@Michael Walker
Friday, February 1st, 2064
1530 Zulu (7:30 am Seattle Time)
Bellevue, Seattle, UCAS. Current temperature: Fragging COLD!
You slam the door behind you as you barrel into welcoming arms of your electrically warmed home. Running 6 miles out in this weather certainly wasn't the smartest thing to do, but at least your eyebrows aren't frosted this time.
The soft green of the blinking message light on your telecom catches your eye as you make your way to the livingroom to watch the news.
"Message...Play" you intone, almost as an afterthought as you settle into the comfort of your synthleather couch.
The familiar texan drawl of the speaker brings a slight grin to your face as you listen intently to the message.
"Hey Mike. It's Deke. Hope you guys have been enjoying your R&R...I'm bettin' that 6 months in the Ukraine was a complete bitch. I know ya'll have just settled back into normal life, but I have a matter that REALLY needs tending to, and ya'll are the best out there for what I need. Gather up the team and meet me in my office at 2pm sharp. Trust me, I'll make it worth your time."
Full Version: IC: TANGO DOWN!
Michael sighs and makes a cross. "Back into the fire."
He calls up the team and lets him know to meet up at the office. 2pm sharp.
He calls up the team and lets him know to meet up at the office. 2pm sharp.
Pale, saffron-tinted morning sunlight filtered through the rice-paper laticework and into the library illuminating shelf upon polished rosewood shelf of scrolls, manuscripts, and parchments resting within their cubbyholes. Many of documents were yellowed with age, well-worn as a testament to how often they were used. Others were new, freshly printed upon rice paper with the inks still vivid.
Many apprentices padded quietly upon the polished hardwood floor, taking parchments from some cubbyholes and sliding then into other slots. Among them all, a woman in a long silken robe of pale forest greens and winter whites went from shelf to shelf, occassionally taking a parchment out and reading over it before handing it to an apprentice. Her long raven hair fell between her slim shoulders and down to the end of the robe's train like a cascade of black. Cheeks slightly colored with rouge, she was strikingly beautiful in the oriental style. A veritable paragon of femenine Japanese beauty. Taking a sheet of yellowed parchment, she smiled to herself as she scanned the poem by Basho.
And was interrupted mid-way by the ringing of a phone.
The deck whirred down as Yoko jacked out of the simsense and grabbed for the phone, almost knocking over a cold mug of soykaff on the cluttered low table. Holding it up against her slightly pointed ear and running the now-free hand through her short hair, she groggily answered.
"Huh? Yeah...oh, hey boss. Yeah...Fourteen-hundred? Yeah...I'll be there, null-sweat, just gotta..." She looked around at the utterly disorganized flat and yawned before continuing. "...Yeah, clean up the place. See you there, boss."
Ending the call, Yoko languidly tossed the phone on top of a small pile of discarded soy-chip bags and shifted in her seat, the overly large T-shirt covering her body near totally. "Yeah...gotta clean up the place..."
She jacked back into her deck and once again felt the smooth touch of silk robes upon her skin, the firm tug of the weight of all that hair trailing behind her on her scalp. Again she moved from shelf to shelf, but with purpose this time.
Five hours, she thought to herself, this thing should be done defragmenting by then...
Many apprentices padded quietly upon the polished hardwood floor, taking parchments from some cubbyholes and sliding then into other slots. Among them all, a woman in a long silken robe of pale forest greens and winter whites went from shelf to shelf, occassionally taking a parchment out and reading over it before handing it to an apprentice. Her long raven hair fell between her slim shoulders and down to the end of the robe's train like a cascade of black. Cheeks slightly colored with rouge, she was strikingly beautiful in the oriental style. A veritable paragon of femenine Japanese beauty. Taking a sheet of yellowed parchment, she smiled to herself as she scanned the poem by Basho.
And was interrupted mid-way by the ringing of a phone.
The deck whirred down as Yoko jacked out of the simsense and grabbed for the phone, almost knocking over a cold mug of soykaff on the cluttered low table. Holding it up against her slightly pointed ear and running the now-free hand through her short hair, she groggily answered.
"Huh? Yeah...oh, hey boss. Yeah...Fourteen-hundred? Yeah...I'll be there, null-sweat, just gotta..." She looked around at the utterly disorganized flat and yawned before continuing. "...Yeah, clean up the place. See you there, boss."
Ending the call, Yoko languidly tossed the phone on top of a small pile of discarded soy-chip bags and shifted in her seat, the overly large T-shirt covering her body near totally. "Yeah...gotta clean up the place..."
She jacked back into her deck and once again felt the smooth touch of silk robes upon her skin, the firm tug of the weight of all that hair trailing behind her on her scalp. Again she moved from shelf to shelf, but with purpose this time.
Five hours, she thought to herself, this thing should be done defragmenting by then...
Ding! The bell sounded as yet another target dropped. "Hot damn boy you can shoot." The praise from the loud mouth southerner was little comfort to Downtown. He had an arrangement with the owner of the riffle range. He got free ammo and he could use any weapon he wanted, he just had to shoot on the public range instead of the private one. The current targets were spaced every 100 meters starting at 200 meters and going out to 3000. His last bullet and struck the green head of the fiberglass silhouette. As usual a crowd had gathered to watch him shoot. That he didn't mind so much, but the inevitable offers and questions he did. "I swear boy, I have never, I say never, seen anyone drop a target at 3klicks. Hell, we wouldn't even know you had hit if the monitor hadn't shown it. I say you can't do it again, you ready for a wager?"
Downtown lifted his p to a kneeling position with the riffle. He braced his right leg behind him. He raised the riffle so that the but was secure against his shoulder. His thumb flipped the custom selector switch on the MSG-90 to the 'semi' position. With his left hand he pressed the 'release' catch on the Carson scope and held it until the scope popped up. He then placed in on the ground. Next came the specialized after market sound suppressor. Generally an illegal item but Downtown had paid through the nose to receive a permit.
"500
a target, 3 seconds for each target. 2k extra if I hit them all." The southerner looked stunned for a moment, he had money though so he sputtered out an agreement. "Aren’t you going to use the sco..." The last of his words were cut off as the Ork depressed the trigger as he exhaled slowly. The riffle barked, once, twice, three time. The first three targets fell. He re-adjusted his hold and fired six more times. Six targets fell. Another adjustment and ten more targets fell. Another adjustment and eight more targets flattened as his customized riffle barked. Downtown cocked his head to the right after sighting in the final shot, "double or nothing I hit it without looking." The mans response was lost in bark of the round exiting the barrel. The score board dinged as the target fell.
The challengers face was ashen. He couldn't believe the near super human feat he just witnessed. The crowd that had gathered was clapping loud enough Downtown almost missed his cell phone ringing. He carefully put his riffle down on his shooting mat and retrieved his phone. "Listen sir, I don't ant your money, so don't have a heart attack, but don't make bets you can't lose." The man started to respond but Downtown held his hand up, palm first, "save it. Joey, take care of Isabelle will you." The last was said to the range rat. A boy who got paid to clean up after the high profile shooters.
"Downtown, alpha 6, go." Michaels words echo through the phone. "Roger, confirm location, Sierra delta two at fourteen-hundred hours. Wilco." A small smile touched the orks lips, action at last. I'll need to let Jen know I am going out of town for a while. His next call was to Dragos, <Russian>"Dragos, Downtown, yeah I am at the range, you get the call, roger that. Can I catch a ride with you comrade, the Turbo is in the shop. Yeah I know I can bring it buy, but it's not like you have enough on your hands, see you at thirteen hundred."<Russian>
Downtown lifted his p to a kneeling position with the riffle. He braced his right leg behind him. He raised the riffle so that the but was secure against his shoulder. His thumb flipped the custom selector switch on the MSG-90 to the 'semi' position. With his left hand he pressed the 'release' catch on the Carson scope and held it until the scope popped up. He then placed in on the ground. Next came the specialized after market sound suppressor. Generally an illegal item but Downtown had paid through the nose to receive a permit.
"500
a target, 3 seconds for each target. 2k extra if I hit them all." The southerner looked stunned for a moment, he had money though so he sputtered out an agreement. "Aren’t you going to use the sco..." The last of his words were cut off as the Ork depressed the trigger as he exhaled slowly. The riffle barked, once, twice, three time. The first three targets fell. He re-adjusted his hold and fired six more times. Six targets fell. Another adjustment and ten more targets fell. Another adjustment and eight more targets flattened as his customized riffle barked. Downtown cocked his head to the right after sighting in the final shot, "double or nothing I hit it without looking." The mans response was lost in bark of the round exiting the barrel. The score board dinged as the target fell. The challengers face was ashen. He couldn't believe the near super human feat he just witnessed. The crowd that had gathered was clapping loud enough Downtown almost missed his cell phone ringing. He carefully put his riffle down on his shooting mat and retrieved his phone. "Listen sir, I don't ant your money, so don't have a heart attack, but don't make bets you can't lose." The man started to respond but Downtown held his hand up, palm first, "save it. Joey, take care of Isabelle will you." The last was said to the range rat. A boy who got paid to clean up after the high profile shooters.
"Downtown, alpha 6, go." Michaels words echo through the phone. "Roger, confirm location, Sierra delta two at fourteen-hundred hours. Wilco." A small smile touched the orks lips, action at last. I'll need to let Jen know I am going out of town for a while. His next call was to Dragos, <Russian>"Dragos, Downtown, yeah I am at the range, you get the call, roger that. Can I catch a ride with you comrade, the Turbo is in the shop. Yeah I know I can bring it buy, but it's not like you have enough on your hands, see you at thirteen hundred."<Russian>
Michael went through the rest of his messages and spend the rest of the morning catching up on the affairs of the world. The world is going to hell in a handbasket.
A 1130 Michael is on the road, gear packed and and ready to head out at a moments notice. He makes a stop by the local surf'in'turf to pick up lunch for himself plus one. Ten minutes later he steps through the giant double doors of the Santa Maria Church.
"Afternoon Father, I thought you could use some lunch", Michael said with a smile.
"Ahhh... thank ya, my boy, that I do", was the reply. Father O'Railey was the kind of man the world needed. Willing to help and give his time to anyone who needed. In all his years at the church there had never been a single complaint logged against him, which in this day and age said something about his character.
"Listen Father, it looks like I'm gunna be called out of town on work again, so you're going to need to get someone to fill in for me on the weekends. Give Alice a call, she mentioned she could run the soup kitchen for me if I needed someone to fill in."
THe Father frowned at the news, concern showing openly on his face. "You be careful Michael. I worry about you. We all do."
Michael stood up and sqeezed the Father's shoulder, "Thank you Father, I'll be careful."
He walked down the aisle and nealed down before the Lord on his cross.
"Sic enim dilexit Deus mundum ut Filium suum unigenitum daret ut omnis qui credit in eum non pereat sed habeat vitam aeternam."
Signing the cross and kissing the feet of the Christ, Michael stood once more and headed to the meet.
A 1130 Michael is on the road, gear packed and and ready to head out at a moments notice. He makes a stop by the local surf'in'turf to pick up lunch for himself plus one. Ten minutes later he steps through the giant double doors of the Santa Maria Church.
"Afternoon Father, I thought you could use some lunch", Michael said with a smile.
"Ahhh... thank ya, my boy, that I do", was the reply. Father O'Railey was the kind of man the world needed. Willing to help and give his time to anyone who needed. In all his years at the church there had never been a single complaint logged against him, which in this day and age said something about his character.
"Listen Father, it looks like I'm gunna be called out of town on work again, so you're going to need to get someone to fill in for me on the weekends. Give Alice a call, she mentioned she could run the soup kitchen for me if I needed someone to fill in."
THe Father frowned at the news, concern showing openly on his face. "You be careful Michael. I worry about you. We all do."
Michael stood up and sqeezed the Father's shoulder, "Thank you Father, I'll be careful."
He walked down the aisle and nealed down before the Lord on his cross.
"Sic enim dilexit Deus mundum ut Filium suum unigenitum daret ut omnis qui credit in eum non pereat sed habeat vitam aeternam."
Signing the cross and kissing the feet of the Christ, Michael stood once more and headed to the meet.
Nikolai "Dragos" Rozhenko, Feburary 1st, 1613 Zulu, Seattle Interstate 5
I was tearing through the commuter traffic on I-5 on my way home from Bell's condo in Vancouver and it was as if the Emerald City was howling at me, trying its damnedest to keep me from coming back. The mercury was rock bottom and still falling fast, almost as if the Devil himself was riding hot on my tail and hurling his icy pitchforks at my face. But the joke was on him; sure, the frigid air whipping past my weathered face felt like sandpaper and razors, but it all just reminded me of those warm summer nights back home in the Caucasus mountains. Ol' Scratch would have to do a hell of a lot worse if he wanted to get my undivided attention.
I was about an hour from the marina when I got Michael's call. Looked like we had another tour of duty coming up, but at least I had few hours to catch up on my sleep before the meet. At least I thought I did until Downtown decided to mooch a ride.
"Not a problem," I remember barking to the phone as I instinctually tracked the call and cross-referenced it on the mapsoft I had in my HUD. He was trying to engage in some idle chit-chat to try and cover up the fact that he was bumming a ride, but I was hip to his evil scheme. "You're about twenty minutes away. I'll see you out front in ten. You're buying breakfast." I flashed a grin at the console's camera before punching the receiver and pulling off at the next exit.
Exactly nine-minutes-and-fifty-seven seconds later, the wheels of my '62 Porsche Winter were screaching to a halt in front of the shooting range. "Ready?"
I was tearing through the commuter traffic on I-5 on my way home from Bell's condo in Vancouver and it was as if the Emerald City was howling at me, trying its damnedest to keep me from coming back. The mercury was rock bottom and still falling fast, almost as if the Devil himself was riding hot on my tail and hurling his icy pitchforks at my face. But the joke was on him; sure, the frigid air whipping past my weathered face felt like sandpaper and razors, but it all just reminded me of those warm summer nights back home in the Caucasus mountains. Ol' Scratch would have to do a hell of a lot worse if he wanted to get my undivided attention.
I was about an hour from the marina when I got Michael's call. Looked like we had another tour of duty coming up, but at least I had few hours to catch up on my sleep before the meet. At least I thought I did until Downtown decided to mooch a ride.
"Not a problem," I remember barking to the phone as I instinctually tracked the call and cross-referenced it on the mapsoft I had in my HUD. He was trying to engage in some idle chit-chat to try and cover up the fact that he was bumming a ride, but I was hip to his evil scheme. "You're about twenty minutes away. I'll see you out front in ten. You're buying breakfast." I flashed a grin at the console's camera before punching the receiver and pulling off at the next exit.
Exactly nine-minutes-and-fifty-seven seconds later, the wheels of my '62 Porsche Winter were screaching to a halt in front of the shooting range. "Ready?"
"More than," the short ork says as he slides into Dragos smooth ride.
"Cuppa Joes okay with you?" I asked as we peeled out of the parking lot and onto the streets. "It's a small joint about a quarter-click from here. Prices are a bit high, but the food's real at least. None of that fraggin' soy crap that'll clog your arteries."
It didn't really matter what Danny said, though. By the time I was done asking, we were already there. I hopped out of the car and started making my way into the brownstone-turned-diner, and I could hear him slamming his door shut right behind me. I tried my best not to, but I caught myself casing the joint just in case something went down. I guess Bell was right -- I do need to learn to relax more.
Luckily, there was a nice table nowhere near the front window, so that's what I gravitated towards. Before we were completely in our seats, though, a breeder with a beehive hairdo the size of the Spasskaya Tower was all over us.
"Hello boys, what can I getcha?" she asked, popping a bubble while holding her little notepad out in front of her. It was like we had stepped into a bad sitcom from the 1970's or something.
"Cup of coffee, black, whole grain pancakes, and an egg-white omellete, please."
"What do you want in that omelette, sweetie?" If the plastic carnation she had in her blue hair wasn't disturbing enough, the huge wad of gum she was smacking certainly was.
"Nothing in the omelette. Nothing at all."
"Well, that's not technically an omelette."
"Look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument over this. I just want the fraggin' protein, all right?"
She just rolled her eyes at me before turning to Downtown, but I didn't care at that point. I guess my blood-sugar level was getting low or I just haven't had enough sleep these past few days. I don't know what it was, but she was really aggrivating the hell out of me and all I wanted was for her to get out of my personal airspace, ASAP.
After she left, I sat back in my chair and looked over at Townsend. "So where do you think we're being sent off to this time? I got five bucks that says it's some god-forsaken desert in Africa."
It didn't really matter what Danny said, though. By the time I was done asking, we were already there. I hopped out of the car and started making my way into the brownstone-turned-diner, and I could hear him slamming his door shut right behind me. I tried my best not to, but I caught myself casing the joint just in case something went down. I guess Bell was right -- I do need to learn to relax more.
Luckily, there was a nice table nowhere near the front window, so that's what I gravitated towards. Before we were completely in our seats, though, a breeder with a beehive hairdo the size of the Spasskaya Tower was all over us.
"Hello boys, what can I getcha?" she asked, popping a bubble while holding her little notepad out in front of her. It was like we had stepped into a bad sitcom from the 1970's or something.
"Cup of coffee, black, whole grain pancakes, and an egg-white omellete, please."
"What do you want in that omelette, sweetie?" If the plastic carnation she had in her blue hair wasn't disturbing enough, the huge wad of gum she was smacking certainly was.
"Nothing in the omelette. Nothing at all."
"Well, that's not technically an omelette."
"Look, I don't want to get into a semantic argument over this. I just want the fraggin' protein, all right?"
She just rolled her eyes at me before turning to Downtown, but I didn't care at that point. I guess my blood-sugar level was getting low or I just haven't had enough sleep these past few days. I don't know what it was, but she was really aggrivating the hell out of me and all I wanted was for her to get out of my personal airspace, ASAP.
After she left, I sat back in my chair and looked over at Townsend. "So where do you think we're being sent off to this time? I got five bucks that says it's some god-forsaken desert in Africa."
"I'll have the same, sans the coffee, replace it with OJ, the real stuff please, soka." Downtown nodded to Drago's question, "Lord I hope not. Last time we were in Africa I had a helluva time keeping the sand out of the weapons. Tell me this Dragos, how come we never go on missions to Hawaii, or Haiti, or some place warm with white sandy beaches and half naked natives. I'll tell you why," the Ork continued, "because people who run around half naked on white sandy beaches don't need mercenaries, they need suntan lotion."
The food arrived a few moments later, the waitress gave the pair an odd look. Danny was short and thin for an Ork. He capped off at just under six feet, and while he wasn't nearly as lanky as the day he joined the army, he was still small. More for the fact that he wore baggy clothes and dressed in dark colors.
"How was your R&R?" He asked between gulps of real Orange Juice and bites of eggs.
The food arrived a few moments later, the waitress gave the pair an odd look. Danny was short and thin for an Ork. He capped off at just under six feet, and while he wasn't nearly as lanky as the day he joined the army, he was still small. More for the fact that he wore baggy clothes and dressed in dark colors.
"How was your R&R?" He asked between gulps of real Orange Juice and bites of eggs.
"That's pretty much a given. But who knows, maybe we'll get lucky." Who the frell was I kidding? Townsend was right. If people needed our help, it wasn't bloody likely to be somewhere serene. But I didn't want to think about it too much. We only had a few hours left to enjoy our time off, so I was damned determined to make the most of it.
I could feel the breeder's eyes on me as she looked us over when she returned with our orders. I looked over at my pal and realized that we did seem to be an odd couple. Where Danny was a scarecrow of an ork, I was his polar opposite. Dressed in a six-figure silk suit and topping the scales at 200cm and 140 kilos, I probably looked as if I could crush him with a sneeze. But we both knew better... while I could pin him to the mat if he didn't see me coming, we both knew he could take my ass down in no time flat if he really wanted to. It was the irony in that which really warmed me up to him when we first met back on that mission in Georgia.
But my reverie was broken when he asked about my downtime. "It was pretty good. Spent most of it getting Pavlov back in working order, and I just got back from spending the week with Bell upstate..." I could feel my cheeks flushing a bit as I talked about Bell. I was hoping he wouldn't ask for any details -- he knew how I felt about talking about my relationships. Maybe if I changed the subject back to him, he'd let it slide.
"How about you?"
Just so you know, it's Dragos, not Drago. Dragos is a legendary, if completely obscure, figure from Slavic mythology. Regardless, you'd probably refer to him as Nikolai or maybe Nik/Nick when not on the job since Dragos is simply his callsign. 
Just FYI. 
I could feel the breeder's eyes on me as she looked us over when she returned with our orders. I looked over at my pal and realized that we did seem to be an odd couple. Where Danny was a scarecrow of an ork, I was his polar opposite. Dressed in a six-figure silk suit and topping the scales at 200cm and 140 kilos, I probably looked as if I could crush him with a sneeze. But we both knew better... while I could pin him to the mat if he didn't see me coming, we both knew he could take my ass down in no time flat if he really wanted to. It was the irony in that which really warmed me up to him when we first met back on that mission in Georgia.
But my reverie was broken when he asked about my downtime. "It was pretty good. Spent most of it getting Pavlov back in working order, and I just got back from spending the week with Bell upstate..." I could feel my cheeks flushing a bit as I talked about Bell. I was hoping he wouldn't ask for any details -- he knew how I felt about talking about my relationships. Maybe if I changed the subject back to him, he'd let it slide.
"How about you?"
Just so you know, it's Dragos, not Drago. Dragos is a legendary, if completely obscure, figure from Slavic mythology. Regardless, you'd probably refer to him as Nikolai or maybe Nik/Nick when not on the job since Dragos is simply his callsign. Just FYI.
As he listened to the message, Illian couldn't help but muse that the timing was perfect. Wether on his part, or on Deke's one would be pressed to tell. Having just poured a cup of real coffee, after a long, hot shower, Illian is still wearing just a towel. He weaves his way through the boxes of his things to lean on the loft railing, looking over the space below. This was one of the better places he'd stayed in since moving to Seattle, but he was already planning on leaving it behind. To that end, he had packed prior to leaving on his pilgrimage to Japan; a pilgrimage he had returned from only the day before. He had already aranged for storage of his things, and for the movers to come the day after next. The final payment on the lease of the place had been made. He was ready to move on.
It seemed lately he was always moving. When the past could catch up at any moment, it only seemed fitting.
Illian calls for some Tokyo symphony music as he finishes off the coffee, moving to one of the large windows of the loft to take in the view of the city one last time. So much beauty amongst squalor. It intrigued him, how the city had become so familiar to him, despite the time he spent away. Only a few years before he had despised Seattle. Now, it was home.
Upon finishing the coffee he sets the mug down, and moves into his sleeping area, to don his garb of the day. Of habit he slides into his form fitting armor, as one can never be too careful. Atop that he dons a charcol grey silk suit, Italian, authentic. He takes care in tying the tie, and in lacing his shoes just right. Considering the amount of time he's spent in sewers, trash heaps, and any manner of filth one could imagine, he relished the times when he could simply look good. He straps on a shoulder holster under the suit's jacket, sliding his Glock into it. True, he would have to relinquish the weapon before the meet, but it was the time heading there the piece was for.
Pouring himself another coffee for the wait, Illian calls a trusted limo service. First lunch at a chic restaurant, then the meet.
It seemed lately he was always moving. When the past could catch up at any moment, it only seemed fitting.
Illian calls for some Tokyo symphony music as he finishes off the coffee, moving to one of the large windows of the loft to take in the view of the city one last time. So much beauty amongst squalor. It intrigued him, how the city had become so familiar to him, despite the time he spent away. Only a few years before he had despised Seattle. Now, it was home.
Upon finishing the coffee he sets the mug down, and moves into his sleeping area, to don his garb of the day. Of habit he slides into his form fitting armor, as one can never be too careful. Atop that he dons a charcol grey silk suit, Italian, authentic. He takes care in tying the tie, and in lacing his shoes just right. Considering the amount of time he's spent in sewers, trash heaps, and any manner of filth one could imagine, he relished the times when he could simply look good. He straps on a shoulder holster under the suit's jacket, sliding his Glock into it. True, he would have to relinquish the weapon before the meet, but it was the time heading there the piece was for.
Pouring himself another coffee for the wait, Illian calls a trusted limo service. First lunch at a chic restaurant, then the meet.
A smile split the Ork's face, "Oh it was good, I met a girl, we have been hanging out a couple of nights a week. Other than that no much. Tell you the truth I have been kind of itching for an assignment." The Ork takes the last bight of his nada omelette and pushes the plate away. He washes it all down with the last half glass of his Orange Juice. "I'm glad you had a good time Nikolai." He reaches into one of his many pockets and drops 30 on the table. "That should just about cover it."
on the table. "That should just about cover it."
"So where did you need to go after here? I was just going to head home and crash for a couple of hours. If you don't have anything you need to do, you're welcome to hang out on the boat and I can give you a lift to the meet. 'Sides, I have a few weeks worth of food to get rid of before we head out, so you might as well make that gut of yours useful for a change."
"Sounds like a plan," Danny said as the duo moved out. The cold February air bit into him like a knife, causing him to pull his coat tight around him. "Wherever we go, I hope it is warmer than here."
February 1st, 1559 Zulu (almost 8AM, Seattle)
George Maxwell would usually get up at 0600 am sharp (he didn't really need the alarm clock anymore), then he would put some clothes on, drink a whole glass of juice and a whole glass of minaralized water with vitamins, and he would get out for a 5 minutes jog to the gym, which is about one mile away from his condo in Bellevue. After working out for a full hour, he would get back home jogging. Then he would change clothes, take a shower, and eat a complete breakfast. Then, drinking his soycaf and reading the newspaper, he would have received the call from Michael at 8 o'clock in the morning.
But no. This morning Max did not wake up at 6, he did not jog nor work out and he was not reading the news and drinking his coffee, he was taking life easy for once, and that's when life hit him.
DRIIIIING!
By the end of the strident sound emitted by his cell phone, Max was already up, because of reflexes he developped in training and mission. Before answering, he glanced at the person lying down in bed behind him. "I know you're gonna answer it anyways so just go ahead ...", said Amy.
He found his jacket on the floor and opened the ridiculously small cell phone taken from one of the pockets. He made some effort not to show that he was just waking up: "Good morning Mike, what's up? ... Okay, you can count on me."
"So, when are you leaving.. this time, George?"
"Most probably within a few days, dear, I'm really sorry."
"That's alright, you know that I have stopped carring now, I'll just find someone else..", said Amy with sarcasm, even though she would probably do just that.
"Anyways, I really have to leave now, I have to get things rolling, it's an important day and I'm way behind in my usual routine. We probably won't meet again before I depart, so this is good bye. I'll try to write you a few letters, though, love."
"Don't bother, George, and you know I want you to stop calling me like that."
With that, Max went to the shower, got dressed, and left without another word. He was still shocked at how cold this woman who had been his wife could become sometimes, even though she was so warm and loving during the night. Max still loved her deeply, but she seemed to have moved on more quickly than he was able to. When you go through very tough situations for days, you need something to think of, to look forward to, and until recently, it had always been Amy. Now, sadly, he had to move on.
Max took the time to do the routine he hadn't done earlier, then he listened to Wagner's Rhinegold and its brutal harmonies to clear his mind, until it was time to leave for Deke's office.
George Maxwell would usually get up at 0600 am sharp (he didn't really need the alarm clock anymore), then he would put some clothes on, drink a whole glass of juice and a whole glass of minaralized water with vitamins, and he would get out for a 5 minutes jog to the gym, which is about one mile away from his condo in Bellevue. After working out for a full hour, he would get back home jogging. Then he would change clothes, take a shower, and eat a complete breakfast. Then, drinking his soycaf and reading the newspaper, he would have received the call from Michael at 8 o'clock in the morning.
But no. This morning Max did not wake up at 6, he did not jog nor work out and he was not reading the news and drinking his coffee, he was taking life easy for once, and that's when life hit him.
DRIIIIING!
By the end of the strident sound emitted by his cell phone, Max was already up, because of reflexes he developped in training and mission. Before answering, he glanced at the person lying down in bed behind him. "I know you're gonna answer it anyways so just go ahead ...", said Amy.
He found his jacket on the floor and opened the ridiculously small cell phone taken from one of the pockets. He made some effort not to show that he was just waking up: "Good morning Mike, what's up? ... Okay, you can count on me."
"So, when are you leaving.. this time, George?"
"Most probably within a few days, dear, I'm really sorry."
"That's alright, you know that I have stopped carring now, I'll just find someone else..", said Amy with sarcasm, even though she would probably do just that.
"Anyways, I really have to leave now, I have to get things rolling, it's an important day and I'm way behind in my usual routine. We probably won't meet again before I depart, so this is good bye. I'll try to write you a few letters, though, love."
"Don't bother, George, and you know I want you to stop calling me like that."
With that, Max went to the shower, got dressed, and left without another word. He was still shocked at how cold this woman who had been his wife could become sometimes, even though she was so warm and loving during the night. Max still loved her deeply, but she seemed to have moved on more quickly than he was able to. When you go through very tough situations for days, you need something to think of, to look forward to, and until recently, it had always been Amy. Now, sadly, he had to move on.
Max took the time to do the routine he hadn't done earlier, then he listened to Wagner's Rhinegold and its brutal harmonies to clear his mind, until it was time to leave for Deke's office.
The world was both dark and colorful at the same time. It was hard to explain to a mundane, seeing two different pictures superimposed on each other at the same time. Contrary to popular belief, infra-red vision, such as that experienced by trolls, dwarves, and countless cybereye users, was nothing like it, for those people merely saw the infrared and visual spectra on the same continuum, with heat appearing as "red" and "orange," rather than a seperate image. While the cavern inside the elemental metaplane of earth was dark physically, or in this plane's equivalent of physical reality, it was full of color on the astral plane. The rich tapestry of life, in all it's multitude of forms, tempted him to stay there forever. But of course he couldn't do that. He had to get back to his meat body before it got tired of living without a soul.
Giving one last, longing glance at the plane of earth, Muramasa Kenjiro returned to his body lying on the couch in his classy high-rise apartment. The first thing he noticed was that while his body hadn't had trouble weathering it's existence as a semi-inanimate object, it had gotten rather low on water, a substance that all physical life depended on. The second thing he noticed was the message light on his telecom flashing brightly on and off, the sign of a message marked as urgent.
Sipping from his thermos of mineral water, Kenjiro listened to the message from his team leader. After three months of alternately relaxing and broadening his spiritual horizons, it was time to bring in some more money. While Kenjiro enjoyed exploring the metaplanes and astral space and researching new spells more than he enjoyed his job, he didn't fight other people's wars just for the money. He appreciated the opportunity it gave him to field-test his magical prowess. Taking note of the time given, Kenjiro set his alarm for 12:30. Taking a lookat the colorful platinum-titanium alloy circlet which adorned his head with it's beautiful engravings and magica aura, and then placing it back on his forehead, he put on his two sustaining foci and activated them. It was just a meeting, of course, but better safe then sorry. Now it was time for a nap, to recover from the exertion of a 3-hour astral vacation that seemed to last a day, and the casting of several spells to boot.
Giving one last, longing glance at the plane of earth, Muramasa Kenjiro returned to his body lying on the couch in his classy high-rise apartment. The first thing he noticed was that while his body hadn't had trouble weathering it's existence as a semi-inanimate object, it had gotten rather low on water, a substance that all physical life depended on. The second thing he noticed was the message light on his telecom flashing brightly on and off, the sign of a message marked as urgent.
Sipping from his thermos of mineral water, Kenjiro listened to the message from his team leader. After three months of alternately relaxing and broadening his spiritual horizons, it was time to bring in some more money. While Kenjiro enjoyed exploring the metaplanes and astral space and researching new spells more than he enjoyed his job, he didn't fight other people's wars just for the money. He appreciated the opportunity it gave him to field-test his magical prowess. Taking note of the time given, Kenjiro set his alarm for 12:30. Taking a lookat the colorful platinum-titanium alloy circlet which adorned his head with it's beautiful engravings and magica aura, and then placing it back on his forehead, he put on his two sustaining foci and activated them. It was just a meeting, of course, but better safe then sorry. Now it was time for a nap, to recover from the exertion of a 3-hour astral vacation that seemed to last a day, and the casting of several spells to boot.
"You need to grow a thicker skin one of these days," I quipped. It may not have been the wittiest thing I've ever said but then again I never claimed to be a worthsmith, either.
After jumping back into the Porsche, I pulled out and headed towards Queen Anne Hill. Now that I think about it, I don't think Townsend's been by the new marina since I moved the Nymph there from up north. Somehow, I think he'll like the scenery. Even in this kind of weather, there's always some scantily clad chica bouncing around the marina hoping to trade her tail for a fat CEO bank account. Fraggin' bimbos.
Unfortunately I felt like a schlub since I didn't have much to talk about, and since Mr. Cold Blood was along for the ride I couldn't exactly put the top back down and enjoy the cold air. A pity. But hey, at least the tunes are good this morning and traffic seems to have lightened up a bit since we left the diner. It only took a good twenty minutes to get home. I pulled into my usual spot and got back out. The sun was already getting high in the sky, and I had to admit it felt pretty damn good on my face.
"The boat's not far from here," I said as I started to lead the way. "You haven't been by since I got her painted, have ya? Lemme know what you think of the detailing. Cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Don't have much work left to do on her now at all."
When we got to my dock, I pulled my keychain out and turn the alarm off. Hoping onboard the Sea Nymph, the pitter-patter sound of Pavlov running towards us was unmistakable.
"Heya boy!" I called out, the sound of happiness more than slightly abundant in my voice. I leaned down to pet the Siberian huskey as much as he so desperately wanted and smiled up at Danny again. "Looks like that new personafix is working wonders, huh? Who woulda guessed he was a hardcore recon drone, eh? Gotta remind me to thank Yoko for hooking me up with that chip sometime."
I gave the robotic pooch one last scratch behind the ear before standing up and heading down below. "Make yourself at home. Plenty of food in the fridge, and all the Matrix channels you could want. Just try to keep the volume down if you check out some of the porn channels -- the neighbors tend to frown on that this early in the morning. In any case, I'll be in the captain's quarters taking a shower and then a nap. If I'm not up in time, just pound on the door until I get my lazy ass out of bed."
After jumping back into the Porsche, I pulled out and headed towards Queen Anne Hill. Now that I think about it, I don't think Townsend's been by the new marina since I moved the Nymph there from up north. Somehow, I think he'll like the scenery. Even in this kind of weather, there's always some scantily clad chica bouncing around the marina hoping to trade her tail for a fat CEO bank account. Fraggin' bimbos.
Unfortunately I felt like a schlub since I didn't have much to talk about, and since Mr. Cold Blood was along for the ride I couldn't exactly put the top back down and enjoy the cold air. A pity. But hey, at least the tunes are good this morning and traffic seems to have lightened up a bit since we left the diner. It only took a good twenty minutes to get home. I pulled into my usual spot and got back out. The sun was already getting high in the sky, and I had to admit it felt pretty damn good on my face.
"The boat's not far from here," I said as I started to lead the way. "You haven't been by since I got her painted, have ya? Lemme know what you think of the detailing. Cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Don't have much work left to do on her now at all."
When we got to my dock, I pulled my keychain out and turn the alarm off. Hoping onboard the Sea Nymph, the pitter-patter sound of Pavlov running towards us was unmistakable.
"Heya boy!" I called out, the sound of happiness more than slightly abundant in my voice. I leaned down to pet the Siberian huskey as much as he so desperately wanted and smiled up at Danny again. "Looks like that new personafix is working wonders, huh? Who woulda guessed he was a hardcore recon drone, eh? Gotta remind me to thank Yoko for hooking me up with that chip sometime."
I gave the robotic pooch one last scratch behind the ear before standing up and heading down below. "Make yourself at home. Plenty of food in the fridge, and all the Matrix channels you could want. Just try to keep the volume down if you check out some of the porn channels -- the neighbors tend to frown on that this early in the morning. In any case, I'll be in the captain's quarters taking a shower and then a nap. If I'm not up in time, just pound on the door until I get my lazy ass out of bed."
Friday, February 1, 2064
1000 Zulu
"Kiiii-yaaaaaaah!" A loud thud resounded through the flat. "Hah! I win again!"
Yoko stepped away from the dangerously over-stressed closet door with a satisfied smile on her face. It had taken the better part of her morning, but she'd managed to clean up her apartment in preparation for her leaving to go to work. Clean was a relative term, since that just meant the majority of her junk went into the closet, but the elf woman could really care less.
Yoko's deck still whirred patiently on the table, its owner having left it to its own devices as it ran some diagnostic or another. With a resolute tone, the vox program announced the completion of the self-maintenance. Yoko finished opening the cream-colored blinds at her windows by this time and slid to sit in frond of the deck, a few keystrokes later and the deck's tricked out sound-systems were blaring the latest in 2064's variations on gangsta-rap. Grinning widely, Yoko hopped into the shower while the music played.
As the bass-rich backbeats and overly-violent lyrics rumbled through the apartment, shaking the picture-frames with images of Yoko and her family in it along with the small Japanese porcelain curio-dolls in their display case, Yoko added in her own voice to the rapping whilst in the shower. Her bathing done, she proceeded on with the clothing.
A baggy shirt, a pair of non-descript jeans, a woolen ski cap to tuck the tips of her ears into, and the bulky winter jacket. Shutting off the music, Yoko hopped into some Timberland workboots and jandered outside into the cold and to her car, a late-model Americar.
"Yeah!" She said, sliding into the seat and starting the vehicle and muttering the next few words to the beat of the song she just left behind. "Job-ja job job...Uh yeah...Gotta make that meet..."
1000 Zulu
"Kiiii-yaaaaaaah!" A loud thud resounded through the flat. "Hah! I win again!"
Yoko stepped away from the dangerously over-stressed closet door with a satisfied smile on her face. It had taken the better part of her morning, but she'd managed to clean up her apartment in preparation for her leaving to go to work. Clean was a relative term, since that just meant the majority of her junk went into the closet, but the elf woman could really care less.
Yoko's deck still whirred patiently on the table, its owner having left it to its own devices as it ran some diagnostic or another. With a resolute tone, the vox program announced the completion of the self-maintenance. Yoko finished opening the cream-colored blinds at her windows by this time and slid to sit in frond of the deck, a few keystrokes later and the deck's tricked out sound-systems were blaring the latest in 2064's variations on gangsta-rap. Grinning widely, Yoko hopped into the shower while the music played.
As the bass-rich backbeats and overly-violent lyrics rumbled through the apartment, shaking the picture-frames with images of Yoko and her family in it along with the small Japanese porcelain curio-dolls in their display case, Yoko added in her own voice to the rapping whilst in the shower. Her bathing done, she proceeded on with the clothing.
A baggy shirt, a pair of non-descript jeans, a woolen ski cap to tuck the tips of her ears into, and the bulky winter jacket. Shutting off the music, Yoko hopped into some Timberland workboots and jandered outside into the cold and to her car, a late-model Americar.
"Yeah!" She said, sliding into the seat and starting the vehicle and muttering the next few words to the beat of the song she just left behind. "Job-ja job job...Uh yeah...Gotta make that meet..."
"Wow," was Danny's only response. The Nymph looked like a brand new boat. "That detail is amazing omae, I would say you got your money's worth." After Nikolai retired Danny grabed some juice out of the fridge and a plate of coldcuts. He settled himself in front of the trid and turned on the news. Please let there be a revoilution on Guam or something.
<Posting as Callidus until he returns>
Feb 1st, 1630 Zulu (8:30 am Seattle)
Ophelia groggily regains consciousness to the incessant beeping of her telecom. The shots from last night danced around her head like a dozen bowling pins after a perfectly tossed strike.
"What was it my mum used to say....one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor..."
The beeping ceased, and the voice recorder took over. "Hey Ophelia, it's Mike. Deke's got some work for us. Be at his office by 1400 sharp."
"Bloody hell! Why's that bloke gotta ring me at the crack of dawn? Someone needs to spike his wheaties."
Ophelia rolled over, determined to sleep off last night's drunken revelry.
Feb 1st, 1630 Zulu (8:30 am Seattle)
Ophelia groggily regains consciousness to the incessant beeping of her telecom. The shots from last night danced around her head like a dozen bowling pins after a perfectly tossed strike.
"What was it my mum used to say....one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor..."
The beeping ceased, and the voice recorder took over. "Hey Ophelia, it's Mike. Deke's got some work for us. Be at his office by 1400 sharp."
"Bloody hell! Why's that bloke gotta ring me at the crack of dawn? Someone needs to spike his wheaties."
Ophelia rolled over, determined to sleep off last night's drunken revelry.
February 1st, 2150 Zulu (1:50 pm, Seattle time)
@ALL
You pull into the partking lot of Ares Arms Seattle, and the well-armed secguard clears your vehicle to park in the visitors section. The heavy, low-slung 10-story plascrete building looks more like a bunker than corporate office building.
Right outside the entrance, you meet up with the rest of the team. Walking into the lobby, you pass dozens of Ares employees, moving about their daily routine. A few of them flash smiles/nods your way, recognizing you from work you've done in the past. The receptionist asks you to place your palm on the biometric scanner to sign in, and then gives you a lanyard-bound key card labled "VISITOR". From there, you take the elevator up to the 7th floor, then down the hall to Deke's office. Before you get within 10 meters of the door, you can hear Deke's booming voice echoing out into the hall. Apparently, he isn't too happy with SOMEONE.
When you reach his office, you notice his door is wide open. Deke is standing up, leaning over his desk with his face inches away from the telecom. Without even turning his head, he holds up a single finger in your direction. Wait one second is the message he is sending.
For the next thirty seconds, he proceeds to tear several new assholes into the person on the otherside of the line. Finally, he keys the telecom off, and eases back into his chair, letting out a big sigh and proping his snakeskin boots up on the table.
"Sorry 'bout that," he says. "Them boys down in deployment are dumber than a Dallas call girl cruising Beaumont for clientel. Come on in and set for a spell."
As you all file into Deke's office, you notice there are several fully packed travel bags at the corner of the office. Looks like Deke is about to take a trip somewhere, or has just returned from one.
@ALL
You pull into the partking lot of Ares Arms Seattle, and the well-armed secguard clears your vehicle to park in the visitors section. The heavy, low-slung 10-story plascrete building looks more like a bunker than corporate office building.
Right outside the entrance, you meet up with the rest of the team. Walking into the lobby, you pass dozens of Ares employees, moving about their daily routine. A few of them flash smiles/nods your way, recognizing you from work you've done in the past. The receptionist asks you to place your palm on the biometric scanner to sign in, and then gives you a lanyard-bound key card labled "VISITOR". From there, you take the elevator up to the 7th floor, then down the hall to Deke's office. Before you get within 10 meters of the door, you can hear Deke's booming voice echoing out into the hall. Apparently, he isn't too happy with SOMEONE.
When you reach his office, you notice his door is wide open. Deke is standing up, leaning over his desk with his face inches away from the telecom. Without even turning his head, he holds up a single finger in your direction. Wait one second is the message he is sending.
For the next thirty seconds, he proceeds to tear several new assholes into the person on the otherside of the line. Finally, he keys the telecom off, and eases back into his chair, letting out a big sigh and proping his snakeskin boots up on the table.
"Sorry 'bout that," he says. "Them boys down in deployment are dumber than a Dallas call girl cruising Beaumont for clientel. Come on in and set for a spell."
As you all file into Deke's office, you notice there are several fully packed travel bags at the corner of the office. Looks like Deke is about to take a trip somewhere, or has just returned from one.
"I'd love to chit-chat and catch up with you all, but the clock is ticking on this job, and if we don't move the ball fast...well, let's just say it's gonna be a big loss for the home team."
Deke taps a few keys on his terminal and green-tinged holo-map materializes inches above his desk. The map is of the middle east, specifically the countries between the Black and Caspian Seas. Bordered in red is the country Azerbaijan.
"Aaazurr-BYE-jan," Deke mumbles. "We have some local trouble. Some rag-head and his boys are trying to destabalize the country. Wouldn't be none of our concern, 'cept they think blowing up corporate property is their day job. I don't reckon they are a big outfit, but the Azerbaijani Gov't has given us the old 'Interfere in our country's affairs an' we'll boot your sorry asses out,' routine. We deploy troops, they revoke our MCB (Mandate to Conduct Business). That's where you come in. Once in-country, you'll disrupt rebel operations, track and locate the leadership, and erase them. 3 month deadline from the day you arrive, and the pay package is 650,000 nuyen. I have a lot more details I can release AFTER you sign the contract."
650,000 is a big pay package for a 3 month contract, you think to yourselves. That Ukraine contract paid out just a bit more, but had twice the timeframe. Sounds like Ares is between a rock and a hard place. This might be a good haggle opportunity.
Deke taps a few keys on his terminal and green-tinged holo-map materializes inches above his desk. The map is of the middle east, specifically the countries between the Black and Caspian Seas. Bordered in red is the country Azerbaijan.
"Aaazurr-BYE-jan," Deke mumbles. "We have some local trouble. Some rag-head and his boys are trying to destabalize the country. Wouldn't be none of our concern, 'cept they think blowing up corporate property is their day job. I don't reckon they are a big outfit, but the Azerbaijani Gov't has given us the old 'Interfere in our country's affairs an' we'll boot your sorry asses out,' routine. We deploy troops, they revoke our MCB (Mandate to Conduct Business). That's where you come in. Once in-country, you'll disrupt rebel operations, track and locate the leadership, and erase them. 3 month deadline from the day you arrive, and the pay package is 650,000 nuyen. I have a lot more details I can release AFTER you sign the contract."
650,000 is a big pay package for a 3 month contract, you think to yourselves. That Ukraine contract paid out just a bit more, but had twice the timeframe. Sounds like Ares is between a rock and a hard place. This might be a good haggle opportunity.
Friday, February 1, ~2150 Zulu
<Japanglish>"Konnichi-wa(good afternoon), guys." Yoko says cheerily, walking up to the group with a dark green wool scarf she'd found in her car hanging loosely around her neck and a steaming cup of soykaff in her hand.</Japanglish>
Nodding to everyone in turn, she sticks to the back of the group out of habit as they procced to Deke's office, greeting the Ares employees she knows in turn. Her mood dampens slightly when she picks up on Deke's shouting.
"Sounds like the boss isn't any too happy." She says with a nervous grin.
Heading inside, she listens to Deke's briefing attentively, partaking of the soykaff every now and then to keep her awake after a night of decking.
<Japanglish>"Ah so..., not a lot of time on this one, Deke-sama. Rush job, gotta compress everything and keep the government happy so it's all kosher an' stuff, right? What's going to be our cover on ground? Maybe we can talk bottom-line?"</Japanglish>
<Japanglish>"Konnichi-wa(good afternoon), guys." Yoko says cheerily, walking up to the group with a dark green wool scarf she'd found in her car hanging loosely around her neck and a steaming cup of soykaff in her hand.</Japanglish>
Nodding to everyone in turn, she sticks to the back of the group out of habit as they procced to Deke's office, greeting the Ares employees she knows in turn. Her mood dampens slightly when she picks up on Deke's shouting.
"Sounds like the boss isn't any too happy." She says with a nervous grin.
Heading inside, she listens to Deke's briefing attentively, partaking of the soykaff every now and then to keep her awake after a night of decking.
<Japanglish>"Ah so..., not a lot of time on this one, Deke-sama. Rush job, gotta compress everything and keep the government happy so it's all kosher an' stuff, right? What's going to be our cover on ground? Maybe we can talk bottom-line?"</Japanglish>
Deke digs around in his desk for a bit, finally withdrawing a can of dip from its depths.
"It will be the usual...you'll be civilian consultants brought in on an Ares visa to work in country on an internal project. All the proper credentials will be supplied before you get on the plane here in Seattle. That is, of course, IF you all agree to the contract. Remember, ya'll aren't indentured servants anymore."
He finishes by tucking a handful of the ground tobacco just inside his bottom lip. You stifle a chuckle...the "dip lip" combined with Deke's cheesy grin always paints a comical picture.
"It will be the usual...you'll be civilian consultants brought in on an Ares visa to work in country on an internal project. All the proper credentials will be supplied before you get on the plane here in Seattle. That is, of course, IF you all agree to the contract. Remember, ya'll aren't indentured servants anymore."
He finishes by tucking a handful of the ground tobacco just inside his bottom lip. You stifle a chuckle...the "dip lip" combined with Deke's cheesy grin always paints a comical picture.
"Exactly. Which is why the normal pay doesn't cut it anymore. We got bills to pay now, right?
I'm sure I can speak for the group and say we'll take the job, but 650 ain't gunna cut it. Make it 800 and you've got yourself a team... and you know we're worth it.
Once you agree to it, we can get down to signing and intel."
I'm sure I can speak for the group and say we'll take the job, but 650 ain't gunna cut it. Make it 800 and you've got yourself a team... and you know we're worth it.
Once you agree to it, we can get down to signing and intel."
Nikolai Rozhenko, February 1st, approximately 2200 Zulu
I was just standing there next to Danno, leaning against the wall and listening half-assed to Mike work his mojo over on Deke. That was always one of the things I liked about that breeder; he could suck more cash out of a guy than a five-nuyen whore in Singapore. Respect.
But I wasn't really paying attention to the semantics. As soon as the hayseed mentioned Azerbaijan, I was off in my little world pulling up as much info on the place as I could just in case the bossman wanted it before we were out the door. I had already found a few simple satellite maps and I snagged the public CIA specs on the place. SeaSource's little icon was working its ass off trying to find even more data for me... but ever since that crap went down at the Arcology, Renraku's servers haven't been up to snuff. And they wonder why their reputation is swirling down the shitter.
While I was waiting, it dawned on me that we were getting a full-paid trip back home. Wow. It had been a while since I was anywhere near the Cauckies. If we get enough time, I'll have to make sure I drop by the old airfield to see how Papa's holding up. He wasn't exactly thrilled when I left the Spetsnaz to go freelance, but then again there rarely was any pleasing him to begin with. A bottle of Absolut would warm up real quick though, I'd wager. Always had in the past.
A sudden beep and a pop-up window as SeaSource reported back with its search results brought me out of my castle-building. While Mike and Deke droned on with their haggling, I browsed through the various links to see if I could hunt down any interesting info.
I was just standing there next to Danno, leaning against the wall and listening half-assed to Mike work his mojo over on Deke. That was always one of the things I liked about that breeder; he could suck more cash out of a guy than a five-nuyen whore in Singapore. Respect.
But I wasn't really paying attention to the semantics. As soon as the hayseed mentioned Azerbaijan, I was off in my little world pulling up as much info on the place as I could just in case the bossman wanted it before we were out the door. I had already found a few simple satellite maps and I snagged the public CIA specs on the place. SeaSource's little icon was working its ass off trying to find even more data for me... but ever since that crap went down at the Arcology, Renraku's servers haven't been up to snuff. And they wonder why their reputation is swirling down the shitter.
While I was waiting, it dawned on me that we were getting a full-paid trip back home. Wow. It had been a while since I was anywhere near the Cauckies. If we get enough time, I'll have to make sure I drop by the old airfield to see how Papa's holding up. He wasn't exactly thrilled when I left the Spetsnaz to go freelance, but then again there rarely was any pleasing him to begin with. A bottle of Absolut would warm up real quick though, I'd wager. Always had in the past.
A sudden beep and a pop-up window as SeaSource reported back with its search results brought me out of my castle-building. While Mike and Deke droned on with their haggling, I browsed through the various links to see if I could hunt down any interesting info.
Deke closes one eye and squints at Mike, like he's looking down the sights of a battle rifle. For a second, he doesn't blink. Then he visabley exhales.
"Okay, you win Mike. How about this. 750K, with a 6% bonus if you can complete the contract in 60 days. And I'll bump the bonus up to 15% if you get it done in 30. Most of your operating expenses will still be covered as usual. So what do you say?"
"Okay, you win Mike. How about this. 750K, with a 6% bonus if you can complete the contract in 60 days. And I'll bump the bonus up to 15% if you get it done in 30. Most of your operating expenses will still be covered as usual. So what do you say?"
"800k, 3% at 60 days, and 7.5% at 30 days."
Danny glanced sideways at Nikolai. The familiar look on the riggers face told him the electronic wizard was off in cyberspace. Probably already looking at maps of the middle east. "Some place warm, yeehaw," Danny said under his breath, quiet enough the only Nikolai would hear it.
"750k, 6% at 60, 15% at 30, and the team gets 120k upfront. That's the best I can do."
Something tells you this is about as far as Deke is willing to bend. Still, the offer seems attrative enough.
Something tells you this is about as far as Deke is willing to bend. Still, the offer seems attrative enough.
Michael glances around the room at the group, trying to get a feel for their thoughts, then looks back to Deke.
"Done."
He then turns back to the group, "Any objections?"
If there are none, he nods and looks back to Deke, "Where do I sign and what are the gorey details?"
"Done."
He then turns back to the group, "Any objections?"
If there are none, he nods and looks back to Deke, "Where do I sign and what are the gorey details?"
Febuary 1st, 1930 Zulu (11:30 am Seattle Time)
Waking up for the second had defineately improved Ophelia's morning and as soon as the dwarf in her head put the hammer away she'd be feeling great. Looking over at the bleeping clock she remembers the message. Damn, just about enough time to get everything together.
Rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom she turns on the taps a filling the bath with hot scented water while she fixes some breakfast and eats while she soaks. About an hour later the world is looking a much better places as she slides into a full length dress and finishes up her makeup.
I wonder what fun Deke's dragged up for us this time? Hope it hot, not sure I could take freezing again like the Ukraine
2200 Zulu and a few secs
Azerbaijan? Well at least it'll be nice and warm.... I hope. Although the pollutions supposed to be horrid over there, well I'm sure I can do a little something about that
Smiling at the banter between Mike and Deke knowing full well that they were having too much fun to finish up quickly, she ran over in her mind what she'd be needing from stores.
Hmmm, actually they free-lancers now aren't we? no more requesting gear from stores.... now it's a bring yer own, or lump it. Ah well at least I can travel light
Waking up for the second had defineately improved Ophelia's morning and as soon as the dwarf in her head put the hammer away she'd be feeling great. Looking over at the bleeping clock she remembers the message. Damn, just about enough time to get everything together.
Rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom she turns on the taps a filling the bath with hot scented water while she fixes some breakfast and eats while she soaks. About an hour later the world is looking a much better places as she slides into a full length dress and finishes up her makeup.
I wonder what fun Deke's dragged up for us this time? Hope it hot, not sure I could take freezing again like the Ukraine
2200 Zulu and a few secs
Azerbaijan? Well at least it'll be nice and warm.... I hope. Although the pollutions supposed to be horrid over there, well I'm sure I can do a little something about that
Smiling at the banter between Mike and Deke knowing full well that they were having too much fun to finish up quickly, she ran over in her mind what she'd be needing from stores.
Hmmm, actually they free-lancers now aren't we? no more requesting gear from stores.... now it's a bring yer own, or lump it. Ah well at least I can travel light
February 1st, 2215 Zulu (2:15 pm Seattle)
"Glad that we all agree," Deke says, smiling through that famous Texas grin of his.
"Good. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get on to the mission briefing."
"A few months ago, the representatives of the Party for National Independence of Azerbaijan (PNIA) walked out of the Azerbaijani National Assembly. They had been pushing for more Muslim influence in the government. Of course, the secular leaders were having none of that. So these PNIA fellas pop smoke and disappear off the map for a couple of weeks. The next thing you know, a government motorcade in Baku takes several RPG rounds from some hooded terrorists jokers. Then the media gets a file with this guy," an image of a caucasian male, early 40's, bald and with a neatly trimmed moustache appears on the holo-screen.
"Calls himself Ramiz Amadov and claims his group, the People for a United Muslim Azerbaijan (PUMA) is responsible for the attacks, which will continue until Azerbaijan accepts a Muslim Theocracy.
Big, fat, hairy deal. This kind of shit happens all of the time. Doesn't involve Ares, right? Well, PUMA seems to disagree.
After several terrorist attacks on governement targets, Amadov seemed dissatisfied with the lack of government response, so he dicided to target one of the main sources of govenment revenue...corporate facilities. Things work a little differently in Azerbaijan when it comes to commerce, so here's the breakdown.
First off, any foreign company wishing to do business on Azerbaijani soil needs to purchase an MCB (Mandate to Conduct Business). This mandate costs in the neightborhood of several million nuyen, and needs to be renewed yearly. Added to that is a nice little property tax, also levied yearly. So why the HELL put a factory in this god-forsaken country? Simple. Azerbaijan has ZERO pollution legislation. Our factories run at 230% efficiency out here. Operating costs are almost nil compared to our plants here in Seattle, or anywhere in North America. The amount of cost savings FAR outstrips the payments made to the Azerbaijani government. Factor that in with the excessively cheap labor, and this country is a veritable cash cow for us. So of course, Ares and dozens of other corporations have plants and factories scattered all over this country. And that makes the government lots of money.
So this Amadov character thinks that if he causes enough damage, we and the rest of the corps will threaten to pull out, which would decimate the Governement's income. Now, after we lost our first munitions plant here, we decided to mobilize a large enough force capable of engaging these rebels and stopping them for good. However, the government threatened to revoke our MCB if we interfered. The only thing they have given us the right to do is defend our facilities if attacked. We DO NOT have the right to pursue our agressors. Now something is really not right with this. The government is playing games with Amadov, and losing. And while we haven't lost any more facilities, we are still taking periodic casualties, as well as site damage. Like it or not, the cost of doing business in Azerbaijan is going up...a lot. The boys upstairs want a solution, and want it now. My solution is you.
You'll be flying into Azerbaijan as civilian contractors, employed by us. Your primary job will be to decapitate the rebel leadership. While this may not end the PUMA threat, it should sufficiently disorganize them enough to prevent any concerted threat to Ares corporate interests. Now folks, this is going to be far from easy. Amadov is a ghost. There's no records of a Ramiz Amadov in ANY of the international databases, and facial pattern scans are inconclusive. NO ONE knows who this joker is, and frankly that scares the shit out of me. Whomever he is, he knows what the hell he is doing. His attacks are meticulously planned, and expertly executed. I'm thinking possible ties to Spetnaz. Nikos, tap your resources in that area, and let me know if you come up with anything. Also, there is something about this man that incites a whole lot of fear in the local government. There's more to him than meets the eye. We need to know what's going on before we neutralize him.
The best way to find Amadov is through his lieutenants: Mirmahmud Mirali-Oglu, Etibar Mammaldi, Ilham Aliyev, and Isa Gambarov. The first two are known to have ties with the Vory, and are most likely involved in illegal drugs. We're thinking this is where PUMA is getting most of its operational capital. Ilham (an elf) has had some business dealings with Telestrian Industries in the past, and a frequent visitor to Tir Tairngere. Isa is wraith. Her name and physical description pops up all over the map across the last 25 years. Kiev in 2041, Minsk 2047, Bucharest 2053, Ankara 2055, Tehran 2059, Ashgabat 2060, Damascus 2061, Islamabad 2062, and Baku in '63. Funny thing is her physical appareance hasn't changed a bit in the past two decades.
We think these guys are getting some outside support, but we're not sure from whom. We doubt it's corp support. SK, Shiawase, Cross, Wuxing, and several others have plants here, and everyone's been hit. Be aware that there might be other teams like yours out in the field. And you know those boys won't be playing nice.
I have all the briefing data, plus additional intel on these chips. Be sure to read over it. I have your plane tickets purchased already. You depart at 0800 tomorrow morning from Sea-Tac. Drop your gear off here, and we will ship it separately for you. It will be waiting there when you arrive. Any questions?"
"Glad that we all agree," Deke says, smiling through that famous Texas grin of his.
"Good. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get on to the mission briefing."
"A few months ago, the representatives of the Party for National Independence of Azerbaijan (PNIA) walked out of the Azerbaijani National Assembly. They had been pushing for more Muslim influence in the government. Of course, the secular leaders were having none of that. So these PNIA fellas pop smoke and disappear off the map for a couple of weeks. The next thing you know, a government motorcade in Baku takes several RPG rounds from some hooded terrorists jokers. Then the media gets a file with this guy," an image of a caucasian male, early 40's, bald and with a neatly trimmed moustache appears on the holo-screen.
"Calls himself Ramiz Amadov and claims his group, the People for a United Muslim Azerbaijan (PUMA) is responsible for the attacks, which will continue until Azerbaijan accepts a Muslim Theocracy.
Big, fat, hairy deal. This kind of shit happens all of the time. Doesn't involve Ares, right? Well, PUMA seems to disagree.
After several terrorist attacks on governement targets, Amadov seemed dissatisfied with the lack of government response, so he dicided to target one of the main sources of govenment revenue...corporate facilities. Things work a little differently in Azerbaijan when it comes to commerce, so here's the breakdown.
First off, any foreign company wishing to do business on Azerbaijani soil needs to purchase an MCB (Mandate to Conduct Business). This mandate costs in the neightborhood of several million nuyen, and needs to be renewed yearly. Added to that is a nice little property tax, also levied yearly. So why the HELL put a factory in this god-forsaken country? Simple. Azerbaijan has ZERO pollution legislation. Our factories run at 230% efficiency out here. Operating costs are almost nil compared to our plants here in Seattle, or anywhere in North America. The amount of cost savings FAR outstrips the payments made to the Azerbaijani government. Factor that in with the excessively cheap labor, and this country is a veritable cash cow for us. So of course, Ares and dozens of other corporations have plants and factories scattered all over this country. And that makes the government lots of money.
So this Amadov character thinks that if he causes enough damage, we and the rest of the corps will threaten to pull out, which would decimate the Governement's income. Now, after we lost our first munitions plant here, we decided to mobilize a large enough force capable of engaging these rebels and stopping them for good. However, the government threatened to revoke our MCB if we interfered. The only thing they have given us the right to do is defend our facilities if attacked. We DO NOT have the right to pursue our agressors. Now something is really not right with this. The government is playing games with Amadov, and losing. And while we haven't lost any more facilities, we are still taking periodic casualties, as well as site damage. Like it or not, the cost of doing business in Azerbaijan is going up...a lot. The boys upstairs want a solution, and want it now. My solution is you.
You'll be flying into Azerbaijan as civilian contractors, employed by us. Your primary job will be to decapitate the rebel leadership. While this may not end the PUMA threat, it should sufficiently disorganize them enough to prevent any concerted threat to Ares corporate interests. Now folks, this is going to be far from easy. Amadov is a ghost. There's no records of a Ramiz Amadov in ANY of the international databases, and facial pattern scans are inconclusive. NO ONE knows who this joker is, and frankly that scares the shit out of me. Whomever he is, he knows what the hell he is doing. His attacks are meticulously planned, and expertly executed. I'm thinking possible ties to Spetnaz. Nikos, tap your resources in that area, and let me know if you come up with anything. Also, there is something about this man that incites a whole lot of fear in the local government. There's more to him than meets the eye. We need to know what's going on before we neutralize him.
The best way to find Amadov is through his lieutenants: Mirmahmud Mirali-Oglu, Etibar Mammaldi, Ilham Aliyev, and Isa Gambarov. The first two are known to have ties with the Vory, and are most likely involved in illegal drugs. We're thinking this is where PUMA is getting most of its operational capital. Ilham (an elf) has had some business dealings with Telestrian Industries in the past, and a frequent visitor to Tir Tairngere. Isa is wraith. Her name and physical description pops up all over the map across the last 25 years. Kiev in 2041, Minsk 2047, Bucharest 2053, Ankara 2055, Tehran 2059, Ashgabat 2060, Damascus 2061, Islamabad 2062, and Baku in '63. Funny thing is her physical appareance hasn't changed a bit in the past two decades.
We think these guys are getting some outside support, but we're not sure from whom. We doubt it's corp support. SK, Shiawase, Cross, Wuxing, and several others have plants here, and everyone's been hit. Be aware that there might be other teams like yours out in the field. And you know those boys won't be playing nice.
I have all the briefing data, plus additional intel on these chips. Be sure to read over it. I have your plane tickets purchased already. You depart at 0800 tomorrow morning from Sea-Tac. Drop your gear off here, and we will ship it separately for you. It will be waiting there when you arrive. Any questions?"
Danny looks around, to make sure he isn't interrupting anyone who is about to speak, "What's the ROE for the op? Are we concerned with the backlash from the government? Are any of the other corps in the area megas and should we expect an encounter with another team? Any intel on that would be useful."
| QUOTE |
| "Any question?" |
Michael smirks, "Yeah, what ain't ya tellin' us?"
@Danny
"Well, the governement doesn't want us messing with PUMA. So we won't. You will. As usual, we'd like the collateral damage kept down to the minimum, but whomever is an obstacle to your mission is a legitimate target. You're gonna need to keep your ops as quiet as possible. If you all stir up a hornets nest, it's unlikely we will be able to bail you out.
"SK, Shiawase, Cross, and Wuxing are the big boys in the area. If I had to hazard a guess, the only one who might be running similar ops would be SK. Although I wouldn't be shocked if there are some of Cross's Seraphim out there in the field. As for running into them, who knows. If we get any intel on any of their ops, I'll send it down the pipe ASAP, but as of right now, we got nothing."
@Mike
"C'mon Mike...you know I don't play like that. I'm honestly giving you all of what I know, and I realize it ain't much. Our guys in country are a bunch of morons and don't have a clue about gathering intel. That's why my bags are packed. I'm leaving tonight, and I'll be there throughout your whole contract."
This is a first. Deke has NEVER been sent in-country on any of your previous contracts. That means the boys upstairs are dead serious about this op.
"Well, the governement doesn't want us messing with PUMA. So we won't. You will. As usual, we'd like the collateral damage kept down to the minimum, but whomever is an obstacle to your mission is a legitimate target. You're gonna need to keep your ops as quiet as possible. If you all stir up a hornets nest, it's unlikely we will be able to bail you out.
"SK, Shiawase, Cross, and Wuxing are the big boys in the area. If I had to hazard a guess, the only one who might be running similar ops would be SK. Although I wouldn't be shocked if there are some of Cross's Seraphim out there in the field. As for running into them, who knows. If we get any intel on any of their ops, I'll send it down the pipe ASAP, but as of right now, we got nothing."
@Mike
"C'mon Mike...you know I don't play like that. I'm honestly giving you all of what I know, and I realize it ain't much. Our guys in country are a bunch of morons and don't have a clue about gathering intel. That's why my bags are packed. I'm leaving tonight, and I'll be there throughout your whole contract."
This is a first. Deke has NEVER been sent in-country on any of your previous contracts. That means the boys upstairs are dead serious about this op.
Michael's eyes go wide in surprise for a moment. "Damn Deke. Its that bad, eh? I should have made it a cool mill."
He chuckles, but you can tell things just got real serious in his head. "Alright. If thats all you've got, thats all you've got. Team, meet back at my place in one hour and we'll start piecing this together. Have your equipment with you so we can all have it here later tonight for deploy."
He chuckles, but you can tell things just got real serious in his head. "Alright. If thats all you've got, thats all you've got. Team, meet back at my place in one hour and we'll start piecing this together. Have your equipment with you so we can all have it here later tonight for deploy."
I could feel my brow furrowing when Danno made his comment about the weather in Azerbaijan, and I was about to correct his mistake when it dawned on me. The fragger was being sarcastic again. My only recourse was to quip back, "yeah, you really nailed that one" with the same whispered tone. Once again: Wit. Not my forté.
I listened closely as Deke went over the specifics and threw a few red flags on topics via my virtual notepad to look up later. Everyone seemed to be covering all the bases, so there wasn't much need for my input.
At least, not until Mike turned and started heading towards the door without getting our requisition limits.
I stood up straight and unconsciously gave a low 'red alert' whistle. "Whoa, hold up there boss," I remember saying before I leaned in close so only he could hear. "Forgot to ask about our budget for the mission." I didn't want to approach Deke about it myself 'cause I knew I'd just screw the pooch with my limited negotiating skills, but Mike knew how to the cowboy so that we'd be sure to get everything we needed. That much I knew.
I listened closely as Deke went over the specifics and threw a few red flags on topics via my virtual notepad to look up later. Everyone seemed to be covering all the bases, so there wasn't much need for my input.
At least, not until Mike turned and started heading towards the door without getting our requisition limits.
I stood up straight and unconsciously gave a low 'red alert' whistle. "Whoa, hold up there boss," I remember saying before I leaned in close so only he could hear. "Forgot to ask about our budget for the mission." I didn't want to approach Deke about it myself 'cause I knew I'd just screw the pooch with my limited negotiating skills, but Mike knew how to the cowboy so that we'd be sure to get everything we needed. That much I knew.
That explained why Deke was so desperate. Ares needed deniable assets for this job; corp employees, such as they themselves had been just a few months ago, would open Ares up to a major political backlash and possible expulsion from the country. So, Kenjiro thought, a bunch of theocrats looking to force their religion on everyone. Their leadership may be smart, but the soldiers will probably be mostly rabble. These fundamentalist types are always too eager to die and get their seventy-one virgins. Or is it up to eighty now? It was regrettable that he would be protecting massive corporate pollution, that that was just incidental, not the goal of the op. Not as if the rebels had any plans to help the environment after they won anyway.
February 1st, 2215 Zulu (2:15 pm Seattle)
Illian had been silent through the negotiation, trusting in Micheal's skills in that arena, and he had been equaly silent through the briefing. Had they not worked with him before, the others might not have even known he was there. Illian had slipped in just after the last of them, taking a position to everyone's back. Everyone's but Deke. The situation struck him as something more than it seemed at first, for in truth nothing was as simple as it seemed. That Deke would be going with them was a sign that this was bigger than perhaps even he knew.
Illian considered two persons from the breifing. The first was Ilham; to find one of his own kin, a visitor to his homeland, that was a religious extremist was not unheard of, but Islam was a queer choice. Traditionaly Muslims showed no love for metahumanity, or such had been his own experience. The second was Amadov himself; a man who takes such great care to create a false identity doesn't often wear his secrets on his sleave. Given that he is working with known Russian criminals, and has rumored intelligence ties, it would seem his agenda is not what it seems.
The mission, however, sat well with him. He would relish the challenge of taking Amadov's life. Though he took no pleasure in killing, the hunt was well worth it.
Illian had been silent through the negotiation, trusting in Micheal's skills in that arena, and he had been equaly silent through the briefing. Had they not worked with him before, the others might not have even known he was there. Illian had slipped in just after the last of them, taking a position to everyone's back. Everyone's but Deke. The situation struck him as something more than it seemed at first, for in truth nothing was as simple as it seemed. That Deke would be going with them was a sign that this was bigger than perhaps even he knew.
Illian considered two persons from the breifing. The first was Ilham; to find one of his own kin, a visitor to his homeland, that was a religious extremist was not unheard of, but Islam was a queer choice. Traditionaly Muslims showed no love for metahumanity, or such had been his own experience. The second was Amadov himself; a man who takes such great care to create a false identity doesn't often wear his secrets on his sleave. Given that he is working with known Russian criminals, and has rumored intelligence ties, it would seem his agenda is not what it seems.
The mission, however, sat well with him. He would relish the challenge of taking Amadov's life. Though he took no pleasure in killing, the hunt was well worth it.
Yoko's childish and seemingly unending wellspring of enthusiasm and cheer, fueled by soykaff and a bit of adrenaline from the prospects of finally getting to do something after a period of inactivity, seemed to ebb slightly at the mention that there would be little to no forthcoming information on the targe-.
She cringed despite herself. They might be opposing force, they probably intend to kill her once she gets on the ground, but they're still people. Dehumanizing them with labels like 'target' and 'objective' only really helped with her first near-breakdown. If any of this train of thought was bothering Yoko, she didn't let on through the briefing and instead occassionally nodded as she tracked names and so forth.
Some Ghosts thought it an interesting thing to be blasé about the kill; just another target, right? A load of bullshit, Yoko thought darkly, diverting her caffine thoughts midstream. It was best to know as much as possible about those you were after and in a world as professional as theirs it was a form of honor and respect to those that knew what they were doing to take the time to entrap them as such.
Another late night, she mused to herself despite the growing darkness in her thoughts, gotta pack, gotta call in a few favors...Gotta brew more soykaff at home, ugh, the stuff they have here is awful... Though her mind distracted itself with the coffee, something else, something past all the mods in her head still clicked away at how she would find information on these people, on how she would get to know more about them than they knew about themselves.
The Matrix would have the answers she needed. Yoko took pride in her personal archives, the library that sprawled through cyberspace that she called her own with the information she had accumulated through her career. Tonight, she would dive back into the world network, a silken clad figure on the world's webways. Information was life for Yoko, information was sometimes all that kept her and her team alive.
She liked keeping things alive.
Deke's voice finally caught up to the thoughts. "...your gear off here, and we will ship it separately for you. It will be waiting there when you arrive. Any questions?"
Yoko smiled cheerily. "Nope!"
She cringed despite herself. They might be opposing force, they probably intend to kill her once she gets on the ground, but they're still people. Dehumanizing them with labels like 'target' and 'objective' only really helped with her first near-breakdown. If any of this train of thought was bothering Yoko, she didn't let on through the briefing and instead occassionally nodded as she tracked names and so forth.
Some Ghosts thought it an interesting thing to be blasé about the kill; just another target, right? A load of bullshit, Yoko thought darkly, diverting her caffine thoughts midstream. It was best to know as much as possible about those you were after and in a world as professional as theirs it was a form of honor and respect to those that knew what they were doing to take the time to entrap them as such.
Another late night, she mused to herself despite the growing darkness in her thoughts, gotta pack, gotta call in a few favors...Gotta brew more soykaff at home, ugh, the stuff they have here is awful... Though her mind distracted itself with the coffee, something else, something past all the mods in her head still clicked away at how she would find information on these people, on how she would get to know more about them than they knew about themselves.
The Matrix would have the answers she needed. Yoko took pride in her personal archives, the library that sprawled through cyberspace that she called her own with the information she had accumulated through her career. Tonight, she would dive back into the world network, a silken clad figure on the world's webways. Information was life for Yoko, information was sometimes all that kept her and her team alive.
She liked keeping things alive.
Deke's voice finally caught up to the thoughts. "...your gear off here, and we will ship it separately for you. It will be waiting there when you arrive. Any questions?"
Yoko smiled cheerily. "Nope!"
"A couple more things before you guys head out..." Deke places a handful of optical chips on his desktop. "This is all the intel we have on Azerbaijan. There's also an instructional chip for learning Azeri, but it's pretty horrible. Good luck with it."
"And secondly, about your equipment requisitions," Deke says as he flashes a wink in Nikos's direction. "The bean counters have decided to do things a little differently now that you guys are indies. Your equipment budget is non-disclosed. You request gear, the cost comes out of the budget. Any gear not returned will have 50% of it's value deducted from final contract payout. Field losses will be handled on a case-by-case basis. Ammunition and expendables are exempt from this rule. Shoot me an e-mail with your requests, and I'll do what I can to make sure it's waiting for you on site. Once there, if you need any other mission specifc gear, you can put in another request, but I can't guarantee a speedy delivery."
"And secondly, about your equipment requisitions," Deke says as he flashes a wink in Nikos's direction. "The bean counters have decided to do things a little differently now that you guys are indies. Your equipment budget is non-disclosed. You request gear, the cost comes out of the budget. Any gear not returned will have 50% of it's value deducted from final contract payout. Field losses will be handled on a case-by-case basis. Ammunition and expendables are exempt from this rule. Shoot me an e-mail with your requests, and I'll do what I can to make sure it's waiting for you on site. Once there, if you need any other mission specifc gear, you can put in another request, but I can't guarantee a speedy delivery."
February 1st, 2225 Zulu (2:25pm Seattle)
Deke gives you a final nod and turns his attention back to his terminal.
"See you boys and girls on the other side of the world," he says as you slowly file out of his office.
As you clear his office doorway, you hear his telecom beep and a female voice chime in, "Mr. Cantrell, you have a call on line 7."
"Tell them I'm busy and take a message."
The voice replies with considerable hesitation, "Ummm sir...it's Mr. Knight...and he says it's important."
"Jesus H. Christ..." is the last thing you hear as the sound-proof door closes behind you.
Deke gives you a final nod and turns his attention back to his terminal.
"See you boys and girls on the other side of the world," he says as you slowly file out of his office.
As you clear his office doorway, you hear his telecom beep and a female voice chime in, "Mr. Cantrell, you have a call on line 7."
"Tell them I'm busy and take a message."
The voice replies with considerable hesitation, "Ummm sir...it's Mr. Knight...and he says it's important."
"Jesus H. Christ..." is the last thing you hear as the sound-proof door closes behind you.
Michael says his goodbyes and heads home to get the war room setup and ready. On the way he makes a few important phone calls.
Once he arrives at home, he heads into the spare bedroom that he converted into an office/meeting room for the group and turns on all the equipment. The window tumblers and white noise generators come to life, along with the holo-projector in the middle of the table. Running a quick diagnostics, he seems satisfied and heads out to the kitchen. After rumaging through the fridge for a while, he sighs and orders a few pizzas and a case of beer to be delivered.
Waiting for the order to arrive, he kicks back and catches the nightly news.
Once he arrives at home, he heads into the spare bedroom that he converted into an office/meeting room for the group and turns on all the equipment. The window tumblers and white noise generators come to life, along with the holo-projector in the middle of the table. Running a quick diagnostics, he seems satisfied and heads out to the kitchen. After rumaging through the fridge for a while, he sighs and orders a few pizzas and a case of beer to be delivered.
Waiting for the order to arrive, he kicks back and catches the nightly news.
"Boss man's catching heat, bad joss." Yoko lamented to the rest of the group as she started back to her car. "Means we'll catch heat too, when we get on ground. Bad, metallic heat know what I mean?"
"Ah, well. S'what we signed for." She concludes, throwing the empty cup into a recycler. "Going to go netdive when I get home, maybe get some things packed for the trip. I'll probably keep at in on site, try to get the lowdown we need, then we figure out what to do. No rush, right? Six-P and everything."
Yoko smiled inwardly at the old adage known as Six-P. Proper planning prevents piss-poor performance.
"You guys need anything from me 'fore I get started?" She asks, throwing her scarf around her neck and adjusting her cap.
"Ah, well. S'what we signed for." She concludes, throwing the empty cup into a recycler. "Going to go netdive when I get home, maybe get some things packed for the trip. I'll probably keep at in on site, try to get the lowdown we need, then we figure out what to do. No rush, right? Six-P and everything."
Yoko smiled inwardly at the old adage known as Six-P. Proper planning prevents piss-poor performance.
"You guys need anything from me 'fore I get started?" She asks, throwing her scarf around her neck and adjusting her cap.
"A translation?" Danny said with a smile.
-----------------------------------------------
February 1st, 3:45pm Seattle
Danny arrived via cab at Michaels, he had Nikolai drop him off at his place so he could start packing. Most of his gear broke down in to two oversized OD green duffle bags. The bags had special thermal seal locks that were keyed to his retina. Not impossible to breach, just hard. He dropped the bags on the floor in Michaels living room and took a look around. "Man you got to get out more, this place is spartan."
Walking to the kitchen the Ork grabbed a glass of water and settled in the conference room. The corner of the leather couch was just about right for him. "So whats the deal, Mike?"
-----------------------------------------------
February 1st, 3:45pm Seattle
Danny arrived via cab at Michaels, he had Nikolai drop him off at his place so he could start packing. Most of his gear broke down in to two oversized OD green duffle bags. The bags had special thermal seal locks that were keyed to his retina. Not impossible to breach, just hard. He dropped the bags on the floor in Michaels living room and took a look around. "Man you got to get out more, this place is spartan."
Walking to the kitchen the Ork grabbed a glass of water and settled in the conference room. The corner of the leather couch was just about right for him. "So whats the deal, Mike?"
"I got a few ideas about things, but I'd rather wait till everyone shows up before I start spoutin' off at the mouth."
Just then, the doorbell rings and Michael gets up to answer it. A moment later he comes back carrying a case of beer with six pizzas stacked up on top of it.
"Hey, grab that door for me."
Michael carries everything into the war room and drop it down on round table.
"Dig in, I'm gunna go toss the bear in the kitchen to get cold."
Just then, the doorbell rings and Michael gets up to answer it. A moment later he comes back carrying a case of beer with six pizzas stacked up on top of it.
"Hey, grab that door for me."
Michael carries everything into the war room and drop it down on round table.
"Dig in, I'm gunna go toss the bear in the kitchen to get cold."
February first, Seattle, afternoon (local time), 2230 - 0000 Zulu
Max stayed silent during the meeting, because he didn't know much what to do since he wasn't the leader of the group. He felt like saying something about the payment, but 750k wasn't bad after all.
I have a really bad feeling about this.. Deke might know more than he tells us and Ares definitely knows a lot more than Deke. Why is Ares caring so much about all of this??
Once back home, he looks over all his military gear in the locked, hidden "gardrobe", and tries to think about what he will need to request from Ares. Once, he's done making sure that all his equipment is in good shape, he calls Mr. and Mrs Hitchcock.
"Hi Mrs Hitchcock.. Yes .. You too .. I'm calling to tell you that I won't be able to dine with you tonight and that I will be unable to spend time with you and your husband in the next 6 months at least... Yes, a new mission .. I can't tell you where I am going, I'm sorry .. Ok, I'm glad you take it that way .. thanks .. I hope Mr. Hitchcock gets better, bye."
Poor folks, I hate to cause them more pain than necessary. I know they will be scared of losing me.. just like they lost their own son. I still feel so responsible for the death of Jeff... Maybe it's a good thing I'm not the leader on this mission, I feel that my guilt for Jeff's death grows with every day, now. Poor Mr. and Mrs Hitchcock...
Max appears at the front door of Michael's home by 3:46.. "Hey Mike, what's up?"
Max stayed silent during the meeting, because he didn't know much what to do since he wasn't the leader of the group. He felt like saying something about the payment, but 750k wasn't bad after all.
I have a really bad feeling about this.. Deke might know more than he tells us and Ares definitely knows a lot more than Deke. Why is Ares caring so much about all of this??
Once back home, he looks over all his military gear in the locked, hidden "gardrobe", and tries to think about what he will need to request from Ares. Once, he's done making sure that all his equipment is in good shape, he calls Mr. and Mrs Hitchcock.
"Hi Mrs Hitchcock.. Yes .. You too .. I'm calling to tell you that I won't be able to dine with you tonight and that I will be unable to spend time with you and your husband in the next 6 months at least... Yes, a new mission .. I can't tell you where I am going, I'm sorry .. Ok, I'm glad you take it that way .. thanks .. I hope Mr. Hitchcock gets better, bye."
Poor folks, I hate to cause them more pain than necessary. I know they will be scared of losing me.. just like they lost their own son. I still feel so responsible for the death of Jeff... Maybe it's a good thing I'm not the leader on this mission, I feel that my guilt for Jeff's death grows with every day, now. Poor Mr. and Mrs Hitchcock...
Max appears at the front door of Michael's home by 3:46.. "Hey Mike, what's up?"
Nikolai Rozhenko, February 1st, 2258 Zulu, Breakwater Marina
I had just gotten home after dropping Danny off at his pad. The sun was high in the sky, and despite the temperature I saw at least half a dozen young slitches sunning themselves on their respective decks. Apparently daddy can afford a yacht, but a tanning bed was out of the question.
Somehow I managed to shove my bitterness to the side as I hopped onboard. I see Pavlov got my message and had the electronics gear primed and ready. How did I ever manage to get by without him? All I had left to do was pack a small suitcase, do a bit of PMCSing with the sidearm, and see if I could get someone to take care of the house while I was gone.
Take care of the house. Frag. I totally forgot about that. After I finished packing, I decided to give Mr. Furley a call.
"Hey Ralph, it's Nikos down at slip 14. Is your daughter Trixie home by chance? No? Crud. Oh, one of my clients decided to go on a safari in Tanzania, and I was going to ask her if she wouldn't mind housesitting for me while I was gone. I know how much she enjoyed it last ti... oh, she did? You're sure she will? That's absolutely fantastic, thanks! I'll leave the keys in the same place I did last time, and I'll slip some spending cash in the cookie jar for her. There's plenty of food still here, but I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. Probably a couple months. That's good? Great! If I'm gone for longer than that, I'll be sure to wire her some additional cash, and tell her to feel free to invite any friends over as long as she picks up after them. Okay? All right. Thanks a lot, Ralph! See you soon. Bye."
By the time I was finished with the old dwarf, I looked down and discovered that I had apparently did my PMCSing without even realizing it. It's amazing how instinctual that shit becomes after a few years.
I carried my luggage to the Porsche and somehow managed to cram it all into the pathetic little space they provide in the trunk, then went back to lock the Sea Nymph up. I pulled out my wallet and slipped a cool thousand nuyen into the elephant jar Bell got me for my birthday last year, and looked around one last time before hitting the lights and heading back to the car. Pavlov was hot on my tail, obviously excited -- well, as excited as a drone can be -- about getting back into the field. Can't say I blame him.
Thirty minutes after I got home [2328 Zulu], I was at Mike's house and knocking on his door with Pavlov sitting at my feet. "Good to see you again, man."
I had just gotten home after dropping Danny off at his pad. The sun was high in the sky, and despite the temperature I saw at least half a dozen young slitches sunning themselves on their respective decks. Apparently daddy can afford a yacht, but a tanning bed was out of the question.
Somehow I managed to shove my bitterness to the side as I hopped onboard. I see Pavlov got my message and had the electronics gear primed and ready. How did I ever manage to get by without him? All I had left to do was pack a small suitcase, do a bit of PMCSing with the sidearm, and see if I could get someone to take care of the house while I was gone.
Take care of the house. Frag. I totally forgot about that. After I finished packing, I decided to give Mr. Furley a call.
"Hey Ralph, it's Nikos down at slip 14. Is your daughter Trixie home by chance? No? Crud. Oh, one of my clients decided to go on a safari in Tanzania, and I was going to ask her if she wouldn't mind housesitting for me while I was gone. I know how much she enjoyed it last ti... oh, she did? You're sure she will? That's absolutely fantastic, thanks! I'll leave the keys in the same place I did last time, and I'll slip some spending cash in the cookie jar for her. There's plenty of food still here, but I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. Probably a couple months. That's good? Great! If I'm gone for longer than that, I'll be sure to wire her some additional cash, and tell her to feel free to invite any friends over as long as she picks up after them. Okay? All right. Thanks a lot, Ralph! See you soon. Bye."
By the time I was finished with the old dwarf, I looked down and discovered that I had apparently did my PMCSing without even realizing it. It's amazing how instinctual that shit becomes after a few years.
I carried my luggage to the Porsche and somehow managed to cram it all into the pathetic little space they provide in the trunk, then went back to lock the Sea Nymph up. I pulled out my wallet and slipped a cool thousand nuyen into the elephant jar Bell got me for my birthday last year, and looked around one last time before hitting the lights and heading back to the car. Pavlov was hot on my tail, obviously excited -- well, as excited as a drone can be -- about getting back into the field. Can't say I blame him.
Thirty minutes after I got home [2328 Zulu], I was at Mike's house and knocking on his door with Pavlov sitting at my feet. "Good to see you again, man."
Mike glanced down at the robot, then back up at Nikolai, "Thanks from coming Nik."
He reaches down and begins to pet Pavlov before he realizes what he is doing. "Heh, I'm not gunna get used to that."
He moves back into the apartment and shows Nik into the war room to enjoy some pizza while we waited for the last few to show up.
He reaches down and begins to pet Pavlov before he realizes what he is doing. "Heh, I'm not gunna get used to that."
He moves back into the apartment and shows Nik into the war room to enjoy some pizza while we waited for the last few to show up.
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