“Sindje!” The moment of panic cost Khase, as the mental wall he’d built against his pain tumbled down. He fell under the troll’s weight, and he pushed Hood off him and blocked out the pain again as he forced himself to his feet. “Chwaer!”
“Don’t take another step, pointy! You, get up!” The lead sec man kicked Hood in the side and then backed up beyond the reach of the troll’s arms. “Get up now!” He pointed to the troll with the tip of his rifle, and then pointed up the stairs. “The plants have to be up there. Show us!”
It was evident the Keashee security force had already checked the lobby. The candy counter and antique popcorn machine had been thoroughly dismantled, and two storage closets had been ripped open, the broken contents strewn in heaps. Thumps and crashes from overhead showed that sec men were ransacking the projection room.
Khase helped Hood up, his eyes never leaving Sindje.
“1 said we’d take you to the plants. Let them go.” Hood gestured with his good arm at Max and Sindje.
“Insurance,” said the man with the Predator IV pointed at Sindje’s head. “Now show us. We’re gonna take a little walk upstairs. You follow us, nice and easy. No tricks, or your sweetheart gets a bullet in the brain.”
Hood and Khase lurched up the winding staircase, as the sec men prodded Sindje and Max to stay ahead. Despite Khase’s adroitness, he fell once, slipping in blood that pulsed from the troll’s injured arm and foot.
“You’re in rough shape.” Khase spoke so softly only the troll could hear him.
“No worse than you.”
“This is gonna go real bad, real quick.”
“Compared to what’s happened already? Just remember, no geeking.”
The elf opened his mouth to argue, but the squeal of a vehicle breaking just outside sliced through the air. It was followed by the slams of car doors and angry shouts.
“Now who else wants the fragging plants?” Hood growled.
36
8:44:25 p.m.
Simon whistled as he watched the coordinated police ballet unfold before him. “Frag, one thing I can say about the Ninety-Fifth, these Fast Response Teams are loaded for bear. Must be the neighborhood.”
Three Ares Mobmasters squealed to a stop in the street; one blocking either end, and the third angling in front of the Keashee vehicle, men spilling from its rear and side doors to cover the driver, who raised his hands in surrender. A pair of Lone Star officers covered in heavy riot armor popped the door and dragged the man out, throwing him to the ground and covering him with their modified HK 227X subguns.
“That is definitely our cue. Let’s go.” Jhones grabbed the Remington modified combat shotgun he had removed from the trunk earlier, slid out of his seat and—followed by Simon—ran over to a man who looked like he was coordinating the operation. “Officers Redrock and Chays, we called this in. Thanks for the overwhelming reply.”
“Tactical Sergeant Coneff, FR Team One. Look, unless you got new intel, the best thing to do would be to stay out of our way. We’re about to go in.” The officer turned back to the building, issuing orders into his comm. “Long-shot One, Longshot Two, assume your positions and check in. Doorknocker, we’re on in twenty, as soon as cover from
Mobile Command One is in place. Shots have been fired. Repeat, shots have been fired. Approach with caution.” Jhones tapped the guy on the arm, making sure he had the man’s attention. “Look, I don’t want to get in a pissing match here. This is your hood, you know best. But there are shadowrunners in there we need alive, a troll, an ork and two elves. Disable the sec team all you want, but we need those four to come out of this in one piece. I’d rather not pull rank on you, but I will if I have to.”
Sergeant Coneff frowned down at him. “By the time you get command jurisdiction here, this op will be over. All right, I tell you what. Since you’re so fraggin’ interested, you can follow up with Bravo Squad. Michaels, get these two helmets and gills! This is not SOP, so both of you are responsible for your own hoops.” He leaned down to Jhones. “Speak into the camera, boyo.”
“Sergeant Jhones Redrock and Officer Simon Chays are entering target building on their own recognizance, and agree not to hold Precinct Ninety-Five’s FR team responsible for any injuries they might sustain in said action. Good enough for you?”
Another FRT team member appeared holding riot helmets and breathers that he tossed to the two street cops. Coneff nodded. “You’re golden. Bravo Squad, hold up a sec, you’re getting two rubberneckers. Get those on, they’re going in right after the door is cleared. And try not to get yourselves killed on my watch, okay?”
“No problem.” Jhones and Simon ran around the Mob-master and found a tight cluster of Lone Star men near the side of the building motioning to them. A swarthy, freckled ork who looked too young to be in command of his own team shook his head. “You the locos hitting the lobby with us?”
Jhones grinned.
“Okay, it’s your hoop—hold on—this is Bravo Squad, we are in position. Ready for execute.” The freckled ork nodded toward the door. “All I want is for you to come in behind us and stay out of our way.”
Jhones gave a thumb’s up in reply and racked the Remington. Two men from what must have been Alpha Squad walked hunched over to the double doors. They opened them and another Lone Star officer brought up an Arm-Tech MGL-12 grenade launcher and put six rounds of CS gas inside. A white cloud immediately billowed out of the theater.
The Bravo Squad leader barked: '“I’d put those filters on if 1 were you. It’s gonna be hot in there. Stay low.” “We’re ready when you are.” This came from Simon.
A new voice was heard over everyone’s commlinks. “Bravo Squad, this is Alpha. We are go on entry. Repeat, we are go on entry.”
“Copy that, Alpha, Bravo is ready to rock and roll.”
Six heavily armed and armored men ran to the door, lining up three to a side. One gave a hand signal, and they entered one by one, each covered by the next one. When the last one disappeared inside the cloud, the Bravo leader held up his hand and pointed toward the door. As one, the entire eight-man squad headed toward the entrance, with Jhones and Simon trailing.
The inside of the building had once been a plush theater lobby, now shredded. Popcorn crunched underneath Jhones’s boots as he advanced into the building, Simon a bit behind and flanking him. Instead of the pitched gun battle they had been expecting, only eerie silence greeted them, with the rest of the FRT members fanning out as they looked for hostiles. Four peeled off and headed toward two double doors below a sign that said theater one.
“Where is everybody?” Simon subvocalized. “Just a few minutes ago it sounded like World War Three in here. We should get those runners first before they meet the FR team and get shot. ”
Jhones looked around, noting the rest of the squad was occupied clearing the rest of the floor. “Come on. We’re not needed down here. Let’s go up.”
With Jhones leading, the two cops went up to the second floor, down the main hallway, to a narrow stairway in the back. Simon stopped at a glistening, dark patch on the wall. “Jhones.” He pointed to the smear of fresh blood on the wall. “Someone wounded came through here.”
Jhones rubbed his chin. “Still going up. We gotta be close to the roof now.”
As they crept up the stairs, their commlinks crackled with the reports of the FRT squads. “This is Alpha One, the
main theater is clear. Lots of firefight evidence and blood here. Something big went down, but I think we may have missed it.”
“This is Bravo Three, I have located an unconscious suspect behind the concession stand. Am arresting him now. ” “Alpha Three and Alpha Four reporting, the rear bathrooms are clear. This finishes the sweep of the main floor.” “Alpha Squad, regroup to main lobby and execute sweep of stairway and second level. Do we have any drones online here yet?”
“They’re providing extra security at Sea-Tacfor the governor’s visit, so no, we don’t.”
“Fragg
in’ great.”
“This is Bravo One. Where are those two street officers who came in with us?”
At the top of the stairway, Jhones switched channels to a private line with Simon. “Well, they know we’re missing now. Let’s go.”
Simon nodded, fingers tight around the butt of his Thunderbolt.
Jhones put his palm against the door, testing its strength. “On three . . . One . . . Two . . . THREE!”
He kicked the door in and leveled the Remington, cybereyes scanning not just four thermal signatures, but a dozen ranged around the room in between potted plants of various shapes and sizes that had been pushed against the wall. Oh, frag.
“Lone Star law enforcement—” was as far as Simon got before all hell rained down on them as multiple submachine guns and shotguns opened fire.
37
8:49:23 p.m.
As soon as the two cops kicked in the door and got their hoops shot off, Khase was in motion.
When they had hit the improvised greenhouse room a few minutes ago, the Keashee team leader had cordoned Hood, Khase, Max and Sindje off to the side, leaving four guards to watch them. He had separated six plants from the rest and detailed two guards to stay near them. The rest of his men had been assigned positions around the room to maximize their fields of fire when the reinforcements they knew were coming hit the room. "Hie captain had been trying to raise their rotorcraft to set up an evac, but had been stymied by a strange communication breakdown. The adept had exchanged a grim smile with Hood as both of them realized that the Everett was still doing its job, keeping the outside world out a little longer.
Khase got the attention of one of their guards. “Hey, buddy, the elf and her friend aren’t going anywhere. Why don’t you let them lie down? You got us dead to rights.” The guard’s eyes flicked to his leader, who was about to climb a ladder to the roof. He nodded, and the sec man motioned for Sindje and Max to lie down, which they did, Hood easing Max down, and Khase helping his sister.
“You be sure to stay here, all right? I’m sure Lone Star will be here any second.”
Her lips rose in an infinitesimal smile. “You . . . say that like it’s ... an improvement over ... our current situation.”
“Don’t worry, we’re getting out of here. I’ve got an ace in the hole.”
“Don’t get killed, brawd.”
“Not today, chwaer.”
“No talking!” the guard nearest Khase swung his knee into the elf’s wounded shoulder, knocking him off balance and reopening the clotted wound. Khase looked up at the sec man with eyes that should have burned with pure hatred, but instead were cold and calm. The guard covered the elf with his FN HAR assault rifle. “Just twitch once, and it’ll be all over for you, leaf-eater, and your pointy-eared friend, too.”
“Hey, knock it off, I’ve got movement!” a guard at the door hissed.
The rest of the guards readied their weapons while the leader and two others continued bringing the other six plants up to the rooftop. The head man pointed to a group by the door. “Take care of them. You two keep offloading these.”
Just then the door burst open, and the room exploded in a firestorm of bullets and noise. Every guard’s head turned to pinpoint the threat that might be coming through that door, leaving Hood and Khase free to act for vital seconds.
The adept’s leg pistoned out, shattering the kneecap of the guard that had just hit him. He fell to the ground, and as he did, Khase snatched the subgun out of his hand and threw it at a second guard. The molded plastic stock slammed into his jaw, and the man toppled backward like a felled tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hood reach out with his good arm and hoist another Keashee guard into the air, then send him flying into the knot of men at the door. The airborne sec man collided with the shooters, sending them flying. The low roar of a shotgun pierced eardrums in the enclosed space, and Khase and Hood both hit the ground as slugs split the air above them, impacting two more guards and knocking them on their hoops.
Khase spotted the leader grabbing the last plant from one of his underlings, and ran for the ladder. The head man spotted him coming and barked, “Stop him!”
The other man who had been handing the plants up swung his Uzi over, but Khase was already inside his threat range, levering the subgun out of the way to point at the second man as he leapt up, his knees slamming into the corp man’s jaw three times before he landed. The man’s eyes crossed, and he sank to his knees, then pitched forward on his face.
As he fell, Khase wrenched the Uzi out of his limp fingers and pointed it at the lone guard by the ladder, who raised his hands. The elf pressed the end of the barrel right between the man’s eyes, like he was about to shoot him, and was rewarded with the pungent smell of urine as his terrified target wet himself.
“Gotcha.” He brought the stock up and over, clubbing the man across the face and spinning him to the floor. “Hood, I’m on the leader.” Khase held on to the gun and climbed up the ladder, checking one last time to make sure his sister and Max were safe. At the ruined remains of the door, he saw a dwarf with a Lone Star badge on his belt covering three disarmed guards, while another human lay nearby, his chest a pulped mass. In the dim light, he couldn’t be sure, but Khase thought he saw tears on the dwarf’s face.
Must have been the gas, he thought. Ignoring the troll’s call for him to wait, he hit the door only to find it locked. Fortunately the hatch was old, and made of stamped sheet metal instead of anything really modern. Khase used the butt of the Uzi to hammer on it a few times, bending the lip around the lock, then slipped the end of the butt through and levered the hatch open. He ducked down immediately afterward, figuring the head guy would be shooting anything that came out—and he was right. Bullets spanged off the metal around him, and a long curl of steel sliced into his forearm, but Khase hung on. He poked the barrel of the Uzi out and fired off the entire magazine, the recoil jamming into his injured arm. Muffling a curse, he threw the gun out one way and hoisted himself out the other, praying that he had chosen the right way to roll.
The elf heard gunfire, but no bullets came close to him. He went for the gun, the adept thought. But now where is he?
The roar of an approaching rotorcraft blotted out every other sound on the roof. Khase looked up to see a maroon
Hughes WK-2 Stallion drop from the sky, its converted cargo bay doors yawning open, ready to take on the plants the sec leader was protecting as he motioned the rotorcraft closer.
Khase judged the distance to be about twenty meters. On a good day, he could make that distance in about two seconds. Now, with his arm and leg both injured, it would take three times as long, plenty of time for the sec man to see him and blow him away. Unless. . . .
He leaned against the battered hatch opening and focused every ounce of his will, gathering all of the aches and pains of his injuries and forcing them into a tight white ball in his mind. As he did this, the hurt in his physical body receded, becoming a dull ache, then vanishing altogether. He took that bright, white ball of pain and moved it to the middle of his abdomen, holding it there with all of his remaining strength, until it was vibrating with pent-up energy. Then he released it again, letting white-hot fire flow through his limbs, overwhelming his pain receptors and shutting them off.
For the adept, it was like he had just mainlined a jolt of pure adrenalin. Everything around him sharpened into focus, and he felt disassociated from his body, as if he were watching himself get up and move. There was no pain whatsoever in his arm and leg as he ran toward the guard, who was still trying to get the Hughes to land on the roof. Some instinctive combat sense made him turn just in time to see the adept a few steps away, one hand outstretched to grab his weapon, the other cocked to drive through his face.
The guy smoothly turned, obviously packing some impressive wired reflexes, and brought up his gun while trying to grasp Khase’s leading arm to jerk it out of the way so he could shoot him. Khase evaded the grab and locked on to the man’s Uzi, twistin
g it up at the descending rotorcraft while his other hand found the man’s finger on the trigger and pressed down hard.
Thirty rounds punched through the thin skin of the Hughes, causing sparks to fly both inside and out of the helicopter. The steady beat of the engines changed as something was damaged inside, and smoke began pouring from the cowling as the Stallion lurched sideways, then corrected, but slowly lost altitude, whirling around as the pilot fought for control. The rotorcraft started to sink below the level of the rooftop, but Khase had one more thing to send after it. He yanked the empty Uzi toward him, bringing the surprised guard’s head with it. Khase butted him in the bridge of the nose with his forehead, breaking his nose and causing blood to spurt from his nostrils. He did that twice more, then shoved the man toward the edge of the roof as hard as he could.
“Khase, no!” Hood’s shout from the hatch came too late. Stunned and off balance, the Keashee sec man tumbled off the edge of the roof, straight into the Stallion’s main rotor. There was a noise like a side of beef dropping into a grinder, and a spray of red splattered at the elf’s feet. Metal screeched and crumpled as the Stallion’s sudden descent was stopped by something equally large, the rotors grinding to a halt in the street below'.
“What have you done? What have you done?” Khase heard the roar as the troll lumbered toward him. When the thick hand landed on his shoulder with the force of a pile driver, Khase acted on instinct. He collapsed with the blow, sinking to the ground and rolling back and off to the side. As he came up, his hand grabbed Hood’s thick arm and kept swinging it with him, forcing it around the troll’s back, then up between his shoulder blades. A stomp kick to the back of Hood’s leg, and the troll was suddenly down on one knee, his arm contorted and his face near the gravel roof.
“What have I done? All my sister and I have ever done is play by your rules. And all it’s gotten us on this run is almost killed—plus a big, fat pile of nothing. No easy run, and certainly no cred.”
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 27