Chatting quietly on a broad bench seat were a couple who introduced themselves to Sam as Jiro and Betty Tanaka. He was Nisei, a second-generation Japanese born in the Americas, and she was from the California Free State. Sam envied the simple hopes and fears of the salaryman and his wife. For the young Jiro, an assignment to work as a computer specialist in the Renraku arcology would actually be a step up in his career.

The only other passenger was a Mr. Toragama. Put off by Sam’s distraction and Crenshaw’s disdain, he had buried himself in his middle-manager concerns, alternately tapping the keys and studying the screen of his lap computer.

Sam turned his head to gaze out the window again. The Commuter had left its holding pattern and was moving across Seattle toward the glitter of lights that marked the heart of the metroplex.

There, looming ahead was the Renraku arcology, its massive presence dwarfing the tall office buildings of the nearby central business district. Even though portions were still under construction, the arcology already enclosed a dozen city blocks. Beyond it in the distance, Sam saw the garish neon of the Aztechnology pyramid proclaiming the arrogance of the corporation’s Atzlan owners.

The Commuter banked, gliding past the sloped southern face of the arcology. Diamond reflections of the aircraft’s landing lights glittered from the banks of solar concentrators sheathing the surface and again from the dark waters as the plane moved out over the Sound. Though the noise was muffled by the cabin’s superb sound-proofing, the vibration of the shift from horizontal to vertical flight mode permeated the cabin, The craft dropped a little altitude as it moved over the Renraku-owned docks and warehouses skirting the water-face of the arcology. The VTOL tilted in toward one of the many landing pads.

Sam could see the landing lights getting closer, but the pad seemed deserted. No official greeting party waited, not even the usual scurrying ground crew. As they neared touchdown, the aircraft gave a slight lurch before steadying itself and settling slowly to the pad.

No word came from the pilot’s compartment as the passengers waited. The Tanakas pointed out sights to one another through their window overlooking the Sound. Mr. Toragama stowed away his computer to the accompaniment of tinkling ice as Crenshaw mixed herself a last drink. Unwilling to move, Sam sat staring at the still-spinning rotors. A sharp clack resounded in the cabin as the outer hatchway latch turned.

“About time,” Crenshaw groused.

The hatch eased open and the gangway rattled into position. The noise level in the cabin suddenly increased as the sound of the Commuter’s idling engines swept in. Smells came in, too, the tang of the ocean permeating the harsh odors of aviation fuel and heated metal and plastic.

Then all ordinariness died in a thunder of gunshots and automatic weapons fire. Crenshaw dropped her drink and started to reach into her suit jacket but stopped in mid-motion as a massive figure dove through the hatch and rolled quickly to his feet. Bulky with muscle and armor, the intruder was an Ork. The cabin lights glinted off his yellowed tusks and blood-shot eyes, but the blue steel of his HK227 automatic rifle gleamed with cold perfection.

“Move and die,” the Ork snarled in barely understandable English.

His words were garbled, but the yawning muzzle of his rifle spoke clearly. Crenshaw eased her hand out of her jacket, but no one else moved. Betty Tanaka began to hiccup softly, and Jiro, shivering fearfully, did nothing to comfort her.

Satisfied that he had cowed them, the Ork moved cautiously into the plane. A swift sidestep took him past the closed door of the pilot compartment. His movement made room in the doorway and two more invaders quickly filled it. The one in the fringed leather duster was a woman. The other, ragged in surplus military gear, was an Amerindian male. Sam barely had time to register all that before an eerie howling filled the air.

Frozen with unreasoning fear, Sam stared in horror at the massive shape bounding into the cabin. The huge, hound-like beast shouldered aside the Amerindian to land with a snarl at the feet of the female invader.

Yellow teeth snapped at her, catching the fringe on the left arm of her coat. She shoved that arm straight into the beast’s mouth, jamming it back into the hinge of the animal’s jaws. The beast backpedaled, seeking to disengage, but the woman’s free hand whipped around to grasp the studded collar around its neck. The hound reared on its hind legs, lifting the woman off the floor.

Suddenly the animal arched violently as a yellow, sparking glow ran along its collar, the light revealing the Renraku logo etched in the band. Throwing itself away from its antagonist, the beast slammed against the bulkhead with a yelp of pain, then twisted and bit at itself as though trying to fend off its agony. The animal howled again, but this was not the bone-freezing sound that had paralyzed Sam and the others. Only pain and the animal’s own uncomprehending fear remained. It crashed to the floor and whimpered once as it died. The stench of singed fur was overpowering.

Had the woman dispatched the beast with magic? Sam couldn’t be sure, never having seen a magician in action, but he could think of no other explanation.

Hollow-eyed and panting, the woman spoke softly, almost to herself. "Damned Barghests. Why don’t they ever go for the muscle first?”

Weapons sounded outside the aircraft again, filling the cabin with sudden death. The woman threw herself to the cabin floor and the man dodged back against the Commuter’s bulkhead. The Renraku employees were slower to move. Betty Tanaka jerked and tumbled backward as slugs ripped into her. Jiro spun, blood spraying from his shoulder, and crashed into Toragama before the two of them pitched to the floor. Sam dropped behind his seat just as bullets chewed through the padding and light aluminum frame over his head. Crenshaw, out of the line of fire, stood still and eyed the Ork, who also remained standing, saved from the fire by a kink in the bulkhead.

The male invader made a sudden jump and snatched the hatch handle, tugging it closed. By the almost superhuman speed of the man’s movement, Sam realized it had to be cyberware enhancing his reactions.

As the woman picked herself up from the floor, her duster gaped open, revealing an athletic body clad in little more than weapon belts and amulets. She cursed softly as one of her feet caught on her scabbard. Sam stared at the weapon it held. Though he had never seen one before, he guessed that this ornate and intricately decorated object had to be a magesword. For the first time in his life, he stood in the presence of a magician. The idea brought cold sweat to his brow.

This was a most dangerous gang if one of them could perform actual magic.

“Where’s the pilot?” the woman demanded of the Ork.

The big ugly jerked his head toward the forward door. “Hiding up dere.”