Shadowrun - Never Trust an Elf Part 2

"You are free with your names," Neko observed.

The gold flashed in Enterich's smile. "As are you, Neko. Also like you, our names are not to be found inany public database."

An a.s.sertion Neko would test after the meeting. He'd try a few private databases as well. But that was a matter for later consideration; Enterich was still speaking.

"Business can wait until after we dine, can it not? As I understand it, that is the practice in your native j.a.pan."

"It is the practice," Neko said, leaving unsaid the 31.fact that he was j.a.panese, but not a native of j.a.pan. He would let them believe otherwise; such a false a.s.sumption on their part might be useful later.'

The meal, unsurprisingly, was superb, and the talk, though remaining inconsequential, pleasant. Both Enterich and his-as became obvious during the course of their dinner-aide were facile and engaging conversationalists, well-acquainted with the region's folklore and history. Neko even thought he detected a glimmer of more than professional interest in Ms. Montejac's eyes. Perhaps later, he promised himself, with a reminder of pleasure's place in business. When the last plate of empty lobster sh.e.l.ls had been carried away and a fresh pot of tea brought, Enterich spoke seriously.

"I am looking for a person of discretion, Neko. Are you that sort of person?''

"Great discretion is available, Mr. Enterich. For a price."

"Cannot indiscretion be bought as well?" Karen asked.

"From some, perhaps, but not from Neko. There is some honor in the shadows."

"That is the answer I expected from you, Neko," Enterich said. "You are well-spoken of in certain quarters."

Neko inclined his head in acceptance of the compl'-ment.

"We shall proceed, then." Enterich's finger absently traced the dragon design on the teacup before him.

"Though you have likely concluded that I am the princ.i.p.al in this matter, I should tell you that I am only acting as an agent. Others are seeking to a.s.semble a team for a certain operation, a bit of business in which they antic.i.p.ate some danger. I believe that your credentials as part of the force used by Samuel Verner uniquely qualify you to become a part of this team."

32.Caught off-guard by the reference, Neko blurted out, "You know of that?"

Enterich's gold teeth flashed. "I have had dealings with Mr. Verner in the past and retain an interest in his doings."

So ka. Was this another of Verner's runs? Or was this just a result 'of Neko's growing rep? Either way, Enterich had sought Neko out specifically, but there was still a hesitancy here, a caution. A probe was called for. Neko'restored calm to his voice.

"If you are aware of that run, you are aware of the kind of results I can achieve." "You will not have Striper at your side," Karen said. "I have worked without partners before." "This is not a solo run,"

Enterich said quickly. "Then I must confess to some confusion," Neko said. "Your approach implies thatyou believe me to be the person you seek, yet your tone suggests some uncertainty about my qualifications."

"It is not my wish to confuse you, Neko. Nor to suggest that you are unqualified. Qualifications are not at issue, nor is interest. Say, rather, that any hesitancy on our part is born of concern over willingness."

"Price, then."

Enterich laughed. "You are unusually direct for a j.a.panese. But price is a matter for later discussion. I speak of a different sort of willingness." He paused, making a show of seeking the right words. "It is well known that most, ah, persons of your trade wish to operate exclusively where they have a secure net of contacts and intimate knowledge of their territory. I 'm afraid that this job will require some travel on your part."

"Paid for, of course."

"Of course," Enterich said. "Your involvement with Verner suggested that you had a wider outlook than many of your colleagues."

^H "Compet.i.tors," Neko corrected. iHj "Compet.i.tors." Enterich accepted the correction with a nod. "This matter will require that you travel to Seattle."

Neko leaned back in his chair. He could feel his excitement and hoped he was hiding it well enough. As if there were any doubt that he would agree! Seattle meant North America and an entry into UCAS, the United Canadian and American States. He had always wanted to see the States. Aloofly, he said, "If I agree."

"Yes, of course." Enterich smiled at him. "If you agree."

* Neko's mind raced. America! UCAS, with its spy nets, the quixotic southern Confederated American States, the exotic Native American Nations, and the sinister Atzlan! Such fertile ground for shadowrun-ning. The big-league shadowrunner circuit. Once in the States, he would find many opportunities to employ his skills. He would make a name for himself in the land that had sp.a.w.ned modern shadowrunning. He'd meet the legends of the trade. Maybe even meet the elven decker Dodger in person or even the shadowy Sam Verner himself.

He raised his teacup and said, "The European custom involves a drink on agreement, so fca?"

"It does, but not usually tea." Despite his words, Enterich raised his cup and touched it to Neko's. "Let us drink, then, and get down to details."

3.

A bunch of half-grown ork kids from the hall, Kham's son Jord among them, tore past Kham as he turned the corner onto Beckner Street. They were chasing something that yowled when the leader of the pack struck it with the stick he carried. Each yowl from the prey brought a chorus of jubilant hoots from the pursuers and a change in the leader of the pack. When the leader missed his stroke, the hoots were derisive and the failed swinger dropped to the back of the pack. Kham watched them for a while, smiling. The prey was quick and agile, so the kids' reflexes would get a good workout before they brought whatever it was home for the stewpot. Food, especially for the crew that filled the hall, was always a problem. Beyond what they could buy, scrounge, or catch, they had access to government rationing, thanks to the widow Asa's pension. The beef-soy cakes they got for the coupons were far more soy than beef, but that was not surprising. The Native American Nations controlled most of the prime beef-land, and though the federal government had culture tanks, the corps usually raided them for their dependents well before the government got its share.

Wherever the beef went, it wasn't into the soy cakes they gave to the good, but poor, citizens of UCAS.

The beef-soy they got for the widow's coupons might be okay nutrition-wise, but it tasted like ashes and there never was enough. Any meat the kids brought in would flavor and add more protein to the stew. If they'd had more SINs in the hall, they'd have more food, but they didn't. Asa was the only one with a SIN, a system identification number, which she needed to get her government pension and the ration coupons. The disenfranchised, like Kham's family and the rest of the hall's residents, were not even ent.i.tled to that. They weren't in the computers: numbered, tagged, and ready to be processed. Without a nice corporate system identification number neither were they eligible for the government dole or even any of the corporate ones. They were outside the system, sc.r.a.ping up what they could to get by.

Sure they could buy meat in a store just like anybody else, if they had the money. Or they could go to the black market, where the meat was cheaper but you never knew how safe it was. The net result was that fresh meat was a luxury they couldn't afford except when somebody made a score or the kids brought something home from the alleys. Kham hadn't gotten a good look at what they were hunting, but he hoped it wasn't cat again. He hated the taste.

Thoughts of food made his stomach growl, reminding him that supper time was near. He sauntered on down the street, sniffing the air and checking the signs. There were no strange odors, no new marks of violence, no signs of alarm. His neighborhood was as quiet and as safe as it got. There were still some kids from the hall across the street playing around the wrecked or nearly wrecked vehicles that lined the sidewalk. Here in Orktown, there was no towing for the junkers or off-street parking for the workers.

Everything was left until it rotted away, like the garbage. Like a lot of the orks in Orktown, Kham and the others called their communal house a hall. Word on the street was that the ancient Vikfhgs used to live all together in a hall, and everybody knew Vikings were tough; orks were tough, too. Calling their places halls made it a little easier to deal with the squalor, Kham 36.supposed. If you couldn't live in a palace, at least you could pretend you did. Kham's hall was a run-down structure that had once been a store. His family and the half-dozen others of his home group lived there, bedding down in the upper stories and doing most of their day-to-day living in the lower story, which was mostly kitchen and open s.p.a.ce.

As he turned off Wilkerson Boulevard, Kham could see that the hall was lit. A trio of young orks, all wearing Black Sword colors, waited idly near the front steps. Like the kids from the other halls in the neighborhood, kids from Kham's hall joined a gang when they were old enough, Or good enough. The gang provided local security, more reliable than the police, and halls that had kids in the gang didn't even have to pay for the service.

The biggest of the three, the obvious leader, straightened up when he saw Kham approaching. That was Guido, one of John Parker's brood. Guido was a shadowrunner wannabe, always trying to act like he thought a runner ought to.

"Hoi, Kham," he said in a casually familiar drawl. " 'Zappening?" "Hoi, Guido." A little miffed by Kham's ignoring his question, Guido tried again. "Got work?" "Could be."

Guido elbowed one of the others and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Better, or Lissa'll have your b.a.l.l.s for breakfast."

Kham was too tired to play games. His response caught Guido totally off-guard. The young ork made only a feeble, futile effort to block the paw that reached for his throat. Exerting a mere fraction of his strength, Kham lifted the boy off the ground. Guido struggled to take the pressure from his throat by keeping his balance on his toes. Kham smiled grimly into Guide's NEVER TRUST AN ELF.

purpling face and said, "Watch out your b.a.l.l.s aren't on the menu."

"Hey, he didn't mean anything by it, Kham," one of the others pleaded.

"Yeah," the other chimed in. "Everybody says that, ya know. Like it's not a secret."

Giving them a squint-eyed stare, Kham said, "Yeah? Well, if everybody knows, ya don't need ta say any ting about it."

"Chill, man," Guido choked out. "I'm a sphinx."

"Nah. Ain't good-looking enough," Kham said, releasing the boy. "Or tough enough."

"Hey, man, I'm tough," Guido whined, rubbing his throat. "Take me on a run, I'll show you."

Not if you can't take a little rough treatment. "Gotta walk before ya can run, Guido."

Recovering his former bravado, Guido straightened up and said, "I'm ready. You got a job and need some more muscle, I'm the orkboy for you."

Guide's quick recovery was a good sign. The boy was still a little young to move up, but he had talent.

Maybe in a year or two. Kham decided to be encouraging. "Could be. Keep hanging till I call ya."

Kham walked up the steps, listening to the gibes of Guide's companions as they started in on the boy.

They'd sort it out. If an ork couldn't survive his own gang, he didn't have any business looking to tackle anybody else.

As he stepped through the door, the familiar scent of ork and old food washed over him, blotting out the refuse scent of the street. The light was brighter than in the street, but not enough to bother him, nor was it enough to really illuminate the squalor. The main room, what had once been a show room, was littered with debris and randomly scattered piles of bedding, but, he was pleased to see, no garbage. The chamber was furnished in early junkyard; its broken-down 38.chairs, stained and ripped couches, and tables of jumbled sc.r.a.ps gave it an air of bedraggled but comfy chaos. In one corner an unwatched monitor, the coils of its illegal cable hook-up snarled around its base, blared out the latest video from Maria Mercurial, courtesy of one of the music channels.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday they wouldn't have1 to live here.

He could hear shouts from the kitchen. Teresa was calling one of the kids down for snitching from the pot. Almost immediately a knot of kids came brawling through the archway. Catching sight of him, one ofthem shouted, "Kham's back!" As the brawl tumbled past him and into the stairway hall a small missile launched itself out of the melee. Kham caught the hurtling ork child, his oldest son Tully, and pivoted in place, swinging Tully at arm's-length. The child squealed in delight.

Twice more around, then he tossed Tully high, catching him under the arms and lowering him to the floor.

"More!" the child yelled. Kham complied, as always. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Shan-dra, Tully's littermate, staring from the doorway. Setting Tully down and tousling his hair to stifle his cries of "More!", Kham spoke to his daughter. "h.e.l.lo, Shandy."

"h.e.l.lo, daddy."

Crouching closer to her height, he said, "Come give me a hug."

Shandra hugged herself and shook her head.

It was the way she was most of the time now. He hoped it was just a phase. He straightened and took off his jacket, hanging it on a peg and slinging his weapon belt over it. He held his arms out to his daughter. "Come to daddy." She remained where she was, staring. He followed her gaze, dropping his eyes to his artificial hand. The chrome gleamed softly in the low 39.light, a shiny ghost of the flesh that had been. He took a step toward her and she bolted back to the kitchen.

"You don't need her, Daddy," Tully said, affixing himself to Kham's leg.

Kham scooped him up. The boy gave his father a squeeze around the neck, then settled back to nestle in the strong sweep of Kham's arm. Tully reached out a hand and ran it along the smooth plastic of the flesh-metal interface and down over the rigid alloy of Kham's hand. "It's hard, Dad. Like you."

"Ya gonna be hard when yer big, Tully?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's my boy," Kham said, with a smile. Ill Kham heard familiar footsteps approaching. Lissa. He turned to face her. She was as beautiful as ever, if a bit tousled from her work in the kitchen. Her tusks, delicate and fine, gleamed like old ivory. They showed j particularly clear when she was frowning, which she J was now. She stopped about a meter away and put one hand on her hip while the other unconsciously ca- I ressed Shandra's head. Clinging to her mother's leg, * the girl sobbed softly. Lissa said some quiet words to -her before looking at Kham.

"About time." "

"Had a meet."

She looked at him for a moment, then bent down and whispered to Shandra. The girl nodded her head and ran toward the kitchen. Lissa straightened to face Kham again. "You've got a run then."

"Most likely. Got another meet tonight." She folded her arms. "This better not be another story, Kham. We need the moneyV'

"We'll get it."

"And I don't need the grief." Taking a step forward, she tugged Tully from his arms. Setting him 40.41.down, she said, "Get along, Tully. Teresa needs your help in the kitchen."

"Aw, Mom."

"Go!"

Tully sulked off.

"We were playing," Kham said.

"He's got work, even if no one else around here does. You think this hall runs itself?"

Kham knew from experience that she didn't really want an answer to that question. In fact, she went on to answer it herself in an all-too-familiar tirade. He shouldn't have been gone so long. He shouldn't get in the way around the hall. He should've brought home some money. He shouldn't keep the kids from doing their ch.o.r.es. And on and on and on. He nodded in the right places and shook his head in the other right places. He lost his appet.i.te as his stomach went sour. Why did it have to be this way?

For all her harping, he still loved her. He wanted to tell her that. He reached out a hand to gather her to him, realizing too late that he had reached out with his right. She flinched away from him, a flash of horror reflected in the chrome of his hand. Then she stood her ground and let him gather her in his arms.

"I love ya," he said.

She said nothing.

"It's gonna be all right."

"How can you say that, Kham? Everything's different now.''

Her voice was shaky. He knew she was worried, scared for the kids mostly. That was what made her shrill so often now. He caressed her hair with his right hand and she shivered, so he stopped. "Nuttin's changed."

"It has," she said softly.

He knew her words for truth. Ever since he'd gotten his cybernetic replacements, Lissa had been different, cold and distant. She shuddered when he touched her with the replacement hand. It was easier sometimes not to touch her at all.

"Dere's lotsa guys wid enhancements on da streets. Orks, too. Their chicas don't got problems wit dem."

"It's not real."

"But I ain't no vat-grown corp monster. I'm still me. Kham, yer husband. An artificial hand and syn-teticmuscles in my leg don't change dat." "I haven't left you, have I?" "No."

"I've been a good wife, haven't I? I take care of the kids. I feed this crew and run herd on this brawl you call a hall. You can't say I don't."

"No, I can't." They both knew that the street was not a nice place, and there were d.a.m.ned few shelters that didn't want a SIN before they did anything for you. It was all part of the system, which didn't work for orks like them.

"If it wasn't fer da implants, I'd be a crip. I wouldn't be able ta take care of ya and da kids." "I know that." "I still love ya and da kids." "I know that."

But Lissa didn't sound like she really believed it. "I didn't abandon ya, like John Parker did his woman when he took up shadowrunning. And yer not a widow, like Teresa, Asa, or Komiko. What if I'da died on dose runs last year fer Sam Verner? What if I'da died aboard dat d.a.m.ned, drowned sub like Teresa and Komiko's men? What woulda happened ta ya and da kids den?"

"I don't know." * "An honest answer at least." He held her tight, careful to keep his replacement hand from touching her flesh. "But I did survive dose runs even dough da 42.first cost me my hand and part 'a my leg. Drek! I survived da run and was back up in time ta go on annoder inta dat d.a.m.ned bug-filled submarine fer da dogboy. It takes a tough guy ta get back up dat fast, and I'm tough. I'm a survivor, babe. I'm a rough, tough ork like I gotta be."