Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:01:20

"I am doing very well, thank you. Your presence perfectly complements this lovely spring moring, Dona Carmen," replied Miguel in his musically inflected Spanish. Reading her body language perfectly, he was far too courteous to force her to make a request. "Perhaps I can give you a ride somewhere in my car," he offered as his limousine pulled gingerly up to the curb.

As his chauffeur opened the door to the car's stately interior, he proferred a hand to help Carla in. None of Miguel's entourage joined them in the rear.

Once the vehicle was underway, and they were alone, Carla's host switched to his perfectly accented English, and said, "I cannot tell you how delighted I am to have the opportunity to chat this morning. We see far too little of you at your grandmother's home." There he paused, and gave her a knowing smile that excused her for her absence, saying he understood she had her reasons. "But you are so busy - all the fine work you are doing in our humble community, the lives you are saving. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:01:25

Carla continued the conversation in English.

"I've been told you're very well connected," she started, "and I thought you might help me find someone."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:01:40

"It seems that our good neighbors have been telling stories about me once again. They mistake these material things with which I have been so richly blessed for knowledge and influence, although I am only a humble gentleman of leisure. But of course I will be pleased to assist you in any small way that I can. Would you care for a drink?"

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:01:45

"Do you have ice water?" Carla asked. The summer heat was hardly bearable under her heavy garb - she couldn't imagine how the real nuns managed with their outfits.

"As for the person I'm looking for, perhaps you don't know him yourself, but maybe you know someone else who does. The man goes by the name Cat - he's an investigator of sorts."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:02:13

The Spanish gentleman spoke as he put ice into a tumbler and poured from a carafe: "As it happens, in my various dealings I have had the pleasure, and at times the displeasure, of knowing more than one individual that went by such an appellation. Broadening that out to the full range of my acquaintance, and then including those whom I have not met but am merely aware of, the list of people using "Cat" as part or the entirety of their nom de guerre might easily stretch into the dozens - perhaps a hundred. I am afraid it is entirely too popular an alias in certain circles. So you see, my dear, that it is quite possible I can be of some assistance to you, but I will need you to help me narrow the field, as it were. Have you no other information about this person? Anything at all might help."

He passed her the water.

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:02:17

"Thank you," Carla took a sip from the glass. She tried to remember any details her mother had written in the diary - it had been a while since she last read it.

"He's an ork...I believe his full alias is 'Black Cat.' Last I heard, he was operating in New York in May, though I have no idea where he is now. I think he was previously retired, though he took up his job again last spring."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:02:50

The man's eyebrows rose imperceptibly, although from one so cool and imperturbable as Miguel, the gesture betrayed surprise bordering on astonishment.

"The one you speak of is indeed known to me, though only by reputation. Would it be indiscreet of me to ask what sort of business you have with him?"

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:03:00

"Actually," Carla remarked, "it has to do with safeguarding against future shedim crises. Mr. Cat worked on a similar case for my mother some time ago, but she died shortly before the case was finished. He disappeared right after she died, along with all the information he had gathered, but it never occured to me to retrieve that information until the recent catastrophy."

Carla took another sip of water. Half-truths made her mouth run dry.

"I would have simply asked the fathers to help me, since they are very keen on preventing shedim outbreaks too. But I know this Cat fellow is a...questionable character, and I wasn't sure they would want to associate with such a figure."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:03:50

"Oh, I doubt the fathers have ever heard of him. But questionable? Yes, certainly to some. In other circles, however, he is held in quite high regard. In any case, I am impressed that you are taking some initiative regarding the shedim. But certainly," and here he once again had that unconcealed look in his eye that hinted he knew more than he was saying, merely playing his appointed role, "that horrific incident at the clinic was an isolated one...."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:03:50

"Well, we will never truly know how 'isolated' the incident was unless we find out what caused it. If one person in town died of the plague, would you assume that it was just an isolated occurance, or would you start sterilizing possible sources of infection?"

"As a doctor, I simply cannot be too cautious when it comes to public health."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:04:20

"That is a most admirable sentiment. I applaud your good intentions...Ah, my driver has apparently had the foresight to bring us to your apartment. I am afraid I must excuse myself - even a gentleman of leisure occasionally has pressing matters to which he must attend."

The driver had stopped the car, and now had opened Carla's door. But before she got out, the gentleman continued - "I shall contrive to get a message to Black Cat that you wish to communicate with him. What happens next must be up to him, though I feel it is safe to assume that should he wish to hear you out, he will make contact with you. Good day, Dona Carmen."

Carla
Sunday 7/6/70 09:04:25

"Good day, senor. Bless you," she said just before the car pulled away. Carla had first started using such religious phrases as "bless you" when she discovered how effective they were in sustaining morale amongst patients. It grew into a general habit, though, when she realized that just about everyone in town reacted positively to such comments.

She hadn't had much time to get a good look at Miguel's reaction though. Carla often wondered whether he was actually religious, or if he, like Carla, was just putting on an act to get by in such a pious community. He seemed too sly, too clever...too smart to believe such silly superstitions, thought Carla.

When Carla got inside the apartment, she removed her coat and put her glasses on. She had been running a Matrix search while she was waiting outside the church that morning, but she had to take a break to talk to Miguel. Now she could finally take a look at what her searches had returned.

She had been looking through old news archives for reports on exorcisms. The notion that a priest could exorcise a shedim spirit through mundane means was vastly intriguing to her, but she had a strong suspicion that those "exorcisms" were simply magical acts disguised as religious rituals.

After paging through dozens of articles, Carla wasn't sure what to think. Some of the exorcists in the stories were known to be awakened, but many of the priests claimed to be mundanes. How reliable those claims were, she had no clue. She also had no clue as to how many of the exorcisms even involved shedim. After all, priests had been performing "exorcisms" long before the first shedim spirits ever showed up; it was impossible to tell how many of these stories were the real deal.

But what if the exorcisms in fact weren't magical? Carla didn't think for a moment that God was involved in the acts, but maybe it was something about the language or materials used in the process that the shedim reacted to, like an allergy. Or maybe the spirits were so disgusted by listening to such religious tripe that they were compelled to flee their bodies.

Carla chuckled at that thought.

In any case, if they exorcisms really weren't operating on magic, then Carla could learn to emulate the process and possibly protect herself. If they were operating on magic, then she was simply helpless. However, there was no definite proof favoring either case, so she might as well try to learn the ritual, just in case. If she came face to face with a shedim, and she had absolutely no options left, it couldn't hurt to just try the exorcism, right?

Wrong!

Carla smacked herself. She was essentially following Pascal's Wager. Trying the exorcism as a last resort just because it might work was no different from praying because it might work. Carla scoffed at anyone who would resort to prayer as a means of solving a problem, even if there were absolutely no other options left. Following that line of thinking, she would be a fool to rely on these superstitious rituals in a life-or-death situation.

"Useless crap," she muttered in frustration, tossing the commlink and glasses onto her bed.

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 07:25:00
The second beautiful day in a row, blue skies and sunshine in Seattle, and whoop dee doo. Work at the clinic had become steadily more hectic over the past few days. Perhaps word of Carla’s efforts at the clinic had begun to get around to the fringes of surrounding neighborhoods. In any case, it meant that she’d only see sunlight during her hurried lunch, which on some days she wasn’t able to take until four o’clock. She had managed to slip out yesterday at dusk to throw some stale bread at a few mutated pigeons (former scavengers of Glow City, she assumed) that had gathered in front of the church, and the fading brown daylight beckoned achingly with all of the possibilities that she had forsaken for her current life. She remembered the casual freedoms of her previous life. Impulsively catching a new trid after a hard shift; the crunch of a fresh apple; being able to shop for clothes that flattered instead of covered. She’d looked around at the barrio with its rampant gang insignias, thought of the teenage dwarf prostitute she’d treated for bleeding ulcers, or Frankie, the troll kid whose arms she’d had to cast that morning. Frankie loomed over her as he stood, straight, tall, and looked Carla in the eyes proudly as if having just been jumped into Los Locos made him into a man at eight years old. Carla wondered if the gang would become increasingly violent in carrying out its rite of passage of blooding in new recruits, relying upon her medical abilities to make up for their over exuberance.

Ah, the sweet memories she would cherish later. Clutching a piece of soy toast in her teeth, Carla was locking her doss behind her when her commlink sent her AR an incoming call signal. Taking her breakfast in hand, she decided she had the time to take the call. But why would Gongren Subsidiaries want to call her? A marketing ploy? Why would they know her commcode? Randomly generating knowbots could have keyed the code in by chance. Maybe she could win some KrillMarge to put on her soy toast. Well… She’d listen while she walked. Exiting the building, she opened the window on her AR glasses.

An elderly Asian male human, wearing an immaculate coal grey suit, impassively looks out of the screen. Behind him is some kind of darkened office wall, a green potted plant off to the right. “I am Mr.Chu,” he says in precise, clipped English. “Am I speaking to Carla?”

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 07:25:10

Carla tried to hide her shock - she hadn't been called by her real name in quite some time.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong commcode," she answered. "I don't know anyone named Carla."

Carla
7/9/70 07:25:14
Mr. Chu appears completely nonplussed by Carla’s denial. He goes on, speaking at her instead of to her like an overly brusque superior to a delinquent junior sarariman. “Mr. Black Cat does not know you, so he has chosen not to entrust you at this time with his voiceprint in either your machines or of those you might represent. However, he is willing to meet with you on his terms. You are to be at RawShark Sushi downtown no later than 8:30 AM today. They open early. Sit outside. That is all.” Click.

Carla
7/9/70 07:25:20

Holy Crap!

Carla dashed back inside her apartment; she was completely unprepared for this. Hell, she had barely stepped outside her little enclave since she had been arrived in Seattle. What should she bring? What should she wear? Would she be safe in a commerical district full of security drones and police? She didn't even have a fake ID - let alone a real one.

She quickly looked up a map of Seattle and found the location of the Sushi place. It wasn't too far; after feeling that she had memorized the route, she switched off the commlink and left it on her bed - bringing it into the district with her would probably cause more trouble than anything else. She also removed her lined coat and pistol from underneath her cloak; just in case she was stopped, she didn't want to be carrying a concealed pistol.

Opening up a box stashed in the back of her closet, she looked at all the nuyen she had accumulated over the past few months, which wasn't much. She grabbed her old credstick Alvaro had given her; surely Mr. Cat was going to want some money out of this whole affair.

Thinking she had everything she needed, Carla scribbled a note on a piece of paper in Spanish.

Went downtown to pick up some disinfectant. Be back by noon at the very latest.

-Carmen.

She rushed down to the Church and stuck the note in the crack between the double doors. She instinctively reached for her pocket to check the time, but she remembered she had left her commlink at home. Oh well - last she checked, it was about 7:30. If she started walking now, she'd surely have enough time to reach her destination.

Tugging her hood a bit further over her head, Carla made her way to RawShark Sushi at a brisk pace.

Carla
7/9/70 08:20:20

If anything, it is a good day for a walk. It’s not hard to tell which place is RawShark’s. The hologram of the Great White perpetually chasing vaguely familiar yet ultimately indeterminate squirming black and white blobs gives it away. About once a minute, just as the shark gets menacingly close, just as its teeth come close to making the mystery a moot point, the blobs shift into a recognizable shape, inevitably assuming the form of an even more dangerous predator than its finned menace. The shark’s antagonist, a slightly smirking Asian child of indeterminate gender, suddenly takes the shark handily by the tail and throws the creature into the air, slicing it up with a cleaver while in mid flight, the pieces landing neatly on a plate. The sashimi slices then converge into an abstract black and white blob, while a shark ominously swims from the periphery of the holo….

The place is not crowded. Carla may be a stranger to the barrio, but she can size this world up pretty easily. She figures that the place caters to fish lovers who want to catch a quick bite to satisfy a craving rather than the corporate power players that descend upon UCAS sushi bars in suited droves, bringing with them pretension and smugly poor service counterfeited as atmosphere. Amazingly, one can even optionally pay in cash! Various folks sit at the various outside tables sipping coffee, reading icons and data streams off of their AR glasses, pocket secretaries, or from the basic chip readers and communication suites deeply embedded in the heavy yet quaint red Formica table tops. Several patrons dine on the traditional Japanese breakfast: Miso soup with seaweed, a bowl of white rice topped by some tuna, a harsh Japanese plum, some green tea. The scent of real food on the morning air briefly makes Carla a tad heady.

Sitting down at an empty outside table, Carla watches as the wait person, a human Asian woman, finishes pouring coffee out of a glass pot for a couple of Goth-looking elf kids (despite appearances, Carla realizes that they could easily be in their forties) who ignore her as they look over some kind of mathematics textbook. Shoulder length dark hair, a white apron, white shirt, dark slacks, flip flops, the waitress approaches Carla quietly, faded burn scars around both eye sockets highlighting her blue-irised Zeiss cybereyes. Her nametag says, “Miho.” She sets the coffee pot carefully on the table, smiles a radiant smile at Carla, and flashes her the peace sign. Then, assuming a business-like, even prim demeanor, she takes from a small pocket of her apron a small, black, chip case. Bowing to Carla, she places the case on the table, speaking as she does so:

“Totsuzen desu ga, supahiro kara oishasama ni renraku wo okurasete itadakimasu. Taihen gomeiwaku desu kara, moshiwake gozaimasen deshita. Shitsurei shimasu.”

Again out of nowhere, that smile! Taking the pot in one hand, the waitress turns to leave.

Carla
7/9/70 08:20:40

Perplexed, Carla watched the waitress leave. She had no clue what the woman had said; it was probably just a customary Japanese greeting or something, Carla thought.

The coffee smelt delicious, but Carla ignored it; despite liking its smell, Carla detested the taste of coffee for some reason. The small case, however, caught her attention. Having nothing to do until Mr. Cat showed up, she picked up the case with her right hand, turning it over to get a look at all its sides.

Carla
7/9/70 08:20:45

As she looked at the chip, she noticed a slot was built into the table to playback the information on it. Sliding the chip into the slot, the machine whirred as it searched for a compatible output device. She took her glasses out of her pocket and put them on; as she expected, a small icon was flashing in the lense, indicating that a device was trying to link to the glasses. Carla tapped a small button on the frames, allowing the connection to be established.

Carla
7/9/70 08:21:02
Carla saw depicted on the glasses a very small but realistic mushroom cloud that arises to hover briefly in mid frame before dispersing, followed by red cartoon letters spelling out a message. Each word holds for approximately a second before consecutively dissolving into flakes of ash. "BOOM!! Aren't we a bit trusting? What if I'd been a bomb? What if I'd been preset to signal a bomb going off? Change of plans. Meet in the lobby of the Bellevue Sports Courts in 30 minutes. If you hurry you can just make it in time.” The last of the letters flake out to reveal blackness, out of which emerges a distinctly ridiculous, almost ludicrous image. It is the Black Cat Fireworks feline, in all of its open mouthed, sharp toothed and goony glory. The cat is animated, occasionally licking its chops. The same message continuously scrolls ad infinitum above and below the cat head in writhing, swirling display: “BLACK CAT IS THE BEST YOU CAN GET!”

Finding the address for the Sports Courts was easy enough from the data terminal ("Membership by Invitation Only" -- Great..) , but 30 minutes to Bellevue from here? Sure, a brisk walk and a bus ride got her downtown, but with transfers it might be hard to get to this new address in time. Carla might have to take a cab if she decides to continue to follow Black Cat’s increasingly cryptic instructions.

Carla
7/9/70 08:21:02

It had occurred to Carla that this might be trap - on her way to the RawShark, she considered that it might be the police waiting to pounce on her. But a bomb? She hadn't expected anything along those lines. Nor had she expected to be led on some wild goose chase.

But what had she to lose? If she didn't act on this opportunity, it would only be a matter of time before a shedim bit her head off.

Standing on the edge of the street Carla looked about for an available cab. Despite living in New York her whole life, she had never hailed a cab before - it had never been necessary. Somewhat awkwardly, she imitated the other pedestrians on the sidewalk who were looking for transportation.

Carla
7/9/70 08:48:10
After a minute or so of failing to signal a cab, Carla is joined by the genki waitress from RawShark’s, who hails a cab with a kind of semaphore motion that Carla intuits is closer to kinesthetic iconography than any kind of more subtle street etiquette. Whatever the case, it does bring an automated cab to the curb, the back door opening automatically for an incoming passenger. The waitress gives a nod and smile and turns, obviously not expecting a tip.

Made to look exclusive, not forbidding, security is discreet and polite at the Bellevue Sports Courts. The difficult thing to tell is where it ends. Carla wonders if even the professional masseurs on staff know pain and choke holds to complement their more regenerative techniques. The Courts are almost a complex in and of themselves, offering a wide variety of different sports courts and play spaces, distinct levels of privacy and security available for all. A gaggle of giggling adolescent girls wearing corporate school uniforms heads noisily inside just after Carla enters the main foyer. They flow past and around her, leaving a brief wake of silence after their aural tsunami of chattered gossip and whispers. Two groups of tensely excited young corporate executives cross the lobby to the exit, already communicating electronically with home office Intel. Who knows what power deal was tentatively brokered at half time. Were promotions gained or lost due to the quality of a lay up?

As the execs leave the foyer and are met by several company vehicles pulling up out front, a male human behind the main desk comes around to approach Carla. Smiling mildly, he asks, “Excuse me, how may I help you? Are you expecting a party to arrive or meeting one already present?”

Carla
7/9/70 08:48:10

Technically, Carla still had a couple of minutes to spare before the designated meeting time, so she wasn't sure if Mr. Cat was already waiting in the lobby for her or not.

"Oh, I'm...I'm expecting to meet someone here," she answered. She was reluctant to use his name, though. "Did a man come through looking for anyone named Carla?" she asked.

Carla
7/9/70 08:48:15
“Oh, of course! Then you’re to meet Mr. Cat. Let me get Darlene.”

He slides back behind the counter and exits through a door reading “STAFF.” Carla doesn’t wait long before he reappears, an attractive human female in a sharp business skirt-suit combo walking alongside him. Extending her hand to Carla in a friendly greeting, she introduces herself as Darlene. “We’re delighted to have you join us today, Ms. Carla. Mr. Cat is waiting for you in Court 13. If you’ll come with me?”

Darlene leads Carla out of the foyer and down a series of hallways, chattily giving Carla a kind of friendly tour of the facilities as they walk. “What we do is to primarily provide our clientele a place where the barriers between corporations can come down, where people can come together to enjoy one another in a respectful, safe environment. Sure, every arcology and most major facilities have their own play spaces, but where else can the squash teams from Aztechnology’s Seattle bio wing and Ares’ Seattle chem. department get together for a friendly game in a neutral, relaxed atmosphere?” Coming to a major intersection, Darlene points out a large sign prominently placed for high traffic viewing. Darlene waits patiently for Carla to look over the sign; indeed, it looks as if she expects her to.

The sign gives an overall impression of a kind of public service announcement of sorts. Dead center is a grainy black and white photo of the crumpled form of a child dressed for basketball, lying face down on the court. Block letters above the picture declare that “EVEN WILLING EXTRACTIONS CAN GO WRONG. DEAD WRONG.” Below the picture, smaller print reads: “The Bellevue Sports Courts is dedicated to being a safe space for all of our clientele, all of the time. All extractions, even voluntary extractions, can lead to unforeseen events. All participants apprehended by security will be handed over to our private, in house staff for processing. Don’t be the reason your present or future employer loses corporate membership at the Bellevue Sports Courts.” In the bottom right hand corner of the sign is a color holo of McGruff, the Crime Dwarf. Looking serious but approachable in his detective’s overcoat, his cartoon bubble dialogue says that ALL employees of Bellevue Sports Courts are trained to quickly and discretely receive and act upon information that helps keep the Sports Courts a safe place to play. Inset below McGruff is a brief trideo of a young child, a female elf, standing in a very nice, large multi person restroom. The elf sobs quietly to herself, rinsing her hands in a sink. A janitor enters, looking strangely like Darlene in a jumpsuit. (“My cameo!” confesses Darlene when Carla casts the briefest of glances at her hostess.) Darlene as Helpful Janitor and Insta-Friend gets down on one knee, searching the young elf’s face in a concerned manner. The truncated conversation moves quickly to the young girl imparting some kind of pent-up secret to Darlene, who empathetically and efficiently asks a brief question or two. The two then hug, the girl obviously whispering “Thank you” as she smiles in relief, and Janitor Darlene leaves the restroom in a calm but determined manner.

“Okay, maybe not Oscar or Feelie winning material, but it gets the point across!” says Darlene, laughing at her own performance. “Actually, that’s Nancy, my brother’s daughter by adoption. She can be a real charmer, I’ll tell you, especially near her birthday!”

Leaving the intersection behind, Darlene leads Carla down a hallway as she goes on, “Still, as cheesy as that is, it does get the point across. We’ve got a very progressive viewpoint here at the Sports Courts. Instead of taking the so-called sophisticated view that the injury and death caused by an extraction is “collateral damage,” we see it as assault and murder, and we’ve had to develop definitive means to putting a stop to such incidents from happening at the Sports Courts. In fact, Mr. Cat was recently instrumental in bringing Mitsuhama to voluntarily pay the Courts its corporate membership dues even while their employees are on mandatory suspension for six months.” Darlene stops at a door and turns to face Carla, beaming proudly, “Actually, tomorrow is our six month mark with not a single incident!”

“Well, here we are.” Darlene pushes open the door and enters a small locker room. “This is all yours today. Mr. Cat had me lay out a number of outfits so that you could choose what suited you.” Darlene points to a long bench with female tennis outfits of various sizes laid out along it, some modest, some not. “He should be in the court right through that far door. You’ll find some new socks in the locker if you’d like to change, and the tennis shoes under the bench are semi-smart material that will stretch to a comfy fit. The showers on the left are also all yours. You can carry any valuables with you onto the court if you wish, but the lockers should be safe even if you forget to set the lock. It’s been so nice meeting you Carla. Is there anything else I can do for you before I return to the front desk?”

Carla
7/9/70 08:50:00

"I...I don't think so," Carla answered, a bit overwhelmed by all this. Who the hell was this Mr. Cat anyway?

"Thank you for the help."

As Darlene turned to leave, Carla opened up a locker and began to undress. She would have preferred not to change clothes, but she didn't want to risk offending Mr. Cat. After putting on a comfortably sized tank-top and tennis skirt, she stored her money, glasses, and original clothing in the locker. Her gloves, of course, stayed on.

Near the door leading to the court was a bin full of rackets. She grabbed the one on the top of the pile as she headed outside.

Carla
7/9/70 08:54:07
Carla enters a private indoor tennis court, noticing that the large open skylight can be mechanically closed for those metahuman patrons with allergies to sunlight. There is another door adjacent to hers, probably leading to a second locker room for this court. The court’s sound system plays softly, tuned to Ork Jamaican Fusion.

A large male ork sits on the ground at the far end of the room, looking at a hardbound comic book which lies in front of him upon the floor just off the lines of the court. Surrounding him are the remains of four boxed pizzas, all densely topped with what looks (and smells!) like real meat, while the cheese is obviously soy. Crushed and empty ale bottles lie in an open plastic bag where the ork threw them upon completion. Smoke rises from the stub of a cigarette hanging in his mouth.

The ork is large, probably 6’6” standing up. He wears a black tennis outfit and tennis shoes. What at first looks like a corporate logo on his upper right breast is instead the goony Black Cat fireworks feline on a kind of holo button. It stares out at nothing, occasionally licking its chops. The ork’s skin pigment is dark, almost glossy black, yet his features are clearly Asian. How old is this ork? His straight hair flows down his back past his waist, a white mass with a few remaining strands of black. His face is worn, weathered, with several inset faded scarlines. He could be forty years old, ancient for an ork. However, his body is clearly an athlete’s, moving with an almost supernatural grace and ease, his physique impressive.

The ork responds the door of Carla’s locker room shutting behind her. He looks up, sees her, and smiles unaffectedly. In one movement he is on his feet, walking towards her, kicking the pizza boxes further off the court as he passes. Instead of extending a hand to her in greeting, he gives an elaborate Western style bow to waist level, flourishing with a non-existent cape. As he rises, Carla can smell that this ork has smoked for a long time.

“You are knowing, I am Black Cat, Superhero. It is my happy time to meet you, Carla.” He grins at her with his yellow teeth and tusks, obviously pleased to see her. “Would you like pizza?”

Carla
7/9/70 08:54:10

"Good morning, Mr. Cat," she answered with her own more reserved bow. It was a little early in the morning for pizza, Carla thought, but she chose to accept his offer anyway,

"Yes, I would enjoy a slice, thank you. But...I must say, I'm a bit surprised. Why on earth are you happy to see me?"

This encounter was becoming more bizarre every minute. Superhero? Comic books? Pizza and beer? This was the guy Carla's mother had entrusted to figure out the mystery behind that old witch?

Carla
7/9/70 08:54:25
Black Cat looks genuinely pleased and slightly surprised that Carla has also offered a bow. “Such a beautiful young lady meeting an old ork for tennis. I need more reason for a happy time?!”

Black Cat again sits on the floor, just off the court. “I’m sorry there’s not more left. I’m afraid I was a bit of a food pig.” There must be almost a pizza and a half left. After waiting for Carla to take a piece, BC again helps himself to another slice despite his apology. He lets it hang alongside his cigarette, gripping it between teeth and tusks while he unscrews a bottle of ale and passes it to Carla. As he leans towards Carla, she feels a wave of heat off of Black Cat as if he’s burning with fever. The pizza’s good, and the soy cheese is a real surprise. One need only look at the texture and color to detect soy, but wow! if it isn’t almost as good as the real thing.

In between bites, Black Cat finishes his filterless cigarette with a final flourished drag. Almost absentmindedly he grinds the still burning stub between his fingers until it has been reduced to flakes and ash which he scatters on the ground to his side. As Carla finishes her slice, he lifts the cover of his still open comic book to retrieve a lighter (complete with a Black Cat mini-holo) and an open packet of Golden Bat that had been stashed underneath. As Black Cat shakes out a cigarette, Carla sees that all of the filters have been cut off. BC pauses before lighting up to offer her one.

Carla
7/9/70 08:55:30

"Oh, no thank you," Carla insisted, shaking her head. "I don't smoke."

She was utterly at a loss as she watched Mr. Cat's antics. What was he doing? Were they just going to sit around eating pizza and smoking cigarettes all day, or were they going to address the business at hand? After a minute or so, Carla decided to bring up the topic herself.

"Do you know who I am, Mr. Cat?" she asked.

Carla
7/9/70 08:55:40
Black Cat lights up and sucks in smoke. “I know quite a lot. However, knowing, I have a question for you my dear, upon which rests somewhat my own interests. Should I be thinking of you as Miss Carla, a charming if naïve and, regrettably, probably soon to be dead young lady, or as Miss Johnson? Please understand, for all the world I will never seek to do you the slightest harm. I am simply trying to ascertain our relationship. You see, if you are dead, then our relationship will be short. Why don’t you think about your answer while we play a set?” BC stands and strides over to pick up a racket and couple of balls. “Your serve?” He tosses Carla a tennis ball.

Carla
7/9/70 08:55:45

After they had taken their positions, Carla lobbed an easy ball over the net. She wasn't interested in playing competitively right now. Nor was she interested in Mr. Cat's indirectness.


"I don't care what you call me, Mr. Cat, as long as you don't call me Carla.

As for the nature of our relationship, I believe that you have some very important information concerning me, and I'm sure you'll want something in return for it. So if you name a price, I will see what I can do meet it.

Of course, I won't get a chance to pay you if I'm dead, but I don't think I will die so soon if I get this information immediately. That said, I think it is in both of our interests that you tell me what I need to know now and let me pay you off over time."

Carla
7/9/70 08:56:20
As Carla finishes voicing her appeal, Black Cat catches her latest volley and walks up to the net smiling. “Now, that is the spirit that I admire!
“Alright, here’s what you get for free. Your Uncle Alvaro is still alive as far as I know, but may not be for long as he is marked for death by the Ghost Cartels. As I’m sure that you probably understand, you are being sought by Knight Errant for questioning in your mother’s death. Why are these things important? Perhaps they are not. However, as you have just become my employer, anything affecting you has the power to affect me. Do you see now? And things can change so very quickly. Suppose your uncle proves as slippery to catch as I believe he will. Maybe some uncouth ingrate on the lower levels of the food chain discovers your whereabouts, and decides that you are knowing where Alvaro is. What might happen? Are you so hard to catch? Are you cautious? What if they decide to trade him for your safety --- or your other arm? Will they keep their promises, even if he is foolish enough to take the bait? This isn’t a trid. And then how will I get paid what your mother promised me? And what about the five or so little shedim spirit orbs following you about wherever you go every day? Actually, when I checked earlier as we ate pizza there were about seven. Perhaps our meeting interests them? I’ll have to be careful going home tonight.
“I apologize for the little speech, Miss Johnson. Please knowing, I do admire your mission of healing. In another life it would be a beautiful finish. But you don’t have that life anymore, and if you keep on trying to live it you will probably end up dead in about six months. But you know that already, don’t you? ‘Don’t call me Carla!’? Excellent! But why shouldn’t I, when you are trying so very hard to live the same life you had in New York? Are you one step closer to finding why your parents were killed? What about the Midwife? Found her in your little barrio?
“Please excuse me, but I’ve played you all morning trying to wake you up, to show you what kind of a world you already live in. So, all this. Why not a little tennis? I also like some happy relax time. But remember, as hard as it is, if you’re going to stay alive, let alone get me my money, it’s time to get over your traumas and stop being Carla. You won’t find any answers in a basement clinic, I’ll guarantee you that.”
Black Cat tosses her the ball.

Carla
7/9/70 08:56:30

Carla dribbled the ball briefly and served a little more aggressively this time, reflecting her growing mix of anxiety and annoyance. She didn't like Mr. Cat's critique of her current lifestyle, but she knew that he was probably right.

""I'll concede that my little barrio isn't safe anymore, what with everybody knowing my relationship to Grandma, but how do you expect me to make a living, not to mention pay you for your services? I've devoted the last seven years of my life to studying medicine and its related fields; it's the only thing I'm good enough at to make any decent kind of money."

"I'll relocate. I'll change my name. I'll drop whatever I need to in order to get rid of these shedim and to disconnect myself from Alvaro. But if I drop medicine...I'll end up dying in six months anyway - of starvation."

Carla
7/9/70 08:59:08
Black Cat waits to reply, instead stepping up the game, obviously enjoying making her reach. Finally, Carla serves a tight volley while BC is in the middle of lighting up again, making him hustle to return the ball. Yet return it he does, moving so fast to cover half of the court that to Carla’s eyes Black Cat’s form almost seems for a moment to blur. Laughing softly, BC approaches the net again, clearly pleased by her spirit.

“Look, there’s no sure fire right or wrong way to solve your problems. Here are simply a few ideas. I wouldn’t worry about starving should you leave the clinic. It’s not like you make any decent money there anyway. And it is a good cover, used judiciously. Cut it back to a couple of mornings or afternoons a week. In the meantime, you are already knowing Don Ricardo, and he is keenly aware of your situation. I’ve taken the liberty of discussing the idea of him brokering a few odd jobs for you here and there, things you could assist him with. You would still be a free agent so to speak, but the money would be considerably better. Your medical skills are indeed highly valuable. You also seem to be able to adapt to new challenges without being overwhelmed. Yes, you have too easily allowed yourself to be cocooned here in Seattle, but many others wouldn’t have gotten on the run in the first place.

“As for relocating or changing your name, perhaps, but don’t go overboard. The shedim that perpetually surround you won’t be fooled by such tactics. The key is to realign your expectations of the threats around you. Start being proactive. Once your mother began to make inquiries about me, she immediately became my focus. Only after scrutinizing her first did I meet with her. Of course after Don Ricardo contacted me several days ago, you became my quarry. The forces your mother had me investigate are not to be underestimated, and I like sucking air between my teeth too much to stop breathing for a mere 100,000. And so here you are, my turf, not even wearing your own clothes, Don Ricardo probably doesn’t know where you are --- everything on my terms. If you had turned out to be an agent of the shedim, if my knowledge of the Midwife’s whereabouts and activities was to go to the wrong sources, then you would have ended up along with the ale bottles in the plastic bag in the corner.”

Black Cat takes a final drag and methodically grinds the stub into tiny flakes of ash and grit, scattering it on the court. “Can’t leave the chance of a DNA or ritual trace. I know it’s retentive, but after running shadows for almost twenty years, I’ve developed habits.” He turns back to Carla, looking intently at her. “Do you see the life? You’re no longer protected by laws or an SIN or the Golden Rule. You must work to constantly control every trace of your identity, every factor of survival. Fight for every edge. Do that, and if you learn fast enough you just might stay alive.”

Black Cat tosses Carla the ball.

Carla
7/9/70 08:59:28

Carla calmed down a bit this time as she served the ball. Even if this guy was all business, he at least seemed to be a straight player. An honest guy. Or maybe Carla was really too trusting after all?

"Wait, wait, wait a minute. Let me get one thing straight - can you help me put a stop to this shedim problem? I don't doubt that you have information on the midwife and whatever the hell she did to me, but I'm not so sure there's anything you or I can actually do about it. So before we start talking about 'odd jobs' or anything like that, how can I know that working with you won't put me in the same place as my mother?"

Carla
7/9/70 09:01:00
Instead of answering, Black Cat nods and then holds up a hand as if to say “It can wait a bit.” He then serves a tight spin, and continues to play tennis with Carla. And what the heck if after a bit Carla doesn’t find herself enjoying it a bit herself, relaxing with the simple flow of play and form. Only after the game concludes does BC take a seat on the floor again, grabbing a slice of pizza and an ale, his cigarettes close at hand. He motions to Carla to help herself. “This time you’ll probably have an appetite!”

“Any work you do for Don Ricardo will only be set up by him for other parties whom you may or may not ever meet. Exactly what the nature of these tasks will be I am unaware. However, I believe that Ricardo can be trusted, which is no small thing in this business. You can almost be assured that anything you do for the Don will be illegal and probably dangerous. The upside is that you will begin a new career of sorts, and in time might even scrape together my 100,000. Then you get what I found out for your mother. It’s been my experience that you’ll most likely be disappointed by what I have to tell you. I also believe that you’ll be unable to find it out any other way, especially without scaring off or alerting several different parties, which would cripple your ability to successfully make use of any information you might obtain.

“As for your shedim problem, from what I came to understand about the Midwife, she would certainly be the best and perhaps the only person to ask about that. Personally, I am doubting that you will ever be able to solve the problem, but one can learn to successfully manage anything, granted that you have the understanding of what is going on in the first place.

“Miss Johnson, I am not knowing you very well yet, I just happen to know a lot about you. I know that you seem to be set apart for something. Even your physiology down to the cellular level is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, but you probably already know that. Just as important, you seem to have a good heart. The riff raff I arranged to report to your clinic during the past couple of days reported that you treated them with kindness and respect. I admire this. I believe that we may expect great things from you, Mr. Potter,” BC concludes with a wink. “After all, you are the girl that lived.”

Black Cat finishes his ale, crushes the aluminum bottle and tosses it into the opaque white plastic bag. He lights up and leans back. “There you have it, there’s my spiel. Hopefully my advice today will not only save your life but eventually get me my money! You can reach me through Don Ricardo or Mr. Chu. Don’t be intimidated by Chu, it’s his job to be a sourpuss. Pay him the right amount of cash and he’ll shake people’s hands for you, help you play dead, all kinds of neat little tricks. And of course, I’m up for a game of tennis anytime.” Black Cat laughs. “Well, time for my shower.” BC stands and collects the last of the pizza into a box, which he then hands to Carla. Again his body heat is tremendous. “Please, take this with you, my treat. I’ve got a lunch date with a client at the Four Seasons.” Black Cat stands and gives Carla a brief informal bow, his eyes never leaving hers. “Miss Johnson.”

Carla
7/9/70 09:20:00

Carla tried to evaluate her situation as she showered.

Her identity was still a problem, or so she thought. Grandma Carmen's whereabouts, as far as she knew, were no secret to either Knight Errant or the ghost cartels, and if everyone in town actually knew of their relationship, then it would only be a matter of time before Carla was caught. And while being arrested by Knight Errant certainly wouldn't be pleasant, the ghost cartels were definitely not a group she wanted to deal with. Mr. Cat, however, didn't seem to think that abandonning her current home was necessary - she'd have to get more info from Miguel on this one.

As for the shedim, Mr. Cat wanted Carla to be "proactive," but what could she realistically do? Pay a mage hundreds of thousands of nuyen to maintain a ward around her house? The only way Carla could even begin to solve this problem was to get the information out of Mr. Cat, and that wasn't going to happen, evidently, until she had jumped through a bunch of hoops for Miguel. Even if she managed to survive one of his crazy "odd jobs," there was still the threat that she could be taken by a shedim, and even if she managed to finally get all the information from Miguel, there was still a good chance that she wouldn't even be able to eliminate the problem.

I have to "manage" it, like it's some kind of interminable disease.

Carla laughed cynically. She had chosen to hide in Seattle and run from the cops because she didn't want to be at the mercy of the law - she wanted to be in control of her own life. And now what? She was essentially cornered into doing whatever horrendous deeds Miguel needed her to do. Sure, she could choose not to take his jobs, but that would be suicide.

Carla strummed her fingertips against the shower wall, the metal electrodes in her hand producing a percussive rapping sound. She could take control of her life simply by ending it; instead of dying at the hands of some awful shedim or organlegger, she could simply release an electric shock right there and die by her own hand.

Oh wait, it's not even my hand.

No, suicide wasn't the answer. Carla didn't want to die. And suddenly, Carla realized that her life was more precious to her than anything else at that moment. She had grown up cherishing silly principles like purity of mind and body, but now she finally realized that none of those really mattered. Compared to survival, everything else was a joke.

Carla chuckled again as she pulled on her gloves. She was wearing a grin on her face by the time she left the building.

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 10:00:00

Carla had emerged from the club to find a sleek black car waiting, with a liveried driver. "Ma'am, Mr. Cat has instructed me to take you anywhere you'd like to go." She hesitated, Mr. Cat's warnings about caution fresh in her memory, but then the driver produced a small packet and offered it to her - it was a packet of firecrackers, the Black Cat brand, goony obsidian feline peering out at nothing. Reassured, Carla got in the car and had the driver take her to a drugstore, where she picked up a variety of everyday cleaning supplies, including some spray bottles of common disinfectant - one that her medical training assured her would play hell with DNA traces.
That errand finished, she had the driver head for her own neck of the woods, a prospect she worried he'd protest, but which seemed to dismay him not in the least.
Sitting in the back of the car as it crossed Lake Washinton and Council Island, passed through the Downtown Core and headed south into working class areas, she was struck by the rapidity with which she left behind a sense of safety and comfort for one of uncertainty and precariousness. From frequent patrols by immaculate Lone Star vehicles, to passing the burnt wrecks of go-gang victims on the freeway - and things only got worse as they approached the barrio run by Los Locos. In fact, she made a point of rolling down her window, knowing that if her presence in the car was known, it would be safe from molestation.
But for all the sense of wealth and security in Bellevue, she couldn't forget what Mr. Cat had told her - even there in the ultra-secure Bellevue Sports Courts, there had been seven shedim shadowing her in the Astral Plane. Waiting, no doubt, to pounce at the first offering of a defenseless corporeal vessel.

She thanked the driver as he left her at her apartment. Going inside, she quickly gathered her things and hurried to the clinic, which she found swamped - there was no one there to run things but Padre Cardoza - for some reason her capable nurse Sister Esmeralda had not shown up this morning, and the Padre had been to busy to try tracking her down.

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 10:00:00

Carla took a deep breath before heading into the fray.

"My apologies, Padre," she said as she opened up the supply cabinents, taking out pretty much all their contents. "I had to get some supplies from town. Did you get my note on the door?"

She unloaded her stack of materials on the treatment table and made another trip back to the cabinent. She didn't want to be rushing back in forth in the midst of treating patients. It occured to her that she usually had someone on hand to do that for her.

"Where's Esmeralda?"

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 10:00:10

Padre Cardoza looked flustered, but relieved to see help arrive. "I confess I have no idea," he answered. "I have been so busy I haven't had time to do more than send a boy to check her room, but it seems she is not there. I cannot imagine where she could have gotten off to. If you have things under control here, perhaps I should go and look for her. It is most unlike her not to be here."

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 10:00:35

"Yes, please, that would be most helpful," she answered as she pulled a patient up onto the examination table. "I'll take care of things here."

Carla
Wednesday 7/9/70 13:10:00

One by one, Carla worked her way through the patients. Many of the cases weren't urgent; some patients were ill and just needed access to medication. Others had moderate wounds that simply needed proper bandaging. It occured to Carla that giving the population some health education might ease her job a bit, or she could at least train a few assistants to be more self-sufficient. Esmeralda would certainly make a good candidate. Besides, if she was going to have to do jobs for Miguel, she wasn't sure how much she'd be around.

"You know," Carla remarked after prescribing an herbal recipe to a patient with an upset stomach, "my grandmother actually taught me that when I was a little girl."

"Oh, I believe it! She's a wonderful woman!"

Carla raised her eyebrows slightly. "You know my grandmother?"

"I mean...I'm sure she's a wonderful woman."

As the morning wore on, Carla obliquely probed her patients, trying to get an idea of how many people actually knew her relationship to Carmen. It seemed to be old news to everybody, though none of them would openly admit it to Carla herself. The fact that they knew it was supposed to be a secret bothered her even more than the fact that they knew at all. Who spread the word? Carmen? Surely she knew how much danger she was putting both of them in. Miguel? If she was going to work for him, why would he jeopardize her like that? It was probably one of the priests, since they were clueless about her situation......she hoped.

In any case, she was going to have to speak to the priests about contacting Miguel again. When she took her mid-day break, she spoke to Father Ortiz about it. Apparently, Miguel wasn't making any visits to the church that week until Sunday Mass, but he could be found just about any night at Carmen's house.

Carla had forgotten how close those two were, and she wasn't sure what to make of their relationship. Knowing Miguel was involved in some shadowy business, she couldn't help thinking that Carmen was somehow involved in the business as well.

On the other hand, perhaps Miguel was genuinely just fond of the old woman. If that was the case, perhaps Miguel was actually hiding Carmen? After all, if the ghost cartels, as Mr. Cat had suggested, would be willing to use Carla to bait Alvaro, why hadn't they snatched up his mother yet for the same purposes? Carla had assumed all this time that Carmen's whereabouts were public knowledge, but then again, this entire community hardly existed on the map. With the help of Miguel, it was possible that nobody outside of the enclave knew where Carmen was or that she even existed, which was great news for Carla.

She had better not jump to conclusions, though. She'd wait until Sunday morning and meet Miguel outside the church, as she had done last time.

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:00:00

Once again, morning Mass had just ended. And once again, Carla was waiting outside for Miguel to emerge.
Her mind was troubled with a thousand things - her uncle (and all the rest of her surviving family, for that matter), her patients, the shedim, the mysterious Midwife, the words of Black Cat, and the fact that several days after going missing, Sister Esmeralda was still nowhere to be found. And now she was turning to the apparently notorious Don Ricardo for answers - when he was just as troubling as all the rest.
Just as he had one week earlier, he spared her the discomfort of asking by inviting her into his limousine.

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:01:00

Of course, Carla wanted to ask Miguel about each of those thousand thoughts, but she decided to get to the most relevant matter first.

"Good morning, Don Ricardo," she greeted in English. "I had a little chat with the Black Cat earlier this week - I have you to thank for that. Naturally, Mr. Cat wants payment for his services, and he suggested to talk to you for earning some...supplemental income."

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:02:00

As the jet-black limousine crept through the potholed streets of the barrio, Don Ricardo, altogether unperturbed by Carla's use of his "professional" name, poured water for both of them.
"Your conversational style has certainly become more, shall we say "efficient," in the past week. I suppose that is understandable. Well, if it is "work" you seek I can probably be of assistance. I had hoped to shield you from that life, and believe to a certain extent I have been successful, but Mr. Cat has indeed shown me things that force me to concur with his assessment - in your case, well, there are some things one can hide from, and some that one cannot."

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:02:10

"What exactly did he show you?" she asked.

Carla
Sunday 713/70 09:03:00

"He was able to demonstrate to me that your Knight Errant and Ghost Cartel problems - both of which I have been able to help you with - are merely symptoms of a much more grave disease. While I do not have the same gifts that Mr. Cat does, and am not able to view the source of your ailment directly, he was quite vivid in his descriptions of the demons which quite literally haunt your every step. Because he is considered an extremely credible individual, and because he was able to show me how the chain of events that have befallen you fit perfectly with his explanation, I am inclined to concur with his diagnosis."

Carla
Sunday 713/70 09:03:15

Carla sipped at her water. As Miguel spoke, she glanced towards the front of the limo to see whether the driver could hear them or not.

"I can assure you that this demonic 'disease' is no fabrication, though right now Mr. Cat knows more about its nature than I do...at least I hope he does."

She took another sip of water. "He'll tell me everything he knows once I can pay him 100,000 nuyen. You're the only one I know with access to that kind of money, so as much as I hate to admit it...I'm in your hands for the time being."

In fact, for all she knew, she may have been in his hands ever since she had arrived in Seattle.

"What were you saying about helping me with Knight Errant and the ghost cartels? Have you been concealing my location all this time?"

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:04:00

"Well, as for Knight Errant, perhaps I assign myself too much credit. Suffice to say that I have made sure our community is a safe place for you - the neighborhood itself takes care of the rest. The people here are almost entirely SINless, and there is nothing much here of interest to the corps. As such, the place is largely off law-enforcement radar except as a place to be allowed to rot. Naturally there are those of us that wish to elevate the community's status, but in the meantime, it is unlikely that Knight Errant knows where you are. Certainly if they really cared to find you, they could, but that would require more interest in New York than I suspect there is, and it would mean stirring the pot here in Seattle - something they are reluctant to do until the November elections. If, however, the political winds do blow their way and they are awarded the primarly law enforcement contract for the Metroplex, things could become more precarious for you.
"As for the Cartels, it is almost certain they know about both you and your grandmother. Nothing has been said between me and them, but if they know about you, then they know about my friendship towards you. They must decide if using you or your grandmother as a shortcut to your Uncle Alvaro is worth earning my enmity. So far it seems they have made the correct choice."

Carla
Sunday 7/13/70 09:04:00

That was comforting news to Carla, at least a bit. She had a feeling that she'd never be 100% safe from either of those two groups, so Miguel's help was probably the best protection she would ever get. Thank goodness he was friends - if not more - with Carmen.

"Forgive my forwardness," she asked, "but how exactly did you and my grandmother become so close?"