above. He tried to remember if he had heard the bell the only other time he was here.

  Stepping back from the door, he looked upward at the closed and curtained windows of Ellen's apartment. There was no sign of movement, and on an August afternoon, he'd have expected at least one of the windows to be open to catch the courtyard breeze. He stepped forward again and examined the entrance door. The lock was old, mechanical. That was good.

  He pressed the buzzer once more, then placed his hand over the lock. Senses extended, he focused the forces of magic through him, his hand, and into the lock. He wove them together until the lock was infused with mystical en­ergy, ready to obey his command. He willed it open. The door swung inward.

  The inner door had once also carried a lock, but it was long gone, with only a shabby hole remaining. He moved through it, up the broken and musty staircase to the second floor. He stopped in front of the door at the top of the stairs, apartment 2S.

  Kyle listened at the door, but heard nothing. He knocked firmly, and was surprised to hear a sudden scrambling from inside. The sound moved quickly toward him, snapping and clicking across the hardwood floor of the apartment. He stepped backward, a barrier spell ready, but the noise seemed to stop at the door.

  He waited, and then whatever it was scratched, almost quietly, at the bottom of the door, near the frame. It scratched again and Kyle focused his magic and his senses, specifically his vision, projecting it forward, past the door and into the apartment. He looked down.

  And the gray and white cat, as such small creatures are in­explicably wont to do, looked up at him. It was panting, thin, and starving, its nose dry and cracked from dehydra­tion. It seemed to be trying to make a noise, but Kyle, on the far side of the door, heard nothing.

  He disintegrated the lock with a carefully aimed dart of focused violet power. The cat, whose name he knew to be Grendel, scooted away as fast as it could, slipping and skid­ding across the floor as it disappeared around the corner.

  Kyle expected a terrible smell when he entered, but the short hall was only musty, hot, and dry. Bits of metal lock and wooden door were scattered down the hall and into the Irving room, but he closed the door behind him, pushing at the twisted wood until it shut. The main room was as Spartan as he remembered it, and showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary. A single red light flashed repeatedly on the telecom.

  He ignored it for the moment and pulled aside one of the heavy curtains, letting light spill into the apartment. Kyle then cautiously entered the next room, the dining room, turn­ing right and following the path of the cat. It was nowhere to be seen, and the room was unremarkable. The kitchen to the left was the same, except that the trash can showed signs of having been rifled and raided. The cat's empty bowls were near the door to the rear stair, next to its obviously used litter box and a compacted bag of trash.

  Kyle walked across the room and into the short hall that led to the bathroom at the end and the bedroom across from it. He checked the latter first. The bed was unmade. A small fan on a nearby night stand blew warm air across the sheets. The room, except for its furniture, was empty. A pair of dull eyes stared at him from under the bed. Grendel.

  A quick sweep of the rest of the apartment: the bathroom and various closets revealed nothing. He filled the water and food bowls in the kitchen, and Grendel, needing no coaxing, attacked them with renewed energy.

  Except for some sad-looking plants in the living room, that cat, Kyle suspected, was the only living thing that had been in that apartment in close to a week.

  Of the seven messages, six were from Bern. The seventh was a wrong number.

  He searched the apartment and found little, save a small cache of secreted Universal Brotherhood literature and chips in a small box in the closet. Then, in a plastic tray in me top­most drawer of the dresser, he found Ellen's house keys and wallet, with her credstick slipped neatly into its holder in the wallet's spine. Also stuffed in there was a small wad of about a hundred and twenty dollars' worth of paper money. Unless these were all spares, Ellen Shaw had gone out a week ago without her money, her ID, or her keys, and never returned.

  Kyle poked through the apartment for another hour or so, eventually refusing to feed Grendel after the cat begged for a fourth bowl of food. When he finally left, Kyle could do little about the door lock, so he used his magic to warp the wood slightly once the door was closed. The door would open, but someone would have to use his shoulder to do so. He'd let Beth know about the cat.

  Outside, the kids had moved closer to this end of the street, and an Eagle Security patrol car had pulled up along­side a white minivan parked in front of a fire hydrant near where the kids had originally been playing. One officer, a young Chinese man, was obviously scanning the license plate and running it through his portacomp. His partner, a woman, Kyle suspected, though he couldn't tell much more about her, was on the driver's side talking to someone he couldn't see through the tint on the windscreen. As he came out, they both turned and looked at him.

  His pocket phone rang.

  Kyle let it ring twice more as he slipped into astral per­ception and carefully scanned the area. It looked normal, completely and utterly normal, including the van, the patrol car, and the two officers. He reached into his pocket on the fourth ring and slowly extended the interface cable and plugged it behind his left ear.

  "Yes," he said to the caller, eyeing the white minivan.

  Hanna Uljaken's voice echoed in his ear just as the plug clicked home in his datajack and her image sprang up in his view.

  "Kyle, it's me." She was obviously still in his hotel room.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She seemed puzzled. "I'm fine. How about you?"

  "So far, so good."

  She was suddenly alert and cautious. "Devress just called me. I'm wanted back at the Truman apartment immediately. He wouldn't say, but something was definitely up. He asked where you were. I told him I'd let you know."

  Still listening, Kyle watched the two police officers casually move away from the van and climb back into their own car. Though the street was two-way, the police car went in reverse until it reached the end of the block, then backed into a turn before moving forward again and out of sight. The minivan didn't move.

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can, but it'll be about twenty minutes," he told her. "I'm at the edge of the city." For some reason, he didn't feel like telling her even generally where he was.

  He saw her nod. "I'll let them know," she said, "Oh, and I found—"

  He cut her off. "Wait and tell me when you see me. And ask the front desk to put extra security on my room. Have them bill your boss."

  She nodded again. "I will."

  "Copy any information you might have off the room's computer and take it with you. If the search is finished on my datapad, take that with you too."

  "I will."

  "And have Knight Errant come pick you up. Call Facile right away, even before you start copying files."

  Hanna was obviously disturbed by his tone and the content of his requests, but she agreed. "I'll see you in twenty minutes at the Tower."

  She disconnected.

  Kyle did the same, got into his car, and quickly pulled away, making a U-turn so as to drive past the minivan. He couldn't see inside as he went by, but he did note the registration plate.

  The van did not follow him.

  12

  "Kyle Teller," said Daniel Truman, "this is Captain Anne Ravenheart of Knight Errant. She's a personal security expert sent in to help with the situation."
/>   Kyle stepped forward and took the offered hand of his former classmate and accidental lover of a decade ago. She hadn't changed that much, but some differences were noticeable. The long black hair that he remembered so well had become a ragged, ear-length military cut. Gone, too, were the dangling earrings she'd favored, replaced by a pair of chrome datajacks below each ear. Her eyes were still green, but they glistened differently, oddly. Kyle didn't think they were real. But when she smiled, that was exactly as he remembered it.

  "Hello, Kyle," she said, squeezing his hand.

  "How've you been, Anne?" He tried to keep his tone ut­terly casual. "This is quite a surprise."

  She shrugged and widened her smile. "For me too."

  Anne Ravenheart's arrival signaled some other changes that Kyle had noticed even before entering the building. Changes mainly to do with beefed-up security and a much more visible presence for Knight Errant. It had been a Knight Errant officer rather than the usual doorman who met his car. Kyle had also noticed a perimeter drone about half the size of a man sitting under a gray tarp in a niche near the doorway. At the elevator bank the guards were obviously armed and cybered, their body armor equally evident. Then the elevator had asked for re-verification of Kyle's vocal pattern by repeating the random words it said to him. There was even an armed guard in the hall outside the Truman apartment.

  Anne Ravenheart and two other Knight Errant officers were with the Trumans on the patio near the pool, Mr. Truman looking tense and Mrs. Truman tired and distracted. Melissa and Madeleine were there too, both showing visible relief at Kyle's arrival. Hanna Uljaken looked just as re­lieved. The other assistant, Devress, who had hired Kyle, was also present. He gave Kyle a slight smile when their eyes met. No other staff members were present. Nor was Lieutenant Facile, who Kyle had not seen anywhere on the way up either.

  The three Knight Errant officers were garbed in what he took to be casual field dress. One-piece gray and white ur­ban camouflage jumpsuits and darker bulky jackets bearing their rank insignia and red and black corporate logos. Each carried a heavy sidearm, and Kyle guessed that the tall, thin, hawk-faced man with thin brown hair peeking out from under his black beret was, like Anne Ravenheart, also a ma­gician.