The elevator gently stopped at the 47th floor, and the doors silently opened. I stepped off, and Mr. Baldwin's secretary greeted me. Her name was Jennifer Galvin. She was human, of athletic build and perfectly beautiful in the way that only cosmetic surgery can provide. I recalled reading her file once, before she was promoted to the executive suites, and her file became classified. She was incredibly intelligent and calculating. At some time she must have decided it was safer being a executive secretary than being an executive. She smiled as I approached.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Long. Please wait while I notify Mr. Baldwin that you are here."
I stood motionless, my hands crossed in front of me. She depressed one button on her desk, and when it flashed green seconds later, she smiled at me and waved me past. The door buzzed, and opened silently by itself. I stepped in.
Life at the top was good. Real wood paneling, real wood desk and furniture. Leaning on the front of the desk was Mr. Baldwin. He was in his mid-50s, but still in excellent physical condition. He enjoyed his real food - fruit, even meat - but only in moderation; being an overweight executive had been out of fashion for over 60 years.
"Mr. Long, this is Mr. Johnson," he said with authority as gestured toward the woman standing on his left. I nodded a greeting and recognized her immediately. Her real name was Tanya Solvega, executive assistant to Lucas Crell this morning. Apparently that had changed when Crell was murdered by disgruntled 'outside assets' - shadowrunners.
"Your task tonight, Mr. Long, will be to assist Mr. Johnson in her negotiations this evening with a third party," he meant 'outside assets.' "Together, you will meet them at Fargo's. There should be no troubles. Mr. Johnson has her instructions." Pretty simple. I'd acted as back-up to Johnsons before. Apparently with the troubles suffered by Crell, the Company wanted to make sure his successor made it through her first meet.
Fargo's was in a decent part of town. The streets were reasonably clean, people weren't afraid to walk on them after dark. Our rigger tonight was a dwarf by the handle Bromdingnag, an obvious sarcastic reference to Gulliver's Travels which no one ever got. Fifth world satire just didn't have the same impact these days, so no one ever read it anymore. Our rigger dropped us off at the front door and took the Nightsky into the nearby parking garage. He and I maintained radio contact, just in case we needed to make a quick escape.
It was ten o'clock at night. The meet was for ten fifteen. I watched the street as Mr. Johnson moved towards the door. I checked nearby doorways, rooftops, and even the sewer opennings. There were a few people out tonight, but none gave us any notice. I guess having a bodyguard wasn't such a strange occurrence in this part of town. Johnson started to open the door, and I kicked in the wires and cut her off.
"Sorry," I said, honestly appologetic. "Security."
"Of course," she replied, and only her voice gave hint that she was nervous. I opened the door, and moved in first. Fargo's is a busy place. To the left was a full-length bar, and along the right was a line of booths. About 10 meters in the floor dropped, and a much larger restaurant / fine-dining area was spread out below. The place was about full; an odd combination of corporate lower management and the street elite. There were a few open tables, and people mingling around the walls. Great. Not only could our contact already be here, but any one of the fraggers could also be after Johnson.
I let Johnson lead us in. She immediately headed into the dining area. Despite my protests, she selected a small table facing the front door and about three meters from the nearest wall. Fortunately for me, that wall was opposite the kitchen and had no windows. I moved over to that wall, and performed a credible imitation of a piece of furnature. From where I stood, I could see the front door and virtually all of the establishment. I was on the opposite wall from the bar, and had a chance to notice a few things about it. The wall behind the bar was mirrored, so the bar tenders - both attractive human males - could see patrons and activities even when turned away. There was one fragger at the bar, must have been a street "samurai" who didn't know enough to turn his wires off. He didn't move much, but when he did, it was in fast motion. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Johnson was keeping her cool. She glanced over at me once, and I nodded carefully to reassure her.
[at 10:10, the rigger reports gemini's arrival]
[at 10:12, the rigger reports dullon's arrival]
[at 10:15, dullon walks in the door. johnson stiffens nervously, and dullon immediately picks her out because of it.]
[long, because of his audio mods, can pick out some of the conversation. data plant at m.u.v. should be no problem, etc.]
[the rigger reports the arrival of the three upset 'runners]
[at 10:25 the trio bursts in]
[at 10:26 the leader shoots ppl]
[long knocks johnson to the floor while drawing his gun]
[dullon shoots the leader while the leader shoots him, dullon's body breaks the table. fast forward flattens the next one, and gemini knocks one through the glass front door [sniper rifle with gel rounds]]
[dullon walks over to the dying leader "never, never let your emotions get control of you. it leads to mistakes. remember that in your next life."]
[dullon heads for the door. he looks back at johnson, and jerks his head, indicating that johnson should follow.]
There's an entire section here that I've got on paper somewhere, and I need to get uploaded.
Duralloy was leading the way down the corridor. We'd been ambushed once already, and we expected more. Duralloy had sent his other people home; we were almost to the objective, and he didn't want them getting hurt any more than they already had. We came to the last corner before we got to [ ]'s office. Duralloy signalled that I wait while he checked out the corridor. I leaned close and watched him advance slowly - he was no longer his cocksure self. He'd gone about three of the seven meters, when there was a flash of light at the end, and a giant miasmic toxic wave came pouring forth from the shadows by the door!
I jerked my head back, to use the wall as cover. My mind spun. I almost laughed. People, when faced with death, do the weirdest things. Most people would try to cover their faces with their arms when a toxic wave roars down on them; useless, but normal. Duralloy, incredibly fond of his pistols, had tried to shield them behind his back, as if his meager flesh could save them. Then the wave passed me, and the stench bore into my nostrils like an angry troll. I gasped a few quick gulps of air, and then held my breath for as long as I could. It was up to me now.
I heard gunshots from around the corner. Probably the mage wanting to finish any twitching remains. Then I heard Duralloy's voice!
"What are you waiting for daisy-eater? A written invitation from the CEO?"
I looked around the corner, careful not to touch the walls. There was Duralloy, looking back over his shoulder at me. He was completely naked and bald except for some remaining goo dripping off his body. His mangled and pitted equipment lay in a heap around his feet. He held his precious pistols at shoulder height to prevent the goo from dripping on them. All I could do was stare.