Never trust an elf

"It is likely that Greerson is dead," Neko said. "It fits with the red-haired elf's warning."

Kham's head was spinning. He didn't know what to do. He was losing control here, and he couldn't just knock the catboy into line. Especially because he was right. Kham was frustrated and angry, and it made his words hot and bitter. "So how come we're still around, den? If dese elves is so almighty tough and smart, how come dey didn't get us? We're only orks wid guns. What've we got dat'll stop elf mages?"

Kham's rage seemed to have absolutely no effect on Neko. He responded calmly, as if he were addressing a bunch of suits in a corp conference room somewhere. "I believe the red-haired elf was correct when he said that our enemy didn't expect him to be present when the raiders hit the hall. The raiders were all mundane, a suitable force to take out a place full of orks, but insufficient to deal with magical support. It was only because of the magical distraction provided by Dodger's friend that we were able to achieve surprise and turn the tables on them."

"Yer awful sweet on dat red elf."

"I believe he was trying to help us." Even if he was, Kham knew that the elf was doing it for his own purposes, whatever they were. "He had his reasons."

"Of that I am sure." Neko agreed. "But whatever they are, they worked to our benefit. We must accept that."

"So whatcha suggestin'? That we run ta him fer help?"

"lie. I do not believe that it would be forthcoming."

Kham narrowed his eyes and squinted at the catboy. The kid was ahead of him tonight; he already had a plan. "Den what ya got have in mind?"

"Cog is willing to help."

Kham knew about that kind of help. "For a fee."

"Of course."

The wry expression on Neko's face said that he knew about that kind of help, too. And why shouldn't he? For all that he looked like a kid, he'd been running the shadows. Kham knew how fast that made one aware of the realities of life. Still, there were unanswered-drek, unasked-questions here. Suspiciously, Kham asked, "He offered?"

"Would you expect an offer from Cog?"

Kham snarled. "Don' answer my question wid a question, catboy."

Again ignoring Kham's threatening tone, Neko smiled and said, "I made some suggestions."

"And ya came up wit sumpin' Cog would agree ta?"

"Correct."

"Awright, awright. Ya got me interested. What's yer plan?"

"Cog can arrange to make it look like the hit at your house was completely successful, and meanwhile we drop deeper into the shadows until it all blows over. We will need another hideout, of course. You and your people are too well-known here, and you have no supplies. You would have to go out, and you would be seen, and recognized. Someone would talk."

Kham was only too aware of how cheaply some of his neighbors would sell them out. "Find a hole and pull it in after us, huh?"

"Was that not your desire?"

"Yeah. I guess I did say dat was da ting ta do." Laying low was the usual way to avoid unwanted attention. But so many of his chummers had died. And his family had lost their home. Who was going to pay for that? Street justice demanded that he hit back, which was exactly what he'd have done if another gang had hit his gang. But he was a shadowrunner now, not a gang leader. The rules were different.

They'd already paid a high enough price to further the unknown ambitions of those mysterious elves. Lying low might be a cowardly response for a gang leader, but Kham didn't want revenge to cost them any more lives. He was no longer just a ganger. He had a family and a lot of other folks who depended on him. He'd already failed some of them. That failure made him mad, really mad, but he had to think about the living. If only he could believe that the danger would really end if they dropped out of sight for a while. "How much is it goin' ta cost?" Kham said.

Glasgian understood the reason for the starkness of the chamber, the barrenness of the walls, and the dry dustiness of the earthen floor, but he didn't like it. All was as Urdli had commanded, but Glasgian found the place too stark, too… primitive. His Scaratelli shoes had already picked up a film of dust.