::: Spirit friend, come protect the two of us from accidents as we flee those who hunt us.::: Connor takes off after Carlos, hoping the spirit's power will guard them from trips and stumbles.

"""Don't get too far ahead of me, Carlos. If I have to use magic to counter the gas, I have to touch you.""

+++Multiple spells at once, in the daytime. What will Owl think?+++

Connor and Carlos scramble down the hill as fast as their respective legs will carry them, away from goons, gas, and who knows what else. The ground is sodden, and within moments the marks of dead yeast cultures are forgotten next to moss stains, earth stains, bark stains and whatever nameless crud air pollution left.

The headlong rush does appear to work. Whatever wicked gas Mitsuhama's favoured muscle uses does not assail their senses, and perhaps it is desperation, or distraction that keeps them ahead of pursuit, but it works. What seems to be an eternity, but is probably a few minutes' worth of running through the forest, comes to an end as they reach a creek, and Carlos half-slips down the bank to splash, ankle-deep, in the ice cold water. Connor, a little behind, sees the fall and hears the splash, and pulls up in time to prevent a similar fate.

No more shouts can be heard, just the steady dripping of rain off foliage, and distant highway traffic. Contact has been broken.

Above, the grey sky is more-or-less visible through the branches. The BioZu office is no longer visible behind them. Looking around, Carlos mostly sees brambles reaching to drink his tender mammalian blood - or at least, rip his clothing - while Connor, from his position above the creek rather than in it, sees what looks like a ramshackle dwelling off to the northwest, downhill.

It could be deserted. Enough people were driven out of the area, between war, volcanoes and plague.

Connor points at the building and says, """Hey, Carlos. I see a building over that way. That anywhere near where you wanted to go to meet your friend?"""

Carlos can't immediately see the building, but it's not impossible that the building might have a plausibly accessible road surface leading to it. It's also quite possible that what used to be a traversable gravel road years ago is now overgrown and quite unsuitable for even the most intrepid taxi. He'd have to look to be sure.

The other question to consider is whether they have enough distance from goons, and what drones he, or they might be able to command in a test of wills.

""Give me a sec to get out of this stream Conner"" Carlos replies as he picks his way up the bank of the stream before squatting down at the base of a tree and pulling out his electronics to check them over.

After a moment of flickering eye movement Carlos grunts, """Ugh, our best option looks to be about a kilometre that way, it doesn't look like this connects with anything anymore. Give me a minute to get things set up to start watching for their drones and pull my eye in the sky this way as well.""" Carlos gets his scanner booted up and routed through his pocket sec to start looking for the Mitsuhama radio nets before routing his RC deck through his signal amplifier
<<<Honda-GM 3220, at 1700hrs drive to the Tacoma mall and park in the Eastern parking lot. Condor, stay at current elevation and transit to the Exit 108 interchange along I-5>>>

Carlos waits for the acknowledgement from his drones before turning off the signal amp and packing it back away. """Our ride is about 30 minutes out and I'd like to keep putting more distance between us and the goons. I'd like to stay off that road to keep the trees over our heads until I can confirm no drones in the sky. It's going to be a wet and messy hike but it's better than the alternatives"""

"""No problem, Carlos. My friend here will make sure we don't get too scratched up."""

:::Continue your protection of both of us, please. We carry on through your domain."""

"""You have the map, so lead on, MacDuff."""

The spirit guides Connor along a barely-visible but surprisingly passable path. It must be a wildlife track, but where it trails, the footing is firm and the cover from the drizzle about as good as it can get.

It would actually not be a bad stroll through the woods, in more pleasant weather, but it doesn't take long for fingers to get numb with cold, and ears to feel as if they're glowing. A cold breeze makes the trees hiss overhead, and drops big, fat drops of rainwater that somehow manage to hit the back of the neck with unerring accuracy and soak into clothing beneath. Undergrowth that strokes trouser legs deposits water with every move, and while the spirit still leads them, it's nonetheless a miserable walk made barely more tolerable by the tension driving them there.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably twenty minutes of determined slogging, they crest a slope and look down over a valley - and see a ribbon of rain-slick paved road beneath. No traffic, but it winds along. Now just to trudge down the hill and find that ride.

<<<Hey Vigo, got a grid for you, back road in the middle of nowhere. We'll be coming down the hillside to the road>>> Carlos updates Vigo on their location and ETA before double checking signal strength and traffic on his scanner. With a wry grin he turns to Connor """It looks like we may have successfully quit our jobs and now find ourselves unemployed. I think that calls for a few drinks once we're fully out of here."""

Having said that, Carlos sits down and pulls up the feeds from his Condor, taking a close look with the thermals for pursuit and activity. """I can't just say things like that without double checking, but we are looking clear for now""" Carlos leaves the aerial imagery running on his display link in the corner of his eye while he begins to pick his way down the hillside towards the road. """I think I'm going to need a few stiff drinks tonight before putting out some feelers tomorrow"""

Connor smiles at Carlos' suggestion. """Drinks work for me. I'll see if anything tracks us on the astral.""

He opens his perception to the astral plane. His spirit friend is still there. :::Please continue to guard us in your domain. As your last service, let me know if anything in the astral is paying attention to us.:::

Vigo responds fairly quickly. He probably has his vehicle in autopilot, cruising along with the line of traffic unobtrusively while he takes care of everything else.

<<<Makes it pretty easy, chummer. Once I'm off the main roads it should be quieter than Humanis's troll outreach office. Your grid makes my ETA maybe 15 minutes right now.>>>

Carlos's feeds don't appear to show immediate pursuit. The extreme range of the Condor's sensors do suggest that there are people heading out of the BioZu building into the bus, and there are a couple of unidentified drones hanging around the BioZu building, but none of them seem to be trailing Carlos and Connor, nor any apparent ground teams after them. What's happening at other BioZu locations is much too far away for the Condor to tell, of course, and so Carlos would have to check if he could pick up any internal or external reports through other media to get any kind of hint of anything happening.

The spirit merely flicks its tail, showing a flash of white that in the language of deer means: Follow me. Large, sensitive ears and eyes swivel and peer through the gloom, but there is no alarm that the spirit shows either. The path continues down the hill.

"""And to think, I started the day making sure I had the "Polite Words for the Boss" skillsoft loaded. That would turn me into my own "Yes man" now. Not quite how I expected the morning to go""" Carlos muses to Connor as they pick their way down the slope.

Connor is perhaps a bit distracted by the twin requirements of watching where he puts his feet, and their spiritual guide, but Carlos has an easier cognitive burden. That may be why he hears the soft notification beep of a message hitting his 'link.

At a glance, he can see that the subject is: <<<Sorry we missed you!>>>

"""It looks like our former bosses have noticed that we left. Do yourself a paranoid favor and only open that on a secured burner phone with location obfuscation set up, if you need to open it at all.""" Carlos comments to Conner before ignoring the email for now.

Connor nods. """I figured it was them searching for us, Carlos. My security is probably nowhere near what you have on your systems. Should I turn my commlink off?""

Aside from the vagaries of social media invitations, they manage to pick their way down the hill without any major difficulties other than being perhaps slightly footsore. At the bottom, there's a ditch, then a guardrail, then the road. At least the guardrail's posts afford them a fairly comfortable place to sit and wait.

Not that the wait is particularly long, because in the quiet of the country roadside, the hiss of tyres on a wet road can be heard some way off. Vigo's taxi pulls up.

It looks so ordinary. Just a regular family van style ride, a Chrysler-Nissan Alpaca, with attachments for towing, for handling wheelchairs and similar devices, and all the other things that one might expect in an urban taxi. It's Carlos's discerning eye that notices little details, such as the adjustable suspension systems peeping out from behind the overspec wheels and tyres, the soft purring of a high efficiency external combustion charging system, and the tight seams where deployable aerodynamic flanges hide.

The side door slides open. There's a slight waft of sandalwood and clove, and Vigo himself in the driver's seat, fibres leading from his skull, turns a little and smiles. """Where to, chummers?"""

Connor climbs in and snuggles into the seat after a longer walk than he usually takes. """I think I need to get a few things from my doss right away. time may be of the essence before it is unwise to show up where I ... used to live."""

"""Head up towards Tacoma while my chummer and I sort out some details Vigo.""". Carlos responds before turning towards Connor.

"""The simpler, easier and potentially more secure way might be to have a moving service pack up your place and truck it to a storage unit. If you're that concerned about the Corp staking out your place, one phone call and they're already there. My thought is to have a drink and some food, make a phone call or three and act, not react."""

"""OK. Makes sense to me. I'm going to have to adjust my thinking to adapt to my, our new situation. The reality is, anything I have there I can buy most anywhere. It's my magic lodge materials that concern me the most. They might be able to use them to track me.

"""It might be wise to send a spirit to track down my lodge and disrupt it. I'll think about that a while and decide."""

Vigo closes his eyes and slumps back in the driver's seat before performing a clean U-turn. Comfortable, smooth, just how a competent rigger does it. The rain patters on the windscreen while he accelerates back towards the highway.

He maintains a steady pace, just at the speed limit. No drama, nothing to draw attention.

Messages are definitely coming in now. The taxi of course has an antenna relay that boosts comms for the convenience of passengers.

<<<Wizzer Benefits!!!>>>

<<<Applying for your new passport>>>

<<<Selecting your housing options>>>

<<<Medical data releases and transfers made easy - the whole family at once!>>>

<<<Orientation process at 8AM, 18 March 2060>>>

<<<Meet your new supervisor>>>

<<<Mitsetiquette>>>

Someone out there cares, clearly.

It's a quiet Wednesday morning, chez Daweson. The automated cleaner 'bots are doing their job. David is off at school. A Fistful of Dollars is running in the background, where the Man with No Name is taking the brutalisation of a pack of thugs. They think that they have won.

It's impossible to get good cornbread up here, and really hard to obtain ingredients - but that's the biggest question of the day so far. Contracts don't grow on trees, which is a shame, the way that trees in this soggy corner of the UCAS grow like weeds.

But how to raise a Texas boy right without cornbread? Stone ground corn is a necessity.

Cornbread. At this point she would take a beating like the man with no name for real cornmeal. Bad thing about contacts was how they balk at being used for frivolous reasons. Amusing as it would be to send a message to Mr. Johnson about cornmeal he might respond with a tragic kitchen fire via ballistic rocket. Not that he would, but he was too vauble to bother with foolishness. What she needed was money and that she could get from her contacts.

As the man with name was about to deal deserved retribution, Heather paused the trid and began the process of delving into her complex network of encryption and code to see who needed help with. Maybe someone will need cornmeal heisted off a boat. That would make her day.

Why call Mr. Johnson, when he can call on you?

Heather's pocket secretary bleeps at her. Incoming call, and it's Johnson. The invitation heading reads:
<<<Possible bodyguarding opportunity>>>

No mention of cornmeal, though.

Well, well, fate does favor the bold. Heather quickly responds: <<<Time and details.>>>

While she waited she was going through her list of how-to's and what-to-do in case this was a rush job. Get the messages to the right people to - like telling David mama' was going to be out for a little. Let the babysitter on call know that she would be going out and to watch David. God she loved living in this high faluting fancy condo. After so much sitting around lately, heather found herself getting bouncy at the prospect of going to work.

"""Easy girl, don't get too excited,""" Heather said aloud. """Still have to found out whose body we're guarding and if they're alive."""

Johnson's response is to open a direct, encrypted comms link.

<<<Good morning.>>>

<<<My organisation has been made aware of certain specialist assets that might be resisting exfiltrations by a rival organisation.>>>

<<<The idea is not to exfiltrate them to my care, but simply to assist them, and thereby deny the benefits of their services to our rivals. The situation is presently a developing one, and needs may change, but if you can maintain their independence for a week, without any induction into extraterritorial citizenships, we can consider the job successful.>>>

<<<The location is the Seattle enclave (for now). Further details such as the identity of the personnel in question pending agreement.>>>

<<<On offer for success: NY5,000 each.>>>

That's his style. Crisp, businesslike. Terse.

"""Ah damn.""" Heather commented. Somebody just had the stones to say no to a 'rival organization'. Heather bet some suit head was misfiring from the audacity. A week-long excursion keeping some tenderfoots out of trouble and out of sight. She could only wish it was as easy as it sounded.

<<<Keep away from the rival organization. I'm on it. Send the details when you are ready.>>>

<<<Will additional assets be available pending changes in the situation?>>>

A week-long game of hide-and-go-seek. Looks like the baby-sitters were going to earn their overtime. While she waited for her employers response she began plotting the best way to make hot assets disappear from angry corporate employers.

<<<Good. Details under way. Additional assets are not impossible, but at this stage I would not count on it. Our understanding is that the personnel may be sympathetic and even helpful to you, if you can approach them and convince them of your bona fides. Provisional contact information is in the briefing packet.>>>

As good as his word, Johnson sends it right over. It's a data blob. Heather can skim it, and find contact data for a few folks named Connor, Carlos, Cindy and Chuck. What, was there a sale on C-names? It looks as if someone stole employee records out of an HR database. How Johnson came by this data is anybody's guess.

Wait, what's that? Connor has a degree in magic, and is listed as "thaumaturgical specialist"? And Carlos is listed as "security and maintenance technician"? Maybe they won't be entirely useless. Cindy looks like a night shift analytical chemistry tech, and Chuck is a night shift pipe fitter and machinist's assistant.

Of course, it's not clear what their reasons or motivations are, so that's an open-ended problem that might need delicate handling. Maybe it's all just wires crossed in some corporate system. Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last.

<<<See you in a week.>>>

Heather goes through the data Mr. Johnson sent her. Taking it apart and writing out all the important parts: addresses, phone numbers, people of personal interest IF she has to contact them to look them up. No need to get innocents involved with this mess. About now the rival organization was probably tapping their resources to look up the same thing. She looks for and reads any psych profiles to see if she can get an idea of what these folks are thinking and what they might be doing right now. Then she'll make a list of the nearest locations to check. It was going to take some luck and fast footwork to catch up with them. All she has to do is find one and maybe the rest will fall in line. """Y'all better appreciate the work I'm putting into this to help you guys."""

The data is pretty straightforward. It includes work and home contact information, addresses, and other basic information such as position, education and so on. Other data includes shift working. Carlos and Connor work the morning shift (11PM through 9AM), while Cindy and Chuck are night (3PM through 1AM). Further data includes union affiliation (Chuck is in the Metalworkers' and Machinists' union, the others aren't affiliated), commuting transit choices (Chuck has a transit account paid for, the others don't), and then a set of data relating to attendance, medical issues and personnel issues.

The long and short of it is that Chuck's personnel, discipline and related data is all summarised as: in union file (which isn't present in Johnson's blob), while Carlos and Connor mostly come up clean. Cindy has three written warnings for behaviour calculated to make coworkers feel unsafe or unwelcome, but there's an annotation observing that recruiting a replacement for her, willing to work the same shift, for a similar salary, has utterly failed and that therefore on the next offence they recommend mandated behavioural therapy.

There is a miscellanous statement block in each case.

Carlos:

<<<Either presents as, or actually has, some gang contacts. Monitor for evidence of criminality.>>>

This one is three and a half years old, with no following statement.

Chuck:

<<<Competent, but typical union clock-puncher. If he shows signs of promise, train and elevate to management but otherwise retain by union rules.>>>

Cindy:

<<<Maladjusted, conflicting senses of persecution and superiority. Not recommended for retention or advancement.>>>

There is additional commentary, added later:

<<<Consider medically supervised personafix if replacement headcount totally unavailable. Cheaper option than paying going rate for her skillset, shift and working conditions.>>>

Connor:

<<<Dwarf. Shaman of Owl, supposedly, whatever that means. Apparently more stable than most magicians. Very expensive to retain, but presently cheaper than alternative technologies. Monitor for replacement to drop headcount costs.>>>

That's pretty much it.

"""Damn, Cindy, when your more trouble than the guy who consorts with spirits...""" Still, the guy who consorted with spirit seems to be the least trouble out of all of them. Hopefully, their skillsets will provide the necessary advantage to helping them skirt the megacorp out to get them. They just need someone to point them in the right direction or give shelter until it blows over.

Getting them together was going to be the hassle. People get scared when one of the monolithic corporations start breathing down their necks. They are downright dumb if they were not concerned about the situation, but frightened people make bad decisions. At least someone out there was watching out for them, even if it was for their interests. Well, it balanced out a little bit.

The morning was getting late, and she did not have time to burn. What work needed to be done was not going to be done at chez Dawson. Time to hit the streets. She left the couch and into her room, tapping the keypad to the drawer under the bed. The thing about little boys they get curious about what's in their parent's bedroom, and Heather tends to keep things there she did not want him playing with. As creepy as they thought sounded, it was the small stash of firearms and illegal electronic warfare devices she kept on hand.

She pulled out and check the two pistols, giving her beloved Cavalier Deputy a twirl. The Colt she laid down on the bed. Next out was her armor, fitted to her curves. She was going street casual today. The armor would be beautiful to have incased a corporate collection team showed up. The speedloaders and magazines were filled with regular and gel rounds. Two for each Cavalier and two each for the Colt. The smaller fine blade would be tucked into her work boots. She dressed, pulling on a long button-up shirt and jeans to cover the armor. She attached the weapons in their conceal holsters, speedloaders, and magazines going into their respective pouches. She took the micro transceiver, a burner earplug cellphone. She grabbed medkit from another drawer.

Her long coat's pockets went the scanner, tracker and signal locator, her data encryption system, and jammer. If they were going to make these people disappear for a while, best to do it right. Last, she grabbed a cowboy hat off the hat rack on the wall and headed for the door. She made the arrangements she needed to take care of David while she was gone. She sent him a message stating mama' would be out today and to mind the babysitter. She will call him back tonight to say goodnight to him.

That made her pause, looking back at his room. If the world were a better place, she would not have to work like this and be separated from him. She had to learn the hard way it was not the right place, and people had to fight to get what good they could out of it. This was for him. She set her jaw, shook her head, and headed out the door to the private elevator to take her down to the parking lot. She would take the Ford considering the number of people that might need a life. Once everything was in the trunk. She decided on her options.

As Allie Ramone, she sent four separate emails. If one of the assets had been compromised, the message would not compromise the others; hopefully. It was not precisely the wise course of action. Still, Heather was on the clock to catch up with the ex-employees. Hopefully, sending them a lifeline might catch their interest. If they blew it off, she'd have to track them down and drag them to safety. On her burner earplug cellphone she sent the email:

<<<Howdy:
<<<I am a concerned citizen aware of your current situation. I would like to help. If interested, please reply yes or no to this number.>>>

It was nice to give them the impression they had a choice in the matter. They did not, of course. If she had too, she would rope them and hogtie them until this situation settled down.

Heather gets two responses back, almost immediately.

The first is Chuck's. However, it's not very helpful.

<<<Listen up, trixdrone. The contact at this address works nights. That means now is sleepytime. Frag off. And if that's a problem and you're the boss, talk to the union.>>>

Figures he might have an autoresponder. But it means he's probably home, at least. Assuming he's not bed-hopping.

Cindy's response comes in a moment later.

<<<No.>>>

The effect of the simple refusal is slighly dulled by an automatically attached image of ... what might be her? It's a cropped image of a woman, showing her from just at the sternum, to the tip of the nose. She has a mischievous smile, and one hand is drawing back the hem of a lacy negligee to expose creamy cleavage.

Well, at least it's not entirely boring.

Connor scans the incoming message, and scratches his head. """Carlos, did you just get a message about a -concerned citizen- wanting to help? You think this is Mitsuhama trying another tack?""

"""Yep, your gonna be trouble.""" Heather turn the engine over headed on out. She should probably stop at an army/navy store to buy a big bag to stuff Cindy in when she finally catches up to her. The starts out for the sleepy union man and hopes that the corp-personal are waiting for him to show up as opposed to coming sweeping in to get him personally. At least it was a good sign that the two were still in play and not unfriendly hands. That left the Owl Shaman and the Tech. """Come'on boys don't keep a lady waiting."""

Chuck lives in an apartment in a long, low, ugly, old two storey building near some old rail tracks. It's cheap. It's not fancy. It probably bakes in the sun and freezes in the snow. It will take Heather a while to drive there, so while her autopilot carries her down the highway, she has time to plot and communicate.

Chuck's apartment is on the upper level, about two thirds of the way down the building. There's one door, two windows out front and three on the back side of the building. Of the windows, neither on the front looks as if it offers particularly easy ingress or egress, but one around the back might. There is no balcony, but there is a sort of fake half-balcony railing around the larger window in the back. the other in the back is a small one with frosted glass, suggesting that it's the washroom window. It looks as if there is a climate control unit in each of the two windows in the front of Chuck's apartment, so that inhibits the potential for passage. The smaller one without frosted glass on the back of the building also does. The large window has a sort of windowbox hanging at the railing. In this season, there are no plants visible in it.

The door opens onto a long open-air passage, just as one might see on a motel's outer face. Clearly, nobody wanted to spend any money on this place when they designed it.

"""Yeah, I just got that exact same "concerned citizen" email""" Carlos muses, """looks like the exact same message.. no, the time stamp in the routing is a few seconds off. You are probably the more valuable target it someone else is wanting to copy the biosludge, so the exact same email to me is odd. Someone with a roster working their way down? A different corp with a roster looking to see if anyone extracted themselves?"""

Carlos stops and laughs at himself. """I was just thinking of how to trace the email back when I realized that the two of us still have our phones with us and turned on.""" Carlos pauses here to turn his pocket secretary off and opens up the back to remove the battery before pulling a cheap flip phone out of his bag. """Should I poke back at this "concerned citizen"? Frag it, why not"""

Carlos then busies himself creating a new email account on the matrix and setting up a pair of remailers to forward the message. <<<To a concerned citizen, The hardworking citizens of [Redacted] Corp are just that, why do you pollute the world, and my inbox, with spam? Or do you have something useful to contribute. C.>>>

Heather smirked at the return email from another account. At least the former employees are playing it smart—still no need to drop the pretense until they meet.

<<<My only goal is to provide better options outside your current network. The competition might offer you the moon, but they'll get tired of waiting. I am the friendly alternative.>>>

Heather continues working on extracting Chuck from his apartment. The direct approach or go through the back window. Depends how bad Mistuhama wants this guy. They could be already putting a team together to collect him and the others, especially if he's staying put at his place. Getting in and out without drawing attention was the goal here, and so walking and doing the stripper-gram scam was off. She was not going to take her armor for that one.

Curious, she qued an inquiry about the Union that Chuck was apart of. No way they were going to take on a AAA, but it might provide Heather with information to get Chuck to see her point of view.

The union's a bit of an interesting case in corporate history. It dates to way, way before the formation of the UCAS, although subsequent events led to reformation and reorganisation a few times.

The politics of the situation more or less sum up to the union being anti-AAA, and anti-extraterritoriality. Not out of the goodness of their twisted little hearts, but because extraterritoriality means that the megas can and will run their own rules on union membership and negotiations. In fact, they generally have their own pet unions, membership in which is either mandatory or strongly encouraged, and negotiation with which is more in the way of theatre than function. Independent unions have no place in that vision, so they hate it.

The consequences of this for Chuck's attitude depend strongly on whether he's a union true believer, or simply union by virtue of following the path of least resistance. If he's a true believer, then he'd probably resist induction into the Mitsuhama way, Mitsuhama citizenship and the Mitsuhama union with every fibre of his being. If he's a path of least resistance guy, he'll probably accept his upgraded pay, upgraded benefits, and irrelevant union membership without a care in the world.

As for Chuck's place, the back window is pretty visible from the street behind, which makes clambering up to the second storey and jimmying a window open a high visibility business. If Heather could pick his door lock, or come up with a plausible story around waking him (assuming there isn't a crowd of Mitsuhama goons already frog-marching him out) then that would definitely be a lower-profile endeavour.

Connor takes a cue from Carlos and puts his commlink local to Carlos only.

Looking at the area, Heather had to let go of going through the back window as an option. Too visible and would invite too much trouble. She wanted to stay lowkey as much as possible on this mission. So that left how direct she wanted to be going through the front. Bang on it till she summons an irate union worker to let him know his job sold him out, literally. Break-in and kidnap him and face dealing with an unhappy man for the rest of the week. The best of both worlds involved talking to him and seeing how that goes. At least she had to the truth on her side. If that would make a difference, remain to be seen.

"""C'mon, c'mon, guys, don't disappoint a girl. You know you want all the help you can get."""

She marked other places, the homes where the other employees lived. Chances would be that they would not be there by the time she got done with Chuck. Carlos and Conner were night shifters and probably already knew what was going on. A shaman and a rigger could be a pair to contend with if they pulled their resources together. They had reason to be highly motivated right now to do so.

Now that left Cindy. Prepping another email, Heather sent:

<<<You look good girl, but you're one persona-fix away from becoming some salaryman geisha. The quiet kind that does what they're told. Hit me up if you change your mind.>>>

If she gets another message from Cindy in the negative, hopefully it'll be enough to wake up Snoochy and hire a decker to track down where they are coming from.

It doesn't Cindy long to respond.

<<<What are you talking about? Who are you?>>>

About twenty seconds later:

<<<I don't work for a mega, they can't chip me against my will!>>>

Not long after that:

<<<If this is some joke about that Mitsuhama scamspam, you're NOT FRAGGING FUNNY, get it, slag?>>>

A little later:

<<<You've threatened the wrong girl, understand? I'm going to turn your SKULL into a FLOWERPOT and the rest of you into FERTILISER, except your PELVIS that I'll make a DREKKER SEAT so I can PISS through it forever!!!>>>

After a little more:

<<<I know people. Bad people. They will make you crawl and beg for mercy, then beg for the sweet, sweet release of death until they personafix YOU and turn YOU into my OTTOMAN in my DUNGEON!!!>>>

Somewhat later:

<<<I will make you dip your OWN TOES into a FLESH-DISSOLVING CATALYST that will leave you staring at your own BONES while you wait for the AGONY to STOP!!!>>>

Evidently, she's a little excited about something.

<<<Sounds like a nice first date. Biozu was acquired by mitsuhama. All their assets belong to them. You fell through the cracks and where I come in. Im offering a very limited time lifeline to avoid a unpleasant relocation.>>>

Hard line, but sad truth. Besides, even if she refused Heather was going drag her butt into hiding. """Do the right girl."""

<<<Sounds like a nice first date. Biozu was acquired by mitsuhama. All their assets belong to them. You fell through the cracks and where I come in. Im offering a very limited time lifeline to avoid a unpleasant relocation.>>>

Hard line, but sad truth. Besides, even if she refused Heather was going drag her butt into hiding. """Do the right girl."""

It takes a while for Cindy to respond. Maybe she's breathing into a bag. Maybe she's pouring herself a glass of something stiff. Maybe she's calling her mother for sympathy.

Who knows?

In any case, Heather's car pulls up outside Chuck's place (which looks just as depressing in person as it did on a screen) around the time that Cindy responds.

<<<I'm sorry, but you should have told me that in the first place. You need to work on your communication skills. Anyway, what do you propose?>>>

Vigo is tooling his way up the highway. On the van's sound system is a pleasantly mellow sort of crooning song, in which a female AI is calling for a male AI to help her with some software exchange out of which they'll build lots of baby AIs.

Proof positive that the fashion of musicians doing drugs has yet to come to an end.

As Heather responds to Cindy she surveils the area. Good time to look for someone also staking out the place. Not that someone here to collect a potential employee would be sitting out there waiting. Except herself. <<<Pack light, very light. Any electronic devices besides the commlink, leave. Go to someplace public with lots of people. Do not contact any Biozu employees or answer Mitsuhama messages. In fact, aqcuire a new email address and contact me where your location is. Sit tight, I'll be there to pick you up.>>>

She takes a deep breath finishing looking out over the parking lot before she gets out and begins for Chuck's apartment.

While Heather is still eyeing matters, a response comes in from Cindy.

<<<Thanks, but I don't sleep over on the first date. I'll be making alternative arrangements.>>>

The message is accompanied by the image of a tiny, ladylike autosyringe. The type used by drug addicts.

Heather frowned at the response and tapped out. <<<Don't do anything rash.>>>

She hopes Cindy was being Cindy and acting edgy and being awkward. The ball was rolling now, and the cowgirl had to play where it landed. She finished her brief stakeout of the parking lot and got out of the car to head for Chuck's apartment. She stepped briskly and up the stairs to enter the hall where he was located. So far the plan was either to go inside without his knowledge or beat on the door and hope for the best. She was putting a lot of hopes on the info about his union loyalties verse being showered in megacorp nuyens. So how would he feel of a strange woman breaking and entering his abode with wild stories of a dangerous corporate takeover?

So she reached up and knocked. If it takes longer to wake him up, she pounds. If still no answer then she will select a few tools on her person and open up the door to take a peek inside. If he's bed hopping it might be the only chance of finding out where he went.

The fine drizzle patters on the brim of Heather's hat and marks the shoulders of her coat while she makes her way up the stairs, but just dims the view like a mist while she walks along the long balcony that serves as a hall affording access to the various apartments.

Knocking doesn't appear to rouse him at first, but after a pounding on the door, there are sounds of activity within. The walls are thin, and the floors are resonant. A little speaker crackles to life:

"""This had better be fraggin' important."""

His voice is thick with sleep and he sounds quite truculent. Of course, waking up a night shift worker four or six hours early isn't a good way of making friends.

"""If you're sellin', I ain't buyin'. If you're bringin' religion, I don't wannit. If you're a cop, show me a warrant."""

"""I'm the bringer of bad news, sugah.""" Heather said. No need to beat around the bush, time was not on her side and it seems she sucked at playing coy. """But I'm not going to talk business out in the hallway, but I will say it affects the Union you're with."""

She ups her Hearing Amplification to get an idea of what he's doing in there. Is he grabbing a gun or going out the back window.

Heather can't quite make out what's going on in there. She thinks she hears shuffling noises, maybe footsteps? But could it be from the apartment next door?

"""Union? What's up with the union?"""

There are no moves suggestive of the door opening, instead there's a momentary pause, then:

"""If this is about that safety claim, you're about six months late. Typical paper-pushers."""

OK, so he's grouchy this time of the morning.

Vigo pulls in to a parking lot near the Tacoma Dome. The taxi's generator has been quiet for a while, ever since getting back in range of the charging grid. The flood of recruitment-oriented messages from Mitsuhama has stopped as well. Presumably it was a block of stuff to send, complete with virtual brochures for how awesome life with Mitsuhama would be, but nothing new came from there since the first lot.

The dome, a sort of notional arm of downtown near the docks, is a part of the city that would have loved to compete with the glitz of the Seattle downtown, but somehow never quite got there. Still, open parking lots are convenient for big trucks to turn around, and for taxis to drop people off.

"Final destination, chummers, or are we heading somewhere else?"