Robert Charette - Never deal with a Dragon

They stopped at an abandoned storefront in a less congested area. Through the smashed window, what little Sam could see of the building’s floor was as littered and stained as the sidewalk. Even from outside, the odor of stale urine and refuse was intense. No one on the street paid the least attention when the group entered the building.

Three men waited inside. All were tall and rangy. Hard muscles showed wherever their street garb exposed flesh.

All carried obvious weaponry. Street samurai, Sam guessed, but he saw none of the obvious cyberware the breed favored. Either they were so good they didn’t need enhancement or else their modifications were very subtle. Either way, they had to be dangerous.

The blond one on the left had a large dog by his side, at least half-wolf in its bloodline. The beast growled softly when Sam and the runners entered. While the others exchanged opening pleasantries with the men. Sam crouched and held out his hand to the animal. Cautiously, its posture indicating suspicion, the beast advanced to sniff at his hand.

“Freya bites,” one of the fixer’s men warned.

“I’m sure she does,” Sam returned, without taking his eyes from Freya. The animal gave the tips of Sam’s fingers a tentative lick. He smiled, reaching his other hand out slowly to ruffle the fur at the side of Freya’s head. “She’s marvelous. Where did you get her?”

“She followed me home one night,” the guard said sarcastically.

The sound of a man clearing his throat caused Sam to turn. The runners were already facing the newcomers. Two more rangy samurai flanked a bigger man. He was dark, even without the benefit of backlighting from the street. His richly tailored suit was out of place among the ruins, but he seemed completely at home. The man, obviously the fixer they had come to meet, stepped forward.

“Making new friends?”

Sam thought the raspy-voiced fixer was speaking to him, but Sally replied.

“Always. You know what a party girl I am.”

If the fixer was amused, his heavily pockmarked face didn’t show it. He simply turned his cold eyes on the magician.

“I’m glad you could spare the time for a meet,” she said. “I’m sure I can make it worth your while, Castillano.”

Castillano shrugged. “Why me? Cog’s your preferred connection.”

“Cog’s unavailable.”

The fixer’s face remained expressionless. “I’m second-best,” he said, making his question a statement.

Sally gave him a light laugh. “Let’s just say I thought you were the best choice tonight.”

“You need a specialist?”

“What we’re most interested in right now is information.”

“A target?”

“An employer.”

Castillano rubbed his hands together meditatively. Had his face shown any interest, Sam might have thought him a merchant scenting an easy sale. The fixer opened his month slightly and ran the edge of his tongue along the lower lip. “That sort of information is in high demand at the moment.”

The shadowrunners exchanged glances. “Something come down that we haven’t heard about?”

“Maybe,” Castillano responded noncommittally.

“Add it to the bill.”

The fixer nodded in acceptance. “Smilin’ Sam and Johnny Come Lately.”

Sally cocked her head to the side, her expression slightly annoyed. “News about the firefight at the After Ours Bar is hardly a commodity. The screamsheets were full of it.”

“Screamsheets don’t mention the rifle.”

“What rifle?” Sally asked in sudden interest.

“Arisaka KZ-977. Sniper model. Not silenced. Lone Star Security picked it up in the street in front of the building where your two acquaintances were killed.”

“They don’t use anything big,” Ghost interjected.

“Yeah,” the Ork agreed. “Johnny never did like loud noises. A real runt pup dat way.”

Castillano stared at the Ork.

“What’s the point, Castillano?”

“Mr. James Yoshimura died of a single shot to the head as he left the After Ours. Pair of Lone Star officers saw Yoshimura go down and heard the shot. They spotted Sam and Johnny. One of the runners panicked and shot at the cops. Cops shot back. The rifle fell. The runners died.

“Lone Star ballistics matched the gun to the lethal bullet. Trajectory puts the shooter in the vicinity of the runners. The rifle survived the drop better than Smilin’ Sam.”

“No other witnesses?”

“None,” Castillano confirmed.

“Dirty cops,” Ghost concluded. “Sam and Johnny were bagmen and cats. They didn’t do wetwork.”

“Maybe. The Lone Stars have clean records. Apparently incorruptible. Just quick to shoot.”

“Then Sam and Johnny were set up.”

Castillano shrugged.

“And you know something about it.”

“I never said that. Enquiries into the matter are likely to be unhealthy.”

“It seems to have been a bad week for running the shadows. We had someone twist us around too.”

“Looking for a connection?”

“If it’s there, we’ll do something about it. If not, Sam and Johnny were big boys,” Ghost declared.

“What exactly is it you want?”

“Let’s start with a bioproduct called Vigid.”

“Anti-riot agent. Fast-acting incapacitant with pronounced after-effects similar to a bad stomach virus. Aerosol vector. How much do you want?”

“Had more’n enough already.” the Ork snarled. “We want to know what might happen if the substance were subjected to an acetone bath.”

If Castillano was surprised or curious about the request, he didn’t show it. He walked across the room, avoiding the debris as though by instinct. From a countertop, he lifted what looked like a moldy pile of garbage to reveal a telecom port. He took out a pocket computer and plugged it in. After a few minutes of plying the keys, he announced, “This will take awhile. When do you want to meet?”

“Check UCAS Chemistry Today. December 2048,” Sam said. “Theres no time for you to replicate it.”

The fixer entered a document search. “Wilkins and Chung?”

“That’s it,” Sam confirmed, nodding to the runners as well.

Castillano stroked his mustache as he studied the screen. “Looks like Vigid reacts badly to acetone. Gets very toxic.”

“Do you believe me now?” Sam asked of the runners. The Elf, silent until now, answered him. “You gave the reference, Sir Corp. The document could be a plant.”

“Unlikely,” Castillano said. Even Sam was startled by the fixer’s uncharacteristic free offering. “He didn’t get the month right.”

“Let’s assume the damn stuff really does mutate. Who makes it, Castillano?”

“Genomics holds the patent. Exclusive manufacturing contract for Seretech.”

“Seretech!” Ghost spat.

“Fraggin’ hellfire!” the Ork howled.

Sally and Dodger just looked worried.

“What does it mean?” Sam asked.

“We’ve had a few misunderstandings with them in the past,” Sally said softly.

“Then you think they might have been behind this? That they deliberately set you up?”

“Indubitably,” the Elf put in. “They must have used Atreus as a cut-out to allay our suspicions. They probably arranged for Renraku security to find out about our mission.”

“But not until after we had placed their dirty little toy,” Sally added bitterly.

“How would it help them to have you caught?”

“Dey don’t like us, Mr. Suit,” the Ork growled. “Dat’s enough reason for anybody.”

“They didn’t even have to get us geeked on the way out,” Ghost expanded. “Any of us that got caught wouldn’t know that they had hired us, so there’d be no link to Seretech. We also didn’t know what their bug would really do, so we wouldn’t have said anything. A simple break-in and lift of those prototypes would have been easy enough to squirm out of. Attempted robbery and breaking and entering. Light stuff. Until people started dying. For that, we’d have been blamed, and they probably thought we’d finger Atreus and take them down with us.”