Author’s note: I got so
excited when Shapcan and Rat both started posting stories again, that I wanted
to join in. I went ahead and stopped
working on Hunting Shadows to crank this short story out. Unfortunately, it ended up taking a little
longer than I thought it would. Then, I
sent it out to a couple of people for proofing, and now that I finally am
getting back to it, Shapcano has taken a hiatus from finishing up joint
venture. Oh well, such is life, I hope
you all enjoy the story, as always feedback is welcome send it to [email protected]
–Fade–
Happy Birthday
Suzie had just made a mistake, quite
possibly the last mistake she would have a chance to make in her relatively
short life. Growing up in the Redmond
Barrens, the worst slum in Seattle, one tended to learn things quickly, or die
very young.
What Suzie didn’t know was that her
favorite rule, Watch Out for Thyself, was taught and practiced in more places
than just the inner city. Since magic
came back, and technology ran rampant in the early 21st century, ideals like
justice and mercy had taken a backseat to things like power and greed. The old United States had broken into
countless nations, none of which cared about you unless you were rich, or lucky
enough to have a system identification number.
Those without SINs could pretty much count on the fact that they weren’t
going anywhere in life. Of course, some
of the SINless fought back, becoming shadowrunners. A couple of lucky breaks here and there, and you could scrape together
enough money to get all kinds of goodies put inside your body. Wired reflexes would make you faster, muscle
augmentation could make you stronger, and the gray matter that came with
cerebral boosters could make you smarter.
In the end though, turning yourself into some kind of ultimate predator
didn’t help if a corp decided it wanted you dead. Everyone who had any real power had incorporated long ago, so by
Suzie’s estimation it was just better to make sure that you didn’t draw any
kind of attention to yourself.
Drawing attention to yourself was a
good way to invite problems later on.
The more noble something seemed, the more likely it was to get you
killed very quickly. Like standing up
to the leader of a gang, especially a gang that was starting to decline in
power. The less real power someone like
that had, the more vicious they tended to be so that they didn’t have to deal
with people standing up to them.
If Jackknife was anything, he was vicious. The Switchblades had been losing ground to
the Bloodsuckers for the last two months, and consequently the ganger had taken
to knifing pedestrians in broad daylight to prove that his ‘family’ was still a
force to be reckoned with.
Everything that the 16 year old elf
had seen up to that point in her life had said that when Suzie saw the gang
leader and a flunky harassing Jackie, the only other elf in the neighborhood,
she should have just keep walking and been grateful that it wasn’t her that was
being dragged into the alley.
The problem was that it had been her
before, enough times that she had lost count somewhere along the way. When you were an elf, even an elf that
wasn’t very pretty, there was always someone who wanted to get their hands on
something exotic. By some twist of
fate, it hadn’t ever been Jackknife, but in the end it didn’t matter who was
dragging her into a dark corner, things always went down the exact same
way. The same words, the same
everything, one would think that there was some kind of cosmic script that
every scum ball in the world had read and committed to memory.
In the end, nobody but her even cared. That wasn’t fair, Suzie’s mom would have
cared if she had told her, but there was no way the elf was going to get her
mother involved. Suzie’s mom hadn’t
ever learned the lesson very well, she would try and put a stop to it, and just
get herself killed.
The police, in their shiny patrol
cars, wouldn’t do anything about it, because they didn’t get paid as much to
police the slums as they did to patrol the rich neighborhoods. The neighbors knew that if they got involved,
their apartment would be robbed, their store would be burned down, or any
number of other unpleasant things would happen, so they never interfered
either.
In the grand scheme of things, life
wasn’t fair, so you just kept your head down, and were glad that it wasn’t
you. Except this time, Suzie felt like
it was her being dragged towards the alley.
The stupid son of a slitch psychiatrist on the trid would probably tell
her that she was identifying with a fellow victim or some such drek, but she
didn’t care. All she knew was that suddenly
she had ignored the survival instincts that had helped her get to the eve of
her seventeenth birthday, and instead had walked up to Jackknife and slapped
him.
The oily ganger had been so
astonished that he had let go of Jackie, who like a proper student of the
streets, had run away without looking back to see how her benefactor was going
to fare. Suzie had tried to run away
too, but hadn’t made it more than three steps before being caught.
Jackknife was of course
furious. The leather clad human had
backhanded her hard enough that she saw stars as she fell to the filthy
concrete. Jackknife swore at the elf,
and then kicked her a couple of times to ‘take the rest of the fight out of
her’. “Stupid slitch, gonna pay now,”
muttered the ganger as he and the other ganger pulled her in the same direction
that they had been taking Jackie a few seconds previously.
Through the most intense pain Suzie
had felt in her life, she dimly heard the sound of a motorcycle drive up. Not another Switchblade, Jackknife and
the one are going to be cruel enough.
Two I might survive, but not three.
Footsteps approached, as if the
universe had decided to mock Suzie’s plea.
Jackknife let go with one hand as he turned to greet the rider. The walls of the buildings seemed to pulse
in time to the pounding in Suzie’s head, proving her idea of surviving the
coming ordeal to be a lie. This is
it, I’ve been hurt bad this time. There
is no way I’ll survive what is coming.
Before the elf could let go of the
last shred of hope, she heard Jackknife inhale sharply, and felt his grasp
tighten. “What da frag jou want chink.”
“The girl,” announced an emotionless
voice with an accent that didn’t match those of anyone who had grown up in the
barrens.
Suzie twisted around enough that she
could look over the other ganger and see who was speaking. “What do you want for her,” inquired an
athletic looking human, who appeared Chinese in descent. Suzie blinked enough to clear her vision and
get a better look at the man.
In a funny, fear induced hysteria,
one part of the girl’s mind was completely clear and calm, even while the rest
was gibbering and screaming that she didn’t want to die. The clear part noticed that the Chinese man
was striking in a cold, pretty-boy, mug-me-now-please kind of way.
Jackknife seemed to share Suzie’s
assessment of the newcomer. Although
the other was leathered up like a combat biker, the pants, jacket, and shirt
were all the kind of stuff someone with too much money would buy. The human had the look of one of the soft
corporate types that occasionally came down to the sprawl to create trouble in
one way or another. “Jou gonna take er
place drek face?”
The other man seemed to be
contemplating the best way to respond when Jackknife got a better view of the
newly arrived bike at the mouth of the alley.
“Jou can have da slitch for those wheels. Johnson like jou don’t deserve a bike like dat.”
Suzie watched as the man seemed to
consider the option. He must be some
kind of rich sicko, out looking for someone that can ‘disappear’ without anyone
asking too many questions. As that
last stubborn shred of hope Suzie had been clinging to finally died, the corper
shrugged. “It might be true that I
don’t deserve the bike, but I’m reluctant to just give it up without proof that
you are worthy of it.”
Jackknife’s brows creased as he
tried to follow exactly what had been said.
A knife appeared in the ganger’s hand as he decided that there must have
been an insult hidden in the sentence somewhere. The other ganger followed Jackknife’s lead and pulled out a
length of chain.
The yuppie shifted his weight
slightly, as if preparing for a fight, but it was evident that he wanted to
avoid confrontation. Must prefer
wrestling with half-dead waifs to fighting gang bangers, thought Suzie
bitterly as the corper started talking again.
“Does this mean that you can’t beat me in a race?”
That finally gave the gang leader
pause. The only thing the Switchblades
loved more than a fight was a good race.
The fact that Jackknife was the best motorcycle rider in the gang was a
big part of why he was able to maintain his position at the top. If it got out that he was turning down a
challenge like this, it could very well be enough for one of his lieutenants to
decide that they were ready to try and take over the gang. “I can take jou any day of the fragging
week. Jou want to race me though, jou
gonna have to make it worth my while.”
The yuppie nodded, “Of course, a
race then. You can pick the course, the
stakes have to include the girl.”
“Sure, da winner gets da girl and da
loser’s bike.” Turning, the ganger
shoved Suzie towards his henchman.
“Razor, you keep da girl, don’t do anything ta her, she’ll be mine in
ten minutes.”
Suzie was getting nauseous, probably
from when she hit her head on the concrete, so she didn’t really hear what
followed, other than that Jackknife was describing the route on which they
would be racing. The next thing the elf
knew, two bikes were growling down the street towards the only functioning
stoplight in the neighborhood.
_____
Jackknife
looked the other’s bike over more carefully as they pulled up to the
stoplight. ‘Da Johnson,’ as the ganger
had taken to calling the Chinese man in his mind, was riding what appeared to
be a brand new, just off the assembly line, Yamaha Rapier. Jackknife hadn’t seen this year’s model,
machines that new didn’t usually end up in slums this bad, but he hadn’t heard
anything to make him especially nervous.
Word on the street was that the
aging corp hadn’t done much more than fine tune the fuel injection, and put on
a slightly different fairing and color scheme.
Basically, it was the same as last year’s model, the model that
Jackknife had yet to loose to.
The ganger on the other hand, was
running a Frankenstein machine that most mechanics would have sworn couldn’t
have existed. Jackknife had mounted a
gigantic engine from an old 2032 Harley on a lightweight custom frame. The beast had definite personality when it
came to cornering, something that the ganger had pretty much learned how to
compensate for by now, but any weakness
in handling was more than made up for by the sheer torque the engine was able
to put to the back wheel. The bike
consistently turned 0-60 times three quarters of a second quicker than any
production bike Jackknife had ever heard of.
Even the really hot numbers that people used on the race circuit usually
couldn’t keep up with the kinds of times the ganger was able to routinely put
up.
The Johnson finished adjusting his
black helmet, and nodded his readiness.
While Jackknife had been inspecting his bike, the other rider had been
returning the favor. Never having seen
anything like Crusher, as the ganger called his bike, the human was still able
to make a pretty accurate estimate of the garish green bike’s
capabilities. Heavy, but with a
super high horsepower to weight ratio.
Probably turns 0-60 times in the very low twos. Probably doesn’t corner all that well, but
well enough that this guy is used to winning.
As the light was about to turn, the
leather clad yuppie, leaned as far
forward as he could get on the blue Rapier, revved his bike up to the right
spot on the power band, and dropped the clutch. Tires smoked as the power applied to the back wheel of each bike
instantly exceeded the friction that the sticky tires were able to generate
against the asphalt.
The extra broad tires and the
amazing torque of Crusher were enough to launch the ganger forward with the
kind of acceleration found in catapult-launched jets. That didn’t surprise the ganger, though, what surprised him was
that the other rider was, after nearly a second of acceleration, only a fourth
the distance behind him that he had expected.
The Chinese man was pleased with how
he was doing so far. The Rapier looked
stock, especially to someone that hadn’t seen this year’s model, but it was
actually heavily customized. The human
had recently hit it big, so he’d decided as long as he was getting a new bike,
that he should have it customized. Some
of the mods had been pretty cheap and easy, like putting a new muffler on, one
that didn’t use up as much of the engine’s power in pushing exhaust through
countless layers of sound baffling. A
new fuel injection system to make sure that the maximum amount of fuel and oxygen
was being sprayed into the cylinders, was only slightly more difficult than
that. Those two were the easy changes,
the ones that the yuppie had been able to do himself.
The things that were allowing his
bike to keep up with the monster ahead of him had been more radical. A friend had next pulled the radiator off
the bike and mounted a modified one under the pillion seat. The new spot for the radiator meant that if
the bike was left idling for prolonged periods, the seat would get hot, but
once in motion, the special channels cut into the fairing directed cool air
through a pair of cylinders that actually cooled better than the original
radiator, and all with considerable space savings.
The repositioning of the radiator
had also created room in front of the engine.
The engine had then been moved four inches closer to the front wheel, as
well as being dropped quite a bit closer to the ground. The new location meant that the heaviest
part of the bike was further away from the back wheel, allowing for better
cornering and stability. Another
benefit was that the new position allowed quite a bit more power to be applied
to the road before the front wheel would start coming up and threaten to flip
the bike over.
Realizing that he was unlikely to
ever hit the bike’s top speed while driving around in the city, the runner had
asked his friend to change the gear ratio on the bike. For a loss of about 30 kilometers per hour
on the top end, the bike had received much better acceleration. The usual assortment of steel and plastic
parts had been replaced with titanium and carbon resulting in a weight savings
of nearly 20 kilograms.
The clutch, and breaks had been
upgraded for better performance, as had a host of smaller parts, everything
from signal lights, to spark plugs, rims, and tires. In the end, the bike weighed a measly 170 kilograms, and
generated power figures significantly higher than anything coming off the
assembly line with the same size engine.
In fact, the bike had only a slightly lower power to weight ratio than
Crusher.
As the Chinese man neared the corner of the first turn, he allowed
his time sense to slow down even more than it already had. Amazingly keen eyes seemed to have hours in
which to search for slick spots on the pavement, debris, or anything else that
might bring the bike down.
Noting two spots that looked chancy,
the biker watched as Jackknife started scrubbing speed in an attempt to make
the corner. The biker predicted the
line that the ganger was going to take based on how fast he was slowing down,
and noted that there was a slightly better route just inside of where the other
bike was going to go. Either he
doesn’t know quite as much as I do about this stuff, or his bike can’t take
that tight a line without going over.
The corner, seeming to approach at a
walk even to the trailing biker’s time sense, was now close enough that the
Johnson started braking. Two fingers
applied pressure to the brake lever for the front wheel, while the right toe
pushed down a little to put the binders on the back wheel. The brake calipers were strong, strong
enough to lock both wheels up instantly, or even flip the bike end for end, if
the rider did things incorrectly.
Consequently the yuppie limited the amount of pressure he was putting on
the lever to avoid having problems. In
slow motion, as the pressure built between the pads and break disc, the center
of gravity of the motorcycle began to shift.
While under acceleration, the weight of the bike had been further back,
nearly to the back wheel. Now, the bike
was shifting forward on its suspension, putting more weight on the front tire,
and lightening the back. The extra
weight on the front tire meant that there was more friction between the rubber
and the asphalt, so the rider put more pressure on the front brakes, secure in
the knowledge that the tire wouldn’t lock up, even as he eased up on the back
brakes. It wouldn’t be a good idea
to lock the back tire up, that would end this race in short order.
The rapier was now closing on Crusher,
the Johnson had managed to carry more speed into the corner, and by braking
late, had managed to close the gap a little.
Feeling that he had scrubbed nearly all of the speed off that he needed
to, the biker used his left toe to drop down two gears a fraction of a second
before he came off of the brakes.
As the bike dropped into second gear
with a satisfying click, the rider threw it hard to the right leaning it far
enough over that his knee nearly touched the pavement. Opening up the throttle slightly, the Rapier
rider noticed that he had managed to close up the gap even more, but that the
ganger now had his bike nearly back up to vertical, and was ready to start
accelerating.
As the Rapier started into the turn,
the rider gave it just enough gas to start the back wheel slipping on the
road. The extra spin helped to bring
the bike around tighter, allowing the trailing biker to take the corner much
faster than most people would have believed possible. As the bike started to come back up far enough for the tires to
get a good grip on the road, the Johnson saw Jackknife look at his rearview
mirror.
In that split second, the biker
decided that he needed to shake the leader’s confidence. A quick twist of the wrist, and the Rapier
howled, bringing it’s front wheel up off of the ground as fuel poured into the
hungry cylinders. The move was a
calculated risk, but it paid off as the startled ganger mistimed a shift, going
for third before he’d cleared the power band on second.
As the Rapier hit the 16,000 RPM
limit, the biker let off of the gas for a split second, and speed shifted into
third gear. The sport bike had come out
of the corner with a higher speed, thanks to the Johnson’s superior cornering
skills, which combined with Jackknife not properly utilizing his bike’s full
acceleration, meant that the Rapier was now moving much faster than Crusher.
Crusher was a pretty big bike, and
was not as streamlined as it could have been.
Consequently, Jackknife was pushing quite a bit of air in front of and
around him. The flip side was that
there was a slight vacuum behind him.
As the sport bike closed in on Crusher, the Johnson aimed right at that
vacuum.
Already moving faster than
Jackknife, the helmeted rider smiled as he felt his bike slip in behind the
ganger. Suddenly bucking less wind
resistance, the Rapier surged forward, seeming to leap around Crusher as if
thrown from a sling shot.
Jackknife screamed as the other
biker passed him. Crusher finally hit
the power band in third, and the ganger felt his back tire bite into the
asphalt as it leaped forward. The
ganger saw that his opponent had a lead now, but it was starting to disappear
as the bigger motorcycle’s acceleration kicked in.
A block flashed by, and the Rapier
rider was using his horn now to warn people that they were coming. As Jackknife closed in, he realized that the
next corner had arrived, and he was forced to start braking. The black clad Rapier rider started to pull
ahead again due to the fact that he was able to break so much later.
Jackknife whipped around the corner,
and got on the gas hard as soon as was safe in an effort to close the gap. Timing his shifts perfectly, the ganger was
once again using the full potential of his bike’s engine, steadily closing the
gap that the Rapier had laboriously created.
The Johnson checked his rearview
mirror as he hit fourth gear, and saw the ganger closing in. It looks like he is back on his game,
this is going to be a close race.
_____
Suzie had started out leaning
against the wall, but as the seconds continued to pass, dizziness got the best
of her, and she slowly slid down the brick wall until she was resting on the
ground. The elf fought waves of nausea
that seemed to war with the ringing in her head until her whole world was
nothing but pain.
The pain suddenly got the best of
her and Suzie tipped over and started dry heaving. As the elf rested her cheek on the oil-stained asphalt she kept
thinking about the unfairness of it all.
I don’t even get to taste the cake mom is going to bake for
tomorrow. What a dreky day to die.
As the ringing in Suzie’s ears took
on a new pitch, she realized that the motorcycles must be returning. The elf didn’t much care who was going to
win. I’m going to die either way, so
unless they both run into a truck and die, it doesn’t really matter.
The ganger on the other hand, being
a true racing enthusiast was quite excited to see Jackknife blow another biker
off of the road. Realizing that his
captive wasn’t going anywhere under her own power, the teen ran to the mouth of
the alley to see the last part of the race.
As the pair of riders rounded the
last corner, the Rapier was well in the lead.
The Johnson brought his bike upright, seeming to open up the throttle as
his tires were able to grab the road.
The ganger saw Jackknife straighten Crusher back up, and heard the
bigger machine scream as Jackknife speed shifted through three gears. The bigger bike was rapidly gaining on the
sport bike now.
Jackknife pulled up into the
Rapier’s draft, and used it to slingshot around the other rider. As the two bikes neared the agreed upon
finish line, Jackknife and Crusher were a bare two feet ahead. With three blocks to go, the gang leader
pushed his bike slightly harder trying to ensure that he didn’t loose. As the tachometer needle approached the red
danger zone, Jackknife maintained acceleration for a split second longer than
he normally did, letting it creep past the red line.
The watching ganger was sure that
the race was over. Grinning in
anticipation of his share of the race’s ‘prize’, Razor saw Crusher shake
violently, and heard a loud crack as black smoke started issuing out of the
bike’s muffler.
As the broken piston rod stopped
feeding power from the engine to the wheel, Jackknife felt an instant drop in
his bike’s speed. The ganger again
bellowed as the Rapier passed him. As
the two bikes pulled to a stop next to the alley, Jackknife scrambled off of
his bike and walked over to the other rider, who was removing his helmet. “I owned jou, give up the bike chink.”
The Johnson shook his head
coldly. “You may have been leading
early on, but I was the one to reach the finish line first, your bike is the
one that is forfeited, and I’ll be leaving with the girl.”
The ganger watching from the front
of the alley started walking over to the two racers. Things were starting to look ugly, and Jackknife would be
expecting help in roughing up the other man.
As the ganger arrived to within five feet of the pair, the Chinese man
looked at him, and the youth felt a cold chill run down his spine. Jackknife was too incensed to notice, but
the soft, vulnerable Johnson that had started the race had become something
entirely different in the last few seconds.
Everything about the man now screamed danger to anyone who bothered to
look, and the gang member realized that the Johnson was more than willing to
kill both gangers for their actions of the last few minutes.
The Chinese man looked away from the
approaching ganger, and the blond-headed tough felt as though he had just been
released from a vise. As the ganger
opened his mouth to try and warn off Jackknife, his leader made his move. A switchblade appeared as if by magic, and
streaked towards the Johnson’s throat as the gang leader tried to end the fight
quickly. The other tough had seen
Jackknife use the attack often, and every time, the target had ended up
bleeding to death a few seconds latter.
This time though, by the time the
knife reached the halfway point, the Johnson had already moved, bringing his
hands up in the graceful manner of someone with extensive cyberware, or some
other kind of modification.
The passing hand was trapped by the
stanger’s right hand, pulling the arm out to full extension so that the
gillette could bring his left hand up and strike viciously at the gang leader’s
elbow. With a sharp crack, the elbow
broke rendering the arm useless. As
Jackknife recoiled from the pain, he shifted his weight to his left leg, trying
to get away from the source of the pain.
The Johnson watched as the ganger moved in slow motion. Once the razor judged that enough weight was
on the far leg, he slid closer, and lashed out with a side-thrust kick, blowing
out Jackknife’s left knee with a sickening snap.
As Jackknife started to crumble to
the ground, his attacker grabbed his shoulder spinning the ganger to the
left. The gang leader slowly started to
bend at the waist as he tried to take weight back off of his maimed leg. The Johnson took the motion that Jackknife
had started, grabbed the ganger behind the head, and pulled bringing
Jackknife’s head down. As the ganger’s
head came down to waist level, it struck the knee that the Chinese man had
brought up sharply.
As Jackknife’s head rebounded from
the impact, the Johnson spun around and took the ganger across the side of the
head with a spinning hook kick.
The whole series of blows took less
than a second. The blond ganger was
still trying to figure out how to stop Jackknife from starting a fight with the
other human, when the fractured bones in the gang leader’s face and head struck
the ground.
Looking into the cold eyes that were
once again staring at him, the blond ganger felt his stomach clench. Two seconds later Razor was running to his motorcycle
leaving Jackknife semi-conscious on the ground.
The runner bent down and went
through Jackknife’s pockets, before walking over to the alley. Suzie looked up as the stranger came into
view. The human walked slowly, alert for
any kind of ambush. Suzie had never
seen someone look so grim. The dark
clad figure reached into his coat, and the elf assumed that he was reaching for
some kind of weapon. Suzie felt the
world fall away from her, as terror caused her to slip into unconsciousness.
The black-clad human finished
pulling out his phone, and speed dialed a number. A couple of minutes later, the human finished arranging for
medical help, for the young lady. When the
backup finally arrived, the man handed them the keys to Crusher, two thousand
nuyen that Jackknife had been carrying, and three thousand from his own
credstick.
The human shook his head as Suzie
disappeared into the unmarked van. It
looked like his shopping trip would have to wait until tomorrow. Thinking of a friend that would be very
disappointed when she woke up the next day to find not even a cake waiting for
her, the human shook his head. “I don’t
think I’m ever going to get the hang of finding anyone a decent birthday
present.”
__________
Special
thanks needs to be given to Helsop and Carver for helping me get Happy Birthday
into a form where it was intelligible.
Any mistakes are obviously mine, you should have seen what they had to
wade through.
In
addition to thanking Shapcano for hosting his excellent site, I’d also like to
thank the crew at Shapcano’s who have been kind enough to e-mail me their
impressions, suggestions, and encouragement after reading Deadly Game.
By name, they
are:
Andrew,
Borsic,
Ed,
Eric,
Fire,
Hunefer,
Jay,
John,
Mark,
MrBagg,
Nauticus,
Samuel,
Shane
Additional
thanks needs to go out to some others who reviewed Deadly Game once it was
done, to give me a the point of view of those who aren’t shadowrun
intimates. Amber, Ben, Cassy, Katie,
Tacie, Randall, and Zane. Thanks guys,
I appreciate the encouragement.
Last
but not least, I again need to recognize my family who are directly or
indirectly responsible for most of what is good in me.
__________
This
story is copyrighted by the author. The
author grants license to all parties to copy and redistribute his work, as long
as it is not used for commercial gain or modified in any way. Additionally, the author must be given
credit for his work, and his contact information, [email protected], should be
included with any copy of his work. All
other rights are reserved.
To
take a page out of Shapcano’s book, Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of
Fantasy Productions LLC. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use
of Fantasy Productions LLC’s copyrighted material or trademarks in this file
should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.