"Mostly what you’d expect," Trouble said. "Just ID and drek like that. This is the interesting part." She picked up the briefcase and set it on the table. "It’s got a thumbprint scanner lock, and it’s armor-plated under here." She rapped the side for emphasis. "Whatever’s in it is pretty heavy, probably compact electronics, maybe a cyberdeck. There’s also a deck in the bag Kilaro was carrying. It’s a Cross Babel-series and looks like it has all the legit corporate coding, so it’s not really good for serious decking without some work."
"Do you think the case is worth cracking into?" Talon asked.
"Be good to know what our company man was carrying," Trouble said, "especially if it relates to our run." She grinned. "Besides, I’m curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat," Hammer said and downed the last of his beer.
"Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back."
"Okay," Talon said. "See what you can do, but be careful."
Val joined them at that point, shrugging into her leather jacket. They’d been taking turns sleeping in short shifts, and she was just coming off hers. "Anyone need anything while I’m out?" she asked.
"Actually, yeah," Talon said. "Hold on."
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his pocket secretary, jotting some things down on the screen and talking to Val as he did so. "You know the Silver Moon, right? The lore-store over near the old overpass?"
Val nodded.
"I need you to pick up some things for me for later. I’d go, but I’ve got to babysit our guests and be around to give Aracos a hand if he needs it. It’s just some stuff I need for a circle." He finished the list and slid the stylus back into the case as Val pulled out her own pocket comp.
Talon beamed the list over to her, and she glanced at it. "Should be no problem," she said.
Talon had no doubt she would handle it. Besides him, she was the team member who knew the most about magic, having spent some time working and living with a coven of witches in her native Germany. She went out to the van, which was parked in back.
Boom stood, stretched, and ambled over to the sleeping mats. "Wake me in a couple hours," he said, "and be gentle. I’ll be glad when this is wrapped up and I can go back to sleeping in a real bed."
Talon and Trouble traded smiles, then Trouble gathered up the briefcase and other junk and settled down in the corner to begin tinkering with it.
Hammer tossed Talon a soda from the cooler, then sat down across the table. He produced a deck of cards from one of the many pockets on his vest and gave Talon a grin.
"Five card stud?" he asked.
Talon shrugged. "What the hell."
"Just remember, you still owe me fifty nuyen from last time. And don’t forget, no magic."
"Want to make it double or nothing?" Talon asked.
Hammer started dealing the cards, and Talon found himself agreeing with Boom’s sentiments. He’d be glad when this run was over because there was something else he needed to do.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Although the wait seemed to take forever, the prisoners remained well behaved. Thirty-six hours after Talon and the others had grabbed the Whitehorse, they let their guests go. They were tranquilized once more and loaded into a van Hammer and Val had "acquired" for that specific purpose. Then they drove the van to an isolated spot in South Boston and left the locked vehicle in a parking lot. A Knight Errant patrol car spotted it and matched the registration to a stolen vehicle. When the occupants of the van woke up, they were in a Knight Errant holding cell with a lot of explaining to do.
Knight Errant couldn’t hold them for long, of course, but they made it difficult, and expensive, for Cross to spring its people; just the kind of red-tape war Talon had been hoping for. Although Cross security began an immediate search of the area, they had virtually no leads to work with, and the pointless search turned up nothing.
Boom proposed a night out to celebrate the successful conclusion of the run. Talon reluctantly agreed, and joined them around the table at the CyberClub. He spent most of the evening staring into space, mulling over his thoughts and plans. Finally, he set down his glass and stood up.
"I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go," he said. "I’ve got things to do that aren’t going to wait."
"All right," Boom said. "If you need any help. . ."
"I know just the people to call," Talon replied.
"I think I’m going to call it a night, too," Trouble said, and turned to Talon. "Walk you to the door?"
They left together, leaving their three teammates talking over drinks and watching the action on the dance floor.
"When is that girl going to give it up?" Hammer said, as Talon and Trouble made their way through the crowd.
"What do you mean?" Val asked.
"She’s still got it bad for Talon."
"What? But she knows Talon’s gay!" Val said.
"Well, her brain knows it," Hammer returned, "but I’m not so sure about the rest of her. The heart wants what the heart wants."
Boom took a swig from a big mug, which looked like a shot glass in his massive hand "I dunno. Seems to me that Ms. Trouble has been rather. . .preoccupied of late, and not with Talon, if you know what I mean?"
"You think she’s got a thing going on?" Val asked.
Boom shrugged and leaned forward, dropping his voice to a low tone "Let’s just say I didn’t get the job of faceman for this crew for my incredible looks. I know people, and I can tell you this, whatever else Trouble may be feeling about Talon, she’s definitely got someone else."
"I sure as hell hope so," Hammer said. "I’ve worked with Trouble longer than anyone else on this team, and she deserves a chance to be happy. I mean, Talon’s a good guy, and I know he’d never do anything to hurt her intentionally, but he can be kinda. . ."
". . .dense? obtuse? oblivious?" Boom supplied helpfully.
Hammer nodded. "When it comes to women who are interested in him. She should give up on him and find herself some nice, available, straight guy."
Boom sighed. "Ah, to have Talon’s problems with women."
Valkyrie grinned, stood up from the table, and laid a hand on each of the men’s forearms. "I’m tired of talking about everyone else’s lack of a love life," she said. "Talon and Trouble will work things out on their own. In the meantime, we’re here, we survived another run, and, for the time being, we’re flushed with cred. So, let’s party!"
Boom and Hammer looked at each other and smiled as Val pulled them toward the dance floor, giving a wild whoop.
"Thanks for walking me out, but you didn’t have to," Talon told Trouble as they emerged from the club into the cold December night.
"I wanted to," she said. "What Boom said, if you need any help. . ."
"Don’t worry. I won’t bite off more than I can handle. I’ve just got to find out what’s going on."
"Okay, but if you need any other help—you know, just someone to talk to instead of somebody to crack a security system, kick some hoop, or shoot a missile, well, I’m here for that, too."
"Thanks." Talon took Trouble’s hand and gave it a squeeze. "I appreciate it."
When they got as far as the alley, Talon called out to Aracos with his thoughts. The darkness of the alley seemed to shimmer, and then a red, black, and silver motorcycle appeared, the engine already running. Talon swung one leg over the seat and slipped his helmet over his head.
"Have fun," he told Trouble. "I’ll be in touch." Then he revved the engine and pulled out onto the street. Trouble stood and watched until he was out of sight, then walked to her car. She had an appointment to keep as well.
She drove out to the Rox, the traffic thinning out quickly when she reached the outskirts. Most Bostonians knew enough to avoid places like the Rox, especially at night when the streets were largely controlled by go-gangers who charged "tolls" for the use of "their" roads or whose idea of fun was smashing the heads of any norms who wandered into the area from downtown.
Trouble wasn’t worried. She knew wh
ich routes to take and which ones to avoid. And where she was going, the local gang knew her and had been told to expect her.
She pulled up to the old mill building and drove around to the lot in back. It was surrounded with rusting chain-link and razor-wire, erected to deal with gangs who could have been the grandparents of the ones watching her come in. Except that most of these kids’ grandparents probably hadn’t lived here until thirty or so years ago, she thought. She set the car’s alarm system and walked boldly up to the back door of the building, which looked abandoned from the outside. There were no signs of habitation, except perhaps by squatters or less pleasant inhabitants of the Rox, like ghouls.
She rapped on the door, and a freckle-faced kid in his late teens or early twenties let her in. She’d barely stepped through the door, when Ian was there, taking her in his arms.
"I’m glad you could come," he said after kissing her hello. He led her away from the door with a smile from the sentry, who seemed pleased that his commander was so happy.
"Did you have any trouble getting here?" he asked.
"No, your directions were perfect," she said, "and I know my way around the Rox pretty well. I never dreamed you were using this place." She looked around, taking in the crumbling brickwork and rusting pipes and fittings. The ceilings were high and the corridors wide. The building had probably been a textile mill or something similar when first built a couple of centuries earlier. It had clearly gone through several other incarnations before becoming the safe house for a group of terrorists.
"That’s the idea," Ian said. "We couldn’t base ourselves out of South Boston any more. It was getting too hard to keep out of sight. That’s why we came here."
"Which explains the warring between the Bean Sidhe and the other gangs in the Rox." She knew the Bean Sidhe gang worked with the Knights. They were the organization’s foot soldiers, and they idolized Ian O’Donnel and what he stood for, a free homeland they had never known.
"Yes," he said simply. "They’ve been clearing space for us, and the fights with the other gangs keep everyone thinking it’s just business as usual."
"Commander," said an unfamiliar female voice, and Trouble started. She hadn’t seen the woman approach until she was standing just arm’s length away. She was young, probably in her early twenties, with pale skin and fiery red hair. Her eyes were a deep blue, but something about them was hard. The look she directed at Trouble was almost withering.
"Yes, Bridget, what is it?" Ian asked.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, with just the slightest hint of sarcasm, "but we’ve gone over the data and wanted to get your approval. . ."
"I’ll have a look at it later," he said. "Call a meeting in the morning."
"Very good. . .sir." Bridget turned away with one final glance in Trouble’s direction, then stalked off down the hall.
"Sorry about that," Ian said. "She’s a new recruit and very. . .intense."
"I can see that," Trouble said. "Where’d you find her?"
"She found us, actually. That’s one of the reasons we took her on. She knows what she’s doing."
Trouble wondered about that. If Bridget had located the Knights on her own, could she be some kind of spy? She almost said something to Ian, but reminded herself that she was the newcomer.
"Let’s not talk about business right now," he said as they walked to a door at the end of the hall. With a half-bow, he reached out and opened the door, and Trouble gasped.
The room beyond was the same brickwork and mortar as the rest of the building. It had probably been an office once, but the dozens of candles placed around the room transformed it into an enchanted glen of soft golden light. It illuminated a small table set for two. Just beyond the table was a bed covered with a scattering of roses, blood red against the soft white blanket.
"Ian, it’s. . .it’s beautiful," she breathed as he led her in by the hand and closed the door behind them.
"Not nearly as beautiful as you," he said, leaning in to kiss her. She pressed her body against his, hungry for his kiss, his touch. Their passion carried them toward the bed, the food and drink and all other concerns forgotten in the heat of the desire. Their lovemaking was more passionate than ever before. It was as if they wanted to seize and hold this moment where there was nothing but each other.
Afterward, as they lay twined together in bed, Ian sat up slightly and looked at Trouble, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
"I couldn’t believe my good fortune when I walked into that bar and saw you there. It made me realize just how much I missed you, how much of a fool I was to ever let you go. We’re so good together, Ariel," he said. "We belong together."
"Ian, I. . ."
"Shhhh," he said, pressing his fingers against her lips. "Please, let me finish. I know I was a fool, and I know that the life I’ve chosen is not an easy one. But I want you back in my life, Ariel. Come back to me and the Knights. We need you. I need you. Please say you will."
He reached over to the small table beside the bed and picked up a tiny box, which he held out to her.
Trouble took it with trembling hands and opened it. It held a ring of white gold, cut with a Celtic knotwork design and set with diamonds.
"It was my grandmother’s," Ian said softly. "I want you to have it. I want you to marry me, Ariel."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day, Talon set up a circle of eight candles in the part of his apartment he called his "work room." He sat in the center of the ring on a rug embroidered with mystical symbols, focusing on the flame of a ninth candle that he’d set in front of him. He tried to clear his mind of all other thoughts and concerns except the task ahead, though it wasn’t so easy to center himself for some reason. Slowly, he prepared himself by letting his breath become deeper and deeper until he felt that he was ready.
"Aracos," he called out in his thoughts, and the call traveled out across the manifold planes of existence. The air on the other side of the candle shimmered as if from the heat of the flame, and the ghostly image of a silver-furred wolf appeared to Talon’s mystic senses. The regal head dipped in acknowledgement, and Talon returned the gesture of respect.
"Watch over and guard me while I journey," he told Aracos, and the spirit nodded again. Talon lay back on the meditation rug, relaxing deeply as he began to sink into a trance. Waves of peace and calm washed over him as he let his grip on the physical world slip away, opening himself to the larger world beyond, the world of the astral and the infinite mystery of the metaplanes.
His awareness of the physical world faded and narrowed to become a dark tunnel through a realm of infinite shadow—the borders of the metaplanes. He flew through the tunnel toward a glowing light visible ahead. As the light grew, he could see a figure silhouetted against it, the Dweller on the Threshold.
No one knew who, or what, the Dweller was, exactly. Many traditions believed the Dweller was the guardian of the gateway between the physical world and the deeper realms of the astral plane. More modern magicians said the Dweller was a construct, a creation of the traveler’s unconscious, the essence of the id or the shadow, the deep, repressed side of the personality. Powerful spirit or figment of the imagination, the one thing that could not be denied was that every traveler to the metaplanes encountered the Dweller, and was tested before he or she could move on.
In Talon’s experience, the Dweller often took the form of people from his past, masks it used to unnerve him or confront him with some mistake. The Dweller knew everything about the travelers who came here, every secret, every hidden shame, every deepest fear, and wielded its knowledge like a weapon to carry out its tests.
As Talon approached, the Dweller was nothing more than a living shadow, a dark shape against the white light beyond it. Talon steeled his nerve and moved closer as the Dweller seemed to drift into his path, blocking his way into the metaplanes.
Talon felt a flare of anger. "I don’t have time for this drek," he growled at the Dweller, reaching out to push it away
.
As he did, the shadows seemed to fall away from the Dweller’s figure, and Talon found himself staring at his own face staring back at him, the features twisted into a look of smug satisfaction.
"Don’t ask the question unless you are certain you want the answer," the Dweller said in his own voice.
Then suddenly the figure burst into flames, becoming a living torch. Talon screamed and pulled his hand away from the burning figure. Pain seared through him. His flesh burned, and his nostrils filled with the stench of charred skin as he squinted against the blazing light of the burning man. He clutched his burned hand to his chest as he fell back into the darkness, the light of the fiery figure drifting further and further away. As the darkness began to claim him, he thought he heard a familiar voice.
"Tal, help me!" it said. "Please, help me!"
"Jase?" he called out. "Jase!"
Talon was jolted from his trance and sat bolt upright with a gasp. He looked down at his right hand. It was unharmed, although he still felt a twinge, recalling the touch of the fire that had engulfed the Dweller. Aracos stood nearby in wolf-form, startled by Talon’s sudden return to consciousness and looking at him with concern.
"Are you all right, boss?" he asked.
Talon nodded slowly. "Yeah, but I didn’t get very far. The Dweller kicked me out of the place before I even got started. But it did give me a clue as to what might be going on. If I’m right, I’m definitely going to need some help."
He stood up and waved his hand. The candles immediately went out, plunging the room into darkness. Talon flicked on the electric lights and started pulling on his boots.
"C’mon," he said to Aracos, "we’re going to Trouble’s place. I’ll meet you outside." The spirit instantly vanished. Talon reflexively checked to make sure he had his gun and his mageblade before locking the apartment door behind him.
He let himself into Trouble’s apartment, but it was quite some time before she showed up. She was surprised to see him sitting there when she came in through the front door.
shadowrun 40 The Burning Time Page 12