Wolf and Raven Page 3

  Val waved at them. “Just some other deckers come to watch the fun. The Tarantula and Alley Cat are two locals I’ve met before.”

  That weird feeling ran up my spine again. “This was supposed to be a shadowrun, you know. What if Fuji learns we’re here?”

  Valerie fixed me with a stare that made me want to hit the showers. “Wolf, just because you’re a ’trix virgin doesn’t mean you have to show it. We’ve had an audience in the owner’s box ever since we started. Blowing the cascading IC likely tripped some alarms, too, but they were here long before that. Looks like the yaks at Fujiwara have a line into La Plante’s operation.”

  I filed that information away for future use as the final batter stepped out of the dugout. Whereas Babe had looked like a cartoon, this layer of ice manifested itself as a long, lean player with incredibly thick forearms and wrists. His flesh had a grayish, metallic tint to it, and his head metamorphosed into that of a horse. His name appeared on the scoreboard as Iron Horse Fujiwara and his batting average registered as .957. He batted lefty and the glint in his eye was nothing short of pure evil.

  Val’s skin took on an ashen hue. “Dammit, I didn’t think it would be this tough. I’m going to have to doctor some stuff here.” A white ball appeared in her mitt, but as her fingers worked on it, bloody tendrils shot through it.

  Satisfied, but not looking as confident as I would have liked, she watched the batter, then let the ball fly. It cruised in at medium speed, then broke sharply as if it had fallen off a table. I looked for hesitation in the batter’s eye, but I saw none and braced for disaster.

  The Iron Horse’s bat whipped around in a buzz-saw arc and smashed the ball back at the mound. Halfway there the ball burst into flame, but the line drive didn’t slow at all. Val raised her glove defensively and managed to get it into place to stop the ball from hitting her in the face. Her glove burst into flame and she spun to the ground, but the ball hung there for a second, defying gravity.

  I lunged at the ball. My glove boiled off and I felt as if I’d reached into a barbecue to barehand a glowing coal. “Help here, Val!”

  How she did what she did I don’t know, but the flame died and the ball took on a blue tint. I flipped it over to my right hand and saw the runner on third make a break for home. I drew the ball back to my right ear and threw it as hard as I could.

  The blue ball shot through the base-runner like a searchlight through fog. It flew on beyond him and into the dugout. A volcano of sparks shot from there, and the baseball stadium began to crumble. In an eyeblink we were back in the city-map Matrix for Seattle, and the third floor of the Fujiwara tower exploded.

  Then that imaging system failed me as well. I found myself floating in a sea of data. Waves of telecom numbers crested up over me and drove me down toward spreadsheets and cost overrun statements. Just as I felt as though I were drowning in a vast inventory system, a hand grabbed me on the shoulder and the safehouse room with Zig and Zag swam back into view.

  Val watched me closely and I knew Zag would have died to have her looking at him with such concern in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  I thought about the question for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. What the hell happened?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t be certain, but I think whoever programmed Fujiwara’s IC built himself a back door. That blue ball was a simple virus meant to pump spurious data into the system so quickly that things freeze up and give me a chance to react with another program. You tossed it through one of the layers we bypassed and right through the back door into their system. That stopped the Iron Horse on his trip to first and I used my own little ALS virus to dust him.”

  “Did we get the information we needed?”

  On cue the Hitachi deck’s EPROM platform slid out from within the black case, offering the computer chip onto which the Fujiwara information had been burned. “Looks like it.” Her smile lessened a bit as she looked at me again. “What else?”

  I frowned. “Something’s digging around at the back of my brain.” I shrugged it off. “I guess I just want to be in an arena where I can shoot anybody who looks like the Iron Horse. It’s the warrior in me.”

  “Pity,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve got a future as a decker.”

  III

  “What’s he doing?” Zag asked as I started preparing to go into combat. Val frowned at him and remained quiet as I closed my eyes and reached inside. I pressed my hands together and touched the wolf’s-head amulet at my throat. Using it as a focus, I let my mind touch the Wolf spirit dwelling in my heart and mind.

  I saw it as a huge beast built mostly out of shadows except where lurid red highlights rippled across its fur. Lean and hungry, it still contained incredible power. When it felt my caress, enthusiastic fires burned in its eyes, but they dulled to a bloody color when it sensed my hesitation.

  “Is the time come, my son?” it asked in snarls and growls.

  “Yes, Old One. I need your speed and your sureness of movement.”

  It regarded me with the same disdain Val had shown in the Matrix. “Let me deal with everything, Longtooth. You need not these machine men or the witch of the thinking machine. You will not need your guns. My way is pure. You know I am correct. Why do you resist me so?”

  I didn’t want to go down that road of discussion because I knew what a dark and dangerous path it was. “I need what I need.”

  The old wolf lay down to mock me. “I grant you what you need. It will not be long before you and I will have this conversation again.”

  I shook my head. “Seven days. I’ll be clear of Seattle by then.”

  The wolf howled and the sound echoed through my head as I opened my eyes. I heard the hissed sizzle of the spells trail off and found Zag staring at me with new respect and a bit of apprehension in his eyes. I could smell his nervous sweat even over and above the tangy sea scent and musty mildew odor hanging over the dock area. I smiled and nodded. All set now. Let’s hope La Plante hasn’t gotten stupid.

  Zag swallowed hard. “Look, Mr. Kies, I’m sorry about any static I gave you before. With your rep and all, I figured you were like us.” He held up his right hand, and the razor claws flicked out at the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t realize you weren’t chromed.”

  I read the confusion in his eyes like a banner headline on a news service monitor. I was known to be quick and nasty in a firefight. I was the chummer who’d survived the most adventures with Dr. Raven—and that was no mean feat. To gillettes like Zig and Zag that meant I must be heavily cybered. The idea that I might be someone who used magic to augment his skills hadn’t occurred to them. And, because they had chosen a route that virtually barred them from using magic, the magical arts baffled and scared them.

  Zig handed me a small stick of black grease paint. He’d darkened his face all over, then erased out two downward-pointing triangles with dots in the middle. “Symbol of the Halloweeners over in the Green River District.”

  “I know.” I put the face paint stick down on a crate. “I don’t paint up.”

  That seemed to surprise them almost as much as my having used magic. After the Ghost Dances had worked and killed lots of folks, many people had traveled out to the reservations and swelled the population of what are now called the Native American Nations. Some later left because the lifestyle didn’t suit them, but those who stayed contributed to the polyglot make-up of the tribes. Consequently it wasn’t completely strange to find a white man who knew Indian magic, but it was weird to find one who didn’t go the whole way and paint up before battle—though I saw going “native” like that too showy for my tastes.

  Like the folks you scrag will care what you looked like while doing it.

  I broke the tension. “I don’t paint up for something I hope won’t be a battle. I’ll be out there getting the girl, so I’ll be naked-nude anyway.” I pointed to the Kalashnikovs they carried. “Those AK-97s look like old friends.”

  Zig patted his automatic rifle affect
ionately. “Sighted at four hundred meters for close work like this. Stood me in good stead during the Triad War out on the Strip.”

  “Good.” I gave both of them one of my I-have-confidence-in-you smiles. “The drill’s the same as earlier today. You get Val and Moira out. La Plante uses his grunges for muscle. If things get nasty, pop one or two of them, then see-saw your way out of there. If you burn a clip, I expect all the shots to hit a grunge, or you’d best be shooting at me. Hit and move—a war of attrition we can’t win.”

  Both of them gave me a thumb’s-up so I turned to Val. “Sure you don’t want a gun?”

  She shook her head with disgust. “You’ve got me bundled up in kevlar so tight I can barely breathe. The last thing I want to do is make myself a target so they’ll have cause to shoot me.”

  I chuckled lightly. “Okay. Moira is your charge. Things get nasty, you get her out of there. Zig and Zag will keep the beasts at bay.”

  Val nodded. “You got the chip?”

  I patted the pocket of my jacket. “Check.” I hefted my MP-9 and let it dangle by the strap over my right shoulder. “Let’s do this clean and all go home healthy. Places, everyone.” I filled my lungs with air and calmed my racing heart. “It’s showtime.”

  * * *

  I stepped from the warehouse into a dock area that had been cleared of anything approximating cover. Lit by bright halogen lights that held the night’s darkness at bay, the open arena was defined, on two sides, by crates and loading machinery and on my side by the warehouse I’d just left. The fourth wall, the one I faced as I slipped between some crates, had been formed by another warehouse. The large doors stood open and La Plante’s limo had been parked in it so the hood and tail of the vehicle almost appeared to be holding the doors back.

  A dozen grunges sporting various styles of submachine guns stood dutifully behind the limo and pointed their weapons in my direction. I held my hands away from my body and kept them open, but I knew my magically enhanced reflexes would allow me to shoulder the gun and snap off a half-dozen rounds before they even saw me move. In three seconds I could clear the clip and draw the Viper from my waistband to finish the job . . .

  Back off, Wolfgang. It’s the Old One’s meddling that’s making you think that way.

  The Chauffeur appeared in the middle of the line of grunges. “Drop the gun, Kies.”

  I barked out a sharp laugh. “Dream on. You’ve got me covered a dozen ways to Sunday.”

  The grunges La Plante had hired began to hoot and twitter like the half-witted beasts they were. Ugly as sin and more stupid than even Ronnie, they were drawn from the ranks of those who didn’t take their “goblinization” at all well. After their hormones kick in they start thinking a lot less and make perfect little automatons for someone like La Plante to exploit. Of course, that’s not to suggest they couldn’t be cunning little beggars and get themselves into plenty of trouble, but it generally takes someone with an IQ in at least the low eighties to whip them into a destructive frenzy. The ork community tried to do all it could to save their less fortunate brethren from connivers like La Plante, but a helping hand isn’t as attractive as a hand filled with nuyen.

  I pointed to myself. “I’m going to walk out to the middle of this area and you’ll send the girl to me. I’ll turn over the chip to you. Keep your fingers off the triggers and this might just go down well.”

  I didn’t hear what The Chauffeur said to the grunges, but their gibbering stopped. I crossed to the center of the arena, using my magically enhanced senses as best I could to see if I’d just walked into a massive trap. The halogen lights were a problem because they left the tops of the warehouses in an impenetrable darkness that did nothing to make me feel at ease. I had to assume La Plante had people up there securing the high ground, but the fact that the only grunges I saw were leaning on his ride did not reassure me.

  When I reached the middle I stopped. The passenger door of the limo opened and a slender woman of indeterminate age left it to stand beside the vehicle. She didn’t look like the simsense I’d seen of her—yeah, everyone says that about sim shot of them—but I knew instantly that she had to be Moira Alianha. The pale dress she wore was fashionably short and revealed legs I was almost willing to die for, but she quickly cloaked herself with a dark wool blanket to ward off the chill air.

  With her head up, and just the tips of her ears peeking out through the long veil of her midnight hair, she walked toward me. I gave her a smile intended to inspire hope and confidence, but she ignored me and only saw the black and red raven patch on the shoulder of my jacket. She blinked twice and then I thought she was going to faint.

  I reached out and steadied her. “Easy now, Ms. Alianha. We’re almost home.”

  She touched the patch with incredibly slender fingers. “My husband sent you?”

  I frowned and figured she was confused. “I work for Richard Raven.”

  Moira smiled. “Yes, my husband to be.[6]”

  I almost swallowed my tongue. “Huh? Say what?” She just looked at me with vibrant green eyes. Suddenly everything seemed to run to chaos in my head. “Does anyone else know who you are to Raven?” Moira shook her head. “No, not here, why?”

  I let her question drift by unanswered. “Don’t tell anyone, period.” If anyone finds out that she’s close to Raven, her life won’t be worth a melted sim and she could be used against Raven when dealing with scum like La Plante. His aides, folks like me and Val, accept the dangers connected with belonging to Raven’s group. Moira was lucky that La Plante had no idea of her true value, or this little exchange would be lots more rude.

  The Chauffeur shouted at me. “Let’s save the tea party and true confessions for later. We want the chip, now!”

  Carefully, slowly, I reached into my jacket pocket. I withdrew from it a white piece of plastic about three centimeters square. The chip itself showed up in sharp contrast to the snowy plastic wafer to which it had been mounted. “I’ll just put it down here . . .”

  I felt the plastic quiver and the chip explode as the bullet shot through it at Mach 4. The booming, rolling echo of the gunshot followed the bullet by a split-second, but I’d already turned and started to push Moira to safety. My right hand dropped the piece of plastic and enfolded the MP-9’s pistol grip. I swept the gun around and snapped off two shots, one of which sent a headless grunge pitching back to the warehouse floor. I heard the staccato roar of Zig and Zag’s AK-97s and saw three more grunges drop out of sight amid sparks lancing from the limo’s armored frame.

  Gunmen hidden on the rooftops slowly stood and their weapons lipped flame as I dragged and pushed Moira out of the killing zone. With so many people concentrating on just the pair of us I was sure we’d be blasted to ribbons before we’d gone a half-dozen steps, but the men on the roof started shooting at La Plante’s grunges. The confused orks returned the fire, but did so ineffectively because of the wealth of targets and the babel of orders being shouted by The Chauffeur.

  I’d just propelled Moira through the narrow warehouse doorway when a bullet finally caught me. It blew into the back of my left thigh and ricocheted off to the left after it shattered my femur. It ripped free of my leg five centimeters left and seven below the entry point, tearing a chunk out of my femoral artery as it went.

  I screamed, but as the echoes of the scream died in my head I heard the howl of a wolf rise in their place. Stumbling forward, I spilled onto the warehouse floor. My left knee hit hard and sent another shock wave of pain through my leg. I tried to choke back another cry, but it came out as a lupine yelp.

  I rolled over onto my back and pulled the MP-9 to me. “Move it, campers. Get Moira out of here.”

  Val stared at the hole in my leg. “You’re hit!”

  I bit back the pain. “Yeah, my days in the big league are over. Maybe you can retire my uniform.” I looked up at Zig and Zag. “Move it! I’ll hold them off if I can. It’s got to be Fujiwara yaks out there shooting the grunges up. That’ll buy you some time
, and I’ll buy you more. Go!”

  Zig made for the back door, but Moira shook her head and knelt beside me. “No, I’m not going. You need help.”

  She started making all the hand motions for a spell, but I closed a bloody hand around her fingers. “Save it, sister. You’ll need all the magic you can muster to get the hell out of Seattle. Val, get her out of here.”

  Valerie crossed to Moira and rested her hands on her shoulders, but the elf shrugged her off. “No. I can save you. I can fix your leg.”

  Inside my head the Old One growled seductively. “Let her fix you. Let her fill you with magic. Do as she asks and I assure you the others will not follow.”

  “No!” I shouted at both of them.

  Her eyes flashed with an anger that told me my stay of execution had been denied. “Wait.” I pulled the Viper from my belt and tossed it to Val.

  She stared at it as if it were commercial software. “I don’t want this.”

  I swallowed hard. “You might.” I reached down and dipped the fingers of my left hand in my blood and painted twin parallel lines beneath each eye and across my forehead. “Do this, Moira, and then leave. All of you, get out of here. Don’t look back, no matter what. Don’t go looking for me. I’ll find you, when I can.”

  Zig and Zag stared at me as if I’d gone mad and Val shivered. Moira ripped my pants away from the wound and pressed her hands to it. She subvocalized a chant, but I felt warmth and a tingling flow from her hands into my leg. Almost instantly it nibbled the pain away. The energy continued to build and tissue began to heal, my body motivated to restructure itself at a rate that should have taken months. Even so, I knew the spell she’d cast was more than I needed.

  And it was more than I could control.

  I grit my teeth and shoved her away. “Go, go!” I snapped at them. “Run!”

  They vanished from sight just as the first tremor hit me. I shrieked as fire filled my ribs with molten agony. I heard the crack as my breastbone parted down the middle, thickened and broadened to accept the new angle of my expanded rib cage. I gnashed my teeth at the pain and the growing canine teeth split my lower lip.