Prologue:
What do you say?
What do you say, when it has all been said? All the words are spent, each
phrase polished through repetition, each answer as sharp as a human tongue can
make it.
I stared at the old man, and he stared at me, each face like a mask of stone,
hiding the pain beneath, keeping it far from human view. Human, yeah, right.
Maybe that was part of the problem.
He was human, and I wasn't. The wrinkle of his brow showed disappointment,
disapproval, and perhaps distain. That look had become his mask, through years
of practice. He had been disappointed in my mother, when she bore him an Elf
for a son, as if it were somehow her fault. He had been disappointed in me for
not being human.
The doctors had tried to explain to him that this was something that happened,
and had been happening ever since the Great Ghost Dance had turned the world
upside down. I think he was disappointed in them as well.
He had continued to be disappointed in me, as I grew. I wasn't tall enough,
even though I grew to be taller than he was. I wasn't tough enough, even though
I could do sit-ups for hours on end. My lean body had developed a wiry strength
and toughness that was easily a match for any human my age. But somehow, he was
always disappointed.
I wasn't human enough for him, but wasn't Elf enough for most of the Elves I'd
met. And I've met more than a few, but being born and raised in a Human
household must have polluted me, in their eyes. I didn't fit there either.
I spent years bouncing back and forth between struggling for the old man's
approval, and telling myself that I didn't care. Then, before I knew it, I was
back to trying to be good enough for him, and always falling short. And maybe
that was another part of the problem. Maybe I wasn't falling short. Maybe I was
too good. I'm quicker than ever was, or ever will be. Maybe he feels
threatened. But I've never seen that in his eyes, and I didn't see it today. I
don't believe that he's ever felt fear in his life.
The whirlwind that's been the last few months raced through my mind's eye, each
event leading to a conflict, and each conflict leading to another event. It
seems as if it had all been outside of our control, as if we had had no
choices.
But we had. We always have choices. That was what my father taught, to me and
to all of his pupils, and has been teaching for years. He drilled this into our
heads, until we couldn't think any other way. The irony wasn't lost on me: He
wouldn't allow any student of his, least of all his son, the choice of disagreeing
with him.
But somehow, disagree was all we did. He didn't like the way I looked, I didn't
like him teaching bullies to be better bullies.
His students had had always been the rich little Corp-kiddies, the spoiled
children of spoiled adults that spent their time spoiling the world for
everyone else. And when mommy and daddy learned that their spoiled rotten
children had gotten into trouble for behaving like spoiled rotten children,
they had sent them to "
My father was "The Man", when it came to turning spoiled little
sociopaths into disciplined little sociopaths. And his patrons in the corporate
world had loved him for it. The children came in as reckless, uncontrolled
little monsters capable of anything, and left as physically fit, mentally
disciplined young adults capable of killing with their bare hands.
The traditions of the Way of the Wind said that we shouldn't give this gift to
any who would abuse it, but he had always said that the oldest of the old
traditions was to adapt to a changing world. And that was also part of our
problem. I had adapted.
Six months ago, one of the "students" had brought a gun to class with
him. The old man had disarmed him in an instant, his hands a blur. Taking the
gun, he hurled it against the wall, breaking it. I, in turn, had repaired it
for the kid. It was easy, and it earned me a few new-yen.
Before long, I was fixing things for other students, learning as I went, and
earning spending money as I learned. I'd been doing custom work for a
street-dealer for months without my father ever noticing. I'd also learned to
shoot.
Mastering a gun wasn't that different, it turned out, from mastering any other
weapon. Move quickly, but without hurrying, use your mind to stretch the
split-second of aiming into as much time as you needed, then release. The gun,
the bullet, your hand, all aspects of your mind, extensions of your will. Once
you understand that the bullet and the target are one, it's easy to bring them
together. They were never really apart.
The old man had seen me with things that he hadn't paid for, and had been too
busy to care. He knew that I took money from his students and was, you guessed
it, disappointed in me. But then he found that I was working with guns. That
was the final split. He declared that I had "abused" his teachings,
unlike all of the other students who went on to become ruthless thugs, and he
was furious.
And so we found ourselves facing off, one last time. A million things to say,
and no words to say them with. Everything and nothing, all captured in a
moment. I could say that I loved him, but I couldn't. He could say that he
loved me, and I knew that he did, but those words had never left his lips in
the 17 years I'd been in his life. They wouldn't be said now.
He destroyed my gun-smithing gear, and ordered me to leave his house. So I was
leaving. The clothes I wore, I had paid for. The pack on my back I had earned.
The gun inside my coat I had built. The rifle in the case was almost finished.
I skipped lunch, so I don't even have any food in my belly that he had paid
for.
I'm leaving his name behind as well. Marcus Traeger is dead to him, and to me
as well. Now, I'm just Trigger.
Chapter 1: Beginner’s
Luck
I was awake in an instant, eyes and ears alert for trouble.
After an eternity of three heartbeats, I shifted my hand from the pistol to the
cell-phone vibrating in my pocket.
"Trig'", I answered, keeping it short and cool. I hoped.
"Hey Trigger. Happy birthday.", came the voice. It was Manny, the pellet-peddler
I build shooters for. "Must be your birthday, 'cause I got a gift for you.
Mr. Johnson wants to buy you lunch at Bhuddatown. Slice me off a piece o' that
action, excavate?"
I took a moment to translate into English: Someone wanted to hire me for a job,
someplace in
"Excavation in progress.", I replied. "Got change for a
20?"
"Yeah. The 20 is Lucky Lantern, but you'll probably get bounced. Court
time and you're in."
Translation: The meeting place is called the Lucky Lantern, but they'll
probably send me someplace else. "Court Time" meant ten o'clock, as
in "Ten-ish, anyone?".
I hung up, and took stock of myself. That didn't take long. I'd managed a shower
last night, but my clothes were kind of on the run-down side. Somehow a
long-coat just doesn't keep that crisp flare when you sleep under it. For a
month. In a doorway.
But hopefully, that was going to change. Hell, if I was lucky, maybe the guy
really would buy me lunch.
I'd been keeping my belly full doing firearms customizations for Manny, but he
hadn't had as much work for me as I'd hoped. Most of what I'd done before had
been glitter stuff. Custom hand-grips, adding counterbalances, that sort of thing.
Shinies for the wannabes. But Manny didn't deal much with the Corp-kiddies and
wannabes. He dealt with the real thing, people who didn't care of their shooter
would spin pretty on their finger, or look cool on their hip.
His clients killed people. I guess I did too, now. Or I would, if I took this
job. Checking the remaining balance on my cred-stick told me that I would take
this job.
I made sure the Predator was loaded, and the safety was on. I hefted the short
case that held my sniper rifle, all ready to assemble and use, and checked my
appearance in the remains of a window.
What I saw was a thin Elf dressed like a genuine Citizen. A little soiled, a
little rumpled, and in need of a haircut. I dragged a comb through my hair, and
set off.
The meeting was hours away, but it was also a dozen klicks across town. I
contemplated using public transportation, but decided to hoof it. I wasn't
worried about the banger-boys who'd try to rob me. Them I could handle. But I
had more time than money, so I'd spend the one and save the other.
I stuck to the main ways, where Citizens don't stand out. I avoided the
Pushers, was polite to the Pullers, and detoured around three accidents that
were waiting to happen to someone. Not that I couldn't handle them, but better
that they happen to someone else, if you know what I mean.
I got to the area in plenty of time to get lost, so I got lost for a while. It
helps if you know the lay of the land, and there's no better way to know it
than to get lost in it.
I wandered into the Lucky Lantern at a few minutes to 10:00.
"Do you have a reservation for Johnson?", I asked politely, giving it
my best school-boy innocent act.
"No.", the girl responded with a plastic smile, without checking the
book. "Perhaps you should try the Green Jade, up the block. Mr. Johnson
often dines there."
I thanked her, and made my way to the meeting. GJ was on Paigow, right at the
edge of Elven territory. I saw some poor Troll ducking eggs and rotten tomatoes
that flew from an alley. Okay, trying to duck them. He was about as nimble as a
dumpster, and bleedin' near as big. I stepped into the Green Jade just as he
drew the gun he'd been trying to hide under his coat. I heard him roar, but no
gunfire followed, so I guessed the sight of raw firepower had chased the kids
away.
Bowing to the young lady at the greeter's desk, I asked her about Mr. Johnson's
party. Her smile was more genuine, and she directed me to a private room.
"Would you care for a drink?", she asked politely. "Mr. Johnson
will be delayed, and asked that we see to your comfort."
"Some tea would be excellent.", I replied. "And perhaps an
appetizer plate, if it's not too much trouble?"
She smiled and bowed, and I moved towards the back room.
There was a bit of a commotion behind me, accompanied by a smell that filled
the room. The Troll was standing in the doorway, with barely controlled rage
that was probably clouding both of his brain cells. The hostess suggested that
he might want to clean up, and directed him to a side chamber.
I selected a seat in the "private room" that let me see the restaurant
entrance through the folds of the privacy curtain. I had a sinking feeling when
the Troll emerged from the washroom soaking wet, and started to head towards
me. He had taken a quick shower, but hadn't bothered to take off even his coat first.
This did not bode well.
"Hey, little Elf.", the Troll greeted me, his thick tongue managing
to wrap itself around the words in an acceptable manner. "'M Dragon."
It took me a moment to realize that he had given his name, so I hesitated
before responding. "I'm Trigger.", I replied, using the street
version of my family name, Traegar. It was the only name I used any more.
He smiled a gap-toothed grin, and offered a hand, which I took. I'd have to
wash before I ate, but that was okay. I now knew where there was a shower I
could use.
The tea arrived, a porcelain pot with 4 cups. That meant either one or two more
people on the job, depending on whether or not Johnson was a tea drinker.
It turned out that he wasn't. Two more Elves came in. One was a Mage, who
called herself Doc. The other was a rocker-girl who went by the handle of DJ
Ears.
It turns out that Dragon and I had a history. I'd done a custom grip for his
HK97, something better suited to his size. Manny had handled the deal, of
course, but it gave us some common ground.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't stupid at all. In fact, he
was a bit smarter than most humans I'd met. He just found the "Dumb
Troll" image to be a useful camouflage.
The tea was good, and hot, and strong. Dragon tried to handle the tiny cups,
but finally gave up and drank straight from the pot.
The appetizers were also good. I made it a point to nibble, instead of stuffing
myself as I wanted to. This was as close as I'd come to a solid hot meal in
days, but I didn't want to let people know how badly I needed this job.
Fortunately, the Hostess, seeing that there was a Troll, went ahead and brought
in a second course. And then a third.
Finally, after we had all enjoyed the hot and sour soup, and the baked whitefish,
and the duck, Mr. Johnson arrived.
He was a smallish man, Human, Asian, and a traditionalist by his clothes and
manner.
"Good day. I trust my people have seen to your comfort?", he began.
After seeing us all nod pleasantly, he continued. "My humble restaurant
has been commissioned to provide a special feast next weekend. To this end, I
had a shipment of special eggs brought in from
Awakened Postal Express was usually more careful than that. Nobody picked
things up at their offices. They guaranteed delivery, anywhere, "Untouched
by Human Hands". So either somebody had come in with a damned good fake
ID, or somebody had been bribed.
"I need these back, within the next four days. I will pay each of you 500 Nuyen, 100 in advance, for this service. Is this
acceptable?"
"Yo. You covering medical?", popped up DJ Ears, looking like she's
ready to start haggling.
"I've hired Doc here for that very purpose. Anything she can't fix would
require a replacement, which is quite beyond my humble means."
"Okay, I'm in. For 1,000.", DJ countered.
"I hope you have enjoyed the meal, then.", Mr. Johnson replied
politely, returning one of the four Cred-sticks to his pocket.
DJ fumed at this for a moment, then relented. "Okay, I'm in for 500."
"So happy to have you.", the elderly gentleman replied with a smile.
"If there's anything else you wish, my restaurant's services are at your
disposal." And he left, after placing a data-chip on the table.
Either he was someone very big, or very new to this business. Even a rookie
like me knew that Johnson never springs a leak, and this guy was absolutely soggy.
He'd let us know that he owned this restaurant, which meant that he could be
found. A good Johnson can't be found. He finds you. It was a dangerous leak,
and the only way he could patch that leak was to plug it full of lead.
Besides, two grand was a lot to pay for a load of eggs. He could have had more
flown in on 12 hours notice. So it stunk, worse than Dragon.
I was still worrying about that as I left the restaurant, which is probably why
I missed the hint. The movement on a rooftop, the shadow of a gun on the
pavement.
The bullet caught me in the left shoulder. Instinctively I spun with the
impact, instead of fighting it. Rolling with it helped, and the armor took the
rest. I was fine.
I sprang to my left, heading towards the alley a few meters away, drawing my
pistol as I went. I prefer the rifle, but I can only stretch time so far. There
wasn't time to assemble it. I entered the dark way with my back to the shooter.
If I'd been in his position, I'd have a partner waiting in that oh-so-convenient
bit of cover, to finish off whoever tried to hide there.
But the shooter wasn't me, and I was alone.
I heard the second shot, and heard Dragon laugh. "Little gun
tickles!", he declared, dropping into his "Dumb Troll" role once
more. I heard a soft cough, followed by a clack and a clatter, and an "Oh
bloody hell!". Then an explosion, as the grenade he'd fired went off.
Right outside the alley. He'd fired it at the shooter, bounced it off the wall,
and right back at himself.
Then time slowed down, as it always does when I really need it to. My gun was
out, and my target was in sight. I saw the glitter of the smart-scope atop the
sniper rifle, at the edge of the building parapet. I brought the pistol up in
one smooth movement, as fast as reality would let the hand move. Then the gun
went off, a fraction low to take the barrel rise into account. I soaked the
recoil of the heavy pistol, using it to spin my body back to cover. I saw blood
spatter from the target before I finished the recovery.
It wasn't a person. It was a target. A thing. It had to be a thing. When I was
done it would be a dead thing, but a thing it was and a thing it had to remain.
I took a calm breath, centering myself. The gun was an extension of my hand,
the hand an extension of my will. The bullet and the target were one, always
had been, always would be. The distance between them was an illusion, bringing
one to the other was the completion of reality. It was Truth.
I heard more gunfire, the zing of a rifle bullet skipping off the
pavement, and the explosive clatter of Dragon's HK97 responding. I sensed the
presence of a second shooter, down the block to the right. But one at a time
was the way.
I slid forward, hugging the rough red bricks of the alley wall, then saw my
target. The man, NO! The target
had risen up slightly, to see the damage he had done. Bad mistake.
The distance between the bullet and the target was an illusion. I had all the
time in the world, nearly a quarter second. I leveled the gun, a part of my
hand, the hand a part of my will, distance an illusion, a lie. I fired, and
found Truth. The bullet and the target were one, and that "one"
slumped, and fell three stories to the pavement below. Not a person, just a
thing. Now it was a dead thing.
From outside I heard Doc chanting a Mantra, almost felt the flare of power as
she poured herself into making Dragon whole.
I didn't know if DJ was up, down, or sideways, and it didn't matter. There was
a second shooter, another target, another opportunity to find Truth.
But Truth was denied me, as my round skipped off of the stone parapet he, NO!
IT was hiding behind. IT! IT! IT was hiding behind. It was an IT, not a
"he" or a "she". Just an IT, a target. A thing. A thing
that was trying to deny me Truth.
I fired a fourth time, lamenting the fact that I had wasted a round. I had
plenty, but they cost money. A cost of the business I was now in, but better to
keep costs under control.
Truth prevailed, and I saw with satisfaction as the 2nd gunman recoiled with
the impact. I wasn't sure how much of that had been soaked by his body armor,
and how much of it was soaking in blood, but I knew that there was a greater
truth yet to be found here.
Then I saw the rifle withdraw, and heard the sounds of feet running on a
rooftop.
I debated pursuing. He had to come down someplace, and would be an easy target
on a ladder or a rope, but decided against it. I was in one piece pretty much
because Dragon had been there, a big, beautiful, obvious target, and they had
both unloaded against him. Even if he didn't have a hope in Tartarus of hitting
anything, he was great at drawing fire. And he wouldn't be there if I went off
in pursuit.
So instead I dashed off to the fallen body and took stock. The fall had
undoubtedly finished what I had started. His head NO! IT! IT! Its head
was a soggy bag of bones, pulped by two heavy pistol rounds and the impact with
the pavement. Somebody might have been able to recognize the face, if they
could find enough pieces to put back together.
I noted that the rifle was a nice one, probably worth a nice handful of Nuyen once I got it back into working order. He had no ID,
of course. People in this business don't carry IDs. He had a Cred-stick with
300 NY in it, 5 extra clips of ammo for the shooter, the remains of a cell-phone,
a note, and the key-chip for a cheap flop house. I pocketed this last, as it
meant a place to stay, get my clothes cleaned, and get a shower. At least until
the end of the month.
I used his combat knife to remove his right thumb. It was metal and plastic, as
I suspected, but I needed the thumb-print to get to his room.
The note made me think this guy was stupider than Dragon pretended to be:
Quote:
|
A Business rival has employed several specialists. Stop them.
There is an extra 1,000 NY for the one who kills the Troll. |
To my shame, I broke. I snapped.
"You stupid, stupid bio-sack!", I screamed, kicking the dead thing
repeatedly. "They pay you twice what I get, and you can't tell the
difference between an Elf and a Troll? How dumb can you be? What in Tartarus
were you doing shooting at me?"
When I finally calmed down, I went to the others, to see who was hurt and who
wasn't. Doc was sitting by the wall, holding a Thrombus-patch to her side, the
pro-thrombin in it forming an instant clot to stop the bleeding. She had
refused a Trauma Patch, not wanting to cloud her mind with the stim' in it. The
glassy eyed look on her face told me why Dragon looked so good.
The new stains on his armor said that he had bled a lot, but at the moment he
looked barely bruised. I guess Doc had earned her fee the hard way, healing him
before caring for herself.
Ears was a little the worse for wear as well, but there wasn't any blood. She
was more upset at the damage to that damned fibreoptic coat of hers. Guess she wouldn't
be sparkling quite so bright for a day or two.
I shared the note and the cred-stick with the group. Hey, it was a 15% pay
raise, no matter how you counted it. The mark at the bottom of the note was a
black claw. I hoped and prayed that that didn't mean that these losers had been
hired by a Dragon.
It would be just my luck to get hired by a Johnson whose going to have to plug
me later, face a couple of idiots who couldn't even tell what they were
shooting at, and end up in a pissing match with a Dragon.
But on the up side, I'd gotten a hot meal, a roof over my head, and a pretty
new gun out of the deal, and I'd barely been on the job for 5 minutes.
Maybe there was something to be said for "Beginner's Luck".
----------------------------------------------
Interlude:
Quote:
|
Mom, |
I finished the Webmail quickly, and sent it off before I could have any second
thoughts. It would comfort my mother, and piss the hell out of the old man. He
would want me to fail, to come back begging for forgiveness.
I'll die before I do that.
Chapter 2: Market Day
I took the damaged HK with me when I went to
check out the Orc's flop. The shooter wasn't workable right now, but it was
still worth some yen, particularly if I could fix it.
I palmed the dead thing's thumb, along with the access chip, as I walked into
the place. As expected it was a cemetery. Nobody asked who I was, nobody cared
whether the coffin I opened was mine or not. I didn't even need the
cyber-thumb, but I hung onto it anyway
The flop was a meter high, two long, and a bit over a meter wide. The shelves
on the side held the dead thing's things. The clothes looked like a spray-paint
explosion inside a circus tent. I checked them out and found a few nick-knacks,
a used stylus, and some pocket lint. I kept the stylus.
And that was it. That was all there was to show that the dead thing had ever
existed. I closed the coffin and hit the "Clean" button, listening
for the sound of soapy water hitting the hatch. While waiting for it to dry, I
trashed the trash, dumping it in the nearest 'sposer chute.
I looked at my own clothes, and decided to take a few minutes in the 'fresher.
Hot water for me, and some ultrasonics for my threads, and we were both a lot
more presentable.
As I washed, I thought. It gets to be a
habit when you're living on the street. Somebody was going to a lot of trouble
over a load of eggs. Serious money hiring serious firepower, and all for a load
of odd food that could be replaced in a day.
Hmm. Maybe that was the way to do this. Johnson hadn’t mentioned his supplier,
but I got the straight from the data chip. The goods had been delivered there
by APE, but hadn't been there for pickup. Seems like the best way to find the
eggs was to let the thieves steal some more.
Time for a bit of idea exchange. I con-called the others, as soon as I had my
pants on.
"Greeting to the three Ds.", I said, as soon as Doc, Dragon and DJ
Ears were on the line. "Trig' here. Had some neuron activity, and want to
see if you three can talk me out of it."
"Spin it for us, baby.", DJ replied.
"We have a job, we have a deadline, and we have some enemies. All we're
missing is a clue. So I figure to call Johnson's supplier, and order some eggs.
Then we follow where they go."
"Can we afford that?", Dragon asked cautiously. "In the Yin/Yang
of Yen, they are definitely Yang."
"Who cares?", I asked carelessly. "It's not like we're actually
gonna pay. They're gonna get stolen again, aren't they? Nobody pays for goods
not delivered, so who gives a quad? We're putting somebody else's eggs in that
basket. All we need to do is follow when the big bad wolf takes it. So, Dragon,
you seem like a well-wired kind of guy. Can you rig a GPS chip and power supply
to fit inside an egg?"
"Hmm.", murmured the troll. "I don't know much about that. If
you needed a bomb, I could handle that. Not sure how I'd get it into an egg
though."
"I can do the tracker.", Ears said
assuredly. "We just poke the end of the egg and blow out the insides.
We'll do a couple, one for the tracker and one to squirt some C12 into. Put the
tracker into one, and a detonator into the other, and we're golden."
"Okay, but not the ends of the egg.", Doc
put in. "Do it from the side, so it won't show."
"I'll seal it with some white 'poxy, so it won't show anyway."
"Okay”, I concluded. “I'll make the call, and get this egg rolling. Jade
in a half?"
"Chilly.", came the reply. We'd meet up at the Green Jade in 30
minutes.
A quick check of the directory showed that the supplier was only a few blocks
from the Green Jade. I prepared my best "Citizen" voice, and made the
call.
"Cedrick and Sons", answered a female voice. "How can
I help you?"
"Good afternoon.", I said smoothly. "I'm throwing a small party
this weekend, and I need some things. I'm told that you're the best place to
get Chinese Eggs."
"You want 100 year old eggs? I'm sorry, but our supplier is out. We've
placed three sizable orders with him in the last few weeks. He won't have more
ready for at least a month."
"I'm willing to pay a premium.", I lied. "Surely you have an
alternate source."
"I'll see what I can arrange. Can I have your name, and a contact
number?"
I gave her my real name, and my cell number. Like my name, the Cell was
disposable, good for a couple of weeks more. I'd have to get another one, but
that was no biggie. I'd gotten a bonus, after all.
So I sat, cleaning my gun, and reloading my spare clips. 10 minutes later, my
phone buzzed.
"Mr. Traegar?", came the same female voice. "This is
Nellie at Cedrick and Sons. Yes we can get the eggs, but there's a 30%
surcharge for the rush order."
I gulped, and answered. "That isn't a problem. So what's the price for a gross
and a half?"
There was a moment of silence before she replied. "The standard price
is 3 ny each. The premium makes that 4 ny each. Did I hear you right, that you
want 216?
"Well, make it an even two hundred.", I said, trying to keep my voice
calm. It wasn't as if I was actually going to pay for them, so what did I care?
But it was still 800 Ny that somebody was going to be out. Tartarus, but it was
a pain having a conscience.
"Very good sir. Since you don't have a credit line with us, I'll need
you to leave a deposit. Could you drop by our office to print the contract?"
"I'll be down sometime today, if that's all right.", I agreed.
"We'll make it all official." Then I excused myself, and hung up.
-----------------------------------------------
"Okay, so what's the sitch?", asked Ears, glancing around nervously.
We were at the front entrance to the Jade, instead of the back door we'd been
ambushed at before, but we still felt like we had targets painted on us.
"Simple and easy." I answered. "The eggs are ordered. Had a bit
of a problem getting them, but I did it. Seems like Johnson's had three
shipments stolen, not one, so maybe we really are after eggs. Anyway, they want
to see me in person to make a deposit, so that's our next stop,"
"In person?", asked Doc, in surprise. "What, they didn't trust a
cash-fer?"
"I think it's more than that. I think we're getting that clue we
wanted.", I said with a smile. "So I'll act clueless, and walk in. If
you folks will wait outside, ready to come running when the Bandini hits the
Blower, we might solve this today."
Since it was my backside that was about to hit the frying pan, everyone else
was chilly with it, so we were a Go.
----------------------------------------------
"Hello?", I called, as I entered. I'd tucked my cell' into a pocket,
with an open line to Doc, in case I needed help. The office was small, and
attached to a small warehouse with half a dozen loading bays.
"Can I help you?", asked a girl with too much makeup and hair that
came from a catalogue.
"My name's Traegar, and I have an appointment. Are you Nellie?", I
asked politely.
"Yes, I was expecting you a bit earlier. Let me get you our account
manager.", she replied in standard-secretary nasal.
I stood, since there was no place to sit, and after a few minutes a harried
looking man came out of a back office, an actual paper contract in his hand. He
glanced up from the dead-tree stuff, and pulled back in surprise.
"Oh. You're an Elf.", he exclaimed, as if that was a big deal. He was
barely two blocks from the Ancients Enclave, so this couldn't be that unusual,
but he was still flustered.
"What gave it away?", I asked jokingly. "Was it the haircut, or
my shoe size?"
He smiled at my feeble attempt at humor, then we got down to business. He laid
the order form down, then dove so far into a folder of paper that I thought
someone should be holding his ankles.
I took the opportunity to palm the thing's cyber-thumb out of my pocket, along
with his stylus. I pressed the one as I scribbled with the other and had them
both away before he looked up.
"Oh, you've printed it already?", he asked, apparently surprised by
my lack of hesitation.
"No reason not to, is there?"
"No, no, of course not. Now, there's some import paperwork to
clear...", he began, as he started to cover the counter in a small
forest's worth of paper.
It was all crap, nothing I needed to see, or sign, or approve at all. He knew
it and I knew it, but I don't know if he knew that I knew it. I hoped not,
because I played along the whole way.
Finally, I dropped the cred-stick with the 200 on it, and got my receipt just
as a loud buzzer sounded.
"Oh, we got done just in time.", Nellie said. "5:00 is end of
day. Let me walk you out."
I smiled and nodded, allowing her to guide me to the door that was all of three
meters away. We joined a stream of people headed for the door, with her
chattering about her date tonight, as I kept my ears cocked for the sound of a
gun being cocked, the hum of a vibro, or the schnick of sharp steel.
But all was frosty, and I emerged with all my blood on the inside, right where
I like it.
"Bye", waved Nellie, as she headed
out of the office. "Gotto go. My boyfriend got a reservation for that new
show down at the Barfly. DJ Ears, I think it is."
"Have a nice night", I called, as she hopped into her boyfriend's
turbo-something, and they sped away.
------------------------------
"Where are we going?", asked Dragon, looking around at the quiet
streets. I gestured for silence, and kept walking until we were at least a
block away, and around a corner. Then I took my coat off and began to search
it. They had kept me there until quitting time for a reason, and I had reason
to believe that reason was hidden on my person someplace.
Bingo! In the left pocket of my coat I found a small square object, about the
size of a choco-sweet. I gestured to Doc and Dragon to have a look at it, to
see if it had a mike. DJ joined in on the examination, since she works with
mikes all the time. They declared it to be clear.
Then I did the search again. That tracer was too big, too easy to find. I
checked the soles of my shoes, the collar of my shirt, and ran a comb through
my hair.
The second bug was attached to a hair clip, hung in my goldy-locks. “I knew I
needed a haircut”, I muttered as I pulled it out. But this one was a GPS, like
the first, just smaller. We were free to talk.
"Okay, that was fun.", I said, turning to the ladies. "Who wants
to search me for the third one?"
They laughed and declined, so I did the third search myself. I came up clean.
"'Taint paranoia when they really are out to get you.", said Dragon.
"Now, why are we here?"
"I figured I got bugged. The guy in there is in on it, and was surprised
that I was an Elf, so it made sense to take a walk into Elven territory. They'd
expect it, if I wasn't expecting trouble. So here we are."
"I bet those crunch nice and pretty.",
Dragon said, eyeing the trackers with a small gleam in his eye. Funny, you can
amp a Trolls cerebellum all you like, but no matter how smart he gets, he still
thinks like a Troll.
"No, I'll keep them for now. Don't want them to think we got suspicious."
So we walked. And it was odd. I'd been in Ancients territory before, and it had
never been this quiet. I took the right side of the street, while the others
took a glance down the side streets. I hated to use that tired old phrase,
"Too Quiet", but it was.
"Say, citizen.", came the call from the shadows. Four Elves, about my
age, came strolling out, clothes and jewelry marking them as trouble looking
for someone to happen to.
"Hey. 'Sup?", I asked, keeping it cool, even as my left hand slacked
back into my coat, ready for the fast draw.
They got a better look, saw the ears, and eased off a bit. One of them seemed
to recognize me.
"Are you Trigger?", he asked.
"Yeah. That a problem?", I replied with a smile.
"No, all's cool. You just seemed lost is all.", said the leader, a
bit less menacing now.
"Well, getting lost is the best way to get found.", I replied
smoothly. "And it worked. You found me. But share, 'bro. How did you
recognize me? I'm not exactly famous, and I don't know you."
"There's big money riding on you.", he replied easily. "The
whole egg thing."
"Whoa. You mean that this whole thing is part of a bet?", I asked,
trying to hide my relief.
"Sure. Tim-britches of Old Oak dropped about 5k, saying that the Queen
would have 100 year old eggs at her birthday. And ol' stinky of Red-skull
picked it up. Didn't look good 'til you folks joined the dance. Now the
action's looking hot again."
"Hmm. Care to put me down for a century of that action?", I asked. I
didn't have the money right now, but if I lived through this I wouldn't need to
worry about paying that bet.
"Hmm. So you want a hundred that you'll make it? Is that with, or without the
'extras'?"
Negotiations broke down at that point, since we couldn't seem to agree about
what we were betting on. But now I knew what I was risking my life over. Two
gang leaders had made a bet, and with the side action there was probably 20 k
on it by now, with more to follow. At least I wasn't dying for small change.
I thanked the four, and moved on. The others were out of sight, but I wasn't
hearing gunfire, so I knew that nobody was hassling Dragon.
Picking a shop more or less at random, I walked in. It was a Talismonger's
place, dark and foreboding. I could feel the subsonics as I approached, and
appreciated the quality of the high-tech used to make it feel low-tech and
spooky.
I asked about the Claw symbol, but the old ghoul didn't know it. Or at least he
was smart enough not to admit it. I asked about some one-shot fetishes for Doc,
but he was out, so I headed for the door. As I left I saw a sign for a mage,
one who gave lessons for a fee. It had an address and a number, and a black
claw marked at the bottom.
I went outside, and it was all dead quiet again. Not even birds. Looking up the
way I saw Dragon walking up the middle of the street, his HK out and ready,
with Doc and DJ flanking him. Eyes were wide and looking for trouble.
We made it to the end of the block without gunfire, and found a string across
the road. I laughed as I read the sign hanging from it.
Quote:
|
Warning - Keep clear until the Troll leaves. He's armed. |
"Dragon, you must be the baddest Troll I've never heard of.", Doc laughed
as I read it to her. "I mean, they not only clear the block for you, but
even the birds know enough to shut up."
-------------------------------------------------------
Interlude at the Barfly:
The line outside was down and around. Whatever
the act that DJ had booked, if it was this hot and had any staying power, it
would have a Vid' contract within a year.
I went to the kitchen entrance, and met the security Troll there. He was
stuffed into a suit that seemed designed to show just how hard it was to get a
Troll into a suit, if you know what I mean.
"Hey there, tall dark and handsome.", I
lied. "Name's Trigger. Ears put my name on the
list."
He consulted his e-list, carefully checked my name off, then
smiled at me.
I waited for a moment before continuing. "Um, aren't you supposed to let
me in?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot.", he said,
stepping aside.
I slipped in and through, not wanting to disturb the kitchen staff, and then
found myself a bit of floor to stand on in the main room.
There were some tables, but tonight's show was for someone called Marta, and
was 117% filled. SRO for most of us.
The music was hard, loud, and acid. Probably Japanese.
Even through the press of bodies, I could feel the floor vibrate to the base
notes, and hear the high whine of the blue-noise overlay. It was supposed to
"get you in the mood", which was kind of funny. I'd never been to a
"Standing Room Only" orgy before, and I had no reason to think that
was going to change tonight. Still the beat was right, the melody was
suggestive, and the girl on stage was wriggling just the right way. You could
almost hear her voice.
I filtered through the crowd, moving forward until I could see the reserved
tables. There, front and center, was Nellie, and her pretty-boy friend. The
suit was an expensive version of street-chic, proof that if you had enough
money you could look like you didn't. What caught my attention wasn't him,
however. It was his dinner.
Okay, I was hungry, but that slab of red white and brown looked and smelled
wonderful. That was real meat, the kind that never saw the inside of a yeast
vat, and didn't have "Reconstituted Soy" stamped on the box anywhere.
Nellie had a plate full of something crispy and golden brown, which may or may
not have been real shrimp, but it was pretty clear that her corp-kiddie
boy-toy had reserved more than just the table.
I'd spotted Doc and Dragon in the crowd as I came in. Drag' was hard to miss,
though he wasn't the only Troll in the place. Doc was doing a good job of
blending. I'd thought of bringing her as "my date", but I was
carrying the trackers our friends had planted on me. No need to draw trouble to
her.
I kept moving, circling the open space around the tables and the dance floor,
looking and listening for weapons being drawn. In this madness, no human ear
could possibly hear such a thing, but my ears aren't human.
The sound that drew my attention, however, didn't come from anyone with a
weapon. It came from everyone. That sudden silence, the collective intake of
breath that says something has happened.
Nellie was on the floor, and she wasn't dancing. She had fallen, crumpled in
her chair, and was thrashing around in obvious trouble. I saw Doc move in.
"She's been poisoned.", Doc said, and began
to mutter a counter-spell of some kind. My left hand slid around my coat to the
Predator, and I watched to see who was going to interfere.
After several long seconds, Nellie lay still, her lips turning blue. She was
dead.
Doc looked down and saw the wine plas in Nellie's limp
hand. She fanned a hand over the puddle of yellow-white liquid, trying to smell
it without touching it or getting too close. "Cyanide.", she
declared.
The place began to empty, like magic. Nellie hadn't been rich, but her
boyfriend clearly was. Maybe it would be Corp-sec showing up, maybe the
Blue-boys, or maybe Lonestar, but no matter how you cut it, nobody wanted to be
here when they arrived.
Something hit my foot. It was a purse, one that matched Nellie's dress, being
soccer-balled around by the crowd. I raised my foot, then
set it down in the loop of the purse-strap the next time it came my way. With
the thing pinned down, I began to shuffle over towards the stage.
"Hey Deej!", I
called to Ears, who was trying to keep the show going. "You dropped your
purse. I'm just going to put it here, by the buzz-box." So-saying, I waved
it at her, so she'd see what I was talking about, then
dropped it out of sight behind some equipment on the stage. Then I joined the
smart people and left the way I came.
Well, my first three guesses were wrong. It was Docwagon
that showed first, followed by Lonestar. I got a good look at their arrival,
from the ally across the street.
They carried Nellie out, her face covered by a table-cloth. I guess there are
some things that even Doc-wagon can't fix.
Ears checked the purse. She found a little joy-dust, a mini-foam can, and
another tracker, like the one I found in my pocket. There was a note as well.
Quote:
|
Slip this onto the Elf when he comes. Don't let us down, or
else..." |
The note had a red skull at the bottom. So, now I knew who in the office had
been in on the theft: Both of them.
I wasn't sure why they killed her, since she and her friend did manage to bug
me. Maybe there was supposed to be a third bug. Maybe the big one was planted
by someone else. Maybe it didn't matter. She was dead, no matter what else
happened.
I swung by the Green Jade and dropped a note for Johnson, telling him what we
were doing, and what we had learned, then went back to
the flop. I sat up half the night, waiting for someone to come
visiting, but they never did.
------------------------------------------------------
The day was warm and wet. The omni' was crowded as we headed north. It wasn't
that there were all that many people taking public transport to the Redmond
Barrens, but the bus was old enough that it wasn't made with Trolls in mind.
Tartarus, but I'd be angry at the waste of my taxes, if I paid any.
We were on a quest, a treasure hunt, seeking the rarest of items: Hen's eggs.
Not the stuff you buy by the liter over at the q-mart. The real thing, with
shells and everything. And specifically we needed brown eggs. I'd dump a couple
in some strong tea later, to give them the mottled look of the old Chinese
ones, but the shells had to be close to begin with.
We arrived at the "market", but found it abandoned. A sign said that
they had moved across the border, into tribal lands. Where it lead, we
followed, and soon we were in a place like I'd never seen before.
The building had a ceiling at about three meters, and was filled with ... green
stuff.
Bins of stuff in long rows. The stuff wasn't all green. Some was red, some was
yellow, some was orange.
"Bananas?", asked DJ, examining a bunch of yellow things that looked
vaguely obscene. "How would you get this into my daiquiri?", she
laughed.
"Is that where you'd put one of those?", Dragon joked back. We all
chuckled, and took the place in. This was apparently where you got dirt-grown
things that we normally saw only on an ingredients list. Longs odds they
weren't even artificially flavored, but I couldn't find an ingredients list on
them, so I let it go.
I was all set to buy 4 eggs, figuring that we'd rig two, and have two more in
case we broke them, but Dragon got this disgusted look on his face, and picked
up a whole flat.
"I swear, Trig’, you are too cheap to believe.",
he muttered.
But before I could reply, we heard a commotion at the door.
"Dragon!", came the rough, Orcish voice. "Time to go down, you
son of a rubber-tree."
Four Orcs had entered the front of the market. One was damned near as big as
Dragon. The leader, judging by his incredibly bad taste in
clothes, laughed and shoved a cashier aside, glancing at the balance on her credgister.
Dragon took a long leap, landing on top of a produce rack, shoving his head
partway through the ceiling in the process.
Trolls, you can dress em up, but you can’t
take em anywhere.
And time slowed down. I moved, feeling reality struggling to keep up. Four
quick steps, and I was crouched in an aisle, behind a metal bin loaded with
some sweet-smelling red things. A little girl stood nearby, staring at me in
shock. Or maybe it was my gun.
"Down!", I ordered her, shoving her under the metal rack.
Then the shooting began. I heard Dragon's familiar laugh as he felt bullets
bounce off of his body armor. Only a Troll would like getting shot.
One nimble fellow vaulted over the produce rack, landing in the aisle with me.
Laughing, he pulled a vibro-sword and began to spin it. He wasn't bad either.
Still, only an Orc would bring a sword to a gun fight.
I felt, rather than saw Doc step around the corner into the aisle at my left,
her shotgun kicking back into her hip as she pumped off a shot.
The Orc spun with the impact, and came up bloody. He wasn't laughing now.
My world came into focus. I had all the time I needed. All there was, was his
face, angry eyes, snarling mouth. Only his face, and my Predator, the gun an
extension of my hand, the hand an extension of my will. The silence between
heartbeats was deafening, as I fired. The target and the bullet were one, the
distance an illusion, a lie, dispelled at the puff of flame and smoke. The Orc
looked surprised as he fell. I guess nobody expects Truth to come to them so
abruptly.
Behind him was the big guy, just rounding the corner. DJ was at that end of the
store, and I saw her shot rip through him. He probably looked good, for an Orc,
his chest all oiled up to show off his muscles, but muscle-oil isn't body
armor, and after her flechettes hit he didn't look good any more.
Then sound started up again, and I heard Doc yelling, "Dragon's been
hit!"
"Where?", yelled DJ, keeping her eye on the still-standing
muscle-man.
"They shot him in the cumquats!", came the reply.
I didn't waste time smiling as I headed for the front. There was one left.
I moved like the wind, but without hurrying. The run turned into a long slide
as I hit the open area between the produce counters and the pay-points. Thank
somebody for linoleum tiles.
Then the leader was in sight. He fired again, trying to finish off Dragon, no
doubt.
Three guns went off at once. Two of us found Truth, and the leader found
oblivion. And it was done.
Time resumed its normal flow, and I quickly scanned the room to see who was up.
Dragon was down, and bleeding heavily. Doc was working on him.
The little girl emerged, her dress stained a bright crimson, red fluid running
from her mouth, and my heart stopped. Damnation, but I had told her to stay
down. In a moment of sick, insane shock, it seemed to me that she was smiling.
Somehow, she was smiling.
"I fell down in the strawberries!", she called brightly,
and my heart began to beat again. The stains around her mouth were from the
fruit, the juice on her hands the proof that she hadn't exactly "fallen
down" in them. She'd used the opportunity to snatch a couple and stuff
them in her mouth.
But all was forgiven and forgotten as her mother smothered her in hugs.
I went to look at my targets. I hadn't needed to shoot more than once at each,
so it was hard to gauge how well I'd grouped my shots. But they were down,
sliced and perforated by Doc's shotgun and DJ's Warhawk.
I managed to keep it all together, until I turned and saw a produce rack labeled
"Cauliflower". There, sitting for all to see, were row upon row of
human brains. Bled white, and arranged neatly, I couldn't help but see the
brains of the people I'd killed.
My stomach convulsed, and I barely managed to reach a trash can as my lunch
came up. They weren't just targets, things. They were people I had killed.
People with friends and families, hopes and dreams, all ended in my moment of
"Truth". How had I lied to myself so badly? In seeking Truth, I had
done nothing but deny it, pretend that they were just targets.
But someone was holding my shoulders now, helping me to my feet. Saying
comforting words that I couldn't hear over the roar of my own blood pounding in
my ears.
This was the price of Truth. To truly find it, you had to banish all lies, even
the ones you needed to protect your sanity.
---------------------------------------
The Tribal Police came within minutes.
Normally, I'd fade into the background when folks like that show up. All of us
would, but Dragon wasn't going anywhere. Doc had barely managed to keep him
alive, after all the hits he took. But we stuck with him. How stupid is that?
Fortunately, the other folks there spoke up. We had been buying groceries, nice
as could be, when the Orcs showed up and started shooting. The little girl's
mother overflowed about how we'd rushed to protect her. Damn, but they made us
look good.
It was my fault, though. I should have ditched the damned trackers before we
came up here. Left them in the flop, or gummed them to a cab seat for the day.
Anything but bring them with us out to the barrens, and beyond.
All four of the Orcs wore Red Skull insignia, so we knew that they were just
gangers looking for the bounty on Dragon.
They were nice enough to come with cred-sticks, however, which might almost
cover the first ten minutes of Dragon's hospital bill.
Doc is staying up here with the big guy, while DJ and I slide back towards
As far as the Orc gang is concerned: 6 down and 300 left to go.
Chapter 3: Friends and Enemies
It was late in the day when I hopped off the Omni' at the station,
and stopped at the 'fresher. Grabbed some Stero-mint gum from the machine as I
passed. I'd need it later.
Dragon was staying in
He'd been the big target, after all. With him out of the game, our opponents
might just get overconfident.
I checked in with Manny, and traded him the Warhawk I'd taken off of the Orc
for a new barrel for the damaged HK. He found a used one, and told me that I'd
better re-mill the barrel a bit, or its history would catch up to me.
I retired to "my" flop to clean up those nasty, incriminating
ballistic marks. I wasn't planning to use the thing myself, preferring my
Bushmaster, but I didn't want to sell my customers trouble when I passed the
thing on. Trouble has a way of coming back to you, with interest.
I was well into the job when the phone came alive, and I had it to my ear
before the second buzz.
"Hey, Trig! Lip-synch here. How's it hangin'?"
The voice belonged to Ears, so I knew there was trouble. I played along.
"Left, Lipz, same as always. What's the L and G?"
"Hmm. Not much. Latest but not greatest will have to do. Remember that
Bim' and her Beau at the 'Fly the other night? Well once I got the stars out of
my eyes, I got the word that they know who croaked her. The Singletons found
the rest of the poison in the DJ's dressing room, along with some not-so-love
notes. They peg her for the hit."
Translation: Once Lonestar had left, they claimed to have evidence that Ears
had slipped her the poison. So stage two was now in play, and Ears was the next
target. I wondered who had framed her, and decided to ask: "Say, Lipz, I
didn't know that they even had a dressing room for the DJ. I'm in the wrong
biz'."
"I didn't know she did either.” she replied. "Maybe we
should get into show biz. Or maybe just a show. See you at the Orpho-plex
later? Night-court, and bring a net."
Translation: Meet her at the theater at 10:00 pm, and we'd catch a show. And it
was Lonestar themselves who had planted the evidence. Hell, they hadn't even
bothered to plant it; it had been given to them, along with their bribe.
Now, was it the Orcs swinging that kind of weight, or was her corp-kiddie
boyfriend just ensuring that nobody was looking at him? Or maybe Lonestar had
taken it upon themselves to protect their client by incriminating someone else,
and they'd just settled for the first name they saw on the sign outside. They
worked for him, not her, and certainly not for that roach-hole bar, so they
didn't care about catching her killer.
Too many questions, and not enough answers. I took out my frustrations with the
mill-rod, and finished the cleanup fast. I wouldn't trust the trigger mechanism
until I'd had it apart and together again, but the big problem with the gun was
now handled. All that was left to deal with now was life, death, and eggs.
---------------------------------
"I hope it was the Orcs", were the first words out of my mouth, when
I got to the Theater. DJ was standing just beside one of the light masts, and a
little behind. Anybody looking for her would be staring right into the glare.
"What?” she asked, in confusion.
"I hope it was the Orcs who set you up with Lonestar.” I explained.
"If it was, then that will go away after this weekend. If it was the
boy-toy protecting his butt, he'll want to keep it protected for a lot longer."
We were still debating the merits of this, and Mega-Death 3000 (playing in
theater 27), when Dragon arrived. If we had been hoping for a subtle entry,
this wasn't it.
He kind of unfolded out of a ... something ... that rolled up. It had four
wheels, and was as un-stylish as 4 wheels could get. It was big and, well,
colorful, with flowers painted on the outside, along with old fashioned
"Peace" symbols. It rattled and shuddered when it moved, and was
barely any quieter when it sat still, but it was big enough to carry a Troll,
which seemed to be all that counted.
"Yo' bro!” he called, waving the driver out to join us.
A clear area developed around him as he walked. Some might have attributed this
to his size, the force of his personality or his lack of personal hygiene.
Personally, I give the credit to the huge combat rifle he held gripped in his
hand. But what, or who, followed him out of that old van was something else
again.
It was male, I guessed, despite the long hair of jet black. But he had so many
bangles, beads, feathers and froo-froos on him I couldn't even tell which
century he was from.
"Hey, Trig'." Dragon waved. "This is my friend Love Child. Met
him on the bus back from the market, and he gave me a ride. He's a Raccoon
Shaman, comin' back to town."
I gave the newcomer a big smile and a warm handshake, all set to treat him like
family. I have mentioned how I feel about my family, haven't I? With a reward
out on Dragon, and now another one out on Ears, I had to figure that this clown
was following one paycheck to an even bigger one.
We were still in mid introduction when we heard the rumble of bikes. Now I know
that sounds weird, since we all drive 'lectrics these days, but these guys had
the Harley-Burst sound systems on and working. Traditionalists, you gotta love
'em.
The bikes wouldn't have meant much to me, by themselves. But the fact that the
plaza began to clear, fast, told me what I needed to know. Four Orcs pulled up
behind the Shaman's van, fancy silver skull emblems on the saddle bags.
We decided to fade into the alley a bit, before the crowd was gone. No reason
to stand and fight when we didn't have to. Though the bikes did look nice. And
it wasn't as if these clones were going to need them after this....
One thing you gotta say about Dragon, though. He doesn't fade very well.
"Hey Dragon.", came the challenge, as the four sauntered up, as sure
of themselves as they could be.
"Yeah.", answered the big guy, visibly tightening his grip on the HK.
"Our boss would like to talk to you. Just you. Your friends can stay
behind.", the leader said, hefting a three-wide sprocket chain in his hand
for emphasis.
God, but I love Orcs. Who else would keep on bringing swords and chains to
gunfights?
But I gotta give the big-guy credit. He didn't kill them for being that stupid.
He let them walk up to him, and heard them out.
"You come easy, or you come hard, but either way you come. Captain's
orders.", the Orc said smugly.
Then it was happening. A gun appeared in one Orcs hand, like magic. I made a
note to myself that I wanted his power-holster, as well as his bike.
I heard a heavy, sickening thud, followed by deep laughter. One of the Orcs had
just hit Dragon with a sprocket chain, and he'd almost noticed it.
And then time slowed down. I took a step to my right, hugging the right hand
wall of the alley, for cover. I felt reality dragging on my arm as I brought
the gun to bear. I took my time and aimed carefully, nearly a half a heartbeat,
before firing.
I watched, in slow-time, as the bullet crawled through the air and found its
home. Power-holster went down, hard, from the single shot.
I was out of targets now, the alley wall blocking my line to the rest, but this
became a self-correcting problem. A second Orc came dancing into view, a spiked
cylinder flying from his hand towards us as he came.
Did you know that you can see the shock wave from a grenade, if you look the
right way? The compression of the air is like a lens, distorting the light that
passes through it. I had 13/1100ths of a second to appreciate this, as the
blast closed the distance at the speed of sound.
It left my ears ringing, and bounced me off of the wall a bit, but I was
otherwise unharmed.
Doc and the Raccoon weren't quite so lucky. They were closer to the blast, and
both looked to be a bit dazed from the concussion.
But I felt better at my decision earlier, when I had been to Manny's. These
guys were using non-lethal force, a sign that the Universe liked it when I used
Gel rounds.
Doc let loose on one of the thugs working on Dragon, and she probably did the
poor sap a favor. The big guy was having the time of his life, slapping those
two Orcs around. Proving again that, no matter how much you amp a Troll's grey
matter, he still thinks like a Troll. And Dragon was in full Troll mode,
without a doubt. He probably would have pulled Sprocket-Chain's arms off, just
for fun, if Doc hadn't shot the son of a bit in the head first. She probably
saved his life.
I dropped to a knee, to shoot underneath Doc's arm, and double-tapped
grenade-boy. The first round caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around.
The second one came up and in, catching his armpit as he spun. He went down,
and stayed down.
The last one broke loose, and began to run for his bike. He might have been
fast, he might not. But he couldn't outrun the bullet that smacked him in the
back of the head, causing him to plow a bloody furrow in the pavement with his
face.
"Hey guys, we'd better hurry.", Ears called, as she emptied
Sprocket-chain's pockets. Clearly, she
was worried about Lone-star showing up.
"Did you say you were having problems with the Red Skull Orcs?",
asked Raccoon. "Because these aren't them." And sure enough, he was
right. The emblem these flakes wore was a silver skull with crossed bones
beneath it.
"Tartarus, did we just piss off another Orc gang?", I asked. "Or
are they helping the Red Skulls?"
"The Pirates don't like the Skulls, and the Skulls don't like the
pirates.", Ears informed me. "Maybe we should have talked to their boss."
We did a quick check of the four Orcs. They were all still
breathing. Of all of us, only Ears had used anything like lethal force, so they
weren't really all that badly hurt.
We confiscated their cred-sticks and wrist-phones, and I pinched a couple of
concussion grenades, but we let them keep the rest of their gear. Then we left
them propped up against the building, in the classic, "See no Evil, Hear
no Evil, Speak no Evil, Have no Fun" poses.
We didn't hear Lonestar coming, but they aren't always stupid. Sometimes they
don't use sirens. Either way, we decided to be elsewhere.
I checked out the leader's phone, to see who he had on speed-punch. Number 1
was his favorite brothel. Number 2 was his mother. But the grand prize was
behind door number 3: "Hey, it's about time. You collar the Dragon?",
came the rough voice.
"The party to whom you think you are speaking is temporarily out of
service.", I informed him, in my best "Citizen" voice. "You
wanted to talk to Dragon? Let me get him..."
I was interrupted by the click, and disconnect tone. I tried the speed again,
but there was no answer. They were seeing the Sender-ID, and didn't like it.
Not a problem.
I switched phones, and tried again.
"Jolly Roger.", came the answer.
"Well, chill, Bill, and try to stay jolly.", I came back. "We
got your invitation, but decided to decline. But since your boys were so
polite, we left them breathing. Now, if your boss wants to talk to Dragon, I'll
hand him the phone. Happiness?"
There was an unhappy grumbling on the other end of the line, then another voice
come on, and I handed the wrist-phone to the big guy. He left the speaker on,
though, instead of jacking in, so we could all hear.
"I'd like to meet you in person.
Dragon thought about it for a moment, and agreed.
"You guys head out.", Ears said, eying the cred-stick she'd lifted
from the Orc. "I feel a shopping trip coming on."
------------------------------------
The bike purred like a kitten beneath us as we rode. We'd switched off the
Harley-boomers, since they didn't fit our current image.
Ears was behind me, dressed in a slightly worn business suit courtesy of
Goodwill, so together we looked like a pair of nice respectable citizens out
for a ride.
Dragon and Doc had brought Love-Child up to date, and he decided to play along.
Said it sounded like fun. They had taken off in Love-Child's ancient VW
micro-bus, headed for the park.
I hadn't actually stolen the bike, in that I was planning on leaving it at the
park, so old Sprocket Chain could pick it up later. But we needed wheels, and
something less conspicuous than the chartreuse rattle-trap Love-Child was
driving seemed in order. Besides, shopping had taken a bit of time.
Dragon and company were already inside the park when we arrived. There were a
pair of gangers at the gate, hefting long-rifles. I showed them my gun, drew it
slowly and popped the clip, nice and easy. They nodded and waved us through to
where Dragon, Doc and that Amerind-Hippy were waiting.
Of course, I re-loaded the gun beneath my coat as we walked.
The meet was on a grassy hill, about 200 yards from the edge of the park. I
could see that there were more people around, with rifles, in case we got
frisky.
The man who was there to meet us looked like a bottle of Rum. He wore a long
red coat, flared at the bottom, and with gold lace around the edges. A
cutlass-style sword hung from the broad black belt around his middle, and an
antique, muzzle-loading pistol was tucked into that same belt.
"So you're Dragon's crew, are ye?", he asked, in a fair imitation of
an old flat-vid. "Well, you good folks have been giving the Skulls fits,
and I like the way you've been doing it. Let's talk."
"You could have just called me, instead of sending the four
moosketeers.", Dragon rumbled, unsure of where he stood.
"Yes, but phones get monitored.", the Captain replied with a wary
look. "Besides, we had a bet that they'd screw it up. Why did you think I
sent Orcs?"
"Well, I'm gonna let my friend here do the talking now.", Dragon
said, indicating Ears. "If she says somethin' I don't like, I'll let her
know."
"Good to meet you, Captain. By the way, I like the rig.", she began,
as a way to warm things up.
"Well, we are the pirates, and the outfit kind of goes with the Captain's
job.", he said agreeably. "But we're here to talk about you. You've
got some eggs coming in tomorrow, don't you?"
"Yeah. Thopter's landing at 9:00 am, at the skyport.", Ears replied,
carefully leaving off the exact location.
"Well, they're coming in at 8:00 am, by Para-foil, on Pier 17.", the
Captain corrected her. "Seems that one of the grocers owes a few nuyen to
the Red Skulls, so they kind of lied to you. The sky-port's an ambush."
"D and D.", Ears swore. "Thanks, we owe you one."
"Well, don't worry about paying me. The Skulls are going to try for you
again, so you're making a payment on that debt every time you drop one of them.
And if their Tox-Shaman were to go down, I wouldn't be sheddin' a tear."
"So, you get us to off them for you, but don't get entangled in a gang
war.", Ears said, appreciating the slickness of the plan. "Cool, and
thanks. Still, if you need a favor, let us know."
"Well, I have a little more for you. You'll need a safe house for the
night, if you expect to see the dawn. I can spare you a couple of people, if
you need em'."
Ears turned to me with a questioning look, so I chimed in: "The Skulls
slipped a couple of trackers onto me. They're safe and away right now, but I
can get them. If you can spare a couple of people to run decoy with those, it
will help. That will keep them out of the line of fire, but split the
opposition a couple of different ways."
"Sounds good. I don't mind tangling with the Skulls, but it's sweeter if I
don't have to.", the Captain said agreeably. "Now, if you'll excuse
me, I have a few wagers to place." He walked away, rubbing his hands in
anticipation.
-----------------------------------
The night passed quietly. Love-Child was upset when he saw his old micro. Seems
that the Pirates had repainted it in city-camo, to match the wheels they had
set up to decoy.
We hit the road as the sun was rising. We had over an hour before the shipment
was due, but why wait until the last minute. I wanted a little time to get lost
around the docks. Besides, I wasn't worried about these eggs.
You see, if the grocer's were all the way in on this, they wouldn't have
ordered the eggs at all. And now that I knew that the Skulls had a Toxic
Shaman, I knew that the other shipments hadn't been destroyed. Semi-rotten food
would be something he'd like, and the chance to parade the eggs in front of the
Old Oak leader would be just too tempting.
I even had an idea where the other eggs were. They had never left the
warehouse. All someone had to do was jack into their computer and diddle a few
bits. They could "lose" the eggs right in that building if they
somehow managed to mess up where to find them.
So finding them in there was plan B. The battle at the pick-up point was almost
a diversion. But diversion or not, it was going to be one hell of a party.
Chapter 4: Life and Death on the High Seas
Love-Child's ride was rough and ready, and less heavily armored than my lunch
box. I was trying to figure a strategy to keep us from getting shot at when the
call came in.
'Happy Day in May, ya lubbers." came the Captain's voice. "We
have a change in plans. Get to Wreck Point. The Para-foil is on the bay, and
it's under attack."
"They're trying to pirate the load?", asked Dragon, a bit surprised.
"Yeah. And nobody pirates loads on this bay except us!", the
Captain snarled back.
The three vans were inbound towards the docks by three different roads. By
chance, we were closest to "Recreation Point", an old public park,
leftover from the days when the public felt safe in parks. So even though LC's
wheels were kind of creaky, we hit the area first.
There were a couple of the Pirates there who waved us in to where they had some
brand new 2-seater Wet-jets all ready. The silver Skull and Crossbones emblems
still smelled of fresh paint.
Doc and I grabbed the first one, while Dragon took number 2. Love-Child missed
the boat, however, because Ears took off on number 3 without waiting.
They say that Wet-Jets are like bikes for the water, but they never said that
the water was anything like a road. The morning chop was nasty, and it was all
Doc could do to hang on as I gunned the thing out towards open water.
We could see the Parafoil taking evasive action, being chased by a small cloud
of Motor-Skis. The small deck-gun on the Para-Foil was doing its job, as the
number of wrecked motor-skis testified. The gunner was smart, since it's easier
to take out the ski than the rider.
As soon as I was clear of the shallow-water chop, I flipped the thing onto
auto-pilot, and brought up the Bushmaster. I stood up partway, trying to
cushion the bounce with my legs, and the world slowed down. I had lots of time
to squeeze off my shot. Hell, we were at the top of a wave for almost an 8th of
a second. I waited for that moment, and released.
As much as I love my pistol, it's second place in my affections, behind the
hunting rifle. If the pistol is an extension of my hand, the rifle is a part of
my body, a tool of my will. Motion, distance, the distractions of spray in my
face and gunfire around me, all become irrelevant in that silent moment between
heartbeats, the place where I go to shoot. I found Truth, saw it manifested as
the Orc was slammed to the side by the impact of the round, his bike nearly
foundering as he lost control.
Then time started again, and I became aware of the constant roar of Dragon's
HK, as he sprayed a line of tracers into the path of an oncoming Orc. Momentum
and idiocy combined, and the doofus rode right through the stream of bullets before
diving into the water.
Now we had the attention of the Orc bikers, which took some of the pressure off
of the Para-foil. Our problem was that the gunner on the foil didn't know we
were on his side. He was pumping 20 mm shells at the Orcs, but it was only a
matter of time before he started on us.
But that was a problem for later, since the bikers had started on us first. One
shouldered his gun and fired. It's a hazard of our business, but this one was a
bit more hazardous. It was a small rocket, a heat seeker by the way it swerved
to home in on Dragon.
The big guy waited until the last moment, then ducked down and pulled a low
swerve, losing a bunch of speed but avoiding the rocket.
Then the rules changed. The water in front of the para-foil rose up into a
wall, and simply stood there. The Orcs had a Mage out there, and he had an
Elemental. Creation, but I hoped that there was only one.
But now the 'foil was a sitting duck, and one of the Orcs got off a second
missile, hulling the thing near the water line.
I raced the ski into the formation of circling Orcs, letting my rifle do all of
my talking.
One big difference between Dragon and I, aside from 200 kilos of cybernetics,
is that I make every shot count, and he doesn't count his shots. But he proved
his style effective, as he swept that heavy MG of his across the waves, taking
out Orcs left and right.
Then Ears pulled a move you seldom see off of the Combat Bike circuit. She
timed her run to coincide with the wake of one ski, and used it as a jump ramp.
She hadn't been able to hit much with her 9mm pistol, but when she aimed 300 mm
of ski, she hit the mark and barreled the Orc clean off of his ride.
Then, abruptly, it was over. We heard sirens coming across the water. We looked
at the foil, and saw that someone had hurled cases out of the hole in the hull.
There was a man on deck, waving at us, holding up a box. And there was a silver
skull and crossbones stenciled on the 'foil.
We recovered all three of the boxes that had been dunked, as well as our case
of eggs from the captain, then headed for shore.
The pirates were abandoning ship, since the local yokels were lobbing shells at
the foil. Apparently the real crew had gotten untied, and reported the theft.
But the wrath of the Coast Guard wasn't our problem. We had some eggs to
deliver.
We aimed at a landing point well away from where we had started.
There was no reason to show the Coasties where the Captain and his crew
operated out of.
Doc and I were dancing that ski across the waves like an EKG pattern, trying to
be where the shells weren't, but Dragon was taking the straight route.
Autopilots don't do evasion, I guess.
To our surprise, though, it was Ears who caught the nasty. A shell hit the
water right in front of her, and the explosion lifted her up as if she were
riding a champagne cork. The shock sent the ski, her, and her cargo in three
different directions. Of the three, she was the one still moving when she came
up, so I guess that was good news. The Ski' was broken, and the cargo box had
gone up in a pretty spectacular 'Kaboom!"
Maybe that satisfied the Coastie gunners, or maybe they lost sight of the
targets (us) in that explosion, but they eased up on us long enough for Dragon
to swing by her and give her a tow into shore. Then we were away as fast as our
soggy little feet could carry us.
Chapter 5: Mr. Troll’s Wild
Ride
We made it to a bus stop, and sat down to rest, trying to look like normal
citizens. I must say that it was a challenge for Dragon, but then he didn't
exactly try.
"Lemme see what's in these things.", Dragon muttered, as he drew a
claw across the fibre-tack that held one of the cases closed. He opened the
box, then drew back when he saw the contents. He was holding a case, 60 centimeters
on a side, stuffed absolutely full of white, fluffy gun-cotton. The thing was a
freaking bomb, and a really unstable one at that.
"Why don't you re-seal that thing, Drag', old buddy, before a spark hits
it?", Doc suggested quietly. "We may have some use for it, later, but
for now just close it up, nice and gentle."
The big guy closed the box and gently re-sealed it, scarcely daring to breathe
as he did so. The kaboomite in that thing would have left an omni-sized crater
in the bus stop, and we kind of needed the bus stop at the moment.
The PubTran was only a few agonizing minutes late, and was pretty much empty
when we got on it. The few passengers that there were took one look at Dragon,
and decided that the next stop was theirs, so we had the big thing pretty much
to ourselves. For the moment.
All was chilly as we rode across town, until Ears gets the big brights to see
where the route is taking us. It seems that the thing is heading right into Red
Skull territory, ending its run right at the entrance to the Underground. Crock-o-carbonate,
but that's the last place we want to go.
I decide to ask if the driver would like to make a few extra nuyen, but he
beats me to it. He pulls up to a stop and all but dashes off the bus, saying
something about a Star-Caff break, and we see him hotfooting it right for some
Lonestar troopers.
Quick as can be, I'm in the driver's seat, and we're off!
I didn't know how far behind the pursuit was, but I decided to make it a chase.
We roared through the pre-dawn city, taking out every fire hydrant I could
find, leaving a trail of streaming water and flooded streets behind us. Dragon kicked
out the rear window and braced himself with his grenade launcher aimed out,
waiting for the pursuit.
I detoured off route only when we got to Red Skull territory, to keep the
PubTrans people from spotting the problem on their GPS trackers. We made it
into Old Oak territory in one piece, with no pursuers in sight. Everybody got
off, and I set the auto-pilot to finish the route.
"What way now?", Dock asked breathlessly.
"Uptown. We either spot some Oakies, or we get the hell out of here and
lay low.", came the reply.
Our walk through the neighborhood showed us some very scared civvies, but no
Old Oaks folks. I guess the sight of a Troll with a Valliant, grenade launcher,
bandoliers of ammo, an HK 97 and battle armor was a bit intimidating at
that. Or maybe it was just the smell of
wet Troll. Either way, we were on our
own.
"Okay, plan B. We lay low. Where's a place?"
-----------------------
"Can I help you?", asked the young man at the Armada Inn, as we
walked in. Or, specifically, as Ears and I walked in.
"We're looking for a room for the weekend.", I said, in my nicest
"Goes to church regularly" voice.
"Un huh.", the drone grunted. "Runners pay in advance, both you
and the pair outside.", he stated, pointing to the security monitor that
showed Dragon and Doc hiding in the brush outside.
"Okay.", I grumbled as I passed over the nuyen.
"Two rooms, two nights. And if anyone asks, we aren't here, and never were."
The cred-stick never went anyplace close to his cash-port as he slipped us the
keys. A few keystrokes on his security screen, and the cameras on level 4 went
dead.
"You won't show up on a monitor for the next 10 minutes. Call me when
you're ready to leave, and we'll have another malfunction. ", he said with
a smile.
Hell, I'd smile too, if I got to pocket that much cash. But it was what we
needed, so...
"I've got an idea.", said Dragon as we headed up. "I'll booby
trap the first room, the one nearest the lift, so anybody who kicks the door in
gets to see Earth from orbit."
He could have just set an alarm, but if blowing things up made him happy, who
was I to argue? We made it into the rooms with 8 minutes to spare on the
security time window, and Dragon was back with us behind door number two in
pretty short order.
Doc and Ears decided to crash on the bed, and I took a shower while Dragon
flipped on the Trideo, to see if we made the news.
I'd just about gotten the bay-smell out of my hair when I heard the big guy
laughing.
"Hey, Trig, you made the news.", he called out.
Sure enough, there I was on the AM hour, soiled and soggy from my run on the
water, driving the bus. We'd forgotten to disable the internal cam', and so
there we were, hijacking a bus on the morning trids. Must be a slow news
day.
The only redeeming point, as far as I could see, was that I was so covered in
gunk from the bay that my own mother would have had a hard time recognizing me.
The bad news was that the Red Skulls now knew that we had survived the bay, and
probably had the eggs. They'd be looking for us, and we weren't hard to
spot. The worse news came from the
screen: The Green Jade had been blown up
this morning. Something about a gas
explosion.
I got my clothes from the fresher and tried to figure out what to do with my
soggy-but-clean hair. Then I stopped. And I smiled.
Chapter 6: Sliding into Home
"Magic Lantern, may I help you?", came the sing-song voice
over the phone.
"Yes.", I said, in my best citizen voice. "I was wondering if
Mr. Johnson had made his reservations yet for this evening."
<sound of keys clicking> "I have no reservation for Mr. Johnson.",
came the polite rely.
"Well, I'll take care of it then. Could you make a reservation for a
private table for Johnson at 7:30 this evening? My name is Traegar.", I
emphasized, and thanked her very much.
I then contemplated disturbing Ears while she showered. Tempting as the thought
was, I left her to it. Instead, I waited for her to emerge, all dressed, before
explaining what I needed, and why.
"Okay, here's the plan.", I said. "Ears, I'm going to need you
to make me up like a rocker boy. A trip to the Salivation Army should get me
some work clothes. I'm going to be the party boy schlepping boxes on a day
job."
"Dragon.", I said, turning to him. "I'm going to need you to rig
a detonator with a remote trigger in one of the other boxes. That's a 'just in
case' kind of thing."
"Now, here's the deal. The Skulls are going to be looking for us. Ears has
already changed her look, so she should be safe enough, as long as she isn't
traveling with us, as a group. Once she changes my look a bit, I'll be able to
do the same. I'm going to take the case of eggs and the box-o-boom, and deliver
them to the Magic Lantern like they were restaurant supplies. The Skulls are
looking for a Troll and three Elf runners with one box, not a rocker boy with
two boxes. I'll take the walk, and do my best to look bored and
overworked."
Dragon pondered this for a bit. "So, when they try to stop you, we get to
blow them up?", he finally asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
I started to explain that if the shooting started, we'd already lost, since
eggs are really, really breakable, but when I looked into his large, bloodshot,
hope-laden eyes, I just didn't have the heart.
"Yeah.", I said quietly. "That's the plan."
----------------------------------------------
The beat of the music was infectious. I had the boom-bot's volume turned up
loud enough for people near me to hear, whether they wanted to or not. I tried
to ignore the small drone as it hovered a slow orbit around me, but let the
beat of the music into my walk as I went.
Ears had done a job on me, but good. My hair was moussed up into a war-hawk do,
and half a dozen gold earrings traced their way down the back edge of my left
ear. I'd stopped her from shaving the left side of my head, as normally went
with the half-mohawk style, instead settling for just pulling the one side up.
Streaks of neon pink ran up the do, culminating in saw-toothed spikes with
photo-flashing beads. A temporary tattoo traced tribal lines all over that side
of my face, with magnetic pseudo-piercings to highlight it all.
I was just glad she hadn't gone overboard on it.
Doc had managed to get me a small hand-truck, and I was shuffle-bouncing my way
down the
I got to the Magic Lantern unmolested, and rang the service bell out back.
"Wha daya want?", came the harsh voice over the speaker, city-speak
with a harsh Chinese accent.
"Got a delivery.", I replied dully, holding up the sig-pad for the
sec-cam to see.
After a minute that seemed like 20, the door opened and a man in cook's grubs
peered out at me.
"Special delivery for the Johnson party tonight.", I explained.
The man let me in, but had me wait in the back, where a square, sweaty man
holding a long curved chef's knife watched me suspiciously.
The Manager came back and looked me over, obviously unhappy with what he saw.
"I'm not expecting any deliveries.", he said finally, and began to
turn away.
"It's for Mr. Johnson. He has a special reservation tonight.", I
said, dropping the monotone manner of the bored rocker-boy. That got his
attention.
"What am I supposed to do with these?"
"Just put 'em in storage until tonight. Ignore them until then."
The manager stepped fully into the room, and I got my first good look. It
wasn't Johnson, but looked enough like him to tell me they were related. I
tensed, unsure of whether I was going to get out, or if I was suddenly a loose
end.
He smiled, and gave a slight bow. "Mr. Johnson will be quite pleased. I'll
be sure to inform him.", he said almost formally.
I returned the bow, felt my heart start to beat again, and headed for the door.
I somehow felt it would be a lot safer for me outside, where I only had to
worry about a half a hundred angry Orcs looking for me.
----------------------------------
"Are you sure this is okay?", Doc asked me, for about the fifth time,
as we made our way to the Magic Lantern.
"No, I'm not sure.", I replied, frankly. "This Johnson made a
lot of mistakes, as if he's either a rookie, or it doesn't matter. "
"He's a rookie.', Dragon said assuredly. "I've dealt with his kind
before. He didn't leave a contact number, he let us know who he was, and he
didn't tell us he'd tried to replace the eggs himself."
"I hope you're right.", said DJ nervously.
"I am.", replied the big guy. I noticed that his manner was calm, but
his left hand was in his pocket, holding a detonator.
We got to the Magic Lantern without a problem. We'd taken a convoluted route,
avoiding the Orc patrols we saw.
The room we were escorted to was a nice one, gently lit and with black-sound
dampeners at the entrance: Nothing said inside could be heard past the doorway.
Once again, we were served green tea and appetizers before Johnson arrived. I
watched Doc take a few bits of each and drop them in her test kit before eating
or drinking anything. Once she took a bite, the rest of us followed suit.
Then he was there. We hadn't heard him approach thanks to the black-noise
system, and the refractive bead curtain made it all but impossible to see into
the hall. He seated himself at the head of the table and smiled.
"Well done. I was quite pleased at your success, and the subtlety of the
final delivery. I presume that you know what happened to my other restaurant?"
“Gas explosion, the news said.”, Doc confirmed.
“The C12 probably did ignite the gas mains, so they weren’t
entirely in error.”, Johnson said.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, sir.", I said.
"Oh, don't worry about it.", he laughed in reply. "It isn't as
if I wasn't expecting it, and I'm surprisingly well insured."
Doc nodded in understanding. "I mourn the loss of all of those rare
Oriental antiques you had there.", she said.
"You mean your other place blew up, and I didn't get to do it?",
asked Dragon in disappointment.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as everyone stared at Dragon, then
Mr. Johnson cleared his throat and began again.
"As I said I was quite pleased.", he continued, drawing a number of
Cred-sticks from an inner pocket. "I've included a small bonus for each of
you. Also, I understand that you incurred some expenses..." He let that
trail off as he handed me an extra Cred-stick.
I was impolitic enough to check the balances. He'd doubled the final payout,
and comp'd me the cost of the eggs as well. Whooo! I could eat for a while, and
even keep a roof over my head.
Nicer still, Johnson hadn't brought any heavies to finish off his loose ends.
Us, that is.
"That's most generous of you sir.", Ears was saying with a smile.
"I must admit that once I became aware of the reason for my troubles, I
ventured a wager or two myself. So it was your work that made my generosity
possible. " He paused for a moment, with a troubled look on his face, then
continued. "May I ask why two boxes were delivered here?"
"Two reasons, sir.", I explained. "First, the Orcs were looking
for someone trying to deliver a single case of eggs, so two boxes threw them
off the scent."
"I see. Subtle and clever. And the second reason?", he asked.
I looked a bit embarrassed, I'm sure, as I finished the tale. "Most
employers don't give us any clue to their real name, or how to find them. Those
that let such things slip tend to consider their privacy and security more
important than the lives of people like us. They plug the security holes with
lead. That second box was our insurance. It's a bomb, and Dragon is holding the
detonator. If you had tried to kill us tonight, you would have lost the eggs,
and a second restaurant."
Johnson's expression was unreadable, and he stared at us for a long moment.
"I see", he finally said. "I'll be more careful, should I ever
have reason to employ Runners again. I hadn't realized that my inexperience
could lead to that sort of consequence. May I ask that Mr. Dragon leave the
detonator in my care, please?"
"Sure.", Dragon said with a smile, as he laid the micro-transmitter
on the table. Then he carefully turned it over, showing that the back was open,
and there was no power cell in it. It wouldn't have worked anyway.
"Hey!", he said with a laugh. "We're in the building too. You
didn't expect me to blow myself up, did ya?"
The release of tension was so abrupt that laughter just spilled out, and we
finished the meal in good spirits.
-------------------------
The Armada rooms weren't really needed any more, so we went back to clear them
out.
I picked up that last box of explosives. It was old-style stuff, and really too
unstable to be worth keeping. But the box had me thinking...
"Okay, Trig.", said Ears sharply. "At this point I know that
look, and it scares me. What are you up to."
"Nothing, really.", I replied with a smile. "I was just
wondering how much we could get the Orcs to pay us for these 'eggs'?"
<finis>