Anthology - SHADOWRUN - Spells and Chrome

Pure rage had her taking a half-step towards him before cool logic overrode her instincts and had her turning away.

Slipping into a group of women, Mamba crossed the street and worked her way past where the Nubian stood, keeping him in her sight. Screw breaking into Lekan's mansion. If Medjay was here, then perhaps the knives were, too. And if they weren't, well, he'd know where they'd gone, wouldn't he?

Mamba? Pharisee asked, Where are you going?

"I found someone who needs to die," Mamba replied, baring her teeth.

What? Who? Mamba!

Mamba ignored the technomancer.

After a few more minutes, Medjay turned back down Adua, going towards the island's busier commercial center. She shadowed him, using every bit of her skill and inborn abilities to blend into the crowds of shoppers and upscale residents. The Nubian wasn't a beginner at this himself, and Mamba found herself reluctantly enjoying the challenge of shadowing a professional.

Eventually, he ended up on Anmadu Bello road, the main thoroughfare, where the streets were packed with residents and foreigners alike. When Medjay walked through the gleaming front doors of the Federal Palace hotel, Mamba paused at a street vendor selling iced drinks.

"I'm at the Federal Palace hotel, Pharisee," Mamba told the technomancer. "I need you to hack the hotel."

"I'm on my way," Pharisee replied. "Don't do anything stupid before I get there."

The busy AR signage on Anmadu Bello overwhelmed Mamba's view for a second, until she reset the stupid 'link to weed out the spam. The frozen-drink vendor had a brightly colored menu available in AR; Mamba picked a frozen limeade and made the 5 nuyen transfer. Drink in hand, she settled down on a bench under a shade tree and pondered the hotel while waiting for Pharisee. To drink the iced limeade, she had to unclip her breather. The air was harsh, gritty from the hot Hamattan winds, carrying a faint hint of the stench of the lagoons: putrid vegetation, stagnant water, and rotting fish. The iced drink tasted like heaven by comparison. The hotel had several public AROs broadcasting and she began to browse them idly as she enjoyed her drink. The prices were high, as she'd expected for a hotel on the exclusive Victoria Island enclave, and the history was boring as hell. She browsed through the hotel's amenities for a few minutes, clicking open panoramic AR views of various hotel suites and even the hotel's layout. Security procedures looked standard, with MAD scanners at the front doors. Mamba sighed. When no one was watching, she slid off her forearm snap-blades and stowed them under a dense, flowering bush. Idiot wageslaves didn't see a thing. Mamba had finished her drink by the time Pharisee arrived, the plump Egyptian woman puffing from the long walk and the heat.

"Are you in the hotel's system?" Mamba asked her, as the woman stared longingly at the frozen drink stand. When the technomancer nodded, Mamba stood and strode up to the hotel. Pharisee reluctantly followed.

Armed men stood in a line by the front door, wearing snappy blue uniforms with gold pin striping and matching breathers. Even their Ares Alphas were the same bright blue; obviously someone's idea of a well-coordinated security team. Mamba rolled her eyes as she stepped through the revolving door and into the blessedly cool lobby. Gold-veined marble floors were topped by plush blue carpets, while teak tables held massive urns of star-gazer lilies, their scent almost overpowering. Mamba looked around, didn't see Medjay anywhere in the main lobby. She glanced casually into the dimly lit lounge to the left, but it was almost completely empty. She didn't remember him as being the bar-type, anyway.

"What exactly are we doing here?" Pharisee asked.

"Human male, one-point-eight meters tall, black skin, black hair in braids. Red shirt over tan pants, silver breather, black glasses. Just came in a few minutes ago. Can you find him?" Mamba asked, scanning the lobby.

"Um…" Pharisee got that far-off look, the one Mamba associated with her hacking. "Mr. Marius Jay, room 804," she said, after a few seconds. "Why?"

"Bastard's the one who narcojected me at the Apep dig, stole the knives, and left me to take the blame," Mamba muttered.

"The knives you'd just stolen yourself," Pharisee pointed out, with a raised eyebrow. "After you'd killed Dr. Madeira and taken her place at the dig."

"Details," Mamba replied, waving her hand. "Let's go."

They didn't have a pass for the elevators, but the doors still slid open when they approached. Normally, Mamba didn't like working with other people. Still, a hacker-in this case, a technomancer-could be damn useful at times.

Medjay used to take care of the hacking when they'd worked together.

Pharisee directed the elevator to take them up to the eighth floor.

The hall was carpeted, the walls covered with brocaded wallpaper, gilt-edged mirrors reflecting the light from crystal wall sconces. Mamba sneered at the luxurious indulgences of the rich, blocking off any slight longing she might have otherwise felt. Luxury made you soft. Weak. Easy prey.

Room 804 had a wood-paneled door with a maglock. Mamba raised an eyebrow, and Pharisee shook her head.

"Are you planning on killing this guy now?" the technomancer asked, piping the question over Mamba's 'link and into her earpiece.

"Stop hacking my commlink," Mamba replied. "And stand back when I open the door."

Pharisee stared at the maglock, concentrating. Mamba tried to imagine Medjay, what he would do. Would he recognize her? With a different skin color and silky straight hair, her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, most people wouldn't see anything other than a Native American woman.

The Nubian wasn't most people, however. Still, Mamba unclipped her breather and popped out her earpiece, then handed both items and her AR glasses over to Pharisee. The technomancer gave her a startled look.

The light on the maglock flicked from red to green. Mamba put her hand on the door knob, took a breath, then slammed the door open.

The Nubian was just coming out of the bathroom, and for one shocked second, he stared at the unfamiliar woman bursting into his room. The shock didn't last. He had the same lightning quick reflexes she did. Hell, they'd gotten their synaptic boosters at the same clinic, at the same time. By the time Mamba was through the door, Medjay had dropped into a crouch, ready to engage.

She came at him cautiously. She prided herself on fighting with cold calculation, not hot rage. He didn't have any weapons on him, unless they were hiding under the towel he'd tied around his waist.

Mamba's own blades were tucked under a bush outside the hotel.

A matched fight, then.

Mamba acted first. She kicked out, spinning, her foot passing a hairsbreadth away from his face. Medjay sprung back, landing on his hands, his feet kicking out and hitting her in the thigh. Mamba took the hit and spun with it, using the momentum to snap a kidney punch at his exposed right side as he sprung forward and back onto his feet. He blocked her shot almost effortlessly, then snapped his left arm up barely in time to block a second jab.

"Dr. Madeira?" he said, puzzled, and Mamba felt her rage kick up, infuriated that he didn't recognize her, hatred of her assumed face pouring out as she attacked him. Her cold calculation dissolved under her fury and impotence. She made a quick jab to his throat, which he blocked, using the motion to slam her shoulder. She fell back with the hit, using the energy to spin around him, punching at his face. He dodged left and back, coming up against the wall. Mamba's momentum had her fist blowing past his face and into the wall, hard enough she felt the plaster crack. Her body slammed against his.

Pressed together for one startled moment, she felt Medjay tense, knew the moment he realized it was her.