Anthology - SHADOWRUN - Spells and Chrome

"African hunting dog," the dog fancier answered. He took another breath to elaborate, but caught Rachel's cocked eyebrow in time. Sketching an apologetic salute, he stepped back without a word.

I'd been pretending to ignore the costumed mage by the door throughout the guards' inadequate pat-down. With no other legitimate distractions, I went for slightly startled-like I hadn't noticed he'd been giving me his best steely stare for the last forty-three seconds-when I met his gaze. Must have looked authentic, because the moment he thought he had my attention he struck a more dramatic pose, the fist on his hip pulling his cloak open enough for me to see the runed hilt of a mageblade.

The astral scent of his weapon conveyed much; as did the fact he thought such a display was necessary or prudent. I made a point of ducking my head a bit, keeping all responses in the physical as I let him know I was suitably impressed. Then I ignored him again, focused on following Rachel's hips out of the chamber.

They led me down an unadorned hallway and through what was evidently the servant's entrance to a penthouse office only slightly larger than the garage. There were ornate doors at one end and a panoramic view of the sun setting beyond L.A. Harbor -which was itself made beautiful by distance and lack of smell-at the other. In between was a plush expanse appointed with objects so ugly they could only be art and antiques that were probably real. Subtle restraint by Fun City standards.

Not so restrained was Julius vanVijrk. Swathed in silk and reclining on a divan, the sole proprietor of vanVijrk Revitalization made a passable case for becoming the default icon for self-indulgence.

I managed to avoid tripping while kicking myself for not demanding six times my usual fee and made it safely to what was evidently the minion's audience position-just to the right of his natural line of sight and nowhere near the guest chairs.

"Sebastian Automne," Rachel presented me, making the Hispanic mistake of pronouncing the final e in my nom du job.

Julius stopped pretending he couldn't see us and turned his hooded eyes to regard me with evident boredom. No doubt my cue to perform some obligatory obeisance expressing joy and gratitude for being in his presence. Since he was the guy covering my rent for the next six months, I dropped my chin an inch-acknowledging his eminence.

"Ork magic," Julius pronounced in lieu of greeting. "Can you handle it?"

"Yes."

I spent the longish pause watching Julius puzzle out I'd finished talking.

"Yes?" he demanded. "That's it?"

"If you don't trust my answers, don't ask me questions."

I felt Rachel shift weight. Dog, sitting next to my foot, turned his head to eye me.

For his part Julius stared at me like I'd grown a second head for a long three count. Then he laughed-a single, phlegmy bark.

"San Bernardino," he slapped the ornate table at his elbow, rattling the wine decanter. "You can handle ork magic."

Now that was useful. Very few people knew about San Bernardino. And if Julius thought 'ork magic' had been the challenge on that case, he'd been given corrupted data.

"We are undertaking a tremendous project-one that will improve the quality of life for thousands of people," Julius explained, his jowls quivering with passion, "And orks are trying to destroy everything."

I cocked an inquiring eyebrow-standard tactics for getting folk to say what's on their mind.

"Because they're orks," Julius snapped at the prompt. "Without honor, incapable of rational thought, no sense of debt to their betters. Trust them and they turn on you."

Julius took a couple of deep breaths, impressing me with the amount of flesh he could lift with only his diaphragm.

"Forgive me," Julius said after calming his nerves with a sip of wine. "Pembroke, a dear associate of mine, lost his granddaughter to orks only yesterday."

"Orks?"

Julius cast me a suspicious glance and I hastily replaced incredulity with inquiry.

"There has been sabotage," he explained. "My people have not determined how it is being done, but they tell me the magic involved is definitely orkish."

I refrained from telling Julius his people were either idiots or had learned to tell him what he wanted to hear. Judging from the contrast between Rachel's respectful demeanor and racing pulse, I suspected the latter was endemic to his organization.

"I wanted outside talent, a specialist, to deal with this threat," Julius was saying. "I made inquiries. Someone well placed in the thaumaturgical department at CalTech recommended you as an innovative investigator with a nose for the exotic."

I did not wince.

That last phrase was a direct lift from Jesalie's master's thesis- an otherwise fine piece of research into the world of occult investigation marred by a few romantic misconceptions. Last I'd heard she was teaching intro-level courses at Pasadena City College. Evidently she'd parlayed that into a weighty position at CalTech since. Good for her.

I made a mental note to thank her for boosting me for a high-nuyen gig. Then full memory kicked in and I amended the mental note to read: 'arrange for a third party to convey my gratitude.'

"Rachel," Julius interrupted my mental noting. Then, apparently taking a deep interest in the Harbor at sunset, he presented his profile.

I looked to Rachel and she indicated the door through which we'd entered with a sweep of her hand. Subtle confirmation of my suspicion we'd been dismissed.

A short trip farther along the staff corridor led to a much smaller chamber without windows occupied by a large oval table with chairs and decorated with Gimlet eyes and the trideo idol mage. Hector and Franz respectively, I learned when Rachel made introductions.

"Ork magic?" I demanded.

"That wasn't me," Franz said in a heroic baritone. "The lackeys he calls security merely confirmed his paranoia."

"And as a card-carrying combat mage you don't bother to tell him there's no such thing?"

Franz shrugged. He probably meant to imply there was no point in arguing with Julius, but the message I got was he found his boss's ignorance useful.

"However misidentified the source, the sabotage is real," Rachel said. "And magic we can't identify-and can't defend against-is involved."

"Show me."

The data dump was devoid of business-specific details such as costs and materiel sources, but the overall picture was clear enough. There was a major project scheduled for the near future, date obscured, that would reclaim most of a shallow bay in the east Harbor, near where the I-5 bridge launched toward Downtown. Looked like sixty to eighty blocks to my untrained eye.

"vVR is bigger than folks think," I said.

Hector grunted, Rachel smiled, and Franz looked disdainfully down his nose. He had a good nose for it.

"That is an upcoming Horizon Corp project," Rachel said. "They don't know we have this projection."

I refrained from comment.

The visual updated and a stretch of real estate about three blocks wide connecting the newly reclaimed land to the northwest corner of the Fun City enclave glowed a cheery gold.

"This is the vanVijrk project."

Julius wasn't pulling terra firma from the briny, he was revitalizing rubblefield-buildings tumbled by the Twins. Areas of L.A. abandoned by their previous owners were a wilderness of SINless squatters and street gangs lacking the chops to control profitable turf-free land for anyone with the nuyen and balls to rebuild. vVR was building a secure, upscale conduit linking the new Horizon enclave to the northwest corner of Fun City, with the cheery gold spreading out to cover a half dozen blocks hard against the outer face of the Fun City wall. An area that already had a more somber color code of its own.

"That's the center of the PCC resettlement."