Rocking Good Times

At Omen's words, Edward moves forward, placing a small device on the lock and fiddling with it. A short time later there is a click, and the lock pops open.



Once Omen indicates that it's safe to approach the canoe, Edward examines it, and it's surroundings very carefully for anything to indicate security precautions that may have been missed.

Rocking good times

Omen guides Edward and Abigail through the ward after the security specialist pops the lock, then stands back to let Edward check for any additional problems... The old man glances around the store, shifting back and forth between normal and astral perception, his gaze lingering on some interesting stones and painted feathers, though he does not touch them.

I hope there are no spirits waiting for us here within the ward, he thinks to himself, peering into the farthest corners with his astral sight.

Bellevue

Richard scoffed and glared at Tomas, he sucked in a breath of air before speaking creating an air of tension. "You know how close I was to smashing that door open and turning you and those trogs to meat puddles? Too close, but you kept your cool. Now before you get all drooly and bricked, tell me what we're doing here." Richard turned and glared out the window at the streets, not a soul on the street save for the blowing papers and trash littering some stoops. He scanned for the junkies, drekheads, and hookers who'd prowl the street. It was too quiet and that meant something was up.

Bellevue

Tomas reached under the seat and pulled out another box of security chips and tapped it, "I figure any time now the 405 hounds are going to get in touch and ask where they can get a set of these for some stoners they picked up. Nothing like selling the same set of authorization chips twice!"

Rocking Good Times

There isn't any audible noise as the locks unlatch and release their burdens. Outside there is the usual silence, and in the otherworld of astral space the patterns whirl through the same motions.

Outside, Abigail waits.

The Fedora

Joe Coole nods his head, then shakes it, "She's never going to get that."

"The Next Best Thing might get there's a pattern, but she's not going to hit the translator softs."

He turned and faced Bongo, "I'll introduce you, play a few sets tonight. Then let me know if you can stand a long stint thumping the background beat keeping your eyes open." He raised his hand in anticipation of the question, "Something dark is going down, I got several up and comers to track, but this one is the one I can afford to have you watch."

"Otherwise I have no idea what's going on, just a feeling."

SeaTac Transpolar, Terminal G3

<<Adelia: But here's an address((Pier 94)) and a time. You have 73 minutes, would you like to go straight there?>>

Highway 202, Eastbound

Jerry grinned when he heard the approaching engines. Hell, it's about time. He activated his wired reflexes and watched the world slow to a crawl, then opened a short-range comm channel to the rest of the convoy. "Alright, ya might wanna drive backwards for a while, the Shih Tzus 'ill be here soon." He pulled out his trusty Slugga, the skinlink connecting through his cyberhand and unlocking the smartlink, and flipped it around to point behind him. The camera's resolution wasn't the best, but it was more accurate than raw instinct.

The Fedora

"Piqued my interest, Joe. I'll sit in and do what I need to, to get hired by the band. Good thing I haven't shaved in a few days. Maybe I'll grow a beard if this gig sticks. Her fashion sense is a little off mine, but I can find some threads to fit. That'll be good, too. If I'm to be in the background, no need for fans to start looking for autographs.

"Normally, we do the 'independent opinion' thing, and you don't give me much info. But I gotta ask, whaddaya mean by your feeling that 'something dark is going down'. Am I gonna be fending off vampires or something?"

Rocking Good Times

Upon sighting the canoe, Omen concentrates his astral senses upon it, reaching out with his second sight to strip away its secrets, whatever they may be. He holds up a wrinkled palm, motioning for Edward to pause, his other hand leaning heavily on his cane.

"One moment, Edward, " he whispers, "almost there. Be a shame to hose things now." The old man's heartbeat ticks a little faster, wondering whether there is anything special about this damn river craft, or whether it's just another piece of mundane junkery.

SeaTac Transpolar, Terminal G3

<<Aldan: You tease, why didn't you tell me that in the first place.
<<Adelia: Because you like my surprises...
<<Aldan: Quite true! Pier 94?
<<Adelia: A taxi will get us there in 33 minutes for 17 nuyen.
<<Aldan: Any other options?
<<Adelia: I'm checking... Yes, public transport will get us there right on time with a little walking. I like you in shape.
<<Aldan: How much?
<<Adelia: 2 nuyen. But, we can get a week pass for 20 nuyen.
<<Aldan: I'm not sure what Barnaby has in store, so let's hold off on the pass for now.
<<Adelia: Let's get moving, the rail will arrive in 7 and a half minutes. Your ticket has been purchased. Remaining balance, 238 nuyen.>>

Aldan briskly walks to the rail platform. With only 238 nuyen in his account, he is hoping that Barnaby is willing to front some nuyen or else his stay is going to be, well, rather scenic, to say the least. It would be the first time sleeping in an alley, but he's not looking forward to it in a new city.

Aldan boards the rail and is on his way to the closest stop to Pier 94. He spends the majority of the trip studying some maps and information Adelia pulled up from public access nodes.

A Couple Blocks From Pier 94

Aldan exits onto the the rail platform. The air is a bit stagnant, but the smell of a city always seems a bit different, the first time you really take it all in. It won't be a vacation though, so this "newness" will probably wear off pretty quickly. He looks around and finds a path off the platform and onto the street.

<<Aldan: Keep me out of the alleys, if you will, bird.
<<Adelia: Don't want to get ruffed up? Just follow the ARO and I'll keep you safe.>>

Aldan starts walking, heading toward Pier 94. There's certainly a different feel, different types of sounds here in Seattle than he is accustomed to "back home". He hopes Barnaby doesn't keep him waiting too long after he arrives.

Pier 94

Aldan arrives at the location, which looks fairly deserted. He is a little early, so he decides to prepare for the worst. He crosses the street then scans the astral. Seeing it is all clear, he concentrates and calls upon Bodhisattva to accompany him for the evening. His calling is answered and it appears it is warranted, as very little stress occurred during the summoning. The wizened, but jolly, fat Bodhisattva appears before Aldan and smiles, hovering in full lotus. Aldan slinks into the shadows and Bodhisattva cloaks him deep in the shadows (Power: Shadow Cloak).

Aldan waits quietly, in view of Pier 94, perceiving astrally. He then sends Bodhisattva on standby.

Rocking Good Times

Obscured by the overlaying wards the canoe is subtly interacting with the auras around it. Indicating that it is indeed magical.

The Fedora

"Statistically I haven't run into more problems then usual with some of the acts I promote... but, it's bugged me about which one's have gone and flamed out. The full burn."

"I've made out, but I don't like it. Happy Daisy's raw simstudio feeds have made a bundle, but I'd rather she was still around."

Joe Coole looked at Bongo bleakly, "Nothing came up, and it was thoroughly investigated, insurance was heavy, but all I got is a feeling."

The fixer and promoter turned back to watch the rest of the set, "You know how it is, sometimes you have to go with the feelings."

Highway 202, Eastbound

The camera displayed a herky jerky feed which the software straightened to display sleek vehicle silhouettes growing rapidly in size. The feed cut abruptly, replaced by a high resolution 4D interactive Augmented Reality overlay focused on high confidence path predictions and target profiles. An approaching swarm of yellow box designated 405 Hell Hounds were chasing a blue rabbit marker escorted by a couple crimson outriders. Ahead a red line indicator blinked in a ready state. Behind the red line a set of 13 Crimson indicators waited in ready mode. 3 klicks behind the approaching pack of yellow boxes a crimson patch started moving onto the road.

The anvil was ready, the hammer was coming down, now the only question was if the Razor and it's escort was going to get to the barrier and safety in time.

Rocking Good Times

Omen again whispers his wishes to the spirit realm, pressing the wards aside with gentle probes of mottled light, stretching the strands of the ward apart just enough to allow the canoe to pass through...



He gives a meaningful look at Edward - nothing untoward? - before proceeding further... Once the wards are sufficiently flexed, bending aside at Omen's behest, he calls on Wolf to bring the canoe to him. With a low, guttural bark, his teeth blur into sharp canines just for a moment, before the old man motions for the canoe to free itself from the shelf, and float to him across the room...

Rocking Good Times

The canoe sails majestically through the air. Astral spaces shifts, but within acceptable ranges as the overall magical ambiance changes with the departing object.

"So let's do it. I got nothin' on my plate now, anyway. You wanna introduce me?"

Bongo searches his memory for anything he can recall about Happy Daisy.

Rocking Good Times

Omen breaks into a broad grin as the canoe floats across the room to hover beside him. "Now we're getting somewhere," he quips, running his hands back and forth parallel to (but not touching), the craft. Concentrating on the levitate spell for a moment, he awakens his wolf's head cane with a rap on the floor, channeling the mana from himself to the focus, allowing him to divert his attention elsewhere.

"The canoe is magical," he reports to the team, "I'm not sure how exactly, but it's awakened. So there's probably a good chance it's bugged..." Rummaging around in the folds of his clothes, he eventually produces a spindly looking handheld screen, cracked down one side and held together with green electrical tape. "Ahh, here we are. Just let me give old Reggie a try.. "


"Gooood Reggie," he mutters, staring at the coloured lights blinking up on the screen, accompanied by loud, annoying beeps. "Don't let me stop you doing your thing," he says, glancing at the others.

Rocking Good Times

Abigail shakes her head briefly, "That toy won't pick anything up, 'cept me if I let it."

"Let's get out of here."

The Fedora

... someone passed him a set of trodes and whispered excitedly to Bongo to check it out. It was a standard sample chip with a limited set of runs and a severely curtailed set of experiential tracks. A quick check of the settings showed the emotive and aural tracks active.

The 15 seconds of blissful a cappella vocals was unforgettable, though memory would never quite achieve the sharpness of the simsense overlays.

They spent the rest of the night banging out the blues in memoria of Happy Daisy. Knowing the source of that unrelenting bliss was gone lent that nights soulful melancholy a depth it would be hard to duplicate...

Another budding star flamed out, like so many others...

Bongo's memory will.

QUOTE

In one of those rare times when Bongo acknowledges another musical talent equal to or greater than his own, he steps, for just a moment, out of his own quest and wonders... what happened, what can be done to make up for such a loss? For now, play her memory. For later, keep this from happening again?

Rocking Good Times

Omen gives himself a head slap and curses in Japanese. Heheheh. You old fool.

"Of course! Forgive my forgetfulness Abigail my dear. Just let me try one other thing."

Squinting his eyes, the shaman focuses his thoughts on the canoe, chanting a prayer to the spirits of light and shadow. Though slow and sluggish, the spirits answer, wrapping the canoe in folds of light and shade, it's material form seeming to melt away until it vanishes completely. "Should help us get it back to the car without any trouble," he quips.

The old man switches his vision to the astral, encouraging the invisibility spirits as he floats the canoe out of the store, and motioning with his cane to direct the levitation. Once outside, he and the others walk a few blocks to their vehicles, before Omen ends the illusion and helps as best he can as Edward straps their prize to the roof racks of his Evo Cruiser.

"Why don't we all travel back to Mr Johnson in my car," Omen suggests, "just in case there's any trouble waiting for us on the road."

Looking up at the night sky, Omen studies the aircraft lights winking on and off, contrasting them with the tallest buildings, their lasers and spotlights strobing back and forth. Sniffing the air, he can almost taste the pattern that Wolf is trying to reveal to him. Something special is happening tonight, he muses. Something important.

Rocking Good Times

Ratcheting down the last tie strap, Edward replies to Omen's suggestion. "Can you maintain that invisibility while you drive? If not then perhaps someone else should take the wheel."

Rocking Good Times

"I can better appease the spirits if someone else drives," Omen replies, grinning as he motions for Edward to take the wheel.

Pier 94

Aldan

Suspiciously Barnaby himself hadn't arrived, and wasn't going to, but Adelia confirmed the appropriate handshakes were all in order, and soon enough Aldan found himself discussing transatlantic travel arrangements with someone calling himself Frank while they waited for the object to arrive for his independent appraisal.

Canoers

Exactly as planned.... no interruptions, no surprise traffic stops, no random thrill go gang encounters, no anarchist bricks, nor hijackings, nor carjackings, nor any other mishap disturbed the group as they made their way to the drop and collecting their reward.

Inside the warehouse on Pier 94 people wait.

The Fedora

The set ended smoothly as it transitioned to a projected trid jazz session piped in real time from somewhere in Asia. Somewhere with Japanese, which could be anywhere in that hemisphere, indicated by the occasional bleed in of the recording ends audience as they moved in front of the trid recordings. A sign of cheap editing.

Joe Coole stood and led Bongo to stage left, a small alcove with musical and musicians supplies. Joe is interrupted just as he's about to speak, "Hey, I know you, drummer!" by the young woman. She turns to Joe Coole, "Don't tell me you got him for me!". Excited she jumps at the agent and hugs him tightly.

She turns to Bongo, "Can you do a set with us in 5?"

The Fedora

"So much for undercover." Bongo shrugs and looks sheepishly at Joe over her shoulder as she hugs him.

"Sure, point me to the drums and tell me which end of the sticks to hold." he replies to her. He prepares to make a good show, and to play well. No point hiding it. Maybe save the enthralling magic... unless she's good. Tough to hold back when the jam starts to take hold.

Pier 94

As the "canoers" enter the warehouse, Aldan turns his attention away from Frank and looks them over, still astrally perceiving.

Pier 94

Omen keys the entry code and hobbles inside the warehouse, gesturing with his cane every now and then to guide the canoe to an empty space where everyone can see it. He keeps it hovering in the air, about waist height, unless directed otherwise by Mr Johnson.

Finding himself an empty seat, he lowers his old body in gingerly, creaking and groaning, before giving the new guy a nod. "I'm Omen," he says, giving him a half toothed grin. Shifting his gaze to the astral for a moment, he studies Aldan's aura, looking for anything interesting.

"So here she is," he states to Johnson and the room in general, "one canoe, as ordered. Guess that about wraps up our little venture, hmm?"

Enjoying his chair, Omen pulls out a home made cigarette and lights it up. Drawing a deep drag, he savors the sensation before slowly exhaling a plume of white-yellow smoke.

Pier 94

Frank smiled amiably and with a nod indicating the newcomer, "As soon as the appraisal's done, we can finish."

Omen only really notices the newcomer is an Awakened of some sort.

The Fedora

"Oh, chummer, you've seen this before, haven't you?" Bongo studied the singer as she played the room. All confidence, power, sex appeal, charm. But there it was, underneath it all, that same little girl who has been a thousand women on stage. Proving she wasn't vulnerable. Proving she could make it anywhere. Sometimes, sometimes they were right. Other times they made it by turning hard, and losing that touch of wonder that made magic, even in mundanes. Other times, it was a crash and burn through drugs or chips or sex... or all three. All this he had seen in just those few years he had been on the stage himself.

So what was he supposed to do with this one? Watch her. Watch her how long? Till she crashed and burned, too? The gig was suddenly looking a lot tougher than it did an hour ago. Joe, frag him, wasn't much good. Vague observations and insinuations, but nothing to go on. Was she even going to experience whatever it was Joe feared, or was this a waste of time?

Well, one thing he could do now was keep that magic and wonder going. Candle in the darkness, and all that. Till things became clearer, he could be an anchor in the music. And with that thought, he let it all out. In the old days, they called it 'calling down the moon.' It wasn't so much like summoning as letting go, like a mother letting the milk flow. A warm flood washed through his nerves and it felt like time slowed, and senses sharpened. He knew exactly how to play, rob the rhythm just a miniscule here and there to cause tension, release it by flowing into the beat again, almost like resolving a discordant harmony, but in time, not pitch. The other musicians responded.

The singer turned to look at him, pupils wide, wide, like in that moment. She closed her eyes and responded, the melancholy of the song turning from blue to indigo... it hurt to listen to her it was so beautiful. As the final chord resolved and her voice faded away, it was as if the audience were frozen, they were so silent. Then they broke, cheering and rising to their feet, all eyes glued to her, raving, bouncing, crying, laughing... insane.

But she looked back at him.

And with all that going on, a little voice spoke up in the back of his head, "What if it happens to me?"

Pier 94

Aldan takes the nod from Frank as approval to begin the appraisal. He walks closer to the canoe and says, "So, I guess you are all waiting on me, now." He studies it from several different angles as he walks around its perimeter. "Interesting."

Aldan looks back at Frank, "You told me about this and I was certainly intrigued, but I had no idea it would be..." He stops circling and gently places the palm of his hands on the canoe's surface. Standing on the opposite side from Frank, he looks at him over the canoe, "This is it. I don't know where you found it, but this is certainly it."

Pier 94

Visually the canoe appears well maintained for a handcrafted watercraft. Close inspection reveals the lack of modern or even moderately old construction methods. The joins are hand crafted dowells, the bindings sinew and organic. The natural crafts are immediately obvious as the astral senses interact with the visual images. Leaving the interfering mundane senses behind exposes a deep underlying rythm and chop in the deep pattern of long winds, deep waves and wide open skies. A beacon of tranquillity, a locus of calm, surrounded by a skin that alternately blends, absorbs, and multiplies the moods around it.

To a mundane it's an antique canoe. To the barely initiated a soothing spot in the chaos of nature. To one with the affinity for the waves and sky it would be a craft to cross the oceans of many worlds. Or the oceans between worlds.

<<Adelia:: Sotheby's auctioned the Brighter Prosperity Group's Ho Dai Lung to S-K Investments for 5000 voting shares of Wuxing stock. Minimum value 10,000,000 nuyen, since most voting shares are family held it is difficult to estimate appropriately. The Dragon Boat notoriously won the season's race via an interaction with the astral shallows. That is the only legitimate notarized sale of a known metaplanar conveyance.>>

Frank smiled and pulled out a quartet of optical chips, three of them he laid down on the table for the acquisition team, the other he held out to Aldan, "Good good, so it is what I hoped."

Frank waved a fist in celebration, "Alright!" then held up both hands and shrugged hsi shoulders apologetically, "Wasn't sure till the appraiser confirmed it. But since the gamble's paid off I doubled your payout. It's all in ZO accounts codes and protocols on the chips. I'm also cutting you on another 5% of the final consignment figure when my buyer comes through. So I trust you all will keep quiet about this till then."

"So who wants a rainier?", Frank points to a small cooler with a case of chilled beer.

Studio Tango Foxtrot

Her name was Cecilia and three days in it was all routine. Fans, critics, staff, roadies, entourages, managers, agents, all the trappings of the life, the scene, all rendered routine. The awesome indescribable touches, sights, sounds, and emotions that the audience experienced in their one night a week/month/year/lifetime was nothing to those in the life. The life was just work now. The magic seen all the time just isn't magic anymore.

Except tonight they were going to bring it all up again, catch it, distill it, bottle it, and ship it to the masses.

There was a Studio but it wasn't real anymore. The only real parts were the trodes and sensors hooked up to the few souls who hadn't long ago made a committment to the life by having simsense recording gear simply implanted. A sacrifice, or investment, that many were happy to make. If you caught that right moment of magic and sold the experience you could get enough to be set for at least a week. Studio Tango Foxtrot was a high powered node virtually located in the Greater Seattle Grid. It had to be to avoid the inevitable timing problems any longer distances made for so many sensory point sources and the challenges of integrating the experience.

Tonight everyone was part of the machine.

Cecilia was going to sing her heart out at The Fedora.

Pier 94

Omen reaches out a wrinkled hand to nab himself one of the chips, slipping it into a pocket. "That's very kind of you, Mr Johnson," he replies to Frank with a big puff of acrid smoke.

Motioning awkwardly with his cane, the shaman directs the canoe to the floor, then whispers his thanks to the spirits which carried it. Letting his gaze seep into the astral for a moment, the spirits disband in arcing lines of green and purple light, winking away to places unknown. Squinting again at the watercraft, Omen puzzles over it's enchanted nature. Probably keeps the storm spirits away, or some such, he speculates. Finishing his cigarette, he flicks the remains into the nearest rubbish bin, and takes up Frank's offer of a beer.

Drinking it down, Omen savours the familiar taste, his body well trained in the ancient art of getting drunk. For more years than he cares to remember, Omen has had a drinking problem of varying severity. Too old to go into rehab now, he reminds himself, staring at the now empty bottle. Huh. Gone already?

He places the empty bottle down with a deliberate clink, eyeing it like a trickster faerie of the fey realms. Best not have another, eh Wolf, he commands himself, his eyes lingering on the cooler cabinet.

"So how long till you confirm a buyer," he inquires of Frank, snapping his gaze back to the group.

The Fedora / Studio Tango Foxtrot

Cecilia took tentative steps toward Bongo, the crowd still cheering wildly, confusion and wonder in her eyes. "What ... what ... happened? Where did that come from?"

Bongo looked up at her from his seat among the drums. "It came from you. The music was yours. The words, the emotions... yours. All the technique, all the magic in the world can't do a thing without the right vessel to channel it. That's you."

Pier 94

Aldan pulls a chilled beer out of the cooler and takes a hearty swig. He looks down at the optical chip in his hand then says, "Yeah, Frank," he puts the chip in his inside coat pocket and raises the bottle, "Mighty kind of you."

Aldan smiles, "And the nuyen is nice, too."

He pauses just a moment to gauge the acquisition team's reaction: the nuyen, the beer, even his little joke.

"I'm in no rush to jump the pond and Barnaby mentioned the potential for a follow up. Consider me in." Aldan wonders if he just said too much, but figures if these guys are hired by Frank...well, on second thought he should just hold his tongue for the next few days.

The Fedora / Studio Tango Foxtrot

Cecilia stood for a moment, taking in what Bongo said. She didn't answer directly, just saying, "After the show. I wanna talk."

She returned to the front of the stage and accepted the audience's adulation. She waited for the cheering to die down, and introduced the next song. Bongo looked around the crowd, and caught Joe's eyes. Yeah, there it was, that look he gets when he thinks he's got it in the bag. And a nod and a raise of his glass. Well, looked like the pay was going to come. Bongo wasn't any more sure what he was supposed to do, so he figured winging it was all he could do. Keep his eyes open. Check in regularly. Absent-mindedly, Bongo badum-chinged a little joke by Cecilia. The crowd responded.

The rest of the night's performance was top-notch, though they didn't hit that sweet spot again. After the last set the musicians mingled a bit with the patrons, as has been usual since bar bands began. Part of the job. Bongo remembered one singer who sat at the table of a guy in plaid shirt, jeans, work boots and a bushy beard. She got up hurriedly and joined the rest of the band. "What?" the guitarist had asked. she replied, "He said he had been in the bush for three months, and I was the first woman he had seen since he came out."

Small talk and compliments for the music filled the conversation. After about half an hour, Cecilia indicated with her head the back room. Bongo followed. Cecilia grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the bar. There were boxes and crates of various supplies, and a table with three chairs. She opened the wine, sat down and poured two glasses. "Alright. What happened back there? I've never seen or heard anything like that, and I've been with some great drummers before. What did you do? How did you do it? It's like you turned on a tap and juice flowed out."

Bongo considered how much to tell this relative stranger. It was his job to watch and learn what might have happened to others like her, and might happen to her. Would telling her who and what he is distort his ability to observe? Possibly. On the other hand, lying to her right at the start was no way to develop the kind of trust that might be needed for her to open up to him at a crucial moment. He made up his mind. Fuck Joe if it turned out he wanted things differently. He should have been more explicit.

"I'm magical." She snorted in her drink, and started to sneer. "No, really." He continued. "I can direct the mana all around us into my music. It helps my talent and it helps me connect to the audience, and to the other musicians. What you experienced was just like you said. I opened myself up to the flow of magic and let it channel through me into the music and the audience."

"I thought magicians did whiz bang stuff and fought the corporations and flew off to other worlds. Is that what you do?"

"No. I can't do that kind of magic. I am what they call a physical adept. I can channel the magic into me to make changes to my body, to the way I can do physical things. I am a musician, and I direct the magic that way."

"Show me." A simple request, but how was he going to do that? He picked up a coaster from the table and flicked it across the room. It embedded itself into the wallboard. She followed its flight, and while she turned to follow it, he began tapping that morse code rhythm in the table, letting the mana flow to capture her attention. She turned back and focused on his fingers, pupils widening. She struggled to draw her attention away from them, and looked up at his face. "I heard that somewhere before. Tonight, it was piped in. But not like that! I can barely talk to you."

Bongo stopped playing, and her focus returned to her. "What power that is. You could write your own ticket. Why are you slumming around instead of making meganuyen?" Good question.

"Because The power doesn't work through electronics, so it can't be recorded, and because I don't want to. I have a dream, and following that dream doesn't involve meganuyen and music corporations and sales charts. For others, that is perfect, and the world gets their music. For me, I have a quest. I'm looking for a particular rhythm I believe exists at the heart of the world. I wanna find it. I wanna play it. I can't get there by living the corporate path."

She considered this for a moment. She looked skeptical. She looked cynical. She looked wistful. Bongo wondered whether he had just become the agent that destroys her career, dragging her into some crazy quest like his. "Nope," she says. "For me it's the audience interaction. The music makes me glow inside, and the audience reflects that back to me. I can't just do music in some studio or cave. I gotta be up on the stage. It's just ... well... the last few days have been an eye opener for me. The whole business end of it makes it seem like I'm selling nerps."

"I can see that. You belong up there."

"But if you don't, then why are you playing with me here, tonight?"

The question. The moment of truth. How much should he share? "Because Joe asked me to. He said he wanted to see what would happen, and offered to pay me good money if I sat in with you for a while. He's an agent and wants to see how his talent works out in different situations. I need the money right now, and you're a good singer, so I agreed. That's about it."

She thought some more, and took a sip of her wine. Bongo did the same. A bar employee came in and needed access to supplies. The two of them stood and walked back out into the bar. Bongo made sure the wine bottle came with them. They rejoined the rest of the band, who were animatedly recounting a great gig in Los Angeles earlier in the year. A few claps on Bongo's back showed the band approved of him. Joe was gone. Cecilia occasionally looked at Bongo with one eye squinted. She was clearly trying to figure him out.

Pier 94

Outside a scattering of flickered short range laser communication links shaded the dark waters a little more to the green. On the relatively calm surface a disguised communications repeater struggled to maintain it's equilibrium as it continued it's task of linking the elements of Team Omega. Under the pier a pair of spiders finished their task, only one was needed, but Team Omega always preferred redundancy in their plans.

Inside Abigail frowned as she commented, "That's stra..."

Studio Tango Foxtrot

Cecilia was Virtually everywhere, but every night for a week in The Fedora. A club, large enough for crowds to get lost in, yet intimate enoug to know everyone, virtually accessible to billions. Virtually has nothing on really being there to experience the magic.

Outside of the act the big boys were sniffing around. Joe Coole was holding out for the best deal. Not for himself he admitted to Bongo, but for Cecilia, "It's the control. The big ones treat the artists as cogs in the machine, crank out a hit to formula, rinse, repeat, spit. If she's in control, she can do what's good for her on her own schedule, you last longer. But you still need to deal with them, they have the distribution and promotion machine."

Joe Coole sighed, "And this is where I lose them, one way or another. keep an eye out.'

Studio Tango Foxtrot, virtually, and who knows where physically

>>Got it, Joe. I think I have an inkling of the process that happens. The weight of the machine wears you down. I might have to come up with a few supports to keep her going. You do your magic with the contracts, I'll do mine.<<

Studio Tango Foxtrot, virtually, and who knows where physically

His first impression of them was that they buzzed around her like flies around sugar. But he soon changed his opinion, after watching how some of the executives wheedled and promised, leering to each other when they thought Cecilia wasn't looking. These days they reminded him of the dogs in that town square, yers ago. One poor female came into heat, and the males pestered her into near insanity. She would back into a thorn hedge, and still they would come at her, humping her from the sides, from the front, getting any piece of her they could. She was matted and stained, wide eyed in desperation. "Surely this can't be nature." he had thought to himself. This was civilization, rubbing off onto the dogs that fed from it.

One of the executives tried to corral Bongo. "Say, you do a fine job on the drums. Here, take my card." An AR link appeared in Bongo's vision.

[Take a hike!] Bongo Commanded. The executive left the bar. Bongo never saw him again, but heard later about the incident of some corp fool walking into the middle of a biker gang.

Cecilia was holding up under the pressure. She was glad she was such a commodity, but kept her head. Bongo hoped his regular pep talks, and chats about each other's gigs was helping. Nothing much came from Joe. <<Still negotiating. Things going well. Keep her strong.>>

"Keep her strong? I should get her out of this." Bongo rented an off-roader, and took Cecilia for a ride into the mountains. They had a picnic, and listened to the sounds of nature. He drummed in response to a woodpecker. She warbled in response to a thrush. It was a good move. She was calmer for a good day afterward. The other band members were starting to make comments. But it wasn't like that. Bongo just wanted to keep Cecilia from sinking into the corporate trap. He just went on instinct, providing alternatives, keeping her in mind of her goals.

It wasn't like he was falling for her.

Studio Tango Foxtrot - Ultrazone Section 5

Somewhere in a secure area connections are made, and words are thought.
<<*&7dd0:: The off roader would have been perfect.>>
<<*****:: Yes, but we are still in negotiations>>
<<*&7dd0:: The longer we wait the more traces we leave.>>
<<*****:: The risk is acceptable.>>
<<*&7dd0:: Section 4 projects that Black Dog Music will make their offer in a couple days>>
<<*****:: So?>>
<<*&7dd0:: Here's their offer <package>>>
<<*****:: ... >>
<<*****:: That cuts our margin by 0.2 percent! >>
<<*&7dd0:: 99.8 percent of something is better then 100 percent of nothing.>>
<<*&7dd0:: Timing is tricky, but the trigger is in place, 30 minute window.>>
<<*****:: The operation is a go. Authorization 97*&^%47G87ysd867f>>

The Fedora

Cecilia was about to sing a set, she was back stage prepping, Joe Coole had Bongo come down to his table while they waited. A couple of the other band members checked their instruments, their sounds muted by the clubs acoustical agent system so the live music pumped in from some club in Vladivostok wasn't interrupted.

"Good news, my end of the deal is done, Cecilia just needs to affirm her end... what's that?"

Up on the stage the keyboardist stood and rushed off into the wings.

Pier 94

Abigail buckled at the knees and then staggered upright. "It's gone..." she hissed. Two trails of pluming hissing smoke followed the canisters dropping from the ceiling, and the warehouse floor revealed it's cracks as intense sheets of light shot up from the floor to ceiling.

The Fedora

Bongo bolts upright. There's a tingling in the back of his head. Dread. He never felt that before. "Somethings wrong."

He leaps up and runs to backstage to find Cecilia.

Backstage

Marlin knelt over Cecilia and diligently followed the Crash Cart Medkits Agent instructions, the first step of which was slamming the Doc Wagon activation button. The ARO derrezzed and reformed into an ETA.

5 Minutes....

Cecilia was still breathing, ragged gasps through a swollen throat and red irritated face. She was barely recognizable.

Backstage

Marlin, bless his heart, was doing the best he could, following the instructions step by step. "Let me Marlin, I've been here before." If this was anaphylaxis, it could take her before they got here. Bongo had his own medkit, but it was good that one was out already. He ran through the diagnosis with the machine, and quickly administered the recommended treatment. When it looked as if he were going too slowly, he dug deep within himself for speed and accuracy.



At the first sign Cecilia was stabilizing, Bongo looked around. What did this to her?