Shadowrun: Streets of Blood Part 12

"Well, my, my. What have we here?"

It was Rani, cool and calm beyond even her own dreams, stepping forward to confront the brutes. "We try a little run down here in the East End, then when we have to make tracks sharpish, we bust into just the kind of people we can talk to. Guns and money. Lovely. Nice to meet you."

She had her Ceska pointed directly at the head of the troll who'd done most of the talking. Though the elf had the shakes real bad and the other man looked totally at a loss, Rani was glad to see that the woman also had her pistol pointed at the same target.

The trolls hesitated long enough.

Just.

21.

For a second that stretched out for hours, both groups stood frozen, weapons readied and pointed at each other. The leader of the trolls had some respect for them now, Rani could see, and he was looking to her. He realized she was a local, not some cross-town rich kid who'd be easy to fool, easy to catch off guard in a fatal instant of vacillation. Still, he was drooling slightly, a stringy glob of mucus hanging from one corner of his mouth. The other gang members were looking to old black-snout now, not quite so arrogant but still eager for the fray. Rani prayed they weren't high on some of the crazier stuff around; if they were, reason would never get her group out of here alive.

"We're very grateful for your hospitality," she said as steadily as she could manage. "I imagine you'll want some reward for that. Guess we can come up with something for you."

The trolls chuckled inanely, gripping their weapons tighter. Black-snout leered at her.

"I'm rakking sure you can, girlie. Looks like you got some nice weapons there. Not the kinda gear to stop a troll, of course. Probably got some real money in that suit, slick kid, huh?" He slid his shotgun across to point at Geraint. "Poor little pixie there, he don't look too good to me. Don't think we'd get too many bullet tokens for his scrawny body. Rest of you worth a few nuyen, though. Hey, don't look so sad and dismal. You ain't gonna die! Different bits of you gonna be alive everywhere from Seattle to Tokyo!"

The trolls laughed among themselves, but none of them made a move. Yet.

Serrin's shaking suddenly stopped, but he hardly knew his own state. His mind was lucid and calm, but his skin was clammy and he felt as if he might simply keel over at any instant. Fixing his gaze on the troll with the shotgun seemed to help him focus his attention and stay on his feet.

"The guns we have might not stop you, but they could do some unpleasant damage," the elf said. "But I'll tell you one thing, brother, if I'm going to die here, first I'm going to pump some h.e.l.lfire so heavy even your thick b.u.t.t-skins will go up in smoke. I mean, what the fraggin' h.e.l.l, what've I got to lose?"

Black-snout stared hard at Serrin, mentally gunning him down with his eyes but not daring to do more. He could see the strange stones the elf was clutching. Magic was the one real edge these intruders had. The weapons didn't frighten the trolls, but a suicide strike by a mage with a serious death wish was another matter entirely. It wouldn't be the first time one of his gang had ended up on the wrong end of a corporate combat mage. Many of them also had friends who'd suffered the same fate, and hadn't lived to discuss it. The atmosphere began to change.

Please keep me standing up long enough to get us out of this, Serrin prayed mentally as Geraint and Rani began the negotiating. Geraint was listening to the flow of Rani's clever comments, taking his cue from her as she told him implicitly what the trolls might accept for their release. Credsticks they wouldn't touch; they had no way of verifying them. Geraint's high-denomination sterling and nuyen notes did, however, speak to them in another language. Dumping slap patches and a pile of shiny equipment out of his bag, Geraint upped the ante even further.

Slowly the trolls began to move sideways, while Rani and the others did the same. It might have been hilarious had it not been so desperate, both groups circling around each other. Geraint covered their retreat through the far door with his heavy pistol. The trolls had one final challenge.

"Hey, ken-boy, why don't you leave the woman here?" one of them smirked, rubbing his greasy crotch. The low chuckle that rippled through the group was a most unpleasant sound, but Geraint didn't dare scratch the itch burning in his trigger finger. When the others reached the street, Geraint covered their final exit, then he backed out too. They still couldn't relax yet, though.

"Where the h.e.l.l are we? Got to get to Aldgate, the Shaking Samurai," Geraint told Rani. She moved into action immediately, grabbing Serrin's hand and guiding them as they ran up the street.

The trolls had changed their minds, two of them firing from the upper floor of the house as the fleeing figures disappeared into the darkness. The group had almost reached the end of the road when Geraint drew up with a yelp of pain. He clutched the back of his leg just below the hip, but kept on going, limping around the corner as best he could. He'd taken a bullet, and when he took his hand away it was smeared with blood.

"They won't follow. They've heard the sirens by now," Rani tried to rea.s.sure them.

"Who are you?" Francesca gasped out at last, trying to conceal her disgust at the ork girl's ugliness.

Rani scowled. "This isn't the time for questions." She pointed at Geraint. "He's just been shot and elf-face is completely rakked. Look at his eyes. You got wheels?"

"Parked outside the Shaking Samurai. A troll's guarding it. Owe him money," Geraint managed to force out through the pain. "Ngh! I'm not going to get that far."

"I can go for the car, but you gotta give me something the troll will recognize."

"Give him this," he said, handing her all his remaining notes, "and tell him the gas won't be a problem if you touch the car. He'll remember that. Oh, and tell him this includes a bonus for the noses if he's managed to collect any. " She looked at the n.o.bleman as if he were mad. "He'll understand. Honest." He handed her the keys.

"Geraint, is this wise?" Francesca was alarmed. "It's our only way out of here. We could make it ourselves." Serrin collapsed down to all fours and began to cough, great racking heaves that convulsed his body. Geraint hung on to his shot-up leg, looked at the elf, and back to Francesca.

"You want to walk it alone, Fran?"

"Got to get you safe while I get the car." Rani was staring urgently about her. "Yeah, got it. Can you make it a couple of streets? Three minutes?" With Francesca holding up Serrin's long, slim form, and Rani helping Geraint get along on one good leg, it took eight, but they made it.

"Through here," she said. "Saw it this afternoon. There may be some little street kids about, but they'll be scared off if you point a gun at them."

With Geraint's flashtube lighting the scene, they saw that it was an abandoned house whose ceiling had collapsed. A couple of rats scurried out of sight among the piles of rubble and excrement strewn over the floor. The stench was overwhelming, but compared to the danger on the street, the place seemed deliciously inviting. There was no one inside it.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Rani was about to skip off into the night when Geraint called out to her.

"Oh, hey, you! The keys!" He took them back and showed her the plaque that slid out of the key-ring. "You need to put that into the green slot, right? This'll get you past the ID checks, but you'll still need the pa.s.sword sequence to activate the controls."

"Phew! What kind of car is this?" She was impressed.

"One that's hopefully in one piece. The pa.s.sword, er is,"-he gestured her closer to whisper in her ear- "Queen of Heaven."

Rani stood back from him and smiled. Her face broke into a wide grin and she felt almost euphoric. She imagined these people were heavy-duty shadowrunners and she was saving their lives. That made it an adventure, the very thing she'd always wanted.

"Hey, lady, you wanna know my name? Call me the Queen of Heaven!" She ran off giggling into the night.

Francesca turned to Geraint in the darkness. "You almighty fool! You've just handed the car keys to a complete, b.l.o.o.d.y lunatic. And a sodding ork on top of it."

"Like I said, you want to walk the East End alone at night?"

Again Francesca had no answer.

By the time the car came veering unsteadily along the road, Serrin had slipped into unconsciousness. Geraint's leg felt sore as h.e.l.l, but the slap patch had staunched the bleeding in what looked to be only a flesh wound. He looked up quickly at the sound of a car door slamming and the crunch of boots over the frosty ground.

It was the ork girl. "Got it," she said. "I had to give that troll everything. He really strung me along even though he knew I was from you." She was angry, but obviously excited too. She grabbed at the elf's comatose body.

"Be careful with him," Geraint said quickly. "Fran, help her."

The American's nose registered her repulsion at the ork's distinctive body odor. The girl smelled strong, musky, and Francesca imagined that if not for the oil on her body she would probably have smelled even worse.

Between them, they picked Serrin up and deposited him in the back seat of the car. Francesca tucked herself into a corner with the elf's head in her lap.

Geraint took the driver's seat, and the Indian girl climbed in beside him. "Hey, we owe you." He held out the credsticks. "They're worth ten thou. I'm sure you'll get a good deal on them. But I don't feel right leaving you out here alone." He winced as he tried to press his foot against the pedal.

Rani waved away the proffered money and said she didn't want it. "Take me with you."

Geraint grinned as he used his hands to shuffle over into the car's pa.s.senger seat. "See how the other half lives, huh? Can you drive this for me?"

She looked unhappy. "Um, it was a bit difficult getting here. I'm not used to driving, I don't get the chance much. You really can't manage?"

He held her arm briefly to rea.s.sure her. "It's all right. Fran, you better act as chauffeur. We can put the walking wounded in the back." They changed places, and Francesca pointedly avoided looking at Rani as she placed her hands on the wheel. She needed directions, however, so she was forced to speak to her.

With Rani navigating, it was only minutes before they hit Gracechurch Street, heading west. Geraint was briefing Francesca on what to do when they got back to Chelsea. She would have to bring down a coat and a change of clothes for him, because he couldn't walk in wearing clothes covered with blood.

She followed the Embankment around as far as Geraint's street, driving smoothly down the ramp into the underground garage. It took fifteen minutes to get changed and emerge looking pa.s.sably like occupants and guests of a n.o.bleman's penthouse. Rani pulled the hood of the dark velvet cloak over her head as she emerged from the car, keeping her head down as if that would somehow prevent detection. She and Francesca draped Serrin's lifeless arms around their shoulders while Geraint limped along on his ebony walking stick. Then they were into the elevator at last, and then staggering into Geraint's flat.

Rani gazed speechless at the evidence of the meal they'd eaten so many, many hours ago. Geraint tried to bow to her, bidding her welcome to his home, but his face betrayed the pain and impossibility of the gesture.

"Let me look at your leg. I know about cleaning wounds," she volunteered eagerly.

"You sure about that?" he said, alarmed. On the other hand, he didn't want to call Careline about this one. They had to notify the Lord Protector's minions automatically when called upon to treat bullet wounds, whether the injured party was a n.o.ble or not. And that would start a lot of awkward questions being asked.

"At least let me look," Rani urged.

He hobbled into the bathroom, showing her the medical kit that boggled her mind. Where she came from, people would kill for a tenth of what this man had in the kit alone.

Geraint had been lucky, as far as it went; the bullet had pa.s.sed right through the big muscle at the back of his leg, doing no serious damage. Rani gave him a local and cleaned away the dried blood. Lying on his stomach, he watched her work in the big mirror at the end of the room. Her hands were hard-skinned, almost gnarled, and the last word anyone would have used to describe them was delicate, but her touch was gentle even though he was anesthetized.

Finally, the c.u.mulative stress of the night caught up with him, his mind clouding and his vision beginning to blur. He had just managed to ask what her name was and to hear her reply when his muscles gave up the effort in a final bodily sigh and he pa.s.sed out.

Rani left him on the floor, putting folded towels under his belly and calves, and laying a pillow from the huge bedroom under his head. The mage was lying comatose on a sofa, his breathing shallow, but he seemed peaceful enough. The woman hadn't even undressed before crashing out in the second bedroom.

Rani skipped around the room, very pleased with herself. Then, guiltily at first, but with a growing sense of delight, she began to stuff her mouth with truffles from the remains of the meal on the table.

If only Imran could see her now. . . .

22.

Rani gazed in awe at the control systems in the penthouse. She longed to play with them, to find out what did what, but she feared setting off some alarm or rousing security, so she contented herself making coffee, raiding a fridge stocked to overflowing, and taking twenty minutes to figure out how to operate the juicer. After getting it to work without breaking it, she gulped down the tangy orange juice, licking her lips with a murmur, almost a growl, of pleasure.

"Help yourself!" He stood watching her from the kitchen doorway, weight on his right leg, elegant in a kimono that was finer than any sari she had ever seen. She put the gla.s.s down guiltily.

"No, I meant it." Geraint sniffed at the aroma of fresh coffee. "Oh, that smells good. Thank you." He limped to the breakfast table, poured himself a cup of strong black coffee and considered a cigarette. Not this morning, he thought. My body's taken enough of a beating.

In the living room beyond, Serrin groaned in his sleep and stirred. He'd still be groggy from the reaction to the drugs Geraint had administered.

"I don't know what you like," he said waving at the fridge,"but there's bacon, ham, eggs, cereals in the cupboard there, fruit and cheeses and, oh, let's see what else. . . ."He clambered up painfully to investigate the contents. He didn't feel much like eating, but thought he'd better force something down. He settled for some Jarlsberg and salami on rye while Rani began to a.s.semble a sandwich on some grainy black bread, piling layer upon layer more out of curiosity than anything else. By the time she was done, the sandwich was an inch and a half high. She chewed a great chunk happily, and then looked warily askance at his expression.

"No," Geraint smiled. "I'm not laughing at you. Glad to see you enjoy the food. I don't know what, um, ork people like." He didn't know what else to say.

Rani looked at him suspiciously, backing off a little.

"Don't take offense, please. It's just that my friends and acquaintances don't include many orks. Well, not really any, to be honest. You see, I'm a member of the House of n.o.bles, and as you may know, not many n.o.ble families have orks among them." Geraint knew he was digging an even deeper hole the more he talked, but the words came out faster than he thought.

She didn't know any of the details, but it was a well-known fact of life that the Sixth Age hadn't changed n.o.ble prejudices in Britain. When the first wave of unexplained genetic expression brought elves and dwarfs, the first of the metahumans, into the world, n.o.ble families got their fair share of pretty elven children but only the rare ugly little dwarf. Registered stillbirths and neo-natal deaths among dwarf babies had been astonishingly high among society's upper echelons. Then, when the transformations brought orks and trolls into their midst, British n.o.bles took steps to make sure they stayed elegant, handsome, and socially acceptable. Most of the unfashionably ugly creatures proved to have alarmingly short lifespans, for having an ork in the family just wasn't done.

"Please forgive me. It isn't prejudice, or at least I hope not, it's just ignorance. You are very welcome here. We owe you our lives. I'm not going to forget that." Geraint smiled genuinely at her.

Rani knew he was sincere, and she wanted to stay and talk to the elf she'd seen that fateful night just over a week ago, but she was still unsure.

"She doesn't like me." The allusion to Francesca was obvious.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, but I suppose she's just not used to you either. She lives among the same kind of people I do. And she's, ah, well, she's a little vain about her own looks. But I know Francesca. When she's had time to think it through, she won't forget what she owes you."

"Doesn't mean she'll like me any better," Rani mumbled, hands in her lap, the remnants of the enormous sandwich left untouched on the table.

"Please," Geraint said almost pleadingly. "It's something like the way you had trouble with the controls in the kitchen, right? It didn't mean you were dumb because you couldn't figure them out right away. It just meant you aren't used to this kind of place. Well, it's the same with us-we're not used to you and your ways. Doesn't mean we don't like you just because we need a little time to get used to you." He wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, and he wasn't sure why she seemed to need their approval, but when the words came out they seemed to rea.s.sure her a little.

"I've seen him before." She pointed to the elf, who was groggily trying to sit up on the sofa. He looked to be losing the struggle.

"Yes?" He was casual, looking at Serrin more than listening to her. He a.s.sumed Serrin had done a little wandering around the Smoke before they had met, and perhaps she'd seen him somewhere on his jaunts.

Rani was about to explain when Francesca ambled into the kitchen. The Indian girl fell silent again, feeling awkward.

The woman almost seemed to ignore Rani, poured herself some coffee and rubbed her eyes. "G.o.d, I'm wiped out. What time is it?"

"Eleven-fifteen," Geraint told her. "Looks as if Serrin is trying to wake up, too. Let's get a coffee relay going and talk this all out."

Two pots of coffee later, they had all begun to perk up a little. Serrin still felt light-headed and unsteady when he tried to stand, which Geraint warned him was how he would feel most of the day. Francesca was more worried about Geraint's leg.

"Well, tomorrow I think I may have to ask you to drive me to a friendly contact of mine in Oxford. Get this dealt with." The wound was clean, bandaged, but even after a local shot, his whole leg throbbed with pain and stiffness.

Rani spoke up. "Why were you in my patch last night? You're strangers, but you must have known it wasn't safe.

The Harry Hooks or the other gangs, they'd have ripped you apart if they'd been around. You were lucky." Her directness caught the others off guard. They looked at each other for a second or two. How much could they trust her?

"Ah, well, Rani." Geraint began uncertainly. "We were ... we were trying to prevent a murder."

"Why should you want to do that? They happen every day. Was it someone important?" She was very curious.

There was a long silence. "Rani, please don't be offended, but we aren't really sure how much we should tell you. We may be dealing with a string of related murders, and we haven't yet had a chance to talk about last night among ourselves. There may be another murder soon and we'll have to figure out what we can do. We're still not sure who we can talk to. . . ." Geraint's voice tapered off into an attempted apology for not trusting her enough to tell her more, but she was unabashed.

"Can I tell you about me? Trusting me might be easier if you know what I was doing."

"Sure. Fire away," Serrin said. If nothing else, it would give them time to think while she spoke.

Rani began by explaining the need to revenge the deaths in her family, the bungled sucker run in which several had been killed, and why her brother wasn't helping much. She didn't give any details, and was rather awkwardly beginning to explain her Undercity exploits.