London stank.
It wasn’t just the fumes and garbage stenches that permeated everything, although the city had those, just like every other major metroplex. London’s peculiar effluvium was a legacy of the terrorist attack of 2039, when the radical group called Pan Europa had released a bioagent in retaliation for England’s supposed part in the break-up of the EEC. The bug was supposed to break down the sheathing element of the metroplex’s newly completed dome. The terrorists must have been pleased to see the biofabric skin had evaporated under the ravenous organism. But had they known what effect their organism would have on other biological fibers?
Intentional or not, once the bug was released, there had been no way to recall it. Much of London’s historical legacy had been destroyed when the uncontrolled organism had devoured all of its paper and wood as well. The panic riots afterward had devastated the city, vandalizing its present and almost completely devouring its past. The spirit of London’s people had failed as well, the dreams of leading a new Europe dying in the mouldering aftermath.
Now, the bones of the abandoned dome arched over the city like the broken ribcage of a rotting antediluvian beast, as the new fungi of skyscrapers, towers, and communications arrays clawed toward the sky through the bleached struts.
Sam saw those gleaming spires of the new ’plex as monuments to the megacorporations’ contempt for the common folk. Instead of nurturing the people’s hopes, the corps had defied the growing power of the Green Party and taken advantage of the chaos to built according to their own whims. With bought votes in Parliament and sweetheart deals for the still-landed aristocracy, the megacorps had twisted English law, shattering the people’s dreams of safety and protection. Despite the restored constitutional monarchy, George VIII, the Lord Protector, and Parliament didn’t govern the country alone. The megacorps ruled much of England as surely as they ruled their own boardrooms.
But London was a modern metroplex, and in the shadows of the corporate towers there was another world; one the megacorps and the Lord Protector’s Greens didn’t rule. London had its own shadow world, not unlike Seattle’s. In the corners and the darkness, men and women, shadowrunners, fought the aggressive, uncaring domination of the corporate powers. And when the corps struck back, the runners hid in the abandoned stretches that reminded Sam of Seattle’s Barrens, in the teeming hives of the Public Zones beneath the corporate towers, and in the dank tunnels of the service ways and sewers that made up the undercity.
Especially in the sewers.
The cold, slimy water trickled through his close-cropped hair. If his hair were longer, the chill splash would have been softened; he wouldn’t have felt dampness until the noisome liquid threaded its way onto the bare skin on the back of his neck.
Why was Hart late? Fifteen minutes already. In their three weeks of haunting the London shadow world, she had always been on time, if not early. Even in those rare moments when they had met to relax, she had been prompt. Unlike Sally.
Sally wouldn’t like it here. She hated dark, closed-in places. He remembered her curses when they broke into the Renraku arcology so long ago. So long ago? Little more than two years had passed. He had been living in another world then, living a different life. Since then, he had entered the shadows and found a new life. Was he on the verge of starting down yet another new path?
When he thought about Sally, he remembered the good times they’d had in bed, the intensity of it all. But he also remembered the fights and the sniping. He’d always had the feeling he somehow didn’t measure up to Sally’s standards. Well, drek! He didn’t measure up to his own most of the time, but that didn’t make him worthless. Times changed; people changed. He had.
Had something happened to her?
Sam’s worry was real, but the face he attached to it was Hart’s. That surprised him. How easily she had slipped into his thoughts to displace Sally. Almost as easily as they had slipped into bed together. At the time, it had just seemed right somehow. And now? Well, now it still seemed right.
What about Sally?
“What about Hart?” Estios whispered.
“She said she’d be here.”
Sam wished he felt as assured as he sounded. Or did he sound confident at all? Estios seemed as nervous as he ever got. The tall elf was always so cocky; the absence of his partners didn’t usually affect him. Was he worried about Hart, too? It seemed unlikely. Ever since they had met in the circle of Stonehenge, Estios had distrusted the elven runner. Even though she had saved them all from blundering into the ambush at Glover’s estate that night, Estios had remained distrustful. His every comment was laced with suspicion. She just laughed off the hostility, but Sam worried. How could they all work together without trust?
Who was he to talk? These days he weighed every word Dodger said, wondering if there was a new lie hidden among the flowery phrases. Then there was Estios and his crew. Chatterjee seemed innocuous enough, quiet and competent. O’Connor was the friendliest of the bunch, but she seemed to know Dodger from a long time ago. Who knew what that meant? Certainly Dodger did, but he wasn’t talking. Estios himself was a very cold fish. As much as he resented Hart, he seemed to resent Sam even more. Beneath the surface of politeness, Sam sensed the tall elf was chafing under some kind of restraint, almost as if someone had ordered him to remain on relatively good terms with Sam. Perhaps someone had. As far as Sam knew, Estios was exclusively employed by Professor Laverty. That made him wonder what interest the professor had in the current situation. Just who could Sam trust?
Himself, he supposed. Inu, too. But Inu was only a dog, and besides, he wasn’t here. In London, the elves with whom he hunted the druids were his only close contacts. The elves had shadow connections in the ’plex, almost all normal humans. Sam trusted most of those connections less than he trusted the elves, but he would be lost here without them. Then again, without them, he would be on his way back to Seattle.
A short series of taps reverberated faintly down the tunnel. Estios drew his weapon and faced toward the source before Sam had sorted out the echoes. There were familiar scents beneath the sewer stink. Feeling secure the tall elf would handle any physical threat, Sam activated his astral senses and scanned the tunnel. The approaching aura was familiar, and comforting. It showed no sign of injury or emotional distress. A further probe revealed she was not being followed.
“Is this the whole party?” Hart asked as she arrived.
“Where were you?” Estios snapped, scowling.
She ignored his question. “Let’s go see Herzog.”
“I don’t like it,” Estios said.
“Do you like anything? You didn’t have to come.” She brushed at a drip spot on the arm of her Scaterelli jacket. Her annoyed frown would seem to be directed at the spoiled fabric, but Sam knew better.
Estios pressed. “We need not involve him in our affairs, Hart. You’ve compromised our security enough by sending Twist to him.”
“She hasn’t compromised anything, Estios. Herzog is just a teacher. You should be grateful for that; it’ll make me more valuable.”
“Learning from the gutter is worse than no learning.”
Hart laughed. “Learning is learning. I suggest you keep your attitude to yourself. I don’t think our host will take kindly to your carping. If Herzog were here—”
“But Herzog is here.”
The new voice belonged to a bulky figure emerging from the deeper shadows of the tunnel. Sam had smelled Herzog’s distinctive odor, and knew he was somewhere nearby, but the others, for all their darkness-piercing elven eyes, hadn’t seemed aware. Estios swung his weapon to bear and Hart tensed.
The newcomer rumbled with amusement. “No fight today.”
Herzog was big for a human, weighing more than most orks. Most of his mass was muscle and bone, hidden under a layer of smooth fat and a mound of patchwork clothes. He was unnaturally strong, a gift of nature boosted by his totem rather than by artificial enhancement. Despite his bulk and the array of fetishes festooning his garb, he moved almost silently as he stepped up to them.
“Good evening, Herzog,” Hart said. “I’m pleased to see you.”
“You have work for me.”
“Direct,” Estios commented.
“The night still grows, elf. I must be about my own work. If you find my manners abrupt, you need not deal with me.”
“Ignore tall, dark, and ornery, Herzog,” Hart said. “We need your help.”
“To do?”
“To get us going. Our probes are getting nowhere; our adversaries seem well prepared for our hermetic intrusions. I thought your talents might offer a more productive approach.”
“Your adversaries are not mine.”
“They are everyone’s,” Sam said.
Herzog turned to Sam. “So. Why have you not done what the elf asks?”
Sam didn’t want to answer. Had he been alone with Herzog he might have, but in front of Hart he felt inhibited. He didn’t want her to know how much he hated talking to Dog, how much he feared the irrationality of the spirit form’s essence. And he didn’t want her to know about that other presence that so terrified him.
“I can’t,” he said.
Herzog half-turned in a sudden rattle and clash of fetishes and power objects. “You have the power. You know how to free your spirit. Why have you stopped this time? The Dog or the Man of Light?”
Sam hesitated and Hart shot him a look, “What is the Man of Light?”
“Nothing,” Sam said quickly to keep Herzog from answering. “It’s nothing. Just some kind of subconscious symbol. I’m still having trouble breaking through to the spirit realm that I’d need to reach to do what you want.”
Hart stared at him, but said nothing. Sam gave a brief prayer of thanks when she returned her attention to Herzog.
“So, shaman. Will you do some recce for us?”
“I will. It will take time.”
“Then we will leave you to it,” Estios said. The deal made, the tall elf vanished into the darkness. Hart delayed to thank Herzog, then reached for Sam’s arm.
The shaman stopped her. “He stays.”
Sam saw the surprise in Hart’s face flash to annoyance. He himself felt afraid. “Why?”
“You need to learn.”
Sam started to object, but Hart spoke. “He’s right. You need to learn as much as you can. Besides, if you’re here, you can make a first call on whether what Herzog finds out is important. It might save a lot of time.”
“But you—”
“But nothing. You know he won’t work with anyone other than a shaman present.”
“I’m not a—”
Herzog exploded with the huff of air that was his laugh. “You are what you are. You must come with me now; the badges are coming.”
Sam looked around. He could see little in the darkness, but he could hear distant splashes. Someone coming all right, several someones. There was too much noise for them to be runners, so the approaching persons were most likely one of the local constabulary’s periodic sewer patrols, and magic wouldn’t hide them from the patrol magician. When he turned back, Hart was already gone. She had slipped away silently into the dimness, where her elven eyes could see what he could not. He would never catch up to her. Left with no other choice, he followed the retreating Herzog. Even the grumpy Gator shaman was preferable to a brush with the metroplex police.
They stopped when Herzog was sure they were safely away from the sweep patrol. Herzog leaned against the tunnel wall, immobile. Sam could barely hear him breathe. The Gator shaman had never shown much altruism before, yet he had accepted Hart’s charge without dickering on the price.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Need.”
“But we haven’t offered you anything. Don’t think Estios will pay whatever you ask. You didn’t name a price, so he won’t pay one.”
Herzog’s huff was soft, too soft to carry back down the tunnel, but Sam heard it clearly enough. “I do not do this for the ice-eyed elf. Nor for your paramour Hart. I do this for you. You must see the way is safe, that you can walk the path if only you accept what you are.”
“I have accepted it. I’ve learned spells. I can project astrally at will.”
“You delude yourself. If you had accepted your shamanic nature, the path to the spirit planes would not be blocked. Until you accept the other reality, you will not achieve what you seek. Until then, you are your own worst enemy.”