NuYen, its a crime.
Share it fairly but dont take a slice of my pie.
NuYen, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise its no surprise that they're
Giving none away.

Outside Jerry's Place

RRRRAAAaaaaawwwrrrrrrrrrRRRRAAAaaaaawwwrrrrrrrrr

Low rumbles thumped to a close as a group of 4 tuskers rolled to a stop in the middle of the pot hole riddled street. After the thundering sound of their arrival the silence was deafening. Casually the group of red streaked leather clad riders dismounted and set the kickstands on their thoroughly road worn assortment of customized bikes. Ignoring the glares of the dispersing people in the streets the four of them made themselves comfortable in their saddles and began sharing sips of clear liquid in an old bottle of Nuke It Cola.

The four tuskers looked ready to wait for their business, whatever it was.

Smitty's Repair Work

Business was brisk. Work orders, of various kinds, were in the queue scheduled for at least two weeks, plus an additional forecast of a month's worth of various off the books regular maintenance. A connection request on the private accessID interuppted a review of the schedule.

<<chowder:: ork-face here, I need an extra set of eyes and someone to ride shotgun for a pick up and delivery, small drive into the country side, 500 in it for you. Wednesday night. Interested in a break from rebuilding trannies?>>

Rocking Good Times

Mick the Slick smiled as he proudly laid the percussion set on the counter. He tapped a brilliant oyster shell cymbal and watched for a reaction as the tones swept through the store.

"Five piece conch and oyster shell set, authentic carrib pirate, all natural fish gut and skin. Coral sticks. Try it out. If you're interested, I have a little job."

Confident in the expected reaction, the pawn broker continued, "I need you to go look around the Bump N Grind, it's a place like mine, down the street. Come back after you've taken a good look around it, tell me everything you can about what's inside. I think there's something I'm interested in, but I need an independent look. That's you."

"So?"

<<Lancer:: a drive in the country and some cash, you sure know how to woo a lowly street girl, Chowder. Name me a time and I'll be ready, you can pick me up. >>

Lancer hadn't known Chowder that long, but she was always able to push him a bit with a chide here or there. Perhaps the ork had to put up with so much seriously gruff stuff from gangers and the like that he just had to hide a smile and roll his eyes at her lightweight antics.

She grinned at the prospect of something new and slightly dangerous. Well, okay, the cash was a factor too. She knew she could trust the ork and he was no pushover, he'd have her back if something went wrong. After another glance at the crammed schedule, she heaved a tired sigh and got back to work. It was good to be busy.

Pier 94

Frank looked over the information one more time, calculated the odds, made his mind up and called Edward.

<<8f907s9df7: It's your sugar daddy. Come meet me at my place by the water. Anytime tonight, I'm doing inventory, and you can help me with that.>>

Frank interuppted himself with a curse and aimed a few choice words at the drone forklift, "No no! That pallet goes in the special hold you stupid thing. And do not drop it or I'm sending you with it."

Node asdf87897-as9df-hdf-2314-21

Translucent planes of candied glass pirouetted in space in random flashing orbits. One stopped tracking and executed a smooth parabolic intercept course, the edge on approach ending with the flat pane presented face on. The view in the was a sunlit beach with waves crashing noisily under the blue sky and a backdrop of a smoking mountain.

Jimmy White-Feather's shuttlecock icon overlay what was probably real time imagery from his location.

<<Hey, I'm on vacation, but I got wind of something that needs a real time site visit. I get a finders fee if you take it. So you want the details?>>

<<And do you know what a pain it is tracking you down? The stupid system didn't even know you were here.>>

Hido Eruchi, Paranormal Investigator, 129 Redmond Arms Apartments, Redmond

The knock at the door carried metallic overtones as the delivery drone, unusual in this neighborhood, rapped for attention. A few moments later, as pre scripted it lay the package on the mat, ensured the note was tied to it, and retreated to it's mothership. The scratch patched brown step van collected it's drone and drove off.

<8204DFA3: You know, if you keep sending your drones along with your shipments your customers will start expecting free stuff, and then where will you be? See you later.>

I suspect the 'help' he needs with inventory is because it's someone else's inventory at the moment. This could be fun...

Fairly early in the evening Edward makes his way to the docks to see what Frank needs. Various pieces of gear stashed about his person.

"So, what's the deal?" Once Frank's heart climbs back down his throat he replies "What have I told you about sneaking up on me?" "Don't." "So why do you still do it?" "I didn't, you just need new ears. I'm sure the old man can hook you up. Anyway, I hear you need some inventory help."

Abigail is drifting into digital meditation, entirely placid, but extremely attentive. She watches the incoming call drift in front of her nose and flick to life, but doesn't react.



Abby offers an appreciative whistle. "Not even a postcard? For shame, Jimmy." Though she idly teases, she's already reflexively groping at the spider's firewalls, seemingly only noticing when her access is denied.

<<Sorry about that, force of habit, y'know? Who, what, where, how much? I know better than to expect the "why", I'll have to puzzle that out on my own time. >>



<<You have no idea how comforting that is, omae, none at all.>>

Abby's already peeking through the VR haze, squaring away her minimal kit. It's all so familiar that she can perform the ritual passably even with her senses altogether gone.

Omen, aka Hido Eruchi, breaks into a big smile when he sees the bottle of scotch. Recognising his fixer's name on the tag he slots the message chip and cracks open the bottle. Pouring himself a shot, he throws it back, a familiar burning sensation sliding down his throat, and a comforting warmth spreading through his old bones. Not bad at all, he muses, screwing the top back on. He pauses, holding the bottle in his hand, listening to the swish of the liquid as he rolls it around a moment longer. Reluctantly, he places the bottle in kitchen rack.

Moving to the small loungeroom, he eases himself down onto an ancient but comfortable chair, switching off the trid with a voice command. Returning his attention to his 'link, he texts a short message to commcode 1a890ud765s75fa: <<Sasha, what a thoughtful gift. Thank you. How can I say no? Send me the time and place. I'll be glad to hear what your Johnson has to say.>>

Omen looks around at his tiny apartment, groaning at the mess of clothes, books, data slates, food containers, bottles, chalks, mixing bowls and ungents, strings of feathers, fur and stone. Under a small pile of empty stuffer-shack containers he spots a bag of half scattered rune-bones. Ah. I knew you were here somewhere. Must be time to get that cleaning dwarf in again?

Pier 94

The older man nodded to Edward, "Got a deal lined up. Colleague of mine did the legwork. Figured you and a couple other pros I'm checking out could do the pickup for me."

Frank winked, "You'll need to call me Johnson during the meet."

"They'll be by in a bit, make sure you aren't spooked when they show up."

Orange Grove, Jerry's panic room
Jerry didn't blink at the engines' approach, but when they died nearby, he looked up from the figurine he was painting. "Always in the middle of a base coat." A few more seconds to finish the surface he was working on, then he set the figure on a clamp to dry and stood up to gather his street gear. His eyes lit up as he passed the huge axe on the wall. "Let's make an impression today." The odds of needing the Big Choppa were minimal, if the noisemakers were coming to trade blows instead of words his window would be shattered by now.

As he walked down the hallway, a couple text messages came in from the various worrywarts with street-view windows. He used his hands to virtually mash them all into a ball, stamped his standard <<Don't worry, I'll handle it.>> response, and threw the ball up, sending a mass message to let them know they weren't the only ones concerned. Hopefully they'd spend enough time chattering to each other to give him enough time to get the bikers on their way without further interruptions.

Jerry's shades darkened as he stepped out onto the stoop. He swept his gaze up and down the street. The usual unwashed masses huddled here and there, but the four orks in the street were getting a wide berth. His image enhacement software automatically showed him refined images of their faces as he focused on them. He relaxed, as they clearly weren't starting trouble, shouldered his axe, and called out in Or'Zet, "Mornin, boyz. How'r ya bladez?"

Node asdf87897-as9df-hdf-2314-21

The shuttlecock bounced up and down a couple of times and displayed a crayon line grin.

<<Pier 49<<time and location data>> meet in the flesh, <<key codes>> for the door, he'll make the pitch. Percentage for you, he's cutting me a finders fee if you work out. I've already hacked the place, looks like he's one of those hard core types keeps all of his stuff off the 'trix or in his head, but if you find out let me know. Some people are a bit sensitive if you go digging around on the first meet, unlike me where I don't mind giving my agents a bit of a workout every time we chat, so you might want to be careful if you do that.>>

In the background a tanned arm reaches and grabs the shuttlecock and starts hauling it off the window.

<<whoa, gotta go....>>

Hido Eruchi, Paranormal Investigator, 129 Redmond Arms Apartments, Redmond

<<1a890ud765s75fa : <<Time and Location Codes>> <<Key Codes>> <<Account transfer record>> >>

The sony emperor blinked and buzzed in the not so often heard sound of a positive account transfer.

Orange Grove, Street

"Egrandu erath Jerry"the lead tusker said as he straightened and faced the approaching Jerry. He grasped the bottle in a weather worn fist from one of the others and tossed it over in a gentle arc, "Hurlg." The other three tuskers stood and glared outwards in a protective circle.

The tusker pointed his hand at the 116 patched on his right shoulder, "116th street chapter. Yerz if you let us use your ereth for an exchange you mediate."

Orange Grove, Street

Jerry Caught the bottle with his good hand, held it up to the light, and swirled it around. Damn bikers. No manners, but always getting their hands on good stuff. He took a swig. The barrens-style hurlg would've fried a pinker tongue, but Jerry felt the subtle brutalities that only an ork can enjoy. Or perhaps an unusually cultured trog. Jerry savored the aftertaste as he approached to a less shouty distance (though still beyond deadman's range). "Good stuff, 116. Got yerselfs a deal. I 'ope this ain't just a bunch of ujnorts tradin' hoops"

Hido Eruchi, Paranormal Investigator, 129 Redmond Arms Apartments, Redmond

Omen's smile broadens as the 200 is transferred into Eruchi's account. Appearance fee up front. Wiz.

Absorbing the message, he moves into the bedroom and puts on his "work" clothes: long sleeved shirt, black pants, comfortable shoes and a dark blue longcoat. He grabs a yellowing bone bracelet from a dresser draw, and throws his favourite white scarf round his neck. Pulling a small backpack from his hall cupboard, he pokes around inside it, making sure all "work" equipment is there, before plucking out his contacts and earbud and fitting them. Slinging the pack over one shoulder, he heads for the garage, scooping up the rune-bones and his mahogany cane on the way.

Omen's dark green Evo Cruiser pops the door with a voice command, and the old shaman gingerly lowers himself into the driver's seat with a grunt. Stowing his cane and pack on the passenger side, he activates the ignition with his palm print and keys the roller door. The innocuous sedan rolls out onto the street, Omen lighting up a hand rolled cigarette as the car autopilots itself to the meet location. Nothing like a good smoke, the old shaman reminds himself, enjoying the ride.

Pier 94

Some time later, Omen pulls up at the pier and kills the engine. Struggling out of the car, he looks about the place, allowing his contacts a moment to adjust to the lighting before stepping away and activating the Cruiser's anti-theft. The old man makes his way to the door, his step spritely despite leaning on his cane. Knocking twice, he curses his ageing wit before digging up the key codes and punching them in.

I really am getting old, he chides, shuffling in after the door opens.

Pier 94: earlier

Clapping a hand on Franks shoulder "You know I don't spook as easily as you do. I'm going to go outside to watch them show up, no need to make it obvious I actually know you."

Pier 94: as Omen arrives

Edward watches Omen arrive from the roof opposite the door.
Looks a little old for this, Wonder why he's still in?

Early Wednesday Evening, Smitty's Repair Work

"Beep Beep", Chowders sleek black pickup honked as he rolled up to the doors and stopped for it's passenger.

<<chowder:: Your chariot awaits.>>

Early Wednesday Evening, Smitty's Repair Works

Lancer looked up from making a few adjustments to the main board of Nissan grocery getter. Some lugnut do it yourselfer had tried to find his way around the speed governnor on it and fried the damned thing. Better a toasted board than a totalled vehicle though, no doubt his wife would agree. She slipped on her armor lined longcoat and made sure her pistol, extra clips, and flashpaks were secured in their inside 'pockets' before zipping it up. She eyed her Remi scattergun for a moment and decided to grab it. Even if it stayed in the truck during the meet, it was better there than in the garage if she needed it. Finally, she grabbed a black briefcase near the door. Inside were her iBall, flyspy, and optic-x drones, each nestled in their own foam compartments.

Chowder's truck, which he'd called Razer, gave her a bit of a thrill every time she saw it. Even its name was wiz! It was something like she'd want to have if she ever accumulated the means. Well, maybe something a little smaller would suit her better. She was slightly giddy as she pulled herself up into the passenger seat with the briefcase next to her and Remington between her knees. "I figured it couldn't hurt," she said with a bashful shrug and pulled on her AR goggles. An encrypted security code from her comm engaged the shop's security system before they left.

As the ork drove, she removed the flyspy and the iBall from the briefcase and got them loaded up with clearsight autosofts and subscribed to her comm so they'd be ready to go. Chowder gave her a look when she stuck the gecko'd iBall onto her door panel, but said nothing. "So what are we expecting tonight? Just a pickup and delivery? Sounds easy enough..." As she talked she idly accessed Razer's node and browsed the truck's diagnostics to make sure everything was up to snuff. It was habit. Once she was satisfied, she minimized the AR window, but kept the link open, and probably would for the remainder of tonight's run.

An extremely harmonious rathole, Everett.

Abigail snaps back to the physical world, surveying the mess she's made of her gear. The holster's strapped to the wrong side of her arm, the revolver's in backwards and her commlink's on the floor, but still, it's several times better than average.

A quick squaring-away later and she's out the door - or at least she would be, if it didn't swing shut and lock in her face.

"Just had to be today, didn't it? Open up or I'll have you thrown into the Hell of Excessive Compression!"

Pier 94

After a good half-hour of screaming at, threatening, negotiating with and begging her mischievous household spirits, plus another of scouring Pier 49 and three minutes of cursing her dyslexic colleague, Abagail finally rolls up astride a not-so-majestic Segway.

"The gang's all here, eh? Must be some really wiz job, I guess." Abby says aloud, more to herself than anyone.

She'd introduce herself, but the glasses, the flats and the vehicle already said "resident geek" better than she ever could.

Pier 94: after a couple of other people have showed up

Lets see, segway, flats, glasses, Glad my 'link is hidden.
Edward drops down from the roof and follows the geek in the door. his sudden appearance may startle Abby a bit, as his 'link was running hidden. Upon entering the building he asks of the other two, "Only three of us so far. Either of you know how many more we should be expecting?"

Abby twists about with a start. her loyal steed whirring in protest. She would've tumbled back if it weren't for her pilot-assisted balance.

Appraising the situation, her lips curl into a devious grin.

"Your guess is as good as mine, omae. A particularly attentive observer can see her subvocalizing something more, just as an ominous progress bar flits into being on Edward's AR display.

Uploading BlaVenger.Wyrm

12%, 26%. 63% 99%

Just fuckin' with ya!

As the unexpected progress bar appears, Edward reaches down and toggles the power button on his 'link. "Good reaction time, But I think I'll leave this off for now."
Responds Edward, his voice shifting into a near perfect imitation of Abby's.

Orange Grove, Street

"No hoops. Running heavy metal into the mountains." the crimson streaked leather crinkled as the ork tilted his head to the Cascades to the east.

"Wednesday night tusker calling himself Chowder'll stop by with a tricked out truck, he'll be hauling the load. Couple of the boys'll be by with the deposit, case of calhots. Dunno who'll show for our friends, but figure a truckload, and they'll show here, and they'll know to ask for you. You scan the heavies, give us the word. Then you hand over a sample of the 'Hots for their ok. Once they scan it ok, hold the 'Hots till the heavies get moved to Chowder's rig. Once that's done you turn the 'Hots over, everyone rolls."

The ork grinned, "Road trip, rolling hot."

Leaning forward he whispered conspiratorially, "Thinking of letting slip to the 405 Hounds we rolling light, have a little fun on the way. Give the puppies a spanking."

"That leaves your end, I can offer 2000 liters diesel, delivered here, or 14 days where we watch erath Jerry while you are out working."

Along the road in Razer

Chowder picked up the Remington and slid it into a saddle holster on the inside of the front door. He grinned and pointed to formerly concealed gun port. "Stick it there if you need it."

He let the truck drive itself while still on grid guide. He looked at Lancer, "Straightforward job, pick up some gear, haul it into the mountains."

He watched Lancer closely, "It'll be fine as long as you stay in the truck, don't let any of the Crimson Crush see you in here, and we avoid the Metroplex Guard, the Star, the 405 Hell Hounds, the forsaken Ancients, and don't break an axle."

"We start in Orange Grove."

Pier 94

The interior of the pier is cluttered with worn aged boxes and crates, many of them obviously empty and stored for future use. Near the personnel entrance is a clearly identified area marked of by wide yellow and black stripes is kept clear of boxes and moving equipment. A folding table and a set of folding chairs fill the area. On top of the table are a set self cooling and heating drinks and some Crispy Cherritoes snacks. A relatively non descript middle aged man sits on one of the folding chairs greeting people who arrive. None of the boxes nearby are stacked more then a single box high, providing excellent visibility thourghout the pier top warehouse for at least 5 meters in any direction.

Along the road in Razer

Lancer nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. "I see, guess I'm too small-time for your muscle reputation, Chowder." She'd been interested in observing the particulars in how even a simple run like this would come to life, but supposed she'd have to watch remotely. She appreciated being invited along, especially for a little bit of 'yen, but she kinda wondered why he wanted her along at all.

"Want me keep an eye on things with my flyspy, in case of anything shady, yeah?"

Along the road in Razer

Chowder chortled briefly, the ork tapped the tinted windows, "Just stay in the cab while you do your work, I'll keep my eyes on the road, you got the rest. I can probably get some of the crush to carry the drones for when we really get moving. Otherwise we really do need every extra set of eyes on the lookout for trouble, and the roads aren't in too good a shape, so I will be busy keeping us on at least two wheels."

"So what's your plan?" the ork inquired.

Along the road in Razer

"Well... I was thinkin you could toss my iBall onto Razer's roof at the meet. That way I can keep an eye on Razer here and keep our tail covered. I can start patrolling with the fly and look for any signs of an ambush or unwanted third parties snoopin around. I've got another VTOL drone, but I figured it might draw unwanted attention. Unless you want to launch it a few blocks from where we're gonna be. I could use that one to scout some good escape routes if somethin goes sour. Basically, I'll be the eyes in the back of your head whispering in your ear, ork-face. What are we pickin up, anyway? Drugs, guns, chips?"

Lancer pulled up Razer's node in her AR window again. When she'd taken a look earlier, she was mostly looking at performance readings and the like. Now she took a moment to look at what kind of sensors, programs, and nifty countermeasure systems were installed in the truck. If it had a camera suite, she supposed the iBall would be redundant.

Orange Grove, Street

Jerry listened intently to the biker's pitch, then took another swallow while he considered it. Running to the hills with a bunch of urban cowboys and at least one total stranger was really flirting with disaster, but Jerry hadn't taken a nice, long ride in a while. Plus, with recent events, having some extra backup around for the next few weeks would take a lot off his mind. "Sounds like fun. It'll be good to have some real hez around here. The old ereth'cerri's gettin soft, and the neighbors have noticed." Jerry offered the standard Crimson Crush salute, then turned to head back inside.

Pier 94

The exchange between the elf and fair skinned human girl is largely missed by Omen, although he raises his eyebrows when the elf demonstrates a form of mimicry. "I don't know if there are any others coming," he says, "but I'm sure Mr Johnson will be able to tell us."

The shaman shuffles over and takes a seat adjacent to the non-descript male, his bones creaking as much as the folding chairs. Plucking at a cheesy snack he cruches one down with relish. "I always liked cherritoes," he declares, giving the middle aged man a good natured wink. "My name is Omen, by the way," he continues, addressing the room generally. He waves a wrinkled hand in greeting. I guess we are waiting on others still, he thinks, looking at the numerous empty chairs.

As the others respond, Omen pierces the astral veil with his psychic senses, the lifeless warehouse fading against the swirling, radiant hues of the attendee's auras. Slowly turning his gaze left and right, the shaman studies their auras, sensing the eddies and flows of their life-spark. He tries to get a feel for whether any of those present are awakened, whether there are watchers or spirits nearby, and whether the Johnson is augmented or has any spells active...

Bongo imagines the delicate control needed to play such instruments without destroying them. He plays a few patterns very lightly, and marvels at the overtones. Almost like it's still in the sea.

"No problem, Mick. I'll head over there right now. You wanna tell me what you're looking for, or you want a 'virgin' view? You willing to pay this much for just a look, it must be something."

Rocking Good Times

"Virgin? That's a good one. Yeah, that's what I want."

Bump N' Grind

It may have started as a specialist dance and party rental equipment and pawn shop, but nowadays it's obviously only a pawn shop with the iron bars and armored glass windows of all of it's kind.

Pier 94

The man smiled at the start of introductions and introduced himself at his turn, "Johnson."

"I think this will be everyone. Between yourselves you should cover all the bases as it were. And you will need to cover all the bases."

"I've got what would be a simple smash and grab but I've discovered there's some additional complications that need the services you provide. I'm offering you each 2 k to pick it up and deliver it to me."

"The item is probably worth 6 figures, so a couple k might not seem much, but you need to know both what it is, and who to sell it to safely, which is where I come in and of course, there's always ways to pick up some side money on a job like this which I will be happy to help with after you're done."

"Maybe 30 minutes of your expertise for 2k sound like a good deal for all of you?"

Along the road in Razer

At "Drugs, guns, chips?" Chowder grinned and said "Yes."

"Bring the VTOL, keep it at least a klick up and no one should be able to use it for target practice."

As if on cue a metallic whining ping flashed against the driver door and the vehicles pilot lit up an ARO in the interior of the cab as it started hunting the source. Chowder snorted and flipped the ARO down out of his way, "I'll have to chat with those people later about manners."

Along the road in Razer

"Okay, sur-whoa!" the girl brought her hands up to cover her head and ducked down by reflex. After a moment with no further shots, she calmed and straightened. Nevertheless, she scooted down a little bit against the seat. From there, she activated the VTOL drone and used AROs in the drone's interface to create tags for Razer, herself, and Chowder so they'd each show up as independent colored dots, just incase they got separated. She instructed the Pilot to ascend to 1km and stay within a 1km radius of the truck. She keeps it in her lap until they reach the limits of Orange Grove, then lowers the passenger window, launches it out, and quickly closes the window again.

Pier 94

"2k for 30 minutes huh, Good deal or not depends entirely on how dangerous it is. I think we'll need to hear a little more about what sorts of things are in the way before we can say that. I am interested though."

With that Edward leans back in his chair and takes a swig out of a self heating coffee cup, before grimacing and muttering something about how the self heating unit fell down on the job.

Pier 94

Omen nods at Edward's words.

"Two thousand sounds reasonable enough, but I'd like to know more, as you suggest. Who are we taking from, and what kind of resistance do you expect, Mr Johnson?"

As the shaman speaks, he pulls an old leather bag from his coat pocket and turns it inside-out above the table. A dozen small, white polished knuckle bones clatter out, cut and inscribed with spidery runes. With practiced ease, the old man scoops them up and casts them onto the tabletop, where they tumble and swirl for just a moment as if caught in a tiny whirlwind. Mentally imploring the spirits of insight and wisdom, Omen asks the otherworlders to whisper the Johnson's secrets to him, alerting him to any lies his potential employer might speak. When the rune-bones finish rolling, the old man studies them with a careful gaze, trying to find the truth in the chaos, and determine whether his fate is bound with the Johnson, Edward and Abigail.

Abigail isn't precisely the talkative sort, and that's probably because she's halfway into a VR trance. though still manages to nod her head at appropriate moments. She knows she's not much good with these things - in fact, the Johnson's general demeanor already has her unnerved a bit.

He's all but told us "it'll be easy".

Meanwhile, in The Matrix, the Technomancer busily clues in her favorite Data Sprite, little more than a hovering, shifting I Ching board with a central emoticon made of three yarrow stalks.

<<As soon as our employer breathes an outline, you are to begin filling it promptly, in accordance with the Commands and Subroutines.>>

Its stalk-brows raise, its mouth takes on a curve, and its trigrams rotate, casting clear affirmative.

Bump N' Grind

Bongo Slade strolls up to the barred door and presses the buzzer. He smiles and waves at the security camera. "Yeah, I was right, a little hair colour and coloured contacts should be enough here," he thinks. The door clicks and he enters.

A greasy young man behind the front counter asks dispiritedly, "Whatcha lookin' for?"

"Nothin' in particular, just checkin' for bargains." Bongo ambles towards the far back wall. "Well, maybe some drumsticks. Got any drumsticks?"

"Yah... first aisle from the back." An inside camera locks onto Bongo and follows him as he wanders around the shop.

The back wall has a few posters mounted, and racks of posters to flip through. "Wow, some old-tech here," Bongo muses.

He picks out an old Maria Mercurial poster and drops it off at the front desk. "Mind if I start a pile here?"

"Nah. Knock yerself out."

Bongo then begins his scan in earnest, from the back to the front, carefully ignoring stretches like tops of shelving units on which nothing is displayed. from the first aisle up he takes a good solid pair of thrasher rock drumsticks and, after the first area scan is done, places them with the poster up front.

In the third area scan, he finds a wiz ring with rock crystal stones inlaid in a circle. "Bet this will flash when I use those sticks!" He gets the attendant to open up the glass case and drop it off up front too. The rest of the third scan and most of the fourth take a long time as there are glass-covered drawers with small items of all sorts.

"You sure I can't help you with somethin'?" the employee asks.

"No, chummer, I got some cash yesterday and I wanna spend some of it on me before the girlfriend finds out. Know what I mean?"

"Yah!" the man chuckles. "Been there. Done that. Ate the box lunch."

"Cretin," Bongo thinks to himself.

The fifth scan is half done when Bongo finishes at the front of the store. "Whew. I was getting worried."

"So, what do I owe for these things?"

The employee adds up the item costs and declares, "Only 175 nuyen. Great deal on the ring, man. The boss got it for a steal."

"Glad I could take advantage. Credstick do?" Bongo hands a stick with 200 nuyen attached to one of his fake IDs and waits for the processing. Then he takes his purchase and heads out. He decides to take the items with him to Rocking Goods Times. Who knows, maybe Mick was interested in the ring.

Rockin Good Times

"Hoy, Mick. Ready to pick my brains?"

Pier 94

The Johnson smiled genially at the responses, and looked on with interest and the tossed bones while he answers, "You all have different talents, which are needed, and should be more then sufficient. I will give specifics later if you accept, but first you may want to share with each other and see if I got it right about covering the bases."

"So what does tossing them bones tell you?"

Orange Grove/Razer

"You remember to stay inside." Chowder murmurred as he stepped out of the truck. Four orks in crimson stained riding leathers didn't react as they lounged against their parked custom bikes passing a bottle of FizzyGlo that would melt paint. The four were parked at one end of a street not quite into the intersection, effectively sealing this end of the street.

The street itself was typical of the run down area, except for a couple of distinct well kept store fronts. One of them even had an ARO sign blinking REPAIR SHOP in synch with the actual exterior light. It even had a painted parking spot.

Orange Grove/Razer

Lancer focuses her mind, switches an application, and finds herself looking down on the area from overhead. From her position, jumped into her VTOL drone, she surveys the nearby rooftops and alleyways for signs of anything out of the ordinary, especially focusing on the area behind Razer to lookout for any attempts to box them in on this street. She also takes a moment to scan for active nodes in the area.

Rocking Good Times

Bongo Slade is in the process of describing what he saw at Bump N' Grind to Mick the Slick. So far Mick has indicated little interest in the items described, including the ring Bongo bought. "You got hosed on the ring, chummer."

Bongo continues his description. "... and then the section on outdoor equipment was taken up mostly by an old canoe, done in the old traditional Canadian style with birch bark. Otherwise..."

"Wait," Mick interjects. "Tell me more about the canoe."

"It felt sturdy and had a nice, taught response when I tapped it. Not at all like I expected an old piece to feel like. It sorta had a life to it like a good, well-used drum, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know exactly. Forget the rest of the inventory. Tell me about the shop, particularly any security you noticed."

"There was a camera covering the entrance, and the front door was locked electronically, operated by the guy at the counter. Internally there was a camera that followed me around the shop. The inventory that was protected all looked to be locked by physical locks, like glass doors or security cables on larger items. I'm not sure about their matrix connection, but I think by the dangling cable from the cash register they keep disconnected from the matrix except when they need to connect, like for banking or something. I don't know about the cameras. There weren't any wires leading anywhere from them, so they could be wireless, or the cables are buried in the walls.

"There was also something funny about the placement of a couple of items. They were cheap trinkets, like you would find in a pawn shop, but there were three exactly alike, placed around the shop. I can't perceive astrally, but I would bet money that they were placed as ward items around the shop. Thing is, if they are centred for wards, and all the same force, I don't think they were placed correctly. If you were to come in the second window from the front door and turn right immediately, you would avoid the wards and get to the canoe. I don't know how you would deal with the cameras, though."

"You did fine, Bongo. The drum kit is packed in that box by the door. Enjoy."

"My pleasure. Mick. I hope we can do business like this again."

Bongo gathers up the box and heads home, dreams of new sounds dancing in his head. He messages Joe Coole, "Available for work."

Mick starts making a few calls of his own.

VR Space over Orange Grove/Razer

In the physical overlay view it's a desert, wisp strains of threads loosely connecting a few isolated hotspots only visible because the contrast to the nothing around them. The "REPAIR SHOP" stands out even though it's a low grade icon. Sensor iconography denotes a few vehicles without active IDs as potential moving hazards. Off in the distance to the West a broad haze of signal corona hovers over the horizon, not directly accessible, but the native reality filter software just knows it's there. Several blocks to the North a large moving road hazard is indicated. Visual icon windows display a small slow moving truck. Overhead three sub orbital signal and vapor trails pulse with heavily encrypted chatter.

Pier 94

Omen scratches his beard and squints at the rune-bones, muttering something in japanese under his breath.

"Not as much as I'd like," replies the shaman, "but for my part, I accept your job, Mr Johnson."

Returning his focus to Edward and Abigail, the old man gives an easy smile. "You're right about introductions. As I said, I'm Omen, and I'm a magician. Fully awakened. Wolf shaman to be precise. I'm good with spell casting, dealing with spirits, and astral security. Plus I'm old. Some say I am cute."

Huddling back into his longcoat, Omen tries to keep out the cold of the open warehouse. He consults the rune-bones after each person speaks, sifting the truth from the falsehoods.

Being rather new to the drone recon scene, she takes a moment to simply 'exist' in full VR, taking in and noting her surroundings. She takes delight in the out of body experience, and looks at it all with a bit of wonderment, especially the sub orbs. Once familiarized, she zooms in on Chowder and sets his location to a quickmap and slides the tab to the side of her vision. Next, she overlays a 2d grid on the ground, 3 squares by 3 squares, each 300m across, with Razer in the center of the center square. If either the slow moving truck or the vehicles without IDs enter the grid, she'll examine them more closely and also set them to quickmap zooms, so she can switch between zoomed in areas quickly. In this manner, she'll keep literal 'tabs' on surrounding traffic while keeping an eye on Chowder and his conversation with the gangers.


[Is she able to listen in on Chowder in any way? Mental note: directional mic on the VTOL!]

Pier 94

Leaning back and tossing the cold coffee into a nearby trashcan, Edward smirks a little. "Well now, apparently you're right about all the bases. He's astral security, I can handle the physical security, and she's matrix security presumably."

"Looking at what sort of people you brought together for this I take it you'll want this whole thing kept pretty quiet. It also tells me you expect we'll need all three, which intrigues me. Most places only have physical and matrix security since mages are expensive." Glance over at Omen "No offense of course." Returning his gaze to the Johnson "I'll accept the offer as well."