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December 19,2061

November came and went quietly. The rain of October gave way to the rain of November, and now it was giving way to the rain of December.

The news was abuze with reports revolving around the probe race, Haley's comet, natural orichalcom, and, of course, SURGE. The world of December was different from the world of October by a wide margin, it seemed.

The only thing that hadn't changed was the shadows. Sure, the jobs were shifting around, but there were still just as many and just as many hungry runners trying to make the big time.

It was barely past midmorning when the phone calls started going out. Fredrick ran down the database he kept encoded in his pocket secretary, the entries only half in the database and half in his own head or in code. The calls, about two dozen in all, were to runners he had used in the past or had gotten from other Fixers in the last month.

Given the time of years, many wanted nothing to do with the shadows. The first he called, he hinted that there were two jobs available and felt out which job that runner would best perform. Eventually, he got six for each job.

The six runners on the second assignment were to meet a man named Johnson in a small nightspot called Laubenstein Lights, in the underfloor of the posh Laubenstein Plaza hotel. The job sounded like someone needed a bit of extra security for an upcoming event. Fredrick had been vague, but he'd also been as specific as he could over an unsecured transmission.

Whatever it was, the meet was in a nice part of downtown, which indicated that discression was going to be a necessity.

With almost five hours till the meet, the runners began their preparations.

Brick got the call from Fredrick and inwardly rejoiced. If he didn't get work soon he'd have to downgrade his current level of comfort. Security work he could handle. Low risk, moderate reward. Out of habit he had his white noise generator running and his bug scanner checking the line, though there was likely no bugs in his phone. Still, it paid to be vigiliant.

"Thank you for remembering me, Fredrick. I was beginning to worry that perhaps my number had been lost in a move or something. I assume I am to be part of a team, so, what can you tell me about the rest of them and about Mr. Johnson without compromising your own security?"

He didn't expect much out of that little probe, but anything was better than nothing. He looked up the Laubenstein Plaza on the telecomp, getting the basic rundown of the place and it's style, as well as any tridshots that might be up. Judging by what he saw, his usual "business attire" would be suitable, though perhaps a little unusual for such a setting.

He made the basic inquiries that his line of work demanded, giving a call to a well to do pal of his who had a good job at Metaergonomics. "Hello there. It's me, Michael. I was hoping you could spare a few minutes to chat. It seems I have an engagement at the Laubenstein Plaza. As I have never been there before, I was hoping you could give me an idea of the character of the place and how I should present myself."

With that call out of the way, he had an errand to run. He needed a new briefcase. His current one was falling apart. Not the image he wanted to give. He got dressed and hopped on his Rapier, heading out to get one. With that bit of business out of the way, he returned to his place and got in the shower. He washed his hair, pumiced his callouses, self manicured his fingers, shaved and applied aftershave and baby powder. He dressed in his Sleeping Tiger suit with his form fitting half bodysuit underneath. The forearm guards were added as an afterthought. He holstered his W.W. infiltrator and concealed it under his jacket, along with 1 spare clip of HI-C plastic rounds...the only kind he ever loaded this weapon with. He placed his Browning Ultra Power, loaded with regular rounds, in a somewhat concealed spot at the small of his back. This one was supposed to be spotted. Security always seemed to feel better after they found something and thought they'd disarmed a man. He loaded his gear into the new briefcase (an armoured one) and loaded it on the storage rack on his Harley Scorpion. He popped his pocket secretary into his pocket, the ringer turned off, the vibration turned on. He hopped on his bike and away he went to the Laubenstein Plaza

Johnny is standing high atop a mountain plateau, axe in hand, the winds playing through his long hair when Fredrick's call comes through. Sure, Neil the Orc Barbarian games were dwindling into obscurity, but there was a certain charm to hacking away in virtual at countless enemies, all the while knowing glory awaits you. The vidwindow for Fredrick's call opens off to Johnny the Orc Barbarian's side, hovering over the open air, framed in setting sun. Johnny raises a hand to shelter his eyes.

`Freddy my man, that you?`

He knew it annoyed Fredrick, the nickname, but that's partially why he used it. Hell, the guy knew he couldn't do without Johnny; Johnny knew he knew that; so the nickname stood.

`What's the score, parking tickets to be dealt with, server go down, or you got some real work this time?`

When Fredrick delivers the breif on the meet, Johnny grins. Sure, he doesn't exactly have bills to pay, at least pressing ones, but the lure of nuyen still spoke to him. Ok, so it's security work, which usually implies muscle, but that's null sheen, he can deal.

`Your Johnson's got himself a decker my friend. Anything you could toss the way of my inbox 'bout our him'd be appreciated.`

Johnny records the relevant information, and after the window fades he spins about to cleave his axe into the skull of one last lurking foe. He makes a note to actually see about getting an axe. Might be fun. Reaching up, Johnny triggers the impulse which allows his mind to release its hold on the virtual reality which grips him. As Neil's mountain scene fades from around him, Johnny's cramped apartment comes to view. Sure, it's tiny, and the neighborhood's a drekhole, but hell, it's his.

He'd finally managed to backtrade enough favors and grease enough palms that not only the title to the apartment was his, but the utilities were permanently covered. It was like making the final payment on a car, except a bit illegal, and, well, he could sleep there without the 'Star harassing him, or the hubcaps getting stolen. Even as he shifts in his seat, and grabs an energy drink out of the barfridge under his desk, Johnny's mind is prioritizing. New Johnson means he'll have to do some research. He cracks open the drink, and turns back to his his deck.

No VR hook-up this time, he's gonna run pure. Sliding the cable from within the transparent blue casing of his deck, Johnny prepares to shed his mortal skin, and enter a world of pure bliss. As he jacks in, he takes one last draw from the energy drink, and lets it roll down his throat as the digital rush of the Matrix flows over his conscience. In the virtual waiting room of his deck, the styalized representation of his apartment, with each of his programs presented in the form of gear strewn about. He grabs up the representations for his Cloak, Spoof, Validate, and Re-Decorate programs, more out of force of habit than anything. He's just going to do a search, nothing too intense. While he doesn't even have a picture of his Johnson, the locale gives something away, so he'll run a search on the Laubenstein Plaza Hotel and the Lights. First, he sets an timed call for two hours before the meet to be placed to Bruno. The trog drives like a madman, so he'll be good for a punctual ride. That'll give Johnny enough time to set up the search, to be monitored via his cellular network en route to the meet, and perhaps during it.

While he's feeding his search routines the parameters he's looking for, informing them he wants info on the hotel and club, the owners, and upcoming events of note, he places a virtual call. He hasn't seen 'trixie in the flesh for a few months, so when she doesn't answer in persona, but instead in meat form, and in a towel at that, well he can't help but let out a little wolf whistle.

`Damn girl, you're looking good enough to eat. How's the world treating you? Look, I know I missed the concert last week and all, but I need a bit of a favor. Can you do some poking around for me, find out anything you can about some snob hob might be going on today at the Laubenstein Plaza Hotel? I'll be forever in your debt...`

The banter that follows is definitly not your standard shadow associate talk, but then again they'd been on again off again lovers for years. Well, when she wasn't playing housegirl to that Lone Star detective gal of hers. When the call's up, Johnny resumes the search until his scheduled with Bruno. He hadn't even noticed the time pass.

Once he makes pick up arangements with the big troll, he checks his own search, and decides to push it a little. He sets some automation in to buy him time enough to shower, and to change into his Armante suit, pinstriped blue, custom tailored and definitly chic. Checking on the search, he rides out the end of it, making Bruno wait a few moments. He downloads the results into his pocsec so he can review them on the way, and he's off to the meet.

Thor loads most of his gear into his van, the Nautilus, and gets a quick nap. Waking up at 3:30, he eats some beef jerky, chugs an energy drink, puts on his armor and pistol, and drives down to the bar. Arriving at 4:10, he turns off the engine and running lights and observes the area through the van's passive sensors for 45 minutes.

Gritz’s pocket secretary began buzzing angrily, skittering and hopping it’s way towards the edge of the workbench. Sure, the bench was slightly less than level, but Gritz had learned to compensate for that years ago. The poc-sec obviously hadn’t. He lowered his soldering iron into its cradle, careful to avoid the flecks of molten solder that fizzed and popped on the iron’s nib, and snapped up the poc-sec just as it tipped off the edge of the workbench.

Several brief exchanges into the conversation with Fredrick , Gritz realized it was rude to be talking in video mode and still have his semi-opaque work goggles on. He began lifting the goggles to his forehead, just as Fredrick was finishing, “…in five hours.” With that, the screen clicked off.

“Laubenstein Lights, eh…” Gritz mumbled as he turned off the iron’s power supply and reached for a fiber-optic cable. The cable began here in his workshop, but stretched a solid four city (well, now it was barrens, anyhow) blocks away to the dataline tap he had installed in an abandoned tenement. “Never deck from home,” as they said. Gritz hopped over the Laubenstein Lights public node. This wasn’t a run. It was a hop. He just wanted to get a peek at the trid ads for the joint—see what people were wearing and how. The trick to fitting in is not to figure out how you’re supposed to dress, but how folks want you to dress. Gritz figured he could approximate the more conservative styles seen in the ads. Nothing fragged with human expectations quite like a well-dressed ork.

Gritz bathed off several days of decker-gunk (he had been working for what seemed like days, and probably was, getting his board back together after that last run) and dusted off and cleaned his firearms. He was always anxious before runs. He dressed in non-descript, but nice (and well pressed) clothing, donning a secure-shirt, just in case. Some time later he was climbing out towards his garage. He patted the General Lee as he popped the trunk. AK in the trunk? Check. He closed the rust-red boot with a slam. Pred-III in the glove compartment? Check. Gritz fired up the gas-guzzling engine and peeled out into the real world. He aimed to arrive 15 minutes early, get a drink, get a feeling for the club, and its exits, and be all smiles for the Johnson.

Sedryk sat at the kitchen table several hundred rounds of ammunition in various piles being loaded in to appropriate magazines. When the phone rang, Mellow reached over and picked it up without looking. "Hello? Just a sec." She handed the phone over to her "father."

"Sup? ... Yeah sorry about the lack of vid, not a good time.
Laubenstein Lights? I'll be there." Handing the phone back to Mellow he continued loading explosive rounds. "Looks like I'm working tonight. Lets finish this up and head out for dinner."

"Okay dad." came her reply as she finished up the 9mm hollowpoints.

An hour and a half later the odd couple of a ork in Vashon Island suit and a young elf wearing a hooded sweatshirt and long coat entered Gracies for Ribs in downtown. After leaving the restaurant the odd couple headed to a small lore store near Pacific university.

"I should only be a couple of hours, with luck we can grab some ice cream on the way home." With a smile Sedryk handed Mellow a certified stick with 2K on it.

An hour before the meeting, Sedryk enters the Laubenstein Lights, finding a nice quiet table. Casually he orders a drink and sits smoking cigarettes until the time of the meeting.

Receiving the message, Swift Eagle cooks up some chemicals with his handy dandy chemistry set. He mixes a small amount of DMSO and atropine and puts them into a small spray bottle, the kind commonly used to spray harmless water into one's hair before combing it. Adjusting the nozzle of the bottle so that it will not spray, he puts it into his pocket. After gathering his gear, he heads over to the meet.

Arriving a little early, Brick circled the block of the plaza, twice in each direction and twice through the alley (once from each circling direction). "What's a guy gotta do to get a parking spot around here," he mumbled under his helmet. He pulled up in front of the hotel and waited for someone to pull out. He didn't want to park in the underground...it takes too long to get away if needed. Finally, someone un-parks and he sneaks his Harley into the spot. He removes the helmet and unzips his coat just enough to reveal that he was apropriately dressed under his cycle gear.

He entered the Laubenstein Lights Plaza Hotel and asked for directions to the washroom. The security guard looked him over for a moment, then pointed. Thabnking the guard, Brick headed over to the washroom and into a stall. He took off his cycle gear, checked that his weaponry was properly placed and "took care of business" before the meet started. He washed his hands and checked his hair, then went to stow his gear in a locker.

Finally ready, he entered the night club (?) and looked around the place casually. and checked his Browning Ultra Power with the security guard. He took the ticket and went to the bar and ordered himself a Shirley Temple while he waited for Mr. Johnson to arrive.

Around eleven pm, the time of the meet, the Laubenstein Lights has gone from a small crowd to a only a few patrons. The Laubenstein Plaza is a subdued place, all gilt and elegance. It takes the mention of a meeting at the Lights to get many of you through the door, and no one gets through without a walk through a MADs and a Chemsniffer. The guards don't seem inclined to call the Star, but they do confiscate everything illegal or dangerous and pass out claim tickets.

The Lights is a trendy nightspot that looks to seem much of its business in the early evening. This being a week night, the crowds are less than they would be on the weekend, and the piano jazz is softer that it might be.

Several tables are arrayed at the front of the room, and Fredrick is seated at one of them. He watches the runners come in and directs each to one of the large private booths near the back of the room.

Swift Eagle silently takes a seat.

Gritz settles down in the designated booth.

Through some passed on shadow wisdom, Johnny had embraced a simple philosophy for the meet. Go in armed with nothing but a smile. A place as classy as the Lights wasn't about to skimp on security, so to show to a meet packing would be uncool. So passing through the security checkpoint, sans gun and deck, had been easy. At least they didn't ask about the 'ware.

Johnny doesn't approach Fredrick upon entering, instead stepping up to the booth. He takes a moment to make first impression mental notes. Orcs the pair of 'em. Looks like he'll be the prettyboy, which, hell, he always is anyway. One with the sense to dress to the occassion, the other looking like he came right off a hunt. Well, it takes all kinds. Spotting the placement of the one orc's datajack, Johnny tips him a professional nod. Removing his sunglasses to reveal his subtle circuitboard eyes, Johnny looks to the pair, chosing to sit next to his fellow decker (or so he asumes).

`'lo boys. Name's Jett, Johnny Jett.`

He leaves it at that for the moment, if they want further, well that'll come after the meet. When the inevitable waitress comes by, Johnny orders a plain old coke. No sense in drinking during the meet, and the caffiene'll keep him attentive.

Fredrick seems particularly happy to spot Swift Eagle and Thor as they straggle in. "I see you made it in. Didn't say much earlier, but you'll know the J. He slotted the last one for you. Seems on the up and up, so far, at least. Anyone who slots cred for pay like he did a couple months ago has got some gold stars by his name in my book."

When he counts off the last arrival, he rises from the booth and hows slightly. "Gotta get going. I've had a long day. I see the J comin' in now."

The Johnson is, in fact, the same gentleman as instigated the run back in October. His attire seems to have taken a turn for the better, however, and his bodyguard is conspiciously absent. He carries a briefcase in one hand and seems to be, all in all, as confident as confident gets.

He moves to the back private booth and takes a seat near the door. The booth itself is nice, with polarized glass masking much of it, but still allowing the patrons seated inside a view of the bar outside. Framed original artwork by Laubenstein himself covers the back wall.

The Johnson places his briefcase on the table and nods to everyone. He seems to recognize Thor and Swift Eagle though he doesn't make any overt signs of it.

Brick smiles as Fredrick points out Mr. Johnson. He opens his briefcase before making his way to the table, retrieving his white noise generator and bug scanner, pocketing the second, then snapping his case shut. He ambles over to the table politely nodding his head, setting the generator on the table as he sits down. His impressive size makes for a tight fit, but he manages.

"Good evening Mr. Johnson. I believe we have a mutual aquaintance." He watched for any indication of surprise regarding his english skills. Not many orks spoke with his level of refinement. "Perhaps he mentioned my name? I go by Brick." He calmly observes the Johnson. Guys like this rarely made mistakes, but on occasion...anything that would hint at an identity could be usefull. His vision magnification and flare compensation cyberwear didn't hurt when it came to checking people out.

Gritz watches the J approach without a word. Lots of things come in briefcases: some good and some bad.

Thor briefly shows a hint of a smile as he sits down. Familiar johnsons are more dependable, and this one paid well last time.

Sedryk leave fifty nuyen tip on the table and makes his way over to Fredrick's booth in the back. He gives a nod to Swift Eagle and Thor.

As soon as the Johnson approaches Johnny's writing a mental picture of him. Won't do to be snapping a photo, so he'll re-create the image later to accompany his next round of searches. Information, after all, is power.

He nods the way of the Johnson, looking to the breifcase. For the moment, he plays it quiet, observing Brick's conversing with the man.

The Johnson projects cool and calm during the brief stint of small talk. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to radiate the arrogance of most Johnsons, almost as if he didn't reguard all runners as scum. After a moment, he speaks to matters more directly.

"I asked Fredrick to get me some pros on short notice. Something big is coming up in downtown and I have a feeling that it will require individuals less," he pauses, as though searching for a word, "Constrained by social norms to handle it."

"As you might be aware," he says, looking toward the two runners who know him, "I work for Mitsuhama-Benguet Mining. There is a major conference being held at the Seattle Expo Center and I fear that certain groups do not wish to see it come to a peaceful conclusion."

He pauses, waiting for questions.

Brick listens quietly, deciding to get a handle on everyone else first. Let them ask the rate and relevant questions. He'd fill in any gaps with questions of his own. He was mildly surprised that Mr. Johnson had mentioned who he worked for. Usually rule number 1 was noone knows your name! He'd have to check that out. Could be a swerve.

"You talkin' security, or a little preemptive strike?"

"For lack of a better description, security. There aren't any specifics that we have uncovered yet, but the conference is still three days away. It is possible that whoever is going to be moving is simply under our radar. Which is one reason I want professionals on this."

"Now what, exactly, is the nature of this con-ference y'all planning? Is the target of the threat the con-fer-ence participants, the or-ganizers, or, uh, other?"

While he listens to the conversation, an old Nancy Sinatra song playing to his ears only from his headware memory, Johnny is considering. He's cooking up a wishlist, as is custom.

`Nature of the conference is going to be key for us to know Mr J. We, as you've pointed out, are professionals, which means we don't like going about things blindfolded. And, as I'm sure you're aware, the Expo Centre isn't exactly air tight. We're gonna need an idea where out key assets are at.`

He takes a draw from his pop, and weighs in with a charming smile.

Brick keeps quiet and listens, while keeping an eye out for anyone that might try to crash the meet. For something like this he really should check with Eugene. He would know all about this kind of thing. Perhaps he'll even know a few who are attending.

The Johnson nods. "The conference is a semi-annual event and trade show where many corporations with mineral interests get together to discuss technology and current events. This year's topic has recently changed to cover certain natural materials which have appeared in the last few months."

"As for anything beyond that, it is a fairly standard situation for intercorporate meetings. There's some backroom dealing and the like. The delegates will be responsible for their own personal security, but the meeting itself is under my perview and is going to be held in the eastern wing of the convention center. I can provide some basic layouts for you."

Oricalcum, you couldn't touch Shadowlands these days without hearing about it. Had to be these monkies were clambering for it, and someone had something to gain by messing with the meet.

`Basic layouts will be fine, a list of key players in the meeting would be helpful as well. Guestlist would be golden, would let us check who doesn't fit in.`

He'll have to do some searching, find the blueprints as well as an employee list and such.

Oh, my. Suddenly appeared minerals? What was this all about. Well, geology was not his forte. But making a whole pile of money sure was! If it was a straight muscle job, he could handle it.


"I believe a schedule of arrivals and appointments would be usefull as the information becomes available to you...so we know where hotspots might be and such, to anticipate potential trouble and have procedures in place to handle it. Will you be making dossiers on the attendees available, sir?"

"Orichalcum," Swift Eagle muses. "That's what the mining industry is abuzz about. So who would want to disrupt this? Maybe magical corps with no mining division, which would not be invited to this conference but would want to spy on it. Maybe magically-inclined ecological groups which would view mass mining of orichalcum as the ultimate insult to nature. Maybe anti-awakened terrorists who don't want to see magicians made all the more powerful by a glut of cheap, plentiful orichalcum. Those seem like the three biggest probable foes to me."

Johnny's liquid smooth smile almost slips when Swift Eagle starts babbling. Here they are in the middle of a meet, and he goes ranting about a subject best left to be discussed after. The Johnson hadn't used the term for a reason, after all. At least the other orc was showing not only more discretion, but asking pertinant questions rather than musing. Internal thoughts run through his head to the sound track to the classic flatscreen, Kill Bill, tuned only to his ears.

When Swift Eagle started to babble and ramble, Brick was very glad he'd brought (and turned on) his white noise generator. He glared at Swift Eagle as if to say, "shut the frag up" with his eyes. What he actually said was, "there will be time for such discussion after the meeting is over. This is not the time nor the place. Just because you cannot see the ears does not mean they are not there...nor the eyes. Have I ever mentioned a deaf person I met once who could read lips?"

"There could be ears anywhere," the Salish orc responds. "Better to talk about it now, while we are in a white noise field."

The Johnson clams up as the runners start bickering and looks uncomfortable. When it's done, he plunges on. "Anyone wanting to know about the meetings topics already does, I'll wager. I fear that certain ecological groups are rather upset about the new mining efforts in areas where the new materials are appearing and they are the most likely source of trouble."

He pulls a chip carrier from his pocket and drops it on the table. "Here are some basics of information. There is more on a secure host associated with my company. The MXP is on the chip, along with a passcode which should allow you access to a back door. I can't provide you with direct support in this matter, but you should be able to insert yourselves into the system and gain access through that method."

Brick nods, letting the topic drop. Now was not the time to argue and opposing opinions were ofton just as valid. Still, he preferred such discussions about work to be in a more controlled enviornment. He doesn't reach for the chip case...that was for the techheads. Anything on them would be made available, he was certain.

Enviornmental groups, eh? Well, perhaps he could remember something...

Gritz eyes the chip but leaves it be on the table for a moment.

"On-site, will we be comp-li-menting more traditional sec forces, or are we the first and last line of de-fence?"

Johnny looks the way of the other decker, then to the other runners before taking up the chip.

`Any assistance is welcome, be it direct or not.`

A pleasantry in kind to one offered, as many of his Johnsons in the past hadn't bothered with much in the way of briefings. With a reflexive flourish he slots the chip into his datajack, copying the contents to his headware memory, and letting the details scroll over his left eye.

`Now, I belive the subject of renumeration has yet to be broached.`

"You will be serving as backup to the convention center's own security forces on the premisis, but since their policies specifically forbid armed corporate security inside the center, you will be on your own in this matter. The regulars should be able to handle all of the normal stuff like gangers and the more outspoken but less intelligent protestors. The task I seek your assistance with is stoping those threats too clever to be detered by conventional security and screening forces."

He scans the room at the mention of payment. "I'm offering 20k each for your services over the course of the convention, which is three days. Half up front. If we are entirely undisturbed, I will double it."

Brick hopes one of the other runners is good at negotiations. 20K isn't bad...but the mention of orichalcum mining just tripled the threat, so hopefully they could wrangle more out of Mr. Johnson. An extra 5K wouldn't be a bad thing...or maybe access to some items only available via megacorporate resources.

Hot threat; unspecified opposition; regular secmen to worry about; short notice. Hardline negotiations are a go.

`Well Mr. J, it seems you're on a tight timeline for a sensative job. Plus it's an indeterminant threat, and requires a full three days of vigilance, as opposed to a single operational day. With that in mind, I'm sure you'd find 50k, plus expenses to be reasonable, neh?.`

It wasn't unreasonable at all, given they need a soft touch, and he's already opened the floodgate with a doubling offer. Well, it may be a touch high, but that's what negotiations are all about.

"I might go so far as to increase the pay to 25k a head, 15 up front for each of you. The extra five will have to cover expenses." The Johnson declares, not dumb enough to give runners an open expense tab.

Sedryk sits quietly throughout the offer and negotiations.

`The extra five kay seems fair, but we will need additional resources as well. Anything you may be able to offer in that regard would be appreciated.`

Be it gear or code, any little bit could help.

"The chip I've provided will make it easy enough to provide identifications for yourself that should assist you in gaining access to the center. The five grand should provide any other assistance you need," the Johnson provides cooly. He seems to have hit his limit on payout.

"So," Swift Eagle says, "We have to protect the convention, but we aren't permitted to bring weapons inside it?"

The Johnson raises an eyebrow. "I never said that. It just might take some creativity on your part if you're talking about anything heavy. I hope that you won't need anything large, though."

"Oh, I know you don't mind if we bring weapons in, but we have to sneak everything past the guards, since we are just convention guests and not security, right?"

"That will depend on what your decker can manage, really."

Gritz grins, tuskily.

Johnny tosses a look to Gritz, then grins as well.

`Oh we'll manage, I'm sure.`

Brick smiles a tight lipped, subtle little grin...which on an orc merely looks menacing, of course. Ah the joys of undetectable weapons and ammo.