Ultima ratio regnum; the last reasoning of kings

–Cardinal Richelieu, observing an artillery bombardment

The Pacific Ocean, year on year, buried the drek of metahumanity under circling fathoms. Some things hadn't changed since the last time Harry had been on a filth-black falsely-registered freighter, churning toward the Golden Gate Bridge–but this time, Susan's arm was brushing his own. While Ilsa sat with her commlink near the stern, and Hailey compulsively adjusted the extra half-foot of dials on her new Fairlight cyberdeck. At her split-microsecond level, surfing the matrix was more like riffing out synth-beats than writing code. Her sleek Sundowner drone, and her jagged Steel Lynx roller, were silent at her feet like dogs turned to stone.

The Director of Mitsuhama North America had called Colonel Saito directly, Kali had said. Even if they weren't about to be gunned down or locked up the minute they returned to San Francisco, the Runners had still judged the corporate security checkpoints on the Embarcadero a safer point of entry. Over past months the freeway checkpoints had been locked down like a fortress, as the threat from Tir stoked Saito's already vicious paranoia to a blaze. One IJM officer with an itchy trigger finger or long-nursed grudge would frag safe-passage to drek.

If the Japanacorps didn't send an army to Redding–Kali had also said–the Runners might as well hand it to Tir Tairngire. Harry had told her again she was wrong, but here they were.

With a last little stroke against her husband's palm, Susan got up and strode across the deck to Hailey. Looked her cyberdeck over with affably exaggerated gormlessness. Hailey smiled briefly, fiddling wind-flicked brown hair from her opaque matrix goggles.

"All chill, chummer?"

"Um, oh, absolutely. Totes chill. Arctic."

"You know that mind-reading Kung Fu master business is only in Hong Kong Trids? You don't have to tell me, but I won't know until then."

"Even if it's, like, some dark, horrible secret?" Hailey's grin was too bright. Susan's smile was deep and deliberate as a soul massage.

"All of us have secrets. Drek that isn't worth mentioning."

"Even as Runners?"

"As girls. So long as it doesn't risk our lives or the Run, trust doesn't mean knowing it all, and I trust you. When you fight with somebody–" Fists raised from her hips, in a playful guard, "–you see just how strong they are, how much they're worth fighting for."

Hailey nodded. Words alone never killed fear, but Susan could see now; her chummer was ready to fight.

Susan had made a new start to her martial arts classes, even as the bullet-marks in the town hall were still getting painted over, along with her shifu Orion and his students from Norton's Army. Some of her own old students from the Colma days, and a few of them could challenge her now. That had truly been worth surviving so much for. Even better than Orion's confession that he'd moderated his keenly recalled lion-cub-off-a-cliff style of training less well than Susan had assessed the needs of her motley classes. Even more than joint locks and releases, or keeping their footing solid, centre low, chin down against neck strikes, no matter what–they needed strong and simple techniques, repeated, to build the mindful endurance of fighters. She allowed no complaints, and when Redding's Defenders had yelled their spirits out through a hundred proper kicks and punches, they hefted sandbags even harder than before. Much as painting the fence could conceivably teach martial arts–in some 'movie' Orion had seen many years ago–martial arts could teach one immeasurably more than an optimal method for the bisection of bricks.

"Think of all you could be up to, instead of sitting and thinking of nothing," Susan had told halls of surly students, by way of introduction to meditation, "Shooting, eating, slotting with that special someone, everything–that's going to be charging through your skull, in the first seconds of a real fight that might be your last, with the smoke, the blasts, the bullets. All of it hitting you next second; everything hitting right now. Do not react; perceive and respond, from an empty being, and you'll be master of any fight, any fear. Only idiots aren't afraid; master it, and fear can save your life. When my father taught me meditation, I yawned, kicked my heels. Dreamt about playing hero. But without that training in the mind before I ever saw my first Run, I'd never have seen my second. We're here to win, to survive, to fight–I mean to fragging well make sure of it."

Hailey had sidled into class with the toe-dipping manner of one who'd try anything if it made some change. She'd done a few Aikido classes but not to, like, hurt anybody. Susan hadn't been about to stand for that. She'd remoulded Hailey's form with ruthless kindness, set her homework; sparred the decker girl until she really started to fight. Told her with a clasp of the arm, she was a strong woman. Susan made men into devoted soldiers; but any woman who heard those words and looked into Fighter's powerful eyes saw the same power inside their own twin reflections, erupting.

"Susan, like, omae…" Hailey struggled for the words, "Thanks for everything. Giving me a chance back then, a chance now…"

"That idiot gave you a chance." Nod to Harry, "You've earned it and owned it ever since. I just wish Sarah were here with you. All three of us girls, finally Running together…sometime?"

"Guess me and Ilsa ain't the girls–we're the grown-ups." Anya's digital growl sounded in earpieces, "You know why Sarah tapped out. At least there's one ork heading back to San Francisco, right under Saito's stupid moustache. You said it, Sarah's gonna be chill."

"Oh, and same here! Totally." Hailey glanced down at her perfectly primed cyberdeck, "I'll try some of that meditation. Best thing for a Californian army, I guess! Better than Saito's thugs, like, yelling in faces to make boys into killers…we've still got a tough kind of a fight, but at least you totally made something worth fighting for. Whatever happens. I mean, this meet right now is, like, just a meet, not a massive battle. I shouldn't be this antsy."

"Yeah, just a meet with all the biggest boys on the block," Anya crackled dryly, "I can't wait to see how everything's gonna blow up."

Hailey's comm chirped out a snatch of J-pop; Susan's eye caught Elorn's name. The Redding elf who'd been training harder than anyone to face Tir Tairngire. One last call, to remind Hailey that somebody would prefer it if she came back alive? The dour elf from the backwoods and the irrepressible City decker girl–Susan didn't think they needed more than liking each other, and she more than liked them both.

Hailey was simply lovable; she deserved all the happiness a Runner could grasp and hold. Everyone knew she'd wrung out her heart and brain for weeks, guarding Redding from NC deckers and Tir cyber-spies–from the way Elorn had kept bringing her bottled water, he'd certainly noticed. Then she'd still begged to head out on this vital mission, that had got her so antsy; as if her life and more depended on it.

-0-

For almost two months Kali had been fighting a war. She looked worse than Susan, Harry and Ilsa, all gathered round the screen, but her eyes were still a shark's. A bigger shark, now; they knew she wouldn't stop until she was dead.

"Next week, the big four Japanacorps–Mitsuhama, Renraku, Shiawase, Fuchi–are holding a crisis summit at the old Aztechnology Pyramid. Effectively to decide the fate of north Calfree, or how much it would cost to hold Tir Tairngire off. My contacts have indicated that they might like to hear your views on that. Free lesson in corporate etiquette; you'll need to head for San Francisco before the conference for any chance of an informal invitation. Even if that's on the final day–show them you want this, without any crass grovelling, and wait respectfully for the powers above the Earth to acknowledge your existence. Then, if you speak better than you've ever spoken, sell all your souls, and bust your hoops, you might just get out alive with a corporate army for Redding and a real chance of victory."

"Regrettably, it sounds rather like a job for yourself." Ilsa responded, "Especially since Saito's Marines are still, it might fairly be said, thirsting for our blood?"

"Like Redding will be, if we bring the megacorps up," Harry fiercely added, "When the one thing they're trusting us for is keeping outside powers out! The NCs killed and burnt into the heart of Redding, and these people still believe in us–but if we let the corps in, they'll call betrayal, and we will walk. Frag, we'll run!"

"That is insane–and disappointing. If you haven't persuaded them by now that corporate aid is their only alternative to the Tir–or Saito's Marines all across Calfree–" Kali's eyes gleamed with fury, "–then the problem is you, not Redding. You actually want an unspoilt little piece of Eden, unpolluted by those nasty evil megacorps? Well, this is the twenty-first century, Hotspur. It isn't in the nature of great powers to stop growing; little people, companies, cities, without power or big friends, get crushed and consumed. Redding will have corporate security on its streets, chain stores on every corners and logging drones clearing every forest that isn't earmarked for executive retreats. The Japanacorps will want a return on their investment from Redding, but their only choices are the Corps as a friend, or elves with machine guns as their enemy. Free Redding isn't a possible future."

"If that wasn't what we wanted," Harry all but spat, "We'd never have taken your job. No one would–who would have done this but us?"

"Yet even heroes do not always get what they want." Ilsa's murmur was the swish of a sword.

Susan put a comforting hand on Harry's forearm; her eyes were bitterly searching. Whatever deal we have to make, her eyes told Harry, Redding and the Defenders must survive. We cannot let our kids die.

"As for myself," Kali went on, warming much like a laser-axe to her subject, "After all the work I've done for Mitsuhama's Calfree interests and market share, I don't have a seat at the top table even as a guest. I didn't come up through any corporate hierarchy; a good reason to fear me, a bad reason for other things. Can't have the ex-singer thinking she's a real executive–no one's going to make that mistake about shadowrunners. It would never have worked out between us, Hotspur, but you're quite correct that the megacorps are fraggers and always will be. Still, all the money in the world buys a lot of fraggery. On that note, regarding our old omae, Keiji Saito, the Director of Mitsuhama North America is committed to keeping Tir out of North Calfree with hard power on the ground. No need to thank me. You'll have safe conduct from the IJM and corporate security, at least for the summit. I'll pay off the Triads, just in case, and the MPA have moved you to the bottom of their very long hitlist, after Kat Berg's endorsement and your defeat of the Native Californians."

"No need to thank us." Ilsa raised an eyebrow, "The paramount leader of the strongest power in Calfree sounds a promising start…?"

"The Director and his faction view Calfree as their zero-zone; not one step back. Some young Turks think they can topple the Director, pay the Tir off, and kick this all down the road for a few years while they all acquire obscene power and wealth. Idiots. Renraku have assets in Tir Tairngire itself; their director thinks a Tir invasion will hurt Mitsuhama and Shiawase more than him. He has a nest of stupid young executives under him, though, who think war would be simple and cheap as sending a Red Samurai team after Prince Dar Varian. Shiawase stand to lose their Agricorp holdings in the Central Valley, but they still hope their famous Market Research division can rake enough muck on the princes to save the cost of a war. Fuchi are going to weigh in on the side of the biggest bribe."

"And Colonel Saito?"

"Has privately sworn to all four directors and his commanding general that he will not budge from San Francisco when the elves come over the hill. All of them believe him, and all of them are idiots."

"What happened to 'orders are orders'?" Susan's brow creased under her ebony fringe, "Or a samurai's honour?"

"Smokescreens. Have you heard of Gekokujo? It means 'the low conquers the high', and it means that an honourable samurai can depose his liege lord, assassinate Prime Ministers, or start a war with his own hands, if his personal honour and personal ambition demand it. To the praises of the public. Even an oath to the Emperor wouldn't hold Saito back from his chance to be the hero guarding Japan from the monsters–while capitalists tremble over the cost and criminals cower in the shadows. Ambition is human nature–I'm a perfect specimen myself–but the progress of civilisation is in cooperation, and whatever vestiges of a brain Saito possesses are rooted in the 16th and 20th centuries. The masses love a conquering hero, as you should know; Japan will back Saito if he marches north, and the war that follows will throw the whole West Coast, even the Pacific Rim, into hell. It will wreck everything. Unless the Japanacorps send their own forces to North Calfree, removing any pretext for Saito to defend the border–and convince him that if he marches anyway, to lend a helping hand or unwanted rescue, he will be busted down to private second-class, and his loved ones–his mistress, anyway–gruesomely killed."

"…even Saito has someone?"

"Sakura Kotohiki. She formerly worked in a hostess bar, I believe. Even warlords need an Eva Braun to tell them that all they did was for the best." Kali's eyes were now cold, clear and unashamed. None of the shadowrunners were going to throw the first stone. "Honestly? Saito is the Japanacorp's prize attack dog; his Marines have bled millions of nyuyen out of San Francisco for them, running out small and meta-owned businesses. Still, they must be convinced to keep their rabid mutt on a leash."

"…couldn't Shiawase be right, for once?" Harry barely managed to say it, "Shadowrunners aren't soldiers. Megacorps rule the world with nyuyen, not armies–is war our strongest shot at beating Saito and Tir Tairngire? We could head to Portland instead of San Francisco; not through the Calfree border, but the north, the east, or the sea route. Don't tell me it's crazy, don't tell Susan Lei or Ilsa Tresckow it couldn't be done–it would be legendary. The greatest Run of all. A better chance than Redding's Defenders against Tir's Ghosts, panzers and rotorcraft on the battlefield, if there's anything a team of Prime Runners can do in Portland to make the princes think twice! Give us anything to snatch up, whether that paydata's on the Zurich Orbital or the furthest infernal metaplane. I'm ready to leap for it."

"We're ready!"

Susan had to briefly cover her face, as she stood up at Harry's side–swooning over your dumb, beautiful hero of a husband wasn't acceptable for a heroine in a council of war. Hence the glares both Kali and the seated Ilsa levelled at her, rather than themselves appreciating Harry's blazing conviction rather more than they should have.

"Hotspur, there is no paydata or blackmail that could hurt the Princes more than surrendering to Calfree." Kali spoke deliberately, but not entirely without respect, "Tir's commons accept comfortable feudal servitude under the nobles because they think being an elf in the greatest kingdom of the Sixth World makes them lords of creation–less than 300,000 square kilometres of forest, with a bloated golden calf of a military sustaining the legend of elvish perfection the princes live off. Everyone knows that Tir will fall without the promised conquest of North Calfree. Even Mitsuhama are edgy about how far the princes who never seem to get older–and Lofwyr–are prepared to go to prevent that."

"So, the people you're telling us to depend on," Ilsa stated, "Would presumably sacrifice the Redding strip to save the Central Valley and San Francisco?"

"I would. Look, free Redding isn't an option–now. Achieving the impossible, possibly, means using every single means you have, not the means we don't. We can scheme, sneak and politic the Sixth World to some kind of order, for some time, but times come when the people of certain countries just have to kill each other over dirt and drek until they get tired of it. There's one rule of war, and you should have learnt it from the Native Californians, Hotspur–do not lose. Don't make me say what you need to do–"

Susan's palm hit the wall behind the console; Kali noticeably flinched.

"He learnt it from the Yellow Lotus, when they killed his chummers around him–and he still came to Redding. You've said enough."

Ilsa politely and quickly assured Kali that they would head for San Francisco, before severing the connection. Susan and Harry said nothing against her; they stood still in the little comms room like heroic and futile statues.

"You know she's right." Ilsa wasn't asking, "None of this would have begun without Mitsuhama's nyuyen–Shadowrunners do the Megacorps' dirty work, beginning and end."

"I'd never have survived if I didn't know that," Susan tried to cling to Harry, but he didn't respond to her, "I'd never have stayed here if it didn't hurt. It has to. We have to sell our souls–compromise!–deal with the Megacorps who held Saito's leash as he killed and drove out metas from San Francisco, for money. Without selling out Redding, if we can convince our people that's possible, like I should've started on a week ago…yeah, she's right. Got to grow the frag up."

"The boy who grows to a man, and still lives by the remembrance of his childhood dreams; that is truly a man." Ilsa spoke softly, then met Harry and Susan's awestruck stares, "In the last four years, I have read poetry as well as severe research and philosophy."

Harry wanted to kiss Ilsa so badly, he had to kiss Susan instead. Susan stepped between her husband and her best friend, clasped both their hands–then threw arms around their shoulders. Her face was a twisted vortex of powers, demands and terrible emotions, like the storm ready to break over Redding–she was only sure that the three of them would face it together.

"We can be certain that Tir Tairngire mean to take a hand in this summit," Ilsa told them, "Or their invasion would have come already. All three of us, and also Anya, should head to meet them."

Even if Susan and Harry weren't about to be split up again, they were less sure. Even if intensive training and building back had revived morale to its highest point yet, from the losses of the NC's attack–from high points, the only way was down. While Elorn had squared things with his village, then guided work parties to swiftly fortify the far side of the Shasta Dam with sandbags and trenches, the town's own scars stood unrepaired. Everyone knew the invasion was any day now, almost better if it were sooner–there had been few desertions after the NC attack, while left a lot of fighters to desert. Susan had even been warned, as she checked in with the Defenders' families and supporters between her classes, that there were some of the mind that better leaders would never have let the NCs strike deeply as they had.

"The vast majority of such talk originates with a few Tir stooges, known to us," Ilsa responded calmly, "Our departure will provoke them to premature action, which Selene, Arai–and David–will certainly deal with."

Paladin's fearless defence of City Hall, Ilsa knew, hadn't only earned him the respect of the Defenders that he'd already more than earned. The heart thrown into a mire of black doubt after their ill-considered tryst had shown itself sure–the next best thing to pure–through battle and blood. Men could be very strange indeed, but now that heart was with that wonderful mind and voice, strengthening all the Defenders throughout their work and training, as well as beyond it. Christianity was still anything but a fringe cult in rural America; Paladin had Redding's love as well as respect, and he would lead its defence as well as Hotspur, in their absence. Ilsa wasn't going to boast about her man, even after all of Susan's bragging, but she smiled with some satisfaction at her chummer, who grinned back.

With her father settled in Redding, Anya was chill with heading back to San Francisco–and Hailey insisted on going. She knew more about the City, and Kali's business with the Japanacorps, than anybody. She totally wanted to see the old hometown again, just bounce out of her chair and Run. Ilsa's eyes fixed on her like an eagle and a trembling mouse, without speaking. Anya confirmed that there were deckers among the Defenders who could keep their comms covered for a week.

"Well, this might be more a job for a novahot wiz decker than an adept." Harry had said, "And I suppose whatever the Tir are about to try, we have to go all in to call their hand?"

"A very American metaphor," Ilsa retorted, "We do not gamble, but we do go all in."

Susan picked up that Ilsa was virtually certain the Tir were going for the summit before they went for Redding, and wasn't telling them why. Something in Hailey's face even reminding her of poor Sandra, from the Agency–she knew the spying game could be a very ugly business. So, she smiled at Hailey, hugged her breath out; said she couldn't wait until they finally got to Run together.

"I'm just a meathead slugger–chip truth, I trust you smart girls for the cloak and dagger stuff. Just one thing. Whether Tir Tairngire hear about the Japanacorps sending troops to Redding, or not sending troops–they're going to know before we do–they'll start their tanks rolling within a minute, with us still in San Francisco."

"We'll have to floor it back to Redding," Harry smiled his old smile for her, "Charge in to save our chummers at the head of a corporate army. Keep our word, save the day; all we can do."

"Oh, Harry. Never change."

Finally, there was Sarah. Susan knew Sarah longed as much as she feared to see the City where she'd been born. Still held down under Saito's Marines, but she was far stronger now, and seeing a troll who'd been their victim stand SINless and free before the Japanacorps, in her city they'd stolen, was what Susan longed to see. Only Sarah did not want to go.

"Someday, Shifu. Not this time. If this is important enough you have to go, it needs to work. Not worth it, to give those corp fraggers fits about a slotting great trog coming to dinner, just because doing it would be right. You'd do this for me, do fragging everything for me…but this is me saying I'm not worth fragging up this chance to save everyone in Redding."

Susan saw in Sarah's eyes, she'd just buried Tomas. Her chummer, a guy she might've loved. Beaten a woman to death who could've been her sister. Bled until her own death had chilled to the heart amid chaos and hatred; she needed some time to work out all the drek–but she was perceiving and choosing rationally, in spite of all. She'd fight through stronger yet, no question. She was stronger than Susan, after all–Susan told her so, as she clasped her chummer's claw with all her heart.

-0-

With a comradely hip-bump, Susan left Hailey to take Elorn's call, then quickly check the motors and control links on her drones, for the last time. Susan carried on down the ship's deck to sit by Ilsa, who was still gazing at her commlink in silence as they chugged toward San Francisco. Susan could've sensed her old chummer was feeling troubled if she'd been deaf and blind.

Ilsa was looking at a holopic of her little brother, who she'd made a deal with Lofwyr and unleashed Torphet to save. Susan hadn't met him and didn't expect she ever would, if he stayed SINner-side. Joachim Tresckow had Ilsa's green eyes, specs and richly attractive face. His dark hair wasn't dyed red, though, and he was wearing the dark blue blazer of a military academy in the AGS.

Ilsa had told Susan years ago, her brother was heading toward a lifetime in the Bundeswehr because their father had pushed him, breaking his chemistry set with cold iron resolve when Jo had been ten. The holopic was recent; Ilsa had saved him and Joachim had gone back to the academy.

"He's alive and safe, chummer. Whatever else you did, you did that."

"Alive and free." Ilsa's smile burnt with pride, "He told me that after I fell into the Shadows, he swore to clear my name or avenge me. He never believed I was responsible for that laboratory accident. Without magic, the only sufficient power he might obtain was in the military–the powerful influence he might inherit with the Tresckow name. He never went to the military school for father's sake–not even to gain his help–but to help me in any way he could, one day, with his own hands."

"Huh. Sounds like your brother. Only, if he's still going to be a soldier, not a scientist, and he never thought you caused the accident…?"

"…did I not only clear my name–while putting his life at risk–for my own sake? My actions were not insignificant for that reason. Only miserably destructive. Little Jo wanted to be a scientist when he was ten; if I expected him to justify all I've done by retracing that path, I would be madder than his father. That he is choosing his own path, as I once did, was the apex of all my hopes. He intends to work in Military Intelligence, after reading Political Science at Halle-Wittenberg; he will do all that and more. It is far from impossible, if I ever return to the AGS, that our paths might intersect…I vainly hoped that if I accomplished something great and good in Calfree, I might meet little Jo again without shame."

"Listen, Wiz. Was that really how you felt, when you saved your brother–ashamed? When you beat out the Tir Ghosts in magic, at the Armoury? Saved our lives a hundred times? Or when you dragged us with half of Calfree, into this desperate long-shot fight with Tir Tairngire? Or busting your hoop to find a way of geeking Torphet for good? I know you're working on it."

"I would be, if we had as much time as I'd need to earn another doctorate; banishing a Free Spirit permanently is unprecedented. Norton, or whatever that woman Tabitha truly is, remain our best substitutes for hope. If we could grasp their true powers, and direct them…"

"Yeah, that's it. That's the way, Wiz. Nothing you hate more than failing, and you know you won't; you can't Run the Shadows and give up before you're even beat. What good is it to come down so hard on yourself if you can't be happy? Nothing we can do about the dead, and everyone else has forgiven you. Are the rest of us so dumb, our loving you doesn't matter? If Paladin ever hated you for tempting him or something, I'd have already kicked the drek out of that idiot. What good is being so hard on yourself if you can't be happy?"

"…I might forgive myself–but should I? I could abandon conscience, follow Nietzsche and Machiavelli at any cost. Outcast shadowrunners, we have already changed the world and brought death to hundreds…and I am only twenty-five. I shall do such things–what they are yet, I know not–but such things as shall be the terrors of the Earth'–perhaps."

"Wiz, you're doing that thing again. Quoting some dead old guy."

"Shakespeare's King Lear, in fact; I may have been attempting to lighten the mood. Do you recall our journey by microsub, before the Agency's fall, when we conversed about some path to change the world for the better? A network, a movement, an organisation, or taking control of some existing one–I am no leader, I am an organiser, and I could not keep myself from observing what worked and did not work in Redding. A second Atlantean foundation, that might scour the world for secrets of magic, and destroy every group that works to wipe magic and the Awakened from the Earth. Or I might return to teaching simple charms to the SINless, although I am not a teacher. I was born to hold an immense power of magic, to stand before the world of Shadows–but no power of any kind can move in this crowded world without crushing lives. I did nothing for months, after I obtained my doctorate. Except for thinking, drinking, leaving poor Henry…inaction has its harms, I'm well aware. So, I act, I kill, and I still fear the road ahead, even as I face it…after all we've acomplished, I don't even know if my heart is truly weak or strong. Is that not absurd?"

"Yeah–but we are strong. We just took on drek that was stronger, too big for anyone to beat. We messed up…at least you've got dreams to measure up to. Harry makes me so happy, I could live and die in his bed, but I never took on a syndicate. Never cleaned up the world, only played at being a shadowrunner. We just about saved the world, but I still feel like I'm running on a track, fighting the current…honestly, like I'd stayed in Redmond, stuffing shelves for life. It's so stupid, pathetic, but at least no one would ever hear about He Lei's daughter, the fighter who failed…no one but us."

Ilsa felt rather than saw the old nightmare in Susan's dark eyes, as she smiled very bravely in the sun. She gripped both of her old friend's hands very hard.

"If things had been different, if I hadn't been…assaulted." Susan spat out the word, and went on, "Could we have done more, better? If I couldn't be who I was meant to be, does that make me…?"

"An imposter? Exactly how many persons are living and strong, who would have been dead and gone, if you had remained in Redmond? I have feared my own power, even as my heart blazed with it. I have never feared the power in your arms, that has brought me strength and fulfilment. Ahem, that is to say, in the course of our exceptionally perdurable and mutually fulfilling chummership, if that is a word, I have come to happily appreciate that my debt you–our bond, as it were–is greater than I could wish to repay–or hope to describe."

"Oh, Wiz. Why the frag did I ever get married? I love you, too. Why did I ever leave you for a minute?"

She had been with Harry, loving away his nightmares and hers, while Ilsa had been alone. Strong as friendship was, they always ended with parting…Susan still held firmly to Ilsa's wrists, again. Ilsa smiled back at a friend like no other in her boundlessly considered world.

"Hey, wasn't I supposed to be cheering you up?" Susan went on, grinning at Ilsa, "You're not really an ice queen, you're a fire wizard–and I'm not as good as you think…just because of that torture drek, with the Agency back then. If anybody found out about Harry's mother, if the Ghosts or Triads got hold of her…there's nights Harry lies awake waiting for that call, and I can only hold him…we'd deal with a dragon or burn Seattle down to the waterline. Whatever it took. Right now, we've got hundreds of kids we're teaching to fight. Stand up to the bullies, stand up to the machine guns and never run; die for the towns and the families behind them, or kill and kill until something breaks...there's a million things we have to teach them about our world, and maybe none of it will save those kids, but we have to fight for them, now. We cannot be brooding on past or future frag-ups, Wiz, with lives depending on us now."

Susan's closing words carried across the deck to Hailey, and Harry; Ilsa sensed they were as strengthened as she herself was. The grin was gone from Susan's face–Ilsa could have seen, if she hadn't long known, the adept's grim passion that held her chummers' lives in her heart. She was a born teacher, and a treue kameradin, always. She squeezed Ilsa's arm one more time–they were past the Bridge now, within an hour of the dock–and recrossed the deck to stand at the bow beside Harry.

Without a spoken word between them, or even a touch, Harry and Susan had visibly shared all comfort they might ever need. A lifetime's loving study of each other. Trust still and solid between them as the sunlight every morning shed over the great, dark bay and hate-torn City. A thing built by two frail humans, but far more than a human work, as it seemed to Ilsa, like all of the most exquisite magical equations. The joy of science and human emotion alike was in truth–joy that longed for eternity, but might be shattered in a second like a Grecian vase. That stood doomed to be.

Contentment within the self, fulfilment beyond the self. The paradox of self-actualisation Ilsa had yet to attain–it would have been Nietzsche's soundest wisdom, had he not essentially conveyed it from his study of Buddhism. Susan believed she was a poor Buddhist, who would cling hungrily to her husband's pleasures for a million years before seeking oblivious harmony. In spite of her years of endurance, beating her body into the service of strong but righteous desire–she wanted vision, more than self-discipline, especially when Redding might just conceivably be the beginning of their lives and not the end. When she had been thrust beyond her labs and books to study such wonders as Susan Lei, Ilsa suddenly felt that it would be a very hard thing to die. If she lived she would make something miraculous as Susan and Harry shared–from human will and the power of magic, herself. In wonder or terror

-0-

Hailey had heard about the Japanacorps' secret summit from Kali even before Ilsa, Susan and Harry had. Although she'd known even before that, since a casual remark from the Tir agent she was secretly Matrix-dating had whispered across cyberspace like a knife to her throat.

"You keep quiet about your work like a good little Runner, my dear, but such heavy work, for this long, far from any megasprawl's bandwidth…unless I miss my guess…?"

"Oh, you know I totally can't tell you…" Hailey forced an airheaded giggle. Whiteknight's simple elf-modelled avatar, illuminated by blazing clouds of fireworks above a mirage of the midnight Paris skyline, seemed the only sincerity left among infinite illusions.

"Extraordinary. Above all, that you still find time between defying death with Prime Runners, to grace my simple life with your laughter."

Hailey would assuredly have choked instead of laughing on, if her avatar had retained a throat. Cliches were so dangerously comforting. Whiteknight played the elfish charmer so naturally, it slid under all defences, and any promising young decker would be in his private node before she knew it. It had been magnificent, even moreso than matrix-sex always was–even if it was a bit numbing to be taken by the sort of guy who was no one woman's type, but could still have any girl he wanted. To eventually blackmail and pump dry. She'd found the time for a chat or matrix-date almost every day, because she knew he would destroy her career instantly if he didn't think he could tickle some intelligence out of her.

She hadn't given anything up yet; he hadn't let anything slip until now. Secret big four Japanacorp summits didn't reach the ears of amateur deckers in rumours; she was now one million-percent certain he was a Tir spy. She was certain that he knew she knew. As another barrage of blood-red light exploded silently above them, Whiteknight's attitude was guileless and utterly calm. Hailey shivered like a rabbit in a trap, all the way back to her meatbody.

"Imagine if you could involve yourself in this summit. By any means." His smile was unnaturally perfect, "If you could even influence such historic deliberations, affecting whatever a supplicant might ask of you…rising to the heights of success from the depths of darkness. The chance that comes but once…to join the winning side."

"Those big bully boy megacorps totally always win, don't they?"

"Not always. You're a shadowrunner; I think you know what I'm talking about." Hailey didn't want to know. Her smile was desperate. "What always truly impressed me about shadowrunners is that they never make mistakes. Not the ones who stay shadowrunners, you know–not the ones who stay alive. Not even a young and brilliant shadowrunner can allow a suggestion of failure, when so many nyuyen and lives might depend on her, in the darkness–to live and excel, on the winning side, she must do anything to keep from making a mistake. As I imagine it–of course–a life far too desperate a grim for a simple free-spirit like myself! However, I do truly believe that you could be a great shadowrunner and more, Hailey. If you only take the chance."

"…Susan Lei, you know, I heard she's a great shadowrunner. Kickass, even. I heard she messed up, once."

"And was saved, by a freak chance," Whiteknight's smile did not shrink, "In any rational world she would be dead or incapacitated by trauma, and unheard of. The Shadows are a very rational, deadly place, my dear Hailey…truly, I wish I could protect you."

Hailey thought about how rationally the Tir had dealt with poor Tarne, protecting him until his usefulness had ended. She thought of Susan, and Harry, looking on the decker who hadn't just failed and burnt her cred but burnt down everything they'd fought to build. She didn't reveal an atom of her thoughts, however, in her voice, her smile, or the airy movements of her air-light hands.

-0-

The boat finally latched onto a long concrete pier; one among the many that extended from the Embarcadero sea wall, east of San Francisco, like the arms of a giant starfish. There were more towering grey cargo ships and distant, squawking dockers crawling beneath them than Harry remembered from last year. Business never stopped growing when it came to the megacorps. Harry still glanced at the deep steel forest of the sprawl skyline, and the stone anchor of Cupid's Span. The City of Eros, still. He shared a quick, full smile with Susan–before their eyes went visor-hard, scanning the crates and loose junk across the docks. Whatever joys two wolves could snatch between one hunt and one chase, they couldn't forget they were the hunted. That never changed, never stopped.

The balance of both their feet were light and finely set as gunsights; stepping from the sea to solid ground somewhat disturbed that, but it paid to keep moving, on the Run, even to make their meet on time. Nobody was surprised to see Kali hadn't shown up in person, with every minute now needed for calling contacts and pulling strings ahead of the summit. They recognised the innocuous dark Ford van, however, and Kali's suited razorboy driver behind the wheel.

The guy who stepped from the back of the Ford–Kali's man–strangely reminded Susan of the Johnson on the Antumbra job, her first real shadowrun. The same jacket and buzz-cut fair hair; piecing eyes that darted to the Runners, too quickly. It might be the lizard-cold, rigid air that all real Johnsons had, as if they'd been raised in the same corporate institution and lost something, or given it up, in the process.

That was it. To stand between the Corps and the Runners, Johnsons had to stake their life and soul to merciless rules. Even when time was so short; across the bare clearing of concrete, bordered by shipping crates, beyond the harbourmaster's concrete one-room office at the end of the pier, this one was heading for them in haste. Susan was thinking he should've stayed in the car, as she and Harry went to meet him–the moment before an unseen rifle cracked, and the Johnson fell without a word.

Aiming a gun at Fighter or Hotspur to kill would have set their martial senses screaming–Ilsa and Hailey hadn't yet stepped into the open. The dead man, instant and inexplicable, shocked thought numb for one moment–but they were diving away already without thought. Sword out, fists blazing. As the storm of fire burst from Nissan Optimum rifles under a clear sky.

Huge shipping crates banged open, black helmets poured out. Imperial Marines, rushing to firing positions right across the quayside. Racing to meet Fighter and Hotspur, without the slightest fear of death; with two Shiawase Nemesis LMGs coming up fast. For less than a second, both Runners knew they had the choice to charge. Before the machine guns got down to business; before they knew if it'd be suicide, or their last chance. The sea was at their backs, Hotspur had never failed to charge the face of death without fear–

He didn't even need to catch Susan's eye. He fell back with her. Ilsa's Firewall flew up to shield them. As the van that had been the only cover between the Runners and the marines was blasted end-over-end by a missile or grenade launcher. The driver-bodyguard, by a freak of war, had already rolled out and sprinted toward the Runners. He was hit twice, but dermal armour, wired reflexes and desperate madness just about got him diving behind the same wall as Fighter and Hotspur, alive. Staring at them, either too shook up or too furious to say a word, but his Ultimax machine pistol was already out.

With flames roaring in their faces, the marines efficiently deployed visors and respirator masks. Battle-armoured samurai advanced through hellfire. Renraku hoverdrones were already humming above and around the Firewall, to precede their assault with smoke and stun grenades, as the LMGs bracketed the blockhouse at the pier's end with smartlinked walls of lead. With Shiawase's finest radio-ID safe-fire systems, there was small risk of blue-on-blue fire, even firing through the flames. Any bystanders cut down would be discounted as smugglers or spies. Dockers and sailors across the whole Embarcadero were already running like sheep before a wolfpack, even leaping into the sea, as black Komatsu APCs barrelled onto the harbourside to disgorge black helmets and thumping jackboots.

With death brushing close as every bullet...Harry loved his wife so much it was agony, but he could do as little about that as to fight for their lives. Only hug a shot-hammered wall, so close to Susan he felt her teeth grind–then he felt stun grenades blasting through the one-room office behind them. Grinned, even as his head rang; never go for the obvious cover if there's any choice. They were getting out of this ungeeked, some way. The way his sword would carve out.

"SURRENDER NOW, TRAITORS!" A megaphone bawled over the din of shock and awe, "NO DISHONOUR IN SURRENDER FOR HONOURLESS DOGS!"

The driver screamed back something in Spanish–better for swearing in than Japanese–and blazed out suppressive fire round the edge of the wall. Flat on the concrete behind a large bollard, Ilsa would've been ripped apart by bullets as soon she stepped out with her hands up–but she supposed Docwagon might keep what was left of her alive, for Saito's torturers. The Imperial Marines weren't in the habit of taking prisoners–but a missile would presumably have blasted them already, if those weren't their orders.

They had a chance, for now. Ilsa rolled on her back, picked out a matt-black Wolfhound drone hovering above; a Flamestrike incinerated it. She sent a flame spirit howling through the air, to be blown out like a candle by well-aimed gunfire; all to buy Hailey and Anya the seconds that might save them.

The IJM combat drones shot Anya's little support drone to pieces, through a smoking window, but she had already jumped from its system into the office's jackpoint. As she shot through the low-spec connection, rushing to find the RAM that would hold her digital mind like a diver seeking for air–Hailey deployed her own hoverdrone and tracked Steel Lynx on the Runners' flanks.

She took out two more attacking drones with her babies. Before marines rolled through the flames into prone firing position; smashed the hoverdrone Hailey had named Kilgore with professional savagery. The young decker, still young and still afraid, collapsed under dumpshock into her own vomit. As Ilsa blasted the final hoverdrone, Fighter roared in Hailey's face; she had to get up.

This is him." Hailey was sobbing, "They knew, I didn't know, this mess is all my fault…"