Makeda Red Read online

  Shadowrun: Makeda Red

  Jennifer Brozek

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Bonus Story

  Chapter 28

  Rune’s Avatar Café

  About the Author

  Looking for More Shadowrun Fiction?

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

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  SHADOWRUN: MAKEDA RED

  Cover art by Peter Tikos

  Design by Matt Heerdt and David Kerber

  “Rune’s Avatar Café” ©2015 by Topps, Inc. First published in Shadowrun: World of Shadows.

  * * *

  ©2019 The Topps Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Shadowrun & Matrix are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc., in the United States and/or other countries. Catalyst Game Labs and the Catalyst Game Labs logo are trademarks of InMediaRes Productions LLC. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the Copyright Owner, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

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  Published by Catalyst Game Labs, an imprint of InMediaRes Productions, LLC 7108 S. Pheasant Ridge Drive • Spokane, WA 99224

  Dedication

  This is for my psychic twin, Bill Howard,

  who once upon a time convinced me to watch Casablanca.

  Acknowledgments

  Shadowrun is a wonderful, complex, and detailed game. I could not have written this novel without the help of other knowledgeable writers and fans alike.

  Thank you to Sasha Morlock and Lars Blumenstein for excellent shadowrunner world advice and to Raphael Andres for nuanced Swiss-German insults.

  Thank you to John Dillon for inspiring me with the song “#1 Ghoul” from Johnny Nuclear and the Meltdowns.

  Thank you to Pongolyn and Ollietronic for being awesome about letting me fictionally do horrible things to them.

  A huge thanks to Evan Louscher for being my on-call “Can I do this in Shadowrun?” guy (I like to keep one foot in the rules while I have my head in the clouds).

  Thank you to Jason Hardy and John Helfers for editing me, making me seem that much more awesome, and keeping me on my toes.

  As always, thank you to my beloved, Jeff, for playing out Shadowrun scenarios with me and always willing to be a sounding board. You make everything better.

  1

  It was too easy to get lost in the crowd of beautiful people, pounding music, and party lights surrounding her. Makeda allowed herself to be pulled along, becoming part of the whole. Blending in with her short green cocktail dress that slithered against her deep mahogany skin, she danced her way across the room toward the ramp that would let her board the Brussels2Rome Party Train. She felt every pounding beat cascade through her, driving her to dance.

  “You’re on the clock, Makeda.” TechnoGalen broke the spell of music and lights as he murmured in her ear. “Don’t have too much fun.” Sometimes, she hated having her team in her head through her internal comms, but when one was on the clock, duty always came before pleasure. Makeda let her head drop as she raised her arms, still dancing. “Don’t rush me,” she subvocalized. “I haven’t seen the target

  yet. May have to look for him on the train.”

  “Roger that. Security is tight. Can’t even get an eye on things.”

  She raised her head and let her gaze roam the party people. It was a who’s who of the world’s novahot rich and famous. Over there was a pack of Arabic royalty, famous for being famous. Next to them was a pair of top-rated ork urban brawl players. They were dancing with a trio of elven trid stars. Makeda lingered on the elves. She liked her men lanky and her women blonde. All three of them qualified.

  “On the clock,” she reminded herself. She pulled her eyes away and let herself stop seeing the individuals. Instead, she watched the crowd as a whole and found what was out of place. Sprinkled throughout the lounge were official Party Train security personnel. About half of them were in classic uniforms and wires. These were stationed on the outside of the dance floor—visible to one and all. The rest moved through the oblivious dancers, discreet and professional. Makeda had to admire their calm, cool efficiency. One of the humans dancing near the current trid “It” girl, SKYLAR!, got too close. Her security man moved in, sliding between them with a dance move worthy of a stage performance. He executed a couple more dance moves that shifted the interloper back an acceptable distance. The whole time, no one around them knew what had happened.

  She eyed the Japanese security man for a moment longer, appreciating his form and his ability to do his job. Makeda pondered the idea of flirting with him just to see what he’d do. Then the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

  Someone was watching her as closely as she’d been watching SKYLAR!’s man.

  Moving back against the crowd, Makeda shifted as close to the lounge’s temporary wall as she could. She stood across the way from the ramp that led onto the Party Train. The hosts had set up a small gate with an electronic sensor. Two train station security personnel stood on either side of it. Through the gate was a short ramp into a longer covered tunnel that hid the train station from the partygoers and the elite from anyone who might be in the train station for other reasons. The door onto the actual train was at the end of the tunnel.

  The way the lounge was set up, it was hard to imagine that this room, with its tables, chairs, and couches, didn’t exist in the normal day-to-day operation of the train station. Makeda fanned herself and looked around as if trying to find the bar or the restroom. She wanted to know who was watching her. It was probably harmless. She was in a tiny cocktail dress that made her look divine, after all. Still, one could never be too cautious.

  Makeda found the person watching her. The two of them locked eyes. There was no hiding that gaze from across the room.

  Standing next to the bar, he was the most beautiful human she’d seen in a long time. With mint-colored hair, high cheek b
ones, and a slender face, he would’ve been considered “elven” if elves didn’t already exist in the world. His matching mint suit—slacks, vest, jacket thrown over the chair he stood next to—would’ve looked garish on most people. On him, it fit like it was meant to be. She could tell he had dark eyes, but she couldn’t see much more from this distance. Makeda wanted a closer look, and she was going to get it.

  Despite her returned scrutiny, he didn’t look away. Instead, he lifted his glass in toast and invitation. Come drink with me, come dance with me, come here and be with me, the gesture said.

  Makeda was more than happy to oblige.

  The music shifted from the wordless techno into the industrial pop song “Alpha Ghoul” by the hottest indie band featured on the Party Train: the GlitterGuys. A cry went up and the dance floor

  surged as the revelers gave themselves over to the beat.

  “Got my arm candy onto the train,” Makeda subvocalized. She let the music take her back into the heart of the dance floor. She gave the beautiful man a beckoned invitation as she did.

  He put his drink down, held his arms behind his back, and sliced through the crowd like a man on a mission. By the time he got to her, Makeda was sure her new crush had had some sort of defensive-arts training. He was able to bend around and move through the mass of dancers without interrupting a single one.

  Makeda faced him as he stepped in next to her. He matched his dance moves to hers and bent in close, “I’m Imre…”

  The song gave her the answer she needed for this moment in time. She sang along with it to him, dancing close, letting her arm and hip bump against his. “‘…I wanna run, but I don’t dare / You’ve got me in your sights / And I’m caught by your stare.’”

  Imre got the hint, shut up, and just danced. He was as good as Makeda had hoped. Bowing her head again to cover her subvocalizing, she ordered, “Galen, get me everything you can on this guy.”

  “Get me a good full-face look.”

  Makeda peeked at Imre. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but he carried himself like he was well over one hundred eighty centimeters. She was only one hundred sixty-seven and was almost eye-to-eye with him. Imre gave her a rakish smile but kept his hands to himself. He appeared content to let her take the lead.

  This time, she raised her hands and ran them through his hair, letting her internal eye cameras get a good shot of his face. She gave him a broad smile as she realized he’d gone way old school with his looks tonight. There were hints of dark brown roots; Imre had bleached his hair, then dyed it mint. Part of her wondered what he’d look like without the eyeliner and with his natural hair color.

  Her internal comms came to life as her hacker gave her the download. “Imre Dahl. German. Address in Hanover, Germany. Occupation: Casino Hanover VIP relations. That means he’s on call for the whales. Don’t know how far up the food chain. May be a good guy to keep in contact with after all this is done.”

  It explained a lot about her new acquaintance: his ability to afford this trip, his skill in moving through the crowd without disturbing anyone, his good fashion sense, and his apparent ease with strangers. He might be a very good person to keep around. She gave him another smile. Or to keep close in the short term.

  Galen interrupted her prurient line of thought, “Saladin says to remind you that while you can have fun, you’re still on the clock. It’s less than ten hours to Lucern and the call to your ride out of Switzerland. Find the target, then nail Imre to the furniture.”

  Makeda spun away from Imre, making him chase her across the dance floor as the song wound down. “Shut up, Galen.” The fact that her team would be in her head if she did decide to have some carnal fun put a wet blanket on things. It came with the territory, though— you never shut your team out when you were on a run. Even if it was a simple extraction with a willing target. There was too much money on the line.

  The crowd rushed to the bar after “Alpha Ghoul” was replaced with a lighter rock song, one Makeda didn’t recognize. Imre’s left- behind jacket allowed them to get a seat at the bar. He gestured for her to take it as he stepped to the side.

  “Do I get to know your name?” he asked as she sat. “Maybe.”

  “Or do you want to be my Alpha Ghoul?”

  Makeda laughed and glanced at him from under the veil of her eyelashes. “What’s a ghoul anyway? Is it a vampire?” She, of course, knew the answer. Every shadowrunner did. She wanted to know if he knew. From the smoothing of his expression into something neutral, hiding a grimace, he did.

  Imre shrugged. “It’s actually not very nice. I had to look it up when the song became popular. They’re, well, undead cannibals, really. Not in control of themselves for the most part. I suppose that’s the attraction. Powerful but not responsible.”

  She made a face and shook her head. “Oh. That’s not very nice or sexy. Then again, people turned Nosferatu into a romantic lead. In that case, I don’t want to be anyone’s Alpha Ghoul. I’m already powerful. And I like being in control.”

  Imre gave her a lascivious smile and gestured to the bartender, “What may I get you, my black beauty?”

  “Taéngelé.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” He ordered two glasses of the elven liquor and leaned against the bar. “Do I get to know your name? Or shall I make something up?”

  “If I tell you what it is, what will you do with it?”

  “I will whisper it in your ear at the most inappropriate times.”

  His purr made Makeda shiver, and they both laughed. She shrugged. “Makeda. Just Makeda.” Behind him, she watched as small groups of people began to enter the train. First was a Japanese man in leather pants, a leather jacket, and no shirt—though he was adorned with bloody scratches that appeared to have come from his retinue of Japanese cat girls in identical vinyl bodysuits. Each one tapped their Party Train band to the electronic sensor as they entered.

  “Ah, the lovely queen of Saba—better known as the queen of Sheba. Powerful, indeed.”

  She gave him a bright, surprised smile. “Most don’t know that. Yes. My mother has big plans for me.” Makeda sipped her drink, savoring the bite of the anise. “In time. Just not now. I have my own plans. My own ideas.”

  The next group included an aging dwarf couple. They tried to get on the train without tapping their bands to the sensor, and security had a very quiet, smiling word with them. Both dug through their clothing for their Party Train bands and scowled as they were made to tap them to the sensor and then put the electronic bands on.

  Makeda touched her own Brussels2Rome band. It was her ticket onto the train, her wallet, and her identification wrapped up in one. She couldn’t get it off once she’d put it on. She’d tried all of the manual, conventional methods. The band was too strong to break, too small to slip off, and sealed itself upon closing. To remove the Party Train band, you needed a special electronic pad to unlock it—or a very good set of tools. Fortunately for her, she always came prepared.

  Imre followed her gaze and shrugged at the dwarves. He shifted the cuff of his sleeve, revealing his own band. “Security is tight.”

  “It needs to be. It’s very exclusive. It’s the place to see and be seen at the moment.” A foursome of orks and trolls approached the gate. Sportsmen from the World Wrestling League and urban brawl. Security was just as polite and professional with them as they had been with everyone else.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  Makeda pulled her attention back to Imre. She had to trust that everything was going to go as expected. If not, she would use this man in front of her to get what she needed. “Whatever I want. Right now, travel. This was a good way to get to Rome. What about you?”

  “When I’m not working? I like to travel, too.”

  “You work?” She touched his vest, feeling the soft suede under her fingertips. It made her want to pet him more.

  Imre nodded. “I do. Is that a problem?” She shook her head. “No.”

  “Good. Becaus
e, lovely one, I would like to spend more time with you, but I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

  She widened her eyes. “What’s that, working man?”

  “I’m going to make the most of this trip because I’ve got reality to get back to in a couple of weeks. That means I want to party like tomorrow will never come.”

  “I think I can handle that.” Makeda leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “I’ll tell you a little secret, Imre…I work, too.” This close, she could smell his cologne, something with lavender, cloves, and amber. It smelled as good as he looked.

  He put a hand to his chest, “Be still my beating heart. What do you do?”

  “Organize fundraisers for orphanages. Right here in Belgium.” She grinned at his surprised look. “No, really. I do.” She shrugged. “What good is money if you can’t use it to help people who really need it? My parents are simultaneously proud of and aghast at my actions.”

  “I’m particularly proud of that background,” TechnoGalen interrupted. “Also, head’s up. Get on the train. Time’s wasting.”

  Makeda glanced over his shoulder and saw the dance floor and lounge clearing out with remarkable decorum. Various security personnel moved in a coordinated sweep to bring the guests from their spots to enter the train without making anyone wait too long.