Cerberus
Wednesday 7/23/70 10:23:12
Cerberus had been a bit frustrated that his comm had found NOTHING on the incident. But he knew he didn't have much in the way of the proper software, so he set down and spent a few hours trying to find stuff on his own using public search engines. But aside from his friends' obits, he hadn't been able to find a damned thing. That was really weird. That elf woman and her baby had to have come from somewhere, at least.
It ate at him for days, along with the whole thing at the Doc Wagon clinic that had necessitated Kyle moving him to a black facility.
He figured, someone had tried to kill him at that clinic, so going there could be dangerous. Still, with nothing he could find online, hell, he still knew people there, and he figured he hadn't done anything to piss the company off, so he decided to go down and ask around.
He skipped the front entrance - he was Cerberus now, not Warren. He didn't want to have to show Bob Michaels' ID here, and he knew the main doors had MAD scanners anyway.
But he'd worked here, and he knew the code on the ambulance bay doors. He sauntered into the ready-room pretty as you please, finding Manny Ortiz' team chilling and playing cards.
Seeing him, they seemed startled - they all greeted him pleasantly enough, and asked about his health, but something was off. And after a few minutes, all of them but Manny had found excuses to leave the room.
Cerberus gave Manny a WTF? look, and Manny said, "Sorry about that, buddy. They're just pretty spooked. You know, everyone took what happened to you guys pretty hard, but when it turned out it wasn't just no" and here he pulled Cerberus down onto the couch and lowered his voice, looking around nervously,"wasn't just no random act of violence, well, everyone's real nervous."
"Hell, sure, I know it wasn't just random - or else no one would've poisoned my ass. But why would anyone else be spooked? And who were the other people that got wasted?"
Manny answered - "They was the two people you pulled out of," and his voice got even quieter "MPE the week before you got hit. So the three of you getting hit right here in our house all at the same time - it sent a pretty clear message. Word came down from the top - but real real quiet like - no more answering calls from that company's properties. Too risky - don't want future reprisals, no percentage in it. But they can't let clients know there's a coverage blackout on certain sites - and Warren, MPE ain't the only one we don't take calls to, Ray knew that, but not the rest of you - it'd be a PR nightmare. So they been covering everything - and that bastard hit the ball right out of the park. Heya Mister Jenkins. How's they hangin'?"
"Long and low, Manny, long and low," Cerberus' pencil-pusher former boss answered in a pathetic attempt at cameraderie with his troops. Cerberus knew it was no accident Jenkins had shown up when he did. But he chatted with the manager pleasantly enough - about absolutely nothing - he didn't want to get Manny in any trouble.
But Jenkins didn't waste much time guiding him out of the facility.
It didn't matter - Cerberus knew he'd already found out all he could here.
Full Version: Hitting Bottom - First Wave
Pages: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35
Electra
Thursday 5/22/70 09:02:09
Electra looked at the dull brown man, and noted his posture, calm, and professionalism. Somebody going that far out of their way to look boring must be rather more than mildly interesting. What was more interesting was that Trevor apparently still felt for her. She was not sure how she felt about that, but was glad that he kinesthic ability had stopped her showing a reaction. She bought herself a little time, before dropping her defences.
"Don't worry, no party tricks, those were just for getting me noticed, I'm on the job now. If it helps I'll turn off my kinesthics."
At Woolsey's nod Electra's otherworldly poise relaxes to something more metahuman.
Regarding questions, I have a few, once I have found these Green War bastards, how do I get out of there during the hit? I have no intention of becoming number 357 on the colateral damage christmas list.
Second, at which point may I contact my family?
Finally, If I am going to survive for any amount of time in the Squeeze, I could do with some more street skills. You got trainers for that kind of thing? Or just a weapon stash I could lift as part of the escape?
Thursday 5/22/70 09:02:09
Electra looked at the dull brown man, and noted his posture, calm, and professionalism. Somebody going that far out of their way to look boring must be rather more than mildly interesting. What was more interesting was that Trevor apparently still felt for her. She was not sure how she felt about that, but was glad that he kinesthic ability had stopped her showing a reaction. She bought herself a little time, before dropping her defences.
"Don't worry, no party tricks, those were just for getting me noticed, I'm on the job now. If it helps I'll turn off my kinesthics."
At Woolsey's nod Electra's otherworldly poise relaxes to something more metahuman.
Regarding questions, I have a few, once I have found these Green War bastards, how do I get out of there during the hit? I have no intention of becoming number 357 on the colateral damage christmas list.
Second, at which point may I contact my family?
Finally, If I am going to survive for any amount of time in the Squeeze, I could do with some more street skills. You got trainers for that kind of thing? Or just a weapon stash I could lift as part of the escape?
Gregory
Wednesday 5/7/70 9:50 AM
Greg woke up sore, bruised and imminently alive. He decided that waking up was about the best he could hope for and that if he continued to do so, he'd be doing pretty well for himself considering the circumstances.
Rising to a half squat in the coffin he eyed himself in the mirror. A fain stubble had started growing in around the bottom of his dirt encrusted face. He decided that, with a bit of hygiene (okay, a lot of hygiene -- he was a mess) that the facial hair disguise would do him some good.
He achingly crawled out of the front of the tube and mentally took inventory while showering, as he had been trained to long ago --
Run through the A, B, C's
Arsenal: Pistol, Tazer, Light Body Armor, Magic, 5000
left on the SIN -- I'm good
Base of Operations: The coffin will do for now, need an aparment. Those are pricy though -- I'll be stretching my cash. May need to look for work.
Contacts: ... Shit.
Tim had always handled the networking. He was a much better covert operative than Greg had ever been; Tim had a way of meeting everyone without a single person remembering him. Greg, on the other hand, didn't know where to start.
I'll need to meet a talismonger, so they can look at the telesma from the ritual and I can get a lodge set up. Greg had used community lodges up until now. This was a big enough break in his life that getting his own seemed like a good change of pace.
I'll need to find someone to get information from. Greg had spent a long time in the intelligence community and knew exactly how useful good intel was. Besides, if he was going to catch Montressor he needed someone to start him in the right direction.
I'll need someone to introduce me to all these people. He certainly didn't know where to find them himself.
Greg rinsed the last of the suds out of his hair and gathered his sparse supplies; the trashbag of clues from Montressor's hideout and all of the tools he could salvage from his car before he ditched it (these were stuffed into an overpriced, underspec rollaway he'd found at a travel store en route).
He had a long day and a long job ahead of him. Since he didn't know where to start for the shadows, a quick glance at the local news' apartment vacancies would have to do as a launching off point for his new life.
Wednesday 5/7/70 9:50 AM
Greg woke up sore, bruised and imminently alive. He decided that waking up was about the best he could hope for and that if he continued to do so, he'd be doing pretty well for himself considering the circumstances.
Rising to a half squat in the coffin he eyed himself in the mirror. A fain stubble had started growing in around the bottom of his dirt encrusted face. He decided that, with a bit of hygiene (okay, a lot of hygiene -- he was a mess) that the facial hair disguise would do him some good.
He achingly crawled out of the front of the tube and mentally took inventory while showering, as he had been trained to long ago --
Run through the A, B, C's
Arsenal: Pistol, Tazer, Light Body Armor, Magic, 5000
left on the SIN -- I'm goodBase of Operations: The coffin will do for now, need an aparment. Those are pricy though -- I'll be stretching my cash. May need to look for work.
Contacts: ... Shit.
Tim had always handled the networking. He was a much better covert operative than Greg had ever been; Tim had a way of meeting everyone without a single person remembering him. Greg, on the other hand, didn't know where to start.
I'll need to meet a talismonger, so they can look at the telesma from the ritual and I can get a lodge set up. Greg had used community lodges up until now. This was a big enough break in his life that getting his own seemed like a good change of pace.
I'll need to find someone to get information from. Greg had spent a long time in the intelligence community and knew exactly how useful good intel was. Besides, if he was going to catch Montressor he needed someone to start him in the right direction.
I'll need someone to introduce me to all these people. He certainly didn't know where to find them himself.
Greg rinsed the last of the suds out of his hair and gathered his sparse supplies; the trashbag of clues from Montressor's hideout and all of the tools he could salvage from his car before he ditched it (these were stuffed into an overpriced, underspec rollaway he'd found at a travel store en route).
He had a long day and a long job ahead of him. Since he didn't know where to start for the shadows, a quick glance at the local news' apartment vacancies would have to do as a launching off point for his new life.
Cerberus
Wednesday 7/23/70 10:36:57
When they reached the ambulance bay doors Cerberus had used to gain entry Mr Jenkins stopped Cerberus for a second, "Warren you were always a good kid, you worked hard and you didnt come in drunk or wasted. Im really sorry about what happened to you and your team I truly am. I want you to keep being a good kid and stay out of trouble. Good luck with whatever you do from this point on." With that he gave Cerberus a fake punch in the arm and turned and walked away.
Cerberus was a little shocked and stood there for a few seconds before he realized he wasnt moving and started heading for his bike. He never knew his boss cared about him and the others like that, he figured he shouldnt be suprised that people who work at a hospital actual care about other people. That was one of the reason he took the job.
Mounting his bike and zipping out into traffic Cerberus began to digest the information Manny had given him. It was that bastard corporation that had put the hit out on his team and just for trying to extract some people. How the hell could DocWagon just sit by and let a corporation trash their assets. Whatever the case he now knew which direction to look for his enemy but he still didnt have any specific people or plan for revenge. All he could do now is improve his skills running the shadows and build up enough money that he would probably need to get at whoever had ordered the hit.
Ray, Danielle, and Nick's faces flashed in Cerberus's mind and he was filled with a grim determination, he sped his bike up and let his soul ride along the pavement and wind like a concrete surfer..
Wednesday 7/23/70 10:36:57
When they reached the ambulance bay doors Cerberus had used to gain entry Mr Jenkins stopped Cerberus for a second, "Warren you were always a good kid, you worked hard and you didnt come in drunk or wasted. Im really sorry about what happened to you and your team I truly am. I want you to keep being a good kid and stay out of trouble. Good luck with whatever you do from this point on." With that he gave Cerberus a fake punch in the arm and turned and walked away.
Cerberus was a little shocked and stood there for a few seconds before he realized he wasnt moving and started heading for his bike. He never knew his boss cared about him and the others like that, he figured he shouldnt be suprised that people who work at a hospital actual care about other people. That was one of the reason he took the job.
Mounting his bike and zipping out into traffic Cerberus began to digest the information Manny had given him. It was that bastard corporation that had put the hit out on his team and just for trying to extract some people. How the hell could DocWagon just sit by and let a corporation trash their assets. Whatever the case he now knew which direction to look for his enemy but he still didnt have any specific people or plan for revenge. All he could do now is improve his skills running the shadows and build up enough money that he would probably need to get at whoever had ordered the hit.
Ray, Danielle, and Nick's faces flashed in Cerberus's mind and he was filled with a grim determination, he sped his bike up and let his soul ride along the pavement and wind like a concrete surfer..
Cerberus
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:34:00
"...57, ugh 58 unnph, fifty-naaaaaain, SIXTY!"
Cerberus flipped over blissfully on his back after his last set of one-armed push-ups.
He'd spent the last three weeks in what seemed like a world of sweat and pain. He'd been frustrated at Cali and Ezekiel Smithers' lack of response - but Kyle had told him good jobs didn't just come along every day, especially for total newbies. Anyway, although he was getting stir-crazy, Cerberus reminded himself he had a bit of money left and took the opportunity to train like crazy - figuring the shadows would be offering no second chances, and he'd need every ounce of edge he could get.
Just as his breathing returned to normal, his comm buzzed. Caller ID was blank, but answering it he heard the voice he'd been hoping for (although the visual icon - well, there just wasn't one).
"Heya Cerberus, sorry I took so long getting back to you. But I wanted something good to start off a friend of Kyle with, and this gig - hey, it's a starting kind of thing, but it pays good. Lemme just give you the bullet points - bodyguarding and doing violence work, falls right into your skill set. Heavy but irregular hours, on call 24-7. Boss is a regular asshole extraordinaire, but the pay is a thousand a week plus bonuses. He's a very very made guy, but you'll be strictly hired help - this ain't an in into the Families. And just to underline the first point - this job ain't about just talking to people, or even always about just hurting 'em - this is black work - it's put up or shut up time if you want to get a start building a rep in this world. You interested we can set up a meet to talk details."
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:34:00
"...57, ugh 58 unnph, fifty-naaaaaain, SIXTY!"
Cerberus flipped over blissfully on his back after his last set of one-armed push-ups.
He'd spent the last three weeks in what seemed like a world of sweat and pain. He'd been frustrated at Cali and Ezekiel Smithers' lack of response - but Kyle had told him good jobs didn't just come along every day, especially for total newbies. Anyway, although he was getting stir-crazy, Cerberus reminded himself he had a bit of money left and took the opportunity to train like crazy - figuring the shadows would be offering no second chances, and he'd need every ounce of edge he could get.
Just as his breathing returned to normal, his comm buzzed. Caller ID was blank, but answering it he heard the voice he'd been hoping for (although the visual icon - well, there just wasn't one).
"Heya Cerberus, sorry I took so long getting back to you. But I wanted something good to start off a friend of Kyle with, and this gig - hey, it's a starting kind of thing, but it pays good. Lemme just give you the bullet points - bodyguarding and doing violence work, falls right into your skill set. Heavy but irregular hours, on call 24-7. Boss is a regular asshole extraordinaire, but the pay is a thousand a week plus bonuses. He's a very very made guy, but you'll be strictly hired help - this ain't an in into the Families. And just to underline the first point - this job ain't about just talking to people, or even always about just hurting 'em - this is black work - it's put up or shut up time if you want to get a start building a rep in this world. You interested we can set up a meet to talk details."
Gregory
Wednesday 5/7/70 21:50:00
Greg sat in his new apartment in awe at his survival for the past 12 hours. Just half a day ago he was happy to get a chance to wake up, now he was surprised that he'd lived long enough to have a chance to go to sleep. His fieldwork was definitely rusty.
It had all started walking out the door; he'd gone to pick up a newspaper and bumped shoulders with a hispanic ork with a snake tatoo on his arm. After a moment's tense stare the ork snorted once staring down into Greg's eyes and snapped his face forward. Greg, intimately familiar with this particular style of physical intimidatiioin had, perhaps unwisely, refused to flinch. One paper, one coffee and one cash payment later he'd strolled out of the door content that he was getting his life off to a good start.
That contentedness was dropped on its head when Greg felt his hackles raise. His senses were dull from years of disuse, but this one in particular was a warning sign that he couldn't ignore. He was being followed. He paused on a downtown street corner and looked into a plate glass window across the street. A tall Filipino human with a scraggly ponytail met his gaze in the reflection and Greg knew he had to dissappear just as much as his tail knew he'd been spotted.
He pulled the same trick his training had been teaching him for years: mall, clothing store, physical mask, and vanish. Ducking into a nearby Endless Horizon's gentlemen's clothing store he slipped past the commissioned sales vultures and ducked into a changing room where a garter snake waited coiled around a clothes rack. Now unfazed by these appearances, Greg changed, scrubbed his signature and made a beeline for the back door ...
... Then things became difficult ...
... He stepped into the barrel of a silenced Ares predator. Serious firepower for serious individuals. The barrel was in his eye and it was almost as distracting as the fact that the pistol looked like a toy in the hands of the measty troll on the other end.
"Where's the fucking stakeout?" said the troll in a dangerously quiet voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've got fed written all over you and you're just pissed that you got spotted. You guys aren't the only ones with magic tricks. Get us out of here and you might get out alive."
A police car drove past the end of the alley. Greg was used to Langley's UCAS Army MPs, this corporate law thing was a change of pace. The troll hadn't flinched.
"Not a fed, independent. I;m going to walk out of this and draw them off. Keep the gun pointed at me if you have to." Greg's negotiation skills may have been lacking, but his plan felt more solid than the godforsaken "Stow away on a prop plane" business. At least this one wouldn't drag him to 2000 feet then leave him freezing there.
Stepping out of the alley, Greg picked up on the Filipino man close on his heels. A Lone Star cruiser was nonchalantly idling behind the man. It was apparent that Greg was between frying pan and fire. Steeling himself, he walked straight up to his tail from earlier and gambled everything on his assessment of alliances.
"What they hell are you doing on my stakeout. Do you guy's want to blow the whold damn thing wide open." he whispered while window shopping at the same store as his sheepish pursuer.
"No fucking way, these guys are in violation of Seattle City Law, they're ours."
Reaching back to his political science days, Greg grasped at straws.
"Precedent of first violoation, they made a corporate mistake first and we get corporate jurisdiction and if you so much as lay a foot inside of any of these stores looking for them you are stepping all over extraterritoriality. I'm sure the mayor and my manager will have a great conversation about the Star's contract if you don't get out of here NOW."
His heart was pounding and sweat was running down his face. The troll was leveling a pistol at him from a dumpster in the alley and waves of ice were radiating from the plainclothes cop.
"I'll call it in" the Filipino said.
"Not here, get the fuck out of sight, don't blow cover."
The tail stormed off and the troll bolted. Greg followed suit.
The strength of will he'd used to go back to an apartment search is the stuff of legends. He confined his hunt to areas well away from downtown and settled on a one room hovel in Auburn with utilities and a window view. The shared shower and the drunken wench living next door might cause him problems in the future, but he'd survive. No sooner than his bags had been dropped than his door had been shaken by a grenade blast of a knock.
Greg warily opened the door and was confronted with a remarkably familiar pistol barrel.
"Look, I don't like you and you don't like me. And we don't know eachother. But I owe you one so I'm giving you this name he said holding the paper in his other hand. Now we're never going to see eachother again. And pay off the goddamn gang, they let me waltz right in here."
Greg fell onto the bare floor and considered sleeping without furniture after the troll had stealthily vanished. He'd be sore in the morning, but he'd be alive. Almost as an afterthought, he looked at the paper.
Wednesday 5/7/70 21:50:00
Greg sat in his new apartment in awe at his survival for the past 12 hours. Just half a day ago he was happy to get a chance to wake up, now he was surprised that he'd lived long enough to have a chance to go to sleep. His fieldwork was definitely rusty.
It had all started walking out the door; he'd gone to pick up a newspaper and bumped shoulders with a hispanic ork with a snake tatoo on his arm. After a moment's tense stare the ork snorted once staring down into Greg's eyes and snapped his face forward. Greg, intimately familiar with this particular style of physical intimidatiioin had, perhaps unwisely, refused to flinch. One paper, one coffee and one cash payment later he'd strolled out of the door content that he was getting his life off to a good start.
That contentedness was dropped on its head when Greg felt his hackles raise. His senses were dull from years of disuse, but this one in particular was a warning sign that he couldn't ignore. He was being followed. He paused on a downtown street corner and looked into a plate glass window across the street. A tall Filipino human with a scraggly ponytail met his gaze in the reflection and Greg knew he had to dissappear just as much as his tail knew he'd been spotted.
He pulled the same trick his training had been teaching him for years: mall, clothing store, physical mask, and vanish. Ducking into a nearby Endless Horizon's gentlemen's clothing store he slipped past the commissioned sales vultures and ducked into a changing room where a garter snake waited coiled around a clothes rack. Now unfazed by these appearances, Greg changed, scrubbed his signature and made a beeline for the back door ...
... Then things became difficult ...
... He stepped into the barrel of a silenced Ares predator. Serious firepower for serious individuals. The barrel was in his eye and it was almost as distracting as the fact that the pistol looked like a toy in the hands of the measty troll on the other end.
"Where's the fucking stakeout?" said the troll in a dangerously quiet voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You've got fed written all over you and you're just pissed that you got spotted. You guys aren't the only ones with magic tricks. Get us out of here and you might get out alive."
A police car drove past the end of the alley. Greg was used to Langley's UCAS Army MPs, this corporate law thing was a change of pace. The troll hadn't flinched.
"Not a fed, independent. I;m going to walk out of this and draw them off. Keep the gun pointed at me if you have to." Greg's negotiation skills may have been lacking, but his plan felt more solid than the godforsaken "Stow away on a prop plane" business. At least this one wouldn't drag him to 2000 feet then leave him freezing there.
Stepping out of the alley, Greg picked up on the Filipino man close on his heels. A Lone Star cruiser was nonchalantly idling behind the man. It was apparent that Greg was between frying pan and fire. Steeling himself, he walked straight up to his tail from earlier and gambled everything on his assessment of alliances.
"What they hell are you doing on my stakeout. Do you guy's want to blow the whold damn thing wide open." he whispered while window shopping at the same store as his sheepish pursuer.
"No fucking way, these guys are in violation of Seattle City Law, they're ours."
Reaching back to his political science days, Greg grasped at straws.
"Precedent of first violoation, they made a corporate mistake first and we get corporate jurisdiction and if you so much as lay a foot inside of any of these stores looking for them you are stepping all over extraterritoriality. I'm sure the mayor and my manager will have a great conversation about the Star's contract if you don't get out of here NOW."
His heart was pounding and sweat was running down his face. The troll was leveling a pistol at him from a dumpster in the alley and waves of ice were radiating from the plainclothes cop.
"I'll call it in" the Filipino said.
"Not here, get the fuck out of sight, don't blow cover."
The tail stormed off and the troll bolted. Greg followed suit.
The strength of will he'd used to go back to an apartment search is the stuff of legends. He confined his hunt to areas well away from downtown and settled on a one room hovel in Auburn with utilities and a window view. The shared shower and the drunken wench living next door might cause him problems in the future, but he'd survive. No sooner than his bags had been dropped than his door had been shaken by a grenade blast of a knock.
Greg warily opened the door and was confronted with a remarkably familiar pistol barrel.
"Look, I don't like you and you don't like me. And we don't know eachother. But I owe you one so I'm giving you this name he said holding the paper in his other hand. Now we're never going to see eachother again. And pay off the goddamn gang, they let me waltz right in here."
Greg fell onto the bare floor and considered sleeping without furniture after the troll had stealthily vanished. He'd be sore in the morning, but he'd be alive. Almost as an afterthought, he looked at the paper.
Electra
Thursday 5/22/70 09:06:00
Woolsley smiled wanly.
"Just do what you do - win his trust and affection by whatever means necessary, convince him you are loyal, committed to the cause, and would be useful. My advice would be never to rush higher level contact, or even to have ever heard of your target, Stephen Cannon. We think that given time, you'll eventually meet him. We will be watching. You will or you won't notice us, but best pretend you don't if you do. And I will say again, never ever count on us to intervene in any way on your behalf.
"As for what to do during the 'hit,' as you call it, there is no guarantee that even if you find this fellow there will ever be a hit. Naturally if there is we will be seeking to take EVERYONE alive, so the use of lethal force is highly unlikely in any case.
"Once we are done with you, you'll be exctracted. The confirmation phrase you'll receive from your field handler at that time will be 'You've been gone long enough, your granduncle misses you.'
"You may contact your family any time once you're established in the Squeeze. It is what you would actually do, so it doesn't conflict with your cover. But I warn you, if they come barging into the operation, or interfere in any way, all bets are OFF. If you can't control them, don't call them.
"As for a weapon, anything normally carried by our high security prisoner transport teams will be fine. Let us know what you want, and we'll write your taking it into the script.
"Afraid there's no time for any other preparation. Knowing much fieldcraft would be out of character for you anyway. Now get some rest tonight, everything starts tomorrow."
Thursday 5/22/70 09:06:00
Woolsley smiled wanly.
"Just do what you do - win his trust and affection by whatever means necessary, convince him you are loyal, committed to the cause, and would be useful. My advice would be never to rush higher level contact, or even to have ever heard of your target, Stephen Cannon. We think that given time, you'll eventually meet him. We will be watching. You will or you won't notice us, but best pretend you don't if you do. And I will say again, never ever count on us to intervene in any way on your behalf.
"As for what to do during the 'hit,' as you call it, there is no guarantee that even if you find this fellow there will ever be a hit. Naturally if there is we will be seeking to take EVERYONE alive, so the use of lethal force is highly unlikely in any case.
"Once we are done with you, you'll be exctracted. The confirmation phrase you'll receive from your field handler at that time will be 'You've been gone long enough, your granduncle misses you.'
"You may contact your family any time once you're established in the Squeeze. It is what you would actually do, so it doesn't conflict with your cover. But I warn you, if they come barging into the operation, or interfere in any way, all bets are OFF. If you can't control them, don't call them.
"As for a weapon, anything normally carried by our high security prisoner transport teams will be fine. Let us know what you want, and we'll write your taking it into the script.
"Afraid there's no time for any other preparation. Knowing much fieldcraft would be out of character for you anyway. Now get some rest tonight, everything starts tomorrow."
Cerberus
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:36:00
Cerberus listened intently to Ezekiel as he sat up. Finally he was going to get his chance. Waiting for work had been 10x worse than the build up to a big fight. After listening to Ezekiel rattle on about all the little unimportant details he finally stopped to let Cerberus answer...
"You bet your sweet a....I mean yeah i might be interested. When and where do you wanna meet to discuss it? "
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:36:00
Cerberus listened intently to Ezekiel as he sat up. Finally he was going to get his chance. Waiting for work had been 10x worse than the build up to a big fight. After listening to Ezekiel rattle on about all the little unimportant details he finally stopped to let Cerberus answer...
"You bet your sweet a....I mean yeah i might be interested. When and where do you wanna meet to discuss it? "
Cerberus
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:36:20
"Okay, if you're in, come around at seven tomorrow night. I am pretty sure you'll be meeting some other people at that time, but even if that don't pan out, we can have a nice chat about some good-to-know things. Like I said, this guy pays his people real well - you got a Y2,000 bonus coming just for signing - I am sending to it in the form of sterile cred to your friend Bob Michaels right now. But you're gonna need a good suit for this gig, so get one and be wearing it tomorrow night. I gotta go. See ya then."
Wednesday 8/13/70 16:36:20
"Okay, if you're in, come around at seven tomorrow night. I am pretty sure you'll be meeting some other people at that time, but even if that don't pan out, we can have a nice chat about some good-to-know things. Like I said, this guy pays his people real well - you got a Y2,000 bonus coming just for signing - I am sending to it in the form of sterile cred to your friend Bob Michaels right now. But you're gonna need a good suit for this gig, so get one and be wearing it tomorrow night. I gotta go. See ya then."
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:36
The file opened, offering Carla the same administrative access her employee passcodes had afforded her on the rest of the system.
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:36
The file opened, offering Carla the same administrative access her employee passcodes had afforded her on the rest of the system.
Gregory
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:24
Seattle had calmed down quite a bit in Greg's week there. He hadn't gotten much done, but there wasn't much to do. He was occupied with laying low for the moment, that and furnishing his sparse apartment.
He'd immediately followed the troll's advice and left a hefty security deposit with the local gang -- they had taken some getting used to, but Greg was on decent terms with them. All he'd asked was that they keep people out of his room or, if things looked too hairy, make a stink before letting them in. The gang leader, an ork of some kind of mixed asian descent with glaring cybereyes had readily agreed once they found out that money (and a promise of silence regarding gang activity) was on the table.
After that there had been some light furniture shopping -- a cheap bed and cheap dresser now adorned the otherwise bare, wooden room Greg called home. They were sturdy, for the most part, but little else could be said of them.
Other than that Greg had simply been trying to stay off the radar and keep his mind off of Ana and the kids. Depression wasn't going to get him any closer to revenge. However, his study of Montressor's video and book chips and attempts to isolate ritual samples from Montressor's shirt and cigarettes (a project which sprawled across the entire free space of his apartment and which had started creeping up the walls) had kept him distracted. In addition, the training regimen he was putting himself through -- running, basic strength training and remebering some old alertness exercises -- had kept his mind and body busy. He was hoping that his shape would change enough to make him hard to recognize, results so far had been discouraging.
He'd almost forgotten about the troll's paper in his week of rushed work, but finally decided this fateful Thursday night to give Don Ricardo, whoever he was, a call and reference the troll who had pointed the gun in his face.
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:24
Seattle had calmed down quite a bit in Greg's week there. He hadn't gotten much done, but there wasn't much to do. He was occupied with laying low for the moment, that and furnishing his sparse apartment.
He'd immediately followed the troll's advice and left a hefty security deposit with the local gang -- they had taken some getting used to, but Greg was on decent terms with them. All he'd asked was that they keep people out of his room or, if things looked too hairy, make a stink before letting them in. The gang leader, an ork of some kind of mixed asian descent with glaring cybereyes had readily agreed once they found out that money (and a promise of silence regarding gang activity) was on the table.
After that there had been some light furniture shopping -- a cheap bed and cheap dresser now adorned the otherwise bare, wooden room Greg called home. They were sturdy, for the most part, but little else could be said of them.
Other than that Greg had simply been trying to stay off the radar and keep his mind off of Ana and the kids. Depression wasn't going to get him any closer to revenge. However, his study of Montressor's video and book chips and attempts to isolate ritual samples from Montressor's shirt and cigarettes (a project which sprawled across the entire free space of his apartment and which had started creeping up the walls) had kept him distracted. In addition, the training regimen he was putting himself through -- running, basic strength training and remebering some old alertness exercises -- had kept his mind and body busy. He was hoping that his shape would change enough to make him hard to recognize, results so far had been discouraging.
He'd almost forgotten about the troll's paper in his week of rushed work, but finally decided this fateful Thursday night to give Don Ricardo, whoever he was, a call and reference the troll who had pointed the gun in his face.
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:36
Unsure of who the intruder may be or what his goal was, Carla opened up the file and read its contents, looking out for any references to other files she might need to investigate.
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:36
Unsure of who the intruder may be or what his goal was, Carla opened up the file and read its contents, looking out for any references to other files she might need to investigate.
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:43
Skimming rapidly, it soon became clear to Carla that the file was far too long to read at a glance. It was apparently a diary kept by her mother on the exclusive topic of Carla herself. It stretched from news of her conception right up until a couple of days ago.
Her cursory examination yielded no references to any other files on this system.
Then a lot of windows started popping up, peppered with urgent warnings she could not understand. Reading over her shoulder, her Uncle Alvaro said, "The hacker is trying to access the file you are reading. If you delay to long, he may be able to block any attempt to download the file."
Sunday 5/4/70 15:34:43
Skimming rapidly, it soon became clear to Carla that the file was far too long to read at a glance. It was apparently a diary kept by her mother on the exclusive topic of Carla herself. It stretched from news of her conception right up until a couple of days ago.
Her cursory examination yielded no references to any other files on this system.
Then a lot of windows started popping up, peppered with urgent warnings she could not understand. Reading over her shoulder, her Uncle Alvaro said, "The hacker is trying to access the file you are reading. If you delay to long, he may be able to block any attempt to download the file."
Gregory
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:30
Voice only, but what a voice - the few words it speaks are rich, masculine, and melodious - a magnificently cultured accent reminiscent of old Spanish aristocracy: "Yes, may I please ask who is calling?"
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:30
Voice only, but what a voice - the few words it speaks are rich, masculine, and melodious - a magnificently cultured accent reminiscent of old Spanish aristocracy: "Yes, may I please ask who is calling?"
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:35:00
I'm going to have to take a closer look at this later.
Carla hit the download button and hoped she could save a copy of the document to the commlink before the hacker damaged the file. After downloading, if possible, she would delete the file off the office terminal - as far as she was concerned, nobody else needed to see her mother's journal.
Sunday 5/4/70 15:35:00
I'm going to have to take a closer look at this later.
Carla hit the download button and hoped she could save a copy of the document to the commlink before the hacker damaged the file. After downloading, if possible, she would delete the file off the office terminal - as far as she was concerned, nobody else needed to see her mother's journal.
Gregory
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:40
Greg took a deep breath as the voice on the other end rolled over him. He wasn't sure what he was doing entirely and desperately wished that the troll had been a little more communicative. But he'd have to work with what he had.
"I'm an independent agent. I was referred to you by a large troll with a gret fondness for shoving handguns into other people's eyes about a week ago. I was hoping that you might know a few professionals in the area."
A drop of sweat was forming on his forehead.
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:40
Greg took a deep breath as the voice on the other end rolled over him. He wasn't sure what he was doing entirely and desperately wished that the troll had been a little more communicative. But he'd have to work with what he had.
"I'm an independent agent. I was referred to you by a large troll with a gret fondness for shoving handguns into other people's eyes about a week ago. I was hoping that you might know a few professionals in the area."
A drop of sweat was forming on his forehead.
Electra
Thursday 5/22/70 09:07:00
"OK, no fieldcraft training, don't push for higher up the ladder, act like an ignorant kiddie, don't notice the goons... Seems easy enough. What else? Ah, yes
Ok, admittedly the rozzers probably don't go to the Squeeze much, but they will be out looking for me, won't they? Is there a chance you could play down my escape a bit so I am not recognised by every chip head out to grass me up for the cash? Perhaps keep it quiet to 'aviod embarrasement' or the like?
As for gear, I have no idea what you guys carry, apart from some nasty cattle prod thing your arresting officer was going to stick in my chest, before I convinced him I wasn't conscious. Got a souped up one of those about?
Plain clothes body armour, a survival knife, a medkit, and a big scary looking hand cannon with real and stun bullets are the only other things a cop van may be carrying that I can think of, and I'll need a duffle bag to darry it in. Somebody to mug for a comm would be handy. If they happened to be carrying a few cred chips for ratburgers and the like that would also be nice. And a makeup kit in their purse. That would set me up gear wise.
Can I at least learn how to get bullets out of the business end of a gun? I could have picked that up while pirating. You could teach me tonight, wouldn't take more than an hour to give me the basics, right? I at least want to be able to point a gun at somebody and not have them laugh and tell me the safety is on."
Thursday 5/22/70 09:07:00
"OK, no fieldcraft training, don't push for higher up the ladder, act like an ignorant kiddie, don't notice the goons... Seems easy enough. What else? Ah, yes
Ok, admittedly the rozzers probably don't go to the Squeeze much, but they will be out looking for me, won't they? Is there a chance you could play down my escape a bit so I am not recognised by every chip head out to grass me up for the cash? Perhaps keep it quiet to 'aviod embarrasement' or the like?
As for gear, I have no idea what you guys carry, apart from some nasty cattle prod thing your arresting officer was going to stick in my chest, before I convinced him I wasn't conscious. Got a souped up one of those about?
Plain clothes body armour, a survival knife, a medkit, and a big scary looking hand cannon with real and stun bullets are the only other things a cop van may be carrying that I can think of, and I'll need a duffle bag to darry it in. Somebody to mug for a comm would be handy. If they happened to be carrying a few cred chips for ratburgers and the like that would also be nice. And a makeup kit in their purse. That would set me up gear wise.
Can I at least learn how to get bullets out of the business end of a gun? I could have picked that up while pirating. You could teach me tonight, wouldn't take more than an hour to give me the basics, right? I at least want to be able to point a gun at somebody and not have them laugh and tell me the safety is on."
Gregory
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:55
Gregory felt he could almost hear a pair of well-manicured eyebrows raise in amusement. After an eternity, the voice answered - "It is my lot in life to be acquainted with many such individuals. Perhaps, in good time and God willing, I can have the pleasure of your acquaintance as well. I am, however, a cautious man. My many responsibilities on behalf of those that have generously placed their trust in me demand a great deal of discretion."
His Spanish intonation was low, controlled, and delightfully free of a single schwa as he enunciated each consonant with perfect diction, gently trilling his r's.
"Surely you can understand how my situation countervails my desire to help you. Perhaps if you met with a trusted associate of mine. Have you a pen at hand?"
A pen!!! Gregory quickly activated the notepad function on his comm. "Yes sir," he said to his own surprise.
The gentleman's voice relayed a commcode, had Gregory repeat it back, and said, "Very well, then. I shall very much look forward to hearing more about you. Good day, sir."
Thursday 5/15/70 15:32:55
Gregory felt he could almost hear a pair of well-manicured eyebrows raise in amusement. After an eternity, the voice answered - "It is my lot in life to be acquainted with many such individuals. Perhaps, in good time and God willing, I can have the pleasure of your acquaintance as well. I am, however, a cautious man. My many responsibilities on behalf of those that have generously placed their trust in me demand a great deal of discretion."
His Spanish intonation was low, controlled, and delightfully free of a single schwa as he enunciated each consonant with perfect diction, gently trilling his r's.
"Surely you can understand how my situation countervails my desire to help you. Perhaps if you met with a trusted associate of mine. Have you a pen at hand?"
A pen!!! Gregory quickly activated the notepad function on his comm. "Yes sir," he said to his own surprise.
The gentleman's voice relayed a commcode, had Gregory repeat it back, and said, "Very well, then. I shall very much look forward to hearing more about you. Good day, sir."
Electra
Thursday 5/22/70 09:09:00
Woolsley paused and turned at the door, listening calmly to Electra's laundry list.
"I have apparently failed to impress upon you that, no matter how convincing you may be, with individuals as prone to suspicion and distrust as those with whom you will shortly be dealing, but entirety of the presentation must be equally persuasive. You are not the only person on this island possessed of a great talent for subtlety or superhuman skill in observing human character. No, I am afraid the less we leave our fingerprints on your character and demeanor, the better off we will all be. And naturally informing the local constabulary is entirely out of the question. I shall relay your rather lengthy gear request to our quartermaster, but do keep in mind we are operating on a goverment budget."
And with that, he was out the door.
Thursday 5/22/70 09:09:00
Woolsley paused and turned at the door, listening calmly to Electra's laundry list.
"I have apparently failed to impress upon you that, no matter how convincing you may be, with individuals as prone to suspicion and distrust as those with whom you will shortly be dealing, but entirety of the presentation must be equally persuasive. You are not the only person on this island possessed of a great talent for subtlety or superhuman skill in observing human character. No, I am afraid the less we leave our fingerprints on your character and demeanor, the better off we will all be. And naturally informing the local constabulary is entirely out of the question. I shall relay your rather lengthy gear request to our quartermaster, but do keep in mind we are operating on a goverment budget."
And with that, he was out the door.
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:36:00
The commlink bleeped, indicating that the download was completed. Carla switched off the device and returned it to the safety of her pocket.
"Wait a minute," Gregor complained, "you're not going to read it to me?"
"It wasn't important," Carla answered half-heartedly.
"Not important!? I'm no computer wiz, Carla, but I wouldn't be surprised if the police trace your commlink's signal back here. Now you're putting me at risk for something that not important?"
"Calm down, Gregor. It was just some...personal messages Ma wrote for me. So it was important; it's just not going to shed any light on the shedim or the organlegging or anything else that got us into this mess. And frankly, getting out of this mess is my top priority right now."
"Besides," she added, "the police are undoubtedly going to check here anyway if they're looking for me. I'm surprised they haven't shown up already..."
She turned to her uncle for advice. "What do we do now? How soon do you think the police will show up?"
Sunday 5/4/70 15:36:00
The commlink bleeped, indicating that the download was completed. Carla switched off the device and returned it to the safety of her pocket.
"Wait a minute," Gregor complained, "you're not going to read it to me?"
"It wasn't important," Carla answered half-heartedly.
"Not important!? I'm no computer wiz, Carla, but I wouldn't be surprised if the police trace your commlink's signal back here. Now you're putting me at risk for something that not important?"
"Calm down, Gregor. It was just some...personal messages Ma wrote for me. So it was important; it's just not going to shed any light on the shedim or the organlegging or anything else that got us into this mess. And frankly, getting out of this mess is my top priority right now."
"Besides," she added, "the police are undoubtedly going to check here anyway if they're looking for me. I'm surprised they haven't shown up already..."
She turned to her uncle for advice. "What do we do now? How soon do you think the police will show up?"
Electra
Thursday 5/22/70 09:10:53
Cheapass goatsucking government bastards. You'd think they'd get a budget boost from the Tate, but apparently they make do with metahuman rights waivers. Guess I'll just have live off whatever I find lying around. Lucky Jackal taught me a trick or two or I would be proper screwed.
Electra hoped that her shopping list would come through Ok, the idea of slumming it for months on end lacked appeal to her. So those Government gooks wanted her to act natrual did they? She'd show them a thing or two about natural behaviour that they would not expect...
The next few hours went agonisingly, she tried to make use of the trid entertainment but found that a censor had been at them, and there were no Shadowrunner or Mercenary related simfeeds. Trying to sleep was difficult, she tried to find the same centredness, the same internal balance, that she had achieved when she first met Jackal, but it seemed that without the immediate threat of death by unknown spirit and with the future of a jailbreak and the hunted life she was hopeing to avoid, she could not will herself to sleep and bring that moment closer.
Eventually she found a sleep inducer in the entertainment unit, set it to dream about something filthy involving a rugby team and Fernandez Depp, triggered it, and had the rather unsatisfying, but strangely humorous experience of a simsence peak-flattened government cencored polyamorous romp. Eventually she fell truly asleep out of sheer bemused boredom.
The first day of the rest of her life came rather too rapidly for her liking.
Thursday 5/22/70 09:10:53
Cheapass goatsucking government bastards. You'd think they'd get a budget boost from the Tate, but apparently they make do with metahuman rights waivers. Guess I'll just have live off whatever I find lying around. Lucky Jackal taught me a trick or two or I would be proper screwed.
Electra hoped that her shopping list would come through Ok, the idea of slumming it for months on end lacked appeal to her. So those Government gooks wanted her to act natrual did they? She'd show them a thing or two about natural behaviour that they would not expect...
The next few hours went agonisingly, she tried to make use of the trid entertainment but found that a censor had been at them, and there were no Shadowrunner or Mercenary related simfeeds. Trying to sleep was difficult, she tried to find the same centredness, the same internal balance, that she had achieved when she first met Jackal, but it seemed that without the immediate threat of death by unknown spirit and with the future of a jailbreak and the hunted life she was hopeing to avoid, she could not will herself to sleep and bring that moment closer.
Eventually she found a sleep inducer in the entertainment unit, set it to dream about something filthy involving a rugby team and Fernandez Depp, triggered it, and had the rather unsatisfying, but strangely humorous experience of a simsence peak-flattened government cencored polyamorous romp. Eventually she fell truly asleep out of sheer bemused boredom.
The first day of the rest of her life came rather too rapidly for her liking.
Gregory
5/15/70 15:35:23
Greg was still mildly stunned by his conversation with Ricardo. It was rare that he, a professional at blowing people away with words, was blown away himself. That said, he didn't have much bargaining power. He idly thumbed the number Ricardo had given him into his comm.
After a few rings: "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm an independent agent and was referred to you by a gentleman named Don Ricardo for a character reference"
He suspected he'd be spewing the same speech a lot in the next few days.
5/15/70 15:35:23
Greg was still mildly stunned by his conversation with Ricardo. It was rare that he, a professional at blowing people away with words, was blown away himself. That said, he didn't have much bargaining power. He idly thumbed the number Ricardo had given him into his comm.
After a few rings: "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm an independent agent and was referred to you by a gentleman named Don Ricardo for a character reference"
He suspected he'd be spewing the same speech a lot in the next few days.
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:38:00
"Well, judging by the way they have already apparently descended upon your parents' office, I should say not long. Perhaps we should continue to discuss your options in my car - we will be safer on the move, and the car is quite anonymously registered. Gregor, I don't know how interested the authorities will be in you, personally. Will you join us? If you come, you will be beginning a life as a fugitive that can be very hard to return from. If you stay, you may not see your sister for some while."
Sunday 5/4/70 15:38:00
"Well, judging by the way they have already apparently descended upon your parents' office, I should say not long. Perhaps we should continue to discuss your options in my car - we will be safer on the move, and the car is quite anonymously registered. Gregor, I don't know how interested the authorities will be in you, personally. Will you join us? If you come, you will be beginning a life as a fugitive that can be very hard to return from. If you stay, you may not see your sister for some while."
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 15:39:00
"Don't get all dramatic on me, now" Gregor chuckled. The true gravity of the situation hadn't fully sunken into him yet. Even Carla had trouble accepting the fact that she was going to become a 'fugitive.' "I'm sure this whole thing will blow over soon enough."
"So you're not coming?" Carla asked.
"What for? Unless the cops have some reason to arrest me, I'm not going to give up everything I've worked for. And it's not like you need me for anything anyway. What kind of help is your 'bum' brother going to give?"
"Knight Errant's probably going to keep a close eye on you, Gregor," Alvaro warned. "They might not have anything on you now, but they're going to keep tabs to make sure you're not contacting your little sister. You'd best stay out of trouble yourself for the time being."
"I can take care of myself - now go on and get out of here before someone catches you." Gregor motioned towards the door. Carla and Alvaro gathered their things and prepared to take leave. At the doorway, Gregor gave his final goodbye. "If I won't see you again, Carla, well...then I won't see you again. Have fun."
"I won't plan on it."
"That's the spirit!"
The door closed. Carla's family was hardly a warm one; her relations with her parents and brother were certainly respectful and caring, but rarely sentimental. It didn't surprise Carla that Gregor didn't give her a last hug, let alone a conventional "goodbye." Why bother with such formalities? After over twenty years of friendship, they both already knew that they would miss each other's company; they didn't need to explicitly show it through hugs or other signs of affection. That was the kind of attitude Carla had grown up with, an attitude that had made many of her peers think she was cold and prudish. And now, for the first time in her life, Carla was starting to wish she had some more friends.
"Alright, let's get moving," Alvaro said and started walking down the hall.
Sunday 5/4/70 15:39:00
"Don't get all dramatic on me, now" Gregor chuckled. The true gravity of the situation hadn't fully sunken into him yet. Even Carla had trouble accepting the fact that she was going to become a 'fugitive.' "I'm sure this whole thing will blow over soon enough."
"So you're not coming?" Carla asked.
"What for? Unless the cops have some reason to arrest me, I'm not going to give up everything I've worked for. And it's not like you need me for anything anyway. What kind of help is your 'bum' brother going to give?"
"Knight Errant's probably going to keep a close eye on you, Gregor," Alvaro warned. "They might not have anything on you now, but they're going to keep tabs to make sure you're not contacting your little sister. You'd best stay out of trouble yourself for the time being."
"I can take care of myself - now go on and get out of here before someone catches you." Gregor motioned towards the door. Carla and Alvaro gathered their things and prepared to take leave. At the doorway, Gregor gave his final goodbye. "If I won't see you again, Carla, well...then I won't see you again. Have fun."
"I won't plan on it."
"That's the spirit!"
The door closed. Carla's family was hardly a warm one; her relations with her parents and brother were certainly respectful and caring, but rarely sentimental. It didn't surprise Carla that Gregor didn't give her a last hug, let alone a conventional "goodbye." Why bother with such formalities? After over twenty years of friendship, they both already knew that they would miss each other's company; they didn't need to explicitly show it through hugs or other signs of affection. That was the kind of attitude Carla had grown up with, an attitude that had made many of her peers think she was cold and prudish. And now, for the first time in her life, Carla was starting to wish she had some more friends.
"Alright, let's get moving," Alvaro said and started walking down the hall.
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 16:29:00
Uncle Alvaro had led the way downstairs to a polished late-model Eurocar Eastwind sedan. They had gotten in and he had just gone to Central Park and started circling it. Carla had been glad for the chance to collect her thoughts.
Abruptly, in the same businesslike manner he had used since he appeared barely an hour ago, Uncle Alvarez began to speak. "Logically, you have two choices. One is to go to the authorities. One is not to. Both are paths fraught with uncertainty and danger for you now. If you choose the latter, I can help you get started away from here - my mother's home in Seattle comes to mind. It would, in any case, be much safer than travelling with me, for my days are numbered. What you must be very aware of right now is that with every minute that you do NOT go to the authorities or begin concrete preparations to do so, it gets harder and your chances of a favorable outcome are smaller." Though matter of fact, his tone was not cold, and in fact his realism and confidence were somewhat comforting. But she couldn't help but recall that he was a trafficker in illegal human organs, and had until recently been planning a coup d'etat.
"If you do go to the authorities, you should consider the long-term ramifications. Suppose you are acquitted, or perhaps even never charged. With all that has happened both with your family and these inexplicable incidents with yourself, do you really think that you - at least you as Carla Sanchez - will ever be accepted by a medical school or have any sort of reasonable lifestyle ever again?"
Sunday 5/4/70 16:29:00
Uncle Alvaro had led the way downstairs to a polished late-model Eurocar Eastwind sedan. They had gotten in and he had just gone to Central Park and started circling it. Carla had been glad for the chance to collect her thoughts.
Abruptly, in the same businesslike manner he had used since he appeared barely an hour ago, Uncle Alvarez began to speak. "Logically, you have two choices. One is to go to the authorities. One is not to. Both are paths fraught with uncertainty and danger for you now. If you choose the latter, I can help you get started away from here - my mother's home in Seattle comes to mind. It would, in any case, be much safer than travelling with me, for my days are numbered. What you must be very aware of right now is that with every minute that you do NOT go to the authorities or begin concrete preparations to do so, it gets harder and your chances of a favorable outcome are smaller." Though matter of fact, his tone was not cold, and in fact his realism and confidence were somewhat comforting. But she couldn't help but recall that he was a trafficker in illegal human organs, and had until recently been planning a coup d'etat.
"If you do go to the authorities, you should consider the long-term ramifications. Suppose you are acquitted, or perhaps even never charged. With all that has happened both with your family and these inexplicable incidents with yourself, do you really think that you - at least you as Carla Sanchez - will ever be accepted by a medical school or have any sort of reasonable lifestyle ever again?"
Carla
Sunday 5/4/70 16:30:00
"Do you really think the police will pin the blame on me, regardless of the evidence?" Carla asked, still a bit incredulous that the authorities might conspire against her just to save real estate values.
Eh, I suppose they can make up whatever evidence they need.
She looked out the window and pondered. If only there was a way for her to be certain that the police would help her. Carla had never been the adventurous type - she did well in school, lived with her parents, and held a decent part-time job at their practice. She planned on completing her training, getting a stable, well-paying job as a surgeon in a nearby hospital, and living a comfortable life. Of course, the job training would be long and difficult, but Carla was good at that kind of thing, not at...survival.
She thought about what Alvaro said. If she didn't go to the police immediately, she was looking at a life on the run, in the shadows, on her own, and quite possibly, eventually in jail.
What if she did go to the police? If the police were in fact conspiring against her, Carla was undoubtedly screwed. But what if she was just being paranoid? What if they weren't out to get her, and she walked away from this mess unharmed? One thing was for sure: she wasn't going to be able to pay tuition any longer. But would her life necessarily be ruined? She probably couldn't become a doctor of any sort, but she still held an undergraduate degree from a respectable university; she could certainly find an office job of some sort and make a meager living for herself - that's what Gregor was doing, and he seemed perfectly happy. It wouldn't be a luxurious life, but it was certainly safer a life running from the law.
She didn't want to throw away a legitimate life on just the chance that the police might frame her. But if she did go to the police, she'd be risking her life on the chance that they would help. Neither option offered any safe guarantees; she risked being arrested no matter what, but going to the police put her future at the mercy of the system. Not going to the police put her future in her own hands.
*click* A figurative light-bulb went off in Carla's head. For twenty-five years, Carla had lived within "the system," and what had she to show for it? She had no true friends, no one she could count on. She couldn't even trust the people who were supposed to protect her. She no longer had a home, a job, or any possessions besides the few things she was carrying in her jacket pockets. What the hell was she clinging to?
Her decision made, Carla asked her uncle to elaborate on his plans for her. "What do I do once I'm in Seattle?"
Sunday 5/4/70 16:30:00
"Do you really think the police will pin the blame on me, regardless of the evidence?" Carla asked, still a bit incredulous that the authorities might conspire against her just to save real estate values.
Eh, I suppose they can make up whatever evidence they need.
She looked out the window and pondered. If only there was a way for her to be certain that the police would help her. Carla had never been the adventurous type - she did well in school, lived with her parents, and held a decent part-time job at their practice. She planned on completing her training, getting a stable, well-paying job as a surgeon in a nearby hospital, and living a comfortable life. Of course, the job training would be long and difficult, but Carla was good at that kind of thing, not at...survival.
She thought about what Alvaro said. If she didn't go to the police immediately, she was looking at a life on the run, in the shadows, on her own, and quite possibly, eventually in jail.
What if she did go to the police? If the police were in fact conspiring against her, Carla was undoubtedly screwed. But what if she was just being paranoid? What if they weren't out to get her, and she walked away from this mess unharmed? One thing was for sure: she wasn't going to be able to pay tuition any longer. But would her life necessarily be ruined? She probably couldn't become a doctor of any sort, but she still held an undergraduate degree from a respectable university; she could certainly find an office job of some sort and make a meager living for herself - that's what Gregor was doing, and he seemed perfectly happy. It wouldn't be a luxurious life, but it was certainly safer a life running from the law.
She didn't want to throw away a legitimate life on just the chance that the police might frame her. But if she did go to the police, she'd be risking her life on the chance that they would help. Neither option offered any safe guarantees; she risked being arrested no matter what, but going to the police put her future at the mercy of the system. Not going to the police put her future in her own hands.
*click* A figurative light-bulb went off in Carla's head. For twenty-five years, Carla had lived within "the system," and what had she to show for it? She had no true friends, no one she could count on. She couldn't even trust the people who were supposed to protect her. She no longer had a home, a job, or any possessions besides the few things she was carrying in her jacket pockets. What the hell was she clinging to?
Her decision made, Carla asked her uncle to elaborate on his plans for her. "What do I do once I'm in Seattle?"
Gregory
Tuesday 6/18/70 3:18:32
Greg's kids had arrived yesterday night. He hadn't been able to gauge much of what was going wrong with the custody battle, but it appeared Reston had pulled enough strings to get them where he wanted. He was waiting outside of his sister's coffee shop when they'd arrived. Of course, he'd been disguised as a hobo, but he saw Anita eye him carefully before she unlocked the shop to usher Brian and Linda over the threshold.
His kids had looked the worse for wear, but they were alive and he wasn't actively endangering that. It killed him to sit there magically smellling of wine and coated in grime while they walked by, but they were alive.all of this as
The real surprise was Anita. He'd been in close phone contact with her before his "death" but he hadn't seen her in the flesh since his mother's funeral. She looked like she was doing well, her coffee shop was in a nice part of Tacoma (he'd figured out where Tacoma was in the past month), and she was dressed as fashionably as she always had been. She'd had much better taste than he ... and a much subtler touch with people ... and it was paying off. He hoped the kids wouldn't cause too many problems with that. His aunt and uncle in law were just across the border if worse came to worse.
He idly throught through the scene as he waited in the park for Slav. The aging Serbian seemed like the kind of individual Don Ricardo would employ; he was dignified, quiet, foreign and pockmarked with the scar's that spoke of years of combat. The most prominent was a huge crater on the right of his forehead, he'd declined to describe the source but Greg suspected that Slav had been shot in the head and walked away.
Slav had met him once three weeks ago and conducted something that felt suspiciouly like a job interview. The two had walked through the international district of downtown and engaged in an 'accidental' staredown with a pair of Yak thugs. Slav had apparently approved of Greg's threat to "disembowel them and strangle their mother's with their intestines" and had agreed,over drinks at the end of the walk, to call him in the future. (Greg suspected that the cash he surreptitiously left with the man had helped.) This was the first meeting in three weeks. Greg didn't know if it was a test of patience or if Slav was a busy man. It had been disheartening, but he ahd been diligently training and waiting -- it wasn't like he had too many other leads.
Slav's square short form bulldozed its way through the afternoon sunlight. He seemed squarely out of place, but went unnoticed among the other park dwellers. The green haired gangers were stealing the show anyway.
Settling on the bench next to Greg, his thick accent rolled out: "Good to see you my friend. Times have been hectic."
"I noticed."
"When we parted you were looking for a magician and a forensics expert, correct?"
"Yeah, you have any news?"
"Good, I must say. You're in luck. I happen to know some experts in both fields who are strapped for cash."
Greg grinned as numbers were exchanged.
Tuesday 6/18/70 3:18:32
Greg's kids had arrived yesterday night. He hadn't been able to gauge much of what was going wrong with the custody battle, but it appeared Reston had pulled enough strings to get them where he wanted. He was waiting outside of his sister's coffee shop when they'd arrived. Of course, he'd been disguised as a hobo, but he saw Anita eye him carefully before she unlocked the shop to usher Brian and Linda over the threshold.
His kids had looked the worse for wear, but they were alive and he wasn't actively endangering that. It killed him to sit there magically smellling of wine and coated in grime while they walked by, but they were alive.all of this as
The real surprise was Anita. He'd been in close phone contact with her before his "death" but he hadn't seen her in the flesh since his mother's funeral. She looked like she was doing well, her coffee shop was in a nice part of Tacoma (he'd figured out where Tacoma was in the past month), and she was dressed as fashionably as she always had been. She'd had much better taste than he ... and a much subtler touch with people ... and it was paying off. He hoped the kids wouldn't cause too many problems with that. His aunt and uncle in law were just across the border if worse came to worse.
He idly throught through the scene as he waited in the park for Slav. The aging Serbian seemed like the kind of individual Don Ricardo would employ; he was dignified, quiet, foreign and pockmarked with the scar's that spoke of years of combat. The most prominent was a huge crater on the right of his forehead, he'd declined to describe the source but Greg suspected that Slav had been shot in the head and walked away.
Slav had met him once three weeks ago and conducted something that felt suspiciouly like a job interview. The two had walked through the international district of downtown and engaged in an 'accidental' staredown with a pair of Yak thugs. Slav had apparently approved of Greg's threat to "disembowel them and strangle their mother's with their intestines" and had agreed,over drinks at the end of the walk, to call him in the future. (Greg suspected that the cash he surreptitiously left with the man had helped.) This was the first meeting in three weeks. Greg didn't know if it was a test of patience or if Slav was a busy man. It had been disheartening, but he ahd been diligently training and waiting -- it wasn't like he had too many other leads.
Slav's square short form bulldozed its way through the afternoon sunlight. He seemed squarely out of place, but went unnoticed among the other park dwellers. The green haired gangers were stealing the show anyway.
Settling on the bench next to Greg, his thick accent rolled out: "Good to see you my friend. Times have been hectic."
"I noticed."
"When we parted you were looking for a magician and a forensics expert, correct?"
"Yeah, you have any news?"
"Good, I must say. You're in luck. I happen to know some experts in both fields who are strapped for cash."
Greg grinned as numbers were exchanged.
Gregory
Saturday 6/28/70 17:05:26
Greg could almost pass for faculty at the University of Seatlle. He was dressed in his usual slacks and shirt which blended in most of the older researchers. However, the professors of his age tended to overdress which set him apart. He was saved by the beard that he had started on his arrival in Seattle had turned into a fully grown face of whiskers. It lent him an air of authority that helped him feel less out of place.
He stepped into the thaumaturgy lab past a pair of flustered looking Chinese sophomores and a Hopi junior who smelled faintly of brimstone and entered the thaumaturgy lab. A five foot tall Indian man in a sharp suit was sighing heavily and cleaning up a ritual circle. He looked at Greg as he entered with a kind of violent intensity unique to people with either genius or ambition.
"Professor Vishandar?"
"None other, and you are?"
"Slav sent me here. I'm hoping to get your expert opinion on a ritual circle and some telesma."
"Excellent, Slav always sends interesting business."
Greg grinned as he handed over the samples.
Saturday 6/28/70 17:05:26
Greg could almost pass for faculty at the University of Seatlle. He was dressed in his usual slacks and shirt which blended in most of the older researchers. However, the professors of his age tended to overdress which set him apart. He was saved by the beard that he had started on his arrival in Seattle had turned into a fully grown face of whiskers. It lent him an air of authority that helped him feel less out of place.
He stepped into the thaumaturgy lab past a pair of flustered looking Chinese sophomores and a Hopi junior who smelled faintly of brimstone and entered the thaumaturgy lab. A five foot tall Indian man in a sharp suit was sighing heavily and cleaning up a ritual circle. He looked at Greg as he entered with a kind of violent intensity unique to people with either genius or ambition.
"Professor Vishandar?"
"None other, and you are?"
"Slav sent me here. I'm hoping to get your expert opinion on a ritual circle and some telesma."
"Excellent, Slav always sends interesting business."
Greg grinned as he handed over the samples.
Gregory
Wednesday 7/9/70 12:22:34
Pesto's was packed for lunch. It was pouring overweight businessmen who smelled strongly of garlic and olive oil onto the street. Greg waded through the crowd into the restaurant and immediately spotted the man he was looking for. Andrew Berens was rail thin and had a gaunt, haunted look in his eyes instead of the bovine contentment of the other patrons.
Sliding into the empty seat across from Berens, Greg said "Slav sent me."
"Good to know," his fingers drummed idly on the table. "You can spare me the details, just tell me what you need analyzed."
"A shirt, a wineglass, some cigarette butts. I'm looking for anything I can find about the people who used them ... and any ritual samples if you can scrape them up."
"Well, lab time isn't free you know, but I may be able to help you out."
Greg grinned as they discussed specifics.
Wednesday 7/9/70 12:22:34
Pesto's was packed for lunch. It was pouring overweight businessmen who smelled strongly of garlic and olive oil onto the street. Greg waded through the crowd into the restaurant and immediately spotted the man he was looking for. Andrew Berens was rail thin and had a gaunt, haunted look in his eyes instead of the bovine contentment of the other patrons.
Sliding into the empty seat across from Berens, Greg said "Slav sent me."
"Good to know," his fingers drummed idly on the table. "You can spare me the details, just tell me what you need analyzed."
"A shirt, a wineglass, some cigarette butts. I'm looking for anything I can find about the people who used them ... and any ritual samples if you can scrape them up."
"Well, lab time isn't free you know, but I may be able to help you out."
Greg grinned as they discussed specifics.
Gregory
Monday 7/21/70 20:19:34
The first snake had shown up in his apartment in mid July. He didn't know how it had gotten in nor where it had come from, but he decided to tolerate it. He suspected that he'd started on a slippery slope, his apartment was crawling with them now. Or at least sometimes it crawled, other times there would be only one -- the viper he'd seen before usually -- and sometimes the snakes would be gone altogether.
Greg was munching slowly on some burning cantonese takeout from the shop down the block (he found his tastes drifting more and more to spicy things recently) while he pored over the notes Vishandar had sent him for the hundredth time. He'd gotten along well with both the professor and the lone star technician and was pleased with their analyses, but unfortunately his coffers were running lower and lower. He needed work, badly.
Which is why he'd let Slav know that he was on the market for odd jobs. The serbian man had seemed pleased, responding with "I'm glad to hear it. I've been told you may be able to provide some professional insight to a few of our operations. I'll stay in touch."
That was days ago, and Greg had been feeling the squeeze ever since. The cantonese firebomb he was chewing was the only luxury he'd afforded himself in what felt like a long time.
His comm rang, Slav was calling.
"Slav, its good to hear from you."
"And you too. I have confronted a small challenge in your job search. While you have my name and are free to drop it where you like, I don't have yours. As much as anonymity has suited you, if I'm going to help I need to know what to call you."
Greg paused for a moment.
A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
"Call me Fortunato."
Monday 7/21/70 20:19:34
The first snake had shown up in his apartment in mid July. He didn't know how it had gotten in nor where it had come from, but he decided to tolerate it. He suspected that he'd started on a slippery slope, his apartment was crawling with them now. Or at least sometimes it crawled, other times there would be only one -- the viper he'd seen before usually -- and sometimes the snakes would be gone altogether.
Greg was munching slowly on some burning cantonese takeout from the shop down the block (he found his tastes drifting more and more to spicy things recently) while he pored over the notes Vishandar had sent him for the hundredth time. He'd gotten along well with both the professor and the lone star technician and was pleased with their analyses, but unfortunately his coffers were running lower and lower. He needed work, badly.
Which is why he'd let Slav know that he was on the market for odd jobs. The serbian man had seemed pleased, responding with "I'm glad to hear it. I've been told you may be able to provide some professional insight to a few of our operations. I'll stay in touch."
That was days ago, and Greg had been feeling the squeeze ever since. The cantonese firebomb he was chewing was the only luxury he'd afforded himself in what felt like a long time.
His comm rang, Slav was calling.
"Slav, its good to hear from you."
"And you too. I have confronted a small challenge in your job search. While you have my name and are free to drop it where you like, I don't have yours. As much as anonymity has suited you, if I'm going to help I need to know what to call you."
Greg paused for a moment.
A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
"Call me Fortunato."
Electra
Friday 5/23/70 07:10:53
Electra had thought that the motto of government forces was check and test, check and test, but it appeared that her escape had been outscourced Botchitt and Scarper. She was put in wrist and ankle cuffs, effectively hobbling her, and dressed in the standard orange prisoner transport garb. The planning she was promised went along the lines of;
"Get in this van, when it gets hit, grab what you can and leg it."
Directions, hints on safety and how to survive a car crash, or even how to get out of her transport restraints seemed to be lacking, and she was not given time to protest as she was bundled into the transport. She guessed that the suits had decided that the more natural it looked the better, and part of that seemed to be leaving Electra totally in the dark.
How the hell she was supposed to get five feet with restraints on she did not know, but at least the transport had decent sezat belts. Ah well, time to flex her gift of the gab.
As the vehicle pulled out, Electra began sounding out her guard. The government had at least got one thing right, the guard was a female elf, and wearing plain clothes, she looked surprisingly like Electra.
"I guess you know my name, any chance I could get yours?"
"Protector Trepco" The answer was an uninterested grunt.
"Thanks, you're the first person who actually felt I was worth answering."
This was responded to with silence
"Look, I know you have a job to do, and all, but this is going to be the last conversation I have with somebody remotely interested in this great country of ours before I am banished for good, and there is something I need to get off my chest."
That seemed to get Trepco's attention.
"Yeah?"
"I could have said it during my debriefing, but I could not bring myself to broach the subject."
"What was it?"
"Fernandez Depp is a crappy kisser. Seriously, polite, good taste, nice arse, rich, but the man kisses like a wooden shop dummy. There, I said it."
The ice successfully broken Electra got to work on learning Trepco's speech patterns. She even managed to negotiate the removal of her restraints, provided she remained strapped into her seat, the controls of which were remotly operated. Once Electra was firmly strapped in, the restraints were indeed removed, and after that it became a bit of a blur.
The blast was totally unexpected, but timed perfectly, the van rolled twice, and landed on it's side with the rear doors open, it was only thanks to Electra's natural sence dampers that she was able to recover so fast after the fact, Her guard seemed somewhat stunned and muzzily followed the orders being yelled from what she thought were her comms to take Electra into hard cover. Before Trepco had time to figure out what had actually happened Electra had grabbed the emergency medical kit, and hustled her into the street.
Electra ran under fire with Trepco between herself and the punks, who were either amazingly bad shots, or judging by the hairsbreatdths they were missing by, amazingly good ones. The cover they had chosen was a dilapidated chemical factory, long disused since the age of nanotech made large scale specific chemical processing unnecessary.
Once they were out of sight of the van, and Electra had time to figure out how Trepco's gun was reloaded, cocked and fired, she calmly took an anisthetic patch out of the medkit, looked at it as though it was in her hand by accident, then applied it to Trepco's neck so calmly and innocently that Trepco was unconscious before she had time to protest.
Pulling off the sleeping Elf's wireless throat mic and earbuds, she put them on herself, and then, maintaining communications on Trepcos behalf, switched costumes with her. Every so often she would squeeze off a few rounds in the vague direction of the "go gang". Amazing, it appeared that Trepco even owned a ladie's makeup kit, and had a few cred chips on her.
She arranged her face down, with her arms below her, then pulling out a can of liquid skin, some disinfectant, and a survival knife out of the medkit she cut a small hole in the back of the prison overalls Trepco was now wearing, then rolling up her sleeve, Electra carefully disinfected, then cut herself, and allowed the blood to drip onto Trepco's back. After a few seconds she applied liquid skin to her arm.
now for the finale.
"Oh god, contact, contact, contact"
she paused, firing off a few rounds,
"Say again control, I'm loosing you, Electra has been hit, she is down, she is down,"
She applied some liquid skin to Trepco's back before repacking it, ignoring the frantic commands and requests now being piped into her ears.
"Control, your signal is poor, repeat, signal is poor, I have applied liquid skin and a Trauma Patch, but it looks like a spine injury, so don't move her, order a medivac. I'm going after the perp, looks like a random chiphead joined the party, snuck in from behind, then legged it when I returned fire."
The voice control trick Jackal had taught her was handy as hell.
Electra found a storm drain to dump Trepco's comm in, ending with the line...
"He's gone into the sewers, I may lose contact with..."
Before making her way to the Squeeze. She figured the "Gang fight" would keep going until the police turned up, and she need not be officially missing for a while yet if the lord protector's office could be helpfully stupid for a while.
She stopped twice on the way, once at a flats dispensor, where she got a pair of dull trousers and a shirt to put over Trepco's clothing, and once at a discount cosmetics store, where she got a few key ingredients for her disguise.
Now to make her way to the UK answer to hells kitchen. She hoped that her tongue would be enough, as from the few time she fired it, she knew the gun would be no help if it came to that.
Friday 5/23/70 07:10:53
Electra had thought that the motto of government forces was check and test, check and test, but it appeared that her escape had been outscourced Botchitt and Scarper. She was put in wrist and ankle cuffs, effectively hobbling her, and dressed in the standard orange prisoner transport garb. The planning she was promised went along the lines of;
"Get in this van, when it gets hit, grab what you can and leg it."
Directions, hints on safety and how to survive a car crash, or even how to get out of her transport restraints seemed to be lacking, and she was not given time to protest as she was bundled into the transport. She guessed that the suits had decided that the more natural it looked the better, and part of that seemed to be leaving Electra totally in the dark.
How the hell she was supposed to get five feet with restraints on she did not know, but at least the transport had decent sezat belts. Ah well, time to flex her gift of the gab.
As the vehicle pulled out, Electra began sounding out her guard. The government had at least got one thing right, the guard was a female elf, and wearing plain clothes, she looked surprisingly like Electra.
"I guess you know my name, any chance I could get yours?"
"Protector Trepco" The answer was an uninterested grunt.
"Thanks, you're the first person who actually felt I was worth answering."
This was responded to with silence
"Look, I know you have a job to do, and all, but this is going to be the last conversation I have with somebody remotely interested in this great country of ours before I am banished for good, and there is something I need to get off my chest."
That seemed to get Trepco's attention.
"Yeah?"
"I could have said it during my debriefing, but I could not bring myself to broach the subject."
"What was it?"
"Fernandez Depp is a crappy kisser. Seriously, polite, good taste, nice arse, rich, but the man kisses like a wooden shop dummy. There, I said it."
The ice successfully broken Electra got to work on learning Trepco's speech patterns. She even managed to negotiate the removal of her restraints, provided she remained strapped into her seat, the controls of which were remotly operated. Once Electra was firmly strapped in, the restraints were indeed removed, and after that it became a bit of a blur.
The blast was totally unexpected, but timed perfectly, the van rolled twice, and landed on it's side with the rear doors open, it was only thanks to Electra's natural sence dampers that she was able to recover so fast after the fact, Her guard seemed somewhat stunned and muzzily followed the orders being yelled from what she thought were her comms to take Electra into hard cover. Before Trepco had time to figure out what had actually happened Electra had grabbed the emergency medical kit, and hustled her into the street.
Electra ran under fire with Trepco between herself and the punks, who were either amazingly bad shots, or judging by the hairsbreatdths they were missing by, amazingly good ones. The cover they had chosen was a dilapidated chemical factory, long disused since the age of nanotech made large scale specific chemical processing unnecessary.
Once they were out of sight of the van, and Electra had time to figure out how Trepco's gun was reloaded, cocked and fired, she calmly took an anisthetic patch out of the medkit, looked at it as though it was in her hand by accident, then applied it to Trepco's neck so calmly and innocently that Trepco was unconscious before she had time to protest.
Pulling off the sleeping Elf's wireless throat mic and earbuds, she put them on herself, and then, maintaining communications on Trepcos behalf, switched costumes with her. Every so often she would squeeze off a few rounds in the vague direction of the "go gang". Amazing, it appeared that Trepco even owned a ladie's makeup kit, and had a few cred chips on her.
She arranged her face down, with her arms below her, then pulling out a can of liquid skin, some disinfectant, and a survival knife out of the medkit she cut a small hole in the back of the prison overalls Trepco was now wearing, then rolling up her sleeve, Electra carefully disinfected, then cut herself, and allowed the blood to drip onto Trepco's back. After a few seconds she applied liquid skin to her arm.
now for the finale.
"Oh god, contact, contact, contact"
she paused, firing off a few rounds,
"Say again control, I'm loosing you, Electra has been hit, she is down, she is down,"
She applied some liquid skin to Trepco's back before repacking it, ignoring the frantic commands and requests now being piped into her ears.
"Control, your signal is poor, repeat, signal is poor, I have applied liquid skin and a Trauma Patch, but it looks like a spine injury, so don't move her, order a medivac. I'm going after the perp, looks like a random chiphead joined the party, snuck in from behind, then legged it when I returned fire."
The voice control trick Jackal had taught her was handy as hell.
Electra found a storm drain to dump Trepco's comm in, ending with the line...
"He's gone into the sewers, I may lose contact with..."
Before making her way to the Squeeze. She figured the "Gang fight" would keep going until the police turned up, and she need not be officially missing for a while yet if the lord protector's office could be helpfully stupid for a while.
She stopped twice on the way, once at a flats dispensor, where she got a pair of dull trousers and a shirt to put over Trepco's clothing, and once at a discount cosmetics store, where she got a few key ingredients for her disguise.
Now to make her way to the UK answer to hells kitchen. She hoped that her tongue would be enough, as from the few time she fired it, she knew the gun would be no help if it came to that.
Gregory
Monday 6/30/70 14:23:56
Vishandar had asked for a couple of days, and now Gregory sat in the Indian professor's office looking at the dazzling array of Hindu iconography.
"Well, sir, I do hope you had no personal connection with this circle, for it was specifically designed to cast a very harmful mana attack on someone. Specifically attuned to a female target. Hermetic. Five participants, including the spotter. And very powerful. The leader of the ritual, at least, was an exceptionally powerful practitioner. As for the materials, I must admit, sir, that I failed to identify them exactly. I can tell you that they are not mineral, as they appear, but organic - culled from various corals - and very pure. It would be a reef that has gone quite unmolested for some time. And rare - it did not come up in my fairly substantial database of coral telesma. A unique location, perhaps? You had best consult a marine biologist or someone of that sort."
Friday 7/11/70 18:45:00
The dead drop at the cafe had gone smoothly enough, and now Gregory reentered his room with a package in hand. Inside were the shirt, cigarette butts and wine glasses, along with a sheet of paper.
Greetings. First the bad news. Had a guy look at the stuff astrally - sorry, maybe if you'd gotten it to me sooner.
Good news - nice set of prints off the wineglass. Name is Otto Birnhauser, but goes by BurnsHouses on the street. He's mage muscle for hire, and he's not cheap, based on the reports I've read. No last known anything. I can't send you a file, all that stuff is copy-protected. But photo attached.
Cigarette butts: Camel Lights x3; Marlboro x2. And three more - not exactly cigarettes, if you know what I mean. Ganja, and grade A shit - pure out of Jamaica. DNA - again - maybe if you'd gotten it to me sooner.
Shirt - wine is Chateau d'Oro '24. That goes for Y3,000 a bottle. Shirt itself handtailored by a custom guy called Worthington, runs shop in Kingston called, that's right buddy, Worthington's. Monogram - WJ.
Pleasure doing business. You can reach me through you-know-who.
Monday 6/30/70 14:23:56
Vishandar had asked for a couple of days, and now Gregory sat in the Indian professor's office looking at the dazzling array of Hindu iconography.
"Well, sir, I do hope you had no personal connection with this circle, for it was specifically designed to cast a very harmful mana attack on someone. Specifically attuned to a female target. Hermetic. Five participants, including the spotter. And very powerful. The leader of the ritual, at least, was an exceptionally powerful practitioner. As for the materials, I must admit, sir, that I failed to identify them exactly. I can tell you that they are not mineral, as they appear, but organic - culled from various corals - and very pure. It would be a reef that has gone quite unmolested for some time. And rare - it did not come up in my fairly substantial database of coral telesma. A unique location, perhaps? You had best consult a marine biologist or someone of that sort."
Friday 7/11/70 18:45:00
The dead drop at the cafe had gone smoothly enough, and now Gregory reentered his room with a package in hand. Inside were the shirt, cigarette butts and wine glasses, along with a sheet of paper.
Greetings. First the bad news. Had a guy look at the stuff astrally - sorry, maybe if you'd gotten it to me sooner.
Good news - nice set of prints off the wineglass. Name is Otto Birnhauser, but goes by BurnsHouses on the street. He's mage muscle for hire, and he's not cheap, based on the reports I've read. No last known anything. I can't send you a file, all that stuff is copy-protected. But photo attached.
Cigarette butts: Camel Lights x3; Marlboro x2. And three more - not exactly cigarettes, if you know what I mean. Ganja, and grade A shit - pure out of Jamaica. DNA - again - maybe if you'd gotten it to me sooner.
Shirt - wine is Chateau d'Oro '24. That goes for Y3,000 a bottle. Shirt itself handtailored by a custom guy called Worthington, runs shop in Kingston called, that's right buddy, Worthington's. Monogram - WJ.
Pleasure doing business. You can reach me through you-know-who.
Gregory
Monday 6/30/70 14:44:10
"No connection at all professor. I just have a keen interest in figuring out precisely who does. Thank you for your help, I couldn't have done it on my own."
Greg had wrestled for hours with his new browsing program last night, he couldn't help but long for a keyboard and a single entry field, but there were configuration menus and search types and all manner of disasters. However, he had come up with this gem:
"I just caught wind of your most recent paper on manipulations tuned for scientific manipulations. I have to admit that my theory background it weak, but the idea of purifying metals was awfully interesting. I didn't quite follow the argument about metaplanar orthogonality and metallic bond manipulation."
He braced himself for the deluge that followed.
After twenty minutes of dazed absorption he was ready to leave. He shook Vishandar's hand warmly and said, "I almost forgot, do you know of any marine biologists in the area I could speak with?"
Friday 7/11/70 18:45:30
Greg had tossed the note onto his cluttered bed in disgust. No ritual samples meant no easy answer. Seconds later he picked them up and pored over them again.
Smells like a conspiracy
It does indeed, the viper whispered into his ear.
Fri. 8/1/70 21:23:45
Greg was toasting his third month of survival in Seattle with his new friend Jack. Whiskey hadn't ever suited him before, but he found the burn comforting now. He carefully filled the single shot glass he owned and surveyed his friendless apartment.
His bed was still tucked under the window with his desk sandwiched next to it. The minimal kitchen he'd set up on top of the dresser was opposite those two amenities.
The rest of the room was devoted to the hunt. The clues he'd gathered from Mont'ressor's house were mounted in places of honor. He'd snagged the image of Montressor from the display that set off the explosions and mounted it above the sprawling wall map. Red thumbtacks and red string connected his image to Langley (he'd obviously been there) and Denver (his old stomping grounds). A green string connected his image with Birnhauser's. Jamaica was circled in red marker. Ganja, coral and a Kingston shirt maker.
He'd seen his kids earlier today -- he was trying to do so once a week. That was a respectable distance. His daughter had almost tried to talk to the hobo who'd taken to hanging outside the door. Anita had rather wisely tugged her away, but Greg might get to talk to her someday. A little chat wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?
He clinked his wedding ring against the glass and whispered, "Here's to getting back to them...," then leveled his gaze at Montressor's sneer "...To putting you to rest...," finally his eyes wandered to the pristinely clean meat hook, filet knife and tenderizer hanging on his wall "... and to revenge."
Bottoms up.
Monday 6/30/70 14:44:10
"No connection at all professor. I just have a keen interest in figuring out precisely who does. Thank you for your help, I couldn't have done it on my own."
Greg had wrestled for hours with his new browsing program last night, he couldn't help but long for a keyboard and a single entry field, but there were configuration menus and search types and all manner of disasters. However, he had come up with this gem:
"I just caught wind of your most recent paper on manipulations tuned for scientific manipulations. I have to admit that my theory background it weak, but the idea of purifying metals was awfully interesting. I didn't quite follow the argument about metaplanar orthogonality and metallic bond manipulation."
He braced himself for the deluge that followed.
After twenty minutes of dazed absorption he was ready to leave. He shook Vishandar's hand warmly and said, "I almost forgot, do you know of any marine biologists in the area I could speak with?"
Friday 7/11/70 18:45:30
Greg had tossed the note onto his cluttered bed in disgust. No ritual samples meant no easy answer. Seconds later he picked them up and pored over them again.
Smells like a conspiracy
It does indeed, the viper whispered into his ear.
Fri. 8/1/70 21:23:45
Greg was toasting his third month of survival in Seattle with his new friend Jack. Whiskey hadn't ever suited him before, but he found the burn comforting now. He carefully filled the single shot glass he owned and surveyed his friendless apartment.
His bed was still tucked under the window with his desk sandwiched next to it. The minimal kitchen he'd set up on top of the dresser was opposite those two amenities.
The rest of the room was devoted to the hunt. The clues he'd gathered from Mont'ressor's house were mounted in places of honor. He'd snagged the image of Montressor from the display that set off the explosions and mounted it above the sprawling wall map. Red thumbtacks and red string connected his image to Langley (he'd obviously been there) and Denver (his old stomping grounds). A green string connected his image with Birnhauser's. Jamaica was circled in red marker. Ganja, coral and a Kingston shirt maker.
He'd seen his kids earlier today -- he was trying to do so once a week. That was a respectable distance. His daughter had almost tried to talk to the hobo who'd taken to hanging outside the door. Anita had rather wisely tugged her away, but Greg might get to talk to her someday. A little chat wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?
He clinked his wedding ring against the glass and whispered, "Here's to getting back to them...," then leveled his gaze at Montressor's sneer "...To putting you to rest...," finally his eyes wandered to the pristinely clean meat hook, filet knife and tenderizer hanging on his wall "... and to revenge."
Bottoms up.
Gregory
Thursday 7/3/70 12:10:37
Even the offices at the local aquarium smelled like fish. The place was permeated with the stink. However, Vishandar said the best of the best were here and Greg was more than willing to pay for good intel.
Dr. Matthew Sushawara escorted Greg into his office and said "Vishandar led me to believe you had some rare specimens to examine, possibly awakened?"
There was a beady, eager look in the Japanese man's eyes as Greg said "Yes. Its coral, I think. I'd like it identified if you could."
"I'm always up for a challenge," the doctor responded as Greg handed him the sample jars wrapped in 500 of scrip.
"I look forward to hearing from you."
Thursday 7/3/70 12:10:37
Even the offices at the local aquarium smelled like fish. The place was permeated with the stink. However, Vishandar said the best of the best were here and Greg was more than willing to pay for good intel.
Dr. Matthew Sushawara escorted Greg into his office and said "Vishandar led me to believe you had some rare specimens to examine, possibly awakened?"
There was a beady, eager look in the Japanese man's eyes as Greg said "Yes. Its coral, I think. I'd like it identified if you could."
"I'm always up for a challenge," the doctor responded as Greg handed him the sample jars wrapped in 500
of scrip."I look forward to hearing from you."
Gregory
Thursday 7/3/70 12:12:00
"No need to wait. My database is the finest in the world for this sort of thing, and I know what parameters to isolate. If it's ever been catalogued, I'll find it for you in thirty minutes," the biologist boasted, his eyes beaming with nerdious pride.
Gregory looked around the lab in the basement of the Seattle Aquarium, just a few blocks from the ultra-secure Seattle Center. He was glad to be off those streets. Sushawara fiddles with an electron microscope and a spectrometer for a bit. They are both tied into his database, of course. He seems to almost twitch with excitement as he works.
"Oh yes yes yes. Very rare, and prized as telesma by those few who know about it. Only found off the Bimini Islands - a part of the Bahamas. Even there, many of the deposits are polluted. But happily, about half of the Biminis are privately owned by one tycoon or another, and those are often relatively clean. Unfortunately, that private ownership makes this material even harder to come by. So, if you have no further questions..." He held out the sample in one hand, and Gregory's cash in the other, alternately proferring one, then the other, clearly offering the bearded magician a choice....
Thursday 7/3/70 12:12:00
"No need to wait. My database is the finest in the world for this sort of thing, and I know what parameters to isolate. If it's ever been catalogued, I'll find it for you in thirty minutes," the biologist boasted, his eyes beaming with nerdious pride.
Gregory looked around the lab in the basement of the Seattle Aquarium, just a few blocks from the ultra-secure Seattle Center. He was glad to be off those streets. Sushawara fiddles with an electron microscope and a spectrometer for a bit. They are both tied into his database, of course. He seems to almost twitch with excitement as he works.
"Oh yes yes yes. Very rare, and prized as telesma by those few who know about it. Only found off the Bimini Islands - a part of the Bahamas. Even there, many of the deposits are polluted. But happily, about half of the Biminis are privately owned by one tycoon or another, and those are often relatively clean. Unfortunately, that private ownership makes this material even harder to come by. So, if you have no further questions..." He held out the sample in one hand, and Gregory's cash in the other, alternately proferring one, then the other, clearly offering the bearded magician a choice....
Gregory
Thursday 7/3/70 12:12:40
"Thanks for the help, Doctor. Why don't you hold on to both of those. Just don't use up all of the coral, I may need to come back for a sample now and then." Greg was gritting his teeth at the thought of letting that part of his display go, but having a few more friends in Seattle wouldn't hurt him.
Thursday 7/3/70 12:12:40
"Thanks for the help, Doctor. Why don't you hold on to both of those. Just don't use up all of the coral, I may need to come back for a sample now and then." Greg was gritting his teeth at the thought of letting that part of his display go, but having a few more friends in Seattle wouldn't hurt him.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 8:00:00
Carla sat in the back seat of the limo, across from her uncle. On her lap sat a medium-sized bag containing her few belongings.
“Now remember, Carla, if you happen to be on the streets and some punk tries to mug you, I want you to use that little stinger just like I showed you.”
Carla fiddled with the tiny Raecor Sting her uncle had given her. It was hardly larger than her hand and fit snugly inside her coat pocket. The coat was also supplied by her uncle – it looked like a long raincoat, but Carla could feel the armor plating embedded between the fabric. It was as if her uncle was sending her off to a war zone.
“Do you really think I’m going to need all this? I’ve lived in a city all my life, and I’ve managed to stay out of trouble.”
“Ah, but staying out of trouble is exactly what you won’t be doing in Seattle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since they announced you as a fugitive last week, you’re going to have to be doing underground work to make a living.”
“You mean crime.”
“Well...yes, but what’s a ‘crime,’ dear Carla?. The only thing that makes something a crime is whether or not the big shots say it is. And I think you’ve come to learn that what the big shots have to say ain’t always true.”
“So what exactly do you have in mind for me?”
“Oh, I think you have a very good opportunity. You may not have completed your medical degree, but you still know enough to fix up patients, right?”
“To an extent.”
“Well, whatever that extent is, it’s much farther than the average Joe’s ability to deal with medical problems. There’s a huge market out there for people who can’t afford legitimate medical care, Carla; you can offer it to those people for cheap, without all the legal tie-ups, red tape, and paperwork. Yes, it’s illegal, but does that make it unethical?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good, so then you won’t have any problems doing it – not that you have much of a choice at this point. Now, I don’t personally know any street docs in Seattle, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find one if you ask around a bit; remember how easily we found that guy who worked on your hand? Anyway, since you don’t have any equipment of your own, your best bet for getting started is to find some doc who needs a helping hand.”
“Isn’t all this going to put Grandma in danger?”
“Possibly, but I only intend for you to stay with her until you can afford a place of your own. After you get into the dirty business, I expect you to move out of my mother’s place; I wouldn’t want the police mistaking her as an accomplice of yours, should you get caught.”
The limo pulled to a stop on the airport runway. Alvaro had booked Carla a seat on a private flight to Seattle. After seeing the other passengers boarding the aircraft, she couldn’t help imagining that she wasn’t the only fugitive on board. Just what kinds of people was her uncle connected to?
“You’ll do fine – Carla,” Alvaro assured his niece as she exited the limo. “Your family has a history of living in the underbelly of civilization; I say that’s what got Tony killed – it wasn’t in his blood, all that high-society crap he was living....”
“But you seem to be even richer than Papa,” Carla noted.
“Exactly, and I don’t even know how much longer I have to live! Look, Carla I don’t know what they teach kids in schools these days, but don’t reach for the stars – it just makes your arm sore.”
“Thanks for the advice...and everything else.” Carla leaned into the limo and gave her uncle a quick kiss on the cheek. He chuckled with surprise.
“I thought you weren’t into those kinds of formalities!”
“I-” the jet engines fired up, drowning out her response.
“Nevermind! You’ve got a ride to catch! Adios, mi pequeña princesa!”
(continued)
Saturday 5/10/70 8:00:00
Carla sat in the back seat of the limo, across from her uncle. On her lap sat a medium-sized bag containing her few belongings.
“Now remember, Carla, if you happen to be on the streets and some punk tries to mug you, I want you to use that little stinger just like I showed you.”
Carla fiddled with the tiny Raecor Sting her uncle had given her. It was hardly larger than her hand and fit snugly inside her coat pocket. The coat was also supplied by her uncle – it looked like a long raincoat, but Carla could feel the armor plating embedded between the fabric. It was as if her uncle was sending her off to a war zone.
“Do you really think I’m going to need all this? I’ve lived in a city all my life, and I’ve managed to stay out of trouble.”
“Ah, but staying out of trouble is exactly what you won’t be doing in Seattle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since they announced you as a fugitive last week, you’re going to have to be doing underground work to make a living.”
“You mean crime.”
“Well...yes, but what’s a ‘crime,’ dear Carla?. The only thing that makes something a crime is whether or not the big shots say it is. And I think you’ve come to learn that what the big shots have to say ain’t always true.”
“So what exactly do you have in mind for me?”
“Oh, I think you have a very good opportunity. You may not have completed your medical degree, but you still know enough to fix up patients, right?”
“To an extent.”
“Well, whatever that extent is, it’s much farther than the average Joe’s ability to deal with medical problems. There’s a huge market out there for people who can’t afford legitimate medical care, Carla; you can offer it to those people for cheap, without all the legal tie-ups, red tape, and paperwork. Yes, it’s illegal, but does that make it unethical?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good, so then you won’t have any problems doing it – not that you have much of a choice at this point. Now, I don’t personally know any street docs in Seattle, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find one if you ask around a bit; remember how easily we found that guy who worked on your hand? Anyway, since you don’t have any equipment of your own, your best bet for getting started is to find some doc who needs a helping hand.”
“Isn’t all this going to put Grandma in danger?”
“Possibly, but I only intend for you to stay with her until you can afford a place of your own. After you get into the dirty business, I expect you to move out of my mother’s place; I wouldn’t want the police mistaking her as an accomplice of yours, should you get caught.”
The limo pulled to a stop on the airport runway. Alvaro had booked Carla a seat on a private flight to Seattle. After seeing the other passengers boarding the aircraft, she couldn’t help imagining that she wasn’t the only fugitive on board. Just what kinds of people was her uncle connected to?
“You’ll do fine – Carla,” Alvaro assured his niece as she exited the limo. “Your family has a history of living in the underbelly of civilization; I say that’s what got Tony killed – it wasn’t in his blood, all that high-society crap he was living....”
“But you seem to be even richer than Papa,” Carla noted.
“Exactly, and I don’t even know how much longer I have to live! Look, Carla I don’t know what they teach kids in schools these days, but don’t reach for the stars – it just makes your arm sore.”
“Thanks for the advice...and everything else.” Carla leaned into the limo and gave her uncle a quick kiss on the cheek. He chuckled with surprise.
“I thought you weren’t into those kinds of formalities!”
“I-” the jet engines fired up, drowning out her response.
“Nevermind! You’ve got a ride to catch! Adios, mi pequeña princesa!”
(continued)
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 8:30:00
Carla gazed out the window seat of the aircraft. She had just finished speaking to her grandmother, Carmen, who seemed to be taking the recent family events quite well. “I don’t have much time, Carla,” her grandmother chirped in her heavily-accented voice, “I can’t waste time being sad over the past.”
Whatever sorrow Carmen had felt for the death of her son and the subsequent framing of her granddaughter, it was thoroughly drowned out by her excitement to meet Carla for the first time. For years, Carla had kept in contact with her grandmother over telecom calls, though they had never met in person due to Carmen’s inability to travel and Carla’s father’s reluctance to visit Seattle. Carla liked her grandmother for her no-nonsense attitude; she was one of the few people Carla felt would give her an honest answer to a personal question. Despite their open relationship, however, Carla had not yet clarified what exactly she would be doing in Seattle; she told her grandmother that she was looking for work, which was true, though she hadn’t yet specified what kind. Knowing that Carla was a fugitive, perhaps her grandmother had already figured it out.
As she stared out the window, Carla reflected over the events of the past week. The day after her parents’ deaths, the police announced Carla as wanted for multiple murders. Alvaro’s first response to the announcement was to buy Carla a gun, and he gave her rudimentary training in how to use and conceal the weapon most effectively over the following few days. Alvaro also had the ‘brilliant’ idea of finding a street doc to install a shock hand into Carla’s mechanical arm.
“For maximum effect, you probably shouldn’t wear a glove on your right hand,” the engineer had explained to Carla.
“But the reason why I wear gloves at all is specifically to cover up my right hand.”
“Ah well, you’ll just have to decide what’s more important to you.”
Back on the plane, Carla looked at her right hand – it was covered under a thin, tan glove that extended halfway to her elbow. Bored, she wiggled her fingers, which sent feedback from her AR gloves to her commlink, which in turn activated the AR display in her glasses. As the main interface popped up, Carla noticed in the history log that her mother’s diary had yet to be opened. With nothing else to do for the remainder of the flight, she opened up the file and started reading.
Saturday 5/10/70 8:30:00
Carla gazed out the window seat of the aircraft. She had just finished speaking to her grandmother, Carmen, who seemed to be taking the recent family events quite well. “I don’t have much time, Carla,” her grandmother chirped in her heavily-accented voice, “I can’t waste time being sad over the past.”
Whatever sorrow Carmen had felt for the death of her son and the subsequent framing of her granddaughter, it was thoroughly drowned out by her excitement to meet Carla for the first time. For years, Carla had kept in contact with her grandmother over telecom calls, though they had never met in person due to Carmen’s inability to travel and Carla’s father’s reluctance to visit Seattle. Carla liked her grandmother for her no-nonsense attitude; she was one of the few people Carla felt would give her an honest answer to a personal question. Despite their open relationship, however, Carla had not yet clarified what exactly she would be doing in Seattle; she told her grandmother that she was looking for work, which was true, though she hadn’t yet specified what kind. Knowing that Carla was a fugitive, perhaps her grandmother had already figured it out.
As she stared out the window, Carla reflected over the events of the past week. The day after her parents’ deaths, the police announced Carla as wanted for multiple murders. Alvaro’s first response to the announcement was to buy Carla a gun, and he gave her rudimentary training in how to use and conceal the weapon most effectively over the following few days. Alvaro also had the ‘brilliant’ idea of finding a street doc to install a shock hand into Carla’s mechanical arm.
“For maximum effect, you probably shouldn’t wear a glove on your right hand,” the engineer had explained to Carla.
“But the reason why I wear gloves at all is specifically to cover up my right hand.”
“Ah well, you’ll just have to decide what’s more important to you.”
Back on the plane, Carla looked at her right hand – it was covered under a thin, tan glove that extended halfway to her elbow. Bored, she wiggled her fingers, which sent feedback from her AR gloves to her commlink, which in turn activated the AR display in her glasses. As the main interface popped up, Carla noticed in the history log that her mother’s diary had yet to be opened. With nothing else to do for the remainder of the flight, she opened up the file and started reading.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 08:40:00
Carla had been waiting like a kid on Christmas morning to read her mother's diary about her, but had forced herself to wait for a moment of quiet and solitude - something there hadn't been a lot of in the last week with Uncle Alvarez.
The very first entry:
1 August, 2044
I am pregnant again! Antonio is thrilled, but I think only a woman can know how deep my happiness runs at this news.
I pray for a girl.
Much of what followed was a chronicle of morning sickness and cramping. Weeks would go by without an entry - which seemed natural since this diary seemed only to be about things directly related to Carla. Some posts, however, definitely stood out - notably her mother's desperate desire for her child to be Gifted like herself. Reading it, Carla couldn't help feeling that she had let her mother down in some way, and consoled herself that Gregor, at least, had the Talent. But then look how that had turned out. Look how everything had turned out...
19 December, 2044
Will my genes carry, or will Antonio's be dominant. To take after her father would be all the blessing this child could rightfully ask for - he is such a good man - but that one gene of mine MUST carry through. There are whispers of one who can stack those odds in my favor....
31 December, 2044
It has cost me much in not only mana and nuyen, but also in visits to places I will not pollute this record with the nature of. But I have found her. The Midwife, they call her, and my sources assure me that though she is hideous of visage and aged beyond count of years, she is not malevolent. A witch rumored to have been gifted from well before the Awakening, versed in the Old Ways of the Goddess, I met her servants this morning, and will see her at her sanctum tonight. Timing is everything, her servants told me.
1 January, 2045
Never have I been faced with such a choice.
It was like something from a book of children's tales - the bubbling pots, the hanging roots, the movements in the dark corners. I know some of her clients, and she must be a woman of substantial wealth, but the shack in the woods upstate is like something from eons past. As is she.
With great care she went about the Divination, and I could well sense the power that surrounded her. She cast the bones upon the dirt floor and greatly puzzled was her expression then. But she looked up at me with a devilish wink, and said, "For good or ill I cannot say, but so dense a veil can only be the work of the Powerful. Angels or Demons I cannot say, but someone is taking a keen interest in your little bobbin."
She hobbled out into her yard and straightaway returned with a white chicken. The knife she produced was encrusted with jewels that would make a Park Avenue matron blush with envy, and without hesitation she thrust it into the poor bird and spilled its entrails onto the floor.
She poked and prodded and were it not that I was shuddering with the power that emanated from her and her ritual, I'd have laughed at this primitive display as pure charlatanism. But I can still feel the tingling in every cell of my body from the mana at work in that dark room on that dark night.
With eyes afire her head sprang up from her grisly inspections. "Oh milady, truly blessed you are. For you shall birth She of the White Balance."
I had no idea what she meant, but of course it had to be something mystical. So it was confirmed, my daughter WOULD have the gift.
"Yes, brilliant of mind, body, and mission shall she be. Her intellect a sharp sword, her body an inviolable temple, her mission sacred. We must commence the rituals of protection, lest they seek to assail her in her infancy."
"Yes, of course do whatever you can to safeguard her - for she must be allowed to blossom to her full magical potential," I agreed.
But her look of shocked reproach flayed at my heart. "Magical? No no no no no no no no no. Such a tool to use against them would soften her. Nay, her servants shall wield the mystical arts, but not she - like sight to the blind, it would dull her hearing, it would taint her purity of will, her more natural weapons, the gifts to be bestowed upon her by the powers that would thwart our enemies - HER enemies."
Of course I protested. What sort of mockery was this? She smoked a pipe as she weathered my many complaints and renunciations. When I was spent, she told me of some ridiculous Prophecy that must have been calculated to amuse children in centuries past. Or perhaps she made it up on the spot.
"Dearie, there is the plane we see, and that which most do not. And beyond that are the metaplanes beyond counting or ken. But dearie, there are realms yet deeper away and farther between than you can begin to imagine. And not tomorrow nor the year after next, but mark me sooner than we'd any of us like, the Prodigal Son shall return from his sojourns to such places. And his return shall not be gentle.
"With the arrogance of all his kind, he shall scant be heedful, neither, of what may come in his wake. Many sojourners of the planes of all color and stripe shall avail themselves of that Gate, but none shall go into this world so deadly nor so fell as that dread horde from the place that is farther than the place beyond the planes. Like scourge shall they be upon both living and dead, that none may hope to pass in peace to that rest that awaits.
"Men shall say they steal bodies, but that is only because men shall have chosen to forget that more than air and water make a life. Nay, what they take is much more precious than the body, and when they take it, it dies forever."
My spine tingled at her words, but now she was talking about my daughter, and all I heard was a pack of lame excuses why this old hag thought my little girl should be denied the Gift. I made to leave, and then her tone turned from imperious to groveling. She begged me to stay, to let her perform the rituals that would 'protect' my baby - protect her by ensuring she never be magical. Of course I refused. In desperation, she promised that if I would let her do her enchantments, she would alter them to ensure my child's magical nature. She told me this was the only way that my child would be magical at all.
So now I am left with the choice - if she is lying, or simply mad, dare I submit that which is in my womb to her ministrations? But if she is telling the truth, how will I live with myself if I do not seize this opportunity on my baby's behalf? Or if she is telling only half the truth, but which half.
10 January, 2045
In the end, I remembered the assurances of my friends. All said the same thing - she seemed strange and said disturbing things, but there was no malice in her. Their own children were healthy and displayed amazing magical talent.
And so I took myself and the one I carry within me and submitted to the Midwife's rituals.
What followed was a chronicle of horrible events miraculously averted. Wherever her mother went thoughout the remainder of her pregnancy, she seemed to be a magnet for disaster. Train crashes, bank robberies, fires, even a meteor strike. And yet each time her mother had been spared by what seemed to be the purest of luck. And with each passing event, her mother became more confident that she had been correct in taking the Midwife's advice.
Carla read on for hours and bittersweet tears came to her eyes as she saw from her mother's perspective all the blessed events of her early life - birth, baptism, first words, first day of school - but all the while she knew she must also be approaching that day when she was eight and - as if it were Christmas and New Year and Thanksgiving all rolled into one - her mother had dressed her up in a new outfit and taken her to be tested for magical ability. Carla remembered that day - and so many others like it - a yearly ritual that slowly turned into a time of year to dread - an annual memorial to her mother's sad desperation - she remembered that day perfectly well on her own. She did not relish the prospect of reliving it through the eyes of another; she had enough to mull over for now, and plenty of time ahead on. Her eyelids heavy, she turned off the AR display and settled into a fitful sleep.
Saturday 5/10/70 08:40:00
Carla had been waiting like a kid on Christmas morning to read her mother's diary about her, but had forced herself to wait for a moment of quiet and solitude - something there hadn't been a lot of in the last week with Uncle Alvarez.
The very first entry:
1 August, 2044
I am pregnant again! Antonio is thrilled, but I think only a woman can know how deep my happiness runs at this news.
I pray for a girl.
Much of what followed was a chronicle of morning sickness and cramping. Weeks would go by without an entry - which seemed natural since this diary seemed only to be about things directly related to Carla. Some posts, however, definitely stood out - notably her mother's desperate desire for her child to be Gifted like herself. Reading it, Carla couldn't help feeling that she had let her mother down in some way, and consoled herself that Gregor, at least, had the Talent. But then look how that had turned out. Look how everything had turned out...
19 December, 2044
Will my genes carry, or will Antonio's be dominant. To take after her father would be all the blessing this child could rightfully ask for - he is such a good man - but that one gene of mine MUST carry through. There are whispers of one who can stack those odds in my favor....
31 December, 2044
It has cost me much in not only mana and nuyen, but also in visits to places I will not pollute this record with the nature of. But I have found her. The Midwife, they call her, and my sources assure me that though she is hideous of visage and aged beyond count of years, she is not malevolent. A witch rumored to have been gifted from well before the Awakening, versed in the Old Ways of the Goddess, I met her servants this morning, and will see her at her sanctum tonight. Timing is everything, her servants told me.
1 January, 2045
Never have I been faced with such a choice.
It was like something from a book of children's tales - the bubbling pots, the hanging roots, the movements in the dark corners. I know some of her clients, and she must be a woman of substantial wealth, but the shack in the woods upstate is like something from eons past. As is she.
With great care she went about the Divination, and I could well sense the power that surrounded her. She cast the bones upon the dirt floor and greatly puzzled was her expression then. But she looked up at me with a devilish wink, and said, "For good or ill I cannot say, but so dense a veil can only be the work of the Powerful. Angels or Demons I cannot say, but someone is taking a keen interest in your little bobbin."
She hobbled out into her yard and straightaway returned with a white chicken. The knife she produced was encrusted with jewels that would make a Park Avenue matron blush with envy, and without hesitation she thrust it into the poor bird and spilled its entrails onto the floor.
She poked and prodded and were it not that I was shuddering with the power that emanated from her and her ritual, I'd have laughed at this primitive display as pure charlatanism. But I can still feel the tingling in every cell of my body from the mana at work in that dark room on that dark night.
With eyes afire her head sprang up from her grisly inspections. "Oh milady, truly blessed you are. For you shall birth She of the White Balance."
I had no idea what she meant, but of course it had to be something mystical. So it was confirmed, my daughter WOULD have the gift.
"Yes, brilliant of mind, body, and mission shall she be. Her intellect a sharp sword, her body an inviolable temple, her mission sacred. We must commence the rituals of protection, lest they seek to assail her in her infancy."
"Yes, of course do whatever you can to safeguard her - for she must be allowed to blossom to her full magical potential," I agreed.
But her look of shocked reproach flayed at my heart. "Magical? No no no no no no no no no. Such a tool to use against them would soften her. Nay, her servants shall wield the mystical arts, but not she - like sight to the blind, it would dull her hearing, it would taint her purity of will, her more natural weapons, the gifts to be bestowed upon her by the powers that would thwart our enemies - HER enemies."
Of course I protested. What sort of mockery was this? She smoked a pipe as she weathered my many complaints and renunciations. When I was spent, she told me of some ridiculous Prophecy that must have been calculated to amuse children in centuries past. Or perhaps she made it up on the spot.
"Dearie, there is the plane we see, and that which most do not. And beyond that are the metaplanes beyond counting or ken. But dearie, there are realms yet deeper away and farther between than you can begin to imagine. And not tomorrow nor the year after next, but mark me sooner than we'd any of us like, the Prodigal Son shall return from his sojourns to such places. And his return shall not be gentle.
"With the arrogance of all his kind, he shall scant be heedful, neither, of what may come in his wake. Many sojourners of the planes of all color and stripe shall avail themselves of that Gate, but none shall go into this world so deadly nor so fell as that dread horde from the place that is farther than the place beyond the planes. Like scourge shall they be upon both living and dead, that none may hope to pass in peace to that rest that awaits.
"Men shall say they steal bodies, but that is only because men shall have chosen to forget that more than air and water make a life. Nay, what they take is much more precious than the body, and when they take it, it dies forever."
My spine tingled at her words, but now she was talking about my daughter, and all I heard was a pack of lame excuses why this old hag thought my little girl should be denied the Gift. I made to leave, and then her tone turned from imperious to groveling. She begged me to stay, to let her perform the rituals that would 'protect' my baby - protect her by ensuring she never be magical. Of course I refused. In desperation, she promised that if I would let her do her enchantments, she would alter them to ensure my child's magical nature. She told me this was the only way that my child would be magical at all.
So now I am left with the choice - if she is lying, or simply mad, dare I submit that which is in my womb to her ministrations? But if she is telling the truth, how will I live with myself if I do not seize this opportunity on my baby's behalf? Or if she is telling only half the truth, but which half.
10 January, 2045
In the end, I remembered the assurances of my friends. All said the same thing - she seemed strange and said disturbing things, but there was no malice in her. Their own children were healthy and displayed amazing magical talent.
And so I took myself and the one I carry within me and submitted to the Midwife's rituals.
What followed was a chronicle of horrible events miraculously averted. Wherever her mother went thoughout the remainder of her pregnancy, she seemed to be a magnet for disaster. Train crashes, bank robberies, fires, even a meteor strike. And yet each time her mother had been spared by what seemed to be the purest of luck. And with each passing event, her mother became more confident that she had been correct in taking the Midwife's advice.
Carla read on for hours and bittersweet tears came to her eyes as she saw from her mother's perspective all the blessed events of her early life - birth, baptism, first words, first day of school - but all the while she knew she must also be approaching that day when she was eight and - as if it were Christmas and New Year and Thanksgiving all rolled into one - her mother had dressed her up in a new outfit and taken her to be tested for magical ability. Carla remembered that day - and so many others like it - a yearly ritual that slowly turned into a time of year to dread - an annual memorial to her mother's sad desperation - she remembered that day perfectly well on her own. She did not relish the prospect of reliving it through the eyes of another; she had enough to mull over for now, and plenty of time ahead on. Her eyelids heavy, she turned off the AR display and settled into a fitful sleep.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 13:40:00
"Ehehehehehahahaha!"
Carla was tied to a vertical wooden post above a huge cauldron of boiling water. Little goblin-like creatures were dancing around the cauldron in a circle while a wicked, elven witch tossed what appeared to be some sort of spice into the pot. Carla struggled to untangle herself, but her fidgeting only caused her arms to chafe against the splintered wood, causing both of them to bleed. Suddenly, the witch cackled again, and Carla felt herself descending as the wooden post melted down, down towards the boiling water below. The little goblins were throwing things at her - carrots, pebbles, apples, eggs - seemingly in anticipation for their dinner. She was almost in the water - she could feel the steam burning the soles of her feet when one of the goblins suddenly hit her with a rock smack in the forehead-
"Ow!"
****************************************
Carla rubbed her head as she sat up in her seat. The sporadic jerking motions of the aircraft had caused her head to bang against the window. "Watch yerself, missy," said the passenger adjacent to her, a slimy looking, middle-aged dwarf. "May want ta strap yerself in for the landin'."
Landing? Already? Had she finished reading the journal? Had she fallen asleep in the middle? Had she dreamt up half of that crazy story? Carla looked out the window; it was raining and the air was thick with fog, but Carla could just make out the city lights in the distance. She wouldn't have time to overlook the diary now - the flight was going to end any minute...
Saturday 5/10/70 14:00:00
The aircraft finally jolted to a stop. Judging by the surroundings, it appeared that they had landed on some old, abandoned highway outside of the city. From her window, Carla could see a handful of taxis and helicopters waiting to escort the passengers to obscurity. One of the taxi drivers had a large cardboard sign saying "Carmen."
"Okay, ladies and gents," the pilot said over the intercom. "You know the drill: you have 10 minutes to get your stuff and get lost."
With just one bag that she had carried with her, it didn't take Carla long to get off the plane. Curious about the "Carmen" sign, Carla rushed through the rain across the highway to where the taxi was parked. Perhaps her uncle had arranged a ride for her.
"Excuse me," she asked, waiting for the driver to lower his window. "Does your sign refer to Carmen Sa-"
The driver cut her off with a hand gesture. "Hey, missy. I don't know your name. I don't need ta know your name. I don't wanna know your name. So you don't tell me your name, I don't tell you mine, and we live happily ever after, eh?"
Slightly baffled, Carla paused for a moment and addressed the driver, "So how do you know if I'm the one you're supposed to pick up?"
"Where ya headin'?"
Carla named her grandmother's address.
"That's the one. Hop in, missy - oh, and don't worry about the fare; you're all paid for."
Saturday 5/10/70 13:40:00
"Ehehehehehahahaha!"
Carla was tied to a vertical wooden post above a huge cauldron of boiling water. Little goblin-like creatures were dancing around the cauldron in a circle while a wicked, elven witch tossed what appeared to be some sort of spice into the pot. Carla struggled to untangle herself, but her fidgeting only caused her arms to chafe against the splintered wood, causing both of them to bleed. Suddenly, the witch cackled again, and Carla felt herself descending as the wooden post melted down, down towards the boiling water below. The little goblins were throwing things at her - carrots, pebbles, apples, eggs - seemingly in anticipation for their dinner. She was almost in the water - she could feel the steam burning the soles of her feet when one of the goblins suddenly hit her with a rock smack in the forehead-
"Ow!"
****************************************
Carla rubbed her head as she sat up in her seat. The sporadic jerking motions of the aircraft had caused her head to bang against the window. "Watch yerself, missy," said the passenger adjacent to her, a slimy looking, middle-aged dwarf. "May want ta strap yerself in for the landin'."
Landing? Already? Had she finished reading the journal? Had she fallen asleep in the middle? Had she dreamt up half of that crazy story? Carla looked out the window; it was raining and the air was thick with fog, but Carla could just make out the city lights in the distance. She wouldn't have time to overlook the diary now - the flight was going to end any minute...
Saturday 5/10/70 14:00:00
The aircraft finally jolted to a stop. Judging by the surroundings, it appeared that they had landed on some old, abandoned highway outside of the city. From her window, Carla could see a handful of taxis and helicopters waiting to escort the passengers to obscurity. One of the taxi drivers had a large cardboard sign saying "Carmen."
"Okay, ladies and gents," the pilot said over the intercom. "You know the drill: you have 10 minutes to get your stuff and get lost."
With just one bag that she had carried with her, it didn't take Carla long to get off the plane. Curious about the "Carmen" sign, Carla rushed through the rain across the highway to where the taxi was parked. Perhaps her uncle had arranged a ride for her.
"Excuse me," she asked, waiting for the driver to lower his window. "Does your sign refer to Carmen Sa-"
The driver cut her off with a hand gesture. "Hey, missy. I don't know your name. I don't need ta know your name. I don't wanna know your name. So you don't tell me your name, I don't tell you mine, and we live happily ever after, eh?"
Slightly baffled, Carla paused for a moment and addressed the driver, "So how do you know if I'm the one you're supposed to pick up?"
"Where ya headin'?"
Carla named her grandmother's address.
"That's the one. Hop in, missy - oh, and don't worry about the fare; you're all paid for."
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:43:00
It had been a long drive south from the small field at the edge of Everett, with Saturday afternoon traffic heavy, just like the spring rain. It drove home to Carla just how large the Metroplex was.
The cabbie hadn't been inclined to talk, but when he finally pulled off the freeway and pulled into a Stuffer Shack parking lot, he turned around and faced her. "This is as far as any amount of money'll pay me to go. The address you're headed for is right down that street about five blocks," he said, pointing down a passage between dilapidated structures that Carla would have hesitated to glorify with the word 'street.' "You take care now," said, and her door opened.
Taking a deep breath, she took her bag in her left hand and put her other hand in the pocket with the Raecor.
She couldn't believe her grandmother lived in a neighborhood like this. Why, it was like the Barrens she's seen docutrids about!
She strode down the street, feeling civilization leave her behind as she left the Stuffer parking lot. As she entered the street she'd been directed down, she realized that while it had looked quiet from without, the crumbling buildings were a seeming hive of activity.
And from out of the woodwork from before and behind her emerged a group of five young men ranging in age from 12 to 22. Each was dressed in carefully creased slacks over shiny black shoes, and wore long-sleeve flannerl shirts with only the very top button fastened. Underneath were bleached white T-shirts.
She could see right away they meant to speak to her, and she prayed that was all.
Once they were all around her, they sort of half bowed. "Hola, senorita. Habla espanol?"
Saturday 5/10/70 15:43:00
It had been a long drive south from the small field at the edge of Everett, with Saturday afternoon traffic heavy, just like the spring rain. It drove home to Carla just how large the Metroplex was.
The cabbie hadn't been inclined to talk, but when he finally pulled off the freeway and pulled into a Stuffer Shack parking lot, he turned around and faced her. "This is as far as any amount of money'll pay me to go. The address you're headed for is right down that street about five blocks," he said, pointing down a passage between dilapidated structures that Carla would have hesitated to glorify with the word 'street.' "You take care now," said, and her door opened.
Taking a deep breath, she took her bag in her left hand and put her other hand in the pocket with the Raecor.
She couldn't believe her grandmother lived in a neighborhood like this. Why, it was like the Barrens she's seen docutrids about!
She strode down the street, feeling civilization leave her behind as she left the Stuffer parking lot. As she entered the street she'd been directed down, she realized that while it had looked quiet from without, the crumbling buildings were a seeming hive of activity.
And from out of the woodwork from before and behind her emerged a group of five young men ranging in age from 12 to 22. Each was dressed in carefully creased slacks over shiny black shoes, and wore long-sleeve flannerl shirts with only the very top button fastened. Underneath were bleached white T-shirts.
She could see right away they meant to speak to her, and she prayed that was all.
Once they were all around her, they sort of half bowed. "Hola, senorita. Habla espanol?"
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:44:00
Shit...am I getting mugged? I haven't even been on the street for five minutes. How the hell does grandma survive out here?
Carla reciprocated the strangers' greeting with a slight bow of her own. She had never greeted anyone with a bow before and felt a little silly doing so, but when in Rome...
So as to avoid an appearance of vulnerability, Carla feigned an air of self-confidence and replied, "I'm sorry, I do not speak Spanish." During her grade school years, Carla had chosen to study French, her mother's native tongue, as opposed to Spanish - it was a fact that Carla feared had irritated her father for a long time.
Eager to be done with this encounter and reach her grandmother's home, Carla asked, "Can I do something for you, gentlemen?" She was curious about what the strangers could possibly want with her; wrapped in her overcoat from shoulders to shins, she gave no outward signs of possessing anything of value...except for the bag she was carrying.
Saturday 5/10/70 15:44:00
Shit...am I getting mugged? I haven't even been on the street for five minutes. How the hell does grandma survive out here?
Carla reciprocated the strangers' greeting with a slight bow of her own. She had never greeted anyone with a bow before and felt a little silly doing so, but when in Rome...
So as to avoid an appearance of vulnerability, Carla feigned an air of self-confidence and replied, "I'm sorry, I do not speak Spanish." During her grade school years, Carla had chosen to study French, her mother's native tongue, as opposed to Spanish - it was a fact that Carla feared had irritated her father for a long time.
Eager to be done with this encounter and reach her grandmother's home, Carla asked, "Can I do something for you, gentlemen?" She was curious about what the strangers could possibly want with her; wrapped in her overcoat from shoulders to shins, she gave no outward signs of possessing anything of value...except for the bag she was carrying.
Electra
Friday 5/23/70 10:10:53
Living in the Squeeze was not all it was cracked up to be; considering it was cracked up to be the worst place in the South to live, Electra had a somewhat hard time adjusting. She began to realise the enormity of the problems that would soon be facing her. You can't negotiate with starvation and random gunfire, and frankly Electra did not have much by way of other skills.
Her first problem was getting a disguise, she was sure that once her deception was officially discovered her face would be plastered all over the waves, and 'escaped terrorist' was not the 'in' look these days. Finding a building far too dilapidated to be used for shelter, but with some walls still standing for cover from the street, she pulled out a holo mirror, then cut her hair shorter, sprayed on some blonde-in-a-can, and curls-in-a-can, then using her purloined makeup kit she paled her face, then added a bit of age, her kinesthics wrinkling her skin before she deepened the lines with carefully selected shades of base. A beanie covered her ears, and wraparound shades her eyes, fortunately she was athletically built for an elf, so with a bit of strategic padding she could pass as a slight built human girl. Good enough for government work.
Now for the really tough part; contacting her family without being traced. With the Stavros family being under the watchful eye of Britain's finest, she figured that any direct commcall would lead to her rapid incarceration. Shame that she had kept out of her family's dodgy past, she may have known some of the less licit methods of contacting them. Oh well, sometimes the direct approach is best. Picking a likely looking lad, a somewhat geeky looking twentysomething, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself looks small. hopefully not a cereal killer, but you takes your money and makes your choice Electra moved in for the kill.
"y'all right mate? haven't seen you for years!"
"Uh..."
"Oh come on, you remember, we went to class together." Electra smiled broadly, leaning back a bit to show off her padding.
Make a guess you bastard, make a guess, make a guess, make a guess...
"Uh, I'm home tutored..."
*%&^! fragging "£$%£%!" geek Her smile did not flicker.
"Damn, you saw through my cunning ruse, I'm new to this area and I was hoping I could find a nice young man to lend me a comm so I can call my family and tell 'em I'm here ok."
"What happened to yours?"
"Broke it on the way down, I'm such a ditz, it had me cred in it. Let me borrow yours and I'll let you buy me a drink."
This time her smile trumped normal earth logic, and in a minute she was dialling her brother, Tatalo Spiros. Time to kill two birds with one stone. Electra spoke in a perfect replication of her brother's voice.
<<Hiya, bro, I'm just borrowing this guy's comm, mine's broke, sis says hi and that she needs to secure a new comm. In the mean time I'm speaking for her.>>
The confusion in Talos's soice was fairly evident, but he was one of the best improvisers in the family, that was why Electra had chosen him to contact first.
<<Err, sure thing bro, where are you?>>
<<Near The Squeeze>>
<<Ok uh... there's a bar called The Wasted West be there in half an hour, and ask for a 'Skinned Grgreenskin'>>
Now that game was one that Talos had played in the past, sending people to a known violent bar, and getting them to ask the barkeep for something totally inappropriate. He must have been surprised, he usually did better.
<<Sorry, bro, I don't play the bar game, sis says that since the thing last June she dosen't drink with you any more. It'll probably be on the news soonish.>>
<<What?>>
There was a pause before Talos came back on the line.
<<...Ok bro, tell you what, ask the barkeep if there's a call for you instead. Gotta go, later.>>
Electra still speaking in Talos's voice turned to her benefactor.
'Well, I've not had the operation yet, so I'm not yet his sister. You up for a drink, mate?'
'Uh... Sorry, I just remembered I gotta go'
'Your loss, man.'
Number 30, extremely proactive birth control. Voice contol rocks.
Now to find the bar.
The Wasted West was just the place she thought it would be. Bullet holes told a story, of drive by shootings, and 'dance, boy, dance'. The clientelle would have to take ettiquette, and elocution lessons, just to be called pond scum.
She guessed the place was a front for a protection racket of some description, as people would certainly never come here for the atmosphere. The only plus was that the Ork bouncers outside were huge, so that meant that violence inside the club would be reserved for tourists and other people the staff took a dislike to. Also, judging by the size of some of the motorbikes outside, this was an ork friendly bar. Not the kind of place a polieman would go. Good.
You're a Tiger, lord of the jungle, and these bouncers are tigers, too, but slightly smaller ones. You are their mother and they owe you the proper respect and courtesy. You are a hardened Gilette just looking for an excuse to peel somebody with your spurs. Think Big, Electra, think big.
As Electra approached the building, she smelled something odd from the alley beside it. Cooking, with the new nose Jackal had given her she could pick out the individual flavours from the mix, and knew immediatly that the cook could do with a few pointers.
Time to see how much more shit my mouth can get me into.
'You armed, miss?' one of the Ork bouncers asked, politely as she approached the door
'Why do you ask?'
'No weapons allowed inside.'
Electra looked calculatingly into the bar, then back at the ork
'Yeah, right. That may work with the toruists, but the guy third from the left at the bar is cayying, so's the guy with his back to the wall in the far side cubby. Jerks in the bar see me handing you my weapons they may make the mistake of trying to start shit, and you do not want the cleaning bill that would cause you for your carpets.'
There was a slight pause as the bouncers considered this.
'Ok, but don't start nuffink.'
'Don't worry about that, I never start a thing. Finished a few in my time, but never started 'em.'
Electra walked in with total self confidence radiating from every pore. The inside of the place was much as she had expected. Bottles of bathtub special on shelves, suspiciously improvised looking barrels on tap, and a clientelle, who, she was sure, were only not trying to kill her because she was marginally more interesting alive rather than dead.
Message for Talos She said to the barkeep.
'Yah, take it upstairs.'
So, Talos was being paranoid as ever.
'Sure, but tell the goon squad up there no sudden moves, and they ain't getting my sidearm until after I spoke to my brother. I hate doing wetwork for free.'
The way the barman's face fell she could tell that she had read her brother right.
'Oh, and if they start shit, I'll hold you... accountible'
Electra walked up to meet her fate.
The goon squad was surprisingly polite, but the scent of chloroform on the air gave them away. Again, some laconic words from Electra changed their plans slightly, after all, only somebody really good could act so totally unconcerned about that much ordinance around her.
Finally she got her face to face with Talos and having waited for him to calm down somewhat, and explained her situation to him, and made it clear that familial intervention would be a bad plan, but liquidating her assets in London, and holding the cash would be helpful. She also told Talso her shopping list.
After about ten minutes of planning, a trace attempt was detected on the line, and the call had to terminate, but by that point Electra had the location of the drop where she could pick up her new ID and commlink.
Next to find somewhere to work. Electra toured the shelters, and squats, until she found what she was looking for. The Blue Oyster bar catered to genlemen of taste and discretion who, for reasons known only to themselves and their maker, sometimes felt the need to meet up with other men, or orks, or trolls, of somewhat less taste and somewhat more... negotiable discretion for perfectly consentual, if somewhat unusual activities that were none of the Blue Oyster Bar's business, thank you very much.
Getting a job in a gay bar can be difficult, except if you like men, can sing that Electric Six classic tone perfect, can cook cordon bleu, appreciate and dissemble wine into it's component parts effortlessly, can make anybody feel at ease, and know most of the musicals of broadway. The best bit was that nobody talked about the Blue Oyster outside the Blue Oyster, and nobody there was paying much attention to the few women in the place. She had considered pretending to be a drag queen, but felt that seeing as most drag queens these days looked more female than actual women that she would really not know where to start.
Electra spent her time off duty moving around looking for communes to crash with. She would stay a week or so at a place, act the china doll ice queen and give nothing away, keep the place tidy and keep a way eye out for those who looked at her with bad intent. On more than one occasion she had a night where some instinct had told her that one of the commune would try something. Each time they had snuck into her room to find the place empty, and Electra, meanwhile, had booked herself into one of the rather expensive, but definitley private rooms of the variety that were rented by the hour. The next day she would be out and about looking for a new communal squat.
Friday 5/23/70 10:10:53
Living in the Squeeze was not all it was cracked up to be; considering it was cracked up to be the worst place in the South to live, Electra had a somewhat hard time adjusting. She began to realise the enormity of the problems that would soon be facing her. You can't negotiate with starvation and random gunfire, and frankly Electra did not have much by way of other skills.
Her first problem was getting a disguise, she was sure that once her deception was officially discovered her face would be plastered all over the waves, and 'escaped terrorist' was not the 'in' look these days. Finding a building far too dilapidated to be used for shelter, but with some walls still standing for cover from the street, she pulled out a holo mirror, then cut her hair shorter, sprayed on some blonde-in-a-can, and curls-in-a-can, then using her purloined makeup kit she paled her face, then added a bit of age, her kinesthics wrinkling her skin before she deepened the lines with carefully selected shades of base. A beanie covered her ears, and wraparound shades her eyes, fortunately she was athletically built for an elf, so with a bit of strategic padding she could pass as a slight built human girl. Good enough for government work.
Now for the really tough part; contacting her family without being traced. With the Stavros family being under the watchful eye of Britain's finest, she figured that any direct commcall would lead to her rapid incarceration. Shame that she had kept out of her family's dodgy past, she may have known some of the less licit methods of contacting them. Oh well, sometimes the direct approach is best. Picking a likely looking lad, a somewhat geeky looking twentysomething, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself looks small. hopefully not a cereal killer, but you takes your money and makes your choice Electra moved in for the kill.
"y'all right mate? haven't seen you for years!"
"Uh..."
"Oh come on, you remember, we went to class together." Electra smiled broadly, leaning back a bit to show off her padding.
Make a guess you bastard, make a guess, make a guess, make a guess...
"Uh, I'm home tutored..."
*%&^! fragging "£$%£%!" geek Her smile did not flicker.
"Damn, you saw through my cunning ruse, I'm new to this area and I was hoping I could find a nice young man to lend me a comm so I can call my family and tell 'em I'm here ok."
"What happened to yours?"
"Broke it on the way down, I'm such a ditz, it had me cred in it. Let me borrow yours and I'll let you buy me a drink."
This time her smile trumped normal earth logic, and in a minute she was dialling her brother, Tatalo Spiros. Time to kill two birds with one stone. Electra spoke in a perfect replication of her brother's voice.
<<Hiya, bro, I'm just borrowing this guy's comm, mine's broke, sis says hi and that she needs to secure a new comm. In the mean time I'm speaking for her.>>
The confusion in Talos's soice was fairly evident, but he was one of the best improvisers in the family, that was why Electra had chosen him to contact first.
<<Err, sure thing bro, where are you?>>
<<Near The Squeeze>>
<<Ok uh... there's a bar called The Wasted West be there in half an hour, and ask for a 'Skinned Grgreenskin'>>
Now that game was one that Talos had played in the past, sending people to a known violent bar, and getting them to ask the barkeep for something totally inappropriate. He must have been surprised, he usually did better.
<<Sorry, bro, I don't play the bar game, sis says that since the thing last June she dosen't drink with you any more. It'll probably be on the news soonish.>>
<<What?>>
There was a pause before Talos came back on the line.
<<...Ok bro, tell you what, ask the barkeep if there's a call for you instead. Gotta go, later.>>
Electra still speaking in Talos's voice turned to her benefactor.
'Well, I've not had the operation yet, so I'm not yet his sister. You up for a drink, mate?'
'Uh... Sorry, I just remembered I gotta go'
'Your loss, man.'
Number 30, extremely proactive birth control. Voice contol rocks.
Now to find the bar.
The Wasted West was just the place she thought it would be. Bullet holes told a story, of drive by shootings, and 'dance, boy, dance'. The clientelle would have to take ettiquette, and elocution lessons, just to be called pond scum.
She guessed the place was a front for a protection racket of some description, as people would certainly never come here for the atmosphere. The only plus was that the Ork bouncers outside were huge, so that meant that violence inside the club would be reserved for tourists and other people the staff took a dislike to. Also, judging by the size of some of the motorbikes outside, this was an ork friendly bar. Not the kind of place a polieman would go. Good.
You're a Tiger, lord of the jungle, and these bouncers are tigers, too, but slightly smaller ones. You are their mother and they owe you the proper respect and courtesy. You are a hardened Gilette just looking for an excuse to peel somebody with your spurs. Think Big, Electra, think big.
As Electra approached the building, she smelled something odd from the alley beside it. Cooking, with the new nose Jackal had given her she could pick out the individual flavours from the mix, and knew immediatly that the cook could do with a few pointers.
Time to see how much more shit my mouth can get me into.
'You armed, miss?' one of the Ork bouncers asked, politely as she approached the door
'Why do you ask?'
'No weapons allowed inside.'
Electra looked calculatingly into the bar, then back at the ork
'Yeah, right. That may work with the toruists, but the guy third from the left at the bar is cayying, so's the guy with his back to the wall in the far side cubby. Jerks in the bar see me handing you my weapons they may make the mistake of trying to start shit, and you do not want the cleaning bill that would cause you for your carpets.'
There was a slight pause as the bouncers considered this.
'Ok, but don't start nuffink.'
'Don't worry about that, I never start a thing. Finished a few in my time, but never started 'em.'
Electra walked in with total self confidence radiating from every pore. The inside of the place was much as she had expected. Bottles of bathtub special on shelves, suspiciously improvised looking barrels on tap, and a clientelle, who, she was sure, were only not trying to kill her because she was marginally more interesting alive rather than dead.
Message for Talos She said to the barkeep.
'Yah, take it upstairs.'
So, Talos was being paranoid as ever.
'Sure, but tell the goon squad up there no sudden moves, and they ain't getting my sidearm until after I spoke to my brother. I hate doing wetwork for free.'
The way the barman's face fell she could tell that she had read her brother right.
'Oh, and if they start shit, I'll hold you... accountible'
Electra walked up to meet her fate.
The goon squad was surprisingly polite, but the scent of chloroform on the air gave them away. Again, some laconic words from Electra changed their plans slightly, after all, only somebody really good could act so totally unconcerned about that much ordinance around her.
Finally she got her face to face with Talos and having waited for him to calm down somewhat, and explained her situation to him, and made it clear that familial intervention would be a bad plan, but liquidating her assets in London, and holding the cash would be helpful. She also told Talso her shopping list.
After about ten minutes of planning, a trace attempt was detected on the line, and the call had to terminate, but by that point Electra had the location of the drop where she could pick up her new ID and commlink.
Next to find somewhere to work. Electra toured the shelters, and squats, until she found what she was looking for. The Blue Oyster bar catered to genlemen of taste and discretion who, for reasons known only to themselves and their maker, sometimes felt the need to meet up with other men, or orks, or trolls, of somewhat less taste and somewhat more... negotiable discretion for perfectly consentual, if somewhat unusual activities that were none of the Blue Oyster Bar's business, thank you very much.
Getting a job in a gay bar can be difficult, except if you like men, can sing that Electric Six classic tone perfect, can cook cordon bleu, appreciate and dissemble wine into it's component parts effortlessly, can make anybody feel at ease, and know most of the musicals of broadway. The best bit was that nobody talked about the Blue Oyster outside the Blue Oyster, and nobody there was paying much attention to the few women in the place. She had considered pretending to be a drag queen, but felt that seeing as most drag queens these days looked more female than actual women that she would really not know where to start.
Electra spent her time off duty moving around looking for communes to crash with. She would stay a week or so at a place, act the china doll ice queen and give nothing away, keep the place tidy and keep a way eye out for those who looked at her with bad intent. On more than one occasion she had a night where some instinct had told her that one of the commune would try something. Each time they had snuck into her room to find the place empty, and Electra, meanwhile, had booked herself into one of the rather expensive, but definitley private rooms of the variety that were rented by the hour. The next day she would be out and about looking for a new communal squat.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:00
The young men looked at each other in some confusion. Standing in a rough circle around Carla, they spoke for a moment in Spanish. Carla spoke some French, and more Latin, so it was not that hard to pick out a few key words. She heard what she thought was 'house' and 'job.' And she heard them mention el jefe several times, and what she thought was the word for angry.
Finally the oldest one hit another on the shoulder a few times, prodding him. The young man said to Carla, "Senorita, you come, please, por favor."
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:00
The young men looked at each other in some confusion. Standing in a rough circle around Carla, they spoke for a moment in Spanish. Carla spoke some French, and more Latin, so it was not that hard to pick out a few key words. She heard what she thought was 'house' and 'job.' And she heard them mention el jefe several times, and what she thought was the word for angry.
Finally the oldest one hit another on the shoulder a few times, prodding him. The young man said to Carla, "Senorita, you come, please, por favor."
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:05
Though still wary of the strangers, Carla relaxed a bit, glad to see that they weren't hostile; in fact, the speaker even seemed a little nervous, which helped Carla secure her confidence. Of course, this could all be an act, so Carla didn't let down her guard just yet.
Trying to keep up her show of courtesy and confidence, Carla asked the speaker, "Won't you tell me where you are going, senor?"
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:05
Though still wary of the strangers, Carla relaxed a bit, glad to see that they weren't hostile; in fact, the speaker even seemed a little nervous, which helped Carla secure her confidence. Of course, this could all be an act, so Carla didn't let down her guard just yet.
Trying to keep up her show of courtesy and confidence, Carla asked the speaker, "Won't you tell me where you are going, senor?"
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:10
Boy smiled nervously at Carla while she spoke, then blurted "Si, si, you come now, senorita, por favor." He reached for her hand....
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:10
Boy smiled nervously at Carla while she spoke, then blurted "Si, si, you come now, senorita, por favor." He reached for her hand....
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:30
Carla instinctively withdrew from the boy's approach. Perhaps these strangers weren't brutish thugs, but that gave Carla no reason to trust them. Thrusting both her hands in her pockets, Carla addressed the stranger as assertively as she could without coming across as offensive. A hint of nervousness, however, was still detectable in her voice.
"I'm sorry, senor, I cannot; I'm in a hurry to get somewhere." She gave a little bow, assuming that was their custom. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."
With that, she turned to leave, hoping the men blocking her path would part for her.
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:30
Carla instinctively withdrew from the boy's approach. Perhaps these strangers weren't brutish thugs, but that gave Carla no reason to trust them. Thrusting both her hands in her pockets, Carla addressed the stranger as assertively as she could without coming across as offensive. A hint of nervousness, however, was still detectable in her voice.
"I'm sorry, senor, I cannot; I'm in a hurry to get somewhere." She gave a little bow, assuming that was their custom. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."
With that, she turned to leave, hoping the men blocking her path would part for her.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:35
No one blocked her as she set off down the street in the direction the cabbie had indicated, setting her expression and making her stride as purposeful as possible.
Seeing that she was headed in the same direction they had wanted her to go in, the oldest boy shrugged and led the others as they fell in behind her, following at a polite distance and chattering among themselves.
Saturday 5/10/70 15:45:35
No one blocked her as she set off down the street in the direction the cabbie had indicated, setting her expression and making her stride as purposeful as possible.
Seeing that she was headed in the same direction they had wanted her to go in, the oldest boy shrugged and led the others as they fell in behind her, following at a polite distance and chattering among themselves.
Carla
Saturday 5/10/70 15:48:00
Carla walked along at a brisk pace, eager to distance herself from the gang tailing her, but also just eager just to get out of the seedy streets and into the safety of her grandmother's home.
Be realistic, Carla, Grandma's place isn't going to be any safer than the streets unless she has some sort of high end security system, but if she could afford one of those, then she'd probably be renting an apartment in a better neighborhood......Why does Grandma live out here anyway? Papa always said he sent money to her monthly; was he only giving her enough to survive in this hell hole?
Carla was beginning to doubt her ability to cope with this new situation. Walking through this neighborhood was disturbing enough; could she handle living here? For an indefinite amount of time? Without anyone to go to for help or protection? Perhaps she had made the wrong choice, but it was too late to go back now.
As she walked down the street, she examined the signs on the doors; after a few blocks, she recognized the number for her grandma's building.
Saturday 5/10/70 15:48:00
Carla walked along at a brisk pace, eager to distance herself from the gang tailing her, but also just eager just to get out of the seedy streets and into the safety of her grandmother's home.
Be realistic, Carla, Grandma's place isn't going to be any safer than the streets unless she has some sort of high end security system, but if she could afford one of those, then she'd probably be renting an apartment in a better neighborhood......Why does Grandma live out here anyway? Papa always said he sent money to her monthly; was he only giving her enough to survive in this hell hole?
Carla was beginning to doubt her ability to cope with this new situation. Walking through this neighborhood was disturbing enough; could she handle living here? For an indefinite amount of time? Without anyone to go to for help or protection? Perhaps she had made the wrong choice, but it was too late to go back now.
As she walked down the street, she examined the signs on the doors; after a few blocks, she recognized the number for her grandma's building.
Fortunato
Saturday 8/9/70 14:05:10
Greg had realized that in the panic he'd been through alst month he'd completely forgotten his own birthday. July 7th had come and gone, leaving him 31 with barely any recognition of the fact. He decided to give himself a gift because no one else in this city, or the world for that matter, was going to do so.
He sized himself up in the mirror as was custom before he put on his mask. He could almost do what he intended to do without the mask. His whiskers, though never filling out into a beard, covered his old facial features pretty well and his diet and training regimen, while wreaking havoc on his digestive system, had resulted in a change in body shape. The biggest seller was the look in his eyes though; there was no doubt that Greg was haunted by something.
Greg knew he couldn't risk going on his gift giving spree as himself, but he was feeling wild and masked only his face then caught a cab to a commercial district of Tacoma. The sweltering Saturday afternoon hadn't kept anyone indoors and the street was bustling with back to school shoppers and the standard group of cosmopolitans, hobos, hustlers and businessmen.
He stepped into Ground Zero for the first time and saw his sister at work. She was casually mixing blending ice into some coffee-smelling beverage while chatting with a twenty something man. The place wasn't crowded, but wasn't sparsely populated either; business seemed to rotate in and out at just the right pace to leave the coffee shop relaxed. The place was an island of calm amidst the turbulent sea of Saturday shopping outside.
Anita Blaine turned from her previous conversation partner to speak with Greg. "What can I do for you, stranger?"
"Does everyone who comes in here get the same warm welcome?"
"Sorry, we just don't see too many people who aren't regulars -- most folks don't like the wait, or the quiet. You look like a green tea kind of guy."
She had, as usual, nailed it. Anita had been able to guess the right food and beverage for any occasion or individual since she'd been twelve.
"That's right. How'd you know?"
"Call it woman's intuition."
She started filling a teacup with boiling water and carefully selecting leaves out of a glass jar, sniffing each intensely.
"How long have you been in this business."
"About two years," she said while laying out the necessary trappings for the tea. "I moved here and decided to hop on the bandwagon; coffee in Seattle's nothing new, but its something good."
Greg couldn't help but agree as he took the first sip of the impeccably prepared tea. The twenty something, who appeared slightly agitated by Greg's presences, set his hand on Anita's and quitely said "I'll see you later." She flashed him a winning grin and then turned back to her new customer.
"Who's that character?" Greg asked with a defensive brotherly concern creeping into his voice.
"No one you need to concern yourself with. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No thanks, I think I'll just snag that window seat while its open."
Greg sat and sipped his tea then left calmly. It was his first face to face conversation with his sister in three years.
Saturday 8/9/70 14:05:10
Greg had realized that in the panic he'd been through alst month he'd completely forgotten his own birthday. July 7th had come and gone, leaving him 31 with barely any recognition of the fact. He decided to give himself a gift because no one else in this city, or the world for that matter, was going to do so.
He sized himself up in the mirror as was custom before he put on his mask. He could almost do what he intended to do without the mask. His whiskers, though never filling out into a beard, covered his old facial features pretty well and his diet and training regimen, while wreaking havoc on his digestive system, had resulted in a change in body shape. The biggest seller was the look in his eyes though; there was no doubt that Greg was haunted by something.
Greg knew he couldn't risk going on his gift giving spree as himself, but he was feeling wild and masked only his face then caught a cab to a commercial district of Tacoma. The sweltering Saturday afternoon hadn't kept anyone indoors and the street was bustling with back to school shoppers and the standard group of cosmopolitans, hobos, hustlers and businessmen.
He stepped into Ground Zero for the first time and saw his sister at work. She was casually mixing blending ice into some coffee-smelling beverage while chatting with a twenty something man. The place wasn't crowded, but wasn't sparsely populated either; business seemed to rotate in and out at just the right pace to leave the coffee shop relaxed. The place was an island of calm amidst the turbulent sea of Saturday shopping outside.
Anita Blaine turned from her previous conversation partner to speak with Greg. "What can I do for you, stranger?"
"Does everyone who comes in here get the same warm welcome?"
"Sorry, we just don't see too many people who aren't regulars -- most folks don't like the wait, or the quiet. You look like a green tea kind of guy."
She had, as usual, nailed it. Anita had been able to guess the right food and beverage for any occasion or individual since she'd been twelve.
"That's right. How'd you know?"
"Call it woman's intuition."
She started filling a teacup with boiling water and carefully selecting leaves out of a glass jar, sniffing each intensely.
"How long have you been in this business."
"About two years," she said while laying out the necessary trappings for the tea. "I moved here and decided to hop on the bandwagon; coffee in Seattle's nothing new, but its something good."
Greg couldn't help but agree as he took the first sip of the impeccably prepared tea. The twenty something, who appeared slightly agitated by Greg's presences, set his hand on Anita's and quitely said "I'll see you later." She flashed him a winning grin and then turned back to her new customer.
"Who's that character?" Greg asked with a defensive brotherly concern creeping into his voice.
"No one you need to concern yourself with. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No thanks, I think I'll just snag that window seat while its open."
Greg sat and sipped his tea then left calmly. It was his first face to face conversation with his sister in three years.
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