Shadowrun: Shaken: No Job Too Small by Russell Zimmerman

Author:Russell Zimmerman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
Published: 2015-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

There wasn’t a face-full of smoke this time, wasn’t anyone who did anything to me. I was in one place one second, and somewhere else entirely the next. The glare of the interrogation lights felt a little brighter, and as I squinted against it, suddenly, I was squinting against ash getting in my eyes instead.

Ash everywhere.

I was standing ankle-deep in the gritty stuff, it floated overhead and all around me, fell onto my shoulders and into my hair, coating everything in shades of grey. I knew—I felt—that I was in the right place, but the last time I’d been here, the only time I’d been here, the Metaplane of Earth hadn’t been like this. It had been a cave, all rock, all crystal, all veins of rich ores running through it. This time it was ash. Just ash, and the impression of mountains looming overhead, and somewhere far off, maybe a soft glow from lava flowing just out of my sight.

“Ariana?”

I turned, one hand up to shield my eyes, missing my cyberoptics.

“Ariana, are you here, kid?”

“Nope.”

I spun, slipping a little, wingtips slick on the stone and ashy grit. It wasn’t Ariana. It wasn’t the Dweller. I knew, deep down in my bones, who—what—I was talking to.

It looked like a mutt. A Barrens-born mongrel, flea-ridden, mangy, ribs showing against patchy hair, blind in one eye, notched ears from a lifetime of fighting.

It was my Mentor Spirit. My totem. My inner self, moral compass, magical guide. An avatar, manifested just to reach me during my metaplanar quest. Well.

“New look, huh? What a twist.”

“Yeah,” the mutt sat in the ash, tongue lolling, tail swooshing lazily. It had a Brooklyn accent, which made as much sense as it talking in the first place. “I gotta mix it up sometimes, you know? Appear differently to different supplicants—”

“Followers.”

“—supplicants, depending on what message I think they gotta hear. Right visual for the right time, all that jazz.”

“So, what do I need to hear?”

“Why’re you here, Jimmy?”

“I didn’t come here for a question, bub, I can tell you that.”

“I came here for a question, so answer it.” Those scarred ears went back a little, serious, dangerous. The playfulness left the dog’s voice, and it asked again.

“Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here. I’m here for Ari.”

“Who’s Ari?”

“Don’t be li—”

“Who is Ari?”

It hopped up onto its paws, ridged up a little, tail went high, ears forward, bristling.

“She’s my ally spirit. Ariana. You know that.”

“Why’re you here for her?”

“Because she got disrupted. Combat mojo, de Vries—”

“The leech.”

“—de Vries took her out. She attacked him, he defended himself, she got clobbered. I know she’s here somewhere.”

“Where’s ‘here,’ Jimmy?”

I glanced around, saw the ash, the smoke, the looming ridges, the red-hot glow of lava.

“Metaplane of Earth?”

It came out a question when I didn’t want it to be.

“Look again,” the dog’s tail wagged a little, enjoying the game. “You see a lot of Earth here?”

“So what? The Dweller sent me to another Place? Another challenge?”

“Nah.” The dog shook, the way dogs do when they’ve got something in their ear, but I knew it was meant as a head shake.

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