[Shadowrun 41] - Born to Run Read online

  Kellan wondered for a moment if the man was with the military. He certainly looked the part, and it wouldn’t be the first time that the UCAS military (or those of other nations) had dealt with shadowrunners. He looked the three of them over with an appraising eye, but showed no signs that he was nervous, concerned or anything other than in complete control of the situation. Some of that confidence might have stemmed from the presence of the person sitting next to him.

  The other man was an elf. Looking at him, Kellan wondered briefly if all elves looked like fashion models fresh from an image shoot. He looked young, too, but then all elves did, even the ones born at the very start of the Awakening some fifty years ago. He was tall and slender, but Kellan could see that his T-shirt with its Celtic-knot design was stretched across a well-muscled chest. His hair was auburn and shoulder length, a popular style with elves. He wore it pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were vividly green. The elf’s outfit didn’t match the slick and understated style of the other man. Instead, he wore a heavy black leather biker jacket with chrome zippers and buckles, close-fitting T-shirt, torn blue jeans and black, knee-high leather boots. Kellan also noticed his studded black gloves were fingerless, and that he wore a sword in a scabbard across his back, with the hilt protruding above his right shoulder so he could draw it overhand. It still surprised her when she saw someone carrying a sword, though she knew that some dangers in the Sixth World were best handled with man-powered steel rather than modern weaponry.

  “Mr. Johnson, I presume?” Lothan asked and the first man nodded, gesturing to the other chairs at the table. Lothan took the one directly opposite then-contact, and Kellan and G-Dogg sat to either side of the troll mage, putting Kellan closest to the elf, who glared across the table at all of them.

  Lothan didn’t offer introductions, nor did Mr. Johnson ask for any. That wasn’t his real name, of course. Shadowrunners referred to their employers as “Mr. Johnson” (or “Ms. Johnson,” as the case may be) because anonymity and discretion was of paramount importance to shadowrunners, and to those who hired them. Potential employers didn’t want their real names known in case something went wrong. What the shadowrunners didn’t know, they couldn’t reveal to the authorities, nor could they use it to attempt blackmail. Shadowrunners used street names for much the same reason.

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Mr. Johnson said in a neutral, somewhat bored tone of voice.

  “By all means,” Lothan replied.

  “Certain parties that I represent are interested in acquiring a particular shipment that is coming into the metroplex. I can provide information about the route the shipment will take into the plex. I need someone to acquire the shipment and deliver it to a location elsewhere in the metroplex that I will specify.”

  “And to whom does this shipment belong?” Lothan asked. Mr. Johnson shook his head slightly.

  “I’m not prepared to discuss that until we have an agreement,” he said. “The job pays forty thousand nuyen in certified credit upon completion and successful delivery of the goods.”

  “How soon does the run need to take place?” Lothan asked.

  “Within the week.”

  “That’s not much time,” the troll mused aloud.

  “Fifty thousand, with half up front and the remainder upon delivery.”

  “Forty-five, with five thousand in advance for expenses, and the other forty when you deliver.”

  Lothan paused for a moment. “Done.”

  “One other thing,” Mr. Johnson said. “I want Orion here on the team,” he tilted his head in the direction of the elf.

  “I choose my own team,” Lothan replied.

  “It’s part of the deal. Either take it or leave it,” the Johnson said flatly.

  “If we’re taking him on, that’s an additional expense,” Lothan began.

  “I don’t want your fraggin’ money,” Orion growled from the other side of the table. Mr. Johnson placed his gloved hand on the table in front of the elf, silencing him.

  “A separate arrangement has already been made,” he told Lothan. “The payment for the job is for you and whomever you choose to hire. Orion doesn’t need to be considered in your allocations.” When Lothan studied the elf and then looked back at the Johnson, he continued. “That’s the offer. Do we have a deal?”

  “Make it eight thousand up front and, yes, we have a deal.”

  “Done,” the Johnson replied. He reached slowly into a pocket on the sleeve of his sweater and removed a small palm computer. He tapped the screen a couple of times, then pulled a datastick out of the port and slid it across the table toward Lothan, lifting and withdrawing his gloved hand with deliberate slowness.

  “That contains your advance and the information on the shipment time and route,” he said. “The shipment belongs to Ares Macrotechnology and is coming into the metroplex by truck in a few days. It also specifies where and when you’re to deliver the goods.”

  Lothan picked up the data stick and casually handed it to G-Dogg, who removed a similar pocket comp from his jacket and slotted the stick, glancing over the display and tapping the screen a couple of times. Then he looked up at Lothan and nodded.

  “And if we need to contact you?” Lothan asked Mr. Johnson.

  “Our only other contact will be at the prearranged meeting,” he said. “You shouldn’t need any contact with me beyond that. I trust you can handle this matter on your own.”

  “Of course,” Lothan replied briskly. “Well, then, I believe our business is concluded.”

  The Johnson nodded and stood up from the table. “I’ll be looking forward to our next meeting.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Lothan said. Then the dark-clad man departed, leaving the shadowrunners sitting at the table. The elf, Orion, stayed where he was as their new employer left, watching the others with a wary eye.

  “You waiting for a tip, kid?” G-Dogg said to the elf.

  “No,” he said in a haughty tone. “I’m waiting to get started.”

  “Well, then, I suggest that you wait elsewhere,” Lothan said. “We’ll contact you when your services are needed.”

  “Your employer said that I’m supposed to be involved in this run,” Orion said, placing one hand flat on the table and leaning forward for emphasis. Kellan tensed, waiting for the elf to jump to his feet.

  “And you will be,” Lothan replied, “but when and where I say. If you are going to be in on this, then the first thing you need to understand is that I call the shots. Now then, I assume that you have a means by which we can contact you?”

  The troll and the elf locked eyes across the table and Orion was silent for a long moment. Kellan could see the tension in the line of his jaw and across his shoulders. Then the elf pulled the front of his jacket open with one hand and reached slowly into the front pocket with the other. Kellan could see that he was wearing a gun in a shoulder rig underneath, although his hand stayed well away from it. He pulled out a compact phone and G-Dogg responded by setting his pocket comp on the table. Orion tapped a code into the phone and beamed something to the pocket comp, which chirped.

  “You have my number,” he announced, pocketing the phone again. Then he rose from the table, turned on his heel, and swept out of the bar. Kellan noticed that G-Dogg turned to watch him go, but Lothan didn’t, showing only his back to the elf’s exit. A moment later they heard the roar of a motorcycle engine starting up and Kellan allowed herself to breathe again.

  “That guy’s gonna be trouble,” G-Dogg said to no one in particular.

  “I can deal with him,” Lothan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It won’t be a problem.”

  “I don’t know,” the ork replied. “Did you see the back of his jacket? The Ancients aren’t people I want to tangle with.”

  “You’re welcome to opt out if you want.”

  “Didn’t say that. I just think that it could get messy if the Ancients are involved.”

  “Who are the Ancients
?” Kellan asked, and the two turned toward her like they’d forgotten she was there. Kellan took note of the incredulous look on Lothan’s face.

  “They’re a gang,” G-Dogg said. “An elven gang, one of the biggest in the plex. The Ancients have chapters all over the UCAS, but there are a lot of them in Seattle because it’s so close to Tir Tairngire. I would have said they were the toughest gang in the plex before the Spikes started moving in on their territory—now it’s probably a toss-up. Not getting along with the Spikes is something you and our new chummer there have in common,” he told Kellan with a grin.

  “So that was the gang’s symbol?” Kellan referred to the circled “A” in acid-green paint emblazoned on the back of Orion’s jacket.

  “Yup,” G-Dogg said.

  “Why would the Johnson want us to work with a member of a gang?”

  “It’s of no importance,” Lothan interrupted tersely before G-Dogg could reply. “So long as Mr. Johnson’s credit is good, it’s none of our concern. He wants the elf involved with the run, so he will be, and this is not the place to be discussing it at any rate.” He gave Kellan a meaningful look and she clammed up, stung by the implication about her lack of professionalism. Then the troll mage stood, putting an end to the conversation.

  Kellan felt a hot flush of embarrassment and stood up quickly to follow Lothan and G-Dogg out of the bar. Stupid, she thought, asking questions like some dumb kid! She noticed how quickly Lothan and G-Dogg had frozen out Orion. Was that how they looked at her? Some kid that they were saddled with whether they liked it or not? Lothan had invited her along to the meeting, even if he didn’t say two words to her about it, and G-Dogg didn’t seem to think her questions were out of line, but…

  But nothing, Kellan thought as she settled into her seat in the car. I’m going to show them that I can do the job. This is the chance I wanted. I’m not going to frag it up.

  They went back to Lothan’s place, where the troll mage excused himself for a moment to make a few calls, leaving G-Dogg and Kellan waiting in his cluttered study. When Lothan returned, he seemed satisfied with the results of his inquiries.

  “G-Dogg, I’ll want you to get in touch with a few people. I’ll let you know the particulars soon.”

  “Okay,” the ork said, getting to his feet. Seeing this, Kellan did the same.

  “As for you,” the troll said to Kellan, “we can start your instruction soon, provided that you’re still interested….”

  Kellan nodded. “Yeah, count me in.”

  “Excellent,” Lothan said with a nod. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not as suited for these late-night rendezvous as I used to be, and there’re still things to be done. G-Dogg, I’ll contact you soon. You can show yourselves out.”

  “A’right, Lothan. See you later,” the ork said. He paused for Kellan to precede him out the door, following close behind.

  They didn’t speak until they were in G-Dogg’s car, on their way back toward Lake Washington.

  “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks,” Kellan said quietly.

  “For what?” the ork replied.

  “Well, for everything. Helping me out back at the club, getting me set up with Lothan—everything.”

  The ork chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet, kid. You haven’t started lessons with the ‘master of the arts arcane,’ yet.” G-Dogg did an uncanny imitation of Lothan’s lofty and educated tone of voice. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, catching a look of concern on Kellan’s face. “Lothan’s a great mage—maybe even as great as he thinks he is. He really knows his stuff but… well, let’s just say that he’s not a real people person.”

  “Not like you,” Kellan said.

  “Nope,” G-Dogg replied. “Sometimes I think it’s because Lothan wasn’t born a trog.” Kellan was surprised, both by the information and G-Dogg’s casual use of a racial slur usually hurled at orks and trolls by Humanis Policlub supremacists.

  “He wasn’t?” she asked.

  “Nope. Lothan was born before the Awakening, kid. He’s older than you and me put together. He’s been around the block more than a few times, and he’s still here to talk about it.”

  “So he wasn’t always a mage, either?” Kellan said.

  “Well, just about,” the ork replied, shifting gears and changing lanes to dodge around some slower-moving traffic. “Ol’ Lothan was like eleven or twelve when the Awakening hit, so he was just a kid. I dunno whether his Talent woke up then or if it was when he goblinized.”

  “Wow,” Kellan said. “I just figured he was maybe forty or so.”

  “Well, he looks it, if he was born a troll. Hell, if Lothan was born a troll, he’d be dead by now. Not too many trolls make it to his age.”

  Or orks, Kellan thought. While elves born at the dawn of the Awakening were still young and vital well into their fifties and sixties, those born as orks and trolls weren’t blessed with similarly long lifespans. In fact, the so-called goblinized metahumans physically matured faster than humans, and they aged faster, too. Orks were lucky if they lived past forty or so, and a troll who reached fifty was practically ancient. Apparently, metahumans born as humans were different, living out their normal human lifespans. G-Dogg said that he was born an ork. Kellan suddenly realized G-Dogg was probably younger than she thought.

  “Me, I’m glad that I didn’t have to go through the change,” G-Dogg mused aloud. “I’ve heard that it hurts like nobody’s business.”

  Kellan shuddered as she imagined muscle and bone reshaping itself in response to some hidden genetic directive, warping the normal human form into that of an ork or troll. By itself, the process of adding all the additional body mass had to be incredibly painful, even if it was all magic. No wonder some of the first orks and trolls had gone insane from the process. She thought about Lothan going though that, turning from a human into a troll over the course of several pain-wracked days, and felt a sudden sympathy for the old mage.

  “I hope I can learn how to do it all,” Kellan said.

  “What, magic?” G-Dogg asked. “Beats the frag out of me, kid. I’m a total mundane. Never got the mojo, and that’s fine with me. Too complicated. I like to keep things simple. I think you’ll do okay, though. Aren’t too many runners in the plex who know magic better than Lothan.”

  “So,” the ork said, changing the subject, “you got a place to crash? ’Cause if you need one, you’re welcome to check out my doss.” He glanced at Kellan briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

  “No thanks,” she said. “I’ve got a place. I just need to pick up my ride at the club.”

  “No problem,” G-Dogg said in a carefully neutral tone. “I’ve got to go back there to take care of some stuff anyway. I’ll drop you off.”

  The trip back to Underworld 93 was less eventful than the trip downtown. G-Dogg made occasional small talk about places Kellan should check out in Seattle, but didn’t say anything more about Lothan or the run. In fact, Kellan noticed that the ork didn’t say a thing about the job or what he thought about Mr. Johnson or the elf ganger Orion. Kellan didn’t bring it up either, concerned about coming off looking like a newbie again.

  Then they were outside the club. The line of wannabes was gone and the night’s business was winding down, though Kellan could still hear the pounding beat of the music from inside. She took her phone out and beamed the number to G-Dogg, who checked the display on his phone, then beamed her his number before snapping it closed.

  “Frosty,” he said. “I’ll call you when things start happening. If something comes up, give me a buzz.”

  “Okay,” Kellan said.

  “Sure you don’t want one for the road?” G-Dogg asked. “I’m buyin’.”

  Kellan shook her head. “No, thanks, I should get going.”

  “Later, then,” the ork said and drove off, turning the corner around the side of the club.

  Kellan waited until he was out of sight before going over to the public comm terminal and slotting her credstick, keying in
a request for a cab. She hoped that the Grid-Cabs ran this late at night, but she hadn’t wanted to ask G-Dogg about it and thus admit that she didn’t have transportation of her own. That was something she was going to have to take care of, maybe when she got the cred from this job.

  The cab showed up in short order and Kellan climbed in, slotting her stick into the port and keying in the address she needed. It highlighted the destination on a map displayed on the scratched and battered flatscreen, and she accepted the route as correct. By the time she was halfway there, it had started to rain again, a steady drumming on the roof and windows of the cab, painting the city streets in streaks of distorted streetlights and neon signs.

  “Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab,” the cab’s voice chirped cheerfully as it pulled up to the destination. Kellan quickly pulled her stick from the slot and climbed out, hugging her jacket close against the chill rain. She dashed over to the skeletal framework of steel and ferrocrete that loomed overhead, dark against the cloudy sky.

  The flickering neolux sign running up the side of the building simply said, sleep. From the outside, it looked something like a parking garage, which it was, in a way. Kellan walked up to the small booth that was protected by heavy, bulletproof plastic windows, slotting her credstick into the port. The attendant barely looked up from the tiny flatscreen on the counter that was showing a Matrix porn channel, waving her in with a distracted gesture. She climbed the metal-framework stairs to the third floor, her boots clanging on the catwalk. Stacked up in rows on either side were metallic cylinders about a meter wide and nearly three meters long. Their shapes had given places like this the name “coffin hotels,” and in fact there was only slightly more space in one of the modules than in a typical casket.