Crossroads (18 page)
Her aura looked strong and stable. There was a high level of tension and euphoria that I’ve learned to associate with deckers in the ’trix. I watched for a moment, studying her aura. I hadn’t really had much of a chance to up until now. A few seconds later there was a burst of smug satisfaction as she tapped several more keys and jacked out.
I let my astral sight drop away and went over to her. “Any luck?”
“Maybe.” She slid the deck’s roll-out viewscreen into place and tapped a couple of keys. A long series of notes, symbols, and diagrams scrolled past.
“What do you make of it?” she asked.
I shook my head and reached out to pull the deck a bit closer where I could see the display. “I’m not sure. It looks like some notes on astral modeling, using a multidimensional structure. I’ll need some time to look it over. Where did you get it?”
“From Garnoff’s files.”
“In Manadyne? How did you access the isolated system from here?”
She shook her head. “Not Manadyne, Mitsuhama. Garnoff has been filing regular reports with them. It looks like he actually works for them.”
“Mitsuhama? Doesn’t he work for Manadyne?”
“Might look that way on paper, but from what I pried out of the MCT system, Garnoff has worked for them for years. He’s just on loan to Manadyne for this joint project, although I don’t know if Manadyne knows that the arrangement is strictly temporary.”
“You got this out of the MCT system? No wonder it looked like rough sailing for a while there.”
“I told you, Talon. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, I know, I was just. . .”
“It’s sweet that you worry.” she said with a smile.
“I just think you should be careful.”
Trouble smiled and her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Sometimes taking risks is more fun. Don’t you think?”
The kiss was totally unexpected. When her lips pressed against mine, I froze and tensed up a bit. Trouble broke the kiss and backed away, a hint of concern in her green eyes. “What is it?” she asked.
I got up off the couch and moved over to stand behind a nearby chair, resting my hands on the back. “Nothing, that was just kind of. . .unexpected.”
“Don’t you like surprises?” Trouble asked playfully, a note of concern coming into her voice.
“It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” she said. “You never get involved with a teammate.”
“Not exactly, I. . .”
Just then the doorknob turned. I thanked the gods for the interruption, but as soon as I got a look at Boom’s stone-cold-sober features, I knew there was a problem. As I reached for the Ares Viper under my coat, two big orks pushed into the room behind Boom and leveled the big handguns they were carrying at us.
Boom cleared his throat. “Um, Talon. There’s some guys here who want to talk to you ...”
The tunnels the orks guided us through were in a part of the T-system that was closed down a long time ago, maybe even before the Awakening. The only light came from the faintly glowing lichens and mosses that grew on the cracked, damp concrete, so Trouble and I stayed close together and moved carefully. Boom and the orks, with their natural thermographic vision, had no difficulty negotiating the tunnels.
For a moment I almost regretted not getting cybereyes along with the rest of my ’ware. I’d thought about it, but the idea of having my natural eyes cut out and replaced with cameras was just too much for me. I knew a lot of people who had cybereyes and there was something disquieting about them, like they’d shuttered over the windows to their spirit.
I still wasn’t sure where we were going or why, but I knew we were safe for the moment. The orks who guided us were members of a gang with the rather incongruous name of Mama’s Boys. It was a well known fact, even when I was last in Boston, that the Boys worked for a mysterious shadow-fixer known only as “Mama.” Almost nothing else was known about her, except the fact that she was top-class, a virtual legend in the shadows. Now it seemed this mysterious power-broker had taken an interest in us, or in me, at least.
With a grunt that passed for intelligible speech, Jambone ordered us to stop. The ork leader had to be the ugliest thing on two legs I’d ever seen, and that was saying a hell of a lot. His greasy dark skin was covered with warts and lumpy nodules that looked like dermal bone deposits. His muscles were thick, ropy, and heavily veined. What hair he had stood up in stiff, bristled clumps like a brush and his flared ears sported several earrings each. A nosering and a matching silver cap on one tusk completed the whole ensemble. He was one scary-looking fragger, like a creature out of a fairy tale made into a ganger.
The big ork made his way around a pile of brick and concrete from a collapsed part of the tunnel wall. A moment later, he reappeared and gestured for us to follow. Set in the tunnel wall was a heavy steel door with a hand-turned wheel in the middle of it, like an old fashioned airlock. Jambone barked a command in guttertalk, and the other two ork gangers grabbed the wheel and turned it with a squeak that echoed in the tunnel. With a dull “clunk” the door opened.
Jambone made an exaggerated bow and waved his hand toward the entrance. “Mama Iaga is waiting for you.”
The creature on the other side of the door blew away Jambone’s position as the ugliest thing on two legs I’d ever seen in a heartbeat. He—I’m fairly sure it was male—was probably a troll, nearly three meters tall, with bulging muscles. Where Boom’s appearance, and that of most trolls, was something I’d gotten used to, this thing was something else altogether. His skin was fish-belly white, covered with thick, dermal bone deposits like the shell of some subterranean insect, making him look almost like he was carved out of rough, white limestone. Three curling horns sprouted from his domed head, and tiny pink eyes glared out from under beetled brows. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth of ragged black fabric. Silently sizing us up, he took a single step back from the door to allow us to enter. A brick-lined tunnel went off to the right-hand side. We walked down it, with the pale troll following behind.
The tunnel was lit by lamps glowing with a pale yellow light. It ended in a thick velvet curtain. I reached out and moved it aside.
“Bloody hell. . .” Boom whispered as we entered.
The chamber beyond the curtain was like stepping into another time. The large room was filled with graceful, Victorian-style furniture, all dark wood and plush burgundy upholstery. Heavy velvet drapes covered the walls, with gold brocade edging and cords. A fire burning in a gray marble hearth chased away the chill of the dark tunnels and cast a warm glow on the various small objects of brass and crystal scattered about on shelves and tables.
The steel door closed behind us with a clang that made me jump. With the door shut, the only sound in the room came from an antique phonograph that played soft classical music filled with haunting flutes and violins. It was easy to imagine that we were in the private estate of some wealthy eccentric on Beacon Hill rather than deep below the streets of the metroplex. The place had an odd feeling to it, like a museum rather than a place where someone lived.
The pale man-mountain followed us into the room and stood by the entrance like a silent statue, watching us.
The draperies rustled off to the left and a figure entered, as silent as a shadow. She wore a black velvet gown whose folds covered her from neck to ankles. Around her slender waist was a belt of knotted cord holding a number of small pouches and trinkets, dark feathers, and carved bones that dangled and clicked quietly as she moved. A jewel-toned shawl was draped over her bony shoulders and head like a kerchief.
The hands that clutched the ends of the shawl were skeletal thin, like the rest of her figure, the bony claws covered with scabrous gray skin. Faint traceries of lines formed the shapes of strange runes across them.
Her face was like that of all the classic fairy-tale witches molded into one. Thin and gaunt, with a hooked nose and dark, deep-set eyes that glittered like black stones, a pointed chin, and thin lips that pulled back in a smile to reveal sharp, yellow teeth. Wisps of brittle white hair escaped the confining kerchief in places. When she spoke it was a high, thin voice that sounded like it might break into a maniacal cackle any moment. She had a strange accent I couldn’t place. It sounded vaguely European or Slavic, but I couldn’t be sure.
“I am Mama. Welcome to my parlor, dear children. Please, please, make yourselves comfortable.” she said. I threw a glance at Boom and Trouble, then chose a straight-backed chair near the hearth. Trouble sat in its mate on the other side of the small table between them while Boom gently lowered himself onto the wide sofa. Our hostess ensconced herself in a wing-backed leather chair on the opposite side of the fireplace whose flickering flames cast her features in strange dancing shadows.
“Would you care for any . . . refreshment?” she asked.
Boom cleared his throat, but I shook my head. “No thanks.” All I could think of was stories of people eating or drinking in the Otherworld and never being able to leave. In the Sixth World, myths had a disturbing way of coming true, so it was best to err on the side of caution.
Our hostess showed her toothy smile again and laughed, a high, thin sound. “Are you certain? I do have some things that you might like, which are not suited to my taste.”
“Thank you, but I would rather get to the reason you asked us here, ma’am.”
“Please call me ‘Mama,’ my dear, as my darling boys do. As to why I wanted to see your handsome face in my humble home, I think that we have a common interest.”
“Garnoff?” Trouble asked, and the old woman favored her with a shark-like grin.
“Yes, the little mage . . . and the one he serves.”
“You mean Mitsuhama?” I said.
The old woman spat into the fire with a hiss. “Pah! Moneygrubbers and bean-counters! They know nothing of the old ways or of the paths of the Otherworlds. No, Garnoff’s master is even less an inhabitant of the sunlit world than I, and has even less claim on the title of living creature.”
“Then Garnoff isn’t doing this for the corp?” I said. That put a whole different spin on things. Whatever Garnoff’s scam was, I’d assumed it was some kind of corporate operation, perhaps a deal with the yakuza on the side.
“Oh, no. my sweetling. If anything, it is he who is manipulating his corporate masters where you are concerned. Just as he manipulated events to bring you into his company's service all those years ago.”
“What?” I said. I felt the blood drain away from my face and I sank back into the chair, stunned.
“Didn’t you know?” Mama said casually. “No, I suppose not. Garnoff recognized your Talent and wanted you for MCT, but you had already come under Jason’s protection by then.”
“You knew Jase?”
“I know everyone of importance, boychik, and your teacher was known in parts of the Catacombs.”
“Mitsuhama offered me a scholarship.” I said, thinking aloud. “A chance to get out of the Rox. But after all Jase did, after we ... I couldn’t leave. So they killed him. And Garnoff was the one?” I asked. Mama nodded.
“Half a mo ’ere, Talon. What the bloody ’ell are you talkin’ about?” Boom asked. His accent grew particularly strong when he was nervous. Apparently, the setting was unnerving him as much as it was me. I figured I might as well fill everyone in on the whole story.
“While I was with Jase, this recruiter from Mitsuhama offered me a scholarship to MIT&T, with the usual corporate indenture to follow. I told him to go frag. I wanted to stay in the Rox with Jase, to use my Talent to do something other than provide magical security and research for a megacorp.
“A couple of weeks later, Jase got killed in an incident of ‘random’ gang violence. I was so fragged up by it, I never even considered a connection. It was the Rox, people got cacked by gangs every day.
“I dug up the card the MCT guy gave me and told him I’d take his offer. There was no reason for me to say in the Rox after Jase died, and I wanted to put the whole thing behind me.”
I took a deep breath and turned back toward Mama Iaga, who sat perched on the edge of her chair like a vulture, digesting the choice morsels of information I had just fed her.
“You’re saying Garnoff was behind all of this? He’s the one who arranged it?”
Mama gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.
I slowly shook my head. “Why?”
The old crone settled back into the embrace of her chair, almost vanishing into its shadowy recesses. She folded her hands in her lap and licked her dry lips as she pondered a moment before replying.
“Garnoff acts for the best reason of all, my dear: power. He desires power over others. That is why he works to improve his lot with his corporate masters and why he sought to recruit you to serve him. His thirst for power led him to explore the dark paths, made him open to the call. Garnoff discovered something here in the depths of the Catacombs, a kindred spirit that spoke to him of a common cause. All Garnoff’s efforts have been turned toward supporting his new patron, providing it with what it needs to grow strong and in turn provide him with greater and greater power.”
“The killings.” I said, recalling the news report. “The murders, down in the subway.”
