I turned off at Milton and Third, right where the Johnson had told us, killed the lights and coasted half a block to a decrepit-looking brick rectangle surrounded by cracked concrete and a chain-link fence. As I pulled up and stopped, I keyed Demon into stealth mode. The ruthenium fibers on her outside, electric blue when she wasn't on a job, faded to clear. I'd paid a nice chunk of change to get a radarbane paint job underneath, and this run was Demon's first since her makeover. The area around the Tacoma docks ain't as bad as either of the Barrens, but that just means that late at night you're risking small ordnance 'stead of large. Plus, the few Lone Star patrols sniffin' around tend to ask lots of nosy questions. So stealth seemed like an extra-good thing.
The rest of the team bailed, Punch in the lead and Rocker bringin' up the rear. Rocker gave me a wolf's grin as she slipped her headset on and leaned in the driver's-side window. "I'll be listening, Stunt. You see anything, give a holler."
"Chill," I said, and watched 'em go. Four little reddish blobs on thermo, bobbin' toward the big, empty building like some kinda giant fireflies. I didn't wish 'em luck; didn't wanna jinx 'em. Might as well have shouted "Good luck" at the top of my lungs, as it turned out. But right then the night was quiet, and seemed likely to stay that way.
I settled in to wait. Didn't jack out, of course-Demon's zoom lenses, magnification and external audio sensors made better eyes and ears for trouble than mine. I turned the diskplayer on, with the volume low enough not to scrag the audio feeds from outside. I had an old-style R B recording I'd been dyin' to listen to, and this seemed like the perfect time. The music would keep my brain from being lulled to sleep by the silent night, much more pleasantly than the cold rain that had started to fall. ASIST can be damned inconvenient when it comes to the weather-whatever touches your wheels, you feel just like the metal body of the car or whatever is your own skin. I tuned out the pinpricks of cold and wet as best I could-you learn to, when you've hadda rig through snowstorms a time or two-and kept the sensors peeled for danger. Didn't see a thing 'cept the occasional passing pigeon and a ripped paper bag tossed by the wind; didn't hear a thing 'cept for that same wind and the dim roar of passing traffic streets and streets away. Far off in the distance, some drunk was shouting at his girlfriend. Just the normal night noises of the city.
Then the sky started to howl, and I knew we were hosed.
Wasn't really the sky, of course. It was the building's own alarm. Howling like a herd of banshees, loud enough to bring the Star down on us right quick even if nobody inside had managed to push a PANICBUTTON. Every fraggin' po-leece patrol within a klick of the place was gonna come a-runnin'-we needed to bug out right fraggin' now. So I fired up Demon's engine, just as three little red blobs came tearing outta the building. That's right, three-one of 'em big and shapeless, which meant somebody'd got hurt and somebody else was haulin' 'em along. Followed by four more blobs, a little ways behind as yet but catching up waaay too fast for comfort. I switched from thermo to visual sensors and saw Punch pounding toward me, with Zipdrive slung over his shoulder. Rocker and Catseye were close behind, stopping every so often to shoot or sling a spell at the sec-squad following. And I saw two sec-drones, the vidcam kind with a homing beacon that'll film your sorry hoop in the criminal act and follow you all the way home. The corps love those; they can track you to your safehouse and send the footage straight to the ten-o'clock news. A one-two punch.
I popped the doors open as Punch came up. Without missin' a step, Punch slid Zippy off his shoulder and into the back seat, then threw himself in beside him. Rocker and Cat jumped in the middle. I slammed the doors and took off. The sec-boys behind let loose a hail of gunfire, none of which hit. I could hear Punch's FN-HAR talkin' back, but didn't dare look behind Demon to see if he'd got anybody. Then I heard some more shots that didn't come from Punch, and somethin' smacked me hard on the back of the head.
I thought I was dead. Just for a second I really thought one of the sec-skags'd plugged a bullet right through my meat skull. Then my brain caught up with me, and I realized I was still runnin' Demon down the road. Which meant I was still alive. With a killer headache and a weird, itchy feeling across the back of my scalp that told me the fraggin' bastard had punched a hole through Demon's rear windshield. I didn't have to see it to know that the whole thing was crazed with fracture lines. Have to replace it, I thought, while the rest of me concentrated on the road ahead. And also on the sirens that were startin' to wail all around as the neighborhood Star patrols twigged that somethin' was up. I shunted a smidgen more mental energy toward the audio sensors to sharpen the pickup; I needed to know what direction the sirens were comin' from.
The sensors gave me bad news. The Star was headin' toward us from the north and east. The place we'd hit, with its sec squad on full alert, was behind us to the south. That left just one direction for a getaway-west, toward Puget Sound. Which meant Demon and me'd have to head west far enough to slip past the Star and hope to highway hell that we didn't hit water first. Then we'd have to make a sharp turn southwards, then pedal-medal it back crosstown to the safehouse. All the while keepin' the Star off our trail, or else losin' 'em somewheres in the maze of city streets.
I always did love a challenge.
First thing, though, I hadda take care of the drones. They were clingin' close, buzzin' 'round Demon like gnats. I opened the roof and raised the Vindicator from its inside mount, braced my hands on the wheel so they'd stay steady when the ASIST recoil hit me, and fired at the nearest drone. Blew the fragger to dust, and didn't hardly swerve atall. The FN-HAR barked again as Punch sent the second drone spinnin' into the side of a building. A little puffy fireball told me the second drone wasn't a problem anymore. Which just left the Star-and they were gettin' closer.
Demon and I whipped around the corner hard enough to make me dizzy for a second. The street ahead was clear, the sirens all behind us or a ways off to the side. As I gunned Demon's engines, I snuck a peek at the gridmap. Seattle's traffic grid, superimposed in bright yellow lines over a detailed map of the city, flickered to ghostly life across the top of Demon's windshield. The bright orange dot that was Demon showed up just four city blocks shy of a main drag. If I could get to it, I could take it to the I-5 and on home.
I wasn't counting on the three patrol cars that suddenly shot into the intersection half a block ahead. They'd been runnin' silent, caught me off guard. Smart bastards, the Star. Don't underestimate 'em if you want to live long. So now I had a choice to make-fast. Stop and surrender, whip around or run backwards straight into the patrol I could hear closin' in behind us, floor it and hope Demon could crash through the blockade without takin' too much damage to keep goin' or find me an alley to fly down in the next couple seconds.
Luck was with me. A patch of empty dark appeared in the solid wall of plascrete to my right. I aimed Demon's nose toward it and floored the gas. I was gonna pay for this later on-I could feel the burn in my calves from too much redlinin', like a distance runner who starts out too fast and burns up his reserves-but so long as I got us out of immediate trouble, I'd deal with the consequences.
The dark hole was an alleyway, dirty and stinkin' and narrow. We took the turn a hair too sharply; my right arm caught fire as poor Demon scraped a fender against the side of a crumblin' factory. Now she'd need a new paint job along with everything else. Rubber screeched on pavement as the patrol cars caught on to the change of plan; I knew we didn't have much time to get ahead of 'em. So I poured on more power and ignored the charley horses that were formin' in both legs. The only thing that mattered was getting to the end of the alley before the Star did and then findin' us a fast route outta there.