[IC] 2073: Red Dawn Rising, Tenochtitlan Options

[Spooky Jack]

Spooky grimaced at the latest update

<I guess this means I'm getting my own damn bagels.>

He rolled Vice's offer around for a few minutes, weighing the pros and cons, before responding.

<I say take the job. Gives us an alibi and some extra coin, not to mention that this job is the perfect excuse to follow some corp investigators around, letting them do the hard work for us. Probably not likely it's a setup either... not with such short notice. How long would the escort last? And can we get transport for our more "conspicuous" gear?>

Edit @ 2052

[Chrysalis]

"Cool. I love a good party."

She struggled out of her wet raincoat, crossed her legs, and slipped out her commlink, using the mini TriD visual of her face to do a quick touch up on her make-up.

<<Usual rates, shall we say 10k+15k for an extra hazard bonus? Military transport from SeaTac, bring your toys.>>

[DWC]

<<Just to be clear, I’m planning to bring the whole crew along. A country descending into anarchy is no place to go solo. I’ll get back to you in a little bit.>>

The big sedan weaves through the downtown traffic, while an agent hunts for someplace semi-underground that will be decently packed on a Sunday night. Meanwhile, the list of things he needs to pack gets longer.

An alarm is set for 0400, to give him time to get home, pack, and get to Sea-Tac.

“Music to my ears. Life’s definitely too short not to live it up. What do you like to dance to?�

[crizh]

<<Encrypted TeamChat>>

A legitimate cover would certainly be helpful. Having some scientists on hand can't be a bad thing either.

The Everglades will need minor modification to survive long in such a hostile environment. If they cannot be completed by 0530 they will have to be completed in transit. I have the materials to hand and the Mech Drone is already tooled up for the job, it will just take a little time.

Having studied the videos in detail it has occurred to me that the best way to confirm their veracity is to look for physical evidence. The Z-O is out of the question but we can certainly look for corroborating footprints in the ashes of Tenochtitlan.

Tetsuo whipped up a Mechanic Sprite and tasked it with the needed upgrades to the Hovercraft before pondering what needed doing next.

Vice's new Joy-toy was an excellent opportunity. She needed another patsy.

Swiftly she ghosted through the girl's 'link and lifted her boyfriends comm-code. It would do nicely as a proxy server for part of the Bot-net she was building to monitor their competition.

A few minutes later she was finished with her Hack on the Samurai team.

It was time to gather more data before proceeding. This time she would cast her web over the entire Matrix seeking the same answers she had sought in The Nexus, with search parameters refined by the results of her first search and what she had learned from Mr Johnson.

[DWC]

"Officially, we're just supposed to get them to Ten. Their orders are to obtain security locally for the duration of the operation, but we can probably get the inside track on that job while we're on the plane down there. Didn't say how long they'd be done there, but he implied that it would be at least a few weeks. Also, they're not just scientists. These two are ex-NEST so they should have some ability to take care of themselves. Also, current number flying around is 10 grand, plus another 15 in hazard bonus. Flight is a UCAS military transport, so we can pack heavier than we would flying commercial.

[Ezeckial]

As the ever present rain starts to pour down on Silas' bike helmet he couldn't help but grimace. While LA may have been fake as hell, at least the weather was better. Revving his bike he looks over to make sure Spooky's ready to go before jetting off into the night.

@Spooky: Keep up if you can

His mind races as he rides trying to look at the situation logically. No matter what he does he can't shake a feeling in the pit of his stomach. He takes the time to Mull over the chatter on the encrypted channel as he waits at a light.

<<Encrypted TeamChat>>

Cover. Free Transportation. Information. Paycheck. Sounds good to me, but it sure is damn convenient. Then again, I'm betting all the good jobs right now involve the bomb in some way. I agree, let's take it.

As the light goes green he looks behind him to see if Spooky's managed to keep up.

[Spooky Jack]

The rain slithered off the roof of the worn Thundercloud, miniscule water dragons streaming into the hungry roadside. Cracking open the door and slipping inside, he paused momentarily as Krull and Khan scattered to the side, meowling their irritation as the rain careened off his duster and into their abode. He'd grown accustomed to the fact that while he might drive the car, the Siamese kitties considered him no more than a usually welcome source of food and heat. This was just as well... the cats fended for themselves when he was gone on trips, using the small cat door installed under the buggy to come and go as they pleased.

Shaking his head at the Stormcrow's attempt to goad him into a race, Spooky resisted the taunt and cautiously departed his parking spot. Though a blur on his feet, his confidence as a driver was limited. He didn't mind breaking the speed limit, a little, but never enough to endanger his furry passengers.

On the road now, he watched the fading tail lights and simply remarked

<See ya there Crow... I'm not following your little deathtrap>

[Mister Juan]

His feet propped up on a low oak table, arms crossed behind his head, Terrence watched the clip once more. On the large wall trid, he could almost see the pores of Pandora's face. For a brief moment, he wondered how she looked naked. He wondered how she smelled. He wondered how soft her skin was.


"Hello World. My name is Pandora. Too long have we walked under the shadows of the corporate world. Too long have power been amassed by the few. I seek to give back some of the gifts to the world."


“Pause� said Terrence.


On the trid, Pandora's pearl white smile froze. The ex cop leaned forward, his forehead lining itself with small wrinkles as his eyes became two tiny slits.


“What are you Pandora.... Who are you....�


“Too long have we walked under the shadows of the corporate world.�


You consider yourself part of the pleb. You're a woman of the people. Fair enough.


“I seek to give back some of the gifts to the world.�


Terrence smiled, alone, in his pitch black living room.


So, you are trying to shake up the world. Good. I hope you can accomplish what I think you'll do before we catch you.


“Because we will. Play.�


The clip started again, Pandora's smile unfreezing itself smoothly. On screen, Terrence could clearly see what he could only imagine was the nuclear blast at Tenochtitlan.


Now now... How can you be looking at the blast, and then showing up in the rubbles right after...


Again, his brow furrowed. He grabbed a small pad of paper from the table, fished a heavy fountain pen from his breast pocket, and called for the lights.

On the very top of the page, he wrote in big capitals: TARGET LIST.

He then listed them:

Ares

Aztechnology

Evo

Horizon

Wuxing

Mitsuhama

Renraku

NeoNET

Shiawase

SK


Turning the pen a few times around his fingers, he brought it back to the paper, crossing off Aztechnology.


Alright. I call myself Pandora. I'm supposed to release the evils of mankind on them. Or maybe I just have a flair for the dramatic... I want to free the people from the Corps. What do I do? I bring down the corps. I make them afraid. I rattle them. Then I kill them off, one by one. I make them collapse by hitting them where it will hurt the most. I know every single triple A out there has one big asset. For Aztechnology, thats Aztlan. Aztlan's nerve center is Tenochtitlan. Now what about the other ones.. I'm Pandora... I am in control. I've planned this ahead, for a long time. I've vengeful. This is payback. I already know all the moves I'll make. I've already planned everything. Each of my plot to bring down the corp is already in place. I am simply watching things unfold themselves. Why do I show up in Tenochtitlan? I'm intelligent. I know people will see me. Am I sending a message? Or am I just enjoying the results of my work?


Putting the pad and pen down on the table, Terrence leaned back into the plush leather sofa.


Who do I hit next? How do I do it? I'm Pandora. I'm trying to make a point. I've gone on the trid. I've locked down Z-O. I don't do things half way, or small. I go big. I go massively public. Why do I say I'm doing this “for us�, and then kill 30 million people.... What if....


“What if “us� isn't human kind...�


He looked back toward the screen, simply staring in silence at Pandora for a few minutes. Terrence slowly got up from the sofa, and got to within inches of the screen. Very gently, as if he was caressing the woman's face, he brushed the tip of his fingers across her face.


“What is driving you? Where are you from? What are you?�

[Mickle5125]

Doc Sci frowned to himself as he packed his bags and prepared for the job. Damnable spectre, he thought to himself, just had to blow up Tenochtitlan, didn't you? Just had to ruin my chances of visiting the local mystics to study their traditions.

He shook his head as he packed away his white noise generator and mage sight goggles carefully. "Damned loose cannons who fail to plan bring things like this on themselves. What'd she think was gonna happen?" He continued grumbling to himself before slamming his case shut and huffing. "I need a bloody drink."

<'I agree on taking the job. Does anyone want to meet me for a drink?'>

[Ezeckial]

Silas grins at Spooky's comment.

<<No more a death trap then that buggy of yours>>

The rain bounces of his helmet as the light goes green and his tires kick up water as he jets off down the road at a slightly more leisurely pace.

<<I was just trying to lighten the mood big guy. Want me to pick up a 6 pack or something on the way?>>

[DWC]

<<I’m not hearing a lot of pushback on this one. I’ll see what else I can get in terms of flight details.>>

He fires off another message to Phil Hayes.

<<@Phil: Where is the bird taking off from, and where is it landing?>>

Through the whole series of mental exchanges, Vice never stops making flirty smalltalk with the slightly less rain-soak woman, ogling politely where appropriate.

[Digital Heroin]

While the others busy themselves with the process of leaving, Frank lingers to finish his beer in the relative quiet of the private room. He lets his senses slide, casting out his mind to a level beyond the understanding of most, communing with the energy around him. He becomes acutely aware of everything electronic in the room and for a few meters beyond, though he is careful not to let his e-sense step too far into the saturated environment in the bar proper. While searching for nodes would no doubt prove useful, he is looking beyond the mere presence of what is there, peering into the very electron hearts of anything present.

When he is contented that the room itself, and each person leaving it after Mr. Johnson, are clean, he leaves his mug on the bedside table and heads into the bar proper, adopting a casual, night on the town manner of motion. While quietly monitoring the group chatter, as he tends to do while they're spinning plans and such, playing the role of observer, Frank decides to let his hair down while he's still got it. He heads to the bar, ordering another pint, and then makes a very easy show of checking out the girl who has just taken the stage. When his pint arrives, he heads down through the crowd, making his way to a free corner of pervert's row. He takes a seat, propping up his feet, and lets himself relax a few moments and enjoy the view before moving on to a little bit of business.

While making a show of watching the now topless girl still, he lets his eyes cast about looking for cameras, ratcheting in on the one with the best view of anyone coming in and out of the private rooms. [Perception]. When he finds it, he smiles softly. Tetsuo did a fine job of mining the Nexus for information on their employer, but he's looking for something more practical. He always is. So while he thanks the waitress for her attention, and indicates his still full beer, he opens up a window in AR, and begins to filter through the traffic around to isolate the node operating the security camera. He then takes a moment to prepare himself to take a peek in the node. First arming his persona with a set of exploit tools, manifesting in the form of a set of tactical webbing and various implements over his usual pristine dress uniform, he then prepares it for infiltration, the uniform taking on a different cast, becoming a set of black fatigues with charcoal under the eyes and run through the hair.

With his persona properly equipped, he settles a laconic smile upon his face, and slumps just a tiny bit, beer cradled in his lap, letting his mind slip the meat world and into full VR. While he usually leads a very legitimate life, the militaries he has served in gave him ample training in the dark arts of the Matrix. Armed and in full focus, he approaches the camera's node in a persona modeled ghost-walk, testing and then pushing past its perimeter defenses. After taking a moment to look about, his persona reaches into its web-gear for a scanner and he threads himself some facial recognition software to search the camera's image buffer for a picture of Mr. J. When he is confident that the man's image is in the buffer, he moves to crouch by the defensive perimeter and leave a nice little hole in the system, one he'll come back some time to repair.

Dropping out of the camera's node, he drops all of the active threads he's running, letting his persona settle back into uniform, and he comes back to his body, leaning with a grin against the stage and offering over a ten nuyen tip to the girl. Just another customer taking a shine to a woman who's got no emotional connection him but remains unabashedly sexual. A creature of lust and flesh. When the song plays out, he tips her another ten but declines politely an offer for a private dance.

I'm for a side job, both for cover and cash. The transit doesn't hurt either. With a departure at 0600 I expect a 0500 rendezvous would be called for. Hope you all remember what sunrise looks like. If we're headed to Taco Bell country, we're probably best to all go down in force. We can always arange to have others break off and follow any leads that come up as the situation breaks. Tetsuo, if you want to dalliance around in the Nexus, we're only a SatLink away, and it'll keep you on that mountain of information you're mining.

Between songs, while still monitoring comms traffic passively he takes the time to open a window for compiling a sprite. He begins to lay the wireframe first, forming what is commonly known as a Data sprite, though loading it with some facial recognition capability, and a bit of ability to dirty up its tracks. When the sprite takes form, he builds up a quick script, and asks it to follow the instructions along down the line. Knowing who their boss is does a bit to settle his mind. Knowing where he sleeps is another thing entirely. With the digital artifice laid and tasked off, he downs the last of his pint and heads outside.

When he clears the building he heads out into the rain and sighs heavily, as if there is a weight being washed from his soul. He didn't like what he'd just done to the security camera, or the fact he had a sprite heading off through every camera it could peek into following their employer, but these were the necessities of the trade. He'd like nothing more than to get back into the bar, buy a dance or ten and get right proper drunk, but he's got a flight to catch in the morning, and that means catching a few hours sleep, then cleaning up and getting his things to the airport.

[Spooky Jack]

Crow's attempt at befriending Spooky was partially successful. While he appreciated the gesture, Spooky's extremely regimented approach to his Wildcat training didn't allow for weakness of any sort. Alcohol was weakness.

To Crow <I'll pass on the sixer. Not part of my training plan. Going to keep the workout short... maybe an hour.>

To the Team <Tonight I'm packing up and hitting my hammock in the office. In the morning I'll make my way to the plane in the Everglade. Anyone need pickup or feel like driving?>

The combat ability he had cultivated over the years had only developed through his fervour for physical exception. Merely excelling was insufficient... his aim was unrivaled mastery over first himself, and secondly his opponent. He embraced the philosophy that once martial perfection was achieved, a true master could only be defeated by his own desires. Spooky knew that, skilled though he was, he still had a loooong way to go before reaching such an ascended state of being.

Parking the dune buggy outside the office, Spooky scraped himself off the seat, clanked the door shut and let his eyes drift over the building a few times, all his senses buzzing. Anyone might be watching us now drifted through his thoughts as he moved crisply up the walkway.

[ Spoiler ]

Perception for Smell (12 dice), Sight (15 dice) and Astral (12 dice)

Packing Spooky's milspec armour and grenades in travel cases to go on the plane, will wear his ffba under his clothes in the morning (keeping gloves and hoody inside the pockets on his duster). Only weapon he'll carry is his laser designator in his hidden ankle holster.

Will renew the office Ward, 450 cubic meters surrounding any important computers and safes, before Spooky goes to sleep {Force 3 Ward, MAG(9) + WILL(4) = number of weeks of ward, 8 Dice to resist 3 DV}.

Will Cleanse (remove) the team's astral signatures in the office prior to departure

[Ezeckial]

@Spooky: <I was thinking more for the after work out pow-wow, but come to think of it, the morning comes early.>

Quickly dropping by his apartment, Silas throws his gear together in a duffel. Ammo, his SMG, and appropriate clothing fill it quickly before he exits his threadbare apartment and gets back on his bike.

@encrypted team chat: <I'm presuming you have our mission specific gear ready to go as usual Tetsuo. I'm no expert but I'm sure there's something we should do to avoid glowing in the dark.>

His slightly more reckless pace has him arriving at the Office barely seconds behind Spooky. Parking his bike beside the buggy he turns it off and climbs off the bike, his quick strides catching up to the troll. Adjusting the duffel on his shoulder, he looks at the office with Spooky.

"Who knows when we'll see this place again. This is turning out to be quite an adventure."

[Chrysalis]

<<@Vice: The flight is taking off from McChord Airfield at 0600 and will be arriving at 13:35 local time. Get yourself and your team to the North Gate by 0500 and you will be directed to the right hangar. You will be landing at the only functioning airfield in the region. The former first sector airforce base of Aztlan, Azcapotzalco. Getting cold feet?>>

The girl smiles at Vice already warming up to his chatter as she talks about the newest sex scandal with Sim Starlet Serena. She seems to like the attention.

***

Meanwhile Frank's sprite has been able to locate Mr Johnson. Him changing taxis three times, checking for tails by walking down one side of the street and up the other. Finally he went to an antiquated DataTerm and worked on it for a while, checked his commlink, before flagging down another taxi and headed out direct to the SeaTac airport. At that point the sprite could not go further. SeaTac's internal systems demand hacking into and that raises all kinds of red flags, if caught, usually about international terrorism. The Christmas Crazies after all keep on insisting on random acts of terrorism against one of the major transport hubs on the East Coast of a disunited America.

[DWC]

<<@Phil:We'll be there.>>

The message is quick. The details are relayed to the rest of the team at the speed of thought.

<<McChord Airfield. North Gate at 0500. Touchdown at 1335 at Azcapotzalco, the air force base south of Ten. Straight into the fire, just like it should be. I'll see y'all there.>>

Through it all, Vice continues to keep the girl engaged, even as he backs into a space in a downtown parking garage. The wonders of telecommuting mean that everyone in town has a different time to be up for work, and fuels the city's rave scene. Corporate transience means that office suites are constantly gaining and losing occupants. An enterprising party planner with a decent data mining specialist can do quite well in the circumstances.

The flight will be plenty long enough to catch enough sleep to make up for being up all night, but since the trip is officially the job, the usual party poppers are out of the question. Fortunately, there's always one indulgence that never seems to slow him down in the morning.

He offers her an arm and heads for the lobby elevators.

[Chrysalis]

0500 North Gate, McChord Airfield

The rain continued to come down heavily. The AR sign indicating this is a restricted military air base and that according to UCASCMJ 7729.5 trespassers can be shot. The M.P. at the gate notes that you are indeed on the guest list. Some of the team are punctual and on time, some others are not.

The airforce M.P.s make you wait in an official looking outbuilding with uncomfortable plastic chairs, and mildewy carpet. The sign of "All visitors must keep their identification badges on at all times. It is forbidden to move out of this area without an escort." Behind the glass that divides the building people in uniform come and go, the soundproofing so that snippets of conversation can be heard even unaugmented. Most of it either dealing with paperwork, early morning banter or both intermixed.


After an uncomfortable half an hour, you are lead as a group to waitin jeeps which ferry you to a hanger. Anything the team wishes to take, which does not fit in a rucksack is carried by truck.

An airforce staff sergeant is standing behind a long table. "Sirs, deposit any weapons on the table. Is there any other equipment you are carrying which is loaded?"

Satisfied that no-one is trying to smuggle an armed missile on to the flight, he nods satisfied. "You may pick up your weapons. During the flight all weapons are to remain stowed, unloaded with the safety on. If you are in a hostile situation during the flight, loaded weapons will be the least of your concerns."

The sergeant guides you through the partition to a loading section. There is a group of people waiting. You have a squad of marines who are not wearing insignia. Only that the new armor and its unique desert camoflauge made them apparent for who they are. All of them are armed, with their magazines in place.

A bit to the side are two soldiers wearing urban camoflauge. The woman has a face that looks like lukewarm coffee. She is not pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but has the body of a professional leg breaker. She offers a hand to Vice "I hear you are my escort. I'm lieutenant Wanda Flownders. Phil says good things about you." She looked Vice in the eye with that cold steely gaze telling volumes that he had best not screw up.

The man is built like bull on steroids. At probably weighing in at 400 pounds, he is mostly slabs of ox muscle that somehow make up the man. He offers his shovel sized hand to Vice. "Captain Pike."

[DWC]

Steam wisps from under the hood as the damp pre-dawn air is sucked through the grill onto the hot radiator. Vice’s Skyline sprints down I-5 at double the posted speed limit, trusting that Tetsuo’s swarm of agents will keep GridGuide from issuing a warrant for his arrest.

Nice girl. What kind of ham and egger stands up a girl that I’d actually consider calling back? Wonder what Tetsuo’s not telling me about who she is and who the boyfriend is. No way she doesn’t know. Then again, if she knew, she’d tell me, just to make sure I knew that she’d been able to find out. It is kind of terrifying how good she is at that.

6 minutes later, the big sedan rocks to the left as Vice powers through the turn onto 112th Street, headed for the North Gate of McChord Air Force Base. He’s on time. Barely.

At the gate, the morning rain sizzles on the hot brake rotors as Riley slides back into the demeanor of Staff Sergeant Travis to greet the MP.

As he enters the waiting room, it’s clear he hasn’t slept since the meeting dissolved, but a quick shower rinsed away the smell of sweat and sated lust. His face is freshly shaven and the suit from last night has been replaced by a pair of utility pants and a Knight’s Armament Company golf shirt. The silenced Predator lurks in a holster strapped to his thigh, the Viper skulks in a shoulder rig, and the familiar Colt assault rifle hangs low across his chest. The rest of his gear is packed into a rucksack, and he cradles a paper bag in his arm.

“Morning boys. Sorry to ditch working out last night, but, well, you know me.�

He sets the sack down on a table.

�Bagels anyone?�

After going through the weapon inspection, he follows into the loading section.

If this zoomie thinks I’m going into hostile airspace cold, he’s fucking nuts. I guess glorified airport security guards never have to fight their way out of downed aircraft.

The sanitized marines with their loaded weapons are a mild comfort. UCAS Army regulars don’t stack up well against their southern counterparts, but the marines’ cultural devotion to marksmanship has saved them from falling into the same mediocrity.

The woman’s hand is shaken firmly, and he sweeps her with the ultrawideband, looking for cybernetics. His demeanor is calm, but authoritative. He feels invincible, invulnerable, and infallible and projects a sense of safety and comfort to anyone around him.

�Phil’s a standup guy. Shame he wasn’t born in Alabama. But that’s correct. We’re your escort.� He glances over at Frank. �He’s the one in charge, though. I’m just two eyes and a rifle, ma’am.

Subconsciously, his heels come together when Pike introduces himself. �Morning, sir.�

[Spooky Jack]

Tumbling crumbs from the sesame seed bagel scattered their way down Spooky's black and red embossed "Beware the R.O.U.S." t-shirt. Too busy munching away on his second breakfast to care much about anything else, Spooky ignored the nearby forklift and personnel waiting to take his belongings and hefted his reinforced, gps tagged, waterproof and buoyant armour crate onto the loading truck. If nothing else, he was fairly certain the crate and its contents would survive the voyage, even if he didn't. For good measure, he'd added a layer of duct tape. Scruffy duct tape covered boxes tended to attract less attention than state of the art packing containers, and the extra padding never hurt.

The vigorous workout with Stormcrow, followed by a good night's sleep, had performed its usual miracle and Spooky vibrated with unspent energy. His training partner for the past six months was definitely showing potential. If Crow had actually found a half-decent instructor, he'd probably be further along, but Spooky was determined that even if he lacked the ability to impart his natural skill to students, he could still make 'em tough.

In the loading bay, Spooky caught himself staring at the "scientists". Years of working in high-tech R&D EVO labs hadn't prepared him for these two.

Anyone trying to gun us down will probably think that we're the scientists. At least that will make the job easier.

Resisting all natural impulses, knowing that he'd have to listen to a "Frank Lecture" otherwise, Spooky briefly introduced himself to his employers and clients, mechanically mumbling even as he distractedly eyed everything in the area but them,

"I'm Spooky"

Unlike Vice, Spooky never even considered good impressions... they were something that happened to other people. Barely grasping first Flownders hand, and then Pike's, Spooky made his hasty introduction before shuffling back behind his team. Some people said a handshake could tell you a lot about someone. Spooky couldn't care less. He had a job to do, and it didn't include small talk or courtesy. Well... not much anyway.

[ Spoiler ]

Going Astral to see if our scientists or marines have anything special on or about em... astral perception 12 dice

Wonder what Tetsuo’s not telling me about who she is and who the boyfriend is. No way she doesn’t know. Then again, if she knew, she’d tell me, just to make sure I knew that she’d been able to find out. It is kind of terrifying how good she is at that.

OOC: I think I'm going to take the 24 hours Erased by Tetsuo Quality (IMG:style_emoticons/default/cyber.gif)

[Digital Heroin]

While the sprite nestles into the camera's node, setting off on it's electron sojourn, Frank settles back to finish off his beer in pervert's row, standing only when he's savored the last of the suds. No use in letting it go to waste, after all. Politely declining the offer of a private dance from the woman who had just left the stage, he gets his leather jacket from coat check and exits the club, taking a moment to let the rain cleanse him of the smell of unrequited lust and cheap perfume.

He doesn't bother to put on his jacket as he pushes off of the wall, letting the rain soak into his shirt. Enough time spent in a desert and you learn there are worse hells on Earth than getting your clothes wet. No matter how much you carry, no mater how much your truck is laden with it, you're always thirsty for more in the desert. You're thirsty right down to a cellular level. Your skin aches for it, mourns the lack of the precious hyroxygenated liquids. Water was the reason he'd signed on for the anti-piracy gig off the Horn of Africa, even it'd been an illusion. All that water and nary a drop of it was drinkable. Not like the rain was any better. Still, a little rain never hurt anyone outside of a toxic zone.

After walking a spell he hails a passing autocab and he plots a route back to his apartment that passes by the data terminal their employer had stopped at. Waving off the autocab's warning that his destination was in a dangerous rating, and he accepts the doubling of the fee without pause. All a part of life in paradise. When the cab approaches the data terminal, he instructs it to stop and hold for him. As he steps out, he takes a moment to compile his second sprite of the evening, shrugging off the headache which comes with the exertion. This time the sprite is of the Crack variety, and he sets it at the system, instructing it to find and report all interactions within a fifteen minute window before and after Johnson's sighting by the terminal's camera.

The sprite seeded, he gets back into the cab, which sets off on the ride home. One more stop, this time for sleeping pills, painkillers, and a microwave meal from StufferShack, and he's home.

First stop for him is a shower, shave, and a sheering. When he's cleaned up, he drops a quick message to Orsino, knowing that real Quartermasters never sleep:

Ors,

Need my crate transferred to a military flight that's departing at 0600 tomorrow. See you on the airstrip.

Frank

That done, he blacks out his windows and settles in for a few hours of sleep. He’d learned well in his lifetime: you sleep when you can, and enjoy it, because you never know when it'll be your last for a good long time.

-----

He wakes without an alarm at 0330, reflexive and automatic. There is no period of grogginess, just long inbuilt instinct clearing out the fog and bringing easy awareness. In this case, as it is all too often in the mornings, awareness that he isn't quite alone. Sighing, he doesn't even bother looking from the ceiling, the virtual light of the figure next to him already evident.

`Not this morning, Lliana.`

The figure shifts, sitting up and rolling to hover over him, an impish smile the only thing she's wearing. The AI's avatar, as always, is a flawless beauty of mixed stock leaning heavily towards Thai influence. An all too perfect form with exaggerated sensuality. She's broadcasting simmotion on a heavy level today, and there is lust in the look she gives him. She leans in, her lightly accented voice speaking possibilities into his mind.

`I mean it, I don't have time to be bothered. I've got to go to the airport.`

Grunting, he steps right through her and off of the bed. Within moments he is dressed, and she is still sitting seductively upon the bedspread, giving him come-hither looks.

Focused, he just grabs up his jacket, his shades, and the kit bag he always keeps ready for travelling. A week's worth of clothes and the essentials, along with his legitimate gear. He doesn't give his AI guest a second look as he heads out to meet his pre-arranged autocab.

-----

At ten to five Frank arrives on the tarmac, walking with the kit-bag over one shoulder, a coffee in the other hand. He may only have caught a few hours of sleep, but he's looking like a new man. He's shaved off the scruffy beard he'd worn to the meeting, and his hair is cut down to an efficient and workmanlike high and tight. The clothes he wears are reminiscent of fatigues without overtly being military, and even his posture has become more business-like.

His first order of business is to meet up with the loadmasters for the flight, and to confirm his crate has made the manifest. Making note to treat Ors to box seats for the next Screamers game, he checks the load in the crate himself, removing from it his sidearm, and he thanks the loadmaster before going to join the group.

Giving the soldiers an apraising once over, he doesn't say anything. He's going to let Vice take the lead for the moment, as usual. Get a good assessment of their charges.

[Chrysalis]

[ Spoiler ]

Captain Pike does not read on the astral at all. Some of the marines are adepts, one of them is even a mage. Most of the marines have different types of cyberware, mostly cyberlegs.

Wanda Flownders smiles a thin lipped smile at Vice. "No, but I hear Florida is nice."

Captain Pike calmly moves over and shakes Frank's hand. "Are your men ready? Our equipment has already been loaded."

He points out with his large hand as the cargo plane the C-17 Globemaster VI waiting on the tarmac is being loaded with Frank's blue palette 20 meters away.

The loadmaster jogs over with one of the groundcrew towards the hangar. He shakes out his coat for a second and yells. "Listen in. Transport cargo is loaded, we will continue by taking on passengers. You will follow with the ground crew along the yellow hilighted road on your AR. Do not, do not deviate from this path. You will be in two groups. Marine Cpt. Sanchez you will take your marines on board following Michaels here. Cpt. Pike will take his crew on board. When I give the signal. He and his crew will follow me to the plane. Questions? No. Good."


The person who must be captain Sanchez gets his men off the ground and they hustle their way with their gear towards the plane following the path led by Michaels.

The loadmaster stands in front of the hangar bay doors, with his finger up.

[DWC]

<<Let’s load it up. Once we’re in flight, I’ll see what I can do about getting us either signed on as their ground perimeter security or at least letting us tag along, then I’m taking a nap. Tetsuo, how’s the hunt for the other teams going?>>

Out of the corner of his eye, or more precisely, out of the side of his head, Vice watches the (presumably) Force Recon squad stomp into the transport plane.

�True enough. Shame the water’s going to be too radioactive to go for a swim when we land. By the way, are we attached to Captain Sanchez’s team, or just sharing a flight?�

[Spooky Jack]

[ Spoiler ]

Captain Pike does not read on the astral at all.

By this, do you mean that he has no aura at all, or is simply mundane? I would find it strange indeed if he had no aura whatsoever...

Spooky will sit as close to (and behind) steroid Mulder and Scully as possible and will remain prepared to counterspell any attacks directed at them or his team during the flight while pretending to sleep (shades darkened enough to prevent anyone from seeing his eyes).

Verifying the location of his crate remotely, Spooky then diverted his attention back to the crew. While the others on the team were well equipped to deal with the mundane, he was the stop gap. For the remainder of the trip he would remain astrally aware, switching back to less esoteric vision only when absolutely necessary.

[Chrysalis]

The loadmaster puts up his fingers slowly.

Flownders chuckles with a smokers laugh. "No, I doubt you will be doing much swimming, especially as Ten is in-land. Anyways the worst of the radioactivity should have dissipated. At least that is what the manuals say. We will be making a lay-over two hours into the flight. I would have preferred to have a whole flight to ourselves, but that is not the UCAS way. I guess Ares spoils us."

Spooky

[ Spoiler ]

Pike has no aura at all. Your soy burrito (now with real chicken) has more of an aura than he does.

The loadmaster looks at the group, shakes his head. "We will now load you. Please follow me and Captain Pike."

He leads you out of the relative safety of the hanger to the rear ramp of the plane. The yellow line is followed by a dial tone, as the arrow takes you up over the ramp, and points at the left hand seats. On the right hand side of the cargo space the squad is sitting in their jump seats. Their five point harnesses on.

The yellow arrow and Loadmaster guides you to the opposite side and has you sit down. He asks you to store any equipment underneath your seats for the flight, instructs how to put on the harness and checks it is secure. He grins and hands each of you an air sickness bag.

The cargo hold is well illumined, across from you are the other squad. In the middle are crates that have been secured with nets and anchored to the floor.

He holds his hand to his helmet, nodding several times, as the ground crew watch as the ramp closes.

The loadmaster takes a seat next to the ladder that leads up to the cockpit space. One the right of him is a room marked toilet.

The engines, slowly power up a, a slow rumbling can be felt in everyone's diaphram as the plane smootly moves.

The loadmaster broadcasts a general announcement.

<<Good morning, welcome to Flight KY679 from Seattle to Tenochtitlan. My name is Mike Nichols, flying for us today is Pilot Ivors Proudfoot and his Co-pilot John Yager. Flight control confirms that we are on schedule and will be taking off soon. During the flight you will be expected to be strapped into your seats. Once we have reached acceptable altitude we will be serving breakfast.>>

In the bottom right hand corner as Nichols is speaking. Animated images of a person in a flight suit flash by. It shows how to put on the harness, how the quick release works, informs you that the back of the jumpseat operates as a flotation device. It also tells you where the toilet is located and recommends the missionary position for sex, but forbids you from lighting up afterwards.


<<In case of an emergency, the ramp will be lowered and we will exit through there. Unless you are an officer in which case the emergency hatch on the promenade should be used.

Images scroll past showing how the emergency release on the ramp and underwing emergency exits operate. Where the emergency dinghy and the survival packs are located.


<<In flight entertainment can be found in your right hand. As this is a mixed service flight, I might remind that any fighting should be taken outside. Aerospace Force rules.>>

Another transmission cuts in.


<<This is your pilot speaking. Cabin crew prepare for take-off. The weather outside is 6 degrees Celsius, with extensive rain. Our arrival to Tenochtitlan will be 13.45 local time. We will be doing one lay-over at 0805, followed by an aerial refuel. On behalf of the co-pilot and I, I wish you a safe trip.>>

The plane starts slowly taxing along. The engines go from a low rumble to an angry whine as the whole plane lightly shakes. The thrust is applied and the whole plane lurches forward, just when you get used to leaving your stomachs a hundred feet to the right, the bottom of your intestines drops out. Looking down you can see the bottom of the ramp. You absent mindedly wonder would you float if you were not strapped in.

The plane slowly evens itself out, and your stomach lurches its way to your throat before settling back where it is supposed to be. Flownders is busy throwing up. Picking out a tissue from her pocket she wipes her mouth.


<<"I hate flying."

Captain Pike's mouth twitches and he takes out of his hold-all underneath his seat a well creased and dog-eared copy of the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.

[crizh]

McChord Airfield 0400 hours.

The massive armoured hovercraft drew to a halt at the base's security gate. Hasty alterations to air-intakes were evident and the entire hull seemed to have been repainted with some sort of dull-grey sticky goo that had picked up a fair number of small insects on the ride down the interstate.

Relief supplies for Tenochtitlan, we're expected.

The voice of a disconcertingly young girl crackled from the speaker set below the mirrored driver's window at the unfortunate young soldier on duty at the gate.

Later, after authorisations had been checked the same voice explained to Ms Flownders while the the vehicle was being secured for transport.

I assumed checking this sort of baggage was going to take longer than loading a few grunts on to the transport. There is a package for Vice on the front seat of this vehicle. Would you be so kind as to deliver it to him once you are airborne and instruct him to make sure the entire team take their medicine?

The small ballistic plastic case was filled with foam into which was set a pneumatic syringe and nine small vials of a clear amber liquid with tiny flecks of gold floating in it.

I will get some sleep while you are in transit. Have Vice wake me when you touch down.