Shadowrun General > Fan fiction
Pananagutan -- A Limited-Ongoing Tale
The Wyrm Ouroboros:
Manila, 2052.
"T minus five. Main ops on final approach. Support ops confirm. Over." The squashed-band transmission of the normally tonal Japanese sounded flat in her ear, the digital compression robbing the speaker on the other end of tell-tale tics and tone. She didn't need to hear the voice to know who it was, though; the commander's call-sign was appended on her HUD via the gear the mercenaries had loaned her and her associates. "So we can keep in contact," their quartermaster had said with ill-disguised scorn, contemptuous of the 'special ops' group their mutual employer had saddled them with. All of the mercs were Japanese and human, and most of them were male; of her seven associates, she was the only female, the only one who professed being from Nihon, and five of her group were metahuman -- scum kawaruhito, lower even than gaijin, and her contaminated by association. The fact that the op was in the ‘pacification zone’ of Luzon, largest island of the Philippines, made no difference to them; they were Japanese, and so they ruled the world.
Holding up a finger to her 'teammate', she pointed at herself as the first group, a sniper and his spotter, called in their readiness status. "Support op two," she thought back in the same language the mercs used, the implanted thought transducer silently sending the signal through her subdermal microphone into the tactical unit, which held the data. "In place, awaiting engagement. Over." The last word signaled the recognition software, which compressed her brief response and sent it through the burst transmitter. Her nominal teammate, a burly Filipino ork who looked ill-pleased to have to be babysitting the back door and the new girl, allowed a low grunt of understanding to momentarily replace his scowl at her presumption. In the low rumble of the forest, the sound blended where speech would have not.
It took another two minutes for the sounds of the laboring trucks that made up the primary operational team to reach them through the jungle. As they did, she and the ork rose from their waiting positions, seiza and squat respectively, and started to move through the jungle once more. She was as a wraith, but her companion was better; while her passage silenced wildlife, they treated him as just another creature, to be hunted or hid from or ignored in turn. The village that was the target of the operation would never have seen him coming. As it was, the two halted at a distance from the wall that was uncomfortably close for her; she would have expected a place like this to have cut the jungle back some distance from the barrier, but instead it grew almost up to the wall -- inside it, so she might swear.
In the distance, at T minus 30 seconds, the lead truck coughed, rattled, and died just after coming around the final turn. Beside her, the ork took cover behind a troll-thick bole, bracing his battered AK-97 against his shoulder and the tree and sighted it in on the panel of the in-set back door, ready for hell to break loose. As their tac-comms updated the information, his via helmet screen, hers via implanted image link, the second and third trucks took the curve wide, snorting their way towards the gate -- and accelerating. Behind them, two men dropped from the tailgate and stepped clear, each dropping to one knee and lifting a fat tube to their shoulder.
One of the gate-guards, already looking alarmed at the two charging trucks, shouted and pointed at the two distant men. Some of the more reactive guerrillas raised their assault rifles and chattered bullets downrange, even as two columns of flame erupted from the backs of the tubes, the anti-tank missiles throwing themselves at the upper outside corners of the gates. A couple of guards, more wise, threw themselves off the back of the catwalk, tumbling to the ground in a desperate gamble for a few more minutes of life.
She rose to her feet as the ATGMs impacted upon the gates' hinges, sending chunks of steel and concrete screaming through the forecourt of the village; she couldn't see the direct results, but she was smart enough to be able to predict it. Slapping the ork on the shoulder, she sprinted forward; cursing with surprise, he hesitated, then followed, clumsy in comparison to her liquid flow.
The same moment the second, now lead, truck hit the crazily-dangling gates and smashed them open, she kicked off the ground, off the reinforced-concrete column of the gatepost, and chinned herself momentarily above the level of the greened wood panel. Beyond, the village closely resembled a kicked-in ant's nest, responding rapidly to the assault at the front gate. She held there for a moment, dark hair and painted face blending into the twilighting jungle behind her, then twisted back to offer her hand to the approaching ork. He needed the boost, but only barely, gripping the panel and pulling himself just past eye level over the wood. After letting him take a quick glance -- and listen to the ferocious gun battle at the gate as far more weapons than were on the 'expected opposition' list engaged the merc team -- she spoke, quickly but concisely, using Tagalog when she could, Japanese when she didn't know the local words. He stared at her for three precious seconds, astounded at her brutal audacity, then nodded, once.
With a kick and a heave, they moved over the gate, two against two hundred, to take the enemy from the rear.
Edited for formatting and due to research in the Sixth World Almanac.
Deepeyes:
Very nice!! When's the next part coming?! ;)
The Wyrm Ouroboros:
Part 1 edited for formatting and due to research in the Sixth World Almanac.
Seattle, 2073.
Three Weeks Ago.
Despite her most-public commlink being tucked away in her bag, the 10% opacity of one of the few people trusted with a direct link to her headware address popped up in Suki's image link. Perhaps a flicker of distraction showed in her eyes as the electronic ghost formed beside her opponent; with a shouted kiai, he sprang forward, upraised sword sweeping down from jodan no kame in a fierce cut to the head; with a huff of breath, she deflected it with a flicking snap of her own blade, drifting a half step backwards, and thought her greeting to the ghost. "Konnichiwa, Sanchez-sama. Ogenki desuka?"
The Japanese man in front of her struck again, switching sides; she pivoted her hips, bringing her sword from left to right while taking the other half of the pace backwards. Again, the strike; again, she parried, rhythm building between the two, broken only by her assailant choosing to double up on one side of her head or the other. Once she reached the limit of her ability to retreat, she first parried, then swiftly counterattacked with a fierce strike to her opponent’s skull, stepping forward as she did. As she had before him, he retreated, blocking each of her advancing strikes with his own weapon.
As they exchanged blows, she spoke via thought with the electronic ghost of Julie Sanchez, who gave her a very slight smile and spoke in English. “I am well, Ms. Hashimayatsu.”
“And Miss Buttercup?”
“Well also. Miss Yuri?”
“Peculiar. She has stated she likes, as she calls it, ‘exciting music’.”
“‘Exciting music’??”
“Her exact words. Mostly ork and troll thrash metal, from what I can tell.”
“Oh dear.”
A sharp snap of sound and held block signaled her opponent’s own limit-of-retreat; once more Suki began backing away as she blocked, the Japanese man testing her high and low guards on either side. The ghost, self-muted, spoke momentarily to someone in the distant office before returning.
“Miss Buttercup requests Miss Yuri be guided towards less violent music, Ms. Hashimayatsu.”
“Please tell Miss Buttercup I will endeavor to do so. Is my daughter well?”
“Excellent, in fact. Her internship continues most promisingly, and she shows a particular aptitude for the binding and banishing of spirits.”
This caused Suki to pause in the block at her uttermost retreat for a heartbeat longer; showing an aptitude for spirit-control while amongst several powerful free spirits could be a swift road to immolation. Her opponent, moving like a cobra, snapped a strike at her head. Blocking it reflexively, she returned the favor of exercising his quarters, pressing forward with each strike.
“I hope this is not proving to be a problem, Miss Sanchez.”
“Of course not, Ms. Hashimayatsu. She is a valuable member of our team, and her other skills are coming along quite nicely. Though she has asked that you not be told until she can speak to you in person, she has in fact spoken of a possible religious calling.”
Thinking about this while her body took care of her rhythmic strikes, Suki pondered her twenty-two-year-old daughter’s pursuit of the Shinto tradition of magic. It was traditional, and in many ways it would allow her to fit in almost anywhere in the world where there were Japanese people. “I thank you for the information, Miss Sanchez. Please tell her I hope to speak to her tonight.”
“Tonight may be somewhat difficult for you, Ms. Hashimayatsu.”
“Why would that be?”
“I expect you will be in the air, and Philippine Airlines’ HSCTs are old. Even your multitasking capacity must be challenged by erratic linkages and irritated contacts.” Meaning they weren’t likely to have been upgraded to full modern capability. A flickering icon floating over Julie’s head indicated a message and info-bundle waiting for her in storage; though she didn’t let her eyes flicker over it, a mental toggle banished the icon until she could deal with it.
“Thank you for the call, Ms. Sanchez. Please let Riian know I will speak with her as soon as I can.”
As the 10% opacity ghost vanished, she committed herself to a very low block. An error, perhaps one she could recover from -- and then the Japanese man’s wrists flexed. The edge of her opponent’s blade slid along the block and swept upwards, speed and power undiminished, for her throat.
The Wyrm Ouroboros:
Philippines, 2052.
2 Weeks Earlier.
“Ang matugunan ay nakatakda para sa siyam na,” said the solid, authoritative dwarf in Tagalog to the rest of his team of six; “The meet is set for nine.” He gave the new girl -- definitely a girl, not a woman -- a glance that carried a wealth of contempt and derision, not bothering to translate into Japanese or Spanish for her. If she wanted to know what was being said, then she’d have to learn the language; it was obvious just from the lack of stains that her SecureTech jacket was a recent purchase, no matter how broken-in her katana hilt was. What was even worse was the fact that the young twenty-something Japanese girl was half-cloaked with a blanket, an infant tucked under and (from the sound of it) actually nursing. He was offended on half a dozen levels.
‘The new girl’ glanced at two of the others -- the robust young ork Aswang, ‘Ghost’, sitting there with his arms crossed and bracing the wall, and the lean human shaman Pating, ‘Shark’, lounging arrogantly across one of the couches -- then gave a slight nod. When she responded, her accent had the slightly haughty sound of someone who’d been chip-taught instead of in person by a native -- though it sounded like it was a good chip. “Ako doon,” she said -- ‘I’ll be there.’
The dwarf, known as Mahirap or ‘Hard’, gritted his teeth. Damn Uri for dumping this newbie Japanese dulo on him; who cared if Shiawase was hunting her and her baby? Well, the Kind Man had his reasons, but he couldn’t see what this lean little thing was about. He continued in Tagalog, giving the location to the group and fortunately not needing to tell them who should be where. He paused, then said to her in crude Japanese, “You. What we call you?”
She paused, clearly thinking about all her digital lessons, then said, “Talim,” the Tagalog word for ‘blade’.
He grunted. “Talim,” he repeated, then continued in Tagalog. “Fine. You’re with me.”
Her eyebrows went up, but she nodded.
“And leave the baby at home.”
“Yes sir.”
---
That night at the nightclub in Manila that was the meet location, Mahirap and Talim passed over their weapons at the door (her a short wakizashi blade and an old Seco LD-120 pistol, him a battered carbine-frame AK-86, a Colt Manhunter, and a combat knife) and made their way through the club, their target the door to which the doorman sent them. There, two wrestler-looking Japanese bodyguards stopped him and the girl (without baby, thank the spirits) as they stepped forward. “Your name,” one snarled in Japanese, shoving his knee against the dwarf’s chest, “or shove off, kawaru gaijin scum.” Thunderclouds filled Mahirap’s face and he moved, gripping the back of the knee against his belly and punching down and sideways against the bodyguard’s other knee. He felt more than saw the newbie shift as well; holding onto the leg, he levered the bodyguard to the floor and, with a twist of his foot, kept him there.
A glance sideways at the girl showed her pressing her hand against ‘her’ guard’s chest; he in turn was looking down at her, nostrils slightly flared and an expression of offense on his face. A longer look at her hand resolved into it holding a lean pistol that the weapon scan at the door really should have caught, pointed directly up towards the human’s throat. She glanced at Mahirap, and he nodded for her to go ahead.
“We,” she said in excruciatingly polite Japanese, “are the party your employer awaits. We apologize for the pain your partner has and may be experiencing, but rudeness is inelegant. And violence is unacceptable.”
The guard made a slight gesture of his head back towards the door at his back; Talim nodded, and put the pistol away under her too-new jacket with a smooth assuredness that surprised Mahirap. No doubt, it was that same rapidity that got the weapon out quickly enough to forestall the bodyguard. The stocky human knocked on the door and opened it. “The people you are expecting, sir,” he said in a calm professional voice.
“Let them in.”
The guard nodded to Talim, then to Mahirap; the dwarf grunted, and let go the other guard’s foot with a warning twist that stressed his ligaments without giving a lot of pain; if he tried to do anything else nasty tonight, he’d find the leg giving out on him. The Japanese girl had preceeded him into the room, looking around swiftly but not hastily; by the time he dropped the guard’s foot, she was turning towards him, giving him a bodyguard’s nod, though she already seemed twice as tense as outside. With a grunt, he entered past her, and heard her closing the door behind him.
The table inside was occupied by the expected G. Salaysay -- ‘Mr. Tell’, for someone who would tell people what he wanted and expect them to do it for a pittance -- who turned out to be a middle-aged Japanese man in a Western-style pinstripe business suit. Behind him against the wall stood another bodyguard, this one looking much more competent than the tripwires in front of the door. Mahirap lifted himself into his chair, eyeing the lean muscle standing against the wall for a moment more before turning his attention to the corporate employer; beside him, Talim sat down as well, folding her hands in her lap.
The Salaysay immediately started speaking in Japanese, and from the look on his face, he didn’t care if Mahirap could understand him. Oh, he could, but not very well, and not easily at the rate he was going on. The dwarf could feel his expression tightening, the thunder rising; this anak sa labas was at least as bad as the offensive thug out front. Shoving his presumed superiority just at being Japanese in Mahirap’s face, not even bothering trying …
“Ginoo Salaysay,” said Talim when the Japanese bastard paused as if for a reply, turning her head towards him as though she’d been hired specifically to do this, “does us the honor of bringing to us a request for our assistance in reinforcing a small mercenary strike force during an operation. We would be staging out of Alfonso Castañeda, east of Pantabangan Lake.”
The Japanese girl’s courtesy surprised a grunt from him before he thought about it. Pantabangan Lake wasn’t too far from San Jose City, and he knew a couple of people there. “We’re capable,” he replied. “What sort of support is he looking for?”
Talim turned back and spoke in Japanese to the Salaysay, the two of them exchanging words for a few moments. Oh, he understood about one in ten -- enough to get an idea of what was going on, anyhow. The Salaysay was talking about specialists -- mage, sniper, scout, that sort of thing, just the sorts you’d expect a group of soldiers might maybe need in the middle of the deep green. The word ‘firebase’ was another. Oh, and ‘nuyen’; he understood that word just fine. Finally, Talim turned to him again.
“Ginoo Salaysay asks for two sniper teams, one line mage and one in support, a drone rigger if possible, and as many scouts familiar with the jungle as possible. The mission is to eliminate a terrorist firebase in the mountains, fifteen kilometers generally northwards of Alfonso Castañeda. Estimated time of completion is three weeks. He offers one hundred fifty thousand nuyen, to be divided as you see fit, with ten percent now, twenty percent upon departure from Alfonso Castañeda, and the balance on mission completion.” The girl had plenty of self-control, but a hint of irritation had crept into Tagalog.
He could see where the irritation came from. The raw amount was generous for a crew of his size. Each of them would net over fifteen thousand with another plus-fifteen going to group expenses; that was a serious amount of cash for most of them. But for three weeks in the boondocks -- four, probably -- it was less eight hundred a day, with serious risk to all of them. Besides, the base was likely to be one of the Huk’s, and most of his people had Huk leanings, if not outright links. Hell, he had Huk contacts that wouldn’t like him if they knew he was doing this.
Which meant either he needed them to not know, or else he needed to tell them that some bad juju was about to go down fifteen klicks north of Alfonso Castañeda...
After a moment of thinking, he decided, “Tell him two twenty-five will get our co-operation. We can give him one sniper team, the two mages he’s asking for, and two scout teams. We could get a rigger in there, but the only thing that’d be coming out would be the man himself, and then G. Salaysay would be paying for the drones to boot, and I doubt he wants that. One third now, one third at Alfonso Castañeda, the last third in third-party escrow.”
The Japanese female inclined her head and shoulders -- that was a bow, wasn’t it? It was then that he realized then that there was something troubling him about the girl, even as she turned to negotiate with the Salaysay. He thought about it, watching the man on the other side of the table, listening to the two rattle back and forth with growing intensity until Talim spoke at his side again. “He offers two hundred plus a recent-model three-axle transport,” she informed him. Three-axle; deuce and a half territory, that was, and pretty good, even if G. Salaysay was likely to turn over a beat-up one out of his own corp’s pocket. “He agrees to your payment schedule.”
Mahirap nodded. “Good. I like a reasonable man. Get the contact information and when he wants us in Alfonso Castañeda.”
Talim gave him another of those shoulder-bows and, turning, supplied another to G. Salaysay. Japanese, and then a datachip and three credsticks went from male Japanese to female. Seeing that, Mahirap grunted, then shifted to slide off the too-big chair. “See you,” he said casually to the Salaysay, and sauntered towards the door. With a fluidity he associated only with elves and those with their joints all lubed up, Talim was there ahead of him, opening the door and keeping watch on the whipcord bodyguard inside.
---
Outside the club, walking down the street, Mahirap finally nailed it down, and spoke on it immediately. “You’re an elf, aren’t you.”
“Yes, Mahirap.” Her voice was controlled, but there was a nervous tremor to it.
“Why aren’t you on Yomi?”
“I look enough like a human to be acceptable, Mahirap.”
“Your baby?”
“Clearly elven, sir.”
“The father?”
“Didn’t want an elf baby, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mahirap shook his head, stumping into an alley laced with clotheslines, most of them with clothes on them. “That why you’re here?”
“Yes, Mahirap.”
“Right. Why’d you tighten up when we went through the door?”
“I recognized the bodyguard inside, sir.”
He let that stretch for a moment. “Going to be a problem?”
“I hope not, sir. He is extremely competent.”
Mahirap grunted, and led the way through a hovel that was busy housing a six-person family when it wasn’t thinking seriously about collapsing. “You’ll have to tell me about him.”
“Yes, sir.”
"And about that pistol."
rasmusnicolaj:
I like your characters. Cool story :)
Rasmus
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