[Shadowrun 41] - Born to Run Read online

  Kellan stopped at number 314 and slotted her credstick into the port. There was a beep and the hatch of the module popped open. Kellan crawled inside, too tired to bother pulling off any of her clothes. She just keyed the controls to close the hatch behind her. It cut off most of the sound of the rain and the traffic from the street outside, and she stretched out on the temperform padding covering the floor. The only light inside the pod came from the phosphorescent glow-strips along the side; Kellan had thrown a black T-shirt over the small flatscreen that constantly advertised cheap sim-porn and other pay-per-view “entertainment” like the drek the attendant was watching.

  Her brain was buzzing with everything that had happened that night, and she wondered how she would get to sleep. Not only had she managed to hook up with some work in Seattle on her second night in the metroplex, but an old-time shadowrunner told her that she was a fraggin’ mage and was willing to teach her about using magic! Kellan daydreamed about what she could do once Lothan taught her how to control her magic. Like G-Dogg said, spell-slingers—good ones, at least—were always in demand in the shadows. If she learned from Lothan, she could really hit the big time. No more scrounging and scraping together enough cred to make ends meet.

  “The big time…” Kellan murmured to herself, and she drifted off to sleep.

  5

  The insistent buzzing of Kellan’s phone prodded her from sleep and she fumbled in the dimness of the coffin to find it.

  “Mmm, ’lo?” she mumbled into it, and was greeted by the cheerful bass voice of G-Dogg in return.

  “Hoi, Kellan,” he said.

  “Wha—what time is it?” she rolled over and pulled the shirt off the coffin’s flatscreen so she could see the time display in the lower right corner at about the same time G-Dogg answered.

  “It’s time for biz,” he said. The clock told Kellan it was 12:22 p.m. “I’m supposed to get everyone together for a meet tonight at Lothan’s. I was heading out to talk to people and figured I’d see if you wanted to come with. Give you a chance to meet some people one-on-one rather than as a group. If you’re not busy, that is.”

  Feeling more awake, Kellan decided it was a good idea. She much preferred to meet any potential teammates with G-Dogg to introduce her, rather than just being another face in the crowd at Lothan’s. She sat up, careful not to bang her head against the top of the coffin.

  “Yeah, that sounds wizard,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “I’ll drive,” G-Dogg offered. “Where do you want me to pick you up?”

  Kellan gave G-Dogg the address of a nearby Stuffer Shack. He said he knew where to find it and would see her there shortly. When he hung up, she put her phone away and gathered her gear. Everything Kellan owned was stowed in a synthleather shoulder bag tucked into the far end of the coffin, or in the pockets of her jacket. She had already realized it wasn’t smart to leave anything at the coffin hotel, even though she had risked it last night. They were only supposed to allow customers inside the building, but she didn’t like to trust the place’s lackadaisical security with her meager possessions.

  I must look like drek, Kellan thought, running her fingers through her hair in an effort to tame it, finally deciding to wear a baseball cap to keep it under control. She hadn’t showered since leaving Kansas City (no way would she use the communal facilities at the coffin hotel), and she had run out of clean clothes, so she was starting to stink. Hopefully, nobody G-Dogg was going to introduce her to would care. From what she’d seen at the meeting at Ebey’s Bar, her hygiene was the least of the things other people would be thinking about.

  A short while later, G-Dogg’s Argent pulled into the tiny parking lot of the Stuffer Shack nearest the hotel, and Kellan threw out the wrapper and last couple of bites of the Nukit breakfast burrito she was eating and climbed in, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve.

  “Ready to get down to it?” the ork asked her. Unlike Kellan, he was dressed in different clothes than the previous night, though still the same style. Kellan noted that the vest G-Dogg was wearing today contained a thick layer of ballistic cloth beneath the outer layer of synthleather.

  “All set,” she told him and the ork pulled the Argent smoothly out into traffic.

  “Okay,” G-Dogg said, adopting a tone that was all business. “Lothan chose the people he wants on the team and asked me to find out if they’re interested. It’ll give you the chance to meet some of the players in this town. Chances are you’re going to hear about most of them sooner or later, and probably work with most of them eventually. That’s the way biz works in Seattle.”

  “Everybody works with everybody?” Kellan asked. “So Lothan doesn’t have a regular team?” Back in Kansas City, Kellan had worked with the same group of runners from job to job. Of course, there were a lot fewer shadowrunners in Kansas City than there were in Seattle, she figured.

  “Well, not everybody works that way. But like I said, Lothan’s not exactly a people person. He doesn’t like teams. He’d rather pick his players to suit the job and not get attached. If you ask me,” the ork continued, “it’s a smart way to work. Regular teams are okay, but it’s good when you can put together whatever sort of team you need to do the job. It’s how a lot of people work around here, so you’ll get used to it.”

  G-Dogg headed north again, picking up 405. This time, rather than heading across Lake Washington toward Council Island, he took an exit off the highway into the Bellevue district of the metroplex instead.

  “Nice area,” Kellan said, looking impressed by the condoplexes, many of them surrounded by private security perimeters prominently displaying the logos of security companies like Lone Star, Knight Errant and Wolverine, proclaiming to the world that the residents were better protected because they had the nuyen to hire their own private police forces. “Where we headed?” she asked.

  “You’ll see,” he said. “This job involves moving the goods and doing it quick, so the first guy we want to talk to is our wheelman.”

  The ork pulled into the lot of what looked like a renovated gas station. There were three vehicle bays next to a small office with windows of tinted glass covered with blinds on the inside. Above the garage and office was a second floor, its windows likewise covered. There were no fuel pumps, but the pavement outside was covered with grease spots and the occasional skid mark. G-Dogg parked the Argent at the side of the building. He waited until Kellan climbed out before closing his door and keying the security system.

  The ork walked directly to the door closest to the first vehicle bay, where he stood, waiting. Kellan forced herself to wait patiently rather than ask G-Dogg what he was expecting. A few moments later, G-Dogg looked up, and Kellan followed his gaze to see something hanging on the wall just over the door. It looked like a metallic spider, about the size of the ork’s fist, its round, silvery body supported on a set of spindly metallic legs. A single red “eye” glowed off-center in the front, and the ork gave it a tusky grin. The spider turned suddenly and scuttled up the wall, then there was a buzz and the door unlocked. G-Dogg grabbed it and pulled it all the way open, motioning for Kellan to enter.

  Inside the garage was dim compared to outside. As her eyes adjusted, Kellan saw the sleek lines of cars in the vehicle bays. All around them were arrayed rolling cabinets of tools, wall racks of parts and supplies, and a profusion of metallic and cast-ceramic junk of all shapes and sizes. The car in the bay at the far end of the building was raised up on a hydraulic lift and an electric-blue glow flickered beneath it.

  G-Dogg wove his way around the other cars toward the last bay and Kellan followed. Under the raised car was a multiarmed contraption wielding various tools and grippers, currently holding part of the car’s chassis in place as it precisely spot-welded it. Off to the side sat a stocky figure. He was a dwarf, barely a meter and a quarter tall by Kellan’s estimate. His eyes were closed as if in silent meditation, hands resting in his lap. He wore heavy work boots and a pair of dark blue cov
eralls stained with grease and marked with small burnt patches. His hair and beard were brown and long, braided with metallic beads and clasps, but what immediately drew Kellan’s attention was the thin fiber-optic cable snaking out from the chrome-lipped jack behind his right ear. It extended behind his arm and across the floor to the welding rig under the car.

  The rig made one more weld, and then its arms gracefully folded like the petals of some strange flower, dropping the drone into a resting pose. The dwarf in the chair opened his eyes and turned toward his visitors. His irises were shot through with silver circuitry that gleamed in the dim light. Cyber-eyes, Kellan thought.

  “G-Dogg,” he said in a neutral tone.

  “Hey, Max, ’sup?”

  “Same ol’,” the dwarf replied, reaching behind his ear to pull the plug from his jack with an audible click. He stood up and tugged the cable. It started to wind smoothly into the housing of the tool rig. “Just doing some touch-up work,” he said.

  “Looks good,” G-Dogg said, glancing over the car.

  “Thanks.”

  “Max, this is Kellan Colt. Kellan, this is Silver Max, one of the best riggers you’re ever likely to meet.” The dwarf seemed to take the compliment as his due.

  “Hey,” Kellan said, extending a hand. Max shook it with a firm grip.

  “You putting something together, G-Dogg?” he asked, turning toward the ork.

  “Not me—Lothan,” he said. “We need a driver, probably some overwatch, too.” The dwarf raised one shaggy eyebrow.

  “What would I be driving and what’s the cut?”

  “A cargo hauler and it’s 5K on delivery.”

  “Combat?” the dwarf asked.

  “Not much if we do it right.”

  “When?”

  “Meeting tonight at Lothan’s. Things will probably go down in a couple days.”

  The dwarf went over to the hydraulic lift and started inspecting the welds from underneath.

  “Okay,” he said curtly. “I’m in.”

  “Wizard,” G-Dogg said. “Meet at Lothan’s tonight, 2000 hours.”

  “I’ll be there,” the dwarf replied without looking away from his work. G-Dogg headed for the door and Kellan followed close behind. As they left, Silver Max picked up a wrench and began adjusting something on the undercarriage of the car.

  “Okay,” G-Dogg said outside the garage. “Now let’s see if the intel I picked up on our next guy is good.”

  “Where’s he?” Kellan asked as they got into the car.

  “Redmond,” the ork said.

  They headed northeast. The neighboring area of Redmond couldn’t have been more different from Bellevue if someone had planned it that way. The corporate condoplexes and gated communities gave way to streets lined with largely abandoned buildings and the occasional corporate complex surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire. The warning signs indicated the fences were electrified and patrolled by paranormal guard animals, mostly barghests, hellhounds and cockatrices.

  “Redmond used to be pretty high-class,” G-Dogg said as Kellan looked over the burnt-out storefronts, broken windows covered with sheets of construction plastic and plywood with layers of gang graffiti scrawled over them. “Back around the turn of the century there was a lot of computer biz around here—baby ’net corps and drek like that. ’Course this was before the Matrix. When the Computer Crash of 2029 hit, it took the computer corps down with it. Most of them went out of business overnight and a lot of others pulled out of the area. With all the damage done by the Ghost Dance War and the other drek the metroplex was going through, well, nobody really cared about trying to fix things. So refugees and metahumans and people with nowhere else to go moved in and squatted. Now Lone Star won’t come into the Barrens with anything less than an APC and full riot gear.”

  They passed what looked like a kind of Stuffer Shack, set up in an old gas station, the pumps long since boxed and the skeleton of the place’s old sign looming overhead. Kellan saw a few girls—human and ork—working the nearby street corner, listlessly showing off their wares for any cars that cruised past.

  “They call this part Touristville,” G-Dogg commented in response to the surroundings. “It’s right on the border with Bellevue, and some of the suits and straight citizens like to come slumming when they’re looking for a little of that ‘Barrens edge’ to have some not-so-legal fun. It’s not too bad right here, since the Star comes down hard when the locals hassle an uptown SINner. Places further east like Glow City and the Rat’s Nest, the mutants and squatters there would gladly knife you for a pair of shoes, or just to make fresh meat for the ghouls.”

  Kellan shuddered involuntarily, though she tried to hide it. She’d heard stories about ghouls, twisted metahumans that made orks and trolls look handsome by comparison. Once they’d been human, but now they were barely intelligent creatures that fed on human (and metahuman) flesh. Bands of them lived in places like the Barrens, where they fed on corpses and occasionally hunted fresh meat among the squatters and street people. Kellan had never seen a ghoul, and wasn’t particularly eager to ever see one. A lot of local municipalities offered a bounty on ghouls, considering them a threat to public safety. She had known a guy in Kansas City who made some cred on the side as a ghoul hunter, until one night when he went looking for some ghouls and he didn’t come back.

  Absorbed by her thoughts, Kellan barely noticed when G-Dogg slowed the car and pulled into a lot next to a building with a scarred brick front. The lot was half exposed dirt and half cracked asphalt, enclosed by a thick chain strung from metal posts embedded in concrete. There were a number of cars and motorcycles already parked there, most of them considerably older and more beaten up than the ork’s Argent. G-Dogg hit the security system as soon as they were out of the car, and led Kellan around to the front of the building.

  Metal letters mounted on the crumbling brick wall read crusher 495, and the few windows at the front of the building were tinted, so you couldn’t see inside. G-Dogg glanced at Kellan as they approached the door.

  “Just follow my lead, okay?” he said. Kellan nodded as he opened the door and stepped into the gloom beyond. She followed, letting her eyes adjust to the interior illumination, dim even compared to the overcast day outside. She wondered why the majority of the places she’d been in Seattle were deliberately kept dim or shaded. Maybe it was because metahuman eyes were capable of seeing in the dark and orks, trolls and dwarves preferred less light than humans. That, or shadowrunners and other patrons preferred the illusion of privacy that the dim lighting afforded them, or some combination of both.

  The Crusher turned out to be a bar, something like Ebey’s, though it was considerably bigger. The furniture was heavy and made of metal, with an industrial look to it, designed to support the massive frames of the orks and trolls who made up the greatest percentage of the clientele. The bar ran along one side, with a riveted metal top and wide, heavy stools lined up in front of it. A permanent haze of blue-gray smoke hung near the ceiling, creating haloes around the dim fluorescent lights.

  G-Dogg scanned the dozen or so patrons scattered around the bar, zeroing in on one sitting alone in the back. He headed that direction with Kellan in tow. It seemed to her that most of the patrons eyed her fiercely before returning to their drinks and their conversations. She was immediately convinced that, if she had entered the bar alone, her reception would have been actively unfriendly.

  So it surprised her that the man sitting in the back of the bar, slowly sipping from a tumbler filled with some dark liquor, was human. At least Kellan thought he was—it was a little difficult to tell. He was thin and wiry, with broad shoulders beneath a leather jacket bulky with armored plates. He wore a broad-brimmed hat that hid his face in shadows, but close up Kellan could see he was hollow-cheeked, with a sharp nose and chin. His face was dead white, tattooed to look like a skull, and when he picked up the glass tumbler to take a drink, Kellan saw that his hands were chromed metal and almost skeletal, moving
with a faint whir of hydraulics; cyberhands without the usual covering of synthetic flesh to give them a normal appearance.

  The man barely looked up as they approached, though there was no doubt that he noticed them. He offered no greeting.

  “Buy you a drink, Deacon?” G-Dogg asked. That seemed to get the man’s attention and he glanced up at the ork, his face expressionless, reflective eyes unreadable.

  “Already got one,” he said flatly in a slow drawl, returning his gaze to the other side of the bar.

  G-Dogg pulled out a chair on the other side of the table with a scrape of metal on concrete. He turned it around and sat down, straddling it. Kellan took a chair at the next table, sitting sideways so the chair’s back was between her and the man G-Dogg called Deacon.

  “Then how about I offer you something else?” the ork asked and Deacon paused, taking another sip of his drink before responding.

  “What do you have?” he said.

  “Work. Lothan is putting some biz together.”

  “Lothan is a miserable sinner,” Deacon shot back. “A devotee of the devilish arts. What kind of work does he have to offer me?”

  G-Dogg grinned, showing his tusks. “Simple job: relieving a megacorp of some of their ill-gotten gains.”

  The Deacon’s interest seemed piqued. G-Dogg leaned in a bit closer and said one quiet word.

  “Ares.”

  The other man didn’t react, his face remaining as impassive as stone. He took another sip of his drink and set the glass back down on the table before responding.

  “When?” was all he asked.

  “Tonight, at Lothan’s, 2000 hours.”

  The Deacon nodded slowly.

  “See you there,” G-Dogg replied, standing and turning his chair back around. Kellan got up at the same time. They turned and walked away, leaving the Deacon in the shadows, nursing his drink.