Technobabel

vanished in a cloud of digital static, dumped from the system entirely. The sudden and unexpected force of the backlash sent Ariel skittering away from the doomed datastore as the computer system suddenly came to life around her. The lighting of the system shifted from silvery gray to deep and pulsating red as the entire system went on alert. From the static and snow of the datastore's demise stepped a black-armored figure like a robot designed to look like an ancient Japanese samurai. The figure seemed to absorb light into its black surface except for the edge of its long, curved sword, which gleamed wickedly, a touch of programming flair Ariel had to admire even as the helmeted head of the samurai slowly turned and sca

17

The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. -Ecclesiastes 9:11

As the Hughes WK-2 Stallion helicopter cut through the night sky over the Boston sprawl, Harlan Hammarand checked his sidearm for what must have been the tenth time since takeoff. He knew that everything about the Colt Man-hunter was in perfect working order, since he kept the gun in top shape, but the task of checking the firearm gave his hands something to do as the seconds ticked away on their final approach toward the Mandala Technologies facility. Ariel reported that she had taken care of the security systems, just as Harlan knew she would. Ariel was the best decker he'd ever worked with and he counted on her to handle anything the system could throw at her. Harlan had the same confidence in the rest of his team. The Hammermen, they were called, after Harlan's handle on the streets: "The Hammer." The ork mercenary had picked up the name during his younger days on the harsh streets of New York City, where he ran with one of the hundreds of gangs living in that urban jungle. Unlike most of them, Harlan had turned his talent for street-fighting and organized mayhem into a marketable skill that had gotten him out of the barrens and barrios of the Rotten Apple and on to bigger and better things. Most of his omaes from the old gang were long dead, but Harlan was still around. That was a trend he aimed to continue for as long as he was able. Hammer looked over at the rest of the team huddled in the back of the chopper. Sloane, Tojo, and Tootall were all mercs he had worked with for years. They'd met in the trenches of the Desert Wars, and they still came through for him just as dependably in the canyons of the concrete jungle. Sloane and Tojo were humans, as different as night and day. Sloane was tall, blond, and Nordic, with a build to nearly rival Hammer's bulky ork physique. Tojo was small, lithe, and Asian. Both men were as capable with their bare hands as they were with an AK-97. Tootall hardly needed any of the weapons he wore on his harness. Some three meters tall and weighing in at almost two hundred kilos, the troll was a fearsome fighter using nothing more than his massive fists, each one capable of crushing a human's skull. All of the men sat silently, either looking out the window or at the walls or floor of the chopper's cabin, each wrapped up in his own thoughts about the action to come. Geist sat away from the rest of the crew. The mage was small and slight, only little taller than Tojo and not as well-muscled. His hair and skin were pale and looked washed out in the dim light of the cabin, adding to the ghostly appearance that gave him his street name. Geist was German by birth, but Hammer had known him for several years in the shadows of cities from North Africa to North America. The street mage had considerable skill at his job, having been trained at a university in his native Germany before being forced out into the shadows by an incident he never talked about. Hammer suspected it had something to do with Geist's famous indiscretions with women, particularly those who were married and supposed to be off-limits. Whatever his personal habits, Hammer found the mage to be more than capable at his job. Right now, Geist sat quietly in the back of the cabin, eyes closed in silent meditation, centering himself and gathering his magical power. Hammer knew that that power would be needed before the night was out. He had a strange feeling about this run. Not that it was all that unusual. Hammer had pulled off tougher extraction runs than what he knew about this one. It wasn't the mission itself, but the setting and the unusual speed the Johnson demanded for pulling off the extraction. Hammer had the impression the Johnson had gotten the word that he needed to act quickly. That was the way things went in Boston these days: things were happening fast and you had to keep up. Get out of the way or else get run over. The Boston sprawl had been something of a quiet town for shadowru

There was plenty of work to be had in the Boston shadows lately, if you were good enough. The job Hammer and his team were on now was just the kind of work-showing up in Boston lately. The ork didn't know for certain who they were working for-knowing your employer was a privilege to be earned in the shadows, or information you had to find out for yourself if you were looking to hedge your bets. Most employers of shadow-talent preferred anonymity, going by the universal name of "Mr. Johnson." The Hammermen's current Johnson was Japanese, which made the name all the more ironic. Ariel had done some checking on him and hadn't turned up much. Clearly, Mr. Johnson was a cautious man. Ariel believed Mr. J worked for Renraku. Word on the streets said the megacorporate computer giant was ru