Anthology: SHADOWRUN: Spells and Chrome

Deke switched the gun to his right hand, advanced two steps, and put four more rounds into the downed sec man. The fourth round entered the man's head through his right temple. It didn't-that Deke could see-come out.

"Works," Deke said. Six.

›DON'T GET COCKY.

Deke's cyberear picked up the footstep even as he chuckled at Lincoln's comment. He spun around, gun ready, but not fast enough. Bullets crackled down the hallway as the man-the elf, Deke saw-held down the trigger on the submachine gun he held. The first round crashed against the right side of Deke's chest, but it bounced off his dermal plates and ricocheted away. The others-twenty-eight or so, his mesh told him-flew on steadily higher trajectories as the recoil raised the barrel.

Pain flared through Deke's chest at the impact. The armor was subdermal, after all… he had a right-big gouge through the flesh and muscle of his chest. He let himself fall to the corridor floor but kept a tight grip on the pistol in his right hand.

"Did I get him?" the elf asked.

"No," Deke snarled. He fired.

Five.

Deke gathered himself and stood. His chest burned, but he didn't have any trouble breathing. He replaced the magazine in his pistol and moved down the hallway in the direction the man with the submachine gun had come from. A large pair of double-doors were at the end of the hall. Deke bulled through them in a rush.

The room was brightly-lit from a bank of lights on the ceiling. The light was harsh, actinic. Four men stood around a table, trays and instruments all around them. A small form was on the table, covered in green surgical blankets. There was blood on the blankets.

"Get out of here!" one of the men said. "You're not sterile!"

Deke swallowed. There was a lot of blood on the blankets. More on the aprons of the men, and on the tools scattered on trays around them.

"Did you hear me?"

Deke shot him.

The others yelped and backed away from the table. There were no other exits from the room except the large doors Deke had come through. He brandished the pistol and the men whimpered and backed against the wall. Sheep. Deke stepped closer to the table and jerked the surgical blankets back.

She was perhaps nine years old, and pale. Or, even healthy she'd have been pale. She was certainly pale now. Her body was lined with incisions and stitches. It looked as though they'd already had their harvest, but they'd taken the time to close her up. Deke looked around. "Where are they?"

"They?"

"Her bits," he said. "The bits you lot took out."

"In the tank, of course," one of the men said, pointing. There was a small stasis unit near the wall, glowing with a full charge. "We had to protect them."

Deke looked down. He blinked, hard. Several times. He heard his father's voice in his head.

"Don't let them fool you, lad," he'd said, one of the last times Deke had seen him. "They'll tell you about rights and liberties and what's right. They'll sell you a whole load of bullshit, if you let them. But it's real simple." He'd taken a swig of his pint and looked Deke straight in the eye. "The world doesn't care. Nature, she don't care about your rights. A tornado doesn't care about your right to life. Viruses don't care. A wolf, he don't care about your right to protection. He's gonna eat you, 'cause he's hungry and you're soft. Don't be soft, lad. Be the wolf."

Deke looked at the little girl. Her hand was bandaged. He reached down and pulled the bandage back. Her pinky finger was missing, as was half of her ring finger. Deke frowned. "You're going to sell her fingers?"

"No," one of the docs said. "That was by instruction."

"Instruction?"

"Mr. Johnson. He told us to take off her fingers." The doc glanced at the others, but they weren't talking. "Said it'd send the message he wanted."

Deke blinked again. He holstered his pistol and gathered the small child up. Several tubes pulled free of her arms. Machines started beeping, and his mesh picked up a persistent warning about moving patients. He cradled the girl to his chest. As if she were his own.

"What are you going to do now?" the doc asked.

"Wait."

"Wait? For what?" Deke said nothing. The doc frowned. "What are you wai-" he collapsed. A wave of dizziness passed through Deke, and the yak princess whimpered. The doctors collapsed. There was a crash from outside in the corridor. Deke set the girl back down and stared at her. The ork-Deke looked up but saw nothing through the skylight.

›HE'S COMING IN.

Deke inhaled. The world doesn't care. He opened the stasis tank and looked inside. Everything was sealed and tagged. He searched for a moment before he found the items he was looking for. They were quite small, and the miniature field generator barely held them, but they fit into the now-empty pocket at the small of his back. Deke closed the tank and turned around, facing the door. He drew the pistol.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. I got the little girl back. He squeezed the grip of the pistol and looked around. The doctors were unconscious, not dead. He saw one's chest rise and fall. His finger twitched on the trigger guard.

The ork walked through the double doors and stopped. He looked around, taking in the dead doctor and the others lying unconscious on the floor. He looked at Deke, who nodded at him, then at the little girl.

"Chikusho," he whispered. Then he turned his gaze on the doctors. "Eta!" he spat.

"You have docs that can put her back together?" Deke asked.

›WHEELS ON THE WAY.

"We have doctors," the yak said. His tattoos were still glowing, and even Deke, who was about as magical as the mud on his boots, could feel the energy crackling in the room. The dead doctor's body burst into flames.

"So we're done?"

"She has been disfigured."

"You have docs. You can fix her," Deke said.

"Not that," the yak said. "Look at her hand."

"It's only a couple of fingers. You can get her cybers, or bud them."

"It is yubitsume."

"Yubi-what?"

"Yubitsume. It is a yakuza thing."

Deke loaded a message to Lincoln. "But we got her back. We're done."

"Her father will not be pleased."

"That he's getting his daughter back?"

"That she is missing her fingers. That she has been dishonored, and through her, the entire kai has been dishonored. I have been dishonored." The ork stepped closer, leaned down. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"Because they were paid to. Just like me."

"Like you?"

Deke gestured. "Wake that one up. He told me. His Johnson had him take her fingers off. I don't know what mess a couple bloody fingers makes, but those were his instructions."

The ork stared. He walked around the table and nudged the unconscious doc with his foot. The man moaned, and shifted a bit, but did not wake up. The ork grunted, kicked the others. They all had the same reaction.

"No one can know of this," the ork murmured.

Deke swallowed.›Get to the wheels.

›MORE YAKS. COMING UP BEHIND ME. GOOD GUYS, I THINK.

The ork swung around. "Lincoln is moving. Where is he going?"

›Ping me every two seconds. Let me know you're still there. Watch the new guys. Deke shrugged. "Maybe he saw something." He took a step toward the door. A light flashed on his AR, every two seconds. Deke clenched his jaw.

The ork inhaled deeply. The tattoos on his face and arms flared brightly, and the ork shuddered with exertion. "I have friends outside now," he said.

The light stopped flashing on Deke's AR.

The ork's eyes opened, turned toward Deke.

Deke shot him, two rounds, in the stomach. The ork cried out and collapsed, arms wrapped around himself.

"Dragon's piss!" Deke swore. He moved quickly around the small table, where the ork had fallen. Using the toe of his boot, he rolled the ork over. As soon as the yak was on his back, Deke planted a knee in the center of his chest and leaned down. The pistol, traces of smoke and cordite still wafting from the barrel, notched itself between the ork's eyes.