Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

Sam nodded, already well enough aware of that.

Though Ghost Who Walks Inside was tall for an Indian, his broad shoulders, massive chest, and well-muscled arms made him seem more squat than he was. He was a street samurai, but unlike many others who claimed that title, Ghost showed few obvious signs of cyber-enhancement. Dressed in his tattered jungle fatigue trousers and boots, armored vest, beaded wristlets, and feather-adorned headband, Ghost revealed only the palm-mounted induction pads of his smartgun link. Which was not to say they were his only chrome. He just didn't believe in displaying his advantages, preferring to let others underestimate his abilities. Just one more edge.

From his vantage point in the shade of a kiosk selling Seattle metroplex memorabilia, Sam spotted Ghost's wild black frizz on the far side of the court.

As the Indian moved through the Sunday tourist crowds thronging Aurora Village, his swagger and rugged appearance opened a path for him, making his progress swift. With nonchalant ease he sidestepped those too self-absorbed or oblivious to notice him, never breaking his rhythm. Only once was he interrupted, when a fat German suit bumped into him. There was a slight jostling and for the next few steps, a smiling Ghost let deutschmarks, corporate scrip, coins, and credsticks dribble from his fingers. The turmoil in the crowd behind him made his forward progress even easier. The Indian seemed in no hurry. An observer might have thought that he turned in Sam's direction purely by chance. Sam stepped out from behind the kiosk to greet him, but Ghost beat him to it. "Hoi, paleface. Whazappenning?" "Hoi, Ghost. Biz as usual. 'Zappening with you?" "Running hard to stay in place. Wakarimasu-ka? Biz as usual," Ghost said with a laugh. "Not too busy for a little extra, I hope." "Man's too busy for friends, he's too busy to live," Ghost said, grinning.

Sam grinned back. Ghost's thaw toward him had coincided with the onset of Sally's glacial chill. Sam wished Sally would stop avoiding him so they might have a chance to talk it out, but as long as he was seeing Hart, Sally would never let him get her alone. Ghost, however, seemed to find the situation exactly to his taste, and that was good. Sam much preferred a friendly Ghost to a hostile one.

Sam checked around for eavesdroppers, then got down to business. "I need your help to find a safe place for my sister to hide. Someplace outside the Seattle metroplex."

"Why me? Thought you'd have enough grease with Hart. Hear tell, she's got connections in Council lands. I'm just a city boy." Sam had never spoken of Hart's connections, and Ghost rarely worried about people and places outside the plex. If he knew about Hart's connections, somebody was looking into Hart's affairs. Most likely Sally. Sam hoped it didn't bode trouble. If it did, he'd deal with it later. "Got a good net going, Ghost. But not good enough. Hart's connections aren't suitable to the current situation." "So ka. Sister got a feud?" "She's…" Suddenly Sam wasn't sure he should explain. Telling anyone was a danger, and Ghost was a mercenary, always on the lookout for ways to improve his tribe's financial position. Would he be tempted by the bounty? If he turned Sam in as well, might not Ghost also improve his standing with Sally? Or would he even consider such a course of action? Sam wasn't sure. For all the easy camaraderie, Ghost was still a bundle of unknown quantities. But trust was needed. Before Sam had attracted Sally's attention Ghost had treated him well, almost as a younger brother. Aside from the Indian's interest in Sally, Sam could find no reason to distrust Ghost. The other man lived by a code of honor, one that Sam did not always understand, but he was confident that Ghost wouldn't abandon his honor for a few credits. There was, of course, only one way to find out.

"My sister has goblinized. Hart's contacts won't take her in."

"So ka. " Ghost nodded sagely. "How illegal is her breed?"

"How did you figure that?" "Null perspiration, paleface. If her breed wasn't illegal, you would have made arrangements with Cog or Castillano. Fixers are real good at moving merchandise, even live merchandise. But you're asking me, and that means you don't want anybody to know so bad that you're asking a city Indian to find you a place outside the wall. So what is she?"

"Wendigo." Without waiting for a reaction, he added, "But she's never killed."

Ghost looked at him strangely. "What's that got to do with it?"

"If a wendigo hasn't killed, the curse isn't complete. The sins can be forgiven and her soul can still be saved."

"Sin? Soul? Paleface, you're not talking sense. I don't walk the Jesus road. Found out real early that stuff don't mean drek on the streets. Last time I turned my cheek, I had to get it replaced." Ghost shook his head. "Wendigos eat people. You're talking real bad biz."

The Indian's reaction was no more than Sam could reasonably expect. "But we're bringing her here to cure her," he said.

"Now you're talking crazy. Can't be done. Anybody could turn back even an ork, the docs and whitecoats woulda been all over them in millisecs, right after the media hounds. Whole world would know how to do it. Ain't no pills, surgery, or drugs can do it." "We've got a way. We're going to use magic." Ghost spat.

"I know you don't like magic. I'm not asking you to take part in the ritual. We just need somebody to hide her safely until we can do the magic. She's my sister, Ghost. IVe got to try. I thought you'd understand." Sam was losing track of the argument as his emotions caught up with him. "We can't bring her into the plex; there are too many people. But she's got to be present for the ritual. There's no other way to do it. I didn't know who else to ask."

"The odds get too bad, a smart man doesn't gamble." Ghost started to walk away.

"I really thought you might help," Sam muttered, almost to himself. "She's Wolf totem."

Ghost turned. "You're desperate crazy, white man, but you've got cojones. I might be a little crazy, too.

You know, Grandfather Wolf don't like cowards, and he really hates people who run out on the pack."

"You weren't running out. I'm not part of your tribe. Neither is Janice. And I know you're anything but a coward."

"Not you I'm worried about, paleface." Ghost lowered his voice. "You aren't scamming? She really is Wolf. You swear as a shaman?"

Sam nodded.

"Fraggin5 drek, but you don't make it easy," Ghost said, head tilted toward the sky. "You know, paleface, Grandfather Wolf don't like murderers or cannibals either. So maybe there's hope for her. Maybe you really can do something for her. How much nuyen did you say?"

"I didn't, but it's not much. Fifty K. And favors. I'll owe you big, Ghost."

"Don't worry, paleface," the Indian said, rubbing his chin reflectively. "If this thing blows up in our faces, it'll be more than you can pay.''

Janice astrally scouted the area around the aircraft. As promised, she found only three people waiting for her. One she recognized instantly as Sam. Next to him stood an elven woman who seemed vaguely familiar. The third member of the welcoming committee was some kind of razorguy, his aura darkened in places by cyber-enhancements.

Had she really expected a trap? Sam was too honest to betray her. At least the Sam she had grown up with was honest. But that Sam wasn't a street shaman and a shadowrunner. He had changed, but how much?

From her own experiences, she knew some changes were bigger than others.

She returned to her body and rose from the travel couch. The chair had been tight, not made for someone of her bulk. Her muscles relaxed gratefully. The vanishing aches and pains reminded her how little she belonged in the world of the norms. She thought about tearing the door from its hinges to express her frustration and anger. It would make a flashy entrance, but it wouldn't really reduce the stress left from the trip. She opened the hatch as meekly as any ordinary passenger.