Could he leave it up to Knife-Edge and his men? And could he trust the other Amerindians to do the right thing with the prize if they ever did get their hands on it?

What the frag am I doing? he berated himself. I'm n.o.body, just a punk ganger. I'm not a shadowrunner. Didn't Nightwalker tell me I'm not in his league?

But he also said I was his comrade. He said we were bound by the shadowrunners' code of honor-even if Benbo laughed at that. Didn't that mean that Falcon had an obligation to see his friend's task through?

This is a chance to make a difference, he told himself, to do something important. Not just scrabble through the sprawl for my own benefit. I could never make a difference with the First Nation. I never thought I'd ever have the chance. How can I turn away now?

He sighed, rubbed at his eyes. He'd been thinking so hard that they'd started to water. That had to be the reason. He looked over at his friend.

"I'm in," he said to the lifeless Nightwalker. "It scares the drek out of me, but I'm in."

Falcon had just dumped Nightwalker's body in the alley behind the Universal Brotherhood chapterhouse. It bothered him, on some deep level, but what the frag else could he do? He wished he knew more about the traditions of Nightwalker's tribe. How would the Salish handle the body of a friend? From Langland's book, Falcon knew that burial traditions varied. Some tribes interred the bodies with great ceremony and reverence, singing songs to guide the spirits of the dead to the land of the totems. Others seemed to have no such traditions, just dumping the bodies without any ceremony. The spirit was gone, these tribes seemed to believe, leaving the dead body only an empty sh.e.l.l. Why treat it specially when the person was not there anymore? He didn't know to which group the Salish belonged, but he told himself that Nightwalker's spirit-wherever it was now-would understand.

He drove back to the safe house slowly. Meeting with Knife-Edge and the others without Nightwalker to protect him scared him drekless, but his decision left him no choice. At least he thought he had a way of handling it.

There were new faces in the restaurant when he walked in. Five of them, all orks, wearing gang colors that identified them as members of the Scuzboys. He knew the gang by their rep, a real hard group that hired themselves out as muscle to various shadow teams.

The biggest of the five orks, probably the leader, bared yellowing tusks in a snarl as he spotted Falcon. "Who's dis fragger?" he demanded.

Knife-Edge didn't answer him, just regarded Falcon levelly. "Where's Nightwalker?" he asked, his voice cold.

"At the clinic, where else?" he replied, trying to keep his fear under control. "He's too trashed to move. The docs say he'll be down a couple of days. He sent me back here. Said he'll keep in touch through me."

Falcon held his breath as Knife-Edge thought about that for a moment. He relaxed as the runner nodded.

"Which clinic did you take him to?" Van asked.

"The Universal Brotherhood free clinic," he answered smoothly. "Nightwalker told me he didn't have the credit for anything else."

That seemed to satisfy Van, who turned his attention back to field-stripping and cleaning the large rifle that rested in his lap.

Falcon decided that now was the time to say what he had to say. "Nightwalker says he wants me along on the meet. That way I can report back to him what went down."

One of the orks hawked and spat on the floor. "Don't need no breeder kid," he snarled.

From their expressions, Falcon could see that Knife-Edge and the other Amerinds thought the same way. "Nightwalker's the tactician," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "He said I'd be an a.s.set" -he stressed the word-"to scope out the meet."

Again he watched Knife-Edge's face as the runner gave it some thought.

"I know the sprawl," Falcon added.

"So do we," the Scuzboy leader snapped.

After a few moments, Knife-Edge shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"

Slick shot his leader a disgusted glance, but didn't say anything.

"Does Walker have a spot for the meet?" Knife-Edge asked.

Falcon nodded, glad he'd figured it out on the drive back. "He says Pier Forty-two, the Hyundai terminal. With the dockworkers' strike, it'll be deserted till dawn."

He glanced over at the Scuzboy leader, saw the ork nod in agreement. "Yeah, dat's good."

"That'll do," Knife-Edge concurred. "Now let's talk tactics.

"I'll specify that the local's supposed to come to the meet alone, but there'll probably be back-up anyway. Benbo, you and I'll do the face-to-face drek. Van, you take the G.o.d spot. Any back-up shows, you take them down."

Van caressed the stock of his weapon tenderly. It was a sniper rifle, Falcon now realized. "Baby'll do the job.

What about the local?"

"Once I know where the pay data is, I want a clean head-shot."

Van nodded. "Null perspiration."

"And Slick, I want you to . . . bodyguard the kid."

The knife man smiled, showing yellowed teeth. "You got it, chummer."

"What about me and da boys?" the Scuzboy leader asked.

"Perimeter support," Knife-Edge replied. "Secure the area, sanitize it. And if back-up shows, scrag 'em."

The ork gave a phlegmy chuckle. "Sounds like a party," he growled, fingering one of his chipped tusks.

Falcon scanned the faces around him, wondering what the frag he'd gotten himself into. It wasn't a meet they were planning. It was an ambush. But what could he say? If he raised any objections, he was sure Slick would stick a knife through his throat. Which was probably what he'd do once Knife-Edge had what he wanted.

"Okay," Knife-Edge said, flowing to his feet in one smooth motion. "Gear up and into the van. I'll make the call once we're rolling."

11.

0230 hours, November 14, 2053 The telecom in the adjoining room rang. Sly answered it at once. Only one person had the direct-connect LTG number, or only one she knew about, that is. And anybody else who knew where she was holing up sure as drek wouldn't be phoning first.

Argent's face filled the telecom screen. "Hoi, Sly. What's up?"

"Whole lot of nothing here," she told him. His expression said he knew she was lying, wordlessly asked her to confide what was troubling her. Best to keep it quiet, she decided. The fewer who know, the better. She shook her head in answer to his unspoken question.

He shrugged. Message received and understood, she thought. "Got word someone's looking for a solo meet," the chromed runner told her.

"Who?"

"Don't know for sure," he said. "The contact came from an old a.s.sociate of Hawk's, but I don't know if he's the princ.i.p.al."

Hawk? Sly wracked her brain for a moment, trying to place the name. Then memory returned. Hawk had been Argent's closest chummer, combat shaman and second-in-command of the Wrecking Crew. He'd bought it almost a year ago, under circ.u.mstances Argent never talked about. Sly suspected the big shaman had gotten scragged on the run that had turned Argent so solidly against Yamatetsu.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Not much," he admitted. "Most of my contacts are lying low because of the corp heat wave. What buzz I did hear says it's a team of out-of-plex runners."

"Where from?"

"Don't know, except that it's not Seattle and not UCAS. Cal Free, maybe, but it's anybody's guess."

Sly thought about that for a moment. Out-of-plex, out-of-country. That sounded promising. It was possible these people would have a.s.sociations with the local corps, but not so likely. "Has the corp war spread?" she speculated out loud.

"Not yet," Argent said slowly, "but my guess is it's only a matter of time."

Sly nodded to herself. That was good; it cut the odds still further that these out-of-town runners had been hired by Yamatetsu or any of the other big local players. "So they want a meet," she said slowly. "Why?"

Argent shrugged again. "The contact didn't say much.

Just that he knew you had some information that interested them. Something important."

Again Sly saw the unspoken question on his face. She just smiled and shook her head.

The big man sighed. "Okay, your biz," he conceded, "but sometimes keeping it too close to your chest can get you ripped, Sly. But you know that."

Her smile grew warmer; his concern touched her. "Do they want this . . . information?" she asked. "Are they looking for a deal?"

"No," Argent said, surprising her. "The way I read it is they'd be just as glad if you keep hold of it." And take all the heat, was what he didn't have to add. "They just want to discuss it with you, and maybe have some say in its disposition. They're interested in figuring out the best way to handle it, to realize maximum profit for you and them. Does that make sense to you?"

Sly nodded slowly. "It makes sense. Where do they want the meet?"

"South harbor." He flashed an address, plus map coordinates, onto her screen.

"When?"

"They say time's of the essence. Oh-four-hundred."

"Today?" She looked at her watch. It was already oh-two thirty-eight.

"Yeah. Tight timing." He paused. "Gonna go. Sly?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Have you got any reading on these guys at all?"

"Nothing solid," he admitted, "either negative or positive."

She tapped a fingernail against her front teeth. Which way to jump? This could be a setup, or it could mean another group to work with, allies. Which way?

"What would you do?" she asked.

Argent's face went totally expressionless. "Your run," he said flatly.

She snorted. "I know it's my run. I'm not asking you to take responsibility, Argent. I'm no newbie. I'm just asking for your reading, friend to friend. It's my decision, and I'll make it no matter what you say."

He relaxed."Yeah. The buzz on the street's freaking me." Sly knew that was the closest he'd ever come to an apology, but the sentiment was there and that was all that mattered.

She watched him as he thought it through."Tough call," he said at last. "It could go either way. I don't want to influence you and get you killed."

"But you'd go for it, wouldn't you?" she pressed. "Yeah," he said after another pause. "Yeah, I'd go. But you can bet your a.s.sets I'd take back-up. Lots of back-up."

"You said they wanted a solo meet."

"Since when do you let the other team call all the shots?"

"Good point," she acknowledged.

"So, have you got back-up? Or are you totally cut off?"

She glanced through the connecting door, into the other room where the black elf was sprawled on the bed. "Minimal back-up," she admitted.

"Modal," Argent said sourly. "The street says you got him to sell out his Johnson. Do you trust him?"

She didn't answer immediately, which she knew was answer enough.

"Yeah, I thought so." Argent frowned. "I can send you two guns if you want. You know Mongoose, I think, and I'll send his street brother Snake."

Sly considered it. She'd met Mongoose, a razorboy with reflexes chipped even higher than Modal's, on a run the year before. Later she'd heard that he and another sammy called Snake had signed on with Argent to replace Hawk and Toshi, the two men who'd died on a run toward the end of 2052. Mongoose was competent, she knew. Snake had to be too. Argent didn't hire hacks.

She nodded. "Thanks, I'll take them. Standard rates, but"-she smiled-"you might have to wait a while for payment."

Argent waved that off. "Just pay their per diem and forget my cut. Want them to meet you down there?" He chuckled. "I think the Mongoose and the Snake would look a little out of place in the Sheraton lobby."

That brought a smile. She remembered Mongoose's scraggy reverse-mohawk, the angular tattoos on his cheeks, his polished-steel incisors. "Have them meet me at the Fourth Avenue South monorail station." She checked her watch again. "Can they make it by oh-three-fifteen?"

"If you can," he confirmed. "Briefing when they get there?" She nodded. "You got it. Sly." He hesitated. "Wish I could do more."

"You're doing plenty, chummer," she rea.s.sured him. "Thanks for the a.s.sist. It's what I need."

To her surprise, the heavily chromed shadowrunner seemed embarra.s.sed by her grat.i.tude. "Clear it," he said, waving his hand as if to erase something. "Slot and run, Sly. The boys'll be with you. Give me the scoop later." And he was gone.

She rolled her head to release the tension in her neck. Later, she thought, if there is a later.

PART 2.

Intersection.