Shadowrun: Burning Bright

by Tom Dowd

  "Don't worry." Seeks-the-Moon said, "you're safe now. I found you."

  Kyle slept again, and dreamed of quiet laughter.

  22

  There was a breeze, and it brought to him the smell of food. Cheese, he thought, and maybe bread. And there was soft­ness beneath him, and he was dry. Kyle opened his eyes slowly and blinked against the thin shafts of light slipping in through the curtains. Someone in the room moved, and he heard a voice: "You're awake?" It was Seeks-the-Moon.

  "I think so . . ." Kyle remembered—or had he dreamed it?—of spinning and of a place cold and wet "Where am I?" He felt sore and tired, but whole.

  "An obvious question," the spirit answered slowly, the timbre of his voice deep and strange. "You are in someone's home. I know not whose."

  "I take it the owner isn't home?" Kyle turned his head slightly and saw the spirit sunk deep in a large, old chair, the light from the window cutting a bright slit from his eye to his knee. He seemed older. But also seemed to fit somehow with the shabby, sparse furnishings of the room and the fine cracks that ran down its walls. An open door revealed a nar­row hallway and a faded, threadbare rug.

  The longer Kyle studied Seeks-the-Moon, the more he could see that the spirit was different. His face seemed older, harder, but the eyes were brighter, more blue than he remem­bered. And his clothes were different, subtly; darker and more beat-up, but at the same time the colors truer.

  The owner is dead," the spirit said. "I believe it was she I found down the hall."

  "The bug spirits?"

  “No, her own kind." Moon's face betrayed no emotion. "She did not die well."

  Kyle tried to sit up slightly, but he was too weak. The pain in his leg was only a dull throb, but the rest of his body felt like it was made of wet clay. Two dogs barked at each other somewhere outside.

  "You have been very sick," Seeks-the-Moon told him. "I attempted to heal you as best as I could, but I'm afraid what you taught me wasn't enough to restore you to full health."

  "How long have I been out?"

  "It's been two days since I found you. You were on the street for at least four days."

  "A week?" Kyle said. "It's been a week?"

  "Six days." There was an odd stillness in Seeks-the-Moon, a tension Kyle could not place.

  Kyle tried to sit up again, and this time the pain in his leg made itself known, shooting through him and collapsing him back onto the creaking bed. "Beth," he said, "do you know what . . ."

  "No, I don't," the spirit said quietly.

  Kyle propped himself painfully up on one elbow. Even that simple exertion left him weak and nearly faint. "I have to find out if she and Natalie are all right"

  The spirit didn't move, but a slight touch of sadness slipped into his expression. "You are far from where they might be, and too weak to travel. You wouldn't survive the journey."

  Angry, Kyle tried to shout at the spirit in his mind, but the cry went nowhere. There was no connection between them. No channel, no empathy, nothing. Kyle stared at Seeks-the-Moon, and remembered the emptiness he'd felt behind the dumpster. And the emptiness he felt now . . .

  "You're free . . ." he said, slowly.

  Seeks-the-Moon glanced away, and then nodded. "Your injuries were great. I believe you came as close to death as someone could without dying. You lived," he said, "but I be­came free."

  "I see," said Kyle, and the spirit tilted his head slightly, moving his eye out of the shaft of light. It still gleamed back at Kyle, reflecting the light that reached it.

  "What will you do?" Seeks-the-Moon asked him after a moment

  "What will I do? I don't understand."

  "Will you attempt to regain control of me?"

  Kyle stared as the spirit went on speaking.

  "You created me. You have the right"

  "I don't think I could."

  "That doesn't matter. What matters is whether you want to."

  Kyle lay back down on the bed and brought his arm up across his eyes. What did he want? What could he do? What had happened? "I don't know,” he said. "I need time to think." He needed real sleep.

  "And the longer you think, the more you will heal, and the stronger you will be," said Seeks-the-Moon.

  "Yes," said Kyle. And I'll have gained the strength to contest you, Kyle thought. And you know that

  But there was silence, and the spirit allowed him to sleep.

  * * * *

  The next time he awoke, suddenly, his mind rushing blindly between the last pieces of a dream and reality, there was a woman sitting in the chair Seeks-the-Moon had been occupying. She seemed familiar, and in the confusion and the dim reddened light that slipped in from outside, she was Beth. He moved toward her, and she faded away, slipping into the shadows of the chair as he woke fully.

  Kyle shook his head and ran his fingers through the days of beard growth on his face and through the dirty, greasy tangle that was his hair. He felt rested, but there was still a dull ache through his body, but only that. He turned his senses inward and examined himself. He was immediately surprised. The deep wounds he had felt while lying on the street were gone, healed, no longer anything more than sharp echos in his flesh. Even his leg was healed, the bone joined and solid again. He could tell, though, that it would still be painful for a few more days at the very least.

  He felt strong, or at least stronger, and very hungry. From outside came the sound of gunshots, three of them in quick succession, coming from perhaps a block or two away. Moving as carefully and quietly as he could, Kyle swung his legs off the bed and stood.

  Again, he was surprised at the strength in his limbs. Look­ing down at his body, he noticed for the first time that he was wearing somebody else's clothes, but he felt each of his magical foci present, except for the knife. Despite his apparent strength and health, he moved carefully to the window and parted the dulled and dirty blinds. It was sunset, nearly twilight, and the street was empty but for the blackened and charred wreck of a Honda minicar turned on its side against the far curb. That and dozens of bright red sheets of paper that caught the wind and swirled.

  If this side of the street matched the one opposite, Kyle thought he must be in a room on the second floor over a small storefront. The ones he could see across the way showed signs of major looting and destruction, their win­dows smashed and doors flung open.

  "You don't want to stand there too long," came the voice of Seeks-the-Moon behind him.

  Kyle let the blinds close and turned toward the spirit.

  Moon was standing next to the chair. "How do you feel?"

  "Better than I should, I suspect," Kyle said. "Like I've been through a car crash, but I walked away."

  He nodded. "It's been a few days."

  "How long since I last woke up?"

  Seeks-the-Moon frowned slightly and looked away, think­ing. "Two days."

  Kyle sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced toward the window and then back at the spirit. "What the frag is go­ing on?" he asked quietly.

  "You found the main nest, certainly for the region, maybe even for the whole continent," he said. "When you attacked they . . ."

  The spirit looked away for a moment.

  Kyle leaned closer. "What?"

  "They spread," said Seeks-the-Moon, still looking away.

  "What do you mean?"

  Seeks-me-Moon shrugged. "They're insects. Their nest was disturbed. They sought shelter elsewhere."

  "Oh Jesus . . ."

  The spirit nodded. "They're all over the city, and many people are dead or else wish they were."

  "Aren't the police or corps able to control them?" Kyle asked him.

  "There are thousands."

  "What about the government?"

  'They have done something," said Seeks-the-Moon. They have sealed off the city."

  "What? That doesn't make sense," said Kyle.

  Seeks-the-Moon pointed at a folded, water-stained sheet of bright red paper sitting on the bedstand. "They dropped thos
e all over the city."

  Kyle took the sheet and carefully unfolded it, suddenly afraid. It said:

  People of Chicago!

  By order of the federal government. This city has been quarantined until further notice. Remain in your homes. Stay off the streets unless absolutely necessary. Watch for food and supply drops in your area.

  Please do not try to leave the area. The government is taking every measure to control the creatures that threaten you. Until your safety can be guaranteed please remain in your homes and follow all instructions.

  Kyle shook his head. It made no sense. Why weren't government troops patrolling the streets? "Why haven't they declared martial law and moved in?" he asked. "Why did they seal it off?"

  "How were they to fight?" Seeks-the-Moon asked. "These things are not of this world. Spirits have nothing to fear from bullets or hand grenades. The soldiers could not defeat what they were not strong enough to even fight."

  "The Eagle Security troopers I was with fought them," Kyle said angrily. “The Knight Errant troops were fighting them."

  "There were many more of the police than there were of the spirits," Seeks-the-Moon said. "And the Knight Errant soldiers are dead."

  Kyle started and stared at him.

  The spirit nodded. "You, and maybe some others, though I didn't see them, survived."

  "How many have gotten out?" Kyle asked.

  "None—the soldiers are dead."

  "No, I mean how many people have gotten out through the lines?"

  "Few."

  "Few?"

  "The government isn't letting anyone out. They're afraid of contamination."

  Kyle started to reply, but then shut his mouth quickly as the truth sank in. "They can't tell who's been possessed by the bugs," he said slowly. "They have no way of knowing who's clean and who's not . . ."

  "A magician could tell," said Seeks-the-Moon. "As we did. But how many do they have? How good are they? Can they trust the results? What if they're wrong?"

  "This is insane . . ."

  The spirit shrugged. "They're afraid."

  Kyle turned his eyes toward the window and the city out­side. "We have to be sure they know what's happened." He looked at Seeks-the-Moon. "You could fly through astral space to the lines and talk to them."

  "No, I cannot do that."

  Kyle stared at him.

  "I am at risk, even now," Moon said. "And in some ways I am a risk to you as well. The insects can smell me. If I were to attempt to fly through astral space, they would sense me and be on me in an instant." The spirit paused, and then said, "I have tried."

  Kyle was astounded. "There are that many?"

  Seeks-the-Moon nodded. 'There are stories of the insect spirits grabbing people and taking them away. Nobody knows where, but they're not killing them. At least not right away."

  "So they have a new nest."

  Seeks-the-Moon nodded. "And soon, within days perhaps, there will be many, many more of them."

  23

  The spirit would say little more, his expression growing troubled when he spoke about it at all. Seeks-the-Moon and Hanna Uljaken had still been playing Go when Kyle had taken his nearly mortal injuries. From that moment, and for what Moon believed were hours afterward, the spirit knew only the terrible pains of freedom and rebirth. He could not, or would not, describe what he passed through. The most he would say was "You wouldn't understand."

  Moon said he remembered little from that time except the pain and a few images. He recalled looking to the north of Truman Tower as a black cloud rose skyward from out of the earth and spread across the city. He also remembered hear­ing, or feeling, the presence of aircraft on or near the Tower. And then there were the bug spirits.

  They attacked the building a short time after the departure of the aircraft, taking with it most of the life in the building. He knew there were still people there—he could hear the voices—and perhaps they'd even been speaking to him. But by then he hadn't yet found the strength to respond.

  When the insect spirits attacked, Seeks-the-Moon fled. And as he spoke of this, Kyle could almost sense the emo­tions the spirit was trying to control. When the bug creatures came, Seeks-the-Moon had abandoned the people still in the building because he was helpless, his form and power re­duced to little more than pain and turmoil.

  He hid himself away somewhere, he didn't know where, and when he regained control of himself, realized truly what had become of him, Seeks-the-Moon returned briefly to the building. It was deserted, but he'd found a message to him and Kyle in the main room of the Truman condoplex. It was from Hanna Uljaken and said that the Truman family had fled in a Knight Errant tilt-wing aircraft. Daniel Truman, his wife, and their daughter Madelaine had flown to apparent safety, but Melissa was missing again. She was gone from the condo, out with Knight Errant guards who couldn't be raised on the radio when the word had come through that the Trumans and key staff were being evacuated.

  Hanna had stayed behind by choice, coordinating the Truman organization's feeble attempts to find Melissa. But even before that could be begun, the Truman Tower itself was invaded. The message ended with word that Hanna and the others were leaving via the building's state-of-the-art fire evacuation system to get clear. That was the only sign of her Seeks-the-Moon could find, and that was when the spirit had set out to find Kyle.

  All of which had happened a week ago.

  * * * *

  “I have to try," Kyle told him.

  Seeks-the-Moon merely stared back. "I have some influence," he said. "I might be able to find out what's really going on."

  “They'll shoot you."

  "No, they won't They're not shooting anybody."

  "People on the street have said that the government is shooting people who are trying to get out."

  “I don't believe that; people are scared and when that happens all sorts of stories start," Kyle said. "Besides, I need to go north."

  "Your wife."

  "My ex-wife," Kyle said, "and my daughter."

  "Where will you look?" said Seeks-the-Moon. "At her of­fice? At the apartment? Your daughter's school? The odds of them still being at any of those places is very small."

  Kyle nodded slowly. "I know, but if Beth had any way of leaving me a message, she would have."

  He stood up. "I have to try. And I'd like your help. I have no reason to expect it," he said, "and I certainly won't de­mand it"

  The. spirit frowned, but a moment later he nodded. "I will help you," he said. "Because you asked."

  * * * *

  Kyle nodded back. “Thank you."

  They gathered what supplies they had, the food the spirit had raided or gathered, and the weapons taken from the ruins of the Knight Errant assault. Kyle could see that a lot of weapons and armor had apparently been looted from the site, but he hoped that having state-of-the-art weapons evened the odds somewhat between the local populace and the marauding bug spirits.

  When they were ready, Kyle thought he must look like a refugee from some second-rate post-nuclear holocaust sim-show. He was careful, though; to remove any obvious Knight Errant markings from the gear, especially the body armor. There was no telling what the city's politics had degenerated into. Seeks-the-Moon looked the same, except for the heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. It was all he could really carry since he might need to slip quickly into astral space. He could take nothing "real" with him, and needed to be able to drop any belongings quickly.

  They'd discussed the possibility of Kyle summoning up more elementals or watchers, but had rejected the idea. The time and effort needed to create a conjuring circle to summon the elementals was impractical, and Seeks-the-Moon counseled against any summonings at all until they knew more about the hordes of insect spirits. He was concerned, and Kyle reluctantly agreed, that any summoning might be tantamount to turning on a porch light of a hot summer eve­ning. The last thing they wanted was to attract the attention of the bugs.

  Despite the heat, Kyle wore a
heavy long coat liberated from a thrift shop over his combat gear. While the visible presence of military-grade firearms and armor might per­suade some that the price for messing with him and Moon was too high, others probably wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of grabbing up some choice hardware.

  With his newfound freedom, Seeks-the-Moon had gained the ability to mask his aura, hiding his spirit-nature and continual presence in astral space from all but the most percep­tive astral observer. Kyle's foci were another story. He could mask some of them, subsuming their auras into his own, but he couldn't conceal them all. So instead of being in a con­stant state of worry about attack from astral space, he de­cided to travel with the foci temporarily deactivated.

  Throughout their preparations Kyle wondered about the continued presence Of Seeks-the-Moon. The spirit was free, liberated, and beyond Kyle's direct control. He had no rea­son to remain—could, no doubt, easily escape the besieged city. And yet, Seeks-the-Moon wanted to stay. Kyle wanted to know why, but his growing pangs of guilt over having kept the spirit in virtual thrall for years instead of freeing him, stopped his tongue. Seeks-the-Moon seemed to sense Kyle's distress, but he did or said nothing to ease it.

  The apartment where Seeks-the-Moon had taken Kyle was a few blocks north of me Randolph and Sangamon intersec­tion. Before setting out across the city they climbed to the roof of a tall nearby building that had once held offices. Abandoned and looted, the building probably housed some squatters, but those residents concealed themselves well and had nothing to gain from antagonizing the pair. Once, during their climb up to the roof, Seeks-the-Moon lamented the irony of the fact that he was now free and newly empowered but virtually impotent for fear of attracting insect spirits.

  On the roof, Kyle used the pair of high-power binoculars they'd scavenged from the Knight Errant site. It was morn­ing.