Shadowrun: Burning Bright

by Tom Dowd

  She was cold, and he held her tighter against both the night and the sadness. His own emotions of the last days came rushing up on him, and he felt her sadness, almost un­deniable, flow over him. But then she moved against him, and suddenly in the near darkness their lips met, carefully, and he tasted them washed in her tears.

  They turned slightly and sat up, her legs spreading around him, nightshirt pushed high up on her hips. She gasped, and he wanted the feel of all of her body beneath his hands, the smell of her hair, the brush of her warming skin, and the rush of their mingled breath as he entered her roughly. He wanted it all. Then. Now. Immediately. But as she closed her eyes and arced her body away from him, he pulled her shirt off slowly, forcing himself to linger over every curve, every revealed shadow.

  Calmly, slowly, he turned them both, letting her lie on her back. He lowered himself to where their bodies nearly touched and kissed her gently high on the forehead. He moved down from there, against the soft curve of her ear, across the strong line of her jaw, beneath her chin, and lower, below her breasts, and then carefully around and back up again to their hard, dark tips. And he did this slowly, deliberately, thinking only of her and her body. Every inch. Ignoring everything else. Forgetting everything else. For as could.

  18

  He awoke again toward morning, he and Beth safely beneath the covers, protected from the surprising morning chill that had crept in. The light outside, slipping in through the partially open window, was a brightening blue-gray, tinged with the promise of another day of bright sun. He breathed in heavily and squinted against that unexpected glare. Bern moved too, pushing away from him slightly, and making an unintelligible noise. He shifted his arm into a more comfortable position across her back. For a long, strange moment, he was caught in a physical and emotional limbo where three years had vanished and foolish mistakes were forgiven. It was familiar territory, someplace safe, where he'd least expected to be—

  Familiar territory. Someplace safe. Last place you expected to be.

  Kyle knew then where to look for Beth's sister, and for Mitch Truman.

  He carefully untangled his arms and legs from Beth's, trying not to wake her. She slept on, hearing nothing as he pulled on his pants and walked silently downstairs. Grendel regarded him from a strategic position near the front windows, but did nothing except watch with wide, unblinking eyes.

  He crept into the room where Natalie played, taking more care than needed since she wasn't there. Her computer booted up quickly, shifting through the start-up of the spin­ning, prismatic Apple logo and then showing the floating iconic interface Natalie had designed, with his and a pro­gram's considerable help, a year ago. He ignored it, instead starting a program keyword search. From the list he was then presented, he found the program he wanted and loaded it.

  Within moments, he was inside the gateway to the public library datanets. He scanned for the Archives section and re­quested access to the last ten years of local Chicago telecom and address listings. Adding them to his search list, he then backed out of the Archives and pulled up the current telecom and address listings. Adding that to the search list, he instituted a global search through those eleven files for references to the Universal Brotherhood.

  Two hundred and nineteen references were generated. He refined the list by excluding duplicates, and then instructed the program to indicate which listings were not duplicated.

  Twenty-nine listings appeared more than once in various volumes, six appeared only once.

  Thirty-five places to look. One, however, stood out—partially because of its absurdity, and partially because the address had stopped being listed eight years ago even though its telecom number was listed in every directory. The Uni­versal Brotherhood Merchandising Center had been at Mad­ison and Sangamon, not too far from Interstate 90/94. The other locations would also have to be checked, but Kyle sus­pected that an old, familiar location that hadn't been listed in the directories for more than eight years should be high on his list.

  He then imported the addresses into the mapping and dis­play subset connected to the listings and asked for a printout of all the locations on a map of Chicago. Once the colored map had scrolled out the side of the machine, and he'd con­firmed that all the info he wanted was there, Kyle discon­nected from the library and shut the computer down. It very politely wished him a good night as he walked away already studying the new map.

  Kyle thought about going back upstairs and slipping back into bed with Beth before traveling astrally to scout out the locations on the list, but changed his mind. He didn't want her to wake up to find him next to her, seemingly unconscious. Instead, he went into the living room with a piece of paper and a marking pen. He sat down on the couch and wrote "Gone traveling" on the paper, folded it into a little sign, and sat it on the couch next to him.

  Another thought struck him, and he realized that he didn't have either his portable telecom or his datapad. He'd been out of touch with the Trumans for some hours, and even if they knew he had an ex-wife in Chicago, they probably wouldn't think to try him at her number. He'd have to make one stop before beginning his search.

  After studying the map one last time, he called up a sim­ple spell that would keep the map's image crisp in his mem­ory for a few hours. He'd still have some trouble finding the locations from astral space, but he could compare the image in his mind to what he saw by counting from recognizable intersections or landmarks. Not being able to read street signs would be a problem, but he had a solution for that.

  His astral self slipped free easily, and he felt renewed and rejuvenated. He glided quickly up the stairs of the old wooden house and into the master bedroom. Beth had spread out in his absence, arms and legs askew, her face half-buried in one of the pillows. He slipped out through the window, twisting to pass through the frame and into the now golden morning.

  Heartbeats later, Kyle was approaching the dull, lifeless Truman Tower and then moments after that angling himself in toward the patio of the condo. As he alighted on the ground, Charlotte, Winston, and Seeks-the-Moon appeared.

  "Boss," said Winston.

  "Master," said Charlotte.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Moon bellowed.

  Kyle shrugged and smiled. "Busy. I needed some time to myself."

  The two elemental spirits hung there motionless, but Moon nodded understanding. "Ms. Uljaken briefed Mr. Truman on what Eagle found. It apparently took considera­ble effort on her part to get the information since you had wandered off."

  "Yeah, I'll need to apologize."

  Moon nodded again. "It might be wise." he said. "All things considered."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The young lady was apparently quite worried that you'd been injured or gotten into some trouble."

  The information surprised Kyle somewhat, coming as and when it did, and considering the events of the previous night. "Then I'll make sure I do," he said. "I take it she's home sleeping?"

  Moon shook his head. "No, she's here in one of the guest rooms."

  "Then let her sleep for now," Kyle said. "When she wakes up, tell her I checked in and that everything is fine and I'm continuing with my investigation."

  'The things she said happened seemed quite terrible," Moon said.

  "They were."

  The spirit looked like he wanted to ask more, but he didn't.

  "I'll come by physically in a few hours, especially if all my clothes are here now," Kyle told him. "I assume they picked up my portable and datapad?"

  Seeks-the-Moon nodded. "They did, as Ms. Uljaken discovered when she tried to call you and your telecom rang two rooms away. She seemed disturbed by the fact that you were not carrying it. I tried to reassure her that you were fine, but she didn't quite understand that I would know if anything had happened to you."

  "Understandable," Kyle said. "I'm going to be scouting possible locations of hives or nests or whatever they are, and I'd like you to come with me."

  "Really?" sai
d Moon. "I'm no longer the home guard?"

  "No," Kyle told him. "I need someone who can read."

  * * * *

  The first site Moon and Kyle checked was empty, abandoned, but from astral space Kyle could sense the echoes and resonances of power that had been present there. They were dulling, fading with time, but enough was present for him to recognize many of the same sensations he had experienced in the roach nest. The lingering astral smell was unmistakable.

  They moved on to the next, and the ones after that. Moon guiding them through the physical world by reading the street signs and address numbers when Kyle's dead reckoning in astral space wasn't good enough.

  Finally, after examining a dozen closer sites, they closed in on the one Kyle had initially thought was most promising of all, the Universal Brotherhood Merchandising Center at Madison and Sangamon. They alighted on the roof of a taller building a few blocks away and studied the small warehouse from astral space. It seemed quiet, inert, a dog sitting in the shade of the receiving dock the only sign of activity.

  "Do you think it's a guard dog?" asked Moon.

  "I don't know," said Kyle. "It could be a watch dog. It could be a stray. There's no way to tell from here."

  "Let me see if I can get a better look from the physical world," Moon said, and Kyle saw the spirit's form shift slightly, become more solid, as it took physical form. "No," he said in Kyle's mind. "I can't see any better. There is—"

  Moon quieted as the lone normal-sized door opened and a man stepped out. He had a strong aura, extreme strong, but Kyle couldn't tell if he was a magician, or something else, at this distance.

  "How does he look?" Kyle asked.

  "He's wearing work clothes, one-piece coveralls," Moon said. "And he's bald."

  The man threw something that looked like a large white garbage bag onto a pile of similar objects near a dumpster. The dog watched idly and then dropped its head back down. The man stepped back inside. Up on the roof, blocks away, Seeks-the-Moon slowly turned and looked over his shoulder.

  Kyle turned too, but saw nothing that would attract the spirit's interest, only the dull grays and black of the roof and assorted air conditioning and heating machinery.

  "I heard something," Moon said, stepping back from the edge, this time looking slightly upward at the small metal structure that supported a half-dozen old and rusted microwave dishes. Moon circled the tower, approached it, and then began to climb.

  "What is it?" Kyle asked. "I can't see anything."

  "Wait. Wait," said Moon. He climbed about his own height from the roof and leaned in. After a moment, he slipped into astral space and floated down to Kyle's side.

  "It's a camera of some sort, pointed at the warehouse. I don't know technology well, but I heard it move to follow the man."

  "Someone's watching the building." Kyle looked up at the tower even though he couldn't distinguish the small device among the other metal and electronics up there.

  "So it would seem," Seeks-the-Moon said. "Who do you think?"

  "Well, Eagle wouldn't bother with anything that fancy. They'd simply assign some slag to sit up here with binocu­lars or a camera. Which leaves only Knight Errant, unless there's someone else involved or this has nothing to do with anything."

  "Is that likely?"

  Kyle shook his head. "Not in the least. But if it's Knight Errant, they've got to be around here somewhere in order to get the transmission from the camera." "Won't they simply come up here now?" Moon asked.

  "Why?"

  Moon shrugged. "Someone would have seen me standing at me edge of the building when I became physical."

  "No, probably not. Cameras that can see that far have a very narrow field of view. You'd have to stand almost in front of it for them to see you."

  "Ah, I'd thought maybe we could follow them if they came up here."

  "We can still do that," Kyle said, and began looking around me roof. "Do you see any pieces of paper or news­print or heavy cardboard?"

  "Yes," the spirit said, having returned to manifest form. There's a bag over there. It says 'McHughs'."

  Kyle chuckled, imagining a crumpled, greasy, fast-food bag. "That'll do."

  "I'm confused." Seeks-the-Moon said. "What will it do for?”

  "Pick it up and put it on the camera, blocking the lens," Kyle said.

  "Ah. Then they'll come to fix it"

  Kyle smiled. "We can hope."

  The bag in place, Kyle and Seeks-the-Moon quickly re­treated into a nearby ventilation duct, passing easily through the machined metal and plastic of its construction, and then descended to slightly below roof level. There, Kyle carefully constructed a spell that would project his vision into the physical world and allow him to observe the tower and the camera. Compensating for the drain the effort put on his body, he surveyed the area.

  Finally able to see the camera, he confirmed Seeks-the-Moon's report. But his own experience also told him some things. It was quite small, very concealable, and of a kind often used by corporate or government surveillance teams. He had, in fact, worked a number of times with a very sim­ilar model in his FBI days. Like that one, this unit also has a small shotgun microphone attachment that, with the proper filtering software, could easily pick up any conversations that might take place on the loading dock.

  A shadow loomed over the tower, and Kyle shifted the spell's point of view back and around to view the source. A thick, flat dish, slightly larger than a garbage can lid, hung in space over the edge of the building. It was a drone, some sort of remotely piloted vehicle, equipped with a camera system and other sensors, undoubtedly sent to determine the cause of the camera outage. It slid in closer, angling the pro­tected rotor blades that made up much of its center, until it got a better look at the camera and the obstruction blocking the lens.

  Kyle immediately knew what the operator would do once he or she saw what the problem was, and he quickly began to cast another spell. The strain was greater; the distraction of maintaining the far-seeing spell combined with being in astral space made the casting harder than it should have been. But as the drone's pilot angled the craft to blow the of­fending bag off the camera, Kyle's spell applied force of its own, holding the bag in place. The pilot swung the drone quickly around to the far side, hoping to blow the bag off with a gust of air from that direction while minimizing the vehicle's exposure to view from the warehouse. But Kyle held the bag in place. The drone backed off, hovering for a moment, and then zipped away out of view. Kyle tried to follow it with the vision spell, but me drone was too fast and the range of the spell too short.

  A short time passed, and Kyle was becoming concerned about the amount of time he'd spent in astral space. His body, back on Bern's couch, could only support itself for so long without its spirit, and based on the sun's position in the sky, he'd already been traveling astrally for some time. He decided to risk it, waiting to see whether he was experien­cing the telltale weakness that would be a warning of danger. In the meantime, he combined a spell that let him hear what was going on up on the roof with the one that let him see. Just as he completed the combination, the sound of scraping metal attracted his attention.

  He shifted the point of view of the spells and saw a well-built man climbing up through the access door and onto the roof. He quickly approached the tower, vaulted up onto it, and deftly yanked the bag clear of the camera.

  "Repairman's here," Kyle told Moon, using the mental speech they shared.

  "About time." The spirit, it seemed, was slightly claustro­phobic.

  The camera now unobstructed, the man leaped nimbly down and headed for the trap door.

  "All right. You know the plan," Kyle said. With his sight and hearing extended through the spells, there was no way he was going to be able to guide himself through astral space. Moon would do that for both of them, responding to Kyle's mental instructions.

  Kyle waited while the man climbed down, men shifted me point of view of his spells to follow him. The trap door open
ed onto a ladder leading to a stairwell that seemed to extend down through the building.

  Kyle followed the man down as far as the spell's range, and then told Moon, “Take us down."

  The spirit, holding Kyle's astral body carefully, began to descend through the ventilation shaft. At Kyle's prompting, Moon paced their descent so that the man stayed just inside the edge of the spell's effect.

  They followed him, using the buildings along the street as cover, until the man made a turn at Randolph. But from their position, Kyle could clearly see a pair of large tractor-trailers, casually surrounded by a half-dozen nondescript light vans and trucks parked a few blocks down. The area was a mix of commercial and light industrial, so the vehicles almost seemed part of the environment.

  "Got 'em," said Kyle.

  "Good. Now what?"

  "Now, we pay them a visit." Kyle told him. "But first I get my body."

  19

  Kyle opened his eyes, and immediately began the stretching exercises he used to rid his body of the cramping and lethargy that came with a prolonged jaunt in astral space. That was why it took a few moments before he noticed the large easel and the crayon-scrawled words "I'VE GONE TO WORK." There was nothing else; no other words, no signature, no sign-off to signify with what emotions she'd written the words. Kyle slipped back into astral space and examined the easel and the now indecipherable writing. He sensed a slight annoyance attached to the words, but there was something else. A touch of brightness, though tempered by the darker emotion.

  He sighed. He should have kept better track of the time, should have been here when she woke up. Beth would have been irritated by the time she came downstairs, and seeing him sprawled on the couch, his spirit and attention elsewhere, would only have made it worse. If true to form, she'd have calmed down by the time she got to work. He'd call her there later, after he dealt with Knight Errant.

  Finding his clothes in a pile on the now remade bed, he dressed and went back downstairs to call the Truman condoplex. A servant answered, and moments later, he was speaking to Hanna Uljaken. She was wearing a white business suit over a mandarin-collared silk shirt mat matched her eyes. She was trying very hard not to show her anger.