Aftershock
A Shadowrun™ Novel
Prologue
From the air, he thought the terminal looked like a giant arachnid. The concourses were its legs, sprawled across a massive rain-slick slab that stretched toward the edge of the city proper, where myriad lights resembled a starry sky. More than three dozen airlines and airfreight companies used this place, but the LC Platinum II jet he was comfortably settled in belonged to none of them.
Black as the private runway it lined up with, the sleek aircraft lowered its landing gear with a barely audible hum.
“We will be on the ground momentarily, sir.”
From his plush window seat, he studied the contours of the hangars below, their boxy forms appearing to waver ghostlike in the evening storm, the lights coming from a few windows looking like dim, curious phantoms. A few maintenance men in coveralls gave the Lockheed an appreciative glance before they hurried into a service door at the base of a concourse.
The jet touched down so gently he barely felt it.
“Sir, we have arrived at Sea-Tac International Airport. We’ll be taxiing near the south satellite. The temperature is. . .
He ignored the rest of the pilot’s words, straightened the tapered lapels of his perfectly tailored Wellington Brothers suit and shrugged into a butter-soft black Europa leather duster. Moments later he was on the tarmac in front of his private hangar, listening to the staccato tat-a-tat of the rain against his duster and the ground, sufficiently loud enough to diminish the harsh sounds of other planes coming and going. He stared into puddles tinted neon by the reflected lights of the terminal and taxiway—seeing something far beyond the airport and Seattle. Rivulets of green, pink and electric yellow streamed down a sloping sidewalk that led to a gleaming Rolls Royce Phaeton Deluxe. The liveried driver waited for him at the open rear door of the limo.
“Good evening, sir.”
He waited a few moments more, tipping his face up into pattering rain, breathing in the sweet air that was oddly cold for this early in the fall. Behind him, the pilot opened an umbrella and held it over his head, politely ruining the moment.
“Everything is ready, including the team you requested.” This came from the limo driver, who appeared nonplussed by the deluge. “They are gathered at Ohgi Ya’s on Fourth downtown. I took the liberty of ordering the pressed duck for you. It should be ready when we arrive. Your luggage is. . .
“Fine.” He stepped toward the limo, the pilot keeping pace and holding the umbrella high. A second limo had pulled up, and attendants loaded several large suitcases into it. A last look at the neon snakes at his feet and the rain drumming all around, then he eased into the limo. The driver bowed respectfully and closed the door.
Sea-Tac International’s main terminal boasted magnetic and X-ray scanners, chemsniffers, security patrols and a state-of-the-art host system. Passengers were subjected to a variety of scans, including those from paranormal sources. But he bypassed all of this.
The limo breezed through the UCAS checkpoint on the edge of the airfield and disappeared into the misty night.
1
9/17/2070, 2:50 a.m.
Khase stood in the doorway of the modified Hughes WK-2 Stallion helicopter, enjoying the spray of raindrops from the rotor’s downdraft on his face. He glanced back at the other three members of the team in the cargo area, all concentrating on their own preparations.
His elven sister, Sindje, sat cross-legged on the floor. As always, she was flawlessly organized, from her polished combat boots to her close-fitting silk skinsuit, balaclava and gloves—that all contained the panels of silk/Kevlar combo ballistic armor he’d had custom-woven last year for her birthday. She flashed him a show of teeth that was equal parts grimace and grin. She had never liked heights, and riding in a helicopter through a rainstorm with an open cargo door was definitely not her idea of a good time.
Next to her sat their hacker, Max, her thick fingers dancing in the air as she ran programs from her own customized bodysuit, which had the capacity of a juiced-up Fairlight Caliban commlink built into its various pockets. Tactile pads in the fingertips of her AR gloves enabled her to execute entire suites of programs with a single finger twitch. The wild dreadlocks that normally radiated from her head in all directions had been corralled by a twist of multicolored electrical cable and hung down her back. Although it looked like she was staring off into space, Khase knew her cybereyes were supplying her with everything they needed to know about the current status of their target.
As if she felt his stare, she looked over. “ETA one minute,” she said, her tusks gleaming pink in the red security lights of the cargo hold.
Khase nodded, and Max returned to her prep. He couldn’t help smiling as he turned to look at the final member of the team kneeling on the patterned metal floor of the Hughes. The huge troll known on the street as Hood braced himself with one massive, muscled arm against the helicopter’s roof, his other hand curled around a sleek compound bow almost as tall as Khase. The troll was dressed like the rest of them, in a standard black skinsuit, only his was sleeveless, his broad chest covered with an armored vest that Khase would have been swimming in if he tried it on. The end of what looked like a long, rectangular box jutted up over a huge warty shoulder. The troll’s gaze was steady as he looked back at the well-muscled elf.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Khase?” The words were a sustained growl.
“Just a little moonlight ride, Hood. Though you know what they say: you should never dive on a full stomach.” The corner of Khase’s mouth quirked up. He wasn’t holding on to anything, yet he easily adjusted to every movement the copter made as it approached their destination. He pulled his own silk balaclava down over his shaved head, adjusting it so that only his almond-shaped mocha eyes were visible.
“Thirty seconds.” Max’s voice didn’t change in tone or volume, her fingers just moved a little faster as she readied her programs.
“Time for a little sneak and peek, chwaer.” Khase stepped to Sindje’s side and crouched beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. Chwaer was the Welsh word for sister. He liked using pieces of their musical language.
She shook her head in mostly feigned annoyance. “Don’t let me fall over. I hate coming back in to find myself face down on the floor.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“See you in twenty.” The slender elf closed her eyes and slumped over, supported by her brother. As the Stallion sideslipped in a banking turn, Khase looked up to see Hood point out the door with the tip of his bow. Still holding his sister,-he turned just enough to peer over the edge of the
Stallion’s floor and get the first glimpse of their objective three hundred meters below.
The rich green hills and fields of Snohomish stretched for dozens of acres to the north, the bright lights and tall skyscrapers of downtown Seattle glittered in the rain-misted air to the south. On the border between the city and the farmland was a thirty-story building of plascrete, steel and glass, its copper-tinted windows reflecting the neon and halogen of the city two kilometers away. Khase’s eyes gathered the ambient light as easily as he breathed, enabling him to see through the night and rain to scan the structure.
A glass greenhouse, dark and still at this hour, had been built as one half of the skyscraper’s top floor. It overlooked the corp grounds, including the lit sign on the lawn in front of the building: plantech.
“I still think this is too much nuyen for such an easy run,” he remarked to no one in particular. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
The troll shifted his weight, the bow never leaving his side. “Maybe, but we’re all getting paid to make sure
it goes down smooth. So let’s make sure that’s exactly what happens.”
“No prob, chummer—” Khase was interrupted by Max, who tapped Hood on the shoulder.
“Airjock wants a word.”
Khase, still supporting his comatose sister, glanced at a small vidscreen to see it flicker into life, revealing the face of a human wearing wraparound sunglasses, two day’s growth of scraggly beard, and an ancient leather aviator’s hat.
“Hoi! I’m right over the place. Why you want to risk your hoops here is beyond me, but that’s your business, I’m just the ride. Are you sure you don’t want me to hang around in case you need air evac? With what you paid, I’d almost consider it part of the bargain.”
Hood smiled and shook his head. “Jock, you’ve done more than enough getting us here. We’ve got our exit planned street-side. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“No, thank you. And hey, anytime you get another one of these milk runs, you look me up, ya hear? I’ll always answer my comm for you guys. Sayonara, and good luck.” The screen winked out, and at the same time Sindje straightened and sucked in a huge breath of air, her eyes fluttering as she regained control of her body.
“Cachu, they weren’t kidding! Even when I knew where my body was in the fraggin’ chopper, it was still a trip to get back.” Still breathing hard, she shrugged off Khase’s arm. “I’m all right, brawd. The place is shut down, guards just finished their latest sweep, bored out of their gourds. A third-rate corp like this, we should be in and out in twenty, no more.”
“Khase, you’re up.” Hood opened the box quiver on his back and extracted a long, thick arrow with an unusual, multibarbed head, pulling one end of a small reel of microwire out and attaching it to the arrow shaft. The Stallion hovered motionless as he walked to the edge of the cargo bay and hooked his nylon combat harness to a strap near his head, hanging on it to make sure he was secure. Setting the arrow, he leaned forward out of the rotorcraft, his boots balanced on the edge of the bay door. The troll extended the bow downward, oblivious to the churning whir of the blades slicing the air two meters above his head. He drew the bowstring to his eye, breathed once and then released it, the arrow streaking into the early-morning darkness, taking the microwire along for the ride.
The troll reached up, unhooked his harness, and attached the other end of the microwire to the strap. Then he pulled himself farther back into the cargo bay, slapping Khase on the shoulder as he passed. “Good luck, as Jock said.” “Luck is never a factor.” The elf winked as he leaned down to Sindje and pulled a padded glove onto his left hand. “Shall we?”
She managed to look up at him and down her hooked nose at the same time. “Don’t get killed.” It was the same thing she told him every time they were about to separate.
Khase kissed her on the forehead. “See you there.” Straightening up again, he stepped back to the door of the rotorcraft. His gaze followed the slim microwire line until it disappeared in the darkness. One last, deep breath to find his center, and he dove face-first out of the Stallion.
The elf free-fell in the classic sky diver’s position, arms outstretched, legs bent at the knees, and head down so he could see exactly where he was going. The roof of the Plan-tech building rushed at him with what would have been frightening speed, but Khase wasn’t worried. Instead he exulted in the feel of the chill droplets and rush of air as he hurtled toward the greenhouse at terminal velocity.
Two . . . one . . . now, Sindje! he thought.
As if a giant hand had suddenly reached out and grabbed him, courtesy of his sister’s levitation spell, Khase felt his body slow as he neared the roof. Reaching out with the reinforced glove, he grabbed the gleaming line, using it to guide himself to the four-inch wide ledge. The elf landed on his toes without a sound, right next to the shaft of the arrow, which was sunk halfway into the plascrete. Got to hand it to Hood, a three-hundred-meter shot in the dark— through the rain, no less. Damned impressive. Khase reached around to the pack at the small of his back while he thought to his sister: I’m on-site. Tell Max we’re green.
His sister’s cool voice replied inside his mind. Affirmative. Infiltration commencing.
Khase brought out a glass cutter and handled suction cup from his tool kit, glancing around out of long habit. Sure hope those codes worked, Khase thought as he pressed the rubber cup to the glass and pushed it down, then carved a hole big enough for entry. A blast of warm, humid air whooshed out, and he stepped inside just as Max appeared through the rain and night above him, using a mechanical rappeler to control her descent. Braking to a stop, she landed on the ledge, not nearly as gracefully as the elf had, and scrambled through the open window.
“They’re right behind me,” she whispered, stabbing invisible switches in front of her face. “We’re still green, sec has not been compromised.”
Khase looked up as a large form swooped down and hit the ledge. Swaying a bit, Hood used the line to steady himself until he got his balance. Sindje clung to his back, her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes squeezed shut. Hood pointed at his throat, one slim, silken arm encircling it, and stuck his tongue out, making a choking face. Frowning, Khase motioned for Hood to turn around, then reached through the window and plucked his sister off the troll.
“Sindje? It’s all right, you’re down. I’ve got you.” He pulled her into the greenhouse while Hood bent to cut the microwire and removed the arrow from the ledge, putting it back into his quiver.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” The mage squirmed free, her open eyes flashing with anger. “At least the nuyen’s worth it.”
“Yeah, and besides, you wouldn’t let me get into any trouble all by myself, would you? Watch yourself, Hood.” Khase took the large bow and quiver, then helped the troll squeeze through the hole. The elf picked up the window-pane and set it back in place, then squirted fast-dry epoxy from a small tube around the edges and set a large plant in front of the window. Finished, he turned around to have a look at the jungle surrounding them.
As befitting its purpose, vegetation filled every square foot of the glass house. Rows of racks brimmed with trays of both flowering and leafy plants, potted trees, shrubs and crop varietals of every shape and size. Sweet fragrances from rainbow-hued tropical flowers warred with the sharper scents of spice plants and even what looked like a twelve-foot Douglas fir in one corner. At least Khase was pretty sure that’s what it was; he wasn’t huge on botany. The nuyen that particular specimens of foliage would bring for extracting them from here, however, was another matter entirely—he was huge on that.
“Good job, temperature hardly dropped here,” Max said, her fingers dancing on air as she scanned the room, using augmented reality programs to keep track of what was happening both inside and out. “Security is still tight, but it looks like those codes our Johnson gave us are on the level. All’s quiet on the leafy front.”
The troll stood like a statue for a moment, mesmerized. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” He shook his head to clear his senses. “All right, people, we’ve still got a job to do.” Hood punched keys on a small datapad. “Sindje, Khase, you each have your lists, so spread out and start collecting. Max, please make sure that door to the hall elevator is green, and I expect that the carts we need will be there?”
“If you’re referring to the work order I moved up twelve hours, you’re right.” The ork flashed a toothy smile as she trotted down a narrow aisle toward the main entrance doors.
“Easy for you to say, I can barely read some of these names.” Khase screwed up his handsome features in concentration as he pulled a different glove onto his right hand. “Pachys tacky—”
“Not while we’re on the clock,” Sindje cut him off. “Besides, you know your Latin. Pachystachys Lutea, Golden Candle. Canaga Odorata, Ylang-ylang. Plumeria Rubra L, Frangipani. Auris Folium—‘Ear leaf?—never heard of that one. Manihot Esculenta Crantz crossbred with Zea Mays, some kind of manioc-sweet corn hybrid, probably for third world countrie
s—”
The troll cleared his throat with a low rumble. “As fascinating as the botany lesson is, Sindje, let’s concentrate on getting the green loaded and out of here, what do you say?” Hood made his way to the greenhouse’s main doors, cradling a pot containing a diminutive rough-barked tree with narrow fronds.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” The lean elf sketched a sarcastic salute with one finger as she scanned the greenhouse. “Crop hybrids—there they are. Khase, grab the folium, it should be two rows over. I’ll snatch the cornroot and—” “Shh!” At the main doors, Max held up her clenched right fist. “Intrusion alert just went off at the station on level one.”
“Did you trip something on the door security?” Hood was right at the ork’s side.
“Hey, it wasn’t me,” the hacker replied. “Drek, it’s after three. The codes must have reset for the new day—we’re hosed.”
Sindje and Khase exchanged pained expressions. “I guess our Mr. Johnson didn’t give us all the information he thought we needed,” he muttered.
A slow, feral smile spread across Sindje’s face. “Look’s like company’s coming.”
2
3:00:30 a.m.
Patrol squad entering the elevator—hitting that corridor in one minute.” Max’s fingers flew as she tried to circumvent the door security. “Vut, Vut, Vut! I’ve lost the wireless feed! Main door’s maglock has gone to lockdown—I can’t open it!”
“You’ve got sixty seconds to apologize for that lie.” Hood set the tree down and whirled his index finger in the air, signaling a team pullout. “Sindje, Khase, finish your sweep and get the rest of our cargo over here. And everybody watch for flash.” A standard technique for security forces was to suddenly turn on all the lights in a room, hoping to catch elves, orks and cybered runners using low light vision by surprise and blind them.
“Hey Hood, we’re not newchums on an init, you know.” Khase pushed a wheeled rack of plants next to the troll. “In fact, I’ve got all of mine.”
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 1