IC: Shadows of Hong Kong, All the in charactetr stuff for the Shadows of Hong Kong Options

[Carny]

March 15, 2070 13:45

Hong Kong at the beginning of the rainy season. Wet, muggy. Water coming from the sky, washing away months of dirt and pollution. You'd think it would make things better, but instead it just replaces filth with wet mud, in those places where the ground isn�€™t covered in concrete.

Still, the city lives, a pulsing thing. Loud, crowded, vital. Business booms here, in the shimmering towers of Downtown, in the factories, on the docks. Your business also lives, in the shadows cast by those towers.

Commlinks across the city begin beeping, chirping, buzzing, or making no sound, instead silently informing their user that a message awaits:

<JiminyCricket: @MrsMcBeath: Got business, meet me at Charlie Chan's, 22:00. Dress nice.>

<JiminyCricket: @KungFuCaine: I have a job for you. You were recommended to me by the Sagacious One. Meet me at Charlie Chan's at 22:00. Dress appropriately.>

<JiminyCricket: @VICECrocket: I have work for you. You were recommended to me by Mr. Lightfingers. Meet me at Charlie Chan's at 22:00. Dress appropriately.>

<JiminyCricket: @DocDelicious: Mr. Ash referred you to me for a job. Meet me at Charlie Chan's at 22:00. Dress appropriately.>

[crizh]

March 15, 2070 13:44, Callanais, Isle of Lewis, West Coast of Scotland

Like a ring of giant broken dragons teeth the stones of Callanais thrust towards the dull grey clouds that covered the sky from horizon to horizon. A low mist concealed the surrounding island and the shoreline but none of the vapour dared breach the outer circle of stones.

Floating in the centre of the circle was a priestess. She could only be a priestess, her long flowing red hair fell like a cascade from the back of her head which was tipped skywards, eyes closed, and filled with rapture and awe. Her arms were outflung and the tips of her pointed toes hovered eight inches above the dark thin soil. A pure white robe of impossible design twisted and weaved around her taught body. An invisible, intangible wind whipped the luscious strands of her hair and the trailing silken strands of her robe into a slow chaotic dance.

Suddenly a break in the cloud permitted a single shaft of purest sunlight to illuminate her alabaster features. After a moment she opened her clear green eyes and smiled, a message from a friend drifted across her mind, she dropped her arms to her sides and slowly drifted to the ground. Her bare toes flexed and grasped at the thin grass before she strode confidently over to one of the giant rocks arranged around her. She laid a hand upon it's moist black surface and a frown crossed her face as microscopic digital jaggies fled across it's surface away from her fingertips. She paused, and then carefully blew onto the rock surface. As she did so the rock seemed to become denser, more real and the traceries of digital misalignment were washed away. She slapped it a couple of times with the flat of her hand to make sure and then tilted her head to the side in satisfaction.

Aye, just the way I remember it. 'Tis forty long years yet still feels like yesterday. But now I must leave ye, for a meet in the meat. Aye 'tis the way I tell 'em ,'a ken. First a guardian for these epic stones...

She bent and grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and smeared a clumsy 'smiley' face on the stone she had altered.

Come forth little one, I have need of you, this place needs a caretaker.

[DWC]

<Music Cue: Cars – Moving in Stereo>

To the south, Victoria Island loomed through the remnants of morning mist. The afternoon heat was doing quite well at burning off the fog over the harbor and the ferry from the mainland was taking forever. The breeze running the length of the harbor tugged at his linen shirt and khaki shorts, and the neon green flip-flops did nothing to absorb the vibration of the ferry’s hydro jets. One foot tapped absentmindedly to the tune stuck in his head.

Vice settled onto the saddle of his brand new blue and white Suzuki Mirage and shoveled another clump of soy noodles into his mouth. Taking the ferry on a foggy day was always a gamble, but he wasn’t in any particular hurry to cross the harbor, and it gave him time to have lunch.

In between bites, he chatted up the…what was it…quality assurance manager in the Skyline parked next to him. She yammered on about some silly tai chi class while he ate, and blushed stupidly when he asked another leading question to keep her talking about herself. Either she hadn’t noticed the handgun and armor vest hidden under his shirt, or she had and was intrigued.

The tone of an incoming message from his commlink was a welcome diversion from the conversation he’d gotten stuck in. He’d never been able to help making exceedingly lewd comments to strange women and after five minutes, Vice found himself wishing the wage slave had just thrown her soycaf at him rather than offering to give him a better view.

A quick read of the message prompted a quick visit to the restaurant’s matrix host, then a quick search for the clothing styles of the 1930s. That led to a boutique in Aberdeen that sold “authentic vintage formalwear�, which was a nice way of saying that their micro-fabricators made new clothes in what ever antiquated style people would pay for. Still nodding at the woman’s babbling he emailed the store his measurements and what he was looking for, confirmed his attendance at the restaurant, and began reading the marketing spew from the RFID tag in her car.

An alert from the boat’s host announced that it would be docking in one minute, and the boat’s vibration shifted in pitch as the hydro jets reversed to slow the barge. Drivers began starting their cars and trucks in preparation to disembark. As the docks appeared through the fog, he threw the empty noodle container and plastic chopsticks over the side and began working in earnest to close with the woman. After some nonsense about coffee, rock climbing, and jai alai, she gave up her commcode.

<Music Cue: Huey Lewis and the News – Hip to Be Square>

He winked over the top of his oversized aviator sunglasses as he started his Mirage. She winked back as the window slid back up. Vice popped a stick of gum in his mouth and began walking his motorcycle between the cars and trucks, cutting in line to get off the boat faster. As soon as the ramp went down, he rolled on the throttle and sped off the boat, across the parking lot, and out into traffic. With a crank of his wrist, the front wheel lifted off the ground and he sped off towards the southern coast.

[Carny]

March 15, 2070 21:45

Charlie Chan's is a world-famous club, and justly so. While not in the league of Dante's Inferno, it still is in tour guides and virtual tours of Hong Kong world-wide. The constant influx of corporate suits from the Mid-Levels looking to relax, out-of-towners, and those few other locals who can afford to dress up and come see and be seen, keep the place crowded. Most customers come on the MTR, and in the rainy season, there is a constant stream of umbrella boys and girls escorting the paying customers from the station to the club. If some of them offer personal services beyond keeping the warm, heavy monsoon rain off of well-coiffed hair, and expensive fedoras, that is something the club management doesn't prefer to be aware of.

Still, there is a car park under the club, and a back lot where shuttle vans either from points west, or running up and down to Happy Valley to the south, often park to disgorge their cargoes of well-dressed merry-makers. There is even room, if tight, for a pair of full-size road coach buses to park.

The main entrance is facing the street, but more umbrella boys and girls work the lot, when a bus or van pulls in.

Inside, once the heavy steel door closes behind you, the monsoon rains are a memory. Flappers, cigarette girls, mobsters in pinstripe suits predominate. Almost everyone makes some effort to dress for the period, though some of the clothes are made of materials no one had even dreamed of, a hundred and forty years ago. Smoke clouds the air, as people hunch over solid looking tables, set with checkerboard tableclothes. Real wood, real cotton.

Like a real speakeasy, a man meets you at the door. He looks every bit like a movie tough out of an old Cagney film, from the massive jaw, to the sloped looking forehead. He seems to know who you are, and who you are here to see. Without missing a beat, he directs you to the long, gleaming mahogany bar.

[Jeremiah Legacy]

March 15, 2070. 13:55, squatter apartments in Kowloon

Dr. Desmond Lee Shin was done setting the broken leg of a little human boy, about 9 or so, and playing too close to the rooftops. Damn that Neil the Ork Barbarian! he thought to himself. All things considered, it could have been worse, but his parents knew Bouncy who knew Desmond who knew how to treat a broken leg and sharp rusty pipes poking in the leg. A few weeks of an itchy maekshift cast and some pain medicine should solve the problem. Now, how to pay to replace the painkillers ...

He checked the message on his commlink. JiminyCricket, huh? Never heard of him, but if Bad Ash referred me, it should be legit.

A couple more patients to see, then he goes and gets changed. Wearing an older outfit left over from his time in Portland when Mobster Chic was the trend, along with an overcoat to protect him from the heavy rain on his motorbike (I swear, one of these days, I gotta buy a car.), he decides to leave his gun at home. But he does bring along his white noise generator before leaving. Dr. Desmond Lee Shin was done for the day. Now, it was time for Dr. Delicious to go to work.

21:49, Charlie Chan's

The Dr. arrives, soaking wet from the drive (I swear, one of these days, I gotta buy a car!!) but ready for the meet. A few looks from the bartender/enforcer, but the Doctor heads to the bar as directed, but also asking about the restroom. He wants to get fully dried off and make sure everything is in place. After all, this was a first meet for both the Johnson and for the team; it was important to look professional and put together. And besides, if speed wasn't the necessity, then Dr. Delicious would be making sure that some pretty woman wouldn't be going home alone tonight.

[DWC]

The little taxi wove its’ way through the Aberdeen Tunnel traffic, doth driver and occupant enjoying the respite from the steady drumming of rain on the roof.

As the car emerged behind the Happy Valley Arena, traffic slowed to a crawl and the cab joined the countless wage slaves making their way into the Wanchai-Causeway district of the Free Enterprise Zone, in search of the sweet release of an evening of sin.

<Music Cue: Murray Head – One Night in Bangkok>

The AR advertising loomed in every direction, ranging from a video clip of a club’s floor show to waitresses reading restaurant menus, to the explicit and occasionally outright pornographic “hosted parties�. Vice selected three that caught his attention and began sorting through the ads, studying the staff bios, lists of services rendered, and suggested gifts.

Engrossed in his feverish search, he didn’t notice the cab exiting the freeway and descending to surface streets. Despite the torrential downpour, the sidewalks were jammed with a sea of multicolored raincoats, ARO, and umbrellas. Every dance club pumped its’ music out, via the matrix, to any wireless device in range. His commlink’s boosted firewall suddenly seemed like the wisest purchase he’d ever made.

Go-gangers walked their cycles between the taxis, buses, limousines, and cars that choked the streets. Pushcart food vendors set up shop for the night, laying claim to swathes of sidewalk in front of popular night spots. Street walkers strolled through the bumper to bumper traffic, hocking their wares in the old fashioned analog way.

Vice was forced to stop window shopping for joygirls when the cab skidded to a stop in front of the unremarkable building that held the world famous Charlie Chan’s. In keeping with the theme, no doorman rushed to open his cab door. Fortunately, the mustard colored zoot suit shed the rain as fast as it fell, and the matching hat held its’ shape until the cartoonish goon answered the door and directed him to the bar.

Just before stepping out of the rain, Vice glanced over his shoulder and across the street. The Mirage was still parked where he had left it a fwe hours ago, ready for a quick escape if absolutely necessary.

A passing cigarette girl provided him with a chance to contribute to the haze of smoke in the club, and the barman quickly obliged his alcoholism with a double tequila pop. Cigarette in one hand, drink in the other, Vice swept his eyes and ears about the room, as much people watching to kill time as studying the crowd for threats.

[crizh]

March 15, 2070, 21:55, Hong Kong, Charlie Chan's

The coach pulled to a stop and water cascaded, from the roof, down the windscreen and splashed off the already sodden tarmac of Charlie Chan's back-lot.

The moment hung in the air as the vehicle's suspension brought it back to level and the air-brakes hissed. It was black, not the shiny executive sort of black but a disturbing, hole in space, sort of matte black that sucked light in and didn't give it back. The paint was probably called something like 'Black-Ops' in the sales catalogue. It's lines said discrete but betrayed sufficient menace to deter casual interference.

Oddly the paint was sort of patchy close up but the effect from any sort of distance was the sort of nondescript that caused the eye to simply slide off it. A trained eye however would notice the bulges of high end communications gear or that the sculpting that made it look like nothing much was done in 4 inch composite armour plate.

A peeling sticker on the inside of the windscreen reads - Disaster Area World Tour 2069 - across an image of an exploding Star.

The door hisses as it cracks open and slowly slides to the side to reveal...

Well, somebody's Granny...

Granny boots, support stockings, tweed skirt suit, plaid bonnet with a sprig of purple heather pinned to the side. She was tiny. Tiny enough to mistake for a dwarf if she wasn't so thin and frail looking. A matching handbag hung over one shoulder and she clutched a small carpet bag in both her shrivelled claw-like hands. She turned her sparkling green eyes back towards the mysterious recesses of the coach.

Thank you dear, I very much you appreciate you showing an old lady such kindness.

Her voice had a Celtic lilt to it but very precise and polite. She raised her hand and waved with her fingers and pointed at one of the brolly-boys waiting to serve the clubs patrons. She waited for him to approach before she stepped down from the step.

Thank you sonny. Would you mind if I hold your arm to steady myself? I'm not as steady on my feet as I used to be.

She totters in slow motion around the building sheltered from the rain by the young man whose elbow she grasps like a lifeline. The coach closes it's doors and vanishes into Hong Kong's night time traffic like Batman disappearing up an alley.

She politely thanks the Doorman in Cantonese before approaching the bar and enquiring, in the same tongue, if it might be possible to acquire a small pot of Keemun tea.

[Carny]

March 15, 2070, 22:00

The time leading up to the meet is as uneventful as any few moments in Charlie Chan's can be. The jazz is loud, but bearable, though it is real music, delivered by a group from New Orleans, a full jazz ensemble, very full sounded and hot. Most of it is period pieces, classics that are still recognizable even a hundred and forty years removed. Stuff by Cab Calloway, Bessie Smith.

Doc gets himself dried off and fixed up easily enough. The restroom towel boy just keeps handing him towels till his appearance and dignity are fully restored. He and Vice, albeit separately, eye the crowd up. There is no shortage of attractive women on hand. In an age where a new appearance is just some nu-yen and fairly minor surgery away, very few women in the upper income brackets could be considered aggressively ugly.

The problem of course is that most of them are either working, or with escorts. The cigarette girls and waitresses are uniformly attractive, as are the waiters if tastes run in that direction. A pair of Chinese ladies in flapper garb seem to be giving the crowd a once over, both are young, and attractive enough to stand out in the crowd.

Any further consideration is put on hold, however, by the arrival of Granny, who is escorted by the bouncer from the front door. He seems quite solicitous of her. Once she is seated at the bar, her tea is promptly delivered. There is a delay, of a few moments, then the bouncer moves from runner to runner. "Your meeting is in the Armstrong room. The waiter will guide you."

And indeed, they are approached by one of the young waiters, who leads them through the crowded club, as if taking them to a reserved table. But instead, he directs them to one of the private rooms in the rear.

Waiting in the room, which is laid out with furnishings a cut above even the expense of the club proper, are two men, and a woman. The woman immediately draws the attention of both Doc and Vice. She is remarkably decorative, delicate elven ears and features. She is dressed as a gun moll, and is sitting beside one of the men. That man is an ork, with the broad, heavy build that entails. He is dressed as a mobster, and examines the runners as they arrive. He seems visibly surprised by Granny's appearance, but nods politely to her.

The third figure is a man in a tux and tails. His face looks like he's seen some rough territory, and he leans on a silver-handled walking stick as if he might actually need to. He is standing. He smiles slightly at Granny when she appears. "Granny, thank you for coming. Vice, and Doctor Delicious. A pleasure to meet you. I am Cricket. You were both referred to me as outstanding in your specialties."

He glances at the gangster, who nods, smiling. "I am Mr. Johnston. Please, sit. And give your orders to the waiter, if you are hungry. The least I can do is pay for your meals, in thanks for coming to hear me out."

[DWC]

<Music Bed: Murray Head – One Night in Bangkok (Instrumental)>

Basking in the ambiance, Vice surveys the crowd, chuckling at the drenched Doc, and rolling his eyes at the swarm of wage slaves dressed like the outlaws of last century. The flappers who stand out from the crowd draw his attention for obvious reasons first, but quickly set off paranoid warning bells. Both instincts draw him to study them even closer, well aware that they’re probably watching him just as closely.

[ Spoiler ]

Vice has an armor vest under his suit. He wears a Predator IV in a shoulder holster under his left arm. On the other side of the rig, under his right arm, is a flask of whiskey and two spare magazines. He wears the gun casually, as if it’s a part of the 1930s tough guy costume.

Before the waiter leads him off, he sends a gin and tonic to the girls who set off his warning bells to watch their reactions, Vice follows as directed, his oversized gold watch chain swinging as he walks.

[ Spoiler ]

After leaving the main part of the bar, he switches his PAN into Hidden mode.

On entering the private room, he tosses his wide brimmed hat on the table and settles into a chair. “Evening, Mr. Johnson.�

He nods to the ork and the elf, sizing them up, looking for concealed weapons, armor, or bionetics, reasonably sure that they’re doing the same for him. “Bonnie, Clyde, nice to meet you both.�

Doc and Granny get a quicker once over, though he makes no effort to conceal his surprise at the little old lady’s presence.

“Nice of you all to invite a bunch of out of towners for dinner. Guess I don’t need to introduce myself.�

[Jeremiah Legacy]

The Doctor looks over the others in the room casually before sitting down.
Interesting bunch here. I gotta wonder what job requires an old lady, but if I learned anything from being in this city, it's to not dismiss anything.

Sitting down and removing his hat, he greets the Johnsons and looks over the menu before ordering the Beef Wellington, medium rare. As an appetizer, he orders a white cheddar and potato soup. And to drink, an appropriate, moderately priced red wine.
Smiling disarmingly, he speaks to the Johnson addressing them. Good evening, Mr. Johnson. While we can't discuss things before the rest of our party arrives, I am curious about who else will be joining us tonight.

[crizh]

March 15, 2070, 22:01, Hong Kong, Charlie Chan's

Standing at the bar waiting for her tea to stew, Granny ran her little gnarled finger in circles across the grain of the wooden surface.

She focused her inner eye and created a tiny AR replica of the Circle on the bar, tapping a couple of virtual stones, she cocked her ear briefly to one side and listened for the melody in the Resonance before waving her hand across the bar as if flicking away dust. The AR construct disappeared from her view. The IC would page her when it had analysed all the Signals in the club.

As they were escorted to the Armstrong room she tried to size up the two young men she had been thrown in with. The Mullato with the Opium allergy otherwise appeared to be an EM hole. Running silent, that's good. Looks deadly too, that bodes well.

The other, while composed, did not seem in the least threatening. His comm-link could certainly do with an upgrade.

She smiled upon seeing Cricket.

It's well past my bedtime I hope you know laddie.

She winked at the fixer before nodding to the Orc and his companion.

Pleased to meet you Mr Johnson. It's a bit late for my old stomach to be handlin' food but a few bits a' shortbread and perhaps a couple of Ginger Snaps to dunk in me tea while we hear out your proposal. Vice, Dr Delicious, 'tis a pleasure to meet you boys and if Cricket vouches for ye I'm happy wi' that.

She shakes hands with the other two runners, clasping they're enormous young hands with both of her gnarled old claws. Both feel something hard and unyielding pressed into the back of their hands briefly as she does so.

[Carny]

Vice -

[ Spoiler ]

The two lovely ladies are indeed checking out both Vice and the Doctor. When the drinks arrive, one of them shifts a little, a silk skirt revealing just enough thigh, for an instant, to also let Vice see a holstered light pistol. Both nylon-sheathed skin and weapon are covered again, a moment later. The two women put their heads together for a moment, and one of them gives Vice a smile.

March 15, 2070, 22:10 Charlie Chan's

Vice -

[ Spoiler ]

The ork is armed with a heavy pistol in a shoulder holster. It's hard to tell, with him at rest, but he has that slightly off vibe of somebody who has heavy augmentation. The elven lady isn't obviously armed, other then with her looks.

The orders are brought, and when the last server leaves, and closes the door, it becomes immediately obvious that all matrix contact beyond the walls of the Armstrong room has been terminated.

Mr. Johnson doesn't immediately go to business, instead chatting with Doc about wines, and generally playing the polite host well. After everyone has had a chance to relax a bit, if they choose to, he shifts gears.

"Well, obviously we aren't here this evening to enjoy each other's company. Cricket, thank you for the kind introductions." Cricket smiles, and departs. There is a moment of outside matrix access, then the door closes again behind him.

His voice is unhurried, and there is the slightest hint of a Russian accent in his delivery. "I would like you to find two things for me. One is a young lady in my employ, and the other is the package of data chips she was carrying. I consider both of these objectives equally important." The elven woman leans forward, and places a holographic projector on the table. It projects a picture of a young oriental woman in her early twenties, if appearances can be trusted. She is quite attractive, and is dressed in a flattering set of motorcycle leathers.

He continues speaking, as the image of the woman rotates. "Ms. Silverzip acts a courier for me. She was delivering sensitive material to a client yesterday. When the client came to the meet location to receive the material, Ms. Silverzip did not appear." A faint smile crosses his face. "As you might imagine, the client is quite put out. That however is not your concern, unless by some turn of events it interferes with your work."

Shaking his head, he puts a credstick on the table. "This contains a ten thousand nu-yen up front payment. I will pay an additional five thousand for conclusive information about what happened to Ms. Silvertip, and five thousand more for information on the material she was carrying. If either Ms. Silvertip, or the material, is returned in good condition, I will pay five thousand more for each such happy development. In short, a total of twenty thousand nu-yen, thirty thousand if the best possible outcome is achieved."

He leans back at that point, and the elven woman takes up the narrative. Her voice is melodious, almost hypnotic, with more then a hint of upper-crust British.

"Ms. Silverzip made several deliveries for us yesterday, both Downtown, and across the harbor in Yau Tsim Mong. She last contacted us from a noodle house in Mong Kok, where she had stopped for lunch. After that there was no contact. She was travelling largely by MTR, as usual, in the rainy season. The package she was to deliver was six single use data chips, in a protective case."

She smiles, then, and says, "Are there any questions?"

[crizh]

Leavin' so soon laddie?

Granny rises and crosses to peck Cricket on the cheek in the doorway before he can make good his escape. She is so small she must lean on the door-frame and stand on tip-toes to reach him.

@Cricket-strong encryption-1 round> Drag me out in the meat and then stick me in a Faraday Cage? We'll have words later Sonny Jim.

I'm sure I'll need to speak to you later, I'll probably need access to the servers. You be good now.

She reaches up and pinches and shakes a little of his cheek like he were a tiny baby.

She returns to the table and sips tea and nibbles on shortbread until Mr Johnson and his friend are done.

By good condition can I assume you mean data intact?

[DWC]

<Music Bed: Murray Head – One Night in Bangkok (Instrumental)>

[ Spoiler ]

As is so often the case in his life, curiosity wins out over caution and Vice runs the executable on the RFID tag that Granny stuck on him.

Vice listens intently, polishing off the last of his snow peas and making a digital list of questions, as the ork and the elf detail the project.

When prompted, he begins reading off his list.

“ What were her other deliveries for the day and where were they? Was this her last delivery of the day? Where was she supposed to make the drop and how soon after you last made contact with her? Who else would be after what she was carrying? Where’s she live? What’s the case look like? How do we get in touch with you when we’re done?�

[crizh]

[ Spoiler ]

A small AR window pops up containing Granny's smiling face.

Thank you, I appreciate this display of trust.

This is the production code we will likely be using if we end up working together. I thought it best to lay my cards on the table now and permit you the opportunity to assess whether or not you are comfortable working with me.

The construct unfolding in your comm-link will slave all communications to an extremely secure external Nexus. It will also start a dynamic encryption routine that will make this link as secure as it can be and will periodically re-slave to a different pre-determined Access ID for the Nexus to prevent command spoofing. It has two user controls, the first will terminate it and wipe all traces from your system and the second will drop the connection and completely re-encrypt it in case you suddenly come over all paranoid. This will cause a two or three second comms blackout but will provide six to ten seconds of impenetrable security.

You have a time limited guest account on the Nexus which has a number of useful tools pre-loaded if you wish to make use of them, might I suggest that you will find the TacSoft package of interest.



The window vanishes and is replaced with a small number of AR controls, each with a tag explaining its function.

[DWC]

<Music Bed: Murray Head: One Night in Bangkok (Instrumental)>

While Vice waits for answers to questions, and Doc's barrage of questions, he begins poking around with the tools suddenly at his disposal, curious to see what he can find in the commlink traffic out in the main part of the bar, for starters.

[Jeremiah Legacy]

Dr. Delicious sits and watches, drinking his wine slowly. Courier missing and data missing too. And such a pretty girl, probably not the type to just cut and run if he's getting our help that fast.

I understand you probably can't tell us what was on those data chips, and we probably don't need to know, but is there anything about them that we do need to know before making a decision?

[Carny]

“ What were her other deliveries for the day and where were they? Was this her last delivery of the day? Where was she supposed to make the drop and how soon after you last made contact with her? Who else would be after what she was carrying? Where’s she live? What’s the case look like? How do we get in touch with you when we’re done?�

The woman smiles graciously, and glances at her companion. He shakes his head minutely. She then looks at Vice.

"Her deliveries in the morning all were completed satisfactorily. Our clients generally require discretion, especially Downtown. Her last completed delivery was at the Khan Lo message service. It was a simple drop, the client maintains a service box there. The delivery she failed to make was her last of the day. It was to have been at Wang's Tavern, quite near where she stopped at the noodle shop."

The holoviewer's image shifts, to become that of a black, armored chip case, with a coded lock. In total the thing is roughly hand-sized. "The chips would have been in one of these, for both protection and discretion. The courier cannot open the case, at least not without significant effort."

The viewer returns to the image of the Chinese girl. The elven woman frowns, slightly. "We don't have an address for Ms. Silverzip, our relationship was not a formal one, and until yesterday, had been, so far as we know, mutually satisfactory. You may direct any needed communications to us through Mr. Cricket. He may also be able to provide more details about her."

When Doc asks his question, the ork speaks up. "There is nothing on those chips that can bring harm to anyone, or that would be of any conceivable use to anyone but the intended recipient. Their contents certainly are no danger to you, and so far as I know, aside from the intended recipient, no other parties had or have any interest in them."

Vice and Granny -

[ Spoiler ]

The mapping of the nodes in Chan's was largely completed, but doesn't reveal much of great interest. An ordering system, AR array, some security cameras, plus more then a hundred active commlinks. With the door closed, even with the mesh tags, there is no exterior connection. Whoever designed the Armstrong Room knew their business.

[crizh]

Oh jings! That tea goes right through me. Sorry, why don't you boys haggle over price while I go powder my nose?

Without waiting for a reply she ups and leaves the room.

[Carny]

Oh jings! That tea goes right through me. Sorry, why don't you boys haggle over price while I go powder my nose?

Without waiting for a reply she ups and leaves the room.

The ork raises a heavy brow, but doesn't seem particularly put out by her leaving. As soon as Granny opens the door, which isn't locked or otherwise secured, the matrix flows over her, and those inside the room who may be looking, in its full familar embrace.

The elven woman smiles slightly, and looks at Vice and Doc.

"Were there any other questions or other matters for discussion, before we adjourn?"

[DWC]

Vice nods, noting the answers to his questions. At Granny’s abrupt withdrawl from the room, he raises an eyebrow. After she’s gone, he glances over at Doc, then back to the pair of Johnsons.

“If it turns out that she got hijacked, do you want the people that grabbed her brought to you, put down, do you not care, or would you rather not know?�

[Carny]

Vice nods, noting the answers to his questions. At Granny’s abrupt withdrawl from the room, he raises an eyebrow. After she’s gone, he glances over at Doc, then back to the pair of Johnsons.

“If it turns out that she got hijacked, do you want the people that grabbed her brought to you, put down, do you not care, or would you rather not know?�

The elven woman is about to answer, but the ork raises a hand, forestalling her. "If she was hijacked, as you put it, deal with things as necessary to secure her safety, if that is an option. If those responsible end up dead, I'll be well satisfied. However, I'm more interested in her return, and that of the data chips, then in a body count."

[DWC]

The elven woman is about to answer, but the ork raises a hand, forestalling her. "If she was hijacked, as you put it, deal with things as necessary to secure her safety, if that is an option. If those responsible end up dead, I'll be well satisfied. However, I'm more interested in her return, and that of the data chips, then in a body count."

“Right. The less noise the better, especially since you don’t want too many people finding out that you had a courier go missing with a delivery. Besides, you’d have brought in a much bigger crew if you were looking to send a message. I’ll try not to throw too many people off balconies or shoot up too many tea houses.�

Vice smirks at the last promise, clearly joking.

[Carny]

“Right. The less noise the better, especially since you don’t want too many people finding out that you had a courier go missing with a delivery. Besides, you’d have brought in a much bigger crew if you were looking to send a message. I’ll try not to throw too many people off balconies or shoot up too many tea houses.�

Vice smirks at the last promise, clearly joking.

The ork nods, and stands, offering a brawny arm to the elf, who takes it, and smiles, rising far more gracefully. The ork's blocky features shift into a grin, faintly. "Quite. If there is nothing else, we have business elsewhere to attend to. Mr. Cricket said he might have one or two more personnel to add to your team, so you may have the help you require, if it does come down to a need for significant violence."

[crizh]

As the pair of Johnson's are preparing to leave the door suddenly swings open again and Granny shuffles into view.

Leaving so soon? I've barely started my Ginger Snaps.

She holds the door open for the pair to depart but as they pass her she says:

Just one little thing. Do you happen to know the SIN the young lady used? Or SINs?

She clutches her little carpet bag to her chest and raised a single eyebrow, archly.