"We need to get past these fraggers now. Do you think you can take them?" Geist gave Hammer a look that left no doubt he thought he could handle any mundane threat. "I can, but I need to see them if I'm going to hit them, and I need a distraction to give me time to act." Hammer nodded and turned to Tootall. He spoke quietly into his mike, and the troll's headset picked it up across the hallway. "We need to give those corpers something to think about for a few seconds so Geist can take 'em out. Hold for my mark." Tootall grinned and nodded, reaching for a pouch on his web-belt. Geist remained crouched at the base of the wall. He settled his back against the wall, his eyes closing and muscles relaxing as he went into a trance. A faint shimmer appeared in the air in front of the mage, slightly blurring his features, like heat rising from summer asphalt. Hammer knew Geist was calling on the aid of one of his servitor spirits. He had seen the telltale signs with Geist and many other magic-workers before. The mage was calling in the big guns. When the shimmering appeared, Hammer turned to Tootall and nodded. The troll yelled "Banzai!" and let fly a small, flat silver object from his belt pouch. A second later, the stun grenade went off with a loud bang and a bright flash. There were shouts from the corridor, followed by more cries of confusion from the security guards. "Gas attack!" a voice cried out. "Use your masks! Use…" the voice trailed off in a flurry of choking and coughing as a terrible smell wafted over to the shadow-runners, nearly making Hammer retch from the foulness of it. He wrinkled his broad, flat nose and backed off a little bit, staying near Geist's motionless body. What the frag was the mage doing? In a few seconds, the coughing and choking noises subsided, and Hammer was sure he heard a few bodies hit the tiled floor of the corridor. He waited another moment longer and then signaled to Tootall. The two of them whipped around the corner, weapons at the ready. The corridor and lobby beyond held a bank of elevators and the doorway to the stairwell. A thick, bluish haze like a bad afternoon in Los Angeles hung over the area, obscuring the elegant corporate decor. The corridor was littered with the prone bodies of eight guards wearing the same uniforms as the ones the team had taken out near the side entrance. A few of the men had small filter-masks on, but the masks had been useless against a threat that didn't come from a gas-grenade. The source of the disgusting smell and the faintly bluish haze hovered in the air above the unconscious guards. It looked like a man-shape made up of thicker areas of mist swirling and shifting in the depths of the haze as it hovered there. The air elemental was able to penetrate any physical protection with its insubstantial body, using its power to control its native element to choke the guards with noxious air. As Hammer watched in fascination, the spirit seemed to collapse in on itself and all of the mist in the room was drawn to a single point in the air like a whirlpool of air. When the room was clear, the misty spirit was also drawn through the invisible hole in the air and vanished in a glimmer of light. "They should be out for at least an hour," Geist said, coming around the corner. Hammer almost jumped at the sound of the mage's voice. It was times like this he was reminded just how much of an asset a mage like Geist was to a team. Hammer turned away from the prone bodies of the corp guards to look at the mage's pale face. Geist had a look of smug satisfaction on his features. Hammer didn't bother to comment on it. As long as the mage did his job this well, he was entitled to be a little arrogant. "Good work," he said. "Let's hit the stairs." He waved an arm to the rest of the Hammermen and took the lead.
Gunfire echoed faintly through the corridor, and the two technicians turned and looked back toward their boss with concern written on their faces. Their job descriptions might have included monitoring grueling interrogations, but not dealing with armed opponents capable of fighting back. Miles Lanier kept his gun leveled at Babel's back and looked past him at the techies. "Keep going," he said. "Our people will keep them off us until we can get to the parking garage and out of here." The small group reached the stairwell door and one of the techies slashed his passcard through the mag-lock. The red light burning over the mechanism remained unchanged. "The lock won't respond, sir," he said to Lanier. Lanier took a step around Babel toward the door when the lights in the corridor went from red emergency lights to normal lighting, silencing the alarm system, followed by a loud bang from the stairwell above. Lanier glanced over at the door and away from Babel. In that moment, Babel acted, the monofilament-edged slasher extending from his arm like a striking snake. Time slowed to a crawl, and he swung at Lanier, aiming for his extended gun hand. Dr. Ferrera screamed a warning to Lanier, but the man had already caught Babel's movement out of the corner of his eye. He stepped back quickly to get out of the way, tripping himself up and falling against the security door. The edge of the blade caught Lanier's pistol and knocked it from his hand, sending it clattering to the floor with a silvery gash along the side. Lanier immediately dropped into a crouch to avoid Babel's next attack, matching his speed. The cyberblade passed harmlessly over his head, cutting a narrow gash in the metal of the security door. Lanier snapped out one leg in an expert kick, catching Babel in the knee. The technoshaman fell back in a burst of pain, struggling to stay on his feet as Lanier made a grab for his fallen weapon.
Babel leapt forward again toward Lanier when one of the techies decided to be a hero by tackling him. The two went down on the floor in a heap, but Babel quickly rolled to the top. He straddled the hapless technician's chest and grabbed his throat with one hand, holding the point of his cyberblade menacingly close. At the click of a hammer being drawn back, both men looked over at where Lanier had his gun trained on them. "Let him go," Lanier said, "and get up slowly." Babel looked down at the fearful face of the technician and back at Lanier. He could threaten the techie, try to use him as a hostage, but he knew that would be hopeless. If Lanier was any match for his reputation, he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice one man to hold onto Babel, and then Babel would have nothing to bargain with. Lanier was corporate, and Babel knew how little the megacorporate big noises cared for their employees when push came to shove. He slowly got to his feet and stepped away from the prone technician, the carbon-fiber blade silently retracting into his forearm as he did so. "Impressive cutter," Lanier said. "But you could use a little more training in how to use it. Now stay right there." Lanier took a key-card from the inside pocket of his suit-jacket and tossed it to the technician, who was getting to his feet. "Use this," he said and the techie scrambled to obey. Lanier's key-card overrode the maglock, and the light flashed green. The technician reached for the handle when the door flew open with a sudden bang, striking him in the face. He crumpled against the wall and fell into a heap. Lanier took no notice of the technician's fate. He spun on the ork coming through the door, pistol in hand. The ork held a hand-cannon that made Lanier's slim weapon seem like a toy by comparison. "Drop it, chummer!" the ork said in a booming voice. Lanier hesitated for a moment, and Babel could almost see him mentally calculating the odds of being able to take this fierce-looking ork. He raised his hands, pointing the gun at the ceiling, but not dropping it as the ork ordered. The newcomer moved carefully into the corridor, keeping his gun trained on Lanier, but watching everyone, as several other men emerged from the doorway. All of them were wearing dark camouflage fatigues and urban street armor. Three men were human, the fourth had to bend down a bit as he came through the door. He was a troll, and carried a military-grade rifle with a taped-banana clip. The men quickly moved to cover everyone in the hall. "I said to drop it, chummer," the ork said in a flat, even tone. Lanier took one more look over the group of armed men, and his gun hit the floor with a loud clatter. "Kick it over here," the ork ordered, and Lanier complied, sending the gun sliding over toward the ork. One of the other men bent down to pick it up. Babel noticed he was the only one who did not already have a weapon in his hands. There was a pistol bolstered in a shoulder-rig, but Babel had the strong impression the man rarely used it and carried it only for show. "You don't know who you're fragging with, drekwits," Lanier said. The ork gave a short, barking laugh, echoed by several of the other men. "You're not exactly in a position to bargain, chummer. We've got you outnumbered and outgunned." He glanced toward Babel. "About all you can do is tell me why we shouldn't take our boy here and leave the rest of you deadweight for the clean-up crew." He leveled his weapon at Lanier's heart and Dr. Ferrera gasped. "Who are you working for?" Babel asked. The ork turned to glance back at the technoshaman. "That's not your problem, kid," he said. "You'll find out soon enough." "It might matter to you that this guy is Miles Lanier…" Babel started to reply. "Lanier?" the ork said. "The former Fuchi security guy?
I thought you worked for Renraku now? Is this some kind of put-on, kid?" "I don't think so," said the man who picked up Lanier's gun. "I scanned the Renraku corporate report recently, and this man looks very much like Miles Lanier. He could be quite valuable to the right people…" The man let the remainder of the thought dangle, and the faces of the other men lit up. "Hey, nothing like a little extra cred," said the tall blond man. The ork stared at Lanier over the top of his gun, the weapon never wavering for a second. "I don't like complications, chummer, but I also don't like the idea of leaving a guy like you behind to cause trouble for us. And geeking you is going to make more problems, so you and the lady can come with us. Don't make killing you less trouble than keeping you alive, so ka?" Lanier nodded, his eyes as hard as flint. The shadow-runners fanned out to herd Lanier, Ferrera, and Babel up the stairs to the first floor of the facility. Babel saw the unconscious guards in the corridor and lobby above and knew these men were not to be trifled with. "We're clearing out of here, Val," the ork leader said quietly into his throat-mike. "Get ready to rock." The shadow-runners led their charges out through the side entrance of the building where a helicopter sat on the pavement of the parking lot, its rotors revving up as they approached. Everyone climbed into the chopper's open side door, the ork last of all. He swung into place in the cabin and slid the door shut, calling out to the pilot. "Take her up, Val. Let's buzz." The rotors whined faster and the Stallion lifted smoothly from the ground. "Nice and smooth," the ork said as the pavement dropped away below them. "Not quite, boss," came the voice of the lady chopper pilot. "We've got a bogey coming in on intercept." The control cabin radio hissed and crackled with an incoming transmission. "Unidentified craft, this is Knight Errant Security patrol beta-four-one. You are in violation of corporate airspace and metroplex air-traffic regulations. Identify yourself immediately or we will be forced to open fire. Repeat, transmit your identification codes and flight plan information immediately or we will down your craft."