1450 S. Yakima Avenue, Apartment 3B, Tacoma, 07:30

The sound of a single shakuhachi playing a traditional Japanese folk melody emanates from a commlink resting atop a tall synthwood dressing cabinet, itself nestled against the wall in the corner of the room at the foot of a troll-sized bed. The bed's occupant, one Benichi Yamamori - better known as Ben to his friends, Thirty on the streets, and Mr. Forrest to his landlord - stirs, sits up and rubs his eyes, then strokes his goatee absently before tossing aside the sheets. He stands and walks around the end of the bed to tap the commlink, which shuts off the alarm clock function and ends the breathy string of notes. He glances at the sword sitting sheathed on its stand atop the dresser for a moment before turning to start his day. The room is dark, lit only by the glow of the commlink screen and a few thin strands of yellow sunshine leaking through the shutters on the window, but the ork has no trouble navigating up a few steps and around the corner in the gloom.

After relieving himself in the bathroom, he comes back to his bed, tidies the sheets, tosses the pillow onto the floor, and attaches two 100-pound barbell weights to the sturdy bed frame with hooks, one on each corner of the bed. He begins his morning exercise routine by picking up the foot of the bed, then slowly lifting it up over his head before letting it back down again, repeating this motion several times. He follows that with sit-ups, then he carefully crawls beneath the bed and does inverted push-ups, sitting on the underside of the bed while using its weight for resistance. Finally some squats done in a bowing position with the bed at his back, and he detaches the weights and folds the bed up into the wall, securing it on either side of its enclosure.

Walking over to the dresser, he opens the second drawer and takes out a pair of black hakama, threadbare at the knees and tattered at the hem, and steps into them, pulling them up over his boxer-briefs. Closing the second drawer and opening the top one, he takes out and ties on a black cloth belt, running it through his left hand first so that the hard magnetic nub sewn into it is positioned properly on his left hip. Reaching back with both hands, he unties his ponytail and shakes out his long black hair, then takes a trode net out of the drawer and weaves it in just above his hairline, then re-ties. Once in contact with his scalp, the trode net begins converting body heat into electricity, and after a moment it boots up and connects to his commlink, prompting the latter to emit a three-tone beep. Benichi then reverently takes the sword - named Kanjin by its creator - from its stand and, with a mental command, activates the electromagnet on the side of the scabbard to attach it to his belt. He closes the drawer, then stands at the back wall, hands at his sides.

Uke hajimete, he thinks.

The link beeps once in acknowledgment of the command, and it displays a splash screen that reads, <Uke 1.3 Kendo Kata Visualizer.> A hazy humanoid form appears in the room in front of the ork, armed with a boken and clad in traditional kendo practice armor. The target is not actually present, merely an Augmented Reality Object, or ARO, that Benichi will use as a point of reference. With the knuckles of his left hand, he pushes forward and down on the top of the scabbard, rotating it to within a few degrees of horizontal. As he reaches for the hilt with his right hand, Benichi can feel the power there, sizzling beneath his fingertips, but he does not activate his weapon focus since he is only practicing. He settles into a grip that is firm but fluid, and with another neural cue, the scabbard opens up along its length, allowing the blade within to exit without ever touching it, guided out by a magnetic field. He brings the sword up into a guard position, and begins working through various kata.

For ten minutes, Benichi's bare feet slap on the cold pavement floor as the monomolecular edges of his sword slice through the cool air of the basement apartment. He performs the movements and full speed and strength, but maintains control so that the walls, floor and furniture are not cut by an errant slash. Unlike the curved, single-edged katana that he first learned to use as a boy, his prize possession is shorter, straight and double-edged, created by the technology, science and magic of the modern age. The hilt is long enough for two-handed use, and has no guard; instead the grip features gecko-pads to prevent the user's hands from slipping onto the blade after working up a sweat. The kata he practices he has created himself, blending traditional kendo techniques with his very nontraditional blade. The location, position and size of the target ARO changes many times throughout his workout, sometimes representing a troll, sometimes an elf, sometimes a dwarf. Much simpler than a tutorsoft or AR game, the target ARO doesn't spar with him, but merely shows him where his strikes should be aimed as he performs the movements. When he has completed all ten kata, he returns his weapon to its scabbard, which opens to receive it; the blade snaps into place as soon as it is brought near, thanks to the magnetic bottle the scabbard projects. Should the sword's edges actually touch the scabbard, it would be cut just as easily as the air.

Uke keshite, kohii hajimete, Benichi thinks.

The commlink acknowledges his command with an excited ping, and the soykaf machine in the upper portion of the large room hisses to life. Meanwhile, Benichi returns his sword to its stand, takes off his belt and hakama, folds them up neatly and places them back in his dresser, and then heads up the stairs into the kitchenette and sits down on the apartment's only chair to cool off after his workout. He leans to his left and gets one of a few individually-wrapped onigiri he recently splurged on out of the small stainless steel refrigerator. As he tears open the cellophane, he thinks, Not many more of these in my future unless I find some work. He takes a bite, and savors the soft texture of the rice, and the hint of salmon mixed with seaweed flavors. So much better than kibble, he thinks as he luxuriates.

As he sits in his underwear eating his breakfast, he brings up an AR trid display and starts watching the morning newscast. Shortly, the soykaf machine buzzes softly, then goes quiet, indicating his beverage is ready. He leans back, picks up his cup and takes a sip, and his face twists into a grimace. "Ugh," he says aloud. But he drinks it anyway, since he can't afford to waste any of his water ration by tossing the bitter liquid down the drain where it belongs. He casts the soykaf machine an annoyed glance, and silently vows to cut it in half as soon as his luck turns for the better. He finishes the onigiri and opens the refrigerator for another - the last! - one. He looks ruefully at the Nutritron kibble dispenser on the counter, and decides to eat the onigiri instead. After all, he tells himself silently, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

11:06:05 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

The light conversation on the yacht is but a whisper from the dark fishing boat bouncing in the waves along side it. On board is an agent waiting patiently on its node. It has been idly counting down to run its scripted program, unless the appropriate access Id returns. the instructions it follows mean nothing to its limited dog brain. Watch the timer. activate the switch. The plastic explosives in the hull respond with a concussive boom, and the agent is no more. The boat is no more. just giant shrapnel fleeing from the huge fireball.
The yacht is bombarded with fire and metal. The chrome headed guard disappeared over the side. The orc who called himself "Lefty" was thrown from his seat, separated from both arms, his life force spilling onto the deck. The whole ship sways from the blast. The troll is on top of the man in the white suite so fast it was as though he was there the whole time. The man under him is yelling "Everyone inside!"

11:06:10 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Professor flies across the boat and is kept from going over the side only by fetching up painfully against the railing. After a moment's disorientation, he takes the advice of the host and runs for the doorway inside. In passing, he muses, "Heh. I've never died at a job meet before."

11:06:05 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Otto is thrown face first onto the deck. Several large dark stains can already be seen in the back of his suit. He crawls blindly, still in a daze. "Protect me!" He calls to the night.

In that instant, a wave crashes over the boat and engulfs Otto in a swirling blue haze. The water spirit, covering him with it's etherial body.

Otto considers his options, stay on boat or leave now. The pain and shock leaves him struggling to choose and with no better alternative, he stumbles into the cabin.

11:06 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Heka is still wondering what is going on--suddenly there's screaming, and blood everywhere, and a blinding flash--when a piece of flaming debris hits him in the shoulder and knocks him out of his chair. There was a sharp pain--the edge had sliced through his coat and cut him open. He's lying on the deck, struggling to get to his feet, when another piece hits him in the back of his head and drives him to his knees.

11:06 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

"..mm-everybody-stand-still-for-a-moment-mm.." the robot hums out into the night air, its head still shaking and twisting madly. "..mm-Riggs-where-are-you-mm.."
"Here Danny! Here! I didn't see where the shot came from! Are you being fired upon!?" The old man's voice poured out of the speaker.

The robot's diagnostics were still making sense of what happened. Splintered wood from the deck had perforated its torso and its legs were trapped under the collapsed snack table, and ice swan having slid onto his supine form.

"..mm-tell-me-I'm-not-fucked-mm.."
"It wasn't me Danny! I promise! If you can you move follow the others!"
"..mm-thanks-for-your-concern-mm.."

1450 S. Yakima Avenue, Apartment 3B, Tacoma, 18:57

Having spent the day shut inside his apartment watching trids and surfing the matrix, Ben decides to go out and have some fun. His favorite watering hole is the Golden Idol, a dive bar with a karaoke machine just a few blocks away. Just in case there are any pretty ladies there tonight, he decides he needs to take a shower. He heads into the bathroom, flips on the light over the sink (which buzzes with annoyance, but flickers into a dim glow nonetheless), and steps down into the extra-large shower stall. His apartment was billed as troll-compatible, but due to low ceilings in the kitchen area - plenty high for Ben, but not high enough for a troll - there were apparently no trolls interested in or able to afford living there, so he is able to rent the place pretty cheap, and his landlord still gets to claim friendliness to minorities.

Ben presses a pointed ear against the cool tiles on the shower wall and listens for the sound of water running through the pipes. A couple times a week around this time of night, his upstairs neighbor draws a bath for her kids, and Ben can enjoy a full minute of hot water before his ration is expended. No such luck tonight, which means it would take 30 seconds or so of running the shower before it heats up. Ben decides it isn't worth wasting all of tomorrow's water ration on a half-cold shower. Reluctantly, he grabs the large aerosol bottle of "Ready Scent Go!" body sanitizing spray from the shelf, strips down and takes his shower from a can. He uses a different can of spray-cleanser, "Aroma Relax! (detangling formula, now with methylchloroisothiazonlinone!)," on his long hair after carefully removing the trode net he had put on in the morning.

As he stands there in the shower waiting for the spray to dry, his mind wanders onto the topic of finances. After I bought those onigiri, I was down to 700 nuyen exactly. That's not enough to make next month's rent, he thinks. I gotta find some work, but... not tonight. I'll bug Cyrus tomorrow.

19:14

Benichi is dressed in a simple white sleeveless tee shirt and dark gray jeans. His garments are just one step up in style from vending machine flats; they actually fit him pretty well, though there is nothing flashy about them. He has his hair back in a ponytail again, with the trode net hidden beneath a layer of thick black locks. He takes his armored jacket out of the closet near the door - dark red synthleather with steel studs that screams "street tough" - and puts it on. Going back down the stairs and across the living area, he takes his commlink from the dresser and puts it in his left jacket pocket, then opens his top dresser drawer and withdraws a taser pistol, checks to make sure it is loaded, and puts it in his right jacket pocket. He has never run into trouble at the Idol before, but better safe than sorry, he thinks. Then he looks at Kanjin sitting on the dresser, and in a small fit of paranoia, he takes it from the stand, crosses the room to the alcove where the bed is folded up, and climbs up to hide the sword on a small shelf inside, where any burglars would be unlikely to find it. Ready at last, he heads out the door, locks it behind him, and starts walking to the bar.

11:06 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Hans folds around the table he was just sitting at enjoying nice thoughts about how maybe with a few thousands dollars he could start looking for a better place to live or try to start paying off his former employer. Those rush from him as that head cracks into the surface of the table and he immediately flails back onto the deck of the ship holding his face his ears ringing and red spots building up in his vision.

"...inside!"

There's the lightly flagellating legs of a robot... Hans' head lolls around again randomly. Oh, and there's a fellow covered in a personal hot tub nice...

"...If you can... follow the others!"
"..mm-thanks-for-your-concern-mm.."

As his thoughts quickly spool back together he realizes he's lying very near a pool of blood, nope make that in a pool of blood, and based on his blurry vision coming from a nasty gash on his forehead. God damn it! That guy is missing his bloody arms, sweet fuck did they get him instead of me? He scrambles back to his feet and sees the few making way for the cabins and Heka still on his knees. He's pretty banged up, then Hans screams a little as the pain in his back makes itself known. None the less he makes his way over to Heka and slips an arm under his shoulder saying, "C'mon mate we're a sad pair but we'll make it downstairs gotta' get off this deck before the second round of flying metal comes..." He winces with pain, and guilt as he helps the man towards the cabin and passes a severed finger pointing curiously towards the door....

He probably killed an entire family for soy puffs don't loose it maybe that wasn't meant for you after all, lord knows nobody in this business is clean.

11:06 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Professor gets to the doorway and looks around before he steps inside. "Blind man up to his tricks again?" he thinks. Not likely. Blind Man doesn't miss, and tends towards overkill. Two of the others are stumbling towards the door, one holding the other up. Professor holds the wildly banging hatch open and waves them through.

Only then does he notice yet another meeting member on the deck, covered in ... a bubble of water? No. It shows on the astral as a spirit. Now there's an idea. He shouts to the rest, including the host and his guard: "I've got the door. Hurry inside before the next attempt."

While they make their way through, he concentrates a moment to overcome his pain, and then scans the immediate physical and astral area to see if anything else is going down. Despite his best efforts, he has trouble seeing much of anything.

11:06 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

The sound of the explosion still ringing in his ears, Heka's hearing slowly begins to return just as someone grabs him and tries to lift him up. He tries to resist but his arm doesn't want to listen to what he's telling it to do. "C'mon mate... sad pair... downstairs..." he hears, and the dwarf relaxes and does his best to get for cover with Hans' help. There's warmth flowing down the back of his neck and on his chest. Gotta get patched up soon...

11:07 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

The Troll drags the host and his assistant inside. They seemed to have sustained only minor injury, but the troll has a decent gash in his clothes that seeps blood. The other guards are picking themselves up and making their way to the cabin without too much trouble. They do have to stop and pick up the cocktail waitresses that lay unconscious on the deck.
The Professor eyes the scene both in the flesh and the Astral, and all seems calm once again. The Fishing boat is gone, save for the pieces on the yacht and in its passengers. the smoke is quickly blowing south and the air is clearing. The carnage on the boat seems out of place on the, once again, quiet sea.
Inside the Yacht is a large room with a bench seat along the starboard side. To the left, another table and more seating. A door at the other end opens, and a large Native American in the latest steam punk clothes rushes to the man in the white suit, followed by two men who could be twins, thin built with black hair and mirrored shades. They were wearing matching black jumpsuits. one carried a medkit and went to the Troll to see to his back.
"I'm fine" grumbled the troll.
"See to our guests " said the Johnson as he sat at the table. He waved the Amerind away as he began to look over him,"you too"
While the first aid began, the second of the two men in jumpsuits, begins to converse quietly with the man in white,"We should move, no incoming detected yet, I think it would be best."
the fat man seemed to be keeping a shaky lid on an inner fury,"Alert the safe house and stand by"
He looked to his guards,"what's the damage?"
the shaggy haired guard spoke,"Donny's gone, the ork with the Cyber arm is dead."
The twin beside him spoke next,"The hull is intact, minor damages."
"I would not call this minor" he responded,"Find us another runner immediately, I will not be delayed again."

11:12pm The Golden Idol, Tacoma

The Kareoke was as bad as to be expected, but the women this evening were a true disapointment. As Ben bobbed along to a bad rendition of "Decadance" His commlink alerted him to a message from Cyrus.
<<Somebody's hard up for some muscle A.S.A.P. you free tonight??>>

11:07 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Professor waves the medic away,"I'm alright. The armor did it's job, and my ears will stop ringing after a few hours sleep. Some of the others are hurt badly. Do them first, then get around to me if you can."

He looks around the room. Despite a nasty surprise and some hefty damage, everybody seemed to react quickly and appropriately. This bunch could turn into a team.

Otto crosses the threshold of the cabin, exchanging a brief knowing glance with Professor. Slumping into the nearest white leather covered bench seat, he takes more pleasure from smearing bright red blood on the patent leather than in the form fitting foam. He grimaces briefly as the seat pushes on his wounded back. As he steps from his body into the astral the pain disappears like a vid screen when the power is cut.

In the astral, he scanns the room for hostile intent, still unsure if this isn't just some elaborate attempt at assassination. He then quickly scans the surrounding area, including directly above and pushing into the molasses like water below.

Golden Idol Karaoke Bar, Tacoma, 11:12pm

Benichi has been sitting in the bar for almost four hours now, enjoying well drinks that are so thoroughly watered down, he would need to have several gallons before feeling any effects. The owner probably thinks he is pulling a fast one on his clients, but ironically the drinks at the Idol are so cheap, buying bottled water would cost more. Ben consoles himself that, even if he hasn't been well entertained tonight, at least he is well hydrated. Anything beats that soykaf machine, he thinks.

Suddenly he hears the sound of a gong above the din of yet another off-key performer. He double-taps the tabletop in his corner booth to bring up an AR window, drags the upper-left edge to make it a little bigger, and reads the message from Cyrus. Smiling, he composes a quick response via DNI: <You read my mind! Where at?> He doesn't wait for a reply, but pushes the mail program aside and taps a few times in space to clear his bar tab, then gets up to leave.

As he skirts around the edge of the crowd towards the exit, Ben joins them in clapping for the fellow who has just finished singing. It doesn't matter that he was terrible; it's what you do in a karaoke bar.

1450 S. Yakima Avenue, Apartment 3B, Tacoma, 11:19pm

Ben arrives at his apartment and changes out his street-style armored jacket for a more discrete lined coat, also dark red in color, transferring his commlink and taser to the coat as he does so. He puts on his mirrorshades and cycles through the vision mods to make sure they are working, then grabs his Predator out of the sock drawer and checks that it is loaded. I gotta remember to get a holster for this thing, he thinks, then tucks it into his waistband as if he was still a ganger, along with a spare clip in his jacket pocket. Next he puts in earbuds, then climbs up to get Kanjin down from the alcove where he hid it before leaving for the bar. The lined coat has a metal nub in the lining on the left hip where he attaches the scabbard, offering some concealment. Then he slaves all his peripherals to his commlink, switches it to hidden mode, and exits the house again, locking it up tight.

Luckily, the exit to Ben's basement apartment is adjacent to his covered parking space. He sends the car a mental signal to power up and open the driver side door, and it complies. He gets in, hitching his jacket up with both hands so that it doesn't get caught in the door (and so that his sword's pommel doesn't jab him in the ribs), and opens a couple AR windows; one to see where Cyrus is sending him, and another for his Seattle mapsoft.

11:09 PM Hanging low over, Puget Sound

Hmm.. well, the smoke's clear and the yacht seems to be on the move now.
"Danny, what's your status?"
"..mm-they've-got-me-pinned-down-mm.." the little robot waved its right arm feebly, its damaged legs still trapped under the snack table.
"Okay, I see you now. Guess they can't be bothered to help out a harmless little robot when he's down. Danny, did you sass them when I couldn't hear you?"
"..mm-thanks-to-you-mm.."
"Oh Danny, you just don't understand how important a sassy partner can be when the chips are down.. Anyway, I'm coming in closer. See what I can do to help."
"..mm-keep-your-shooter-under-wraps.. don't-wanna-give-some-innocent-taxpayer-a-coronary-mm.."
"Low and slow Danny, don't you worry.."

With that, Oswald plotted a trajectory and began closing in on the yacht.

11:09 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Hans humps into the room half on his knees helping Heka along. As they cross the threshold he gently removes himself from his companion and slumps against the wall to port wincing and pulling the kerchief from his neck to wipe blood from his fore head and eyes. "Hey mate you doing alright?" he asks Heka, still unsure why he jumped to the man's aid. His blurry eyes dart around the room taking in the first aid being applied and the shocked looks on everyone's faces. The calm prevailing and orders being issued and confirmed. "Bloody christ, you say you're new in town huh senor? Seems like somebody knows you....or one of us."

His mind flashes an involuntary image of the man on deck spewing all his life onto the glossy wood and the empty look in his eye, then it is quickly replaced by an image of the priceless artwork hanging in his closet I gotta' find a new hiding place....and put in more security if that was meant for me I'm not being paranoid enough by half, frag me. Overcoming the nausea he probes his left arm and pulls free a few small pieces of shrapnel gazing at them curiously as the medics make their way to his aid.

11:12 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Professor watches the host's team in action. "Muscle, tech and magic. Efficient, skilled and without wasted effort. These people have been together for a long time. With this kind of talent, the host must have a reason for not just searching out his lost team himself. He says he's moving into Seattle, so maybe he is hoping to make use of local talent that can work faster. Heh. Missed that detail about me, didn't you? And maybe he needs these people around him. Like for assassination attempts."

He thanks the healer who deals with his bruises. As things settle down, and the look of business comes back into people's eyes, Professor hits on another idea. "Hmm... Spanish, but from where? Knowing that might give a clue to what we are getting into. Let's see if I can use the distraction of the moment to get him talking in Spanish a bit, then try to place him."

"Señor, muchas gracias por su ayuda." He continues in Spanish: "It is a rare Johnson who is so helpful to a not-yet-hired team. You have much talent already at your disposal. How is it that you have not been able to find your lost team yourself?" He listens carefully to the response, seeking idioms of speech and inflections that might give a hint to the host's origins.

11:20 1450 S. Yakima Avenue, Apartment 3B, Tacoma,

Cyrus responds almost immediately <<435 Schuster Pkway, peir 7. There'll be a Triad crew, the Johnson is arriving on a boat around midnight>>

1450 S. Yakima Avenue, Tacoma, 11:20pm

Benichi reads the message from his gang contact. Triads? Well, this should be interesting, he thinks. He enters the address into his mapsoft, and it looks like it's just outside Foss Harbor Marina, just a couple miles from his apartment. The pier must be in the marina itself. I might have time to walk, but it would be cutting it close, he thinks. Instead, he decides to ride the grid over to the Golden Idol, pay for a parking spot for a few hours, then shut off Grid Guide and continue on to his destination. If someone should ask where he was that evening, he would say the bar, and he could probably find a witness or two to corroborate that if needed, since he had actually been there earlier.

Before he leaves, he dashes back inside the apartment to grab a small pack of disposable disinfectant wipes. I'll need these to clean the blood off of Kanjin in the event that the Triads need some wetwork done, he thinks.

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:47pm

Benichi leans back in the Comet's bucket seat, his eyes closed and his hands cupping the back of his thick neck, as the car pulls into an available parking space near the docks. The commlink in his pocket utters a soft ping to let him know he has arrived. He glances around outside just to make sure he isn't about to be mugged, gets out of the car and begins walking towards the pier. As he gets a few meters away from the Comet, it chirps once to let him know that its security system has been activated, and he hears the chunk of the doors locking. Not many people are out walking around at this hour - most have either gone to their homes ashore or are sitting safe inside their boats' cabins - but he keeps his eyes peeled and walks casually just in case. A strong breeze coming out of the west behind him flaps the hem of his long lined coat as he turns onto Pier 7.

11:14 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Otto floats invisible outside an aeroplane that moves in slow motion only long enough to confirm the trajectory. The single occupant's aura glowing through the metal. He then speeds as fast as he can back to the boat and within a second he jolts awake. The spent packages of bandages and slap patches fly away like giant snowflakes pushed by a gust of wind.

"We've got more incomming!" He cries to the room. "Above and to the aft." He moves to the door and looks out into the night sky. His expensive electronic eyes straining at full zoom and light enhancement only just able to make out the outline of an approaching shadow. "There!" pointing towards the incomming blimp.

11:13 PM "Skypod", Hanging over Puget Sound

"Hmmph.. Moonbrain rebels decide to meet out in the open and then they freak out as soon as they catch some fire. Leave my robot on the deck. Forget the medical doctor when they've got injured. One little pigman gets killed and they scurry off like rats. I guess that's how a guerrilla survives.."

Oswald had been slowly getting more and more irritable since that Spanish fella mentioned Ares. Those were the bastards who took his ship. They trapped him on this planet with its fiber-optic eyebrows and dirty gangs of swine. He went through a lot of trouble to be here and now they were getting away... no.. wait.. Leaving him behind. Oswald again had to close the targeting subroutine he had subconsciously opened. These rebels were supposed to help him. Help him get back at Ares. Help him get back to the stars.
He steadied his breathing, relieving some of the strain on his Oxyrush nanites.

"This is Commander Shankles. El Viajero, respond. This is commander Shankles. I'm coming in for a landing. Respond. This is-"
"..mm-Riggs.." the robot interrupted what was essentially its own broadcast, as it heard hurried movement coming from the forward cabin.

Just then the man in the brown suit rushed onto the deck pointing rearward.

"Ahoy there!" Oswald belted out. "Commander Shankles coming in for a landing! Respond!" He paused for a beat. "That means 'talk at the robot, browncoat.' I offered you folks my medical assistance. It didn't come with conditions." He paused again. "Also, my robot's all jacked up..."
"...mm-think-that-the-bird-thing-really-helped-mm.." The robot's speaker hummed out quizzically -
Only to seemingly respond to itself with"Yes, Danny. You saved the ice swan. It was very heroic."

11:30 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

The Native American continued to chant quietly over Heka. The Man in white Answered Professor's question in the same language in which it was received,"Esto es la punta del iceberg mi amigo(This is the tip of the iceberg my friend). I have many other things that require my attention in many other places, this cargo that we seek is intended for other such business. And we are off schedule, I currently have my fingers plugging the damn if you know what I mean, so I can't spare my personal crew for such things. On a broader note, I am looking to build a crew here that I can count on for future projects. A new franchise of my business you could say. "
His Spanish seems to be European in origin. Probably Southern Spain if Professor had to nail it down.
Of course, this train of thought was quickly interrupted by the sudden awakening of Otto yelling about incoming. The Johnson looks to the man in the jumpsuit by his side. The man seems to stare into space for a moment, most likely viewing Altered Reality,"It's the man in the blimp, I think he's landing."
The man in the white suite waves a hand at the shaggy haired guard,"Mel, you and Chris go help the man"
The dark skinned guard follows Mel out of the cabin and do what they can to help Oswald and his robot. The two roto drones come in for a landing as well as the ship begins to pick up speed.

11:31 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

Professor waits for the host to control the 'crisis', and then continues, now in English. "It would appear we don't know why this attack happened. Do you wish to continue our negotiations, or wait till we are in your 'safe house'?"

11:33 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

The man in white returns to English as well to include the whole group as the rest of the group returns from the deck,"We will be turning off the Jammer as we ride in case of a patrol boat, So I would like serious discussions to wait until we dock. I also have another interested party that should be there when we arrive. I like a decent size crew. Call me superstitious. In the interim, I would like to apologize for this mess. I am mortified, and will make sure you are taken care of. We will see to your medical needs and replace any gear that has been damaged." He looks to Oswald,"Welcome senior, I assume that is your manservant? We can get you a replacement if necessary, or have him repaired. "

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:47pm

Peir 7 ends in a small, warehouse looking building. Four men loiter outside the door. Two sit atop their motorcycles while the other two are perched on crates. They seem involved in a rousing conversation. They have made no attempt to hide their Triad colors. The numbers 452 in a flaming circle decorate both of the biker's jackets.

11:33 PM "El Viajero", Puget Sound

"Thank you," Heka murmurs to Hans once their safely inside. He sits still as both medicine and magic are applied to him, and thanks the Amerind as well. "I'm glad to hear you'll pick up the tab for the damages, because this shirt was nearly a thousand nuyen," he mutters, pulling the fabric from his skin to keep the drying blood from sticking to him.

"Well I can't blame you for being superstitious, all things considered. And as for picking up another member, I suppose that's for the best, seeing as how we've already lost one."

11:24 PM "El Viajero", deck-side, Puget Sound

The men had been quite efficient at tying off the dirigible, taking occasional cues from the now-propped-up robot's front speaker.
"Make sure to throw a few more lines over the top of her, boys. When I get out, she's going to try and jump," Oswald warned.

Once they had it properly secured to the aft railings and ties, the man-sized armored box on its rear creaked open and folded up, revealing its rickety cargo. Oswald had naturally proceeded this with a slight blast from the blimp's smoke projector and an audible accompaniment of "Duun... dunn.. dun-da-dun!" from the bot's speaker.
He stepped from the craft slowly, creaks and whirrs alternately coming from him and the ropes which secured his transport, until he finally stood upright and lightly brushed off his stained and charred steampunk-style labcoat. He looked from one of the guards to the other, a smile stretched across his wrinkled face and the twinkling lights of madness played across his eyes. "Haha heh, I can't see shit in this dark. Could you fellas help me to the cabin?"
The men wearily took a hand each and helped the octogenarian work his way over towards the cabin and his damaged robot. "Danny, come stand under this lamp," the old man ordered, and the robot obeyed, grinding and shifting until it stood shakily under a running light. A quick inventory showed several puncture wounds in the superficial torso. The internal batteries had been shifted, but their integral protection had held. The legs were bent slightly, but could be straightened. The whole left arm had been shattered at the elbow. The wrist and hand might be salvaged, but it was hanging from wires, servos fallen loose as if to remind Oswald of the mangled flesh once hanging from his right arm when it too had been shattered in '53. "Oh, Eliot..." Ozzy moaned distractedly. Wait. Eliot.. Mills-Fargo? Why do I.. "Let's.. let's go inside." Oswald said to the guards. "I need to sit down for a moment.."

11:33 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

Oswald entered, head down, lost in the mental exhaustion of trying to remember. The men helped him to a seat and he sank into it, accompanied by the slight whirring of his ancient cybernetic limbs.
"Welcome senior, I assume that is your manservant? We can get you a replacement if necessary, or have him repaired. " The Spaniard said, breaking him from his reverie.
"Hmmm? Oh, yes... He's not so bad off. I can take care of the superficial damage at my shop. Though I do need a new mechanical arm to replace the one that got slagged. Heheh, ha. I do think I saw a spare one out there on the deck though..." Oswald replied, alternating from somber to jovial to dark in his manner. "I see your man is pretty handy with a bandage. Guess things weren't as serious as I thought.. Anybody still need a helping of healing hands?" He punctuated the last part with a slight smile and wiggle of his mechanical fingers.

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:48 PM

Benichi walks the rest of the way to the end of the pier where the men are waiting outside the warehouse. He watches them for any sign of hostility; though he doubts that Cyrus would willingly send him into a trap, he has to assume it is a possibility. Cyrus isn't immune to being leveraged, he thinks. He takes note of the available cover as he approaches, and makes a mental plan for how he will deal with the men he can see should violence suddenly erupt. The closer I get to them, the better, he thinks. As he gets to within conversational distance, he adopts a mild swagger, his expression confident but neutral. He waits for an appropriate lull in their conversation, and with a conspiratorial grin, he says, "I see I'm not the only one working late tonight, eh fellas?"

His smartlink software active, he stands far enough away to see them all, yet close enough to be within a few quick strides. He keeps his hands out of his pockets and at his sides, and his face shows none of his concern as he waits to see what they will do.

11:40 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

"Well the replacement gear is surely appreciated friend as I'm not exactly rolling in it right yet. I could get used to this treatment, but I'm starting to wonder just how big the problems we're going to run into are considering the treatment." He examines his now bandaged arm and tugs remembers to try and sit in a ladylike position, gives up and moves to the benches finally.

Hans shakes his head slightly at the old man's gallows humor One carrot short of a salad this one is, I wonder if he's really serious about the surgery he claims to be able to do or if he is just senile and playing at it? Probably best not to find out. and he inches just slightly away from the gently whirring geriatric. He clears his throat quietly and says in a overly theatrical and weary voice, "Well, since we're not talking dollars at the moment I'll take up that drink now if we could a couple fingers of scotch might help smooth this all over for me..."

11:40 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

Oswald's entry get's Professor thinking. The old guy looks familiar. Professor scours his prodigious memory, but can't find the answer immediately. This irks him. Something about science... space maybe. It has to be old though... yeah... look at the guy. He makes a mental note to do some research later. Or... he could just ask him.

He pours a glass of water from the service in the room, and ambles over to the old guy, glancing at the drone as he passes it. He addresses the old man as he offers a glass of water, "I've seen you somewhere before... in the news.. science section , maybe. You ever have anything to do with space science?"

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:48 PM

The guys at the door hardly seem to care about the newcomer. At least that's the impression they give. The Asian faced man on the bike responds,"If you're lookin for work, your ships coming in. Just wait inside". He then nods to the guy on the crate, who opens the door. Up close, the ork can spot the Vibroblade under the talker's coat, and the Uzi III with the laser sight tucked behind the crate. While they don't seem to be taking their job too seriously, they are carrying some hardware. Inside the building are two docks with boat lifts in front of open hanger doors looking out on to the black and starry water. Three more Triad members wander around the interior impatiently waiting for the boat to arrive. They seem a little more alert. and a little more armed. The girl in red leather chaps and black jacket has a rifle slung over her shoulder like it was the wild west. The two men, in less flashy street clothes, both carried assault rifles.

11:40 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

The Johnson breathes just a hint easier as his guests begin to talk some. He turns his attention to the...Lady of the group?.. He smiles and rises to fetch the scotch himself,"My apologies, this isn't the real thing. But it's a top shelf impersonation. We will reach the docks in about ten minutes, and I assure you we will find a number we are all comfortable with"

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:49 PM

Benichi nods politely to the biker that spoke and heads through the door, less concerned now about the possibility of a trap. It's probably a good thing they didn't ask my name, I'm not sure Thirty is a number they'd like, he thinks.

Once inside, he greets the interior guards with a nod and a casual wave. "Evening. I'm here to meet the boat," he says. With some time to kill and nothing to do, he finds something handy to lean against, then half-folds his arms, using his right hand to idly stroke the goatee on his chin, his left hand tucked into the crook of his right elbow. He fixes his gaze upon the water outside the building, and for a moment he really is watching the waves, but then he lets his eyes defocus, and he watches the guards with his peripheral vision from behind his mirrorshades.

He can't help but glance at the woman in the chaps a few times when she turns away from him. Maybe she's from the NAN, he thinks, or maybe she just watches wild west trids too much. The sudden realization that he himself watches far more samurai trids than most people would call healthy makes him smile. Maybe she's just my kind of crazy, he thinks. But then he reminds himself that the picking-up-women portion of the evening is already over. He goes back to idly watching the guards as the minutes tick by.

11:40 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound
- - PAN mode: Hidden

Oswald scanned the faces of the cabin's occupants. Being here made him uncomfortable. New faces. New names. So many already hanging on the walls of his mind. After a while, a body gets so that he can't invest any more energy into people. He liked these rebel types though. The shadow walkers. Just like that Native fella by the wall, these types earned their names. They weren't assigned by birth. Their names were stories. He would learn their stories. He would take their names, and he would put them on the wall of his memory. He wanted to make them solid. Even if they died, like that one up top, he would make them real. None of them felt need for his offer though. "It's just as well. These drugs aren't keeping me as fresh as I might like."

He looked over to the other older gentleman, a glance passing and passed back. "I've seen you somewhere before... in the news.. science section , maybe. You ever have anything to do with space science?" The man in the stetson asked him.
"Hrmm? Yes, yes. Commander Oswald Shankles. United States Astronaut. Doctor of Medicine, Chemistry and Physics... I've.. been.. Out of circulation.." He paused a minute, picking up a hint of green as the swirling memory and rocking boat left him spinning. "...excuse me a moment. I'll.. listen in from my deck. I.. This boat.. Sorry."

With that, Oswald pulled his goggles down over his eyes, dropped into VR...

and found himself, once again, at the helm of the Starship Genesis. Back in control.
<Monty - Pull up my eyes and ears. I need to keep my senses tuned.> The Agent obliged, taking up the feed from his headphones and goggles and putting them on a virtual screen for Oswald to watch.
He wished Danny were here.
<Skypod - Go ahead and run an area Scan; then beam me the list. If we're running comms free again, I might as well see if there's anything funny in the air.>
"Information is control. I've got to stay on top things... That Professor character is pretty sharp. I'll keep an eye on him.. I.. Just gotta collect myself for a moment. Organize."
His work was his purpose. It kept him focused and moving forward. So, he set to it, looking to find anything broadcasting and to sniff out whatever it might be saying.

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:55PM

Dark shape drifts through the water toward the boathouse on Pier 7. "El Viajero" slows down as she pulls into the docks. Her motors quietly humming over the lapping water. The human guards made their way out of the cabin to secure the boat and greet the people waiting outside. The Johnson spoke up,"Please, stay comfortable, We have another potential hire coming aboard, and we can get started"
The twins take the unconscious women and disappear further into the ship.
On the dock, the young Chinese cowgirl smirks at the Ork with his arms folded,"All aboard Samurai Jack"

11:40 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

Obviously stiff and a bit shaken from the sudden excitement, Heka stands and makes his way to the drinks, helping himself to a tumbler of that synthetic scotch, his previous glass lost somewhere up top in the excitement. Although healed, his head still rings a little from the blow he took and he sips the drink with a scowl.

"Did he say..?" he says, looking at the old man who has just slipped off into his own VR world. "Did he say 'United States Astronaut?' He's..." Heka shuts his mouth, not wanting to blurt out the obvious in front of everyone. But this dude was old.

Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma, 11:56PM

Benichi tips an imaginary ten-gallon hat to the cowgirl and puts on a playful, tusky grin as he says, "Until next time, Calamity Jane." He pushes off his leaning post and ascends the gangway onto the boat.

There are some signs of wear on El Viajero and her passengers, but Benichi passes them off as the results of a late night. He puts on his biz-face; expression serious, a slight crease between his eyebrows, his posture erect and alert, exuding competence and confidence. He takes a few moments to evaluate each of the other people aboard, then decides that, from his bearing, the large man in the white suit must be the customer, so he greets him first. "Mister Johnson, I presume," he says, and bows slightly, offering his hand to shake if Mr. Johnson seems amenable.

Addressing the entire party, he continues, "Ladies and gentlemen, please call me Thirty. My specialty is physical security." He turns back to Mr. Johnson and says, "If you'll fill me in on the general details of the job, we can decide if I am a good fit before we continue on to the specifics."

11:57 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbour, Puget Sound

After Thirty introduces himself, Professor marvels at the efficient way losses are replaced in this organization. It would appear losses happen a lot. Not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad one, from a runner's perspective.

He waits for the Host to open proceedings.

[OOC: Edited to get the time right]

11:45 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Puget Sound

A small nod is thanks to the host for the refreshment which half is then taken as a gulp and the rest pressed lightly to Hans' temple attempting to ease the persistent throb in his brain. The wear and tear of the evening are becoming all too clear and as the welcome fire spreads through his shoulders and extremities he slouches somewhat perceptibly. Shiiit...I'm going to be all but useless for negotiations at this rate, whatever one of these fine fellows will put out another ludicrous request, the man will laugh politely, it is always the same anyway...

When Thirty arrives he raises the glass momentarily and offers a small nod, "Welcome to the survivors my friend, and I wish that all our extremities shall stay attached, all our organs remain internal and the checks always cash. Cheers!" At this he tips the rest of the scotch back and returns the ice filled glass to his aching head.

12:00 AM "El Viajero", cabin,Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

As Thirty joined the others in the cabin, a low static sound creeped into the cabin, a white noise generator in the yacht's sound system. Some in the group, like Oswald, notice the jammer come back on. The two men in matching jumpsuits and the shaman retreat further into the boat. The Johnson seems more serious now as he gets his assistant to bring up the holoprojector in the cabin and reloads the Trids from earlier,"I am truly sorry for our interruption. Again, I will replace damaged goods, and I will obviously compensate in pay as well. I welcome you, Thirty, to our little business venture. As I had started before, I am looking to re-aquire three truckloads of goods from this man and have them delivered to a port in Everett. I had offered five thousand a head, and I am willing to change that to ten in light of recent events, plus an additional two thousand up front. "

12:00 PM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Oswald kept the blimp running continuous scans all the way into the harbor. 10 km signal radius is a lot of blips. Seemed as though none of them were following the El Viajero.. at least not that he could tell. Nearly 30 seconds per frame didn't make for a particularly coherent story. Though, it was almost a perfect metaphor for his current situation. He was only getting snatches of what was there, but for every snapshot he got, there was a long darkness in between. He concentrated on this most recent event and worked backwards, attempting to create a map of dots in time.

He was on the boat now, meeting with a group of skilled assets. They were discussing their Jedi hoodoo while he watched their back here in virtual space.
He came to the ship after the explosion. He wanted to take stock of things after the smoke cleared and it became apparent that they were not being actively assaulted.
But the explosion still happened. It killed that... one fella. Was it the fishing boat that exploded? Why would that happen? It couldn't have just been an attack on the zug-a-boo. A secret meeting had to be the worst damn time possible to try and grease a greenskin. "Just put out a plate of poisoned truffles and it'll will gobble them right up! heh-heh-heh!" So, the explosion was most likely intended to kill everyone on board, but the attempt failed.
Before that, the Spaniard was talking. He had ripped off Ares. "Ares..." and had himself been ripped off by his bonehead truck-beast hireling... what's it's name.. Big Daddy Short-brains? Some Redmond garbage hauler? If he was behind the attack on the vessel, then this Spanish fella has got major information control issues.. "If it wasn't the traitor, then we've got bigger problems, or, I suppose, he does."

Just then, the thousand points of light went dim. "Jammer's back on," Ozzy surmised.
"Guess I'll beam back down planet-side."

And so, Oswald came out of VR just as Thirty walked into the cabin. "So true what they say. You step on one and another pops up right in its place."

"...I had offered five thousand a head, and I am willing to change that to ten in light of recent events, plus an additional two thousand up front." Johnson said.
"I'm just going to assume that your monetary kindness is meant to brush off questions as to why this meeting almost ended at the bottom of the bay. Accepting that and moving on, let's get back to the business of fucking over Ares. Tell me about this cargo. Will we need to take any specific precautions in handling or storing it? Would any such considerations help us find it? A week of days is a whole lot of catchup work..."

12:00 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Benichi hears the offer of 12k apiece, and he thinks, That must be in UCAS dollars. Wait - he said he offered 5k before, and that seems a little low unless we're delivering soymilk.

Benichi's mind races to put together the pieces of the puzzle. Behind his mirrorshades, his eyes settle on Caper. She said they were the survivors, but survivors of what? he wonders. Then he notices a dark stain on the back of Otto's suit. Dried blood. Nandarou?!

When Oswald says, "...almost ended at the bottom of the bay..." Benichi finally puts it together. Whomever this guy is on the holoprojector, he must have killed one or more of them at the start of the meet. Or maybe it was Ares, since the old man seems eager to get revenge on them for something. Now the Johnson has to offer us more because of the high threat level, he thinks. He half-folds his arms once more and absently strokes his chin as he weighs the risks. I've done high threat before, and 12k nuyen would come in real handy. If I live through this job, there might be more in the future, and okyaku-sama must be loaded if he's willing to shell out that kind of cred when things get hot. Yeah, I'm in, he thinks.

His mind made up, Benichi grits his teeth, causing the muscles in his jaw to flex visibly. He waits to see if one of the other runners will handle final negotiations on price, ready to step up himself if needed.

12:00 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

The astronaut seems happy with the money, and Professor is too. He is thankful his inept negotiating skills didn't scotch the job from the beginning. The new guy, Thirty, by his jaws working overtime, is either angry or itching to get started. The others seem noncommittal. "I'm going to have to convince someone in this group to take charge of negotiating. It sure as hell shouldn't be me!"

"There seem to be no objections to the financial end of things. I guess, as Oswald suggests, more details are in order. Information about the cargo itself would help. We have the identity of a likely target in the miscreant group. I am not interested in the offer of wetwork if the fellow turns out to have cheated you, sir. Without a doubt, if one reneges on a deal in this business, he can expect the kind of treatment you suggest. I'm happy to shoot back at someone who is shooting at me, but I won't commit murder. Of course, were we to report back that he did indeed cheat you, I wouldn't bet on his lengthy survival." Professor grins. "Hell, even coming to talk to you seems to be deadly!"

Hmm... is Otto looking a little peaked?

12:00 AM "El Viajero" Cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

"The.... Commander... raises a good point. Three truckloads of Ares bang-bang could easily require additional considerations in terms of transit, or the type of storage Big Daddy might be using. Also, what sort of time line are we working with? When do you need these goods shipped out by?" Heka sipped his scotch, thinking about Johnson's prices. He didn't want to start off appearing too greedy, and the boss had already doubled his offered price and tossed in the signing bonus. That satisfied the dwarf for now--but if this was going to be a rush job, then he'd have to insist on a little extra.

12:01 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

After hearing what Professor has to say, Benichi says, "I agree. Wetwork can cause complications. Better to handle that as a separate job." With separate pay, he thinks, then continues, "For the recovery of your cargo, your offer of twelve thousand nuyen each sounds reasonable to me, so long as the concerns of the others can be addressed."

I hope it's just some runner who got greedy, and not Ares, he thinks, though he maintains his mask of confidence despite his worry.

12:00 AM "El Viajero" Cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Professor opens his perception to the Astral and looks at Otto, 'cause something funny seems to be happening to him.

12:02 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Slowly, the conversation grows quiet, as others besides Professor notice The sudden change in the pallor of Otto. His wounds had been treated, and magically sealed, but some shrapnel remained. It remained a little to close to a major artery, And as Otto maneuvered against the discomfort in his chest, He was undone internally. On the Astral, Professor watched his aura explode in agony and surprise, and then fade into shadows. It was a sight he would never forget. In the flesh, Otto simply clutched his chest with a grunt and turned grey, collapsing to the floor in an awkward pile. The johnson called for "Duece" who turned out to be the jumpsuit with the medkit, but it was too late.
"This is too much," The man in white sighed,"Well, it looks like we have another burial at sea. anyone want to say a few words?"

12:20 AM

After the body is taken care of, The Johnson tries to get the meeting under way,"I will try to answer your questions and move through this quickly. This night is really taken some strange turns. I have a cargo ship in Everette, it leaves in seven days. I want those trailers on it. The contents of those trailers are mostly personal arms and ammunition. But there is also a good amount of armor and explosives. The explosives are plastic and very stable, so transport should be safe. As I said before, I have an interest in what transpired, but it's value will be determined separately from this job. I put no value in the rigger's death. I just hope he doesn't become an obstacle"
He looks to the spot where Otto hit the floor,"And speaking of obstacles, we seem to be short some manpower again. I will get My assistant... mrs. Johnson to find a suitable replacement. She will be staying ashore to oversee this operation"
Mrs. Johnson, even with blank chrome where her eyes should be, was visibly surprised, and maybe even irritated at the unexpected news. But she did not speak. She regained her shrewd composure within a heartbeat, before mr. Johnson looked her way. When he did, she simply nodded in agreement.

12:20 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Professor broke the rule he never broke. Here, in the middle of a job meet, he went to the bar and poured himself a stiff scotch and downed it in one gulp. The burn of the synthehol only marginally dulled the sensations remaining from what he saw on the Astral. Focusing all his attention on Otto, he had seen in minute detail, in slow motion, what the death of a soul looks like.

He didn't even know the guy. Small mercies. For once, he cursed his photographic, eidetic, three-fucking-D memory. This would stay with him forever.

"Can we get off this boat? We have a week, and a job to do." Off the boat. Before another one croaks.

12:04 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Oswald had sat dumbfounded as blood spilled out of Otto's back and ran down the seat like a burst hose. "His thoracic cavity must have filled with enough blood to burst the sealant binding his wound. At least it was quick."
"Wow. Geez..... I guess that just happened..." Oswald blinked. "I'll repeat my offer. Medical doctor. Ready to work. Well, my mobile apparatus is back in Everett, actually. I'd carry a bag, but that seems too Jack the Ripper to me. You types know who Jack the Ripper was, hm? Some Brittish fella went and cut up a handfulla whores back in the 1800s. Got stupid famous from doin it. Always seemed peculiar to me how a guy could get so famous for something as dull as killin' women whose compliance is for sale. Now, Dr. Henry Howard Holmes, he built himself a murder castle in downtown Chicago. That was style! Offing his own employees so he could collect on the life insurance which he took out on them without their knowledge! Murder as enterprise! A labyrinth of death built by unpaid workers without any idea of its overall purpose or design! It's a perfect microcosm of corporate culture! I guess 1893 wasn't ready for the corporate dream just yet.."
As all this gibbering was going on, Oswald had been working his gloved fingers into Otto's cooling back. Autopsy by autopilot.
"Ahh, there it is!" he exclaimed, producing a pointy shard of fiberglass. "Just as I thought. Piece of stray hull sliced his Aorta." He turned to Deuce. "No need to feel bad about this one. Scans always have trouble with fiberglass. It's not a proper mass, so the signal sort of diffuses through it and around it in weird ways." He put a bloody hand on the man's shoulder. "Could've happened to anyone."

12:02 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

Benichi's eyes go wide as Otto expires, but there is nothing he can do. He whispers, "Damn," and wonders if there are any next of kin out there who would like to know what happened to the poor fellow. But he doesn't know the man, and has no idea where to start looking for anyone who may care that he's dead. Otto probably isn't his real name anyway. He's probably got no SIN if he's in this business. I can't exactly take his picture and shop it around, either; I'm sure Mr. Johnson wouldn't appreciate that at all, he thinks.

Benichi manages to keep his dinner down while Oswald performs his brief autopsy. Good thing, he thinks, nobody wants to look at regurgitated kibble. He looks at the tiny shard of fiberglass that ended Otto's life, and marvels for a moment at the frailty of metahumanity. Then his practicality takes over, and he says to Mr. Johnson, "Let's head out into the sound a ways so his body doesn't immediately wash up on shore. If you have anything heavy on board you can spare, let's tie it onto his leg. I'll come up with something to say for him."

Once the boat is out in the sound, Benichi helps Mr. Johnson's crew hoist Otto's lifeless form over El Viajero's railing. As the body splashes into the inky water, he claps his hands twice, then holds his palms together, bows his head and gazes at the disturbance on the waves where the corpse went under. Normally he would pray in Japanese, but a burial prayer is really for those still living, so in English he says, "We knew you as Otto, but the spirits of the water know your true name. May they carry your soul to your ancestors, and may you rest in peace." After a few moments of silence, he gets a disinfectant wipe from his pocket and cleans off his hands, and any blood that may have gotten on his coat, then throws the wipe overboard and heads back into the cabin.

12:20 AM

After the announcement that Mrs. Johnson will be the runners' liaison, Benichi nods to her, and says, "I assume we should all exchange matrix information so that we can keep in contact while we do the legwork." He mentally orders his commlink into active mode, then tells it to advertise his contact info. In AR, a number of six-inch-tall replicas of Thirty begin floating in a circle around him, each clad in glowing blue samurai armor. They are AROs which, when pointed at, beckoned or otherwise interacted with, draw a glowing blue katana and fly into the user's commlink to deposit Thirty's commcode before they disappear and reappear floating around him.

10:30 P.M., Tacoma
PAN mode: Passive

An inconspicuous house in a moderately comfortable neighborhood sits silent on its small plot of land. It is dark inside the house. If one puts his ear to the outside walls and listens closely, he can hear the faint whirring of cleaning droids. No living thing moves inside the house.

"I don't know, Jo. This station's awfully quiet. Maybe we should get a taxi or something." Five people stood in an underground space. Stairs went up behind them.
"That'll take too long, Lethe. This is the quickest way to get back to the hotel. Besides, where's your sense of adventure?" one of them said playfully.
The largest one laughed a hearty laugh. "'Atta' boy, son! We're in Europe, for heavens sake! We should be a little adventurous! A coupla' minutes in a spooky subway station is nothin' ta worry about!"
The images changed then. Lost their coherence. They flashed before his eyes in quick succession. A woman with no hair and sharp teeth, blood dripping down her chin. Two people fighting. Loud noises and a train. Someone standing over him, watching him. A woman beneath him, screaming into a gag as he tore at her throat for the blood. Blood everywhere. So much blood. Sweet sweet blood. The images stopped making sense, like his mind was fragmenting. Dizzying images blood so much blood can't make sense of this blood need blood what's happening to me blood want blood alas I am slain bloodbloodblood what a bloodblood piece of work is man bloodbloodbloodneedbloodgivemeblood purr the cat is gray whereisbloodneedbloodsogood something is rotten in the state of Denmark sweetbloodblood speak more fly than thou knowest bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood sell drugs for what thou owest bloodbloodblood use the mojo when thou throwest bloodbloodbloodbloodblood in unicorns thou trowest bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood......................

Amber eyes shot open. His mind returned to him.

Damn dreams.

Jovan got out of bed and made for the door, checking the time on his comm as he did so. 10:30. It seems I slept in. Tsk tsk. He walked downstairs and into the kitchen, where a soycaf sat waiting for him. He was unsurprised when it tasted like it was made seven hours earlier. Knowing his damn CHN, it probably was.

Now then. I fed yesterday. My soul feels a bit weak, but I should have about a month or two to take care of that before it weakens further. I have no other business to attend to tonight. So unless someone bothers me for my valuable assistance, I have the night to myself. He smiled. About damn time.

With a slight bounce in his step, Jovan walked into his basement, where he kept his collection of books, spell formulae, and notes. A pleasant evening of research and reading Shakespeare seemed to be in order.

12:20 AM "El Viajero", cabin, Foss Harbor Marina, Tacoma

The blond with no pupils brings up Virtual credsticks in AR and sends them to each guest. The file contains 2,000 nuyen, a commcode, and all the info they have on "Big Daddy Long Legs".
The Johnson smiles wearily, "So, we have an agreement? I share Professor's feelings that this meeting has been long for everyone."

3:00 AM, Tacoma

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—
nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

Jovan had to finish the line before he checked his comm. The message was from Zayne. It had been a while. The message was short.
<<A job cropped up from an interesting source, it seemed to be your time of day and the pay is good. Time is short. you want in? I can send you a number>>