Anthology: SHADOWRUN: Spells and Chrome

"Never do what the blokes want, lad," he'd said one night, eight or nine deep in his pints. "They say go left, you go right. Nine times out of ten, they was just misleadin' you anyway. An' if they weren't, well…you'll know where to find them."

An alert pinged on his AR as Deke passed a junction in the corridor, barely a few meters away from the large swinging door that had to lead into the kitchen. He's just entered a mesh zone, an overlap. Most of the area around here was dead zone-no Matrix-but a node had just popped up. Deke frowned.

A buzzing in his ears erupted. Jamming. That meant they knew about Lincoln. Deke gritted his teeth and reached around to a small pouch on the small of his back. He pulled out a small canister, twisted the top, and nudged the door open far enough to shove it through. As he expected, a hail of gunfire tore through the door the instant it moved.

The flash-bang exploded. The light was blocked by the door, but the sound carried through like a punch, and even though he'd prepared for it, it still dazed him for a second. And a second was all the bloke needed.

ALERT. Red letters flashed across his vision. "Bloody hell," Deke mumbled. His overlays started twitching. The hacker was messing with his mesh-with his own bloody network-and although he'd not fully penetrated the OS, he was trying. And he might succeed. Deke was a samurai, not a hacker. He had hackers on retainer that updated his mesh. But he wasn't one himself.

"Shit." He shut down all of his unwired network. Targeting crosshairs dropped off his overlays. Reports stopped pinging from the arrows and dots scattered around the restaurant. Deke squeezed the grip of his pistol, cursed the seconds he'd lost dealing with the hack, and charged through the door.

A troll lay on its side just to the side of the door, its thick hide smoking. Bloody fool must've grabbed the grenade, Deke thought. He drew back a foot and kicked, but the impact did little more than jostle the giant. He grunted and spun, taking in the rest of the room.

And the three guns pointed right at him, held by the last five gangers.

"I told you I could see you, runner," an elf said. His eyes were glassy with overlays-he'd been the one speaking in the corridor. That made him the hacker.

"And here I am," Deke said.

"You're here for the child," the elf said.

Deke looked around. He didn't see any children. "I am. Her father wants her back."

"Thinks 'e own the place, does he?" a human said from one side. Deke glanced at him. He was almost forty, dirty, with the look of a man who'd done his lazy best to get through life on bravado and cowardice. Deke looked at the gun in his hand, flashed an enhancement through his cybereye, and then ignored him. His pistol's safety was still on.

"He doesn't care, Cyril," the elf said. "He's just a runner, not a yak."

"Then let's shoot 'im an' be done," Cyril said.

"Let's not," the elf said.

"Wise choice," Deke said.

The elf laughed. "You're hardly in a position to negotiate," he said. "Your sniper outside can't help you, and we've got you covered. I can sense your augments, runner. I know you're wired-a relic, really, these days-and although I shut down your mesh, you're still dangerous." He brandished the Ares in his hand. "You might get me, but not all of us."

"True," Deke said. "But…"

"But what?"

Deke smiled. "Now, yak."

Someone walked on his soul. Power wafted through the mana, wrapping itself around the weapons of the gangers like ethereal fists and ripping them from unyielding hands. Deke brandished his pistols as all the gangers' guns slammed themselves against the wall behind him and clattered to the floor. A moment later the yak ork sorcerer walked through the hallway door behind Deke. His eyes and his tattoos were alight with unholy fire. He'd been watching through the small vision slit. Or at least, that had been the plan.

"You should not have taken the child," he said.

"Couldn't come yourself?" the elf spat. "Had to get gaijin help?"

"When a need arises, one secures an expert," the mage said. "Where is the child?"

The elf snarled a half-heard curse. Deke swallowed.

"Where. Is. The. Child?"

"Sod off, yak," Cyril said.

The mage looked at him. His lips moved with silent words, and suddenly Cyril was screaming, was writhing, and then was on fire. Deke stepped back, pistol leveled, but the yak was only interested in Cyril. After a moment the body collapsed and stopped screaming, but didn't stop to burn. The scent filled the small space.

The yak turned back to the elf. "The child?"

"We sold her."

"You sold her."

"To Tamanous." The elf looked at Cyril's corpse and then back at the yak. Deke had to give him credit. If he was scared-and by all the dragons in the Sixth World Deke was scared-he didn't show it. "Got a good price, too, a young thing like that. Had just the right blood type."

"Why would you do that?" the mage asked. "You knew we would come after you. You knew who she was, who her father was." He frowned, which made his tusks more prominent. "Why would you do something so foolish?"

"Because this is England," the elf said. He spoke the best Queen's English. "And you're just an import. And it's time you remembered it."

Deke looked at the mage. The ork raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. Deke swallowed, and rebooted his mesh. It came back up clean, but there was a waiting message from an unknown sender. He looked at the elf. The elf looked at him. "What's the plan?" Deke asked.

"We renegotiate," the ork said. "Let's go?"

Deke turned toward him. "What about them?"

There was a strange, wet noise behind him. He turned, saw the bodies lying on the floor, faces frozen in distended caricatures of horrible pain. Blood leaked from their eyes.

"What about them?" the ork asked, and walked through the door.

Outside, Lincoln came down to meet them. He had the hood of his now-soaked ghillie suit thrown back and his rifle cradled in his arms. He looked at Deke, elf's ears upturned and a smile on his face. "Payday, mate?"

"Not yet." Deke slipped the safety on his pistol and slid it into his holster. "You said renegotiate," he said to the mage.

"I must contact the oyabun," the mage said. "Please do not leave." He sat down where he stood, into a puddle, black skinsuit splashing muddy water. His face went blank.

"What happened?" Lincoln asked. Deke filled him in. Lincoln looked at the mage, his hand unconsciously stroking the receiver of his rifle. "Bloody hell, mate."

"Yeah." Deke looked at the ork on the ground. He didn't seem to be there. He called the message up on his screen. It was text only, but he recognized the elf's hand on it. The way it spoke was the same.

›I don't blame you, runner. Nuyen is nuyen. But beware the yakuza. We've stained their honor, and they'll want that hidden. You know. Be wary. As the man said, you are an expert. But you're not yakuza.

Deke read it twice, then deleted it. The ork had not stirred. He was communing, or something. Deke caught Lincoln's eye, then set up a link through the mesh. Text only. He glanced down.

›Can the yak get on our mesh?

Lincoln glanced down, then shook his head.

›He killed everyone in there.

›YOU TOLD ME THAT.

›Yeah, but he did it without blinking. He didn't ask which harvester they sold the girl to. He just gakked them. Deke looked back at the building. There was a bit of smoke rolling out of the open door. Perhaps Cyril had spread.

›One of the gangers left me a message.

›WHAT?

›On my mesh. He tried to hack it-succeeded, I guess-but I shut it down. Told me to be careful. Said we're not yaks. Said to watch out.

Lincoln glanced down at the zoned-out yak mage. He still hadn't moved.›SO YOU'RE WORRIED.