A tall, thin man stood at the head of the lounge, just in front of the door to the hallway. His aura now grew radiant, revealing truths. The man was a magician, and he was using his astral senses. That meant he was probably looking at Bandit, seeing him. That didn't bother Bandit much. What bothered him was what he saw standing beside the man.
The spirit had a female form. It looked from Bandit to the other magician and back again several times. Was this a conjured spirit or an ally? Either way, it boded no good.
Two against one.
Bad odds.
Bandit felt inclined toward just leaving. The equivalent of one step back and he would be on the other side of a physical wall and all but immune to spellcasting. There was a problem with that, though. Farrah Moffit was important. Rico had made a point of impressing that on everyone. If Bandit simply stepped out, she would be at the mercy of this magician.
"I regret this," the magician said. "Have you any last words?"
Bandit nodded. "Goodfellow."
The spirit so named emerged from the wall at the rear of the lounge and paused at Bandit's left. It took the form of a human, but slim, short, and bearded, and wearing peculiar clothing with ruffles and lacy trim. It looked at Bandit for a moment, then across the astral terrain to the other magician, then, with a flourish, bowed, extending one arm with the hand palm up.
The floor rumbled and quaked and split open. The magician opposite shouted and fell through the hole, down and out of sight.
Goodfellow bowed again and vanished.
The other magician's spirit leaned over to gaze into the hole, then looked at Bandit and smiled. "You should go away," it said, "before my master wakes up."
Bandit could see the wisdom in that.
Manifesting on the physical plane, he moved over to face Farrah Moffit. She sat on a cushioned bench with her back pressed to the wall and her legs drawn up before her body. Her eyes were wide and round and she held one hand thrust back against her mouth. She looked terrified. She went on staring at the hole in the floor till Bandit moved directly into her line of sight, then her eyes widened further as her gaze met his.
"Come with me if you want to live."
Moffit gasped, then slowly nodded her head.
The LZ became a killing zone.
They had no choice but to put down. It was that or wait to get shot out of the air. The pursuing helos didn't hesitate to fire even as they passed over heavily populated sections of the Newark metroplex. Populated, sure, but by who? Nobody that mattered.
Thorvin's hideaway for the helo was in the ruins of Sector 13, an old abandoned airport near the wastes of some long-forgotten cemetery. Chain-link fencing topped by coils of razor-wire surrounded one of the smaller hangars. Thorvin put the helo down inside the fencing, and the other helos closed in.
Bullets hammered against the airframe. Thorvin turned the helo parallel to the front of the hangar to provide cover. One of the hangar doors slid open and Thorvin's van came rolling out, guided by remote. The weapons pod on top opened up and began blazing. By then, Rico could see that the other helos were dropping uniformed troops to the ground.
Bandit was still in a trance. Shank grabbed him up and Rico grabbed Surikov and they broke for the van.
It was a straight run-from the side of the helo to the side of the van-no more than about five meters.
The troops moving in cut loose with a storm of autofire.
Abruptly, Dok veered left and out beyond the front end of the helo, shouting and blazing away with his Ingram. It was a suicide move. The instant he saw it happening, Rico thrust Surikov toward the van and lunged across the ferrocrete. But not even his enhanced reaction time and speed could get him going fast enough. His ears were full of the stammering of autofire weapons and Dok's shouts of vengeance and wrath, and none of it mattered. None of it made any difference.
Dok rammed a fresh clip from his belt into the Ingram, then his head snapped back and he plunged to the ground. Rico didn't hesitate.
As he moved beyond the front of the helo, slugs pounded into his chest. The impacts stole his breath. He staggered and fell to one knee. It didn't feel like the bullets had penetrated his armored jacket, but it hurt. Mother of God, how it hurt. He forced himself forward, grabbed Dok beneath the shoulders and started dragging him back toward-the van. More slugs slammed into his chest and shoulders, Another moment and he'd probably be dead, laid out as limp as Dok, but then Shank was there, grabbing Dok around the chest, lifting him off the ground and shoving Rico toward the van.
They had only one chance left. They had to dive like devil rats into the transitways before armor-piercing slugs or a wire-guided missile took them out They had to go where the helos couldn't reach them. It was up to Thorvin now.
And it didn't get any closer than this.
Farrah Moffit huddled in the corner formed by the rear of the dumpster and the wall of the alley. Bandit hovered, sitting cross-legged, just far enough above the ground to see over the dumpster to the street. Hours had passed and that was bad. If he didn't get back to his body soon…
Moffit broke down again. She had a strange way of crying, like a series of violent coughs, one rolling swiftly into the next. The upset seemed genuine. Her first episode had started when he asked her what had happened to the slag called Cannibal and to the other man, the one lying dead in the lounge with Moffit. She seemed deeply disturbed. Perhaps she had led a sheltered life in her corporate towers, insulated from the realities of the plex. At least she didn't make too much noise.
Some more time passed, then a rumbling arose, then Thorvin's van pulled into the end of the alley.
Rico got out and looked around.
"They're here," Bandit said.
Farrah Moffit rose and went to the van and all but fell sobbing into Surikov's arms.
Bandit rejoined his waiting body.
Dok looked dead.
38
It didn't end till they did the final check on Surikov.
The slag had a snitch, a microtransmitter implanted at the back of his neck, just like the other Surikov, Michael Travis, who they'd busted outta Maas Intertech. Farrah Moffit had told them to expect that. All the senior research staff at Fuchi had them, she said. She herself didn't rate high enough for that.
Getting the snitch out took some work. Rico had some experience with emergency med, but Shank had more so he did the job. Dok's equipment did most of the actual cutting. By the time Shank was finished, Surikov was pale and faint, but Dok's gear indicated that he'd get over it.
They lost their pursuers. They picked up Farrah Moffit, and Bandit too. A second Bandit. A Bandit that looked like a ghost. A Bandit that hovered, floated over the ground, and finally disappeared into the body of the Bandit that had been with them from the beginning. It was eerie and would have been freaky only Rico had seen things like this before.
Astral projection, it was called.
They headed for the bolthole in Rahway, Sector 13. It seemed called for. They were shot to piss, the rain had come and gone, and they all needed some sleep.
One last piece of work: they called Osborne to set up the exchange of Surikov and Moffit for nuyen. The meet was set for that night.
When Rico finally lay down, it was almost noon. He seemed to fall asleep in just moments. Piper shed her clothes in the dark, then carefully lay down beside him, shifting in against his side, lowering her head lightly to his shoulder. She lay there with him throughout the afternoon, moving little, resolved to let him sleep.