Chapter 237: (The War)

Ast'Lar, the Postal Most High of N'Karoo, was a matron in her own right, with a family, children, even a few grandchildren. Her fur was largely thick and luxurious, although she had been getting white around her neck and down her back recently. But that was what happened when one was responsible for the correspondence of over fifty million of your people who had been taken prisoner, both from them and to them.

Oh, and had used a few loopholes to game the system in order to surrender the entire planet over to a race of predatory, aggressive, omnivorous bipedal upright primates.

While it had been a good idea, Ast'Lar sometimes regretted her over-cleverness.

Especially on days like today.

She stood on the spaceport tarmac next to U'urmo'ot, the Lanaktallan Most High of the entire Unified Civilized Council's presence.

And also the only Lanaktallan on the planet.

Standing next to him, only coming up to his lower shoulders, she reminded herself that U'urmo'ot was not a brave being. He had requested to be stationed at N'Karoo itself in order to enjoy the fishing and leisure activities, arriving only two weeks before the system had been surrendered.

The rest of the Lanaktallan had left U'urmo'ot in place, proclaiming him to be the Most High, and had abandoned the system, leaving U'umo'ot standing on the tarmac with his fishing pole and fishing hat, looking around and wondering how he was in charge of everything.

Still, she was startled that U'urmo'ot had agreed to join her to waiting for the latest arrival.

"You know, you do not have to be here for this. If you wish, you may retreat to your office or even your closet," Ast'Lar told the Lanaktallan.

"I must see this being," U'urmo'ot said quietly. Ast'Lar noticed he was wearing his fishing hat.

Ast'Lar looked up as the ship dropped out of the clouds, noting that it was sparkling and seemed to throw off rainbows.

"I must confess, I am nervous about unrestrained nanite usage," U'urmo'ot said.

"It is not unrestrained. These beings will restrain the nanites, guide them and ensure that they work properly and we do not have the hooveshoe paradox," Ast'Lar said. She shaded her eyes. "Such a strange ship," she said.

The ship approached rapidly, sparking and twinkling in the morning sun. It looked like a four winged, four legged insect, the abdomen obviously where the engines were and surrounded by rainbow halos. The wings were delicate formations of crystal and energy. The eyes were transparent, revealing what looked like tall delicate humans inside.

"And they will bring back the fish?" U'urmo'ot asked.

"We hope," Ast'Lar said.

"The last storm covered the beaches in rotted kelp," U'urmo'ot said. "We must save your world."

Ast'Lar was able to keep from staring at the Lanaktallan only because he had spent three days pacing back and forth mumbling it to himself after seeing the kelp and finding out that the coral reefs and the kelp beds were dying rapidly.

It was the most passionate she had ever seen a Lanaktallan about anything other than making other being's lives miserable.

"The Terrans say that they can help. That they are the masters of gentle terraforming in such a way that the natives can even remain on the planet during the repairs," Ast'Lar said.

"I hope so. I like it here, I like your people, I would not like it if this world turned into a toxic wasteland, a dead world, and I doubt you would like it either," U'urmo'ot said.

"No, we would not," Ast'Lar agreed.

The ship settled down, looking for all the world like a big crystal and shining metal insect. A ramp lowered from the thorax and a group of six beings arranged around a seventh dressed in lavish wealth moved down the ramp.

The middle one, which Ast'Lar was pretty sure was a female, stopped the group with one upraised hand, looking around and sniffing the air. Ast'Lar noticed her guards all wore crystal and precious metal armor in an archaic design and carried swords rather than projectile weapons.

After a moment the group continued, moving slowly toward Ast'Lar and U'urmo'ot, whom Ast'Lar could tell was extremely nervous and more than slightly fearful. Once the lead two got close they drew their swords in a movement that made U'urmo'ot make a noise of distress and clatter back a few steps until he saw that the creatures were putting the tip of their blades against the asphalt in order to kneel down comfortably.

The middle figure, definitely a female, dressed in sheer silks and covered in jewelry, stepped forward and gave a slight curtsy toward Ast'Lar, although the movement was lost on the N'kar until her implant told her that it was a respectful greeting and that she should nod in return.

The female stood up straight, looking around. "I am Princess Ta'va'dee, servant and daughter of High Queen An'Dahl-Vee, whom has been tasked with healing your world. I am her herald and mouthpiece, honored ones," the female said.

Ast'Lar noted that the female's facial design was pleasing, with excellent symmetry and spacing.

"Welcome, Ta'va'dee," Ast'Lar said, giving the nod that her implant suggested.

"I greet you welcome, Princess Ta'va'dee, serveant and daughter of High Queen An'Dahl-Vee," U'urmo'ot said, doing his best to sound formal. Formality was something that was comforting and familiar to him and his distress eased as he understood he was talking to the representative of the Most High of Planetary Ecology Restoration.

"My Queen has informed me that this work will take some time, a work of decades, but the labors of the servants of the Queen are best done at a stately pace," Ta'va'dee said. She looked around, taking in the clear sky. "My mother is the ruler of the air and sea, of the land and water, the storm and the gentle breeze, and she has seen this world's sickness and cry for help."

Both Ast'Lar and U'urmo'ot stood silently as the woman breathed deep and looked around before fixing the two with a burning gaze.

"Our mother, the sea, must be healed first. Storms to clear away the dead, rain to bring forth life on the surface of the oceans, wind to heal the air," Ta'va'dee said. "Are you ready to commit to healing this world?"

Ast'Lar was surprised at how U'urmo'ot sounded so authoritative as he nodded.

"I am, herald. I have centuries left to live. How may I devote those years to bringing back the fish and coral?" he asked.

The elven princess, who was Born Whole, smiled at U'urmo'ot. "By serving my mother, of course," she said softly.

"And our small people?" Ast'Lar asked. "What of them?"

"Your people are in need of healing, as is your world," the elf said. "The Queen only asks that you live your lives and enjoy her grace."

Ast'Lar felt the whole thing was strange, she felt off balance. This was nothing like the directness of the Terrans.

The elf woman curtsied again. "I must return to my mother, let her know I have breathed the air of this world, and commune with her so that she may begin. Till we meet again," the elf turned and walked back to the ship, her guards around her.

"She's... different," Ast'Lar said, rubbing her fur as watching as the wings of the ship spread out again and the abdomen began to glow.

"I found her comforting," U'urmo'ot said softly.

"Really? She did not make you afraid?" Ast'Lar asked. "She's going to completely rebuild the world. Take control of the weather systems and more. I thought you were afraid of them using nanites."

U'urmo'ot watched the ship lift off, the abdomen wrapped in rainbow colors as it raised into the sky, almost appearing to be leisurely about the whole thing, as if flight was natural for the craft.

"Will you accompany me to my office, Postal Most High?" U'urmo'ot said.

Ast'Lar twitched her whiskers in surprise. "Of course, Most High."

She followed the Lanaktallan to his office slash apartment, watching as he moved over to the holodisplay. U'urmo'ot twiddled with the control a moment and the holodisplay came on, showing visuals of her planet.

Not how it was outside, but how it looked right after the Lanaktallan found them.

"This is what I saw in my office decades ago," U'urmo'ot said as the view swept over blue and green water, lush vegetation covering islands, bright coral, and lagoons of perfect clarity full of darting fish. He waved his hand and a dense city of plascrete and duralloy appeared, with no vegetation and a heavy oppressive feeling. Before Ast'Lar could ask U'urmo'ot shook his head and inflated his crests only to let them slowly deflate in a defeated feeling action. "This is where I was assigned when I saw those survey scans."

He waved his hand through the holodisplay, dismissing the images.

"I never saw a naturally growing plant until I reached here," U'urmo'ot said. "I learned how to fish by watching VR records of your people. When I got here, I despaired. Gone were the bright glowing night fish, the coral was all gray and dead. I fish and release them if I catch them, but most days I catch nothing."

Ast'Lar nodded. The same thing had happened to her people. More and more the nets were empty.

"A computer cannot feel the life that should be here," U'urmo'ot said. He shook his head. "A computer designed the cities I was born, grew up, and worked within. I would not trust a computer to guide the nanites to repair your world."

"But you trust the elf creature?" Ast'Lar asked.

U'urmo'ot nodded. "She is a living thing. Even if she was made in a lab and grown in a vat, she is still a living creature. She will understand this world like you or I, not like a computer."

Ast'Lar thought again of the beautiful images that had appeared on the holotank.

"I would trust her more than a VI," U'urmo'ot said. He looked Ast'Lar and signified amusement. "After all, I will be staying here to watch, to help restore this place to the beauty I would stare at for hours at a time in my apartment."

"You surprise me, Most High," Ast'Lar said quietly.

U'urmo'ot shrugged. "I just want to stand on the dock and fish. There is no surprise in that."

Ast'Lar just stayed silent.

"I just want to be left alone so I can fish. In order for that to happen, the world needs restored to its beauty," U'urmo'ot said.

Ast'Lar realized that he was telling the truth.

"Does it bother you that you are the only one of your kind on my planet?" she asked gently.

U'urmo'ot shook his head. "No. I am relieved."

"Why?"

"Because I know I will be left alone."

-----------[last shadowrun]----------------

The rain was coming down steadily, carrying the smell of harsh industrial chemicals and bitter metals, staining the concrete and asphalt. In some places graffiti ran off the concrete, leaving behind only the stains as paint washed into the trash filled gutters. Off in the distance gunfire could be heard as well as the sirens of LawSec. The clouds were black, obscuring the stars that most people had forgotten were there, replaced by neon signs.

A lone figure slumped through the alley, dressed in a heavy black trenchcoat, a hat pulled low over his brow to conceal his face, his hands covered by black leather gloves, and heavy black boots on his feet. He wove between the piles of garbage, some of them so old they had solidified into a compact mass no less enduring that the concrete walls of the alley. The figure moved up to a metal door and knocked twice, waiting a second, then knocking three times.

A slide pulled open, revealing a set of low-end cyber-eyes.

"What?" the voice growled.

The figure looked up, letting the eyes see his face.

The slide snapped shut and the heavy locks opened on the door. Thumping music could be heard from within, glimpses of neon light coming from further in, barely held back by the thick cloth covering the inner doorway. The figure on the other side of the door had the heavy, blocky look of industrial-prison strength augs, making the man seem lumpy and deformed.

The blocky man didn't bother patting down the lankier one, just moved aside then shut the door behind the figure in the trenchcoat. The figure pushed through, moving through a hallway lined with other people, wearing much less cloth and a lot more sweat and glitter. Chrome glimmered in the neon, powdered drugs vanished up nostrils, liquid intoxicants vanished into mouths, and hammering acoustics pummled the flesh.

The figure just slouched through the hall, taking a left and pushing through a doorway marked "EMERGENCY EXIT - NO EXIT", the door shutting out the sights and sounds of the illegal nightclub as the figure moved down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs was another heavy door, this one with a guard on either side. The guards said nothing, the left hand one silently opening the door for the newcomer, who moved through as if it was almost an effort to reach through the apathy to bother to go inside.

The music was back, different, a feeling of barely restrained anger and resentment carried through in the chords and tones. The neon came from displays rather than whirling lights, the chrome here didn't glimmer seductively, instead seeming almost threatening in the way it gleamed in the dim lights.

The figure moved to the back, where a round couch squatted around a low table covered with datachits, datacubes, credsticks, drugs, bottles of booze, and scattered glasses in various states of fullness. On the couch were a half dozen figures, male and female, all hairless primate bipeds. Most had colorful tattoos that flashed and sparkled and moved, all with neon colored hair, most of them with piercings in addition to their cyberware, which gleamed with chrome and dripped oil and expense in equal measure.

The newcomer said nothing, just sat down, leaning back against the couch and tugging the hat lower to conceal their features.

The conversation was part bragging, part trash talking, part speculation on what the job could possibly be. Most of them were hoping for a run against various companies, or maybe a snatch and grab, or maybe even security for a high profile VIP.

The newcomer said nothing. He ignored the others and they ignored him. Many of them considered the newcomer to possibly be a n00b to the whole thing. There was some speculative looks, a few questions, but nobody pushed it too far.

The newcomer didn't even seem to breathe, seemed almost as if they had expired after sitting down.

Finally a figure in a suit worth more than the cyberware on any of the individuals pushed through the crowd, guarded by three figures in body armor and making sure the pistols on their hips were obvious to everyone.

The suited figure had a chair brought up, sat down, and unfolded a small microcomp. He twiddled with the keyboard for a moment, bringing up a holodisplay, then looked everyone over.

"I am Mister Johnson," he said, almost unnecessarily.

The others all nodded.

"This is a multi-spectrum job. There is a research facility performing research that the people I represent are interested in," he stated.

The newcomer didn't move even though the others leaned forward slightly.

"Your target is a datastore that is removed from the net, which means you will have to penetrate the security of the target facility, access a terminal with connections to the datastore, and download the files my client desires and then extract the data from the facility," Mr. Johnson said.

The others all nodded.

"Any other data you acquire will either be purchased by my client or can be sold through your own fixers," Mr. Johnson stated. "Damage to the facility is acceptable, and collateral damage is expected."

That got broad smiles from the cybernetically enhanced males and females on the couch.

"Once you extract the data, you will move to the drop-off point. There you will meet with a liaison, who will pay you the remainder of your fee as well as negotiate for any additional data you have acquired," Mr. Johnson said. "My client is willing to pay 20% up front."

That got smiles and exclamations of glee from all but the newcomer, who still hadn't moved.

"To accept this job, simply slot your credstick, accept your payment, and the details will be loaded onto the credstick," Mr. Johnson said.

All six of the more active slotted their credstick, one by one hurrying out, until only the newcomer, Mr. Johnson, and his guards were at the table.

"Do you intend on taking part in this job?" Mr. Johnson asked the newcomer, who still hadn't moved.

"I like to know more before I accept," the newcomer said, still not looking up.

"Details are provided upon acceptance of the mission," Mr. Johnson stated.

"Who is the target? The subsidiary and the primary owning corp?" the newcomer asked.

"Details are only provided upon acceptance," Mr. Johnson said.

"Then I'm out," the newcomer said. "Feel free to enjoy your evening, Mr. Johnson."

The suited figure cocked an eyebrow. "The terms were acceptable to your compatriots."

"They are not my compatriots, my peers, or my friends," the newcomer said. "Just as they are merely useful idiots to you."

The suited figure went still a moment. "Very well. Enjoy your evening."

The newcomer didn't move as Mr. Johnson gathered up the microcomp and stood up, his guards pushing an opening into the crowd that the suited figure vanished into.

A female with a black cybernetic arm moved out of the shadows, where she had been standing against the wall with many others, sitting down.

"Didn't like the job?" she asked.

"No."

"We've had to be careful lately. Still waiting for the fallout?" she asked.

The newcomer nodded. "There's new players. Not player players, but something moving in the shadows," the newcomer looked up, his cybernetic eyes glinting in the light. "I'm getting a bad feeling. Rumor says the old players are back and have new tricks."

A group of chromed, tattooed, and neon haired individuals suddenly appeared out of thin air on the couch next to the pair. They all sat perfectly still for a moment, then began introducing themselves to one another.

"N00bz," Trenchcoat said.

"Lots of them. No pain rigs either," the woman noted.

It was easy to tell, they didn't bother with the drinks, the drugs, the stims, since they got no biofeedback from the system.

"What do we do?" the woman asked. She rubbed her black cyberarm. "We're the only two left from our guild."

Trenchcoat stood up, looked around, and motioned at her to follow. They wove between the terminals and the dancers, heading back up to the club. Once up there they pushed their way through the crowd, noting that more and more of them had the dense feeling of reality behind them. They moved to a table, both ordering drinks.

"Sammy Chop Chop and Dangerous Dan are both dead," the female said. "Street buzz says it's megacorp or feddy related."

"No. If it was feddy, their meat woulda been whacked, if it was corp there'd be some kind of notice in the game. They were taken out somehow. Something different," Trenchcoat said. He waved his hand. "Look at them all, dancing here. It disgusts me."

The woman shook her head. "They just know it was an important place during The War."

"It was a hospital. The place should still ring with the screams of the dying," Trenchcoat said. "The Smaugs got in and killed everyone in here, almost got you. Now they're dancing and stimming and just want to brag to their friends that they partied at The Aid Station."

The woman sighed. "You need to relax."

Trenchcoat shook his head. "I can't. I'm warning you, warning everyone, there's something out there. It learned, or it's respecting the rules this time, or something. But in the last two months most of the Old Chrome is dead."

"Or in hiding. Like you," the woman said. She opened her mouth to say more when Trenchcoat suddenly moved. He was so fast he was a blur, reflexes tweaked so high by cyberware that they surpassed inhuman and went into almost supernatural. He kicked the table up, vat grown tailored muscle powering the table up even as he dropped to the ground and did a sweep kick that knocked her chair to the side.

The figure behind her was tall, dressed in an old War jacket with pins on it, his hair shut, a square jaw, and bulky with slabware. His hand missed grabbing the woman's hair, his other hand coming out of his jacket with a heavy autoloader pistol that shined in the neon.

Trenchcoat rolled on his side as the figure leveled its pistol and started firing, the shots narrowly missing the rolling man, who got his trenchcoat open to reveal a sawed off pump action shotgun.

The crowd was screaming, some surging away, others surging forward with their comlinks out, hoping to get a good shot they could put up on GalNet.

Trenchcoat fired once, the shot taking the big figure in the chest and knocking him down. Trenchcoat got up on one knee, grabbing the woman's jacket and heaving her to her feet.

"We've gotta move," Trenchcoat said. Half of the crowd was trying to get closer or trying to get away, the rest were dancing like nothing was happening.

The big figure stood up as Trenchcoat and the woman scrambled to their feet. He pulled a short blocky looking black SMG out of his jacket and started shooting a tight burst, the weapon barely moving in his hand as he easily controlled the recoil.

Trenchcoat and the woman ducked low, the woman pulling a smoke grenade from her jacket and dropping it on the ground.

The figure stepped forward, scanning the now screaming crowd, the end of the barrel sweeping around like a snake's head. A dozen had been killed by the short bursts and now the crowd was taking it seriously.

There

The figure fired off another burst, narrowly missing the target, the last of the magazine rattling away. The figure looked at the weapon and started to reload it, not bothering to take cover. Trenchcoat popped back up with the shotgun and shot the figure once, twice, three times in the chest, pumping the action of the shotgun.

The figure didn't go down this time.

The female kicked open the fire door and lunged out into the alley. "Come on!" she yelled.

The smoke grenade was hissing out, filling the club with even thicker smoke.

Trenchcoat lunged and scrambled for the door, barely getting out into the rain and slamming the door before light SMG rounds plinked into the door with the rattle of hail on a tin roof.

"An Arnie, they're using Arnie's," the woman gasped as they ran down the alley. "You were right, Crashrider, they're back."

"Told you," he gasped. "We gotta get to Sal's. We gotta warn everyone."

In the no-frills apartment, on a world nobody cared about, that produced nothing of real value, hundreds of light years from any front, Eegleet's meat body shivered with how close he'd come to getting killed.