Headhunters

by Mel Odom

  “We’ve got company.” Skater pushed himself out of his seat. “Drekking son of a slitch!” the Johnson snarled. “You led them to us!” His hand slid under his jacket and came out with a Manhunter as the move-by-wire system jerked him smoothly into action. He shoved the pistol forward into Skater’s face.

  37

  Skater’s boosted reflexes came on-line as the adrenaline flooded his system. He flicked his left hand out and caught the Johnson’s gun wrist.

  The yabos made their moves at the same time, hauling weapons into view. The bar crowd went into a frenzy immediately, some people throwing themselves into cover and some pulling weapons of their own.

  Elvis uncoiled from the table beside Skater like a giant spasm letting go. He hurled himself toward the two yabos closest together. One was human and the other was a troll.

  Duran pushed himself out of his chair and into a profile stance, bringing his pistol up in his fist and aiming at the third yabo. He fired two shots without hesitation.

  “No killing!” Skater ordered as he struggled with the Johnson. “I don’t want any of them geeked!” Shifting his weight, he brought a knee crashing up into the Johnson’s groin.

  Elvis roared happily in combat mode as he smashed into the pair of yabos he’d targeted. All three of them went down at once, reducing a table to kindling.

  The Johnson groaned in sudden pain and released his grip on the Manhunter. Skater peeled the hand-cannon away from the man, then shoved him to the floor. A bouncer clad in a Neon Sunsets vest came rushing at him with a stun baton crackling in his big knuckled hands.

  “Back off, Sparky!” Skater growled, showing the bouncer the biz end of the Manhunter.

  “Chill, man, I hear you!” The bouncer stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Jack,” Archangel called over the commlink, “the helicopter’s put a team down behind the bar. Gunther Octavius is among them. I counted at least ten.”

  “Get down on the floor,” Skater ordered the bouncer.

  Immediately the big man dropped onto the floor.

  “Where’s the helo?” Skater asked Archangel. He glanced over at Duran and saw the ork covering the room, backing off two other bouncers with the pistol. The yabo he’d shot lay on the floor groaning and holding hands to his knees. Bullets had cored through both the man’s shinbones, effectively taking him out of the action despite whatever cyberware he had built into his body.

  “Coming back over the building to cover the front,” Archangel replied.

  “Weaponry?” Skater asked.

  “Heavy bang-bang,” Wheeler replied. “We’re talking about an aerial war chariot here, omae.”

  Skater thought he could hear the throb of the rotors over the confusion reigning inside the bar. He shifted his grip to the Johnson’s throat, knowing he was leaving himself dangerously open to attack if the man decided to go for it. He rested the barrel of the Manhunter against the Johnson’s cheek, forcing the flesh up to halfway close the eye above it.

  To his left, Elvis surged up out of the pile of flailing limbs, holding the chromed human in both hands above his head. The human yabo flexed his arms and legs, snapping elbow and heel spurs and finger razors out. Before he had a chance to bury them in the troll samurai’s flesh, Elvis threw him across the room.

  Twisting and flailing, the yabo smashed into the collection of arcade games in the corner. Sparks from defunct machinery flared to sudden, short life; then most of them winked out, throwing out brief fields of rainbow trid static.

  Dozens of people were already scrambling for the exits, not waiting to see any more.

  Skater knew the panic would work in their favor just as much as it would work against them. Luppas’s people would be hindered as well.

  An emergency exit door in the back opened, letting in the outside lights. A woman started outside, but a sudden burst of machine pistol fire drove her back inside. Her face obliterated by the bullets, she was dead even as she stumbled back into the people who’d gotten in line to follow her out.

  Hoarse screams ripped through the ranks of the bar crowd as they surged again, this time from the exit. Skater turned his attention back to the Johnson. “Think about it,” he yelled at the man. “If Fuchi’s blacklight crew could have tracked us, they’d have taken us sooner! We’ve got what they want, not you! They found out about us through you!”

  “She must have set us up,” the Johnson said, his eyes widening in understanding. “She was the only one who knew we’d be here together.”

  “You told her?” Skater asked. Out the corner of his eye, he caught the fight between Elvis and the last yabo. Most of the moves were unrecognizable to him, moving too fast for his fragmented attention to catch them.

  “She wanted to know before she’d turn loose of the money.”

  “Kid,” Duran said, “let’s drift now. Jaw later.”

  Skater nodded. “Are we square on this?” he asked the Johnson.

  “Yeah.”

  “Make a move on me again and I’ll drop you in your tracks. No questions asked and no quarter given.”

  “Sure.”

  Duran opened up with his pistol just as Elvis laid out his opponent with a final spinning backhand that lifted the troll yabo from his feet and dropped him almost five meters away. The ork’s bullets chopped at the black-armored men boiling into the room through the exit.

  Dressed in hard ebony armor, the blacklight team resembled an invasion of insect warriors. The bulbous combat helmets completed the appearance. Machine pistols spat flames in their hands, cutting through the bar crowd indiscriminately.

  Skater leveled the Manhunter in front of him and squeezed the trigger twice. Both rounds slapped into the lead gunman’s helmet, snapping the man’s head back and causing him to stumble. The harsh spang of the impacts and the sudden spray of sparks testified that the bullets hadn’t penetrated.

  In a handful of seconds, the gunman had regained his balance and turned toward Skater, bringing the machine pistol up.

  Mind working overtime, juiced by the adrenaline surging through him, Skater dodged to one side. A line of bullets, peppered with a flaring purple tracer every third or fourth round, burned through the area where he’d been standing.

  He ran hard, streaking for the bar area. Two bartenders, a male human and a female ork, peered anxiously over the top. He was aware of the Johnson beating feet beside him, the man’s breathing rasping even over the confusion filling the bar.

  Still meters from the counter, Skater hurled himself into the air, arms stretched before him. He hit the bartop hard, knocking the wind from his lungs, then skidding across to drop on the other side. His ribs ached as he forced himself to his feet.

  “Get out of here!” he yelled at the bartenders.

  They moved at once, erupting out of either end of the bar. Bullets smashed into the bottles of liquor and beer behind the bar, reducing the huge mirror etched with erotic scenes of sea nymphs and sailors into dangerous shards that rained down over Skater.

  He shoved the Manhunter into the Johnson’s hands, then reached up for two whiskey bottles. Ducking behind the temporary protection of the bar, he ripped the seals off and opened the caps. Searching the shelves behind the bar, he found a bar towel that was mostly dry. He set the whiskey bottles on the floor, ripped strips from the towel, and crammed them into the necks of the bottles.

  Upending the bottles, he let the whiskey run through till it saturated the cloth strips and started dripping onto the floor at his feet. Satisfied that they were drenched, he lit them.

  Raking his eyes across the scene as the hunters build up a new phalanx and readied themselves for the charge, Skater spotted Cullen Trey’s unconscious body lying on the floor. A cold knot formed in Skater’s throat while he looked Trey over. He didn’t see any wounds. He hoped the mage’s apparent lifelessness was merely the result of a continued stay in the astral plane.

  Standing, he drew back his right arm. The lead hunter came around on him, dragging the barrel of
his machine pistol after him. Skater lobbed the Molotov cocktail as hard as he could across the twenty meters separating them.

  The Molotov shattered across the target’s chest. Blue and yellow alcohol flames wreathed the figure. He screamed in fear and pain, swinging his arm against the fire.

  “Duran,” Skater called over the commlink. “I’ve got to pick Cullen up.” He drew the Predator. He had trouble breathing the bar air, even more smoky now with the addition of the Molotov cocktail.

  “Come ahead, kid. Me and Elvis got your back. Just give me the word.”

  The troll held an Ares Ultra Power heavy pistol, the integral laser sight firing a ruby beam out across the armored invaders. He reached for a nearby table, seizing it in one big hand.

  Skater shifted again, then threw the remaining home-made incendiary at the nearest hunter. The shock trooper pivoted out of the way, bringing up his weapon as the Molotov cocktail headed for the empty space where he’d been almost a meter away.

  Duran snap-fired. At first, Skater thought the ork was shooting at the armored hunter. Even as that thought was registering, the whiskey bottle exploded in midair. The liquid turned into a flying spider’s web of flame that caught the armored trooper in its snare, roping the joker with fiery strands.

  “Now!” Skater called.

  Elvis stepped around the corner he was using for cover and threw the table he’d snatched up from the floor. It sailed across nearly ten meters and crashed into one of the shock troops, knocking the man from his feet.

  “Come on!” Skater told the Johnson. As soon as he cleared the end of the bar, he felt a round slam into the military jacket with enough force to stagger him. The bullet didn’t penetrate the Kevlar weave under the jacket, but it struck hard enough to leave a bruise that would last for days. Skater nearly fell as his breath locked in his lungs, but kept moving for Trey.

  38

  Skater fisted Trey’s Kevlar cape and wrapped it over the mages head. Blunt trauma was still something to be feared if he was hit.

  One of the armored hunters targeted Skater. The red aiming laser flashed across Skater’s eyes as the gunner took a bead on him. Skater struggled under Trey’s weight, feeling the other man shift under his own power, then call out something in a sing-song voice.

  Before the armored trooper could fire, he was blown back by an arcane wind that came from nowhere. Tables and chairs smashed against other troopers.

  “Can’t stay, chummer,” Trey said in a fatigued voice as Skater reached Elvis. “Luppas is making his move through the astral.” Then Trey slumped against Skater’s shoulder.

  Skater led the way to the front door. Out in the fresh air, he could smell the stench coming from the bar.

  Three commercial-size vans rolled across the graveled parking area and came to crunching stops with overlapping fields of fire that prevented access to the street. More men clad in black body armor spilled out of the door and took up positions.

  “Rat frag!” Duran said. “We stepped into the weasel’s guts on this one, kid!”

  The military-style helicopter swung overhead, bright lights slung on the underbelly illuminating the parking area. Twin tracking lasers swept across the front of the bar.

  “Take out the lights,” Skater ordered. He lifted the Predator and started banging off shots at the helicopter’s underbelly. It took him four shots to take out one of the six spotlights under the aircraft.

  The helicopter pilot tried to pull his craft up, seeking security and the room to bring the minigun slung underneath into play. Elvis, Duran, and the Johnson took out the rest of the lights before the craft was away.

  Skater shifted Trey’s limp weight across his shoulders. Out in the parking area, the rush of the fleeing bar patrons provided enough confusion for them to move toward their stolen Landrover. He knew from an earlier recon that the area behind the bar was all forest, leading out into the Salish lands.

  He ignored the short bursts of autofire that lanced in his direction. The Landrover’s side door hissed open and slid back a second before he reached it, operated by the remote control Wheeler had rigged up to replace the vehicle’s original electronic locks.

  Skater shoved Trey’s body inside. A spotlight whipped across him, carried by one of the armored troopers. In the brief illumination, he saw that Trey’s eyes were slitted halfway open and terribly bloodshot. His complexion was pasty too, the threads of blood running across his face looking black.

  Reaching between the front seats, Skater grabbed his monofilament sword and scabbard, and looped it across his back. He accessed the commlink. “Archangel, what’s the status on the local blue crews?”

  “The Border Patrol is on their way,” she replied coolly from Wheeler’s Tsarina. “And the Everett Lone Star branch has put together a Fast Response Team. They’ll be here in minutes.” The Johnson started to clamber into the Landrover.

  Duran caught the man’s elbow. “Where the frag do you think you’re going?”

  A look of confusion spread across the Johnson’s bearded face. “With you.”

  “Let him in,” Skater said.

  “Extra baggage,” Duran pointed out. “And no problem of ours. We got what he knows.”

  Skater scanned the armored troops spreading out through the roil of cars, exchanging shots with the fleeing bar patrons. They hadn’t pinpointed the team yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

  “You haven’t got it all,” the Johnson said through clenched teeth. “I’ve got an LTG number for a drop I’m supposed to use to get in touch with the woman. And I’ve got the password that will let me through the back door of it.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Duran said. “This joker is the reason Luppas’s people found us.”

  “He’s also the only lead we have now of getting Luppas and Fuchi off our hoops,” Skater said.

  “Jack’s right,” Elvis said. He worked his forearm snapblades and popped them into view. “We’re gonna get dirty getting out of here. Might as well have something to show for it.”

  Skater threw a final glance at Cullen Trey’s prone body inside the Landrover, then closed the door after the Johnson had scrambled inside. “Duran, you’ve got the wheel. Elvis and I are going to make some space, see about losing the chopper. You move when we free you up. Or when you realize we aren’t going to be able to.”

  “We heading for the street?” Duran asked, stepping up into the bucket seat behind the steering wheel.

  “Off-road,” Skater said, unsheathing the monofilament sword running down his back. “Go east a kilometer, then cut due south. We should run back into the Everett sprawl in three or four kilometers.”

  Duran nodded, cradling his shotgun in his lap, then reaching out to flick the adhesive compass they’d mounted on the dash after boosting the vehicle. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be along.” Skater dropped his closed fist on the ork’s. He hoped it was true. But he didn’t see any other way around it. His own needs had placed the team in jeopardy. If losing Emma hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind, he’d surely have walked away from the run back at Shastakovich’s. He had no doubts they would have followed his lead; even Trey, who never passed up a chance to score on a run. None of them would have been at the bar tonight. He owed them the chance to get clear.

  “Jack.”

  Skater turned, recognizing Archangel’s voice, knowing it wasn’t coming over the commlink.

  She rushed to the Landrover’s side, her Ares Light Fire 70 in her hand. “I came to help. I couldn’t sit there doing nothing. Wheeler’s already sealed up in the rigger’s cocoon of his Tsarina; he can handle the car by himself. I’d only be in the way. Here, I can do some good.”

  Skater gave her a tight nod and watched as Archangel vaulted up into the Landrover’s cab, taking over the spot behind the steering wheel that Duran left for her. “I’ll let you know when,” he told her over the commlink.

  “I’ll be here.” Her words were clear, neutral, but her eyes flashed rebellion, s
omething Skater had never seen in her before. She turned the vehicle’s engine over and it rumbled to life easily.

  “Elvis,” Skater said.

  “Ready, omae.”

  He took a two-handed grip on the sword, willing it to become part of his body and feeling the boosted reflexes take it in as well. “We’ll make our way to the motorcycles and take out as many of Luppas’s people as we can,” Skater said. “Then we hot-wire a couple of the bikes so we can provide close-cover on the Landrover’s retreat into the forest.”

  The troll samurai nodded as he looped a Panther assault cannon over his shoulder on a belt that contained extra rounds.

  Skater moved into the shadows.

  39

  On the astral plane, Kylar Luppas zipped through the Neon Sunsets bar, searching for his quarry. The watchers flew in a porpoise group around him, nosing through the patrons scrambling for their lives, verifying the features of each one, looking for the ones Luppas had assigned them to find. He’d seen the shadowrunners once, only moments after the armored troops from the helo had broken in through the back of the bar.

  “Master,” a thin voice piped up.

  Floating above the center of the carnage in the bar, Luppas turned to look at the watcher as it flew toward him.

  “We’ve found the humans,” the watcher cried out enthusiastically. “They are outside. They—”

  Abruptly, the gaseous body of the watcher curled in on itself like a flower wilting into a dead ball in nanoseconds.

  “Absurd little creatures, aren’t they?” a mocking voice inquired.

  Luppas came around.

  The other mage stood before him, feet resting on astral terra firma nearly a meter from the floor. A cynical smile twisted his thin lips. He didn’t look much different than his physical body, a little taller, perhaps. Obviously his image in astral space wasn’t based on his ego.

  “Still,” the other mage said, “they have their uses.”

  “Before I kill you,” Luppas said, “I’ll have your name.”