Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock

by Jean Rabe, John Helfers (v1. 0) (epub)

  A thick, gooey puddle surrounded the ground around him for a meter in every direction. Roland tensed his legs and tried to get up. The polymer that glued his legs to the street flexed, but didn’t budge.

  “Oh, frag.” Roland saw a war zone surrounding him. The two-story house was gone, reduced to rubble and charred slabs of broken wall. Several meters away, what little was left of the Mitsubishi Nightsky lay on its side in the street in a charred puddle of rubber from its melted tires, a blackened mess. Well, scratch one limousine.

  His squad lay in various positions on the lawn, but amazingly, a quick scan with his cybereye revealed that most of them were relatively uninjured. Sure enough, armored men began to stir as whatever effect the mage had put on them began to wear off. A few meters away, Morgan sat up, rubbing his forehead with a dirty hand. A guard he didn’t recognize headed toward him. Even K-Tog showed signs of life, the huge troll rising like a mountain in the darkness.

  The sirens were getting closer now, the deep howl of local fire departments counterpointing the shrill wail of what might have been either Lone Star or Knight Errant squads, and probably a SWAT unit or three given all the pyrotechnics that had just gone off. Think, fragit! They’re maybe four, five minutes away. We can still get out of here. But we have to move now! “Morgan, find Lilith and Hiyakawa, make sure they’re all right! K-Tog, get your hoop up and get all of our men that you can find into the Typhoons right now! Police the area: we evac in one minute!” He returned his attention to the gelatinous, gray mass that had him firmly imprisoned in its sticky grip.

  “Sir, I’ve located Lilith and Hiyakawa, they’re both all right. ”

  “Sir, I have information—”

  “Just a moment. Officer—Thaddeus. That’s good, can you bring them over here? Perhaps one of them knows how to remove this drek that’s all over me.” Roland leaned back on his knees and looked up at the guard, who must have been hired just out of the Academy, he couldn’t have been a day over twenty-two. “Report!”

  “After the mage took down half of Squads Two and Three, we tried to concentrate our fire to keep her head down and unable to cast. However, the troll archer on the roof incapacitated the majority of our forces with some kind of strange incendiary arrows, and others that burst into that stuff”—he waved at the goo enveloping Roland— “I think I might have been the only one conscious when the four of them came out the front door. Typhoon One might have gotten a good shot off them, I think. Anyway, the ork came out screaming something about a bomb, then the troll, then two elves. They headed for the Bison, and I saw my window and took it. I fired, hitting the ork in the back. One of the elves got her into the Bison before I could shoot again, and they took off.”

  “So they weren’t the ones that blew up the house? Stranger and stranger.” Shadows fell over him in the flickering firelight from the remains of the derelict house, and Roland looked up to see Lilith, supported by Morgan, with Hiyakawa close behind, the shaman’s eyes glittering with anger. “I don’t suppose either of you can help me with this, can you?”

  The shaman drew himself up to his full one-point-four meter height. “Of course, Ators-san.” With a wave of his hand, the gunk fell away from Roland’s body, squelching into sticky, rubbery piles on the ground. Not only that, but the soot, dirt, and sweat that covered his jumpsuit also disappeared, leaving the uniform as clean as if it had just been washed. In fact, his body felt the same way, from teeth that now felt clean and shiny to his hands and face, which were scrubbed, all traces of dirt gone.

  In moments the cat shaman was immaculate once more, and wearing a different, completely new suit that he had magicked out of his old dirty clothes. The sec chief bowed, following street protocol even as his mind registered the sirens getting much louder. “Domo arigato, Hiyakawa-san. Now, if none of you object, we should be leaving the area.” “One more moment, if you please.” Hiyakawa summoned another city spirit and whispered instructions to it, then sent it into the wreckage of the house. “Since we are not able to investigate here, I have taken the liberty of sending in someone who can.”

  “An excellent idea. Hiyakawa-san.” Lilith said from the Typhoon’s doorway. “Now, those fire engines and cop cars are going to be on top of us any moment now, so—” “Very well.” The shaman stepped inside, once again wrinkling his nose at having to be crammed in with a dozen other sweaty, exhausted men. Roland was the last one in, and he found himself next to K-Tog.

  “Morgan, signal the driver of Typhoon Two to head north, and stick to the speed limit. We don’t want any more attention then we’ve already got. We’re going south. Please tell me you got the transponder on the Bison?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “That’s my boy. You get to keep your job for the next week. Let them know they should be able to track our suspects. Lock and load and move to intercept. We will coordinate and serve as backup. Roland out.”

  He turned back to K-Tog. “Give me the bad news.” The troll shrugged. “Actually, boss, other than the Nightsky, we came out pretty primo. Three of the guys have flesh wounds from the house exploding, and Sleath

  and Hannigan ended up stuck together when one of those gooey arrows landed between them, but there were no serious injuries.”

  “So you’re telling me these guys fought us to a standstill, but didn’t take out a single one of my men?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  That’s twice now they could have geeked my men, but they didn’t. Roland shook his head and connected to Morgan again. “You got a signal for us?”

  “They are heading south toward the Queen Anne district.”

  “Once we’re out of Ballard, step on it.” They haven’t gotten away yet, Roland thought, his fingers curled around the butt of his pistol as he imagined taking a bead on the huge troll’s face. And they aren’t going to, either, not if I have anything to say about it.

  25

  5:02:08 p.m.

  Max is breathing, Hood!”

  Khase slid to his sister, his skinsuit’s legs slick with blood. He pulled Sindje back and stretched her out next to Max, noting that both women breathed in unison now.

  “M’all right, brawd.” Sindje’s eyes fluttered open and she offered Khase a weak smile. “Gotta take a little nap, ’kay? Get Hood to drive slower so I can sleep. No more potholes. My best magic ever and I’m not going to be awake to catch yours and Hood’s praises.” She didn’t wait for a response, just let out a deep sigh and matched Max’s breathing again.

  “So Max is going to make it?” Hood’s voice came from the front again.

  Khase shrugged. “Lots of blood, Hood. Don’t know. But she’s not dead yet. Breathing good, looks like. Sindje will be fine, too, by the way.”

  “How’re you?”

  “Shot.” Khase looked at his arm, then tore his sleeve off and began wrapping it. “I’ll take care of it proper when we stop.”

  “I could call a DocWagon.”

  Khase offered the back of Hood’s head a glare. “You and I both know that’s simply a great idea. Doc gets me, traces my picture and I’m away for a long time.”

  “Just offering.” The troll swung the Bison hard left. “The Plantech guards . . .”

  “The guys in the backyard weren’t Plantech.”

  “I know. I saw the ponytail.”

  “And they were talking about their boss. Didn’t sound like they were working for a corp.”

  “So who were they working for, neh?”

  Khase didn’t answer, his ears picking up the growl of engines instead. He rose on his knees and looked out the back window. “Hood, we’ve got . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. Company.”

  “Another Plantech van, one of them pretty Typhoons. Should’ve taken out all their rides. Shouldn’t have left them one.”

  “Twenty-twenty”

  “Huh?”

  “Hindsight, Khase. It’s twenty-twenty.” In the rearview mirror Hood saw Khase cock his head. “An old, old expression. P
erfect vision.”

  “Should’ve taken out all their rides the first time. That would’ve been perfect.” Khase gripped the door handles when Hood sped around a corner and jumped the curb. “Easy, think about Max and Sindje!”

  “I am thinking about them.” The troll let out a long growl. “I’m thinking that if we don’t lose those security goons, Max, Sindje, you and I will be spending a long stretch of time in a small cell.”

  “A very, very long stretch of time for me, tad," Khase said so softly the troll couldn’t hear.

  The Bison jumped another curb, the fender brushed a street sign, and Hood growled again. “Should’ve rented a van and ruined someone else’s machine.”

  Khase checked on his sister. “Hey, Hood, you got a blanket or something in here?”

  “Lower cabinet, to your right.”

  The elf found a neatly folded coverlet, which he stuffed under Sindje’s head. Then he returned his attention to the hack window. “I could use my whip again, like this morning.”

  Hood shook his head. “Let me try to lose ’em this way. Don’t need anyone . . . anyone else . . . getting hurt.” Khase shrugged. “As you wish.” Still, he made sure his monofilament whip was ready and eyed the side window; it was plenty wide enough for him to climb out. Hood may have wanted no one else hurt, but the firefight and fiasco

  at the house, not to mention Max getting shot, had turned Khase into a realist. If the choice is between them and us, I’m choosing us. He looked back at the troll. “Speaking of hurt, Sindje said there was a dead body upstairs. You get a look at it?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t recognize him. Memorized the face, though. When Max comes to I’ll give her a description and she can go snooping to get an ID.”

  “If Max comes through.”

  “When.” The troll’s voice was firm.

  “Fine. When Max comes to she’ll get you an ID.”

  “And then we can figure out who’d try to pin a murder on us.”

  Khase turned away from the window. “Excuse me?”

  “I figure there’s a good chance whoever geeked the guy will try to blame us. The question is who is the guy? And what did we do to stir someone up?”

  “We stole houseplants, Hood. Drekkin’ houseplants. We made the creator of Miracle-Gro tremble in his grave.” “Hang on!” The Bison shimmied and leapt forward as Hood gunned the engine, his huge hand slamming down on the horn. Khase looked up to see a massive Conestoga Trailblazer semitractor entering the intersection ahead of them, hauling three long cargo trailers. The gap between the Bison and the freight truck dwindled.

  Their stoplight at the intersection was blood red. Perfect, Khase thought, throwing himself across the ork and his sister. I can’t watch.

  The Bison slewed to the left, then heeled over hard right as Hood fought the RV's inertia, wrestling the shuddering steering wheel with every muscle he possessed. The heavy-duty runflats howled in protest, and Khase felt the vehicle start to tip over onto its three left wheels.

  “Khase, ballast!” Hood shouted.

  “Sorry, chwaer.” The adept grabbed his sleeping sister and hauled her over to the right side of the RV. Frag, I hope this is enough to do it, he thought, throwing himself against the wall as hard as he could. The Bison groaned as it absorbed stresses above even what its rugged frame was built to handle, and for a moment it was touch and go as the RV balanced on its wheels for another second. Then Hood, with one hand still on the wheel, scrambled over to the cockpit passenger’s seat, his several hundred kilos making all the difference.

  With a thunderous crash, the Bison came back down on all six wheels, the front undercarriage shrieking as it slammed into the pavement. Khase took a moment away from thanking the capricious gods of luck, fate, the universe and anything else he could think of to peek out the rearview window.

  The Conestoga’s driver had hit his brakes the moment he saw the Bison barreling toward him, but the thirty tons of whatever he was hauling hadn’t stopped quickly. The tractor-trailer caravan had squealed to a halt right in the middle of the intersection, completely blocking the crossstreet traffic in both directions. He heard an angry horn blast from the other side, followed by furious shouting.

  Khase’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. He did it. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it, but the son-of-a-slitch did it! What came out of his mouth, however, was much more restrained. “Nice driving, tad.”

  The troll found a side street and slipped down it. Five more turns and three klicks later, Hood doubled back into the neighborhood and headed down another alley, and then another. One more cross-street, one more alley, and he pulled in next to a big garage shaded by a massive maple. The rest of the block consisted of light industrial buildings, small manufacturing shops and storage warehouses, every one locked up for the night.

  “Lost them.” Khase’s shoulders relaxed. He knelt next to Sindje and smoothed the tangled hair away from her face. “Didn’t know she was so powerful, Hood. I mean, the magic is strong in our family—my chwaer and I are two of the most powerful—but I had no idea she could do that kind of magic. Very powerful.”

  “How’s Max?”

  “Still breathing. Needs a hospital, though.”

  Hood shook his head. “Can’t take her to a hospital. She’s got a warrant on her; ripped off a corp a few years back to finance a Beetle habit. She was crashing, got careless, and the security cameras got a good look at her. That was down in Portland, and she moved here ’cause the shadows are thicker.”

  “So, that was Portland. She needs a hospital.”

  “And you could use a DocWagon, or maybe a hospital yourself.”

  Khase shut up and adjusted the makeshift pillow under Sindje’s head. “I’ll be fine, just need a few hours to hole up. Besides, after what Sindje did for Max, my arm should be plentyn's play.”

  Hood shut off the engine, rolled down the window, leaned his head out and took a deep breath of air. There was a Lone Star siren off in the distance, but it was muted, at least a klick away. A barking dog was closer, and also nearby came the sounds of a band tuning up and then breaking into a number. They weren’t parked too far from that stage they’d seen earlier.

  Neither talked for several minutes. They listened to the neighborhood and watched for the Plantech Typhoons or any sign of Lone Star. The band finished a lengthy medley, and applause erupted, muted because of the distance and the garage. They delivered a few jokes about Norwegians and drifted into a classic ballad. After a pause, the lead singer started another tune with an a capella intro.

  “Sounds like their festival is going well.” Hood tried to recall the name of the tune the singer was belting, something popular about love and loss from a few years back. “Wonder what they’re celebrating?”

  “Wonder what’s so special about those plants that people are willing to kill for them?” Khase helped Sindje to sit up. She was coming to and had her hand on her forehead, inadvertently smearing it with blood.

  “Migraine city. Hood knows, don’t you? What’s so special about the plants. Arrgh, it feels like an earth elemental tap-danced on my skull, then sat on me.” Sindje leaned over Max. “My patient’s still with us. I was pretty amazing there, wasn’t I?”

  Khase nodded, pride evident in his voice. “Yes, you were.” A pause: “Do you, Hood? Know what’s special about the plants?”

  The troll let out a great sigh that steamed the front window. “They’re laced with some sort of bioware. That’s all I know for sure. Don’t know what it’s made of, or what it’s for. Haven’t had time to puzzle that out.”

  “But you’ll have time now, won’t you?” Khase helped

  Sindje to her knees, then opened the rear door and lifted her out. “I want you sitting up front.”

  The elf tried to wipe the blood off her skinsuit, and only succeeded in smearing it around. “Fine.” She got in next to Hood. “So fraggin’ tired.” She tried to brush off her brother as he buckled her in, but to no avail.

>   “Yes, I’ll have some time.” Hood answered Khase’s question. “Good thing we didn’t bring the plants with us, though.”

  Khase nodded. “Yeah, tad. Good thing you stashed them, just in case. We going back to get them?”

  “Right now.”

  Khase jumped back into the van, taking a vigil next to Max. Hood started the engine and eased back into the alley, driving slow toward the far intersection and away from the heart of the festival.

  “Hood . . .” Sindje put a hand on the troll’s shoulder, startling him. “Max needs a hospital.”

  The troll and Khase exchanged glances. “She can’t— she’ll be busted once they get a look at her.” He filled Sindje in on how Max had come to be in Seattle.

  “That can’t be helped right now,” Sindje said, a trace of her steel reasserting itself. “There’s no time to find a street-doc, and she is going to die if she doesn’t get help. She won’t rat us out, I’m sure of it.”

  Khase came up behind them. “It’s the only way, tad, we all know it.”

  Hood opened his mouth as if to argue, then saw the looks on the two elves’ faces, and nodded. “All right. There’s one on the way to where we’re going. We’ll drop her off there. At the very least I’ll see what I can do to get her a good lawyer.”

  They’d cleared three intersections and were heading back toward the bay when the Plantech Typhoon and a single Lone Star squad spotted them at the same time.

  26

  5:07 p.m.

  Drek-” The word came out in unison from Sindje and Hood.

  “Floor it!” Khase scrambled out the side window, monofilament whip free, his other hand anchored to what passed for a luggage rack. A moment later he stood on the Bison’s roof, legs bent to keep his balance, as Hood sped down the residential street.

  “No geeking!”