Never trust an elf

PART 2

The hall was as riotous as ever and Kham almost felt relaxed. The running and shouting kids made a lot of noise, and the noise filled a void in him. John Parker had been the first of his runners, and somehow his death was different from those that had occurred on other runs. Not that any of the losses were trivial. A ringleader had to take care of his crew, had to, or he wasn't going to hold on to a crew worth anything. The first law of the streets was that you took care of your own. He'd learned that in the gangs.

Gorb and Juan had died on one of his runs, but he hadn't taken it as hard as this time. He had done his duty by them and taken in their widows and kids. They all lived in the hall now, a part of the tumult that made the place home. Now Kham would also have to look after Guido and the rest of John Parker's brood, at least until they could make their own way on the street.

Lissa emerged from the kitchen and chased the kids outside, telling them to take advantage of the dry weather. With winter coming, there wouldn't be many more nice days. She smiled at Kham, a sign of her improved attitude since he had turned over the cred-stick from the elves' run. Less to worry about, he supposed.

They were set for awhile, although he, too, had been worried about getting paid for the run. That worry nagged at him even after Rabo pumped the access codes for the certified cred memos on Johnson's disk.

Elves were known for paying with fairy gold, phantom credit that wasn't there when you tried to spend it. Not until Kham got word from his fixer that the transfer had gone through was he satisfied that the creds were good. Well, as good as any Matrix money could be- what with all those cowboy deckers playing games out there.

With the kids out from underfoot, Kham could no longer ignore that he had a visitor. Neko. The Jap kid-the guy was so small that Kham kept thinking of him as a kid, although he had learned that Neko was at least as old as he was-was as curious and self-possessed as his namesake. He prowled the hall, poking his nose into everything, or sprawled in one of the chairs, looking like he lived there. He made himself every bit as at home as one of the gang. Now that the kids were gone and it was quiet, the catboy would be after Kham again, badgering him for an introduction to Sally. Just like he'd been doing for the past two days.

Neko smiled at him from across the room, but just as the catboy was about to speak there came a hooting from outside, the standard signal that someone was headed for the hall. It wasn't the danger call, though, so Kham assumed that the spotters must have recognized the visitors as friends. More visitors-the last thing Kham wanted. Jord heard the call, too; he came barreling down the stairs and skidded into the main room, nearly crashing as he scampered for the window.

"Jord, go on back to your ma."

"Aw, dad. I just wanna see who it is," Jord complained as he slipped open the spyhole in the board covering the window, and glued his eye to the spot. "Geez, it's elves!"

Neko sat up sharply and exchanged glances with Kham. The catboy tensed, hand close to his side.

Reaching for a weapon, Kham thought, considering the same option. But his heavy stuff was upstairs and all he had were a few blades and a popgun. These elves had better be friends. "Jord, go see your ma. Now!"

The kid jumped at Kham's shout and beat feet. Kham went to the entry. Just as he was reaching for the handle, the door opened and a tall elf in black leathers and chrome studs barged in. The white shag of his hair bobbed as he turned his head in a survey of the room.

"Greetings, Sir Tusk. You are well, I trust."

"I don't remember inviting ya in, Dodger."

" 'Twas surely an oversight for such a well-mannered ork as yourself.''

"The Dodger?"

The elf turned to see who spoke his name so tentatively, and his eyes widened briefly in surprise. "You're a long way from home, Sir Cat."

Kham looked from one to the other. "Ya know each odder?"

Neko simply said, "Hai," but the elf was more elaborate, as usual. "In truth, we have done some small business in the past, working our way through a tangled web of deceit in order to make the world a safer place. Though we disported in different dance halls, we moved to the same music."

Also as usual, the elf hid what he meant to say in flowery, oblique phrases, but Kham thought he caught the drift. "Da dogboy's big run?"

Dodger turned to him, his eyes wide in mock surprise. "I am amazed at the speed with which you leap to the conclusion, Sir Tusk. More amazed, however, that you are correct. Have you used the proceeds of your last run to have a brain implanted? Nay, nay, no need to answer, for I spoke too quickly. Surely, had your brain capacity increased, you would not have taken your recent excursion into the country.''

"I ain't in no mood for your mouth, elf."

"Your manner is surly as ever, Sir Tusk, but perhaps you are correct that this is not the time for you and / to talk. This is not a social call. Perhaps some other day when things are not so busy.''

The elf inclined his head, then swept a bow of greeting in the direction of the kitchen. Kham turned to see a group of juvenile and adolescent orks crowded in the archway. The kids must have come in the back way to gawk at the stranger. Kham shouted at them and they scattered, some back into the kitchen, some forming a ragged pack that tore across the main room past Neko, who wisely remained still as the kids flowed around him, then went screaming upstairs. In response to Dodger's remark, Neko bowed and started to leave.

Kham held up a hand. "Maybe ya oughta stay, cat-boy. Seeing as how ya know da elf and all." Neko smiled and stopped. As Kham had thought, the cat-boy's curiosity was stronger than his manners. It might be interesting to see the prissy elf squirm, to make him work at his fancy talk and try to phrase things so Kham would understand and the kid wouldn't. Then again, watching the elf while the kid was around might tell Kham something about their relationship. There had been a lot about the dogboy's run that Kham had not understood. "So, elf, ya wanta talk, talk. Don't let da catboy bother ya. He practically lives here anyway. ''

Dodger smiled, wide and cheerful, without a hint of discomfort. Kham was annoyed.

"As you wish, Sir Tusk. Your kindness is overwhelming. I had not thought you to be so considerate of a busy decker's time."

The elf actually seemed pleased that Neko was going to be present. Kham sneaked a look at Neko and found that the kid had dropped his poker face and actually looked as baffled as Kham felt. Not liking the twist things were taking, Kham growled, "Like I said, talk."

" 'Tis not I, but another, who wishes to speak to you, Sir Tusk. He awaits your invitation."

"And who might dis odder guy be?"

"You ask for a name? Alas, I am distressed to see you return to your old ignorant ways. Names? I thought the fair Lady Tsung had taught you better.''

That was a clue to what was going on. "So Sally ain't involved den?"

Dodger sighed. "Alas, no. Her beauteous features grace some other venue and enrich some other shadows."

"So dis is some kinda biz offer." "Biz, as you say, but biz that was, rather than biz that shall be."

"Drek, elf! Will ya knock it off and talk plain like real people?"

"As I said, it is not I who wishes to speak to you." To Kham's frown, the elf prompted, "An invitation is awaited, Sir Tusk."

"So get him in here. He's invited already."

"Ah, such grace." Dodger bowed to the open doorway, sweeping a hand wide in invitation.

The red-haired elf entering Kham's house didn't need a name after all. Kham recognized him from the vid. He was Scan Laverty, a member of the Tir Tairn-gire Council of Princes. Laverty's presence could only mean trouble-nothing else would bring such an important person to the slums of Orktown for a meet with a runner. Even if it was just biz, that biz would be trouble, too.

Laverty nodded greeting to Kham, then to Neko. "I apologize for my unannounced arrival, Kham. I thought it best."

Kham groaned inwardly, hoping he wasn't making any noise. It was trouble. "No problem," he said, hoping he'd be right.

"I wish it were so. I'm afraid that your involvement in a recent bit of shadow business has put you in danger."

"We didn't go anywhere near da Tir," Kham said defensively.

"No one is saying you did," Laverty said with a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Do you know who your principals were?''

"Dey didn't give dere names." Laverty gave him a look that said Kham had not answered the question, then he shruged philosophically, and continued. "One of the principals in the recent operation is a bit draconian in his ideas. Wishing to keep the matter a total secret, he did not use any talent normally associated with him."

"So dey used us instead, ya mean," Kham interrupted.

"Indeed. I believe his original concept was that new tools would be unknown tools. No fuss. Loose ends perhaps, but unimportant ones without connections to other, shall we say, powers interested in the doings of this person."

"Ya come to da wrong ork, elf. I ain't ratting on nobody named Johnson. If dey're unhappy wid me now, dey'11 be really unhappy if I rat on 'em."

Laverty looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you believe that I stand in opposition to your recent employer? Or that I seek what they sought for my own use?"

Either or both was possible. Kham shrugged to show his indifference to Laverty's reasons. "Whatever. Dey sure was being secretive. Musta had dere reasons."

"Good reasons, indeed," Laverty agreed solemnly. "But let me assure you that although they intended me to remain ignorant of their actions, I was not the one whom they feared."

Kham didn't like the sound of that. "Awright, so ya ain't against dem or looking ta cop dere haul. So what-taya doin' here? I heard yer a philanthropist, but I ain't never heard of ya doing much fer orks."

"You cannot know all that I do," Laverty said warningly. "For the moment, believe that I am concerned for your best interests. Certain sources have suggested to me that one of your principals has decided that his tools have become a liability."

"Are you suggesting that he wishes us dead?" Neko asked.

Kham shook his head. "If he wanted us dead, he wouldn'a boddered paying us. Dey'd have done us all out in da woods."

" 'Twould not be unlikely that they feared your combined firepower, Sir Tusk. In the woods, you were all alert and looking for trouble. Your group would have been a more formidable threat."

Neko gave a quick nod of agreement. "Then this disgruntled employer seeks to eliminate us individually in an effort to hide his deed."

Scratching his head, Kham said, "If yer on da level, why should we worry? Yer being here makes dat pointless. Someone already knows about what we did-you do. If dis elf's worried about us talking, he's gonna be worried about you, too. If we're in danger, so are you."

"No. He can be sure that I will not inform those he fears. He cannot be sure of you or the others. Though you intend to be honorable, you may inadvertently become an informer. He will not be content to rely on your intent to keep confidentiality."

"So yer warning us. Why?" Kham asked. "What are ya getting outta dis?''

"Hai. Your motives bear on your trustworthiness," Neko stated. "Do you seek to set us against our former employer?''

"No," Laverty answered, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I only seek your lives."

"A popular commodity today," said a new voice from the door. Forestalling several attempts to reach for weapons, the voice added. "Anybody who moves dies now."

Under his breath Dodger whispered, "But we all go later."

Kham, Neko, and the elves remained where they were, but their eyes took in the half-dozen newcomers. The hoods they wore were like the ones of the Hu-manis policlubbers, but these raiders were too well-equipped to be those hatemongers. Not only did they have matched equipment, but they moved with the precision of well-trained mercenaries. Spaced well for overlapping fields of fire, the four spread along the front wall were covering the room and the stairs, while the two by the door had a clear line into the kitchen. Professionals. They must be the repairmen Laverty had come to warn them about. Kham knew the score. The six raiders had guns trained on them, suggesting that they were ready to do just what their leader had threatened. Those guys wouldn't fool around; any cowboy kind of move and their guns would make history of Kham and his guests.

The speaker rapped out orders to his band and four of his raiders started up the stairs, Kham knew that a bunch of the kids were up there, despite Lissa's attempts to get them outside, but he didn't know who else was up there sleeping in. For a moment he thought that they might take the two left on the ground floor with them, then another four came through the door, closing it behind them. They covered the area of the first four, giving Kham no chance for action. Cautiously the new four.advanced across the main room, leaving the leader and another man near the door.

A scream from the kitchen caught everyone off-guard. The leader looked disturbed and surprised simultaneously. Kham took his chance and smashed the man across the side of the head. He heard the raider's neck bones snap. Grabbing the body as it fell, he heaved it up, letting it take the slugs from the second man's weapon. Most of them, anyway: fire burned lines across Kham's biceps and rib cage while invisible hands plucked at his fatigues. Howling with the pain, he threw the body into the raiders, knocking them aside like tenpins.

Heat flared at his back and he risked a glance. Laverty was wreathed in an aura of fire, with strange, dull silver splotches hanging in the air around him. An automatic weapon opened up from the kitchen, where a new-what was he? number eleven? — gunman stood. His ineffectual fire showed Kham that the silver splotches were slugs that had halted and melted in midair.

The kitchen gunman went down in a burst from someone in the main room. Kham didn't bother to see who fired; he was obviously a friend. Diving for the weapon of the man he had killed, Kham used his momentum on hitting the floor to roll away fast as he snatched the gun.

The three raiders still in the room started firing in concert. Fortunately, they seemed to be ignoring Kham, concentrating their fire on Laverty. Taking down the mage first was standard strategy, but the elf wasn't making it easy for them. He stood still within his protective flames, light flickering over his head like a video transmission breaking up. Then the fourth joined in and the elf's magic couldn't handle it. He spun, spraying blood, and crumpled to the floor.

Kham crawled to the edge of the couch he was using for cover and pumped bullets at the raiders. Two went down, but the other two grabbed cover of their own. Something whirled over his head and as he jerked down, he saw a raider coming back down the stairs behind him. The woman had removed her hood, which let Kham see her look of bewilderment as the shuriken embedded itself in her forehead. She slumped forward, but probably never having seen what killed her.

Gunfire sounded from upstairs. Too many floors up to be the four-no, three now-Kham had seen go up; they couldn't have climbed that fast. That meant that another squad of raiders had also hit from the roof. He should have expected that; these guys were pros. The gunman he had seen in the kitchen and the sounds of combat from the back of the building said that they had come in the back way, too.

Sheila appeared at the top of the stairs, wrestling with someone dressed in combat armor and climbing harness-one of the rooftop squad. Grappling, the two of them crashed through the banister and landed in a heap on the floor. Sheila was on top, but she didn't get up. There was no time to see if she was dead or merely stunned.

A raider staggered through the arch from the kitchen and Kham cut him down. Not smart of him to expose himself like that. Kham's eyes widened as Lissa's favorite carving knife fell from the man's back and clattered to the floor when he hit.

Kham was up instantly, roaring and charging across the main room. The surviving raiders popped up to fire at him, but he didn't care. Lissa needed him. Miraculously, he made it to the kitchen. Behind him he could hear short bursts from the small-caliber weapon

that had taken down the first raider through the kitchen arch. Ahead of him he heard and saw a vicious melee, orks of all ages tangling in close combat with a handful of raiders.

A highly chromed razorguy stood throttling a purple-faced Teresa with one hand and batting away kids with his razor-tipped free hand. Kham took aim with his automatic, but the gun clicked empty, so he tossed it away and threw himself at the razorguy.

As Kham smashed into him, they both went down, Teresa falling bonelessly beside them. Biting down hard into the first part of the guy that came near his mouth, Kham felt his tusks grate on metal, slide until they found soft meat, then sink in. The raider howled and slashed at him. The guy's claws sliced across Kham's arm, shredding his shirt and drawing blood, but Kham didn't care. He slammed his own chromed fist into the man's face, shattering his jaw. Kham couldn't afford to stop; the guy was probably hyped in one way or another and if he could get the initiative, he'd cut Kham to ribbons. Kham swung again and again, feeling muscle and bone turn to pulp under his pounding.

At last the razorguy stopped struggling. Kham hit him one last time to be sure, then crouched over the body. Warily he watched for another opponent as he searched for Lissa and the kids amid the carnage. There were no more raiders in sight, and the only sounds were the sobs and moans of the wounded.

Dead raiders lay scattered about the kitchen. They didn't matter to Kham. All he cared about was that orks lay dead. Far too many. Kham saw Komiko crouched protectively over her dead children, tears streaming down her face. But he knew she would not grieve for them long: her entrails lay spread and trampled on the floor beside her. Her killer had paid for his failure to kill her outright; he lay at her feet, his throat torn out.

Two bloodied ork bodies, one still breathing, lay in front of the pantry door, a trio of dead raiders entangled with them. Kham kicked the raider corpses out of the way and eased the grievously wounded Guido to a position that let him breathe easier. The kid tried to talk.

"Don't," Kham told him. "Take it easy." The kid ignored him. "Good fight. Cyg okay?" Cyg lay dead before Guide's eyes and Kham knew the kid wasn't seeing anything anymore. "She's fine. Ya did good."

"Thanks, Dad."

Kham almost corrected him, then thought better of it.

"Hi, Mom," was the last thing Guido said. As Kham laid the dead warrior down and closed his eyes, he heard muffled whispers through the pantry door. Ork voices, worried but alive. With great relief, he opened the door and saw Lissa and his children huddled inside with the other survivors; Guido and Cyg had bought them their lives. Lissa threw herself into his arms and he hugged her close. But only for a moment.

"Keep everybody here till I tell ya it's clear," he said, snatching up one of the raiders' guns and handing it to her. Tully appropriated one for himself. "Stay quiet."

He closed them into the pantry again and grabbed a dead man's weapon for himself. Satisfied that his family was safe for the moment, Kham returned to the main room. Ratstomper called from the stairs, "You okay down here?''

Kham didn't know how to answer that question, so he asked his own. "Any more up dere?"

"Got 'email."

Main room, kitchen, upstairs: all clear. It was over, then. "Take care of da wounded."

"They ain't got any."

"I meant ours, drekhead."

Ratstomper ran back up the stairs. Kham looked around the main room. Neko was nowhere to be seen, but Dodger was helping a pale and shaky Laverty to his feet. The decker was solicitous, even forgetting to talk in his hokey cant. Laverty's smile was forced as he assured his friend that he would be well. Kham doubted it, until he saw that what would have been lethal wounds for an ordinary person were already healing. The strange broken-video flicker over Laverty's head continued.

"Yaokay?" Kham asked.

"I'll live," Laverty replied. "This has been a costly exercise in humanity."

"Dese slags from dat bad boy you was warning us about?"

"Have you other enemies who would mount such a raid?"

"Nah. Least don't link so. Maybe dey was after elves?"

"If they were, I would have known. Also, they would have come better prepared for my magic."

"Looked like dey was almost prepared enough."

"Not quite enough." Laverty eased out of Dodger's supporting arm. "I must go now."

"Dere may be more outside."

Laverty closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "No. It's safe. However, the upper floors of this structure are in flames. You had best get the survivors out of here, Kham."

"Then let us leave," Dodger urged.

Laverty nodded slowly, and accepted Dodger's help as he limped toward the door.

"Ya got a car or sumpin' nearby?"

"Something, Sir Tusk."

"Watch dat elf, chummer," Kham said to Laverty. "He don't drive real good."

"Dodger will do fine," Laverty assured him. A weak voice rose from the pile of bodies near the door.

"Dodger?"

The elf stiffened at the sound of his name. Slowly he looked down at the wounded raider. The guy was an old man, running on cyberware and booster drugs, but the blood that covered him said he wouldn't be running anymore.

"I used to know a kid called Dodger. We used to run together.'' "Hello, Zip."

"Hunh. Zip. Yeah that's me. That's what they used to call me. Ain't Zip anymore." He coughed, and there was blood in the phlegm that dribbled down his chin. "Ain't much of anything anymore." "He's dying," Laverty whispered to Dodger. Dodger looked at Laverty, then at the wounded raider. In a voice even softer than Laverty's, he whispered, "Goodbye, Zip." Then he hustled Laverty out the door.

Kham moved over to the raider. If he was still alive, maybe he would talk. Throwing off the corpse that lay across the man's legs, Kham then heaved him into a sitting position. The wounded raider groaned under the mistreatment. Kham had no sympathy. This guy didn't deserve any. "Who sent ya?"

The man's head sagged, so Kham grabbed him by the jaw, tilted his head back up, and repeated the question. The man coughed, a sick sound. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at Kham.

"That was him, wasn't it? The boost makes you see things sometimes. Things that ain't there. Dead and gone. It was him, though. I'm not crazy."

"Nah, you ain't crazy. You're dead. Why not do sometin' good 'fore ya go, and tell me who sent ya?"

"What's the point?"

Neko appeared at Kham's left and addressed the old man. "Perhaps you would do it for your old friend Dodger? You were chummers, weren't you? You could say that it was for old times' sake, that you were doing a chummer a good turn."

The raider's attempt at a laugh was mangled by his coughing. "Chummers. Yeah. Real good chummers," he said dreamily. Kham could see that the man was slipping. Without warning the raider reached up and grabbed the lapel of Kham's fatigue jacket, his grip insistent, though weak. "Stick with your own kind, chummer. It's the wave of the future."

The raider went slack, his pain-etched features relaxing. The wrinkles were still there, lines that showed years of travail, years that were now over.

"Kham, the building is burning. We must leave."

Kham looked up. "Drek! Get everybody out!"

"Where shall we go, Kham?"

"Frag, catboy, I don't know. Hide out somewhere."

"Lady Tsung's?"

"Fragging hell, not now. We got trouble."

"I am aware of that. I thought she was your friend. Would she not help?"

"I ain't dragging dis mess ta her doorstep. Look, ya know Cog, right? Well, one of his places is over on Maple Valley and Francis Lane. Can ya find dat?"

Neko nodded. Kham suspected that the catboy had no idea about the location, but that he would find it. Whichever. It didn't matter. What mattered was that they lie low. Maybe if they were out of sight, the fragging elves behind the attack would forget

about them. That was the way it worked in the shadows.

"Perhaps we can meet later. Lay plans to deal with our hunter."

Smoke was starting to drift down the stairs, heralding the arrival of Ratstomper and the wounded from upstairs. Kham sent Ratstomper to get Kham's family and the rest, then turned to Neko. "Look, catboy. I got no interest in a war. Go see Cog and he'll take care 'a ya. Okay? Get lost."

Neko stood up straight, then made a stiff bow. Kham turned his back on the kid's damned Japanese formality. There were things he needed to get before he left. He ran for the stairs.

"Sayonara, Kham-san. "

Kham glanced back, but only for an instant. Through the smoke and flames he could not see if the catboy was still standing where he'd left him, or if he was doing the smart thing and saving his own hide. He hoped it was the latter; the kid was annoying at times and a little spooky at others, but he was mostly okay. Kham grabbed for the banister, but the flame-eaten wood came off in his hand. No more time to worry about the catboy. Time to start worrying about him-self.

Lissa cried all night, and so did Shandra and lord. Tully made like a man, but he still held tight to his father as long as he was awake. It wasn't till the boy was asleep that the tears began to flow. Kham neither cried nor slept. When the last of his family had drifted off to sleep, he went to the window and looked out.

From the upper floor of the abandoned tenement to which they had fled, he could see the hall, or rather the flames that clawed the sky. They lit the sky to the west, brighter than the approaching dawn did the eastern horizon. The plex firemen had finally arrived three hours ago, but it was only after the conflagration had spread to the neighboring structures. But this was the Barrens, and Orktown at that. Those brave civic heroes didn't bother to fight the blaze; they merely worked to confine it to a single block. Not much would be left of the block; the fire was well beyond what the local volunteer fire teams could handle.

Kham watched it burn, seeing his life and all he had built go up in smoke.

Sheila was dead. Like John Parker, she'd been one of his first runners. He'd lost count of the times they'd saved each other's butts in a hot run. She wouldn't be at his back anymore.

Ellie and Tump, the kids on watch, had been killed before they could sound a warning. Their deaths had been quick and clean, very professional, but they were dead nonetheless. Ellie had been barely ten and just coming into her full growth.

Cyg was gone, too. And Guido had joined his dad. Teresa. Komiko. Jed. Bill. Jiro. Charlie…

What was the point?

They were all dead.

Gone.

His nose suddenly picked up a faint scent, and he whuffed a couple of times to be sure. The creaky floor would have betrayed anyone entering the room, and the scent was nearby. That left only one spot. He craned his head around and looked up at the roof.

Above him a small, slender shadow crouched on the coping.

"Whatcha doing up dere, catboy?" "We need to talk, Kham-san." "Den get down here so we ain't making a spectacle fer anybody."

Neko began to fuss with something at his belt, and Kham stepped back into the room, away from the window, to make room. The next moment Neko swung through the window with a faint rustle of fabric, landing softly on his feet. A deft flick of his wrist sent a ripple along the line from which he had swung, dislodging the hook he had attached to the coping. Kham barely saw it as it whipped back into a small box the catboy carried, but he heard the whine of the automatic line reel.

"The cyber meres are dead," Neko said without preamble.

That made sense. If the bad guy was as dangerous as Laverty implied and if he wanted the orks gone, he'd want all the runners gone, all at once. That would be the best way, because it wouldn't give them any time to work against him. Still, it could be just coincidence that both the raid on the hall and the deaths of the cyberguys had happened on the same night.

"Howddya know it was dem?"

"How many pairs of twinned razorguys are operating in this plex?"

"Just dem, I guess."

"Seems likely. Therefore, it must be their bodies spoken of in the evening trid news."

Coincidence didn't seem likely any more. Any enemy that could arrange simultaneous hits across the plex was a powerful one. "What about Greerson?"

Neko's reply was hesitant, almost as if he were embarrassed. "I don't know. Cog thinks he left town."

"But he might be dead," said Ratstomper. She had come in from the other room. The rest of the survivors-all red-eyed from smoke, crying, and lack of sleep-were crowded in the doorway. New crying burst out as soon as Ratstomper spoke.

"Shut up, drekhead. You're panicking da kids." "I ain't worried about them, I'raovorried about me. If the halfer's dead too, we're all that's left." Ratstom-per's voice was shrill with fear. She'd never been one of the tougher ones. "They'll come after us!"

"I said shut up!" Kham cuffed her and Ratstomper stumbled back into the wall. She snuffled a few times and one tear rolled down her left cheek, but at least now she was quiet. The group's morale was too fragile to let her go on stoking their fears. "We don't know if da halfer's dead or not. We don't even know if it was da elves hit our place. And we don't know who did da chrome twins."

"It is likely that Greerson is dead," Neko said. "It fits with the red-haired elf's warning."

Kham's head was spinning. He didn't know what to do. He was losing control here, and he couldn't just knock the catboy into line. Especially because he was right. Kham was frustrated and angry, and it made his words hot and bitter. "So how come we're still around, den? If dese elves is so almighty tough and smart, how come dey didn't get us? We're only orks wid guns. What've we got dat'll stop elf mages?"

Kham's rage seemed to have absolutely no effect on Neko. He responded calmly, as if he were addressing a bunch of suits in a corp conference room somewhere. "I believe the red-haired elf was correct when he said that our enemy didn't expect him to be present when the raiders hit the hall. The raiders were all mundane, a suitable force to take out a place full of orks, but insufficient to deal with magical support. It was only because of the magical distraction provided by Dodger's friend that we were able to achieve surprise and turn the tables on them."

"Yer awful sweet on dat red elf."

"I believe he was trying to help us." Even if he was, Kham knew that the elf was doing it for his own purposes, whatever they were. "He had his reasons."

"Of that I am sure." Neko agreed. "But whatever they are, they worked to our benefit. We must accept that."

"So whatcha suggestin'? That we run ta him fer help?"

"Lie. I do not believe that it would be forthcoming."

Kham narrowed his eyes and squinted at the catboy. The kid was ahead of him tonight; he already had a plan. "Den what ya got have in mind?"

"Cog is willing to help."

Kham knew about that kind of help. "For a fee."

"Of course."

The wry expression on Neko's face said that he knew about that kind of help, too. And why shouldn't he? For all that he looked like a kid, he'd been running the shadows. Kham knew how fast that made one aware of the realities of life. Still, there were unanswered-drek, unasked-questions here. Suspiciously, Kham asked, "He offered?"

"Would you expect an offer from Cog?"

Kham snarled. "Don' answer my question wid a question, catboy."

Again ignoring Kham's threatening tone, Neko smiled and said, "I made some suggestions."

"And ya came up wit sumpin' Cog would agree ta?"

"Correct."

"Awright, awright. Ya got me interested. What's yer plan?"

"Cog can arrange to make it look like the hit at your house was completely successful, and meanwhile we drop deeper into the shadows until it all blows over. We will need another hideout, of course. You and your people are too well-known here, and you have no supplies. You would have to go out, and you would be seen, and recognized. Someone would talk."

Kham was only too aware of how cheaply some of his neighbors would sell them out. "Find a hole and pull it in after us, huh?"

"Was that not your desire?"

"Yeah. I guess I did say dat was da ting ta do." Laying low was the usual way to avoid unwanted attention. But so many of his chummers had died. And his family had lost their home. Who was going to pay for that? Street justice demanded that he hit back, which was exactly what he'd have done if another gang had hit his gang. But he was a shadowrunner now, not a gang leader. The rules were different.

They'd already paid a high enough price to further the unknown ambitions of those mysterious elves. Lying low might be a cowardly response for a gang leader, but Kham didn't want revenge to cost them any more lives. He was no longer just a ganger. He had a family and a lot of other folks who depended on him. He'd already failed some of them. That failure made him mad, really mad, but he had to think about the living. If only he could believe that the danger would really end if they dropped out of sight for a while. "How much is it goin' ta cost?" Kham said.

Glasgian understood the reason for the starkness of the chamber, the barrenness of the walls, and the dry dustiness of the earthen floor, but he didn't like it. All was as Urdli had commanded, but Glasgian found the place too stark, too… primitive. His Scaratelli shoes had already picked up a film of dust.

In the wan ruby glow from the carved crystal Glasgian's fair skin looked ruddy, disgustingly like a norm's. Urdli's dark skin didn't show the effects as much, but it did take on an unhealthy sheen. Not that the other elf was ill, for he wasn't. A sick, or even dying, Urdli was a prospect that Glasgian found not unpleasant, just untimely. Urdli was vital to ferreting out the secrets of the stone, for he had a mastery of that substance that none in the Sixth World could match. Once that mastery had been employed and the secrets won, there would be no more need to cooperate with the insufferable Australian. "You are early," Urdli said, turning from his work. Despite Glasgian's most careful precautions, Urdli had been aware of his presence. Silently, Glasgian renewed his oath to discover the nuances necessary to mask himself from the Australian's senses. He walked up to Urdli and looked over his shoulder. Glasgian grimaced in disgust at the animal parts and carved stones arranged in odd patterns around the eviscerated lizard at the dark elf's feet. There was blood on Urdli's fingers. Likely he had gutted the lizard with his bare hands. Disgusting.

With forced politeness, Glasgian asked, "Have you made progress?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"There are still details that remain unclear."

"When will we know?"

Finally Urdli turned his eyes from the objects before him and stared up at Glasgian. The dark elfs face was all disapproval. "You are impatient."

Glasgian bristled inwardly at his partner's insulting attitude. Urdli was his elder, but he was still just a vagabond from Australia. Glasgian Oakforest was a prince, and the son of a prince, born of a line that stretched back to the beginnings of elvenkind. The Australian, fossilized in his old ways, had no justification for showing disapproval of Glasgian. What business had a vagabond disapproving of a prince?

"And you are old and slow," Prince Glasgian said, not hiding his indignation. "I move with due caution, makkaherinit." Again Glasgian felt stung by the insult, but this was not the time to show his anger. He forced calm on himself. He knew that Urdli was goading him, deliberately taunting him, and he was determined not to give the dark elf any satisfaction. Harnessing his will, Glasgian controlled his temper. Later, they would see, but for now he'd turn the talk to other matters. "The runners are taken care of."

"You have moved against them already?" "Of course. We cannot afford for word of our involvement in this matter to get out." "Then they are all dead?"

"No, not all. The dwarf escaped before my agents could reach him, but the others are dead. The cyber-ized norms died in street violence and the orks in a building fire. The Japanese norm, too. For some odd reason, he was with the orks at the time of the fire. I

had thought his kind had more refined aesthetics. Do you think he was defective in some way? It was difficult to read him."

"He was a mere norm, of little importance. Less now, if he is dead. However, if you would apply yourself to the problem at hand, we might be quicker to achieve the results you so passionately desire. Have you studied my notes?"

"You should apply yourself to working, rather than to misguided attempts at correcting my education. Of course I have studied your notes. Didn't you receive my comments?"

"No."

"I sent a messenger."

"I did not wish to be disturbed."

"And I gave him orders to deliver my package to you. He will be punished."

"Unnecessary."

"That is not for you to decide. He failed to obey my orders and deserves punishment."

Urdli smiled coldly. "You misunderstand. I do not disagree that such failure warrants punishment, young prince. I merely say that your servant need not receive it from your hands."

"You took it upon yourself to-" "A matter of prepared defenses," Urdli said, cutting off Glasgian's rage. "By the time I realized that he was yours, it was too late. Do you desire compensation?"

He did. Oh yes, he did, but he would not be satisfied with what the old law specified. "I will waive compensation." Until I can collect it myself, he added silently.

Urdli seemed satisfied "I have confirmed our earlier conclusions with regard to location. The crystal was indeed placed at the key junction of the triangle of the mana lines. More importantly, the stone is active. Given time, we will be able to pinpoint the treasure it guards."

Glasgian was pleased. "If we had the location now, we could strike tonight."

"In undue haste." Urdli's expression was bland, but Glasgian could sense the sneer.

"Timely action," Glasgian said defensively

"You have a faulty sense of timing."

"I only desire what you yourself desire. Is it wrong to wish to see the thing done?"

"No. It is quite understandable, but yours is a child's reaction," Urdli said.

"I am not a child!"

"Consider to whom you speak, makkaherinit-ha."'

Glasgian heard the warning in Urdli's tone and decided that he would be wise to heed it. This was not the time for a split, which, he suddenly realized, might be exactly what the Australian was trying to provoke. Urdli had needed Glasgian's resources to take the first steps, and even now profited from Glasgian's facilities to perform his researches into the crystal's secrets. Perhaps Urdli had already achieved even greater success than he was admitting and was considering sundering their partnership to claim the stone for himself. Until the secrets were pried from the stone and shared, Glasgian was at a disadvantage; Urdli's magical experience was vital to unraveling the mysteries of the crystal. If a rift occurred now and Urdli retained control of the stone, Glasgian would be cut oif forever from all that could be gained by using the crystal. That was something not to be contemplated. If their partnership must break up, it would happen only when it was to Glasgian's advantage; perhaps later, after they had shared the crystal's secrets.

"Ozidanit makkalos, telegitish t'imiri ti'teheron," he said, adding a bow to his apology and request for forbearance in the old formal way. "Forgive me, el der. I am overcome by the necessity of what we are about. I only wish success for our gambit."

"Then perhaps you will be willing to work for it."

"Yes, I will work for it."

"Then sit here in front of me." The spot Urdli indicated was spattered with the lizard's blood. Glasgian lowered himself and sat cross-legged. His suit would be ruined, but that was a small matter. Like many things, it could be replaced.

Urdli led him into trance and he followed. For hours they worked at the stone's mysteries, picking at the knots of power and slowly unraveling them. And through it all. Glasgian studied Urdli, learning.

Kham wandered the corridors of the subterranean district known as the Ork Underground. His tired eyes roved over the battered storefronts that had opened on the surface level in the nineteenth century, but which had been overtaken when Seattle rebuilt itself on top of them. During the previous century, the tunnels had been a tourist attraction for a time, and unfounded rumors of the extent of the underground had prompted Seattle's outcasts to seek refuge there in the bad times. Those frightened people had at first come only to hide, but many had stayed to live, digging more tunnels and making homes under the city, away from the light and the troubles. The enlarged Underground district was once again a tourist attraction-as long as the tourist was brave enough to enter a world populated almost exclusively by orks and trolls.

Turning down a broad tunnel, Kham left the old Underground and walked through the Mall, the broadest of the ways in the new Underground. The Mall was noisy all around him as orks hawked their crafts and wares. Because it was still daylight topside, some tourists still wandered in these corridors. Come see the odd orks and their subterranean city! Quaintness beyond belief!

He turned down a side way and the crowds grew less. Not many tourists along this route. Down here, away from the Mall, one rarely saw norms. The locals were a mix of metatypes, mostly orks and trolls, but also other metahumans who were too ugly to suit a norm's standards. Down here, the fittings were rustier, the dwellings more haphazard, but Kham felt more comfortable in these parts. He saw none of the garish murals or contorted statuary created for the gawking tourists. The shops catered to basic needs; they didn't bother with the trashy carvings, cheap trinkets, and brightly colored souvenirs that were the stock of the Mall's stores. It was just a neighborhood down here- always nightwise, dank, and smelly, but just a neighborhood. An ork neighborhood.

That was a small comfort. Rabo and The Weeze might be right that the Underground was a good place to hide, but Kham didn't like the idea. It was too full of old memories. The safety it offered outweighed that, however, and so he had agreed with the logic of bringing his family and the other survivors here, where there were more orks than anywhere else in the plex. Among thousands of orks they would be harder to find. Still, Kham wished that they didn't have to hide here. Some place-any place-else would have been better. So why couldn't he think of a safer place?

Until he did, this was where they would stay until the heat was off, until enough time had passed for whatever the elves were doing to be done. Normally, time was a disadvantage to a shadowrunner, always running out when you needed more. Now time was on Kham's side. As it passed, so too would pass the importance of silencing him and the others. Given enough time, the elves wouldn't care about them anymore.

Underground or not, none of it would have meant a thing had Neko not arranged it all with Cog. Kham didn't know how the fixer had managed to pull it off, and Kham didn't really want to know. Cog had succeeded in faking their deaths, but the fix had some unwanted side effects. The vids had picked up the story of the fire in the Barrens. Normally the media didn't give a frag about orks. After all, what was a bit of violence in the Barrens but filler news on a slow night? Somehow, though, the reporter snoops had learned that the bones of a young norm-one who didn't seem to belong to.either faction involved in the violence-had been found in the rubble. Their stories were full of unpleasant speculation about strange ork practices, and it wasn't long before Humanis policlubbers-probably real ones this time-were voicing charges of torture and cannibalism against the orks.

In the Underground that kind of news was received with the derision it deserved. Sure, orks had an attitude toward norms: everybody who had to take the drek norms dished out to orks had an attitude about them. Sure, orks sometimes had some fun with a norm too stupid to stay where he belonged: those norms got what they deserved for trespassing. That was the kind of stuff that happened, the way life worked. Certainly, it was the way life worked down here. Down here, norm metatypes weren't wanted, and intrusions were often met with violence. But it was normal, honest violence. Nobody ever ate anyone. That was for beasts, and orks were people, even if Humanis policlubbers and their ilk didn't believe it. Stupid norms.

Kham hoped that the elves-all of them and not just the badboy elf-were going to be stupid too, hoped they'd buy Cog's make-believe, but he doubted it. That's why Kham had brought the crew down here. If they weren't safe here, they wouldn't be safe anywhere. He had to believe everything was going to work out all right.

Still, for all its wisdom, hiding didn't feel right. Maybe it was just some kind of left-over gang reflex. Maybe it wasn't. Shadowrunners knew the risks, and they took them anyway, but families were supposed to be left out of it. This badguy elf had taken the shadow business and brought it into Kham's personal life. That wasn't the way things were done. Kham wanted to bust the elf's head and let some light into that dark, twisted mind, but taking any action against that elf, whoever he was, meant working the shadows. Sure, he had an advantage-assuming the elf bought Cog's fix-but once Kham and the guys started running, sooner or later somebody would twig to the fact that they weren't dead, and the fragging elf would know. That elf had already proved how dangerous he was; he might hit the families again. Down here, the families were safe. Maybe later, when everything had quieted down, he'd look into things. Maybe then he'd see what he could do to teach the elf the rules.

Hearing a familiar beat of footfalls accompanied by a jingle from behind him, Kham turned to see Rat-stomper pounding down the way. She was flushed and out of breath but managed a shout when she saw him turn toward her. For an ork, she was in lousy shape. "Catboy's bought himself trouble," she gasped out. That wasn't surprising. "Why ya telling me?" "Said we wuz supposed to watch out for him." That was surprising, since Ratstomper didn't like the little Jap much. Her coming to Kham meant she

was paying attention to biz, and the team. Maybe there was hope for her. "Topsiders?"

"Scuzboys. Green Band."

"Show me where," Kham ordered, giving her a shove to get her moving even after she'd started to turn. The scuzboys of the Green Band were among the tougher gang types in the Underground. They had connections with the power that ruled what passed for the Underground's government, and they took their connections as license to'do what they pleased. If Neko had crossed them, he might be down one of his nine lives before anybody, Kham included, could help him.

Kham took the corner and found a trio of scuzboys trussing up a limp Neko. Two orks lay bleeding on the pavement, attesting to the catboy's struggle. If they were seriously hurt, Neko was in real trouble. The Green Band didn't take kindly to anybody hurting their members; they took revenge, usually in the form of body parts.

"Yo, Adam. Got company," one of the scuzboys said to the big one, who was likely their warlord.

None of the boys looked happy at being interrupted. They dropped Neko, who groaned when he hit the ground. At least he was alive. On second thought, Kham wasn't sure that was such a good thing. There were three of these scuzboys, and Adam, the biggest, was almost his own size. All Kham had for back-up was Ratstomper. Some back-up. Kham waved Ratstomper forward and wide to the left. She might at least distract one of them.

The scuzboys spread out, too, facing Ratstomper with their smallest. They weren't as stupid as Kham had hoped. The alley was tight, leaving little room to maneuver. The scuzboys hadn't drawn blades, but one of them was swinging a chain. Their turf, their rules: this was going to be head-butting only, no stickers and no guns. Kham dipped his hands into his pockets and slipped on his knucks. The scuzboys might be adolescents, but he was facing at least two of them and would need the edge.

The stalking stopped when a hunched shape scuttled from the darkness, whirling and rattling into the open space between the combatants. The newcomer had the tusks and mismatched eyes of an ork, but she was short and slim. Her tattered garments were festooned with rags, bits of bone, and shiny objects dangling from tassels and thongs. Silvered rat skulls hung from her belt and swung in layers of necklaces around her scrawny neck Her streaky, snarly gray hair nearly hid her face when she swirled to a stop, her arms outflung in a dramatic pose.

"Scatter!" Ratstomper squealed as she dropped to her knees "I didn't know these were your boys. If I had, I wouldn't have said anything! Honest! Don't blast me!"

The rat shaman ignored Ratstomper's plea and moved past her. Scatter seemed to skitter as she moved, deceptively fast, and planted herself in front of Kham. Before he could react, her head jutted up into his face and her beady eyes stared into his.

"So you're Kham." It was not a question. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can't go home again?"

"Haven't gone home."

Scatter laughed, a squealing, chittenng sound. "I know that. But now you're thinking you might. I know you are. You're thinking you'll have to because of your unusual"- the rat shaman tittered the word- "attachment to this breeder." She scurried over to Neko and reached out a hand to stroke the cheek of the bound catboy, but his fierce glare froze her Slowly she withdrew her hand. She snapped her head around, her lips curling up into a toothy smile as she said to Kham, "Perhaps you were in a rush to join the others. Breeders need to learn their place. Oh, yes. Perhaps you're here to help, like a good ork."

Kham found her babbling unsettling, but he couldn't afford to let it show. The scuzboys were staring at her like she was their mama, and he noticed that each of them wore a silvered rat skull on a chain around his neck. They were hers, all right. Kham tried to be cool. "Don't know what you're talking about. I heard a chummer was having some trouble."

"You say he's your chummer, you the one gonna have some trouble," Adam said. "We give you the same treatment we gonna give him. But we gonna let you watch what we do to him so you'll know what we gonna do to you."

The scuzboy started forward and Kham dropped into a ready stance. Scatter slipped back between them and the scuzboy jerked back. Kham thought he saw a flicker of fear in the scuzboy's eyes when he looked at the rat shaman.

"No," Scatter said. "This is not a gutter matter. Take the breeder down to City Hall."

"Aw, no!" Adam protested. "He hurt Cholly and Akira!"

Scatter straightened, drawing herself to her full diminutive stature. Her hunched-forward head didn't turn. Though she continued to stare at Kham, there was no doubt she addressed the scuzboy. "A complaint. I thought I heard a complaint."

"No, Scatter," the scuzboy said quickly. "I ain't complaining. We'll do like you say. Right, guys?"

His companions nodded in agreement, and the scuzboys backed away a few steps before turning and hurrying to the now-struggling catboy. The smallest scuzboy lifted a paw to cuff Neko into submission, but was forestalled by a shrill cry from the rat shaman. "And no more damage to him!"

Kham saw Neko smile before planting a kick into the midriff of the one who had been about to cuff him. The ork yelped.

"Unless he resists," Scatter added.

Neko stopped resisting and submitted to being roughly helped to his feet. Wise, Kham thought as they led the catboy away. Scatter tugging on his arm, Kham followed. Ratstomper was nowhere to be seen.

The series of chambers called "city hall" was hardly what a topsider would recognize as government offices, but in the Underground they served. The reinforced walls and occasional weapon emplacement made it look like an armed camp. Knots of heavily armed orks congregated here and there, staring openly at the small procession, but the only time the ragtag parade was stopped was before a pair of large, iron-bound doors. The squad of trolls stationed there were obviously familiar with Scatter and the scuzboys, but they showed the shaman none of the deference the orks did. She almost lost her temper before they agreed to let her pass alone. It was only a few minutes before she returned and led the procession into a huge chamber lit poorly by scattered fixtures. At the far end of the room was a stepped platform, surmounted by a large chair that rose like a king's throne.

The chair was occupied.

As they marched the length of the hall, the man on the throne rose, but he did not face them. Instead he stared off to one side. Kham glanced in that direction and saw a group of women tending a gaggle of young orks. Across the hall was another group of armed orks. Both clumps were out of earshot of the throne, but they would be able to see everything that went on.

The big ork on the platform was more hunched than usual for his metatype, but the effect was one of coiled power rather than of bowed weakness. A cloak trimmed with human and metahuman scalps hung over those shoulders and concealed his body, but there could be no doubt that the hidden body was powerful. His head was large and his bald pate covered with warts. As they halted, he regarded them sidewise with one narrowed green eye for a minute before turning full-face to them. His other eye-blue, larger, and set at least a centimeter higher than the green one-opened as he turned. When he spoke, his voice was deep, resonant, and had the ring of authority.

"Why are you here?"

A grinning Scatter turned to Kham, but he decided that he wouldn't give her any satisfaction. Hoping his voice would stay steady, he said, "Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Kham," the ork with the mismatched eyes said softly.

The big scuzboy exchanged confused and worried glances with his fellows. "You know this topsider, Harry?"

"Yes, Adam, I know him. He's my grandson."

The scuzboys left in short order as soon as they untied Neko. The Green Band might have connections with Harry, but scuzboys knew families came before gangs. They wouldn't be getting their piece of Neko. At least not for a while.

Scatter was less polite. Without invitation, she followed as Harry led them to a small private chamber behind the throne, settling down on the floor by Harry's side after he took a seat in a battered but well upholstered chair. Everyone remained quiet while an old ork woman brought in a tray of refreshments.

Kham recognized her and his stomach clenched. When she offered him the tray, he was careful not to look at her face. Any other time the selection of treats would have been appetizing, but just now even his old favorite, fried cockroaches, made his stomach turn. The old woman moved on, allowing Neko to make a selection. Kham stood awkwardly before the chair, keeping his eyes on Harry and waiting for the old man to speak first. Harry downed a few of the treats and accepted a cup from the old woman before he spoke. Gesturing toward Neko with his cup, Harry said, "This is your friend, Kham. Are you going to vouch for him?"

Kham nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so." "You remember what that means down here?" "Yeah."

"Does your friend know?" "I'll tell him."

Harry said nothing for a while, and Kham began to wonder if he was waiting for Kham to explain the situation to Neko. If he was, he'd have a long wait. A lot of what Kham would tell the catboy about local customs wouldn't be politic to say here in Harry's office. Fortunately, Neko held back his usual fragging curiosity and kept quiet. Maybe there was something to be said for Japanese manners after all. Finally Harry spoke again.

"You came back, but you didn't come to see us." That was so obvious Kham didn't bother to answer. What was he going to say, anyway? Harry's stare made him nervous.

"Something is bothering you, Kham, and it's not just whether this norm's gonna play by the rules. You wanta talk about it?" Kham shuffled his feet, feeling his usual embarrassment before Harry. The old ork always made Kham feel like a pup. The foot-shuffling trick was something he thought had been left behind when he'd left the Underground. Angry at himself for falling back into it, he forced himself to stand still. Squaring his shoulders, he said, "Maybe. Don't wanta interrupt any ting, dough. Ya got lotsa stuff ta do. Maybe some odder time when ya ain't so busy."

Harry gave him a hard look, then drained his cup. "I may not go topside," he said, balancing the empty vessel on the arm of his chair, "but I've got ears up there. It was your hall that burned. The 'bodies' of you and your crew that were found. I don't have to work hard to guess that this breeder is the 'young norm' whose body was found in your hall."

"If ya know every ting, ya don't need me ta tell ya about it."

"You're wrong, Kham." Harry leaned forward. "I do need you to talk to me. If you're bringing trouble down here, I need to know everything you know about it."

"The fix is in. Ain't gonna be no heat."

"You're sure?"

Kham shrugged an answer.

Harry frowned for a moment then turned to Neko. "Say, kid…"

"Neko," the catboy impudently prompted.

Harry frowned, caught off-guard.

"Call me Neko."

"Awright, kid, have it your way. Down here I can afford to be polite. This is my place, you know, and here the orks are in charge. Your kind doesn't belong here."

"I believe that I have been so informed," Neko said, pointedly rubbing at a developing bruise on his face. ' 'I have been introduced to your hospitality.''

"Oh, don't we sound annoyed." Harry chuckled, then called for more drink. The old woman brought him a refill and took a place on the side away from Scatter, settling down by Harry's chair and resting her head against the arm. Harry took a draught and said, "Well, I've had experience with your kind's hospitality, too."

Neko placidly stared at the darkness behind Harry. Scatter spoke up. "He thinks of himself as different from other norms."

Harry squinted at the rat shaman. "Does he now? Maybe he thinks he's not only different, but better." "They usually do," Scatter said bitterly. Harry harrumphed and redirected his gaze to Neko. "How old am I, kid Neko?"

Neko looked at him and shook his head slightly. "I do not know that much about orks." "Guess."

Neko glanced to Kham in a silent appeal for help. Kham looked away, unwilling to get involved. If Neko thought Kham was abandoning him, tough. The cat-boy would get over it. The lack of support obviously didn't faze Neko, for the catboy spoke to Harry at once.

"You look younger than some of the orks I have seen here. That woman, for example," Neko said, nodding at the one who had served them. "You do not look that much older than Kham, but I know you are, therefore I am confused. Your familiarity with Scatter suggests that you might be of an age with her. Forty years perhaps?"

"Ain't surprised you can't tell." Harry reached a hand down to stroke the gray hair of the woman at his side. "This woman is Sarah, my daughter and Kham's mother. Hard to believe, ain't it? Gray hair, bent back, palsy-used up by the world and bent by the weight of time. Like most orks her age, she's burnt out, a cinder." Harry paused. "She's not even thirty-five years old."

Neko stared at Sarah. The old woman looked back with rheumy eyes and smiled, showing the gaps in her yellowed teeth. Kham had to turn away from his mother. He wanted to remember her the way she had been. Looking at her now made that too hard; she was just too old.

"Appalling, isn't it?" Harry asked Neko. "Age comes to everyone," Neko said quietly. "But if you are her father, why are you not more aged than she?"

Harry laughed. "Me? Me, I'm special. I wasn't always an ork; but then I guess I always was, or I wouldn't be now. That didn't make much sense, did it? I may not be burned out, but I ain't young either, and sometimes I get a bit confused. I'm not immortal, after all. And, like you said, sooner or later we all do have to pay the piper. Let me try again.

"I started my life as a norm like you, back before the turn of the century. I was down in Rainier when Saint Helens and Mount Rainier blew. The skies were gray with smoke for weeks. That was the first I heard of the magic that was coming into the world. Didn't much like it. Liked it even less when the Injuns used their magic to steal the land back from honest folk that had lived on it for generations. I remember the shan-tytowns around Seattle, saw them fill up with every bit of human refuse that could be crammed in, and watched the wall go up around the plex. I don't know who was worse then, the tribal guards with their holier-than-thou attitude, or the UCAS troops, enforcing the repatriation laws, always looking over their shoulders at the Injuns and playing yesmassa. They all treated us like cattle. I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to a person. "I was wrong.

"If you think that living through the hell of those shantytowns will change a person, you're right. But let me tell you, it ain't nothing like what people'11 do to you if you don't look like them anymore. If they can point at you and say, 'Look, that's not human.' You see, come '21 and the goblinization, I went ork. It wasn't a lot of fun. Pain, pain like you can't imagine, and you locked up inside while your body changes. Ever feel your muscles crawl or your bones squirm?"

Harry paused, as if waiting for Neko to answer. Kham knew better. No one ever answered Harry when he told the story. Somehow you just knew he wasn't expecting you to answer, he just wanted you to think about what he was saying. Neko stayed quiet, so Harry went on.

"I learned what hate really was back then. Hate changes people, kid, changes them a lot. People I thought I knew, people I thought were good people, did some pretty awful things. There was nothing to do but hit back. At least that's what I thought then. So I hit back, and went on hitting back for a long time. Sure, I did some things I ain't proud of, but I survived. Just like I've survived everything since then. And I got stronger. It was like some guy once said, if it don't kill you, it'll make you stronger. About eight months after I went ork, Sarah was born. She didn't have her fine tusks then, but you could still see what she was. Her mother wouldn't have anything to do with her, so I took her and left. I think Sarah's mother got one of those special divorces. I don't really know, and I don't care. Why should I? She didn't.

"Sarah and I went through some hard times, but we survived." He looked down and smiled at her, and she beamed back at him. Kham was sickened. The intelligent, vibrant woman who had raised him wasn't there anymore. Her expression was what one might

imagine from' a faithful mutt. Harry didn't seem to notice.

"The Underground didn't always belong to us," Harry said. "But it's ours now. We turned our backs on a world that didn't want us, and we made our own community down here. It was hard at first. Real hard, but we made it work. Most of the halfers that came down here with us couldn't take it, and they eventually left the tunnels all to us. World got easier for them topside once the strangeness eased off a bit; they still look almost human, if you didn't mind looking down at them. And I know a lot of norms who don't mind looking down on folks.

"We- started a new life down here. I found a place and folks who appreciated what I could do. Made a name for myself. And all the time, Sarah was growing up. I was proud when she married and had kids. I thought she was a little young for it, but that was Fifth World thinking. We were in the Sixth World, now, and early on it was plain that orks come into their maturity much sooner than other people. Physically, anyway." He glanced at Kham and winked. Kham glared back. "Then I started to see that Sarah was getting older. Her hair was gray before mine. At first I thought she might be a freak, being the daughter of one, but she wasn't. She was just an ork. The others of her generation were just like her, old before their time. It wasn't fair. Orks were shunned and pushed into the bad places, and we were dying sooner. Just not fair.

"When you're ork, you find out that life ain't fair. You learn that there are some things you just can't fight, like people's hate. You just have to find another way. But age, and time? How do you fight them? Strength can't do it, because age knows how to steal that away when you're not looking. Brains? No luck there either. Orks may not be as dumb as most breeders think, but our best and brightest ain't got an answer to growing old. The breeder labboys haven't done any better. The reaper still waits for us all; he just has an express lane for orks. So orks get old fast, and then they die. Is that fair?"

Harry's spread hands made it clear that he expected an answer this time. Neko replied promptly. "It appears to be nature, sir."

"Yeah, and no one's ever accused nature of being fair." Harry laughed bitterly. "Look at elves. They're children of this new age of magic, just like orks. But they're slim and pretty, like in the fairy tales. Tell me, kid. You ever seen an old elf?"

"No, Harry-saw. "

"I don't think you ever will."

Kham thought about Dodger. Kham had aged, yet the elf still looked just as he had when they had first met five years ago. Even Sally had aged, for all that she was still a beautiful norm. There were new lines around her eyes, harbingers of what was to come. But the elf, the elf looked like a teenager. Kham thought about what the raider leader had said, the one Dodger had called Zip. That old man had known Dodger. Zip had claimed that, as a kid himself, he had run the streets with an elf kid named Dodger. And the guy had recognized Dodger's face.

"It just ain't fair," Harry said.

"Perhaps elves age differently," Neko suggested. "You have told me that orks do, and I have known dwarfs who look much older than their chronological age."

"Sure, the halfers get looking old fast. Got beards down to their belly buttons by the time they're twenty, but they don't change after that. Like the damned elves, they stay the same."

"I meant to suggest that once those metatypes reach physical maturity, perhaps they simply stay physically the same until old age sets in. I read about something like that once. A case where senescence set in and a person showed all the signs of age in only a brief time and died shortly thereafter."

"Fantasy stuff," Harry snorted.

"Are you suggesting that elves are immortal?"

Harry was slow to answer and, when he did, his voice didn't carry its usual conviction. "Me? Naw. I ain't no scientist, but I know nothing natural can live forever.''

"Then you suggest that they have access to some magical way of prolonging life? Perhaps Scatter knows something of that possibility."

Uncharacteristically, the rat shaman had been staying out of the conversation. Now, even with attention focused on her, she kept her head bowed. "I have nothing to say on the subject."

Harry went on, unperturbed by his shaman's reticence. "Don't know about magic. Maybe the elves have got some special magic, maybe not. I don't know. Maybe it's just the way they are."

Kham thought about Zip's remarks and about what he had seen of Laverty. The elf had healed unnaturally fast. Was that a side-effect of life-prolonging magic? If so, it didn't belong to all elves, at least not to that degree. He'd seen Dodger wounded, and knew that the decker didn't heal magically as Laverty had. Maybe this immortality had to be… arranged. Like with magic crystals dug out of the ground in the Salish-Shidhe forest.

"Harry," Kham said, "if ya was an elf and ya had a magic way ta live forever, ya wouldn't want anybody else knowing, would ya?"

" 'Course not."

"And ya wouldn't want anybody knowing how ya did it."

"Makes sense. Leastways, it would to an elf. Those fraggers are too stuck up to be useful to people."

"And if ya lived forever, it would give ya kinda different perspective on life, wouldn't it?"

"I expect it would," Harry said thoughtfully.

"And on death too. Ya could afford ta wait fer things, let time wipe away any ting ya didn't like."

"Makes sense."

"But if ya was a young pup, and ya hadn't gotten yer dose of dis fancy magic stuff, ya might still be impatient, kinda anxious about tings."

"What's your point, Kham?"

Kham cleared his throat. He wasn't exactly sure what his point was, the thoughts were coming fast and he was having trouble sorting them out. "We been done over by an elf, an anxious one, and warned by anodder who said dat he didn't want ta see us killed. Dis odder elf never did say why he was warning us. Maybe he didn't like killing, like he said, but maybe dat meant sumpin' else. Maybe he meant he didn't like killing, but he didn't mind watching folks die naturally. Maybe dis odder elf was willing ta wait and let time take care of his problems, especially since we didn't really know any ting about what we'd gotten inta anyway. Don't take a whiz kid ta know dat killing people always makes waves, starts odder people asking questions. Questions could make more trouble fer dese elves. But dis elf dat came after us, he's a young guy, impatient, like he was too worried ta let time do his work fer him." Harry said, "You wouldn't know any impatient folk, would you, Kham?"

Kham started to snap a reply and stifled it. He didn't want to open old arguments, so he just said, "Maybe dat's how I know one of dem elves was young."

"Takes one to know one," Harry said, still goading.

"Yeah, like dat," Kham agreed. The possibilities of what was going on made the old contentions seem unimportant. "Dat crystal we dug out fer da elves might be da way dey do it. Dere immortality, I mean. If we had it, we might be able ta use it. We can get magicians ta figure it out."

Scatter perked up. She stared avidly at Kham, but didn't offer any suggestions.

"Just what are you thinking about, Kham?" Harry asked.

Kham looked at Sarah and said nothing.

Harry saw where Kham was looking and shook his head. "She's already old, Kham. Even if the crystal can do what you think, I doubt it has the power to reverse aging."

"But Lissa wouldn't end up like her," Kham said softly.

"You're dreaming, Kham." Harry took a sip from his cup. "Think about what you're suggesting. To get that thing, you'd have to go up against some powerful magicians."

"Fought magicians before."

"With magical help," Harry pointed out.

"I'll get help," Kham said defiantly.

"Where?"

"I got friends."

"Who think you're dead."

"I'll tell 'em different."

"Kham, this ain't a battle for orks. It's magic stuff; you don't have the resources. Besides you don't got any proof this idea of yours is right."

"But it might be," Scatter said.

It might. If Kham could win the secret of the elf's apparent immortality, Lissa would never have to get old. His kids could grow strong and stay strong. They wouldn't have to die at an age when norms were just hitting their prime. And it wouldn't be just for them. He wasn't a greedy pig like those elves. He'd share it. Yeah, he wasn't being selfish. He'd be doing this for all orks, making every ork's world better.

Yeah, sure.

Maybe he was just fooling himself, chasing after a pipe dream, and looking for a way to go out in glory and never have to worry about anything ever again. Fighting somebody with the resources of those elves was suicidal. Maybe he was running away. Again.

"Maybe I just gotta fight dis one, win or lose."

Harry looked into his cup and said, "It's your decision, but if you do decide to fight, you need to know who you're fighting."

Harry's words cut straight to Kham's fears.

"I don't think you ought to get involved in this," Harry said. "But if you're gonna, be smart about it. A shrewd general learns everything he can about his opponent. He discovers the enemy's weaknesses and takes advantage of them. He plans to take advantage of them."

Kham knew all that. "And if he ain't got any weaknesses? ''

"Then you've picked the wrong enemy. You can't win if you don't survive the battle."

A valid point. Some orks said the only way to die was fighting, but they were young and stupid. Weren't they?

"That depends on what you are fighting for," Neko said, breaking into the conversation.

Harry stared at the catboy in annoyance, then his expression relaxed and he rubbed absentmindedly at his tusk. "Doesn't seem like much of a win if you can't celebrate."

"Perhaps," Neko said. "It certainly isn't 'a win' if your body survives, but your spirit is lost in the battle."

"Your spirit? You mean like your soul?" Harry snorted. "You're worrying about something that doesn't have much value in this world, kid."

"Doesn't it?"

Souls. Kham thought about a submarine full of bugs, and a wendigo named Janice. The dogboy had talked a lot about souls before he'd sent them off to that sub. The whole thing was supposed to have been some kind of battle to save humanity against some magic monster, but there had been a hidden meaning to what the dogboy had said. Stuff about souls, specifically about Janice's soul; they were supposed to have been fighting for that, too. Had she won or lost her battle? She certainly hadn't been at the party after the run.

Verner had also been one to talk about doing things for other people. Kham hadn't thought much about the dogboy's words at the time, but now everything was different. For the first time, Kham saw that he could do something that might really make a difference. Maybe he really did want to get this immortality stuff for everybody. He felt scared. Not because he might not make a difference, but because he might. Kham wasn't used to thinking like this.

The conference with Harry went on for some time before it ended, drifting from philosophical discussion to practical approaches for working a run against powerful opponents. The question of whether the run would take place was still open when they left, but Neko knew that Kham had made up his mind even if the big ork still did not know it himself. During the walk back to their flop, Kham's monosyllabic answers to questions told Neko that further discussion would have to wait.

As Harry had said, however, the first order of business was knowing your enemy. Neko intensely disliked the idea that some unknown elf had tried to kill him. He intended to find out what was going on, and he wasn't going to wait while Kham tried to make up his mind whether or not to do something.

A direct reconnaissance against their recent employers was currently out of the question. It would expose Cog's deception and that could lead to further attacks against them. That left the indirect approach, which was more satisfying to Neko anyway. If he couldn't go after the opposition, he could go after someone who knew who the opposition was.

But the first order of business was determining what the matter was all about. Kham believed that he and his orks, and Neko as well, had become targets due to the elven desire to conceal the secret of their youth; but the evidence suggested that the elves had more than simple youth. Neko, too, had seen the raider named Zip identify Dodger as a childhood friend. It was entirely possible that in this magical Sixth World the elves had some kind of "immortality factor."

Clearly, all elves were not equal. Dodger's interaction with Zip suggested that the elf had the factor, or at least a part of it. And Dodger's solicitude toward the red-haired magician he had brought to Kham's hall suggested that the decker's companion was the older of the two. The mage's occult healing, a trait not shared with Dodger, might only be due to one being a mundane and the other a mage, or it might be a reflection of a superior immortality factor. Kham's thought that elves might need to acquire the immortality factor could explain the difference. Such a need would explain the avidity with which their recent employers sought the strange crystal. One-perhaps both, but certainly the younger-would, understandably, want to ensure his piece of immortality. Such motivation seemed plausible, but Neko couldn't be sure until he verified this immortality factor and knew the identity of their enemy.

Having determined to uncover the enemy through those who knew something of the enemy's doings, he considered the elves who had come to Kham's hall. Who was this Red Mage? For that matter, who was the Dodger, really? Answering those questions might confirm whether or not this immortality factor existed at all. Certainly the relationship between the two was interesting, suggestive, in fact. Dodger's deference toward the Red Mage seemed the attitude of a student to a sensei, the sort of respect reserved for one, older, wiser, and more skilled than oneself. A most curious arrangement, considering that a decker's concerns were totally removed from those of a mage. Father and son, perhaps? An intriguing thought. Neko promised himself that he would investigate the issue, once more pressing matters were taken care of. Identities first, relationships later.

The Red Mage had shown himself at least somewhat sympathetic to the plight of Neko^and the orks; he had come to warn them of their danger. Kham had suggested that the mage might be exercising a "wait and let them die off naturally" strategy, but Neko couldn't buy it-too many loose ends there, too many ways for it to go wrong. Besides, there had been no hint of danger prior to the Red Mage's warning. If the Red Mage was involved in their enemy's cover-up, his visit had undermined the strategy. Who would not be curious about why someone would want him dead?

No. The Red Mage may have been acting for unknown personal reasons, but Neko was sure he was not allied with their enemy. At least not in this matter. It was more likely the mage opposed something the enemy sought to do. But for all his potential good will, the Red Mage would hardly take direct questions ferreted out.

At least the mage's defenses would not be arrayed against them, not specifically, that is. The Red Mage had implied that he had other enemies and that he would be guarding against them. The other elves-or only one of them, if the Red Mage was to be believed-had already shown themselves paranoid. Had they not sent their raiders to eliminate anyone who knew they had merely acquired the crystal? Their defenses would be active and aggressive. Even if they had been taken in by Cog's deception, they would likely be mounting special guard on matters touching the likely source of their paranoia: the crystal and its capabilities. Who would surrender the secret of immortality easily?

Obviously, some research was in order. Unwilling to wait for Kham, Neko resolved to start his own investigation. The worldwide computer network known as the Matrix offered the best one-stop shopping. Information was the key, and once gained, who knew what doors might be opened? The Red Mage had some sort of connection to those other elves. Had he not known that one of them would strike? The link was hardly that of sworn allies, otherwise there would have been no warning, however belated, of the attack. So how were they connected? Determining the nature of that link might reveal a line of attack against the hidden master of the raiders.

Equally obviously, Neko did not have the proper resources. He was not a decker, nor did he have enough nuyen to hire the world-class decker it would take to penetrate the Matrix security he expected to encounter. Most of the fee from the last run had gone into Cog's coffers, paying for their "deaths," and there was not enough left to hire reputable talent.

So Neko talked to Cog, cajoling and dickering until the fixer offered the services of a certain Matrix runner who operated under the name of Chromium. This person allegedly made runs for the thrill and a percentage of the take. Neko was not happy about relying on someone who would tackle dangerous work without a guarantee of recompense, but Cog vouched for both the skill and the reliability of Chromium.

With time and nuyen in short supply, Neko had agreed to set up a working arrangement. Still, wisdom precluded blind trust, and he decided to test the decker with a series of relatively simple data retrievals, standard dossiers on a variety of personages. Among the files requested were those on a shadowrunning decker named Dodger and one for an unnamed mage whose portrait Neko constructed with a bootleg police composite program. A day later the chips were delivered to the appointed drop-off. Neko hid the bulk of them away for safekeeping-one never knew when data would become important-and popped two of the chips into his telecomp, bringing up the two files he had actually wanted.

Since Dodger's was slim, only a few megabytes, Neko began with it. The first item was a note from Chromium claiming that this poor showing was better than Neko would get from anyone else. There was no hard data, just Chromium's speculations and conclusions. And it wasn't much that Neko didn't already know. Chromium identified Dodger as a wiz decker, mentioning his association with Sally Tsung. Chromium also connected him with a number of runs that had occurred last year. Some of those connections were correct, for Neko had been involved in one of those runs and knew that Dodger had too. Although Chromium didn't mention Neko's part in the matter, the hired decker speculated that the actions had been global in scope, and controlled by a single, unknown master. Observing the details of several incidents of which he had no knowledge, Neko could see how those

runs would have fit into the war against Spider. He found himself impressed at Chromium's powers of deduction. But on Dodger himself, there was nothing hard and factual.

As Neko sat pondering the lack of information on Dodger, the screen flickered. Data evaporated from his screen as he watched. He punched keys, trying to save it, but line after line winked out. He tried all the tricks he knew and failed to get it back. A system check showed the data had been erased from the chips. A few other files had been aifected as well, but the only one that disappeared completely was Dodger's. If this was some trick by Chromium to ensure payment… He tried the file for the Red Mage, half-expecting it to disappear before he could finish with it. He soon forgot his apprehensions when he saw the newsfile clippings that opened the dossier. One after another showed a handsome, red-haired elf identified as Sean Laverty. Neko studied the selection of datapics to satisfy himself that this Laverty and the red-haired elf who had visited Kham's hall were one and the same, finding little reason to doubt it. The visitor might have been a simulacrum or magically disguised, but Neko doubted that. Having seen their employers' disguises fail under stress, he was sure that any masking spell would have faltered when Laverty was injured. Now he understood why Kham had lost his surly manner when Dodger's friend had stepped through the door of the hall. Perhaps it also explained Dodger's deference. Sean Laverty was a member of the Tir Taimgire ruling council.

This was a man with clout. Laverty was not one of the more prominent members like Prince Aithne or Ehran the Scribe, but any Council of Princes member was a powerful political force in the Tir and, by extension, anywhere the Tir had influence. Seattle was only one of those anywheres. The metroplex served as

a principal port for products of the elven nation, and the trade meant a great deal of revenue for Seattle. If what Neko had heard on the streets was correct, the governor was still more than happy to do whatever the elves wanted in order to ensure that the recent trade deal remained viable. There were even whispers that elves from the Tir secretly ran Seattle.

As the shock of discovery wore off, Neko noted another face in the pictures. The person was not prominently featured, nor was he identified, but Neko recognized him. It was the fair-haired elf he had privately named the Light One.

Accessing the public database, Neko ran his own impromptu check. He reasoned that anyone close enough to the Tir Tairngire council to be pictured with its members must be a public figure. Unless, of course, he was only security or an aide. The Light One had been too well-dressed for either. On a whim, Neko also requested a correlation with a description and composite sketch of the Dark One. Signing off more of his dwindling credit, he put in a correlation request to match both faces with names and biographies, then went back to studying Laverty's dossier, letting the library system do its work.

A few hours later, he pulled up the results of his search. No correlation was available on the Dark One, confirming that the dark-skinned elf was not another member of the Tir council nor an officer of the Tir government. The Light One turned out to be Prince Glasgian Oakforest, the eldest son of Prince Aithne. Not a member of the council, but close enough to be trouble. Glasgian had been born in 2034, a mere eighteen years ago. He was young enough to fit Kham's description of an anxious, impatient youth. If Glasgian was the one about whom Laverty had warned them, they would not find it easy to thwart him. Of course, the still-unknown Dark One might be worse.

There was a lot more to leam, but without monetary resources, Neko would have to use ingenuity to do it.

The flop wasn't in the nicest part of town, but the neighborhood wasn't trashed. Some of the property owners still struggled to maintain nice lawns and gardens and to keep their houses well-painted. Neko saw only a few abandoned vehicles among the cars parked along the street. Unfamiliar with the area, he couldn't tell if the neighborhood was on its way up or down. He didn't really care; he was here to do some biz.

The power junction box near the corner suggested that his destination would be well-supplied with heavy-duty lines, which was standard for any house where a decker was operating. Did all the other buildings harbor deckers as well? Or did the inhabitants have other, different needs for extra facilities? Maybe this box was here only for Chromium's convenience? All questions, but minor ones and not really pertinent just now.

There were too many factors operating in this case, too many possible avenues for exploration, and not enough money left to keep sending a decker out again and again, following up each hint of something interesting. If he were a decker himself, he could track down those leads, cutting the time involved and saving money. But then, if he were a decker himself, he would be running the Matrix right now, not walking along this street. Unable to do the work himself and unable to afford the back-and-forth play usually involved in hiring out the work, he had arranged a compromise: today he would work directly with the decker Chromium. Being present while the decker worked would let him direct the decker's skills in the appropriate direction much more quickly.

Halfway down the block he found the sign that an-

nounced the Wayward Home Residential Apartments. He turned onto the walk and moved noiselessly up it and across the porch. The screen door was closed, but the inner door was open. He glanced through, satisfying himself that the hall was empty before entering. Upstairs, he found the door marked Number Seven and knocked twice, then three times, as arranged. He tried the knob and found the door unlocked, also as arranged. He entered and secured it behind him.

Number Seven was a suite comprising a main room, a kitchenette, and at least one more room beyond a closed door. The main room was sparsely furnished, holding only a couch, a rickety dining set of table and three chairs, a freestanding bookshelf, and a single upholstered lounge chair. On the floor by the lounge chair sat a personal computer, its monitor crowned with a cybernetic helmet sitting upon a coiled datacord. The cord connected the helmet to a box jury-rigged to the back of the computer, from which another cord ran to the back wall and through a tiny hole to some unknown connection. The cord went through the wall, of course, because it would have been easier to drill than the painted metal sheathing of the inner door. No hinges snowed on that door, but a triple set of locks did. The arrangement was secure enough to let the decker escape should anyone try to force his way through.

"Good afternoon, Neko," a pleasant but androgynous voice said from the monitor. "Your sidecar's ready.''

Neko turned and found the screen still dark, but he spoke to the device anyway. "Good afternoon, Chromium."

"Hey, if we're riding together, you may as well call me Jenny. That Chromium stuff is just for the shifty suits." "Very well then, Jenny." Chromium might be a name she used with the suits, but she still didn't trust him enough to meet him face to face. She was just being prudent. He didn't mind: most deckers weren't much to look at anyway. "Is everything ready?"

"Hot-wired and revved. Lay your bottom on the seat, pop on the top, and we'll fly." "A moment, please."

He prowled around the room, placing sensors in advantageous positions. The helmet would blind him to the room, and the sounds transmitted through it might overwhelm his natural hearing. Since he did not wish to be surprised, the sensors were necessary to warn him of any intrusion. Jenny would be watching his precautions through a concealed video pickup, but that didn't matter. She would have to understand that he also had to exercise prudence. Satisfied that he would have notice of anyone entering the room, he settled into the chair and lifted the helmet.

It was light for its size, all plastic and composite material. The smooth outer shell covered a tangle of tiny wires and circuitry chips. Before trying it on Neko adjusted the inner headband, but then he had to take it off again and adjust it once more before it sat properly on his head. He felt the pinpricks of the neuro-sensor rods and saw the green LED register proper contact. Light leaked up from beneath the eyeshield, causing the innards of the helmet to glimmer.

"Ready," he announced, then was swirled away into blackness, to be blown at hurricane speed through a ring of lights and blasted into a galaxy of stars. Below him, the Matrix unfolded in all its neon glory. His viewpoint hung suspended over a nighttime city, the like of which had never been seen on the earth. Giant icons in a bewildering variety of shapes and colors marked the cyberspace locations of the megacorps, and towered over the lesser images representing the computer systems of smaller companies. Flitting pulses of

light whipped across the dark space, cars of data on benighted datapath roads. His ears roared with the rushing wind of the silence.

"Want to see what you look like?" Curious as always, Neko replied, "Can you do that?"

"Sure. I'll switch the feed to your screen over to the image monitor."

The sparkling glory of the Matrix winked out, replaced by a plain gray field. In the middle of the endless gray stood a curvaceous chrome biker girl in shiny black leathers. A chrome cat sat on her right shoulder like a modern-age familiar. "You like?"

"Appropriate," Neko murmured. The Matrix returned, and Neko's viewpoint now included the biker girl's spun-silver hair. He tried looking down to see his own chrome paws, but found that he could not. His viewpoint was slaved to that of the decker. Her hair remained as a visual reminder that he was there only as an observer. "Where to?" Jenny asked.

"Let's start with double-checking some of the earlier data."

"Don't trust me?"

"It's not that. There are some ramifications in the Laverty files that I'd like to investigate." "Chilled enough. Let's fly." They did, soaring above the Seattle Matrix construct. With a dizzying shift in perspective, they dove, pulling out to whip along a datapath. They screamed along for barely a second before the Matrix winked off and then on again. As they rose up from the datapath, Neko could see that the Matrix landscape had changed. The Aztechnology pyramid, so prominent a moment before, was nowhere to be seen. Some of the others were still there, but seemed changed in size.

New icons had appeared, among them a cluster of crystalline structures that looked like glittering snow-flakes.

"They look like ice."

"And ice they are," Jenny confirmed. "IC-type ice, intrusion countermeasures. The kind of ice that'll burn you if you touch it the wrong way.''

"But it's so beautiful."

"Sure is.". "We're moving toward them."

"That's were you wanted to go. Second one to the right is Laverty's."

"Then these are the council's data systems."

"Fast boy."

They slid around the edges of the first iceflake and dropped down toward the second. Their point of view continued down, sliding around the major axes and gliding past the interwoven sub-branches, until the multifaceted arms of the structure stretched over them. Neko expected to slip into shadow until he remembered that the only shadows in the Matrix were the ones that had been designed into someone's interface. They halted before one of the lowest arms. It was plain compared to most they had passed.

"Laverty's public office system," Jenny said.

Then they were inside. It seemed like they were standing inside a glacier, but no earthly glacier had ever been composed of lattice walls. A pair of black-gloved hands appeared before Neko. The hands stripped off their gloves and flexed long, tapered fingers of chrome.

"Pick and choose, Neko. The files look clean."

"Let's start with a correlation of multiple locations for public activities by anyone named Laverty."

"You ain't got the bucks and I ain't got the time for that."

"Can you confine it to the last hundred years and weed out anyone with no connection to the old United States or the Tir?"

"Sure. That narrows it down some, but it's still big."

Neko frowned. "So ka. Then start with Scan Laverty himself. Where does he spend most of his public time? Only pull locations he's visited more than once in a year or where he has a business interest." "Null perspiration."

A scrolling list of locations superimposed itself over Neko's view of the crystalline lattice. With only a few exceptions, all of Laverty's public appearances were in Australia, England, Ireland, the former United States of America, and the former Dominion of Canada. "What about the business interests?" "Doesn't have any direct connections," Jenny said. "Supports a lot of charity organizations, though." "Same places?"

After a moment, Jenny said, "Yeah." "What kinds of charities?" "See and learn, curious cat." Flashes of news reports replaced the Matrix imagery. They flew by too fast to absorb, but Neko got a sense of Laverty's involvements. Disaster relief, medical charities, work with the underprivileged, relief for the SINless. It all had a curious ring. The man had seemed too wise to the ways of the shadows to be a squeaky-clean philanthropist.

"Jenny?" The images stopped. "This Xavier Foundation shows up a lot. Let's look into that." "It's guarded."

Instantly suspicious. Neko asked, "Black ice?" "Naw, just shades of gray." "Then let's start with the public stuff." "Okay. I'll patch through to the public base." She was as good as her word, and soon Neko was able to scan whatever he wanted to see in the public records of the Foundation. And what he saw was most interesting. The organization had been founded in the late twentieth century by a man of unknown age, but described as being in his twenties. That man would be in his eighties today. He was something of a recluse, understandable for one described as the heir to an unspecified fortune. There was one picture, taken in connection with the opening of a hospital in Portland, Oregon, sometime around the turn of the century. Though originally a photograph, the image had long since been rendered into a datapic. The most curious thing was that this young man, also named Laverty, looked exactly like the red-haired elf Neko had met. No older, no younger. Of course, the man in the picture didn't have pointed ears; or rather, those ears didn't show, being covered by beautifully coifed hair. The resemblance was too close to be father and son, unless the son had had reconstructive surgery. An unlikely possibility.

Answers always led to more questions. Neko smiled. That was how he liked it. Before the Awakening, this Laverty had run an operation that had sponsored many "special children."

"Jenny, I think we have to look deeper into this operation."

"You think you got something?"

"Let's see, shall we?"

"I think I like you, Neko. You're almost nosy enough to be a decker."

"Curiosity can be a curse. It can take you where you'd rather not be."

Jenny laughed. "Sure, but if it's all tame, there ain't no fun."

They rose through the crystalline lattice and raced along icicles of dazzling beauty. Despite Jenny's forebodings, for several moments it seemed that nothing was in their way. Then the bubbles frozen in the icicles around them began to flow, converging toward them. "Uh-oh," Jenny muttered. "What is it?" "WeVe been spotted."

Neko's perspective shifted dizzily. "What's happening? What are you doing?''

"Running for cover. I had to load a lot of cutters for this run, so I'm not packing any heavy fighting programs."

The perspective shift halted with jarring suddenness.

"Drek!" The frustration in Jenny's voice was clear even through the voice modulator. "Hello, Jenny."

Neko heard the words in his head but saw no source. He craned his head, trying to force the interface to shift perspective. He wanted to see who was addressing them. Slowly Jenny shifted her orientation, meeting with the intruding interface.

They were faced by an ebon boy in a glittering cloak of silver sparks. The icon was smaller than Neko expected. Had it been real, the figure would have been almost his size.

"Sorry, Jenny," the ebon boy said. "Even your boss' connections don't get you in here. Goodbye."

The boy waved a hand and a jolt like a roundhouse punch jarred Neko. The screen went dark. From the other room, a crash signaled that Jenny had been affected as well. Neko ripped off the helmet and ran to the door. He knew he couldn't breach it, so he started to work on the locks. Behind him, the computer spoke with Jenny's voice.

"It's okay. Just a little bit of dump shock." "What happened?" "We got kicked out." "Another decker?"

"Yup."

"Can we go back?"

"We could, but we won't. At least not me. You can try somebody else, but I don't think they'll get anywhere against the Dodger."

Neko wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "That was Dodger?"

"In the electrons."

Neko was shocked, but not really surprised. He'd known Dodger was a decker and that Dodger was connected to Laverty. Who better to defend Laverty's secrets? The guardian decker's swift response to invasion suggested the importance of what was being protected. "He's that good?"

"The Dodger used to be good. Now he's special." Special? Indeed he might be. Special enough to be one of Laverty's "special children"? Laverty seemed to have been born in a time when elves were not yet supposed to exist. Was the same true for Dodger? Zip's testimony said so.

Elves older than magic. That went counter to the accepted theories about the awakening of magic and the beginning of the Sixth World. Clearly, the elves had secrets. It could well be that one of those secrets was immortality. Kham could be right about the crystal and what it represented.

Stealing that secret from the elves would be a coup, and using the secret would be an even greater one. The runners who achieved it would be immortal-not just among the shadows. They would live long after their deaths in the tales that inspired those who came after. Sure, it would be dangerous, but Neko knew he would not miss this run for his life. Neko wondered what his old master would think.

Agnes Tsossie, the security manager of Andalusian Light Industries, cowered before Glasgian like the human worm she was. She was right to fear his anger; she had not properly discharged her duty. For the moment, however, he would not express that anger. He would wait until he was satisfied that he knew the reasons for her failure, and had confirmed that the situation offered no threat to his plans. Until then, she remained a useful tool for his use. If she performed well in cleaning up the mess, he might even let her live. After all, it was her first failure.

Surveying the damage in the corridor, he took in the bullet holes, the explosion scar, the smoke stains, and the rusty blotches. A small battle, but a battle nonetheless. A battle that should never have taken place. "You have an explanation, I trust," he said, without deigning to look at her.

For a moment she said nothing. Gathering her courage, he assumed. She was competent in her field, and though he had never told her what had happened to her predecessor, she would know. When she did speak, her voice was marvelously well-controlled.

"As you have seen, sir, they broke in along the north perimeter, bypassing our alarms. Judging by the debris, their equipment was very sophisticated, well beyond what one would expect for a random group of shadowrunners. The conclusion must be that they were a corporate strike team. Our budget for defensive systems precludes complete security against those kinds of resources. We were unable to take any prisoners, so, unfortunately, I cannot confirm for you who the raid's sponsor was."

Glasgian waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care about the details or about your excuses. What I want to know is how they knew to strike at all."

From the corner of his eye, Glasgian watched her smooth her hair back in a nervous gesture. "I cannot answer that without knowing their objective. Without prisoners to question, that piece of data will remain unknown."

He turned and stared at her, letting his disdain show. "They came in from the north, did they not? Less than a hundred meters from the north wing of the light assembly building. They were headed toward Basement Level Four, were they not?"

Tsossie was not a pretty woman and her frown made her less so. "Possibly. They never reached it, though, so we can't be sure that it was their target. We have so many potential targets in the facility."

She knew where they were headed as surely as he did. He could see it in her eyes. "Basement Level Four."

She shook her head in brazen and open disapproval of his categorical statement. "I know you have ordered increased security in that area, sir, but your concerns are not known to outsiders. They would not know you place a high value on whatever is down there. Your desire to keep your new project secure seems to be prodding you to unwarranted conclusions."

Such cheek! He opened his mouth to put her in her lace, but she didn't give him the chance.

"We may have had a perimeter breach, but none of the raiders escaped; therefore we have lost nothing. our projects, including that in BL4, are still secure. will not deny that a threat exists, but I am prepared toj see that security remains good. I could do a better job, however, if T knew what I was guarding. I could be more confident in evaluating the threats we might be facing or in mounting more effective countermea-sures."

Indeed, she might. But she might also use the knowledge to her own advantage; if she hadn't done so already. Being a mere human, she sought her own advantage, no matter how fleeting it might be. Perhaps she had been involved in the raid herself, tipping off the unknown sponsors to Glasgian's treasure. If so, she was a fool. Sooner or later, he would find out and, if she was guilty of treachery, she would regret it for the rest of her short life. Petty, fleeting advantages. Such ephemera were attractive to norms, he supposed, because their lives were so short.

"As to more effective countermeasures, I shall handle that. I will arrange for additional magical security. You have no problem with that, I trust?"

"None, sir."

Perhaps. Perhaps not. "I will have Madame Guis-cadeaux report to you in the morning. She is a student of mine and I have implicit faith in her skill and loyalty. You will treat her as you would me."

"Yes, sir."

"And as to your level of knowledge, you have all that you need to know," he told her. "Unfortunately I do not. I must know who sent them."

"I cannot tell you that at this time. We have the lab technicians analyzing the raiders' equipment, but the preliminary reports are not encouraging. They were professionals."

"I did not expect them to carry identification cards."

"Of course not, sir. No one would. But corporate raiders are often equipped with products of their own corporation or its trading partners. Easy access, I suppose. These were carrying products of more than one megacorporate family; an attempt to appear as independent shadowrunners. We found nothing that was reliably incriminating, although a preponderance of the circuits in their equipment have manufacturing marks belonging to Miltron. I cannot place enough confidence in that report to target Miltron for reprisals."

Miltron? The name was unfamiliar, but that was not surprising. No one could remember all the companies on the globe. Tracking the megacorporations was hard enough. One couldn't always know all of their subsidiaries, trading partners, and suppliers. If she saw fit to mention the name, she would know about the company. He decided to let her enlighten him. "Miltron?"

"A small multinational trading in security magic and tech. Their equipment would be an obvious choice for penetrating our facility. Therefore the presence of such equipment is no sure indicator that Miltron itself is involved."

"Bring me a file on them."

"Yes, sir." Tsossie walked away and entered a room halfway down the corridor. Glasgian contemplated the damaged corridor. Extermination of the raiders had disturbed its serenity. In a few minutes, Tsossie returned and said, "If you will follow me, sir. I have a terminal ready for you."

Glasgian followed her. The terminal was indeed ready and he scanned the data. It was incomplete. "There is no data on the owners of this company."

"I can call up a listing of companies involved in the holding corporation that controls Miltron, but beyond that layer of corporations, the web expands. The ultimate holdings are unclear, and I thought it best not to weight mere possibilities with the appearance of certainty."

"Show me."

She edged past him to access the terminal. In a few seconds a list of company names appeared on the screen. She stepped back diffidently. For a moment he looked at her instead of at the screen and she stiffened under his scrutiny. She had always shown such efficiency, often answering his questions before he asked them. Not having the list of Miltron's owners ready was uncharacteristic. Perhaps she was hiding something; he would put a watchdog on her. On the other hand, perhaps she was just being cautious. He had not yet punished her; having failed once, she might simply fear a second, more personally disastrous failure. He gave off his scrutiny of her and pondered the names. "Dig deeper."

"It will take time."

"Do it. However, do not take too much time." If his enemies knew of what he and Urdli had hidden in Basement Level Four, he needed to know. So far they had managed to keep secret the location of their prize, or so he had believed until last night's raid. One of the names on the screen caught his attention, suggesting a possibility that had not occurred to him.

"One of the parent companies, Southern Cross Pharmaceuticals, is of especial interest to me."

"Why, sir?"

Tsossie's voice held no hint of fear, but there was definite interest there. Had she taken SCP's coin? Even if she hadn't and wasn't trying to find out if he was on to her, she had no business questioning his reasons.

"Just do your job," he snapped.

"Yes, siri"

"Go! Do it!"

She fled the room and he sat down in the chair placed before the terminal.

Could it be that this raid had not been directed by outsiders?

SCP, as its name suggested, was a concern operating in the southern hemisphere. Australia, to be specific. Could it be coincidence?

Glasgian recalled hearing of SCP's rise to prominence in the Australian business community. It had involved making an unexpected fortune in a mineral deal. Coincidence? Unlikely. For Urdli, the uncovering of vast mineral wealth would be a trivial exercise.

Urdli knew where the crystal was being kept, and he knew the security arrangements. Was the Australian making a play to cut Glasgian out? Perhaps Urdli believed that removing the crystal from Glasgian's control would slow him down to the snail's pace that Urdli demanded.

If so, that dark-skinned fossil had no idea how wrong he was.

Despite what Glasgian had told Urdli, his own analyses were proceeding well and he anticipated having the answers he wanted very soon. And once he had those answers, he would no longer need Urdli. He would be especially glad not to have to listen to Urdli's constant corrections and homilies, so like those he endured from his father.

Once Glasgian had wrested the secrets from the crystal, he would have the power he sought. And nothing was going to stop him from wielding that power, using it to blast away the shadow of his father and to take his rightful place among the rulers of the new order.

Kham didn't know how the catboy had managed to set up a meet with Dodger, but took it as a sign that Neko was learning his way around the Seattle shadows. The kid didn't have the same problem as Kham and his runner's. Norms were far more common in Seattle, and Asians were no small portion of that population. Being able to blend in more easily topside, Neko could leave the Underground more safely. Even now, two weeks after the burning of the hall, Kham was anxious about going topside.

But the catboy had been insistent, claiming that this meet would help Kham make up his mind. So now they were waiting in a loft on the Redmond side of Bellevue, their bikes stashed back of a garage down the street. Kham didn't like leaving his Scorpion that way-anybody could walk into the alley, jump the engine, and ride off-but there hadn't been much choice, not even any local gangers to sell them protection. If Rabo or Ratstomper had come, they could have stayed to watch the bikes, but Kham thought things were still too hot for any of the others to come along topside. That meant nobody to watch the bike. There wasn't supposed to be a lot of crime, grand larceny included, in Bellevue, but then there wasn't supposed to be a lot of crime anywhere in Seattle, according to the governor. Just the thought of leaving the big Scorpion unguarded made Kham's bottom itch.

Dodger arrived and there were friendly greetings all around. Kham was surprised that the elf was actually polite. Surprised and suspicious. Maybe Neko hadn't set up the meet. Maybe this was the Dodger's meet, and the catboy was getting Kham involved in more elf drek. But Kham's suspicion eased a bit when the elf melted into one of the chairs and draped a black leather-clad leg over the arm. That was Dodger's casual pose, the one he used when he wanted to show he wasn't really interested in Sally's latest run. If the elf was fixing, he'd be more formal.

Neko cut the prelims, stared straight at the elf, and said, "You were born before the Awakening."

The statement caught Kham off guard, but Dodger didn't even twitch. He just smiled blandly at Neko. "Preposterous, Sir Cat. Everyone knows that there were no elves before the Awakening."

"What everyone knows is rarely what is real, and there are certain special histories known to the special few, are there not?"

" 'Twould seem you seek to spin a fairy story of conspiracies and shady doings." Dodger yawned. "Pray, Sir Cat, make it brief. I bore so easily, especially when there are real-world deeds to be done."

"I have not brought you a story, Dodger. Just conclusions. I find you prime evidence for one particular conclusion that seems inescapable.'' "And what, prithee, is that?" "That elves are older than the magic." "You leap so blithely, Sir Cat. I must admire your agility, though your wisdom escapes my sight. Your mystery is no mystery and your great conclusion erroneous. Elves are simply a magical expression of the genetic code of humanity. In the absence of mana, there are no elves."

"Yet you were born before 2011." "You have obviously assembled some data to convince yourself of that.'' Dodger turned a bemused face to Kham. "Have you seen this patented drek, Sir Tusk?"

"Ain't." And he hadn't, but for the moment he was inclined to play along with Neko's game and follow the catboy's lead. "But if da catboy says he's got it, I tink he does. Ya gonna come clean, elf?"

"Clean? Clean? What would you know of that, Sir Tusk?"

Kham sucked in air and clenched his fists. He wanted to smash the fancy-talking elf in the face and shove some of those pearly teeth down his throat, but a feather-light touch on his shoulder restrained him.

Neko waited until Kham let go of the breath before speaking.

"You'll not distract us with taunts and insults, Dodger." Neko produced a datachip from somewhere about his person and flourished it. "We know your history."

"Do you?"

Neko smiled the way his namesake might over a captured mouse. "Major William Randall and his tragic wife, Angelica. Beverly Park. Zip and the Hooligans. The fire at Everett Community College. Ice Eyes Estios. Teresa."

Kham furrowed his brow at the list of names. He couldn't make sense of them or see any connections, but the elf obviously did; Dodger's eyes were narrowed into slits and his expression was hard and sour as an unripe fruit.

"Enow!'' Dodger threw himself out of his chair and stalked across the room. He stopped at the wall and, after a moment, glared over his shoulder at Neko. "You are a most curious cat, Neko-«z«."

"No argument," the catboy said with a grin. "So satisfy that curiosity and tell us how can an elf be born before any elves are born?''

Dodger returned slowly to his chair and stood looking down at it as if struggling with whether he should sit or not. In the end, he did, though not so casually as when he first arrived. Speaking softly and slowly, he said, "I am a spike baby, born at a time and in a place where the mana was stronger for a while. Elven genes express when the mana level is high enough. At certain times, and in certain places, the level was high enough for the genes to activate. 'Tis not such a great mystery. There are others like me. The records of such temporary resurgences of magic exist." "In dark corners," Neko said. Dodger shrugged. "Perhaps 'tis as you say. I did nothing to hide such facts. What matter is it? Those events are decades old; spike babies are a phenomena of no import, for we live in the Sixth World and elves are common now, their existence notable but not noteworthy. You act as if you hold some dark and terrible secret over me. Pray, what is the point of this tiresome exercise? Surely this is no bout of unbridled and pointless curiosity."

Kham snorted. "Might be. Ya never know with the catboy."

"Poor bluff, Sir Tusk. I have seen from your face that you are innocent of much of your companion's doings, yet you have come with him. Hitherto you have always sought your own interests before those of others, and I have had no indication that your inclinations have altered. Thus, you are aligned with him in this invasion of privacy.

"We have run the shadows together, Sir Tusk. I turn to you to sidestep the inscrutability of your companion. What would you have of me? For the sake of our former fellowship, have done with this fencing. Strike home and be done!"

Kham wasn't sure how much of the elf's theatrical speech was real and how much show, but something in the appeal touched him as honest. The elf was really uncomfortable about the topic. Kham liked that. It was nice to see the elf squirming for a change.

"So, how old are ya?"

"I remember the broadcast about the fall of the Empire State Building in the New York City earthquake," Dodger said quietly.

"Drek! Dat was nearly fifty years ago. Ya look like a teenager."

" 'Tis the way elves are made."

"Ya ever gonna get old?"

"Each day I grow older."

"Drek, ya weaselly elf! Ya know what I mean."

"Ease off, Kham," Neko said softly. "We have no

need to insult Dodger, no matter how evasive he is.

You understand that one cannot always speak plainly,

don't you?" He turned to Dodger. "You are under

constraints in this matter, are you not?'' "Believe as you must," the elf replied. "Oh, I shall," Neko assured him. "Laverty is an

elf like you."

"In truth, you have seen him. You know he is." "I meant something more specific," Neko said

coolly. "Laverty is older than you. Is he another spike baby?"

Dodger inclined his head in a sign of affirmation.

Neko poked again. "Surely the mana spikes would have been noticed if they had occurred before the general return of magic."

"If they had been common," Dodger agreed. "But they are, or I should say, were not. Spikes are transient phenomena, short-lived. They come into existence as the mana rises, and vanish as it falls. At those times magical effects certainly occurred. Some things not generally possible until the dawn of this new age did happen. Not often, and certainly not everywhere. And, indeed, 'tis true that some spike-resultant phenomena were noticed, and reported, but the events and beings were dismissed as the fantasies of tabloid journalism."

"Such a casual discussion of history suggests an intimate knowledge."

"Or merely an interest in older matters," Dodger remarked offhandedly.

"Perhaps. But your easy acceptance of mana spikes compels my belief in them and I think I would have no trouble confirming the previous existence of spikes. I find the concept fascinating. Their existence requires a flow of magic, because each spike would, perforce, have a rising and falling component. Each an up and a down that has happened more than once." "I said nothing of repetitive spikes." "No, but you did say there were many spikes. They need not occur in the same place or over some definite period of time to suggest a repetitive nature to the overall phenomenon of spikes. Tides rise and fall but reach different levels, and tides are very cyclic. Your description of spikes makes me think of tides, of a repetitive element to the presence of mana. Cycles, perhaps. Have you heard of Ehran the Scribe's cycle theory?"

Without a pause, Dodger said, "I have said nothing of cycles."

"You have referred to a return of magic and a resurgence of mana. More than once. Those words refer to repetition, and strongly imply a waxing and a waning."

Dodger turned away to stare out the window. "I am no expert on magic."

"But you know one," Neko said, smiling at the elfs back.

"I am not conversant with cycles or magic, but I do know enough to warn you that digging into this matter is unhealthy." Dodger faced them. "Leave it alone." "A threat?"

"A warning. Such activity will bring you to the attention of certain persons…" "Elves?"

"Persons, Sir Cat. Persons who will take your curiosity ill. The proverbs, even in your country, tell of the results of undue curiosity.''

Dodger might be trying to hide it, but Kham guessed that the decker's "persons" were indeed elves, elves who were already hiding certain other secrets, elves who went around digging up fragging big crystals covered with carvings. Well, those elves didn't have to

know that he and the catboy were on to them until it was too late for them to do anything about it. But right now, the attention of elves, any elves, was undesirable. Knowledge about elves, however, was a valuable commodity, and the catboy was persistently pursuing that knowledge.

"Is Urdli one of these persons?" Neko asked nonchalantly.

Dodger started at the mention of the name that meant nothing to Kham. "How do you know that name?"

"Good research. Connections. A collection of coincidences that must, perforce, be more than coincidences. Let us say that I put together a glimpsed face, a certain ruthlessness, memories of such ruthlessness shown in certain operations involving an elf of color, your own connection to this matter, and your previous connections to another matter."

Head spinning, Kham was beginning to be glad the catboy was on his side.

Dodger sighed. "All this in the name of idle curiosity, Sir Cat?"

"Hardly idle."

"Yeah," Kham agreed. "We got our reasons."

" Tis likely. I hope they are good enough for the risks you run."

"Run risks before," Kham said. "It's what runners do."

" Tis true. Too true."

"How old is Urdli?" Neko asked.

Dodger stared at the catboy for a long time before deciding on his answer. " 'Twould be fair to say he is well beyond his youth."

Kham again wanted to smash the evasive elf in the face, but Neko's feather touch was back, calming him. Kham realized that the catboy was right. Violence wouldn't get a response from Dodger. The catboy knew what he was doing, Kham left him to it.

"So he is older, too. I had suspected as much. Is he older than Laverty?''

Dodger said confidently, "You shall find no records of his birth."

Neko leaned eagerly forward. "How old is he, Dodger?"

"As I have said, he is no youth. You'll get no other answer from me, for I know not the truth of the matter. Were I to lie to you in this, you would take it ill. And were I to tell the truth as I understand it, you would think me a liar.''

"Very old, then," Neko said, and the silence enveloped the three of them.

Kham didn't know who this Urdli was, but he had a suspicion. The catboy had said "an elf of color," and Kham had only encountered one of those recently- the Dark One. Like all the other elves, he looked like a kid, but here was Dodger saying that this Urdli was an old man. Kham could see now that he had been right; the elves did have a secret of youth, perhaps even of immortality. This was why Neko had set up the meeting, to prove to Kham that he had been right, to show him that they had to do something. "He has it, doesn't he?"

"Has what?" Dodger asked innocently. Kham knew better than to believe that act. "Our turn fer secrets," he said.

"You do not know where you tread." ' 'We know more dan ya tink, elf.'' "Sir Tusk, knowledge will not save you if you blunder around in your usual fashion." "Ain't gonna blunder." "Pray it be so," Dodger said solemnly. Neko smiled. "Have no fear," he told the elf. "Like my namesake, I shall tread lightly."

Dodger looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "If you must walk this path, Sir Cat, you had best tread lightly and teach your friends to do so as well. Otherwise you had best hope that having cat for a namesake endows you with as many lives."

"Where are we going?" the catboy shouted over the roar of the bikes' engines.

"Talk ta Laverty."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Ya said we could talk ta Dodger 'cause he was coming inta town wit Laverty, right?"

"Hai, for a government conference. We can't get into that. Besides, Glasgian might be there. If he saw us, he'd know we're not dead."

"Ain't gonna see Glasgian. Conference's a business deal wit da government, right? Well, da payroll boys don't do overtime, not da big boys anyway. So's it's gotta be over 'bout da time business is over. Which is 'bout now. We go wait and follow Laverty when he leaves."

"And if he leaves by air?"

Kham hadn't thought about that. "Ya got a better idea?" he snarled angrily. 1

"I don't see any need to speak to Laverty. We got our confirmation from Dodger. Much better we retrieve the analysis on the splinter you got from the crystal's frame."

"Go if-ya want. I want ta hear what Laverty's got ta say.''

Neko didn't reply, but he didn't leave either. They found spots behind a vendor's truck a half-block down from the Jarvis Building. They waited, buying some food from the vendor so they wouldn't look too suspicious. Kham wolfed down the first of his dogs, while Neko was more fastidious in eating the seaweed-wrapped whatever-it-was that he bought. Kham was halfway through his second dog when he spotted a crowd of media types gathering on the steps of the building. He elbowed the catboy and pointed with his head.

A few minutes later a knot of elves exited the building and were instantly rushed by the media. One pair of elves sidestepped the mob and walked down the steps unmolested, a trick which Kham knew required real magic. It was no surprise that one of the pair was Laverty. A sleek black Euro Westwind stretch limousine waited for them at the curb. Laverty got into the back of the limousine, and the aide, after assuring himself that his boss was safely inside, climbed into the front seat on the passenger side. The doors closed and the limo pulled out into traffic. Kham and Neko followed.

It took a couple of blocks to catch up, but once they had, Kham pulled his Scorpion out and edged up along the Westwind's port side. When he was even with the rear door, he reached out and tapped on the window. The darkened panel polarized transparent, then it slid down, putting Kham face to face with Laverty. The elf was alone in the back compartment and the screen to the front was up and still dark. The red-haired elf gazed calmly at Kham as though it were an everyday occurrence for his limousine to be accosted by an ork riding a Harley Scorpion. Somehow, Kham suspected that the elf had known he was coming.

"Ain't no way ta hold a conversation," Kham hollered over the noise of his hog.

"I had not planned a conversation." The elf didn't shout, but Kham heard him easily anyway.

"Make plans." Kham slid a hand down to the firm-point on his bike, where he had reinstalled the Uzi after the meet with Dodger. Laverty's eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to Kham's. There was no worry in Laverty's eyes, and that was spooky. But Kham should have known better. This elf had stood up to worse, even without an armored limousine. Kham and his Uzi were no threat to the mage.

"Want ta talk about da Xavier Foundation?"

Laverty's eyes narrowed for the briefest of instants. "A few moments only. Drop back a block and follow."

Kham did as he was told. He didn't have much choice. Confronting Laverty this way had been a gamble, but perhaps it was now paying off. Certainly, he had been unable to think of any other way of contacting a Tir Tairngire council member without alerting Glasgian.

The sleek, dark vehicle was easy enough to follow in traffic, especially on bikes. When other cars got between them and the limo, Kham and the catboy just slid through the jam on the road lines. There were curses and the occasional threat, but Kham revved his engines when cutting off those who offered the first, and gave the finger to the rest.

After about half an hour, the limo pulled into an alley in the outskirts of the downtown business district. It was well past business hours and the area was quiet. It was too early for the after-hours delivery people and only the first scavengers were coming out, to scurry and hunt in the brief time they had before the cops began their evening patrols. The limo stopped halfway through a turn into a parking garage, the nose of the car disappearing into the structure's darkness.

Laverty's window was transparent, and Kham watched him watching them as they approached.

Kham brought his bike to a halt, but didn't bother to put down the kickstand. He draped his hands over the high-rise handlebars, fingers dangling. The sweat-warmed grips were a warm and comforting presence under his meat wrist, and the pressure sensors from his artificial arm gave him the same positional information. Either hand could reach a firing stud for the Uzi. Kham waited until the catboy's bike rolled up beside him.

"Dodger says you're older den he is." "And you believe him, don't you?" "We know he was born before da Awakening." "Do you?" Laverty evaluated them as he spoke. He must have found them convincing, because he went on, "I can see you believe it, too. All right, then, I will not deny it. Dodger must have told you about spike babies. What else would I be but just an older spike baby?"

"Many things," Neko said. "We got a good idea about what your kind can do," Kham said.

"What about Urdli? Dodger says he's older still," Neko said.

"He told you that?"

Kham answered the elf with silence, and he was glad that the catboy played along. Let the elf make what he would of their silence. Laverty was playing information control, using innuendo and misdirection as a shield. Let him have a taste of it himself.

"Very well then. No matter what Dodger told you, and however you react to what I have to say, I can see that you will draw your own conclusions, regardless of the facts." Laverty sighed softly. "I am not the oldest of my metatype, certainly. There are and always have been places that are foci of magical energy. Even when the mana is strong, it is stronger in such places. At these places, special magics can sometimes be worked. Urdli is Australian, and Australia has many of these focal points. There are only a few left in Europe, places like Stonehenge and an old crypt in Aachen, but the Pacific Northwest has many, which is why Tir Tairngire is situated where it is, as I am sure you have guessed."

"Australia and the Northwest are wild places, or at least moderately so. They are places where man has not entirely disturbed the natural state as extensively as. say, in Europe, where he has lived and polluted and worked the land for centuries," Neko said.

"As you say, the living world is the source of all mana, and mankind has not been kind to the natural world," Laverty answered solemnly.

"So dere was magic before da Awakening," Kham said.

Laverty spoke in a coy tone. "The evidence does seem strong, doesn't it?"

"And there are cycles of magic, with this but the latest," Neko said.

"If you wish to believe in cycles, perhaps you should go talk to Ehran the Scribe. I'm sure he will be happy to expound on the subject. On the other hand, such effort may not be worth your while."

Ehran? Was Urdli a street name for the Scribe elf? "He's not da odder elf, is he?" Kham asked suspiciously.

Laverty laughed as his window started to slide up. "Your small friend knows better than that." The elf was still smiling as the panel winked to opacity and the car began to roll. The conversation was over.

Kham stared stupidly as the limo pulled the rest of the way into the garage and the roll-down grill slid into place, preventing them from following. What more could he have said or done? Would Laverty have helped if Kham had asked? He doubted it. For all his friendliness, the red-haired elf was still playing his own game, whatever it was. But Laverty's departure without threats or warnings suggested that he would not interfere should Kham and the others take up arms against the elf who had tried to kill them. Or the whole thing might just be an elven way to set them up.

"Now what?" Neko asked.

"Now we go see about dat fraggin' splinter."

"Good evening, gentlemen," the labcoat said when he met them at the back door of the facility. He looked something like a lab rat himself, all pointy nose and white hair and chinless face, but Cog had vouched for his abilities. Besides his price wasn't too bad. He led them inside and down a corridor that smelled of things Kham couldn't identify, but didn't like anyway. When they reached a room full of humming machines, computer workstations, and glass-fronted cabinets, the labcoat picked up a small glass vial with the remains of their sample and said, "I'd like to ask you a lot of questions about where you got this."

"Ya ain't gettin' paid ta ask questions, just ta answer 'em."

"No need to get testy. I understand the terms of our agreement. As soon as I can verify the transfer of the rest of the agreed-upon price, I'll answer your questions as best I can."

Kham thought there was something off about the labcoat. The guy was too edgy. Nevertheless, he agreed to the transfer, watching quietly while the scientist verified it. More credits gone. Kham hoped it was worth it. Letting his impatience show, he asked, "How old is it?"

The labcoat sat back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him. "Very."

"Dat all ya'got ta say?" Kham was livid. "You're supposed ta be an expert."

"No violence!" The labcoat was sweating. "There are guards within call."

"Dey ain't gonna be fast enough," Kham said as he pulled his Uzi. "You're gonna do better or you're gonna get ventilated."

Neko spoke from beside him. "That will not help our position, Kham. There are a lot of guards."

"Fine by me."

"But not by me. Perhaps we should let this man tell us more. We certainly have paid for more. I am sure an expert of his caliber has more to tell us."

Kham grimaced, reluctantly holstering his weapon. "Suppose so."

The labcoat looked relieved, but his sweat had stained wide circles under the arms of his labcoat, and he stank. He tried putting a good face on it, though. "No supposition about my expertise, chummer. But I can't tell you what I don't know. This little sliver of yours is a puzzle."

"Elucidate," Neko suggested.

"Yeah," Kham agreed. "And tell us everything about it, too."

The labcoat smiled in a way that told Kham that he'd shown his ignorance and allowed the guy to feel superior again.

"Normally, we can place the age of wood by comparing the pattern of the growth rings with catalogued patterns from trees of known age, but your sample was too small for a dedrochronological analysis. The standard dating technique for organic material is a ra-diometric analysis using carbon 14. It is based on a comparison between the amount of carbon 14 remaining in the sample to the known ratio for living organisms, a fairly constant value. There are some variations in the ratio over time, so there are some correction factors to be applied, but in general, the method is quite accurate. The analysis was quite simple, but I didn't believe the results at first because the wood seemed so recent."

"Just what didn't ya believe?"

"All of the carbon 14 has been converted to nitrogen 14."

"So how old does dat make it?"

"I don't know."

"Whaddya mean, ya don't know?"

"I can't tell. The carbon 14 method is only good to about fifty thousand years before the present era. In organic materials older than that, all the carbon 14 has been converted, just as in this case. So, without knowing the context or having no other material that might be datable by another method, I cannot tell you how old this wood is." He held up the small vial and ruefully frowned at it. "Beyond saying that it is likely more than fifty thousand years old. Perhaps if you gave me more information? Some sample of the sediments in which it was found?"

Kham started to lose his temper again, but Neko touched his arm in a gesture that was becoming familiar. Kham clamped down his anger while the cat-boy reached out and took the vial from the labcoat.

"Arigato, doctor. We appreciate your efforts."

They didn't talk about it until they had gone to ground at Club Penumbra. The noise, and the club staff, were their insulation, making them safe from listeners. Jim brought them beers. Kham downed his, but Neko just leaned over his glass and said, "You realize what this means?''

"Yeah," Kham groused. "We just blew too much nuyen on a wurtless labcoat. Dat stick of wood ain't any help."

Neko chuckled. "Not directly. But its existence is highly suggestive."

"Of what?"'

"Of the longevity of elves and their magic. That frame was built by human, or metahuman, hands more than fifty thousand years ago. The carving and the construction were too advanced for the primitive cultures of the time, even if there had been any in the Salish-Shidhe back then. The carvings on the frame were derivative of those on the crystal, further suggesting that the crystal itself and whoever carved it are older still."

"Ya tinkda elves did it?"

"They knew where to find it."

"Yeah, so dey did." Pieces were beginning to line up, suspicions turning to certainty. If there were elves, there was magic, and if there were really old magic, the elves weren't telling the whole story. Maybe that Ehran the Scribe elf was the one telling the truth. Maybe there were cycles to the magic. It all swirled around into one shape, one thought that kept hanging there before Kham's eyes. Old magic meant old elves. Old elves that looked like kids. Immortality. "Dey got it, don't dey?"

"It seems so."

"Ya want it, catboy?"

Neko sat silently for a moment. "Personally? No."

That was not the answer Kham had expected, but the catboy sounded sincere. "Why not?"

"Personal reasons."

"Ya been a good chummer. I ain't gonna pry. But I gotta know sumpin' else. Ya gonna help?"

Neko raised an eyebrow. "That depends."

"Can't pay ya, leastways not yet."

"Then you are going after it."

Kham's throat was dry. He was scared. Going after the crystal meant going up against Glasgian and maybe the whole Tir council. He had a right to be scared. But the prize. Oh, the prize! "Gotta try."

Neko smiled tightly. "I have to admit to being curious about the result." "Den you're in?" "I'm in."