Hutten's situation had looked less promising at first. He didn't have a steady mistress, but varied his timing and his lovers at random. An active interest in the advantages of Level 6 had seemed out of character for him, thereby raising her suspicions. With the aid of Markowitz, Addison had been able to look deep enough to justify her suspicions. Neo-playboy Konrad Hutten's ladies all had affiliations with a company called Congenial Companions. Addison was still tracing the owners through a maze of blinds and false fronts.

The prospects for leverage were looking even better now that she had authorization for her hunt. Any number of things would be easier, including speed of search. This opportunity was her best chance in years, and she wasn't going to blow it. Not even Verner's obscure designs on the project would stop her.

Ghost, Dodger, and Sally came in together. Dodger smiled and actually embraced Sam, then thrust him back to inspect him carefully. He tweaked at the beard that had filled out since San Francisco.

" 'Tis most fitting, Sir Twist. You bid fair to be a knight out of a romance."

Ghost stepped up during the Elf's performance, a half-smile on his face. Sam was surprised to see the Indian's expression so friendly. "Welcome back to the shadows, paleface," he said, gripping Sam's right forearm. Though the Indian was smaller, Sam would never match his strength without cybernetic enhancement. He'd never want to be caught on the hostile end of the Samurai's grip.

Sally hung back and watched, clearly evaluating Sam's new appearance. He wondered what she made of it. The last time they'd met, he had been a mere suit in her eyes, corporate born and bred. Now he wore an armor vest and serviceable street clothes of his own. His beard, he knew, made him look older.

What struck him about her was that she was unchanged, yet looked vastly different. He realized now that her magic must have so intimidated him that he'd barely noted her beauty before. How could you pay attention to full breasts and inviting curves when you knew a woman could turn a ravening Barghest into a smoking slab of meat with the touch of her hand? She'd awed and frightened him by doing just that.

Now that magic was no longer alien to Sam, he could see Sally more as a woman. Hanae had been pretty, but she hadn't the sensuality that sang from the street mage when she moved.

"Thank you for coming," he said lamely.

"Dodger got me curious. What's the brief?"

Sam gave her a weak, nervous smile. "I had hoped to explain it only once. Isn't the Ork coming?"

"Kham the Muscle-Brained was informed of the meet, Sir Twist. To ensure his arrival, I deemed it wise to let him believe we were to meet with a corporate sponsor."

"He'll get here when he gets here," Sally pronounced, making herself comfortable in the only upholstered chair in the squat. "Hope it's worth my time."

Sam was at a loss. He didn't know how to make small talk with these people and he didn't want to get started on his story. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get through telling it twice. The runners dispersed themselves around the room, apparently more comfortable with the silent waiting than he was.

Kham the Ork showed up a few minutes later. He greeted his fellow runners boisterously before noticing Sam, when the Ork's mood suddenly shifted and grew cool. Kham grunted at Sam's extended hand and took up a chair in the corner of the room. He glowered at Sam, then threw Sally a look that Sam interpreted as confusion mixed with suspicion. Still looking at Sally, the Ork asked, "So what's de story?"

Haltingly at first, Sam told the tale of his growing disenchantment with Renraku, his departure from the arcology, and all that had happened since. The telling took longer than he'd expected, with some new duplicity to outline or postulate at every twist and turn. He finished with his discovery that Drake had managed to place an impostor into the arcology under cover of Sam's and Hanae's extraction. Those were the facts. He also told them his feelings, hoping it would help persuade them his cause was right. As for his brushes with magic and death, those he spoke of more from the need to talk than because of their relevance.

Some things he did not tell. One was the nature of that impostor. He hardly believed in the doppelganger himself, and he had seen the evidence. How could he tell them that a magical being had been created in a scientific laboratory and been sent to infiltrate Renraku, taking the place of a loyal employee? Somehow that seemed even more insane than his nightmare conversation with Dog. If he had told them about the doppelganger, they might have dismissed him as crazy from his ordeal in the badlands. He couldn't afford their ridicule or scorn; he wanted and needed their help.

When Sam finally finished his tale, the Ork was the first to speak. "Let me get dis straight. You want us to help you burn dis Drake guy just because he's running against Renraku and a few pieces of meat got in de way and got cooked?" Kham grimaced, then flashed a look at the faces of his fellow runners. "Suitboy, you're brain-fried."

"Kham, I believe that Drake is also responsible for the other deaths that have followed me since I left Renraku. There was no price on my head. I took nothing from them and I didn't hurt them by leaving. I worked for Renraku for years, and they were my home and family. When I think of what this impostor could do to them, it worries me. I can't stand by and let Drake's plot hurt the company."

"Den tell dem about it and let dem jump on the mole."

"They'd never believe me even if they would listen long enough to hear me out. Besides, I can't hand them any proof or name the imposter."

"They still own you, then," Ghost said.

"They don't," Sam shot back. "This is personal."

"Revenge I understand."

"It's more than that," Sam insisted. "Stopping this plot lets me repay any debt I still owe Renraku. I'll be able to call it even."

"What about them? Will they feel as you do?"

Sam didn't know, but it didn't matter. He had to do what he thought was right. "They'll have to make their own assessment."

"You stand like a man." Ghost folded his arms across his chest. "I will help you."

"An abrupt decision, Sir Razorguy, considering that you have so little data about your opponent," Dodger observed.

When Ghost said nothing, the Elf shrugged and turned to Sam. "To clarify, then. Your goal now is only to stop Drake's plot?"

"No. I want Drake to pay for his crimes."

"And what about the dangerous Ms. Hart?"

"Yeah, and dat serpent. Dey been doing a pretty fair job of wasting folks. Ain't dey bad guys, too?"

Sam looked the shadowrunners over. He knew that Tessien had killed and that Hart was deeply involved in this plot that included cold-blooded murder. That didn't excuse them, but Sam knew there was only so much he could hope to accomplish. The runners seemed far too impressed by Hart and Tessien's reputations. "They're just Drake's tools. If they come to justice, so much the better, but it's Drake I want."

Dodger shifted, his muscles relaxing. Sam took it as a sign that he had spoken well. When Sally nodded, he was sure that he had won them.

"If you can take out Drake before those two find out you aren't dead, they may not be any trouble at all. Hart's a pro. If her cred source vaporizes, she'll be elsewhere and the serpent will go with her. She knows there's no percentage in noble causes or revenge. Leastways as long as she doesn't have a bodyguard clause in her contract."

"I hope you're right, Sally."

"Afraid of dem, Suitboy?"

"Yes."

"Very wise," Sally commented. "I don't know this Tessien, but any Dragon's trouble and one that Hart partners with ain't going to be streetmeat. Hart's a top runner. I'd rather not cross her."

"Then if Drake's the only target, you'll help?"

Sally snorted and shook her head negatively. "Listen good, my fledgling magic man. I'll help you find your path. I'll get you settled in our little half-world." She smiled invitingly. "I'll even help you forget this mess, if you think you can handle the stress."

Sam frowned. "That's not the kind of help I want."

"It's what you need," she said, at once serious and teasing.

"I want you to help me get Drake." Sam insisted.

"Verner, you're on the streets now. A body has to be practical. You want to run the shadows with us, I'll give you a chance. You've shown some possibilities. Interesting possibilities. But if you run with me, you've got to keep the most important principle in mind. Nothing for nothing. Your proposal offers no profit."

"Sally's right, Suitboy. Ain't no nuyen in dis. You wasting our time." The Ork stood abruptly and his chair clattered as it toppled. He started for the door. "Got more profitable ways ta spend my time."

"Kham," Sam called. The Ork ignored him, opened the door, and walked out into the darkness of the hall.

"He's free to make his own choices," Sally said softly, her words almost drowned out by the sound of Kham's steps descending the rickety stair. "Make your own choices, Verner. I can show you a wiz time tonight."

Sam felt Dodger stiffen at his side and glanced over to see the Elf watching Ghost. The Indian's face was calm and still. Whatever was going on, he'd talk to Dodger about it later. Sam wanted Sally's help, because the magic that he didn't know how to handle was second nature to her. Her skills might be just the edge he needed to get Drake. If he went with her tonight, perhaps he could convince her. He tried to keep his voice casual. "Sounds interesting."

Sally beamed. "Wiz. Corner of Harrison and Melrose at nine. Be armed and ready to party." She bounced from her chair in a swirl of fringed leather and danced out the door Kham had left open. "Scan you later, magic man."

Sam was left with Dodger and Ghost. He already knew the Elf was committed, and Ghost had said earlier that he was in. Sam wasn't sure that the three of them would be enough.

"Ghost, do you think I can persuade her to help?"

"She has her own mind, paleface."

The room felt cold, chilled by an undertone in Ghost's voice. The Indian seemed disturbed, but something in his face told Sam not to ask questions. He decided to stick to business, hoping that the chill would thaw in the heat of discussing the problems they faced. It had worked with Hanae. "Dodger, have you found out anything more about Drake?"

"Verily, he is a true mystery man. I have uncovered enough to know that he is no more a real person than any Mr. Johnson who offers one a corporate handout. His true name and nature remain shrouded, but I have learned that he uses the first name of Jarlath."

"What kind of name is that?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dodger admitted.

Ghost walked to the boarded-up window. Intrusive beams from the flashing neon snaked like warpaint over his features. "And you are sure that Hart and the serpent work for him?"

"They said so."

"I heard they were involved in stopping a run against United Oil's dockyard."

Sam was pleased. "Then maybe that's a place to start. If those two were there, maybe it means that Drake works for United Oil."

42.

The sodium vapor lamps on the buildings cast a harsh, flat light. Trapped in their glare, various big and small objects sent their shadows stretching deep into the surrounding night. Light and dark made two separate worlds.

Sam crouched in the darkness, staring with trepidation at the pools of light. Once he had lived in the other world, where light represented safety. How many times had he shaken his head dolefully at the predations of the terrorists and criminals who disrupted safe, corporate life. Now he was a part of the other world, the land of shadows that survived on corporate leavings or what could be taken from the corporations' arrogant waste. Once he had been secure in his armor of scientific rationality, believing that if magic were not a sham, some obscure physical or biological principle could explain it away. Now others were telling him that he was a magician, just as did his own weird experiences. The notion still frightened him, but seemed to beckon and fascinate as well.

The allure and alarm of magic were akin to what he felt toward Sally. Last night she had shown him uses of magic he could never have imagined, and his heart raced at the sudden memory. Sally was unlike any woman he had ever known. She was as beautiful, vibrant, and exciting as she was terrifying.

What had he gotten into?

The United Oil dockyard, a part of his mind reminded him sardonically. Here, in the shadow of one of the many squat mushroom shapes that made up the tank farm. Now, waiting for Ghost Who Walks Inside to return from his reconnaissance. Everything was quiet and had been ever since they'd crossed the perimeter fence. Sam didn't know whether to be relieved at fully passing the outer security or worried that United Oil's security teams lay in wait for them, laughing at the foolish confidence of the intruders.

Dodger had been certain he had nullified the perimeter security. It was easy, he said when he gave them the go-ahead over a telecom on the street outside. He sounded so confident, which was all well and good for him. He was not going inside physically with Sam and Ghost.

Once inside, the job got tougher. United Oil's site security strategy did not emphasize an impenetrable perimeter. Instead, it concentrated security assets in the buildings themselves. Each structure had its own level of countermeasures, the extent and complexity varying according to the value of the contents of the structure and the ease with which an intruder might affect or remove those contents. Dodger was expecting difficulties in slipping past the Intrusion Countermeasures of the target building. They were counting on him to take control of the alarms, but they wouldn't know if he had succeeded until the moment they tried to enter the building. They had been unable to agree on a form of signal that would not alert United Oil security. Once inside the building, they could communicate relatively safely through the site's computer system. But by then, Ghost and Sam would have set off any still functional alarms as they crossed the building's security barrier.

Sam knew that Dodger was good at this sort of thing, but he couldn't relax. He wiped his sweaty palms against the rough fabric of his dark coveralls.

The target building stood on the other side of the vehicle park, its face no different from the other warehouses in the row. With its weathered brick, dirty glass, and rusted window screening, the only distinguishing features were the faded numerals of its building number. No sign proclaimed it as the security field office.

They expected its physical security measures to be light, but the plans they got from Cog showed an alarm at every entrance but one. That door could be opened freely at any time of day or night without sounding an alarm. The door was the connector between a fenced enclosure running the length of the building's southern side and a series of pens inside the building's walls. Those pens were the nests for the company's cockatrices, terrifying paranimals that could calcify flesh with a touch.

Sam thought about trying an astral walk to see how many cockatrices there were and to make sure they were all outside. He dreaded what might happen if any were not. Met in the narrow confines of the nesting pens, the paranimals would have all the advantages. The men would be crowding one another, the distances would be too short for effective gunfire, and the beasts were very fast.

Staring at the door, Sam stayed where he was, firmly in the grip of his mundane senses. Sally had warned him that the creatures could see astral presences and could affect his astral body as fatally as his flesh body. Maybe she had just been trying to scare him out of doing the run, but if Sally spoke true, the creatures presented an even greater menace to his astral self than to his physical being. He had learned that the astral body was somehow a reflection of a person's essence. Could a person's essence be other than his soul? If one of those things touched him during astral projection, what would happen to his soul?

Ghost was suddenly at Sam's side, almost startling a yelp from him. The Indian waited a few seconds while Sam's breathing returned to normal, then tugged on his arm.

"Let's go. The roving patrol just started their round. Won't be back here for another ten."

They moved quickly and quietly across the lot, keeping to the cover of the vehicles. They stopped downwind, several meters from the fenced area. Sam licked his lips, tasting the greasy, ashy flavor of the face-darkening makeup he wore to eliminate reflections. "Maybe you should do the shooting."

"Your gun, your run." Ghost's face was unreadable. "You shoot."

"Right." Resigned, Sam reached into the pouch at his belt and removed a magazine. Fumbling a little in the dark, he ejected the clip in his pistol and replaced it with the one from his pouch. He was careful to slip the currently unwanted clip into a pocket.

"Got the right one, Paleface?"

"Should be," Sam whispered in annoyance. If the Indian was expecting Sam to do it, he could at least have the decency to expect he'd do it right. "You're the one with the cybereyes. Couldn't you read the label?"

"Thirty-two cee-cee's of Somulin cut with ten grains of Alpha-dexoryladrin," Ghost recited. "Make sure you put the other clip back in before we run into any guards. Any Human that takes that dosage ain't going to see morning."

"I know, I know." The Indian was treating him like a child. "You want to get touched by one of those things?"

The Indian's gap-toothed, crooked smile glinted in a fugitive beam of light. "You think they're fast enough to touch a ghost?"

"I don't know. You want to find out that they can by getting stoned the hard way?"

"No," Ghost said seriously.

"Right." Sam was satisfied that he had scored a point. "I'll change magazines when we're through the pens."

Gun ready, Sam took aim at the nearest sleeping cockatrice, which looked like no more than a dark mound. The pistol bucked a little in his hand, accompanying the soft huff of the shell's compressed air propulsion. The target's feathers quivered slightly before the mound resumed its previous slight, measured motion.

"Think I got it?"

"If you'd only nicked it, it would be screaming bloody hell. Either it's sleeping or you missed completely." Ghost paused. "We'll find out once we're inside. Dart the rest."

The Narcoject Lethe huffed four more times, spitting its tranquillizer darts at four more cockatrices. Sam changed clips and fired five more rounds. Another clip change was required before he darted the final two. Each hit had as little obvious effect as the first.

"All of them?"

"Far as I can see."

"Let's go," Ghost said, leading the way.

The gate had a simple keypad lock, but it might be more than enough to delay them until the patrol showed up. Ghost attached an unscrambler to the lock. The box hummed and digits flashed across its screen. In just under two minutes, numbers locked into a match for the combination, and the bolt snicked open. They heard a loud guffaw as one of the guards responded to a companion's joke.