Robert Charrette - Never trust an elf

Turning down a broad tunnel, Kham left the old Underground and walked through the Mall, the broadest of the ways in the new Underground. The Mall was noisy all around him as orks hawked their crafts and wares. Because it was still daylight topside, some tourists still wandered in these corridors. Come see the odd orks and their subterranean city! Quaintness beyond belief!

He turned down a side way and the crowds grew less. Not many tourists along this route. Down here, away from the Mall, one rarely saw norms. The locals were a mix of metatypes, mostly orks and trolls, but also other metahumans who were too ugly to suit a norm's standards. Down here, the fittings were rustier, the dwellings more haphazard, but Kham felt more comfortable in these parts. He saw none of the garish murals or contorted statuary created for the gawking tourists. The shops catered to basic needs; they didn't bother with the trashy carvings, cheap trinkets, and brightly colored souvenirs that were the stock of the Mall's stores. It was just a neighborhood down here- always nightwise, dank, and smelly, but just a neighborhood. An ork neighborhood.

That was a small comfort. Rabo and The Weeze might be right that the Underground was a good place to hide, but Kham didn't like the idea. It was too full of old memories. The safety it offered outweighed that, however, and so he had agreed with the logic of bringing his family and the other survivors here, where there were more orks than anywhere else in the plex. Among thousands of orks they would be harder to find. Still, Kham wished that they didn't have to hide here. Some place-any place-else would have been better. So why couldn't he think of a safer place?

Until he did, this was where they would stay until the heat was off, until enough time had passed for whatever the elves were doing to be done. Normally, time was a disadvantage to a shadowrunner, always running out when you needed more. Now time was on Kham's side. As it passed, so too would pass the importance of silencing him and the others. Given enough time, the elves wouldn't care about them anymore.

Underground or not, none of it would have meant a thing had Neko not arranged it all with Cog. Kham didn't know how the fixer had managed to pull it off, and Kham didn't really want to know. Cog had succeeded in faking their deaths, but the fix had some unwanted side effects. The vids had picked up the story of the fire in the Barrens. Normally the media didn't give a frag about orks. After all, what was a bit of violence in the Barrens but filler news on a slow night? Somehow, though, the reporter snoops had learned that the bones of a young norm-one who didn't seem to belong to.either faction involved in the violence-had been found in the rubble. Their stories were full of unpleasant speculation about strange ork practices, and it wasn't long before Humanis policlubbers-probably real ones this time-were voicing charges of torture and cannibalism against the orks.

In the Underground that kind of news was received with the derision it deserved. Sure, orks had an attitude toward norms: everybody who had to take the drek norms dished out to orks had an attitude about them. Sure, orks sometimes had some fun with a norm too stupid to stay where he belonged: those norms got what they deserved for trespassing. That was the kind of stuff that happened, the way life worked. Certainly, it was the way life worked down here. Down here, norm metatypes weren't wanted, and intrusions were often met with violence. But it was normal, honest violence. Nobody ever ate anyone. That was for beasts, and orks were people, even if Humanis policlubbers and their ilk didn't believe it. Stupid norms.

Kham hoped that the elves-all of them and not just the badboy elf-were going to be stupid too, hoped they'd buy Cog's make-believe, but he doubted it. That's why Kham had brought the crew down here. If they weren't safe here, they wouldn't be safe anywhere. He had to believe everything was going to work out all right.

Still, for all its wisdom, hiding didn't feel right. Maybe it was just some kind of left-over gang reflex. Maybe it wasn't. Shadowrunners knew the risks, and they took them anyway, but families were supposed to be left out of it. This badguy elf had taken the shadow business and brought it into Kham's personal life. That wasn't the way things were done. Kham wanted to bust the elf's head and let some light into that dark, twisted mind, but taking any action against that elf, whoever he was, meant working the shadows. Sure, he had an advantage-assuming the elf bought Cog's fix-but once Kham and the guys started running, sooner or later somebody would twig to the fact that they weren't dead, and the fragging elf would know. That elf had already proved how dangerous he was; he might hit the families again. Down here, the families were safe. Maybe later, when everything had quieted down, he'd look into things. Maybe then he'd see what he could do to teach the elf the rules.

Hearing a familiar beat of footfalls accompanied by a jingle from behind him, Kham turned to see Rat-stomper pounding down the way. She was flushed and out of breath but managed a shout when she saw him turn toward her. For an ork, she was in lousy shape. "Catboy's bought himself trouble," she gasped out. That wasn't surprising. "Why ya telling me?" "Said we wuz supposed to watch out for him." That was surprising, since Ratstomper didn't like the little Jap much. Her coming to Kham meant she

was paying attention to biz, and the team. Maybe there was hope for her. "Topsiders?"

"Scuzboys. Green Band."

"Show me where," Kham ordered, giving her a shove to get her moving even after she'd started to turn. The scuzboys of the Green Band were among the tougher gang types in the Underground. They had connections with the power that ruled what passed for the Underground's government, and they took their connections as license to'do what they pleased. If Neko had crossed them, he might be down one of his nine lives before anybody, Kham included, could help him.

Kham took the corner and found a trio of scuzboys trussing up a limp Neko. Two orks lay bleeding on the pavement, attesting to the catboy's struggle. If they were seriously hurt, Neko was in real trouble. The Green Band didn't take kindly to anybody hurting their members; they took revenge, usually in the form of body parts.

"Yo, Adam. Got company," one of the scuzboys said to the big one, who was likely their warlord.

None of the boys looked happy at being interrupted. They dropped Neko, who groaned when he hit the ground. At least he was alive. On second thought, Kham wasn't sure that was such a good thing. There were three of these scuzboys, and Adam, the biggest, was almost his own size. All Kham had for back-up was Ratstomper. Some back-up. Kham waved Ratstomper forward and wide to the left. She might at least distract one of them.

The scuzboys spread out, too, facing Ratstomper with their smallest. They weren't as stupid as Kham had hoped. The alley was tight, leaving little room to maneuver. The scuzboys hadn't drawn blades, but one of them was swinging a chain. Their turf, their rules: this was going to be head-butting only, no stickers and no guns. Kham dipped his hands into his pockets and slipped on his knucks. The scuzboys might be adolescents, but he was facing at least two of them and would need the edge.

The stalking stopped when a hunched shape scuttled from the darkness, whirling and rattling into the open space between the combatants. The newcomer had the tusks and mismatched eyes of an ork, but she was short and slim. Her tattered garments were festooned with rags, bits of bone, and shiny objects dangling from tassels and thongs. Silvered rat skulls hung from her belt and swung in layers of necklaces around her scrawny neck Her streaky, snarly gray hair nearly hid her face when she swirled to a stop, her arms outflung in a dramatic pose.