The ork walked directly to the door closest to the first vehicle bay, where he stood, waiting. Kellan forced herself to wait patiently rather than ask G-Dogg what he was expecting. A few moments later, G-Dogg looked up, and Kellan followed his gaze to see something hanging on the wall just over the door. It looked like a metallic spider, about the size of the ork's fist, its round, silvery body supported on a set of spindly metallic legs. A single red "eye" glowed off-center in the front, and the ork gave it a tusky grin. The spider turned suddenly and scuttled up the wall, then there was a buzz and the door unlocked. G-Dogg grabbed it and pulled it all the way open, motioning for Kellan to enter.

Inside the garage was dim compared to outside. As her eyes adjusted, Kellan saw the sleek lines of cars in the vehicle bays. All around them were arrayed rolling cabinets of tools, wall racks of parts and supplies, and a profusion of metallic and cast-ceramic junk of all shapes and sizes. The car in the bay at the far end of the building was raised up on a hydraulic lift and an electric-blue glow flickered beneath it.

G-Dogg wove his way around the other cars toward the last bay and Kellan followed. Under the raised car was a multiarmed contraption wielding various tools and grippers, currently holding part of the car's chassis in place as it precisely spot-welded it. Off to the side sat a stocky figure. He was a dwarf, barely a meter and a quarter tall by Kellan's estimate. His eyes were closed as if in silent meditation, hands resting in his lap. He wore heavy work boots and a pair of dark blue coveralls stained with grease and marked with small burnt patches. His hair and beard were brown and long, braided with metallic beads and clasps, but what immediately drew Kellan's attention was the thin fiber-optic cable snaking out from the chrome-lipped jack behind his right ear. It extended behind his arm and across the floor to the welding rig under the car.

The rig made one more weld, and then its arms gracefully folded like the petals of some strange flower, dropping the drone into a resting pose. The dwarf in the chair opened his eyes and turned toward his visitors. His irises were shot through with silver circuitry that gleamed in the dim light. Cyber-eyes, Kellan thought.

"G-Dogg," he said in a neutral tone.

"Hey, Max, 'sup?"

"Same ol'," the dwarf replied, reaching behind his ear to pull the plug from his jack with an audible click. He stood up and tugged the cable. It started to wind smoothly into the housing of the tool rig. "Just doing some touch-up work," he said.

"Looks good," G-Dogg said, glancing over the car.

"Thanks."

"Max, this is Kellan Colt. Kellan, this is Silver Max, one of the best riggers you're ever likely to meet." The dwarf seemed to take the compliment as his due.

"Hey," Kellan said, extending a hand. Max shook it with a firm grip.

"You putting something together, G-Dogg?" he asked, turning toward the ork.

"Not me-Lothan," he said. "We need a driver, probably some overwatch, too." The dwarf raised one shaggy eyebrow.

"What would I be driving and what's the cut?"

"A cargo hauler and it's 5K on delivery."

"Combat?" the dwarf asked.

"Not much if we do it right."

"When?"

"Meeting tonight at Lothan's. Things will probably go down in a couple days."

The dwarf went over to the hydraulic lift and started inspecting the welds from underneath.

"Okay," he said curtly. "I'm in."

"Wizard," G-Dogg said. "Meet at Lothan's tonight, 2000 hours."

"I'll be there," the dwarf replied without looking away from his work. G-Dogg headed for the door and Kellan followed close behind. As they left, Silver Max picked up a wrench and began adjusting something on the undercarriage of the car.

"Okay," G-Dogg said outside the garage. "Now let's see if the intel I picked up on our next guy is good."

"Where's he?" Kellan asked as they got into the car.

"Redmond," the ork said.

They headed northeast. The neighboring area of Redmond couldn't have been more different from Bellevue if someone had planned it that way. The corporate condoplexes and gated communities gave way to streets lined with largely abandoned buildings and the occasional corporate complex surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire. The warning signs indicated the fences were electrified and patrolled by paranormal guard animals, mostly barghests, hellhounds and cockatrices.

"Redmond used to be pretty high-class," G-Dogg said as Kellan looked over the burnt-out storefronts, broken windows covered with sheets of construction plastic and plywood with layers of gang graffiti scrawled over them. "Back around the turn of the century there was a lot of computer biz around here-baby 'net corps and drek like that. 'Course this was before the Matrix. When the Computer Crash of 2029 hit, it took the computer corps down with it. Most of them went out of business overnight and a lot of others pulled out of the area. With all the damage done by the Ghost Dance War and the other drek the metroplex was going through, well, nobody really cared about trying to fix things. So refugees and metahumans and people with nowhere else to go moved in and squatted. Now Lone Star won't come into the Barrens with anything less than an APC and full riot gear."

They passed what looked like a kind of Stuffer Shack, set up in an old gas station, the pumps long since boxed and the skeleton of the place's old sign looming overhead. Kellan saw a few girls-human and ork-working the nearby street corner, listlessly showing off their wares for any cars that cruised past.

"They call this part Touristville," G-Dogg commented in response to the surroundings. "It's right on the border with Bellevue, and some of the suits and straight citizens like to come slumming when they're looking for a little of that 'Barrens edge' to have some not-so-legal fun. It's not too bad right here, since the Star comes down hard when the locals hassle an uptown SINner. Places further east like Glow City and the Rat's Nest, the mutants and squatters there would gladly knife you for a pair of shoes, or just to make fresh meat for the ghouls."

Kellan shuddered involuntarily, though she tried to hide it. She'd heard stories about ghouls, twisted metahumans that made orks and trolls look handsome by comparison. Once they'd been human, but now they were barely intelligent creatures that fed on human (and metahuman) flesh. Bands of them lived in places like the Barrens, where they fed on corpses and occasionally hunted fresh meat among the squatters and street people. Kellan had never seen a ghoul, and wasn't particularly eager to ever see one. A lot of local municipalities offered a bounty on ghouls, considering them a threat to public safety. She had known a guy in Kansas City who made some cred on the side as a ghoul hunter, until one night when he went looking for some ghouls and he didn't come back.

Absorbed by her thoughts, Kellan barely noticed when G-Dogg slowed the car and pulled into a lot next to a building with a scarred brick front. The lot was half exposed dirt and half cracked asphalt, enclosed by a thick chain strung from metal posts embedded in concrete. There were a number of cars and motorcycles already parked there, most of them considerably older and more beaten up than the ork's Argent. G-Dogg hit the security system as soon as they were out of the car, and led Kellan around to the front of the building.

Metal letters mounted on the crumbling brick wall read crusher 495, and the few windows at the front of the building were tinted, so you couldn't see inside. G-Dogg glanced at Kellan as they approached the door.

"Just follow my lead, okay?" he said. Kellan nodded as he opened the door and stepped into the gloom beyond. She followed, letting her eyes adjust to the interior illumination, dim even compared to the overcast day outside. She wondered why the majority of the places she'd been in Seattle were deliberately kept dim or shaded. Maybe it was because metahuman eyes were capable of seeing in the dark and orks, trolls and dwarves preferred less light than humans. That, or shadowrunners and other patrons preferred the illusion of privacy that the dim lighting afforded them, or some combination of both.