They drained their glasses and signaled to pay the ork barmaid, who didn’t look at Serrin any too kindly. The mage guessed that elves of more exalted lineage than his might be none too popular, with their airs and graces, in a pub like this. In her eyes he would probably be tarred with the same brush. Revealing himself as an American could easily make matters worse, so he only nodded when Geraint said. “Thank you.” Reaching the door, Serrin and Geraint carefully gave way to a bunch of local fenland orks shouldering their way into the bar.
They skirted away from the side road well before coming to the old farms area, careful to give it a wide berth. The land here was too polluted from the outflow of the Stinkfens to be officially considered habitable, but squatters would surely be about. Serrin detoured south and east before circling back to the highway; the sound of a bike engine might well draw some of the squatters out for a look. A road bike was worth a lot of barter to people that poor. It wasn’t likely they had much in the way of weapons, perhaps only knives and stones, but an old shotgun was also a possibility. Serrin switched the headlight off, and let the bike coast over the sodden, barren fields. He got as close to the edge of the fens as he dared, then began to loop back westward. After crossing the road, he parked the bike beside a dead tree stump, laying it flat to the ground.
"We’ll head for that rise," the mage said, pointing to a gentle curve in the distance.
“Get the armor vest on. You got your Ingram? I managed to pick up some armor-piercing for it." Geraint handed Serrin the clip and a small vial.
“Here’s something useful from the chemistry set. Crush the vial if you have to start firing. Inhale the stuff. But don’t do it if you’ve got a troll less than ten feet away because it’ll blow your brain out your ears and you won’t be able to see a thing for a few seconds. Do it while he’s two hundred yards away. With this stuff your hands won’t tremble if you do have to start shooting. And if you have to run, it’ll get you moving faster than a cheetah with a red chili enema. Even with that leg of yours. And when I tell you to run, you damn well better. Don’t shoot unless we’re getting out. Use whatever magic you’ve got to defend us just before I start shooting. I’ll tell you when.
“Got all that?”
Serrin was impressed by the authority in Geraint’s voice. This was a very different man from the boy who’d panicked on the streets of San Francisco. The elf slipped the vial into his pocket, deciding this wasn’t the moment to challenge Geraint on his use of drugs.
“Good.” The Welshman wasn’t waiting for a reply. “Next item. Take this.” He handed Serrin a lacquered canister topped with a ring-pull. “Use this when we move out. Three seconds after you pull the ring, you’ll get smoke cover, which will scrag IR into the bargain. Just dump the thing on the ground behind us.” Geraint was adding the folding stock to a customized sniper rifle as he spoke. Serrin thought it looked like the MA 2100, but the thing was glinting with add-ons. He’d been on runs with a lot more firepower than this, but this Welshman was beginning to look like the real thing.
Geraint glanced up at him in the moonlight as he completed his work. "You do realize this is bloody madness, don’t you? Two people out here against scores of them in there. I must be insane doing this. You’ll have to cover us damn well with your magic. Hope you’ve got something that’ll keep the corp mages from spotting us too quickly or else we’re sitting ducks. If it’s a two-minute walk to that hill, it’s fifteen seconds running with the drug, twenty if we don’t move fast enough. That’s too long if we’re out in the open. What’s your plan?”
Serrin was busy himself, locking together a series of bizarre stone plaques around a leather strap, jiggling them into place, and finally tightening it around his shoulder and hip. "I thought I’d better put a priority on protection and disguise. I’ve got to make it as hard for them to see us as possible, and that means everything-magical detection, IR scans, ultrasonics-though I don’t think chip-hounds will be a problem. We should be well away before they can get them out of the compound. This little bunch," he added, gripping the belt around his body, “adds some power along the line. I won’t bore you with the details. Key thing is a chaotic shift. How much do you know about spellcraft?”
“I thought a chaotic world spell messed up the sensing of the magician who got hit by it.”
"Same principle, different way of going about it. I spent a year researching a version that centers the effect on the casting magician. Screws up most forms of detection in a constantly shifting area centered on me instead of a target. I don’t think they’re going to have time to run a computing of average transients to figure out the algorithm for the shifting. Besides, it’s keyed to magnetic field fluctuations. I always knew that funny little deposit of magnetically sensitive ferric bone above my sinuses was good for something. They won’t work that one out. Nice big area, too. The barriers I’m erecting are a bit more limited in scale, but we shouldn’t have to worry about anything less than a cascade of automatics or a firework display of multiple grenade launchers.”
Geraint slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t know much about these things, but it sounds good to me."
"When you’re alone out there, it’s a good idea to design something that doesn’t force you to depend on anyone else. But it works just as well when you’re working with another person, too. Only problem is, the drain is pretty heavy. I’ll be a bit groggy for a little while. Make sure you shoot straight.”
They set off for the hill, their boots sloshing in the fouled waters of the field until they reached the incline. They crawled to the top on their bellies, and looked down over the Fuchi site three hundred yards to the west. The headlights of the first convoy began to crawl along the road toward the front gates after a frozen half-hour.
Geraint slipped off the woolen gloves, breathing on his hands to keep them warm. He edged the rifle forward and squinted with his left eye as he lined up the IR sight, ignoring the cars and aiming just inside the gate. As the cars got closer, he drew back and looked away from the glare of their lights.
Serrin was scanning the scene with binox, shifting to IR and low-light. Casting his spell as silently as he could, he made the briefest of checks as the cars spilled their human contents out onto the tarmac inside the gates.
"Geraint, I don’t think it’s him.” Despite the elf’s low whisper, his voice was urgent, stressed. “Hold your fire.”
“Checked the plates?"
"Yes, it’s the right limo, but that’s not him. It’s a damn good double, but not good enough. Something feels weird here. I’m sensing that they’re not paying much attention to this side of the place. They’re looking south.”
Geraint was still peering down the sight, but with the slightest of movements he could see that the security guards were all looking that way. "Of course they are. It’s where the gates open.”
“No, it’s more than that. I don’t dare probe, it’ll give us away. But I-wait a minute. North, look!" he hissed.
Geraint lifted his eyes away from the rifle sight and gazed out toward the far gate. Two shadowy vehicles were headed that way, gliding silently across the fields. They were going straight for the smaller northern gate, on the far side of the complex from the security compound. "We were right. The dummy’s coming in from the south. Here’s the real thing.” He shifted position, drawing the gun around gently to face the far gate, settling to his aim again. "Two cars, say ten men. I can down four of them before they know what hit them. Let’s pray one of them is who we’re looking for."
Geraint never made that shot.
Whatever the noise was, it made them both suddenly duck their heads, utterly bewildered. Then they heard the drone of a helicopter, coming in low from the west. It had to be one of the IWS-licensed super-stealths; the thing was almost over the far wall before they heard it. Serrin began his spellcasting as Geraint desperately tried to revise his plan of action, waiting for the chopper to land, certain that this must be their man. The sudden flare took him completely by surprise, ruining his aim.
Then the gunfire began.
Aqib’s improvised launcher worked pretty well the first time. The flareshot landed whack in the middle of the compound, illuminating a large group of black-visored orks and trolls waving down the chopper. The gates were already opening when Sachin’s Ceska started chattering. He and Wasim were almost whooping as their guns spat, and Imran had his beloved Predator readied for some carefully aimed fire.
Rani was the first to realize something was very, very wrong. “Look out! They know!”
The security men were already storming out of the gates, and a couple of real grenade launchers were coughing missiles at them from the security tower. Damn Chenka’s powders, Rani screamed to herself. The men’s blood is too hot, they don’t see.
It was swift and bloody. Aqib’s launcher disintegrated as he let fly a second time, the young Sind samurai thrown backward, arms bathed in flame. To her left, another blast exploded Wasim’s body into bloody shreds of gore. The others had no time to take in the horror of it as a great pillar of flame roared to life behind them, then began to streak across the brilliantly lit terrain at staggering speed.
In the distance, Serrin gasped, appalled. "Christ, a fragging fire elemental. Those guys are dead meat."
Geraint wasn’t stopping. He’d already torn the top off his vial and was screaming at Serrin to do the same. As he turned, he dropped the rifle and dragged a Bond and Carrington pistol from his padded jacket, loping away across the mud and muck toward the stashed bike.
Serrin wasn’t hanging around to argue. Whatever it was they’d strayed into, there wasn’t a hope in hell of finding Kuranita in this madness. He could only hope his spell would cover their exit, given that security was looking elsewhere.
His leg betrayed him. A deep rumble from the area of the compound set the ground to shaking underfoot, and the elf stumbled and fell. Mouth choked with mud and the sour taste of saline and acid, Serrin dragged himself to his feet, his pulse racing crazily. To his right, two figures were racing desperately across the road with the retina-searing elemental close behind. A detachment of security also was hot in pursuit, SMGs chattering.
Serrin didn’t know why he did it; it was crazy and stupid. Dropping his sustained protections was absurd under the circumstances, but something told him that no one was after him, no one had seen him. He began to chant slowly. He got lucky. The elemental wasn’t a tough one, its force fairly weak, and it took the elf mage no more than fifteen seconds to banish the spirit. The spell sapped the creature’s power, and its flames flickered and died. All those other people had to do now was evade a posse of heavily armored and cyberware-toting hulks with automatic weapons.
Well, at least I’ve bought them a chance, Serrin thought grimly as he turned and ran. In his haste he didn’t hear the car engine revving in the distance. He never knew that she’d seen his face in a chance flash of light. He was unaware of what she would remember all her life.
Now some of the troopers were searching around, well-trained enough to hunt the source of something that could dissipate an elemental. Serrin’s leg throbbed viciously as he lurched toward where he thought they’d left the bike. The leg felt as if he’d been hamstrung with a meathook. Distantly he heard Geraint’s desperate cry to him, but the drain was beginning to take its toll and he could do no more than half-run, half-limp onto a riverbank that shouldn’t have been there. He just managed to crawl over it, hoping to find some cover where he could hide. A foul liquid bubbled up from his lungs, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He stumbled again and landed up to his neck in water and reeds.
The last thing Serrin saw before passing out was the river serpent. The thing was probably ten yards long. Rearing over him, the beast opened its powerfully muscular jaws to reveal its dagger-sharp teeth set in a huge, gaping maw as black as the entrance to hell.
10
Geraint retained enough self-control not to exceed the speed limit as he headed through Bar Hill’s dreary low-rise houses on the way back to Cambridge. His thoughts, however, raced furiously.
Serrin had vanished into the night. Geraint, meanwhile, had hordes of heavily armed Fuchi security guards rushing toward him, forcing him to take off on the elf’s bike, praying no copters were after him, too. It was bad enough that Serrin had disappeared. Now he also had the unexpected arrival of another group of raiders at the lab to disturb and confuse him.
Geraint turned everything over and over in his mind, trying to recall what he and Serrin had said and where they’d said it, wondering if their conversations had been bugged. No matter how many times he mentally replayed scenes, however, he couldn’t make any sense of it.
Entering the main sprawl zone north of Cambridge, Geraint realized that he couldn’t return to the hotel. He could hardly stroll through the front lobby with his clothes torn to ribbons and caked with mud. Even his famous sang froid wouldn’t let him get away with blithely leaving a muddy trail of wet clods on the carpet behind him. Hotel security was bound to make a discreet notification to the police, some of whom must certainly be special friends of Fuchi. Things could get supremely nasty. For the same reason, dumping the bike in the selfpark garage and heading straight for the elevator was a no-go. The attendant might see him, and there would be videoscans even there.
Rakk it all, he’d have to go back to London, which meant no motorway travel, not on a motorbike. Forty miles of back roads all the way to the outer orbital. Wonderful, he thought. I hope it hasn’t changed much since my student days. I haven’t driven along here in ten years.
Hitting the roads, Geraint had the impression they hadn’t been repaired in a decade, either. South of Royston he had the sense to turn off the main road and take a detour around the decaying sprawl suburbs. He saw the barricade and the lurking wrecker gang just in time. Had he continued straight on, he’d have already been dead meat.
Cursing his bad luck, Geraint now found himself in a warren of back streets. He slowed the bike while he tried to figure out where he was and where he was going. The street lights had been shot out long ago, and all he had was the weak light of the moon and his own dipped headlight. Realizing that he’d completely lost track of his direction, and had no idea how to get out of here, the hair began to rise at the back of his neck. One thing was certain, though; he had to keep moving. At one point he decided to turn around again, and was making a slow U-turn, when suddenly he saw before him a ragged group edging out of the shadows and blocking his path.
“Nice bike, term," a rough voice called. “Make you an offer!”
There were sniggers audible above the bike’s revving engine. The punk at the front of the pack was hefting a hunk of wood that looked like a railway tie. Some of those hanging further back were carrying rocks, more likely chunks of plascrete.
Geraint began to sweat. How am I going to get out of this one? he wondered desperately. A single hit would wing me. Then I’m off the bike. Then I’m down. Then I’m dead. Got no choice, I guess.