[Fracking Scar Wasteland, Second Progress Map Marker]
[Post-Mining Wilderness, Several Hours Outside Leipzig]
CURRENT TIME: 18 July 2081, 2300 hours
“This ain’t so bad.” Hollywood shoved another chunk of chili-protein into his mouth. “Good weather, adequate food…halfway decent company.”
Everyone laughed. It had only taken a half-hour to pop open and set up the tents. Another ten minutes or so and Fee had a nice fire going. It wasn’t necessary on a summer night like this, but adding hot water to the MREs made them ten times better. Normally, the closest thing to survivalist food on a shadowrunner’s menu was whatever the nearest vending machine could spit out for spare change. Now that they were six hours into chasing down a mysterious set of coordinates in the over-mined wilderness between urban sprawls of the Allied German States—all on the words from a single communication from the servant of a non-viral vampire noble—nothing seemed normal anymore.
“I’ve never been this far from the sprawl before,” Faust said as they lay back and watched the night sky. “I guess I always thought most of the stars were just satellites and echo sparks. But this? This is bloody brilliant.”
“Makes me wonder why our ancestors all built walls and came inside at all.” Fee blew over the top of her ready-to-eat rotini and clam sauce.
“Drek Matrix access, no suitable takeout, nowhere to even coffin crash if the weather shifts and everything starts to pour down on you.” Janus’ voice was dark and gravely. “If there were gods, it’d basically be them pissin’ down on us for abandoning the protection of civilization.”
“There are gods.” Faust sat up. “Why else would the world give us such extraordinary gifts and powers?”
“Can’t speak for the rest, but mine’re store-bought.” Hollywood said. “Got the receipts to prove it.” He looked down momentarily. “Hell, still payin’ off a few bits here and there.”
“Hopefully this sideways-arse mission will help you zero out that bill,” Faust replied, nestling deeper into their bedroll to stare at the sky.
“I’m really sorry you guys have to deal with all of this madness because of me.” Tanzo sounded more than a little down at the thought.
“None of this is your fault, mate.” Faust rose up to lean on an elbow. “Just like us, you took a job, and it turned out a little different from what you originally thought.”
“I just don’t understand why they wanted to kill us.” Tanzo shook his head. “Why put so much effort into burying the only people who can make those ones and zeroes really dance?”
“This code can’t be that important, can it?” Gute Fee upended the entire plastic pouch of food goo into her mouth and chewed sloppily.
“Well.” Tanzo’s face brightened at the chance to talk shop. “It doesn’t really do anything on its own. It’s toolware. The K-Code takes all of the data of a particular subject, chooses any related subjects or data sources it can tap into, then calculates potential outcomes about ten thousand times faster than anything else in virtual reality.”
“So, it’s just a super-fast statistics calculator?” Janus asked, hoping he was wrong. Software like this appeared on the market every so often for beta-testing, but it always came up short in the long run. Numbers behaved a certain way, but the more direct contact a situation had with free thought, human error, and emotion-over-logic, the more dangerous they were. It was why Janus preferred the cold, calculating way his mind behaved in a tense situation. Working to a set of personal rules and regulations was better for him; like his refusal to use lethal munitions or fully open himself up to the raw magicscape he could harness. It was something he could prepare for, adapt, and utilize as part of a plan instead of the plan having to react to the chaos of free will.
“The corpos can’t be trying to erase you and your friends over something I can buy down at a Brighton’s.” Hollywood lit a narc-less cigarillo.
“Oh, our K-Code is so much more than that, guys.” Tanzo’s tone was that of a proud father. “It re-writes its own pathways and probability bridges based on the millions of decisions and trial runs it’s made before. It learns.”
“Wait.” Janus shot up to a sitting position instantly in his bedroll. “Are you saying you built…new artificial intelligence?”
“Not…exactly.” Tanzo’s smile was ear to ear. “K sacrifices any semblance of an actual personality or individuality to double and re-double its ability to predict what’s going to happen given the data it’s fed. It just learns better ways to predict and analyze faster than anything that ever existed before.”
“But it got half-canned when that thing you were doing with it got blown up?” Fee asked.
“Yes.”
“Making you the only person in the world who understands how to make it work?” she continued.
“Yes.”
“Which is why Stockhausen wants him in one piece, safe and sound,” Janus reminded everyone.
“Why? Without the code cylinders, even all fragged out like they are…” Tanzo rubbed his temples with his fingertips in frustration. “I’m only like, half—well, not even—a third of the puzzle.”
Unless Stockhausen has a lead on the cylinders already. Does he already have them? Is this all just a shell game? Janus shook away the idea. When you started doubting every client, you never took a gig again. Healthy distrust was one thing, but downright paranoia served no level head. I’m just overthinking things.
“Or our employer is going to start the project up again,” Janus said, manufacturing the best scenario he could, “with you as its lead?”
“Wishful thinking, runner.” Tanzo smiled. “Dreams, schemes, and chasing moonbeams. But it seems like that’s a better life than what I was supposed to have.” He swallowed hard. “Thanks to you folks.”
“Let’s catch some recharge time.” Hollywood leaned back and adjusted his hat to rest on his face. “We still have more than a hundred klicks of untamed wilderness to cross tomorrow.”
“G’nite everyone,” Faust said, taking a small sip from their flask before rolling over and crushing their face into the chemi-foam pillow.
“Good night,” said Janus. Be with you in a few, he silently added. There were still a few things he wanted to do before risking getting some sleep out here. In the wilderness. Tent or no tent, this place was quite literally the largest set of untamed variables he had ever considered. Weather. Passersby. Satellite zooms. Shamanic agents. Bugs. Dirt. Dew.
It's all horrible.
After a few minutes, Janus slipped out of the tent, satchel in hand, and quietly crept around their campsite. He took the extra time to attach motion sensors to a few tree trunks, nestled one in a nearby standing stone, and hung one from the top of one of their tents. A quick coding re-allotment turned all three security suites of their ATVs into sweeping scanners for the whole area.
Janus linked everything up through his personal deck, queueing any signals to strobe all across his cybereyes if anything bigger than a SeaTac sewer rat started digging around their site. Satisfied with his anti-wilderness additional measures, he slipped back into the tent, happy to hear his team already working on getting some rest by the rumbling rise and fall of Gute Fee’s snoring.
It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do. Janus cracked open the chemical packet inside the insta-pillow. In seconds the resulting reaction created a modestly sized square pouch of soft foam. Tucking himself into the bedroll and massaging the pillow to best fit his head, he switched on the makeshift surveillance network and let out a long sigh.
Next mission…room service.
“Pssssst! Hey…Janus? You asleep?”
Yes, Janus thought through the mental fog of sleep, but not anymore. He turned down the brightness of his cybereyes and cracked open his lid. “Not really. What’s up?”
“I’ve smelled a lot of smells in the world, mate,” Faust whispered, their face just inches away from Janus’, “a lot. But something upwind of us is sending my senses into overdrive. I woke up and my bloody claws were out, mate. My fight-or-flight is all fight because of that stink.”
They held up one of their hands to show their cyberware blade-nails were two centimeters longer than normal. Faust’s colorful enamel manicure ended halfway down their extended claws, making it look like they had forgotten to finish the wicked green manicure.
Anything could be lurking out here, this far off the beaten track. The cities and urban sprawls of the Sixth World might make someone think humanity has fully conquered all the dark places. The kinds of things that literally go bump in the night—true monsters—are a vicious reminder otherwise.
“Anyone else up?” asked Janus.
“No.” Faust took a breath and winced. “That smell’s getting closer.”
If it gets any closer, it’s going to set off my scanners. “It’s okay. I’ve got trip alarms all around the campsite. We’ll be fine.” He said it to himself as much as to Faust. “I’m sure it’s just some musk thing or another.” Please let it just be musk squirrel or whatever crawls around out here…
“Is…is it morning already?” Fee mumbled through the half-translucent lining wall between the two tents, nuzzling her gnobbly head into the space Hollywood made for it sometime in the night.
Cawwwrooooooooooooooo! Cawwwroooooo!
The sound was unlike anything Janus had heard before, and it sure as hell wasn’t some kind of musk squirrel or game beast just stopping by to investigate.
I fragging hate the wilderness.
“What in Quetzol’s feathery pucker was that?” Hollywood shot awake, the hiss of his adrenalizer already hurling him to his feet. He shot to his feet, and his pistol snapped up from his belted holster lying next to his pillow into his awaiting hand.
“Whatever it is, it smells bloody awful,” Faust informed everyone. “And it’s giving off serious predator vibes.”
“Let’s go check it out.” Hollywood stood there, shirtless, shoeless, gun in hand. His other hand found his signature hat and adjusted it onto his severe bedhead. He looked down at Janus and offered him a hand. “In case it’s a two-worlder, you’re backing me up.”
“Fee, Faust…stay with Tanzo.” Normally Janus hated being told what to do by someone who was supposed to be his subordinate, but the gunslinger’s tactics were sound. He couldn’t believe what he was saying, but the words rolled out nonetheless: “Keep him safe while we chase this thing off.”
“Like me own baby.” Faust nodded, taking up their pistol and a defensive position by the flap of the tent.
“Anything that wants him…” Fee found her hand cannon and thumbed back the hammer. “…will have to go through us, boss.”
“Do be careful.” Faust unzipped the polymer door-flap and held it open for them.
“Thanks.” Janus didn’t know how effective his standard nonlethal payload in his sidearm would be, but he grabbed it and his snap-baton from his backpack. “We’ll be back when it’s gone.”
He and Hollywood slipped out of the tent into the pinkish yellow of the pre-dawn morning. Their cybereyes made out shapes and terrain perfectly well, and a quick shoulder-to-shoulder sweep of the immediate area didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary.
“Gettin’ anything?” Hollywood whispered.
“Nope.” Janus replied in similarly hushed volume. “You?”
“Not a damn thing.”
Caaaawwwroooooooooo! Caaawwwroooooooo!
There it was again, a haunting call from some kind of inhuman thing that was somehow avoiding tens of thousands of nuyens’ worth of sensory enhancements while still announcing its presence.
“What I wouldn’t give for a regular old gangland ambush right about now.” Hollywood’s words matched Janus’ thoughts exactly.
“Just a regular old street-to-street, us-versus-them dust-up,” he agreed. “I can just see it…”
In his mind’s eye, the trees melted away into streetlights. The dirt and grass peeled back to reveal sidewalks and grid-laced concrete. Boulders became parked cars, and the morning stars were swallowed up by the light pollution of the Seattle skyline. The air ceased to smell of heady moss and morning mists, but instead that perfect mix of acrid industrial fumes coated perfectly with the salty funk of the Sound. He could hear the banter of the dockside gangers getting ready to pounce on some unsuspecting mark.
That is it. Perfect.
Janus opened his eyes. Wait…were they shut? Why? He looked around at the mental watercolor layer of his perfect little Seattle backdrop. This…this isn’t right.
“You see them, too?” Hollywood asked. “The horses? ’Stangs, the lot of them.”
Did I say that out loud? Everything was hazy, and suddenly Janus’ pistol felt five times heavier in his fingers.
Caaawroo, caw cawrooo!
Janus’ eyes suddenly flooded with the strobing flashes of lighting, or perhaps the sweeping beams of a Lonestar cuffcage wagon’s emergency beacons.
“Horses?” Janus swallowed hard, the constant barrage of rhythmic light upon his eyes making the Seattle in his mind difficult to maintain. “Wait a tick…”
The pulsing lights weren’t random or erratic, like the fingerprint of a storm. They were exactly 0.4 seconds apart. He squinted against them, but realized—the lights were not being flashed on his eyes, they were being flashed from within his eyes. The perimeter alarm! The intruder!
“Oh, drek!” Like pulling the plug on a dreamlike BTL, Janus snapped back to the moment, the reality of the situation he was in, and killed the alarm subroutine. He stooped down quickly and grabbed his pistol, which had apparently fallen from his hand at some point of that strange fugue—
Cawroooohhhr! A dark shape dropped down out of the trees, gliding on raven-feathered, batlike wings. Its body was initially like that of a great black cat. As it drew closer, it expanded and grew into a massive, wolflike beast. Flying on wings of scaled leather, it became the size of the small horses Janus believed Hollywood must have been “seeing” in his own personalized hallucination.
Janus ducked, the wire-furred dragon-wolf passing over his head and slamming right into Hollywood. By the look on the elf’s face, he was still watching horses frolic in the badlands, because someone who Janus had seen legitimately dodge bullets didn’t even try to get out of the way of a 90-kilogram flying wolf beast.
“Unh!” The gunslinger was hurled to the ground, the beast’s claws digging furrows down his shirtless ribcage and its massive maw clamping down on Hollywood’s shoulder meat. Blood flew from the wounds, creating macabre smears on his pale body as he struggled against the shapeshifting predator. He stuck the barrel of his pistol roughly into the flank of the thing and let off a single round, which showered his gun and hand with thick, deep-red blood that was almost tarry. “Get fragged!”
Hasn’t even dropped his gun. Janus was impressed in both Hollywood’s determination and the strength of his specialized pistoleer’s augments. Sadly, Janus was also impressed—and maybe terrified?—that the beastly thing barely gave a grunt when that .45 caliber round sank into its hip.
“Dammit, man,” Hollywood choked out. “Help me get…this damned…thing…off!”
Rattling off a few rounds, Janus knew his firearm would be useless against that thing. Not willing to have bloodshed be his status quo, it was his standard practice to load gel rounds into his guns. The less-lethal projectiles glanced and bounced off the beast’s wiry, quill-like fur; the closest thing to a wound Janus’ gun caused was a nasty bruise on the creature’s exposed leathery wing. While it didn’t hurt the thing, his shots did manage to get its attention.
The wolf-beast withdrew its dagger-like fangs from Hollywood’s shoulder and twisted its head around to look at the mage-decker. It was made all the more horrifying by the smears and splatter of elf blood dripping from its snarling muzzle.
It wasn’t just the gore however—there was something about its eyes. They were golden circles, like those of a hawk, but the pupils at the centers were an eerie, ghastly wraithlight-green. That light flashed, and suddenly Janus’ legs were wobbly, and gravity seemed like it wasn’t the standard he learned about at university.
“Gute Fee!” Janus shouted. “We need you!”
“Say no more—” Fee burst out of the tent, sidearm and mace in hand, and locked her metahuman eyes on the winged wolf standing over Hollywood’s struggling and wounded body. She froze in terrible realization—but only for a moment. “Kludde!” Her tusk-filled mouth opened in a fearsome roar as she charged.
“Help Holly!” Fee ordered Janus as she closed the distance, “but don’t look in its eyes!” She brought her pistol up, firing a single thundering shot. The creature moved erratically, almost so fast as to be between blinks of the eye, and the bullet’s errant trajectory sent a plume of soil and earth fragments raining all around.
Now’s my chance! Janus took in a deep breath, the crisp morning air chilling his throat and lungs, the feeling of raw, wild magic within it. Extending his index and middle finger of one hand, he forced all that energy into them, focusing on the last remnants of night and shadow.
An inky smear of aetheric effect trailed his fingertips as he brought them quickly up to his face and ran them across one eye, the bridge of his nose, and the other eye. Reality rippled, and he knew his spell had rendered him as close to invisible as his skills would allow.
Gute Fee’s shot got the beast’s attention. With a single flap of its leathery wings, it turned in place and bared its terrible mouth full of daggers at her. It lunged forward to meet her charge, rising up on lengthening legs to add its weight to its foreclaw swipes like the crushing attacks of an enraged bear.
Move! Janus steeled himself mentally. Magically invisible or not, it took guts to run toward a wild, shapeshifting killing machine bent on tearing one of his team to ribbons, but he was team leader, and their safety was just as much on him as the plan to their success. Against the will of his self-preservation instincts, his feet kicked up small arcs of dirt and sand as he crossed the few meters to where it had mauled Hollywood.
“I got you, chummer!” Janus said loudly as he got his hands around Hollywood’s elbows. Damn, with all this cyber, how much of this guy is even elf anymore? he thought as turned him to drag him away. The sparkling nanites in Hollywood’s blood were already starting to stem the blood flow from his wounds, and he still raised his pistol toward the ongoing melee, trying to blink away the rivulets of blood marring his vision.
Janus just kept pulling him away from the scene. He’d be fine as long as the creature didn’t come back to finish the job. That would be hard to do, however, as Fee had things remarkably well in hand.
The raw power of a troll will never cease to amaze me.
“That all you got?” she grunted as the beast pounced on her charging form, its claws digging into her upper arms. A lesser person would have crumpled beneath the blow, but the troll barely suffered a misstep and only buckled to one knee—slightly. Ignoring the digging hooks in her triceps, she let her sidearm fall from her grasp to open her options, turning her arm up and over both of the beast’s forelimbs just at where they bent in the middle. Grabbing the far limb, she pulled it awkwardly against the other, pushing herself up and forward in order to wrap both of the now flailing limbs into one twisted, powerful armlock.
Keeping with her own advice to avoid its gaze, she ducked her head down like a boxer, using her horns and height to push the monster’s hypnotic gaze away from her eyes without losing control of the situation. As soon as she had her footing, Gute Fee snapped her legs straight up and arced her back—lifting the creature nearly half a meter off the ground.
Caurooouur! It howled in frustration, its bearlike back legs flopping uselessly in the air. Then those stout trunks began to ripple and flex, shifting into the deadly clawed hind legs of some kind of mountain lion or savannah tiger—legs that were more than capable of unzipping the troll’s exposed belly and groin.
No way that is going to happen! Janus dropped Hollywood and leaped into action, running toward them. Invisibility can be one hell of an ingredient for one’s own bravado. Calling as much force as he could into his hand as he ran, knowing it could be weakening his invisibility, he poured everything he had into his spell.
Making sure to avoid the thing’s swiping claws, Janus baseball-slid behind Fee and plunged a particular formation of his stiffened fingers into the side of her thigh. Arcing the aetheric surge into her with a flash of blue light, Janus looked down at his hand and saw that indeed, his invisibility was sacrificed for the effort. “Got your six, Fee.”
Just in time, too. The creature’s fully leonine hind legs bucked upward and started dragging razor sharp claws down Gute Fee’s lower midsection as if it were pedaling some kind of terrible bicycle.
“Thanks, boss man!” Fee flinched at the repeated touches of the creature’s paws on her, but the armoring spell Janus had just infused her with made it as though it was scratching steel. “Now stand back.”
You don’t have to tell me twice! Janus rolled back and away from the struggle.
“Hell yeah!” Hollywood had pulled himself up to a partial sitting position, still holding his revolver on the beast. “Get it, Fee!”
Caaaaawreeeeee! It let out a pained screech as Fee lifted it by the awkwardly bent elbows up above her head and brought it crashing down with a tremendous amount of force. Everyone heard the snapping of bones and that choked rush of air from collapsing lungs when it struck the rocky ground.
“It’s trying to get away!” Janus yelled, seeing the black feathers of a raven already starting to spread down its lengthening wings, its body beginning to shrink into a compact form, an avian of some kind seeming likely.
“The frag it is!” Hollywood closed one eye, almost like he was winking, and let a single bullet fly from his outstretched weapon. The armor-piercing round was perfectly placed at the junction of where the wings met the monster’s shoulders, punching straight through both in a cloud of feathers, fur, and gore.
Caaawroa—ACK! Unable to fly and not fully shifted into a smaller form yet, the creature met its end in a wet thump! as Fee’s mace came falling down onto it like a meteor, turning the thing into a fleshy, quivering crater of splintered bone and pooling blood.
“Anyone have some iso or ammonia?” Fee was barely breathing hard, and she kept her eyes and her readied mace on the lump of dead shifter.
“Oh darlin’, I’ll be fine.” Hollywood winced as his numerous punctures and slashes continued to clot from his nanites, giving the wounds the somewhat sickening look of cherry jam spread on raw meat. “I been through worse.”
“Are you hurt?” Janus asked Fee.
Fee glanced at her arms. “Just a couple scratches. It’s for this.” Gesturing to the corpse, she made an old-world sign of protection over her heart. “It’s for the kludde. You have to purify the remains of its poison, or more will follow.”
The beast was a kludde, eh? I thought Fee was just swearing at us again. Memo to me, research that thing later.
“Everything’s good out here,” Janus called to the tent, knowing Faust’s senses would pick up every word clearly. “You and Tanzo can come on out now.”
“Here.” Tanzo handed her a backpack, his hands steady up until he caught a glimpse of the ragged corpse. “Faust? You seeing this?”
“What in Big Ben’s bloody bells and bollocks is that?” Faust joined the coder, instantly recoiling at the lump of nasty dead creature. “And what did you do to it?”
“Fee happened.” Hollywood chuckled, and it made him wince slightly.
“Seriously, though.” Janus looked at Fee. “What is a kludde?”
“A very bad omen,” she began to explain, riffling through the backpack in search of the aforementioned cleaning agents. “They are the physical manifestation of the fates of Old Gaul trying to cut sour grapes from the vine. Basically, when they feel someone’s future is too bleak and too painful for a mortal to bear, they send a kludde to pluck them from that possible future. Their remains must be purified of the bad luck they bring, or we will see more of its kind until the grapes in question are pruned properly. Whichever one of us it was supposed to be.”
“So…a local crypto with an old story.” Janus sighed, making a few arcane gestures in the air over the corpse. “But you saved our asses, Fee. That earns a little trust in your folklore.” White motes of aether drifted down like salt from a shaker, causing the remains to bubble and foam like an infected wound splashed with hydrogen peroxide. Superstition or not, it’s toxic, sure enough, and I’m not about to fail a mission due to “infection by myth,” he thought as his sterilization rote cleaned the beast. Better safe than sepsis, I always say.
“The way it went after Hollywood,” Fee continued. “The Fates must really have it out for him.” She turned to look at the elf. “They must really hate you. A kludde is normally reserved for real walking tragedies.”
“Wouldn’t be the first mythological being that wanted a piece of me,” the gunslinger shrugged lightly, but he stared down at the mass like Fee’s story might have plucked a nerve.
“You good to roll, Hollywood?” Janus was glad to see the gunslinger up on his feet and trying to get dressed.
“Someone brew up a black caf-cube for me while I figure out which one of these meal bars’re supposed to be ‘maple waffle flavored,’ and I’ll be meat to seat in twenty.”
“I’ll get you a cuppa,” Faust said, disappearing back into the tent.
“What now?” Tanzo grimaced and turned away from the foaming mass of crypto-goo. “No more sleep for me his morning, that’s for damned sure.”
“All right, then.” Janus grabbed his gun and slid it back into his backpack. “Everyone grab a bite and let’s get moving. The sooner we get on wheels, the sooner we get to Stockhausen’s safe space.” And the sooner I can get back on a Matrix signal that isn’t wilderscope satellite garbage.
While everyone was getting themselves ready, Janus noticed Tanzo repeatedly stopping near the kludde’s corpse and pausing, almost as if solving some kind of problem or riddle about the thing. “You frosty, T?”
“Oh, yeah.” The coder looked up from the beast and caught Janus’ eye. “You think it was after me? Lucking out in the think tank seems like the kind of thing the fates probably see as a correctible mistake, y’know?”
“Fate is what we make of it, chum.” Janus placed a hand on his shoulder. “This thing is just some awful mutant critter that heard or smelled us coming through here, where everybody says no one goes, and it came to steal a bite. Nothing more. No superstitious mojo, no religious nonsense, and no targeting bad omens. Look. I’ve been a lot of places, done a lot of things, and seen a lot of cryptozoo runaways or exotic pets the world has to offer. And let me tell you…” he kicked that-which-had been-the-kludde wetly with the toe of his boot. “This thing was a pushover compared to that stuff,” he reassured himself as much as the team.
“Thanks.”
“No need.” Janus smiled. “Let’s just get you to the rendezvous without digging up any other local legends, all right?”
>We’re getting close. Janus messaged the team manually, knowing how difficult it would be to try and shout over the rumble of the ATVs. >If the waypoint is on the mark, Stockhausen’s hideout should just be over the next ridge.
Sure enough, as the three all-terrain vehicles scaled the rocky hillside, weaving around dense conifer tree clusters, the terrain opened up to reveal a stony, sunken crater of a quarry—but not the results of industry or careless mining.
Whoa, Janus thought. This is not what I was expecting.
Like the ruins of some medieval village, there were dozens of stone and masonry buildings in the heart of the crater, surrounded by well-tended wild fields and pruned overgrowth. Tall oak trees, hundreds of years old, lined the edge; their branches growing together to form a gigantic, kilometers-long living canopy. Between the shadows of the trees and the darkening orange of the coming dusk, it was difficult to make out any inhabitants—but he could see shadows of movement against the sky, some of which was too high off the ground to not be an optical illusion. There was a single gravel road leading from the crater’s edge and spiraling down to the community below.
Janus scanned the area, ticking off important facts. This place was a conundrum of living in the current era. There were lights in windows, cultivated crops in the fields, and many other signs of life—but not a single fiber optic line or power conduit linking it to the grid.
>Hold up a tick, he messaged the team. >I need to check something.
>Sure thing, Hollywood pinged back. >We won’t lose sight of you.
He put on the brakes and pulled out his cyberdeck, jacking in and starting up the search. Part of him already knew what the results were going to be—and he absolutely hated it.
There was nothing. No signal at all coming from that crater. Janus had noticed the satellite Matrix signal was getting weaker the further southeast they were trekking, but he would have never guessed Stockhausen’s safe place would be a complete digital void. Even during the blackouts, there were always a few ways to scrounge up juice or ramp up a signal piggybacking on some technomancer or something. But here?
It's a cyberspace black hole, he thought.
Janus hopped off his ride, leaving Tanzo to monitor it idling nearby, and began to bounce simple text-only data packets on their direct connection.
>Testing.
>Testing One. He stepped a little closer to the edge.
>TeSSti….ng TTTwooo. A little closer.
>T…E…S…T…I…N…G. One last step and Janus would be completely beneath the umbrella of the interwoven tree canopy around the crater’s rim.
>.HL;KAJFhh…%6IJL;N ((*{2798…
A natural, probably shamanic, scrambler. Damn it. They would be able to send messages back and forth on their internal linkage, but they would almost assuredly be broken into garbled code and garbage text.
“All right, guys.” He joined the others standing around their idling machines and let his data-cable rewind into the modified bobbin on his deck. “Wireless is all but useless down there. Analog chatter only. I’m guessing Mister Stockhausen thinks Tanzo is safest as far off the grid as possible…which is pretty much here.”
“Do we just ride on down, then?” Hollywood peered down the path.
“No,” a deep voice rumbled from the darkness above them. “You wait for an invitation.”
Tanzo froze, but Janus stepped out in front of him, already gathering the energy to shield them both. Hollywood drew his gun, Faust lowered themself into a defensive crouch, and Fee un-looped her mace and tightened her grip around its haft.
“Which, on request of the matron,” the voice continued, “I am here to extend to Tanzo Nakajima, and by nature of their relationship to him, his escorts.” Emerging from the dense branches overhead, a gray-skinned man in a wrinkly tan cape and stitched leather clothing lowered himself slowly to the ground by a long, thick…tail? “I am Geoff Michale Haansen. I am your guide into Nachtsteindorf.”
Tail curling behind him, he gave a deep bow. The setting sun’s rays washed over his head and shoulders at the bottom of the motion, and everyone could see fully just who—and what—they were talking to.
Geoff had leathery skin the color of slate, but it lightened to a shale gray in several places, most notably anywhere he had a scar or other skin imperfection. These marred points of his visage seemed to be rough, hard, and uneven. Two pairs of curved horns sprouted from his forehead; one small set merely a few centimeters long at the corners of his brow, and a longer set just above curled up and through his unkempt mop of dirty blonde hair. His mouth was slightly too wide for his face, almost froglike, and when he spoke, he did so around several thick, oversized, tusk-fangs. An upturned and somewhat flattened nose stretched from his upper lip to between his large eyes—which were pitch-black orbs with no iris, just a slit at the center with a shining amber pupil.
“As friends of the Stockhausen family.” He swept his wiry but muscular arm to indicate the path, and Janus glimpsed stout talons on a three-fingered hand. As Geoff straightened again, his cloak shuddered and shifted, pulling at the tiny clasps—no…claws—holding the corners together at his chest.
Those are wings…
“Um…Mister Haansen?” Tanzo must have seen some of the same features Janus did. “I don’t want to be rude, but…why should we trust you? People have been trying to kill me for days now.”
“Your employer, I presume, is Matthias Stockhausen.” Geoff Michale pointed a thick talon down at the crater floor community. “To whom we owe many great debts of gratitude. To stand against his allies or servants would do our community a vast disservice. It was Mister Stockhausen who helped the first matron and patriarch set the foundations for Nachtsteindorf as a safe commune for our kind. Folklore and totemists made it hard to survive in an urban European Union, but here—”
No way. He’s a…
“—gargoyles from all over the world are safe.” The tiny claws at Geoff’s throat released each other, and his “cloak” unfolded into a pair of large, splotchy tan wings. There was a sound similar to someone flapping out a damp bedsheet for a clothesline, and a small puff of wind ruffled Janus’ hair.
“Whoa…” Hollywood absent-mindedly lowered his pistol for the first time. “That’s fraggin’ prime.”
“A whole village of you guys?” Faust’s mouth hung agape. “That is seriously the most interesting thing I’ve ever heard of.” They smiled wickedly. “And I have a lifetime invitation to the Parisian Burning Wheel Gala.”
Tanzo turned to Janus. “What do you think?”
What do I think? He fought to keep his poker face. I think a corpo vampire power broker sent us into a den full of other crypto-metas with no feasible way to call for help or access anything beyond its walls, thereby keeping us in the dark and at their mercy when it comes to 21st-century knowledge.
“Well,” he said. “We wanted somewhere where the chokes that killed your team couldn’t find you.” It was the plain truth. “Can’t get much farther off the grid than this, T.”
“Please.” Geoff motioned for everyone to join him on the path. “Your hosts are expecting you.”
Yeah. Sure. Janus hopped back onto the ATV and goosed the throttle a bit. First I’m working for a vampire, and now I’m hiding off-grid with gargoyles. What’s next? Bath time with a kraken?
As the actual invitee, Tanzo walked with Geoff. Hollywood and Faust were the first to slowly roll their vehicle behind their guide. The idling speed was not much more than a walking pace, so it wouldn’t be hard to keep up. Janus turned the yoke to follow, but noticed Gute Fee hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, she still stood like a hulking statue of foreboding, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “What’s the sitch, Fee?”
“My whole life, the groteske—gargoyles, to you—have watched, have stared from their perches. My grandja and grandkia always said they went into the wild dark places to ask the groteskes if we had been good or if we needed punishment.” Despite Fee being 2.5 meters of cybernetic and biotically augmented war machine, Janus could see the worried child inside. Her eyes spoke volumes of past sleepless nights under the paranoia of the gargoyles that could have been watching. “We would hear about one being spotted in the alleys or the dead of night, or when someone from school would go missing…a hungry groteske was never completely ruled out.” She locked eyes with Janus. “This is like walking into a nightmare. No. It is like walking into a factory that specializes in making nightmares.”
“I actually understand.”
“You were afraid of monsters as a child?”
“No.” Janus decided to open himself up just the tiniest bit. “My parents didn’t have a whole lot of wealth growing up. Still don’t, really. Public school for me was my nightmare factory. My fellow students? They were my monsters. Why else do you think I retreated into Lodge texts and the Matrix at the same time? It was pulling my brain in two different directions every minute of the day, but it also meant I always had a place to go when my so-called peers gathered together to find something—someone—to take their collective frustrations out on.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain.” Fee made a sorrowful face. “This situation isn’t so bad, really.”
“Says you!” Janus tapped his right temple’s datajack. “We’re about to cross into a digital hole with no outgoing signal. None. I was once stuck in an astral pocket realm with a different running team, and that was pure hell. When I have no access, it’s like I’m a child again, blundering through the real world, hiding in bathroom stalls and avoiding upper classmen’s fists.”
He looked down at the sporadically illuminated village down below. “We’re walking right back into that feeling of technological uselessness, except this time I’m totally ignorant of how it’s happening or the inhabitants’ motives—and with an employer who is one of the monsters I’ve been fortunate enough to avoid my whole life.” He paused and took a deep breath. “So yeah, I’m a little apprehensive about this next step in our mission.”
“Janus?” Fee put on a polite tone. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. I’m team leader.” He let his breath slowly escape his nostrils. I have to be. He put a hand on her forearm. “We should get moving. Can’t keep our hosts waiting, can we?”
“Don’t tell anybody about me and the groteskes.” Fee’s embarrassed snicker was a deep rumble. “Especially Hollywood.”
“Not a peep.” Janus smiled and swung back onto the ATV. “As long as you keep my gridless-phobia muted, we’ll call it a deal.”
“Done.” She sat down on her vehicle, revving the engine once for good measure. “Oh, hey. Janus?”
>What’s up? He texted back; partially because he didn’t want to shout over the ATV engines, but mostly because it would be the last digital data he would get to ply for who knew how long.
“Thanks,” she said, and even if he couldn’t hear it—he could—he could read her lips despite the tusks. “You can be my team lead anytime, okay?”
He smiled and turned his ATV to head down the path, and Gute Fee followed. The rocky road was wide enough for a large truck or a pair of smaller personal vehicles, but the drop-off was steep enough that Janus tried to hug the outside edge, even at these slow idling speeds.
Everyone waited for them at the bottom of the spiraling path. The path’s very construction, Janus believed, would announce the presence of anyone driving down to Nachtsteindorf long before they reached the ground level. The gravel surface and dangerous decline was a natural kind of defense system. The gargoyles could fly up in front of, next to, or behind a trespassing vehicle, and rain hell down on them for nearly two kilometers of sloping right turn.
The team was milling about in front of a low-stacked stone wall, which contained a full-sized gatehouse structure with an old metal gate set in an arch beside it.
It has to be for ceremony’s sake, Janus thought, as anyone with an inseam of more than 40 centimeters could just step to the right of the gated arch and hop right over the tiny row of broken stones.
“This is the marker for the actual boundary of Nachtsteindorf,” said Geoff. “Once you pass through this arch, you abide by the laws handed down from the matron, and enforced by the patriarch. It is as close to holy ground as you will get in the wild, and some of you might feel its connection to the Old World, and all the ways that mankind has forgotten.” Geoff took a large, clunky metal key on a stout chain out from under his neckline. “Before you may enter, there are three tenets you must follow, lest your stay here be cut short and you are exiled from our sanctuary.”
“The golden three commandments.” Faust nodded. “Got it.”
“Firearms and weapons of chemical reaction are forbidden, and will stay in the guardhouse under constant ward and watch.” Geoff gestured to the building to the left of the archway.
“No way.” Hollywood almost always had a touch of joking sarcasm in his voice, but this statement was 100 percent serious.
“You must,” Geoff said flatly. “Or you and your friends may not enter.”
“You have to be—” Hollywood began to continue his protest, but Janus caught him by the arm.
“It’s fine.” He threw his arm around the gunslinger, like they were lifelong pals, and let his hand fall to the elf’s ribs—tapping almost unnoticeably the spot where he had seen Hollywood’s smuggling cyber-pocket, and the sidearm inside. “I’m sure we won’t be long, and if it’s worked this way for you so far, why kick over the apple cart, right?”
Hollywood understood the charade, but he still wore his displeasure plain on his face. “…Sure.”
“What’re the other rules?” Tanzo asked.
“Summon not the spirits of man or machine,” Geoff continued. “This is a ley place, and it would be a torture to them which we will not allow.”
“Easy enough.” Janus spoke the truth. He wasn’t big on leaning on spirits for anything much anyway, so this law shouldn’t even come into play unless the situation became truly and uniquely fragged. “And lastly?”
“We are the hosts and you are our guests, but our hospitality ends if harm comes to one of the Kind by your action or omission of action. When hospitality ends, avengement begins.” This last statement was said with such cold, emotionless cadence it threw a chill into Janus’ bloodstream.
What could that possibly look like? he thought. What serves as justice in a community of mythic night stalkers?
“Do you agree to abide by the tenets?” Geoff held the key in the lock of the gate, but did not turn it.
“Yes. Absolutely.” Tanzo nodded as well.
“Yes.” Gute Fee unclipped the holster and her hand cannon from her hip.
“I guess this is me saying yes.” Hollywood squinted slightly at his mission leader, his eyes adding This better not come back to haunt me as he unlatched his holster belt.
“I actually cannot wait.” Faust had already removed their jacket with the slivergun holstered inside the liner. “Talk about once in a bloody lifetime, right?”
Janus double-checked the safety on his sidearm and popped it back into the removable holster. “How long do you think it will be before Matthias…Mister Stockhausen…comes for us?”
“Harkon said someone would be sent as soon as possible.” Geoff’s mouth twisted into a spine-chilling grin as he turned the key with a resounding clack. “But we treasure what little company we are afforded. There really is no rush.”
That’s what you think. Janus matched his smile, careful not to give away his dislike for the whole situation. The faster we figure out our next step, the faster we can solve this whole mess.
One by one they entered Nachtsteindorf. As they passed Geoff and—in the case of Gute Fee—ducked under the arch, each team member was stopped by a second gargoyle to relieve them of their firearms.
“This is Paco,” Geoff introduced the guardhouse watchman. He was a taller, darker-skinned and thicker-winged example of the Kind with a stubby, clublike tail and antelope-like horns. Without so much as a word, Paco took the weapons and added them to a single enormous banking-style pre-Awakening combination safe.
Everyone handed over their weapon as planned, with Hollywood kissing his revolver goodbye and staring longingly as it disappeared into the safe, but when Fee tried to hand over her mace along with her gun, Paco stopped her.
“Nah. Weapons of the muscle and bone, of magic and spirit…” He pushed the heavy metal club back toward her. “Those are fine and expected, señorita.” She shrugged and re-looped it on her hip.
Faust paused as they stepped through the archway, but it wasn’t until Janus did the same that he understood what Faust was feeling: the actual layers of the mundane peeled from him like washing filth off in a shower.
He had felt something similar before, when traveling between the astral pockets—even the one that he and his friends got caught in for far too long to be comfortable. It was the unmistakable, skin-tingling, hair-raising, heady euphoric rush of unpolluted magical energy saturating an area. That kind of aetheric purity was found only in the deep fae realms, the lost places still kept secret by the sidhe of the old Tír nations, and the rare nexus points where ley lines crashed into one another.
Janus could see the nearly invisible distortions of spirits moving in the astral. The way everything from the trees and the gargoyles, to his own teammates, seemed illuminated by the strength of their natural energic essences. The way even the landscape seemed painted with a brighter brush. It was almost intoxicating to the half of Janus that was an Awakened, magic-plying being.
To the part of him that was wired and tapped and jacked, it was a nightmare made real. There wasn’t just no signal to hang onto, but an actual digital abyss that seemed almost alive as it hungered for the search codes and tether pings on everyone’s wireless equipment. There was the strangest sensation of his deck and commlink somehow knowing there was an abundance of signal, a plethora of data and code waiting like deep water outside the crater’s edge. Like an old wound that never fully heals, Janus’ limited cyberware grew cold and aching within him.
Is this how it was for us deckheads in the Blackouts? He exhaled the kind of sigh that apologized to everyone he ever claimed was exaggerating about how bad things got in those weeks of malicious darkness in so many big cities. Never before was I thankful for getting stuck down south.
The rest of his team seemed unmarred by the sensation, which was strange to him, considering how dull and muted their essence glow was. Hollywood was almost a foggy smear in the aether; Gute Fee was striped with confusing levels of technology here and there. Faust sparkled all over like a creature brushed in morning dew—but Janus knew they could shimmer even more if it weren’t for their hand razors and perhaps something hidden away.
None of them seemed hindered or bothered in any way, so Janus had to wonder—especially in comparison to the downright glow of the gargoyles in comparison—was it just him? He’d always known his magic was stronger than he ever let on, keeping it in check somewhat with the bands of cyber he’d added to himself.
Is it because of my expertise dichotomy? he wondered, continuing to follow the group. He at least would have thought that Faust, as a mystical adept, would feel the saturation change too, but aside from a slight shiver, they looked perfectly fine with it.
“You comin’, Janus?” Fee twisted to look at the team leader. The group paused at her comment, and Janus redoubled his effort to tap into his normal game face.
“Just absorbing the ambiance of this place.” He twisted the truth, making sure no one could pry in his self-reflection. “It really is something else.”
“Sure,” said Geoff, “but you should stay together until we introduce you to the matron and her groom. Their knowledge of your scent will be passed amongst the Kind, and then you could not be safer anywhere else, I promise!”
Fee still furrowed her brow with a touch of concern. “Let’s go get sniffed together, okay?” She hooked her fingers under Janus’ upper arm and placed her opposite hand over it like a drastically disproportionate couple getting their pictures taken at prom.
With each step, however, Janus became more tolerant and less laser-focused on the fact that he was in a technological oubliette or an aetheric amusement park. He tried to stay in the mage side of his mind, maintain a connection with the positive elements of the gargoyle commune, and set aside the constant and nagging feeling that the Matrix was so close—but so, so far away.
The scenery of Nachtsteindorf was, despite what existed beyond the veil, actually remarkably interesting to a history buff like him. If anything, it helped him forget about what was missing by contemplating even more deeply what was there.
The village looked as if it was torn from the files of a mid-19th-century reenactment or a pre-Awakening Renaissance faire. They had Tudor-style stone and mortar construction with legitimate wooden shingling and shutters. Some had brickwork chimneys, lumber decks, and other elements of simple living. Oil lanterns and magical globe lights illuminated the common areas, which Janus thought strange considering the folk tales always spoke of gargoyles having better eyesight and senses than anything short of a dragon.
There was a large number of physical labor tools like shovels, picks, and masonry blades, and everywhere he looked, there were half-finished construction projects looking to expand the village upward—considering the magically protected area was a pre-defined circumference.
The other feature of Nachtsteindorf that stood out were all the perches. Shafts of reinforced lumber bricked onto the sides of buildings, scaffolding arches with anchors driven deep in the stone to support the weight, and more than a few metal rings suspended from thick ropes or chains. Some of these hanging and protruding construction additions had, as the team walked by, gargoyles of various shapes and sizes clinging, lounging, or swinging from them.
It was a surreal experience seeing crypto-metas that are normally the things, like Gute Fee had said, that go bump in the night, just living their life like any other Chuck and Nancy in the burbs. Most people went their entire lives never seeing one, but Janus and his team were strolling by dozens of them.
They say you see a new thing on every run. Janus stifled a mental laugh. There’s been enough on this one for a decade.
“Here we are.” Geoff paused next to a door leading into a large, almost cathedral-styled building toward the center of the village. “Welcome to the heart and soul of Nachtsteindorf, the home of our Matron, Desirah the Thorn, and her groom, Nicolas Grey the Third.” He swung open the heavy wooden door and ushered the team inside.
It looked like a cathedral from the outside because it was a cathedral. It had enormously high ceilings with exposed rafters, numerous benches scattered around the expansive main chamber, and half-peeled, half-faded paintings on any surface that no longer held all of the strokes to whatever scene once decorated them. A closer look showed several of the old religious scenes were being painted over to show the various humanoid saints, gods, and whatever other mythical beings Janus didn’t believe in to be gargoyle-kind…albeit by a somewhat less skilled artist.
“Admiring my handiwork?”
A deep voice echoed around the room from the rafters, its owner gliding down to join them. Less than a hand’s span shorter than Gute Fee, the brick-red gargoyle circled the room once, coming to a gentle landing on the balls of his long, taloned feet—notably almost without a sound, despite his size. His wings were like those of a hawk or eagle, but with feathers like stony spearheads, and an oddly smooth head that forewent horns in lieu of a long, bladelike ridge that ran from between his deep brows. It went up and over his head, and all the way down his spine to the tip of his tail—which ended in a cluster of prehistoric spines. Around his waist was a splattered painter’s apron, and in his hands a multi-hued smeared palette and a pair of long-handled brushes. “You may call me Nicolas. My bride will be with you momentarily. Until then…tea?”
“Ah…I’m okay, actually.” Tanzo seemed nervous in Nicholas’ presence.
“I’d love a cuppa.” Faust walked right up to Nicolas and planted their hands on their hips. “It’s been one bloody helluva day, mate.” They were fearless, Janus had to give them that. As he watched, Faust adjusted their collar and gave the gargoyle a perfect Don’t you just know what I mean? kind of smile.
Or they’re flooding the winged behemoth with those damned charm pheromones. He fought the smile rising to his lips. Every edge is a good one.
“Anyone else?” Nicolas strode to a small table arranged with an artistic tea set and began pouring. When no one else said anything, he continued, turning around with the daintiest porcelain teacup on a saucer. “How would you like to dress it, friend?”
“Is your milk soy or oat?” Faust asked.
“Neither.” Nicolas smiled to reveal small but sharp fangs across his entire mouth. “Goat. We keep small livestock on the end of town. Some for the table, others for milk and cheese.”
“Real. Fragging. Cheese?” Hollywood returned to his jovial self for the first time since he had to lock up his revolver.
“Impressive,” Janus added honestly.
“Then a splash of milk and two sweeteners, mate!” Faust laughed. “Unless of course, you keep the last healthy sugarcane field around here.”
“Sadly, no.” Nicolas’ prepared the cup as asked. “All of our sugars are rendered from the fruit trees, or honey from our bees.” Looks of shock came from all around, and Nicolas smiled. “Gregoria is a gifted shaman, and her spirits help tend the fields and flocks. We all reap the benefits, quite literally, from what she has sown.” Holding the saucer and cup between clawed thumb and forefinger, he handed it to Faust.
“You sure you aren’t a Brit?” Faust asked, smelling deeply of the tea before taking a long sip. They paused immediately, staring dramatically at the cup, then at Nicolas, then to Janus. “Can we tell Stockhausen to wait a few days before picking us up? This is bloody divine.”
“I’m sorry, but the vampire has already started turning the wheels to those ends.” This was from a smooth, smoky purr oozed in from behind the altar area of the room, a pale shape rising up from a sunken staircase in the back.
“Friends…” Nicolas bowed, the tips of his wings scraping the floor noisily. “Allow me to introduce you to Desirah the Thorn, seventh matron of Nachtsteindorf, and the most wonderful partner a man could ever ask for.”
Desirah was of average height on a human scale, with skin the color of pearl and slender draconic wings that draped into her tail to drag behind her like the train on a wedding gown. Heavily curling horns of ebony, like those of a darkly sculpted mountain ram, sprouted from her forehead and framed her exotic and uniquely attractive face. Her onyx-black eyes were deeply set above high, sculpted cheekbones; a rainbow shimmer like the surface of an oil spill glinted off them as she looked upon Janus’ team.
“The help Matthias is sending should arrive tomorrow,” she stated, folding her hands in front of her waist as she drew nearer. “Until that time, you are to be my guests, which requires a scenting.”
“No offense.” Hollywood smirked. “That sounds like the title to a D-list shock vid. Y’know—gross?”
There was a moment where everyone was quiet, waiting for a reaction to the elf’s callous statement, and soon a low growling rumble could be felt coming from within Nicolas’ barrel chest.
Then the matron smiled. Then laughed. Soon the room was filled with the rolling, musical, harmonic sound.
“The Kind—gargoylekind—are not known for our trust.” She walked closer to the team, starting with Tanzo. “And throughout history, tales were told that we could somehow see better than anyone else. That, as the world’s natural watchdogs and eternal voyeurs, our eyes were something magical.” She inhaled deeply, leaning in on Tanzo to do so, and whispered, “You smell of death and destruction, but seem to have avoided His dark scythe yourself. Your presence is a blessing.”
“Thanks?” He remained still as she moved on, but the color was flooding back into his face.
“While we can see across the veil, our eyes are no better than that of our fair-skinned cousins within the Tír.” She stepped a few paces to one side and took another deep inhale, this time within Faust’s personal bubble. “But our sense of smell is what the myths should have noted.” Another step, and a deep breath of Gute Fee. “You see, it is a little-known bit about the Kind that when we gather and live together…”
Next sniff was on Hollywood, who smirked. “Yeah, drink it in. Pure warrior-poet, right?”
She did pause momentarily, take a second smell, then continued. “…we become a kind of communal sensory bank. So, combine the subtle nuances found in your scents and add it to the olfactory knowledge of every member of the community…”
Finally she gathered up Janus’ scent, ending her long sniff just inches away from his face. She locked her oil-slick eyes with his, and he could swear the colors blended together to show him shapes and pictures he couldn’t quite make out—like letters or numbers within a dream. “And the Kind will care and keep you as welcomed guests anywhere within our borders.”
What did you see? Do you know what I’m capable of? Are you worried? Should you be?
“Excellent.” Nicolas clapped his hands together in a single resounding smack. “The scenting has been completed! Welcome, officially, to Nachtsteindorf.”
“That’s it?” Gute Fee exclaimed. “I figured it was going to be…more.”
Desirah joined her husband for a cup of tea he had already began to prepare. “We may stand on our rituals, and live as our ancestors did, but we are still in line with the now. We know the outside world as it is. Many of the community hail from far and wide, and it is not too long since we looked out over skylines and urban sprawls.”
“Then why the disconnection barrier?” Janus asked. “Why unplug from the world?”
“The corps. The Lodges. The cults.” She sighed. “They have hunted the Kind for as long as we have existed, always looking to enslave and make us their guardians, their dogs. Matthias was the first corporate soul to treat us as a people…a culture. He helped my grandmother and her sisters found Nachtsteindorf and a few similar places across the continent. He knew the ley lines, the magic places, and his family owned all these old mining scars.”
“What they didn’t own already, they bought for us.” Nicolas interjected, adding his deep voice to the conversation. “In exchange for a chance at safety, security, and family, we are a shadow resource for him and his endeavors. We choose to live like it was so long ago because it helps protect us. Helps us live as allies instead of slaves.”
“There is too much to watch for within the world of machines and the invisible realm of computers for our kind to exist easily or unscathed. The Matrix sees too much these days, and what it sees is spoken openly for all to hear.” The matron paused to let out a sigh; one Janus couldn’t determine was exhaustion or empathy.
“What is heard, can be found,” Nicolas added, sounding like a mantra more than a comment.
“Then why open your doors for us at all?” Tanzo didn’t hide his concern for the gargoyles. “It seems like such a huge risk.”
“It is,” Nicolas said, snorting once like a bull.
“But Matthias would not send you to us if it were not important, or if you could not be trusted.” Desirah drained her teacup and handed it back to her husband. “Not to mention, once scented, we can find you anywhere.” All warmth fell away from her voice and a grim savagery rippled across her features. “The Kind, simply put, are even less forgiving than we are trusting.”
There we go. Janus poured every ounce of his cool and calm into his poker face. We get taken away…or we leave, Stockhausen has you chase us down. Smart move, fangs.
“So…” Faust set down their cup and stretched in an exaggerated yawn. “I’m bloody exhausted. If Stockhausen’s cavalry isn’t coming until tomorrow, where can we bunk up, Missus of Thorn?”
“Geoff Michale is waiting outside to show you to the home we have opened for you. It belongs to Erimyn and Rachael, who are willing to have you on during your stay. Please pass to them my thanks and regards.” Desirah took Nicolas’ hand. “Come, dear, your work can wait. I wish for your attendance.” They started back toward the way she came in. “Good evening, friends. I do hope you will get the rest you desire.”
Outside, Geoff was waiting patiently on a park bench across the street—perched perfectly still on the back like some kind of bird. “Let’s show you to your rooms, so to speak.”
The walk from the matron to the team’s unexpected gargoyle bed and breakfast was so much different than the walk from the gate to the matron. Where the gargoyles seemed to purposefully ignore the team as they first arrived, they must have already become the talk of the town. Gargoyles of all kinds were popping out of windows, swooping in to perch nearby, or even just strolling past. Many of them waved and smiled, and more than a few greetings in several languages were tossed the team’s way.
So much for Fee’s bogeyman monsters. Janus mused. The “scenting” made us the talk of the town. Or maybe they really don’t get any visitors here.
Upon arriving at what would be their quarters for the night, a small cottage-style two-story home, Geoff rapped his knuckles against the windowframe closest to the door. The drapery swept to one side, revealing a ruddy brown face dominated by a flashing smile across a lupine muzzle. The gargoyle raised a single, long-clawed digit and disappeared, letting the drapes fall back into place.
“Come in! Come in!” The gargoyle flung open the door to let them inside. “I’m Erimyn. Rachael is fetching supplies for the morning, and maybe a little nightcap. We are so honored to have guests. We have built on for a nesting soon, so there is enough room for everyone.”
Short, a full head shorter than Janus, the earth-toned crypto-meta had smaller wings and a stubby tail that ended in a clublike lump of bone or keratin. Erimyn’s body-to-arm ratio seemed slightly off as well, giving him a somewhat gorilla-esque upper body, save for his hands. They were elongated, five-fingered, and tipped with claws so long as to almost be unwieldy—one of which he extended to Janus in a somewhat intimidating request for a handshake.
Janus accepted the offer, albeit careful to not catch on the sharp digits. “Desirah sends her thanks.”
“Oh!” Gute Fee blurted loudly, startling everyone in the room. “And her regards!”
“You are a big one, aren’t you?” Erimyn whistled, looking up at the troll from his place at her waistline. “Rachael is going to just love you, my dear. Her broodline stems from the same meta-genus as trollkind.” He smiled, his crocodilian teeth exposed in the sides of his doglike mouth. “But I still think you’ve got her by a horn’s length at least!” The squat gargoyle rumbled with laughter, but quickly gathered himself again into a proper gentleman. “Not that I’d ever judge a lady by her crown of horns.”
“That’s not what I remember.” Dropping in from a skylight above, a leather satchel in her arms, was a tall, slender, elegant example of the Kind. “I’m pretty sure you only stayed with me for my horns back when we were still crossing the Czechlands, iyubov’.”
“Friends.” Erimyn cleared his throat with slight embarrassment. “My better half for seven years, Rachael of the Siberians.”
“Oh, so formal!” Rachael was thin and tall, sure enough almost as tall as Gute Fee, and covered in ropey, athletic muscle under deep blue, almost black skin. In a shrug of her upper back, her wings closed like a cape around her shoulders, much as Geoff’s had when the team first met him.
Bony growths, like the nobby horns of a troll, clustered around her knees, elbows, wrists, and around what would have been her hairline, should she have had any. Numerous horns, slender and sharp like quills, grew from her scalp and cascaded down her back. When she moved, they swayed back and forth.
Setting down the satchel, she began to unpack several different kinds of produce, wrapped meat products, and some jarred substances. Her thin, whipping tail poked into the bag and, like a rubbery tentacle, produced a large bottle of clear, thick liquid with no label. “What say we all retire to the loungeroom and have a drink? Anyone here against a little schnapps?”
For the next few hours, Erimyn and Rachael entertained the team with stories, asked questions, and even tested the she-gargoyle’s own strength against Gute Fee in an arm wrestling contest that went in favor of the troll, but was hard-fought for several minutes. There were many drinking games played, and Janus was pretty sure Faust used a bit of their pheromones to heighten the jovial nature of the night. It was nice to forget about all the running and chasing and lies surrounding Tanzo and the mysterious code for a while.
By the time the bottle was empty, Tanzo was passed out in a leathery hammock, Fee and Faust were shown to their respective rooms, their hosts had retired for the evening, and Hollywood was…somewhere.
Janus sat, the aetheric swirl of the world around them dancing in his vision with the spinning of his alcohol-soaked brain, on a seated protrusion facing the front door. He swayed slightly, but soon found a solid place to lean against where he could mentally engage his NeoTek sleep regulator, letting chemically induced sleep overtake his drunkenness.
Back on the clock tomorrow, he thought to himself as the artificial sedatives began to take effect. Time to go, get paid, and head back home.
Really, what else could go wrong?